WeTried Translations

Translator/Editor: ZERO_SUGAR

Discord: https://dsc.gg/wetried

◈ Ode of the Brave ◈

Chapter 30

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Some memories were so intense that they became etched into the mind like tattoos. The smells, colors, emotions, everything from that time felt vivid.

They became more than a past that had simply passed. They remained something alive, even after a hundred distant years.

In his youth, Hellawman had been fairly talented. He had a sturdy build, a body well suited to martial training.

Yet at some point, Hellawman began to feel stifled by something he could not understand. Something that seemed as though it might surface, yet never did, tormented him.

At the time, he thought he was simply sick of practicing the same things every day. But that was not it.

For several years, rumors had circulated about Ricky, the unparalleled great killer. Famous knights and swordsmen, even elite extermination squads sent by the Emperor, were all said to have been killed by Ricky alone.

Was that even possible? Was it not just a ridiculous rumor? Yet reports about Ricky continued to arrive, too constantly for them to be simple exaggerations. Eventually, even Hellawman’s family had wanted to kill Ricky and make a name for themselves.

Then one night, someone kicked in the door of the guild building and entered.

His father, brothers, relatives, and the disciples training in the hall all stared at the intruder in shock. Hellawman had been among them, watching.

The one who had suddenly appeared was Ricky. Tall, broad-shouldered, with blazing eyes.

“You chased after me like bothersome gnats. Now that I have presented myself before you, why can none of you attack?”

His voice was rough as broken steel. Young Hellawman’s heart pounded.

Then he quietly went to hide inside a wardrobe and watched.

He had instinctively known it then.

Everyone would die.

“S-Sir, calm yourself. I believe there has been a misunderstanding.”

His father stepped forward to try to calm Ricky. But the answer he received was not words, but a lightning-fast slash.

His father’s head flew off before he could react.

As the body fell, Ricky had somehow drawn his greatsword and looked over the others.

“I’ll kill every last one of you...”

At the sight of their father’s corpse, Hellawman’s brothers lost their reason. They charged first, followed by the rest of the family and every disciple.

Was it courage? Or were they simply trying to forget a terror too great to bear?

To Hellawman, it was merely surrender. Giving up on their own lives. It seemed foolish.

In any case, Hellawman witnessed it from the closest possible distance.

That swordsmanship, like a painting.

It was not merely skill in wielding a sword. It was art. He was so moved that tears filled his eyes, and he had to clamp a hand over his mouth to keep from sobbing.

Alongside that emotion, Hellawman realized what had been stifling him all along.

It was the possibility of how far one could go with a single sword.

A swordsmanship at such an unimaginably high level that his narrow-minded father and stupid brothers could never have conceived of it. Ricky’s sword was a peak he would need to climb for the rest of his life.

First, Ricky took a great step to the right and cut someone down. Then he moved the other way to create space. Another sword stroke flashed like lightning, driving them back. He retreated slightly to make room again, slashed left, blocked and thrust, used a corpse to cut off the enemy’s space, went right again, and around then, golden flames rose along the blade...

With his eyes closed, Hellawman recalled that time and shifted about as though practicing a ballroom dance. Under his breath, he repeatedly murmured words like right, left, forward, and back.

Ricart stared at Hellawman with a baffled expression. Not knowing when this would end, he spoke up.

“Um...”

“Shh!”

Hellawman raised a finger to silence Ricart, then continued acting out something from his imagination.

No, he was copying it.

Those movements he had repeated countless times over more than a hundred years, longing to resemble them. Something he had never managed to reach, always falling just short.

Perhaps the memory had not been tattooed into his mind. Perhaps he had tattooed it there himself.

Over and over.

Only after quite some time did Hellawman take a deep breath with his eyes closed, then open them.

“Inhale... Exhale... So it was visible from the beginning... Hm...”

A grave expression came over his face as he sank into thought.

Visible from the beginning. Visible. Seeing. Not thinking, but seeing...

Hellawman deeply contemplated the principle, or perhaps the meaning, of seeing. He did not even notice Ricart looking at him as though he were strange.

Unfortunately, Hellawman did not reach a clear realization. He only gained the vague feeling of almost understanding as he stood before the summit.

Still, he did not feel stifled or distressed.

Having something to ponder meant that, for the first time in a long while, something interesting had appeared in his boring life.

Only then did Hellawman turn back to Ricart.

“I have made a fool of myself. Forgive me, Young Master.”

“It’s fine...”

“We should move elsewhere. I invited you here, yet we have been standing around talking. Follow me.”

Hellawman led Ricart up a narrow spiral staircase and into another part of the building.

It was not particularly special, merely an ordinary reception room. A single window offered a clear view of the city below the hill. The view was excellent.

“I do not come to Beringen often, so I have little with which to entertain you.”

Hellawman spoke as he sat in a hard wooden chair. Despite his age, his posture was remarkably straight.

“It’s all right.”

“I happened to be passing through on business when I heard about you and became curious. Unexpectedly, I gained something valuable.”

“I’m glad I helped, even if it was unintentional.”

“Ha ha ha... You are modest. Even without mana, talent in swordsmanship is a precious gift. I obsessed over swordsmanship for fifty years, then spent thirty years obsessing solely over mana. Then I returned to where I began. Recently, I have begun to think mana may not be so important after all. No matter how much mana one possesses, no matter how pure it is, the vessel that holds it is limited. Mana Drive has clear limits. But the principles of swordsmanship have no end.”

It was the opposite of Ice’s view.

Hellawman had likely thought long and hard about it, so was he right?

Still, if it was not a question of who was stronger but which was correct, Ricart could not know. Perhaps even the belief that Mana Drive had clear limits was wrong.

In any case, it was not a subject that interested Ricart.

“Is there something you desire? If possible, I would like to grant it all.”

Hellawman said.

“Hmm, I would like you to send an ancient script professor. I have been waiting for one for a long time, but nobody has been appointed. And after I learn ancient script, I would like to see the Codex.”

Hellawman looked as though he did not understand. He had expected Ricart to ask for a famous sword, at the very least a great deal of money. Or perhaps an estate.

“May I ask why?”

“In Fernland, there was a war over a hundred years ago. I heard the reason for that war was the Codex. I want to see it and know whether it was worth fighting a war over.”

At Ricart’s words, Hellawman reacted much like everyone else.

Why would anyone be curious about that?

Still, Ricart was curious, so there was little Hellawman could say about it.

“I do not know the details either, but the war was not fought solely because of the Codex.”

“Pardon?”

“As long as humans live upon this land, there will always be wars. Is that not so? Even now, somewhere, people are killing and being killed for reasons both trivial and great. And rulers who dream of greatness inevitably start great wars. That is how they establish immortal achievements and gain eternal life through those achievements.”

“...”

At those absurd, unexpected words, Ricart felt as though his brain had stopped working for a moment.

Eternal life? That was not true.

So countless people had to be broken in body and mind for something like that?

“I can send a professor at once. But seeing the Codex will be difficult. It is in the Imperial Library. As for Codices circulating on the market, it would be difficult to determine whether they are genuine. Most are fakes. I have seen one myself, but since I do not know ancient script, I could not tell why it was important.”

“I see... Thank you, anyway. I can finally take ancient script classes.”

“Ha ha ha, to be honest, it is rather absurd. When I was young, boys were deliberately kept from learning to read. People believed literacy made them weak. Thinking of it now, perhaps there was some truth to it. But ancient script? Ha ha ha...”

“Well, it can just be a hobby.”

“Geniuses are bound to have their oddities. Still, I asked to see you not only because I was curious. I have another matter to discuss.”

“Please, go ahead.”

“More and more nobles will enter the Academy from now on. Times have changed. The way people think has changed as well. So I hope you will guide them well.”

“Me?”

“In my view, someone who can kill a clan master at eleven has no equal among Academy students. I will become your patron, so if you need anything or find yourself in difficulty, contact me through Dunkel at any time.”

Having a Count Palatine and Emperor’s Champion as a patron meant gaining an enormous source of support.

Yet Ricart was not especially moved.

He believed he could obtain anything he needed himself, and resolve any difficulty himself as well.

No, there was something he needed.

An idea suddenly came to Ricart.

“There is something I need right now.”

“Hmm? What is it?”

“Please install railings on the stairs leading to the Academy. It is dangerous if someone missteps. Also, the students’ living quarters are rather cramped. The professors’ quarters are in the Inner Castle, but the professors do not remain there for long, so there seems to be too much unused space. I would like the students to use it.”

“I will arrange it immediately. Is there anything else?”

Such a request was nothing to a Count Palatine.

In any case, Beringen Academy’s students would now be free of the chicken coop.

“For now, that is all.”

“Indeed, noblesse oblige. A noble should naturally show charity. Good. I am pleased to see that I judged you correctly. I had a feeling when I heard the news. At my age, one’s instincts become very sharp. They are almost always right.”

“Then you would make a fortune gambling with dice.”

Ricart recalled something Arno had once said and quoted it.

Caught off guard, Hellawman threw back his head and laughed loudly.

“What did you say? Ha ha ha ha ha! I had never thought of that! Young Master! Ha ha ha ha ha!”

Ricart smiled faintly as well. Hellawman seemed like an old man who had lost his mind over swords, but Ricart liked his easygoing nature.

After meeting Hellawman, Ricart was finally able to return to the Academy.

About a week after Ricart and the higher-ranking students had left the Academy to support the adventurers’ commissions, ominous news reached the Academy.

Ricart and the others had supposedly been killed in an attack by a rival guild.

Boribori was the most shocked upon hearing it.

Boribori’s heart pounded, and even while thinking it could not be true, tears began to trickle down.

“N-No. That can’t be true. Ricky is so strong.”

Because the times were what they were, false reports sometimes spread. At first, the other students only half believed it.

But news from outside did not reach the Academy quickly. While Ricart’s group remained in Thorweil, word of their deaths gradually became accepted as fact within the Academy.

Then the other students’ gazes toward Boribori subtly changed as well.

One day, while Boribori was resting in bed, a student approached.

“Hey.”

“Huh?”

“Switch places with me.”

Because Boribori had originally been beside Ricart, Boribori’s upper bunk was near the middle of the aisle. Living there despite having no place in the pecking order would have been impossible without Ricart.

“Uh... Okay.”

Boribori knew that too, so Boribori obediently moved aside. As Boribori gathered his belongings and climbed down from the bed, hostile gazes could be felt from all around.

Then, just after Boribori changed places and unpacked, another student came over.

“Hey.”

“Huh?”

“Switch places.”

“Uh... O-Okay.”

Boribori packed up everything he had just unpacked and changed places again. Yet as soon as Boribori unpacked this time, another student demanded that they switch places.

Making Boribori go through needless trouble, they pushed him farther and farther toward the outside.

But that was only the beginning.

The students nearby cunningly increased the intensity of their bullying little by little.

At first, they merely poked and prodded Boribori. Then they pinched Boribori for no reason when passing by, stole Boribori’s personal belongings, and eventually threw the shoes Ricart had bought for Boribori off the cliff.

Boribori went down the cliff to search for them. It took the entire day, from morning until evening.

Then the students threw the recovered shoes off the cliff again.

The bullying grew endlessly worse. They used every cruel method imaginable, tormenting Boribori mentally and physically in every way.

They forcibly dragged Boribori away, told him to close his eyes and open his mouth, then fed him bugs. If Boribori failed to swallow them and spat them out, several students would rush in and beat Boribori. They kept making him stand watch, preventing any proper sleep, and even extorted the money intended for tuition.

The sad part was that it was not the students with standing in the pecking order who did this. It was mainly the so-called underclass, students with no standing and circumstances much like Boribori’s.

They had not even gotten along badly with Boribori before. But once Ricart was gone, they changed completely.

Boribori did not resist. Whether Boribori could not or would not, nobody knew.

But what tormented Boribori most was having to accept that Ricart had died.

Boribori grew more worn down with each passing day, yet the bullying became worse every day.

Cutting grass, emptying latrines, cleaning, and all kinds of menial work were things Boribori had done before, but now he had to take on everyone else’s work as well. That small body had no way to endure it.

One day, Boribori lay limp on the bed, feeling as though he might truly die like this. His eyes were swollen, and dark bruises covered his face and body.

Even then, the others came over and hurled cruel words for no reason. There was nowhere to run. This was where Boribori had come after being abandoned in the first place.

“Hey, I heard your mother was a maid. Did she seduce her master? Wow, that is not good.”

The truly vile part was that they were insulting Boribori’s parents even though their own circumstances were not much better.

“You are as promiscuous as your mother, right?”

“Did you charm Ricky that way too? Could you do it for me once?”

“Heh heh heh. Hey, are you crazy?”

“N-No. Don’t say bad things about Ricky.”

Boribori spoke.

Boribori had endured every kind of bullying in silence, even insults about his parents. But when they mentioned Ricart, he reacted.

“Has this bastard gone crazy? Hey, the Ricky you like so much is dead. I was going to kill that pathetic little fucker myself.”

“I should have knocked all his teeth out before he left. Heh heh heh.”

People might insult kings and emperors when they were not around, but this was vile beyond measure.

“S-Stop it.”

“This bastard needs a beating before he comes to his senses.”

The others tried to drag Boribori down from the bed. Though Boribori had no strength left, he clung to the bedframe to avoid being pulled away.

“You bastard! Get out here while we’re asking nicely!”

“Say Ricky is a pathetic little fucker!”

“Ricky is gone now! Idiot! He’s dead!”

They beat Boribori, pulled at him, and clawed at him. Just as before, they knew Boribori could not resist no matter what they did.

They thought it would remain that way.

But it did not.

“Stop it!”

Crack!

The voice was unmistakably that of a boy.

But it was as loud as thunder. It rang through the dormitory.

And without realizing it, Boribori had torn off one of the bedposts. With one support gone, the bed tilted dangerously.

The other students fell backward in utter shock. Before they could understand what had happened, Boribori, having lost all reason, grabbed one of the students who had bullied Boribori by the collar and lifted the student up.

The student saw it.

A black, ink-like energy rippled from Boribori’s eyes.

It was mana.

But mana did not normally become visible outside the body in that way.

This was not like Ice’s precise Mana Drive, which took form along the path of a sword. Pure mana was overflowing from Boribori’s body.

The size of the vessel Hellawman had spoken of.

Boribori’s body was small, and therefore weak. Boribori could not fight. Yet it was impossible to imagine how vast the vessel that held Boribori’s mana might be.

Boribori slammed the student against the wall.

Thud!

“Ghk!”

Then Boribori began hitting the student wildly.

Boribori had never hit anyone before, so there was no technique to it. Yet some monstrous strength had emerged from somewhere. Wherever Boribori’s fists landed, collarbones and ribs broke, organs ruptured.

Thud! Thud! Thud! Bang!

Boribori reduced the student to a rag with bare hands.

Still gripping the student by the collar, Boribori spoke. Tears streamed from eyes filled with rippling black energy.

“Please. Insult Ricky just once more. I think I could kill you then.”

It was unclear what Boribori meant, but the words were certainly terrifying.

Yet the student in Boribori’s grasp was already knocking on the door to the afterlife.

Then, at that moment.

“Bori, what are you doing?”

Boribori froze like stone.

Ricart’s death had been impossible to accept, but Boribori’s heart had kept breaking nonetheless.

And now, that friend’s voice.

The black energy scattered from Boribori’s eyes.

When Boribori turned, Ricart stood at the entrance to the dormitory, his back to the light.

An indescribable sense of relief swept over Boribori, and the sorrowful fury that had seemed ready to burn Boribori’s brain cooled as quickly as though it had been a lie.

Fortunately, Boribori did not cross the boundary between human and monster.

Boribori did not break.

Unlike Ricky in his previous life, and unlike that deserter.

True friends became pillars for one another’s souls simply by being alive.

So that they would not collapse.

It had been quite a long journey.

For everyone.

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