WeTried Translations

Translator/Editor: ZERO_SUGAR

Discord: https://dsc.gg/wetried

◈ Ode of the Brave ◈

Chapter 31

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Spring had passed, and summer was slowly approaching. When the seasons changed, the wind changed first, and that wind of change had reached the Academy as well.

Wooden rails had been installed along the stairs that ran beside the cliff, and the students were assigned rooms in the Inner Castle, twenty to a room.

Seventy years after the Beringen Adventurer Guild Academy was founded, the students had finally been freed from the chicken coop.

All because of one student.

Not only that, the Masons' Guild sent by Hellawman, count palatine of Kelbron and the Emperor's Champion, installed a pulley over the well and repaired the buildings. They even discovered an ancient underground reservoir and installed water pipes.

One look at the Academy's exterior and structure was enough for them to identify its architectural style and structural features, even if they could not determine exactly when it had been built.

They said there had to be a reservoir underground to collect rainwater, then simply found it.

Something no one had known about for seventy years could finally be used.

Water pipes were expensive installations usually found only in certain districts of famous cities, but perhaps because the Masons' Guild served someone as influential as a count palatine, they had even used costly copper pipes.

Even the Guild would have struggled to afford construction on this scale. Ricart and the students did not even have the slightest idea how much it all cost.

They could feel, if only indirectly, how much power a count palatine possessed, and how overwhelming the Emperor's power beyond that must be.

The changes at Beringen Academy were so extraordinary that the changing seasons hardly seemed to matter.

The students had trouble adjusting for a while.

They did not know whether they deserved such luxury.

As Hellawman had promised, a professor of ancient script arrived at the Academy.

“It was thanks to mages that ancient script survived. They say ancient script is magical writing in itself. Mages use ancient script when writing magical descriptions or drawing certain diagrams.”

The man speaking looked as though he had never fought a day in his life. He appeared to be in his late twenties and had studied at the famous Hantz University. His name was Elrich, and he was a noble.

Yet only two students attended his class.

Ricart and Boribori.

In a class with only two students, one sat with his arms folded, head tilted back, snoring away.

That was Ricart.

After going on and on about taking ancient script lessons, too.

“Then if we learn ancient script, can we use magic?”

Boribori asked.

“Ha ha ha, no, that is not the case. Do I look like a mage?”

“Not really.”

“That is right. Writing is simply writing. Magic probably has quite a long history, so perhaps it still uses old letters. That is only my guess.”

Professor Elrich took a thin booklet from his bag.

“This is a textbook I made myself. If we use it in class, you will be able to learn quite a lot in a short time.”

“A book? I can’t read.”

“...Oh dear.”

Elrich could not understand why someone who could not read would take ancient script lessons, but the new professor was a patient and understanding man.

“Then it would be best to learn to read slowly while studying ancient script at the same time.”

Elrich picked up the booklet, blank paper, a pen, and ink, then stepped down from the dais and approached Boribori.

Ricart was still sleeping beside Boribori, but Elrich did not mind. He opened the book in front of Boribori.

“Ancient script is ideographic writing, which means every character has a meaning. The writing we use is phonetic. This is an ancient character, and beneath it is the letter we use today.”

The booklet displayed large ancient characters, with their meanings written below in smaller modern letters.

“Boribori, is there anything you like?”

“Flowers and grass.”

“Wonderful. Then let us find one that means a flower.”

Elrich turned the pages. By chance, he found an ancient character that meant violet. For now, rather than explaining the ancient character, he spoke only about the smaller letters beneath it.

“This is the word for violet. Shall we learn the spelling first?”

At the word violet, Boribori's interest immediately rose. Boribori opened wide eyes and carefully examined the crooked black lines.

The professor explained each letter and began by teaching the modern writing.

“Vi... o... la...”

“Would you like to write the modern letters alongside the ancient character?”

Elrich handed over blank paper, a pen, and ink. It was Boribori's first time holding a pen, so writing felt awkward. Still, perhaps because Boribori was good at drawing, the letters took shape well enough.

“You write better than I expected.”

“Yes. I like drawing.”

After Boribori painstakingly wrote the ancient character and the modern letters in crooked lines, the professor said,

“Shall we set off to find the next flower?”

“Yes!”

Elrich turned another page.

That was how the class continued.

It could have been slow and frustrating, but neither of them felt that way. The professor was considerate and patient, while the student was overflowing with curiosity.

Perhaps he was the first proper professor the Academy had seen since its founding.

The professors who had been there before were really just adventurers. They came after accepting a kind of commission from the Guild, and they did not care whether the students learned well, failed, or died.

That was how they had learned, so they believed that was how teaching ought to be. It had simply been passed down that way.

The Guild saw no need to manage the students and lacked the ability to do so anyway. It merely filtered them like a sieve and raised any promising ones into adventurers.

When one thought about it, it was neglect that bordered on abuse. The sad thing was that no one found it strange in an age like this.

After all, were they not children cast aside even by their own families?

In any case, Professor Elrich's lessons continued slowly but steadily. Time passed, and class ended.

“I will give this textbook to you, Boribori. Please study well. Then I shall see you in our next lesson.”

Despite being a noble, he was remarkably gentle and courteous. Almost too gentle for this bleak and brutal world.

“Thank you, Professor. This is the third gift I have received in my life. I will treasure it.”

“I am more grateful that you would say so. Then I should be going. It seems Young Master Ricart should be awakened now.”

“...What? Ricar, what? Young Master?”

“Ah, no. It was a joke. Ha ha.”

Perhaps because he had been sent by the count palatine, Elrich seemed to know something about Ricart.

“Ah... Ricky does seem a little like a noble. To me, he is the Empire's greatest hero. Heh heh heh.”

Elrich gave an awkward smile and left the hall. Only then did Boribori wake Ricart.

“Ricky. Ricky.”

“...Huh? Oh, class is over? You should’ve woken me. What is that?”

“The textbook. The professor gave it to me as a gift.”

Ricart opened the textbook and skimmed through it. With his sharp eyes and quick mind, he memorized several characters in an instant.

“Let me borrow it sometime.”

“Okay.”

“Ahh... I slept well. My neck feels a little stiff, though.”

“You should’ve slept face down.”

“I should have. Let’s go.”

Ricart stood and shoved his hands into his pockets. He had shaved off his golden broccoli-like hair, but it had grown back somewhat by now.

Ricart and Boribori descended the narrow spiral stairs of the defensive tower attached to the Inner Castle. The first floor contained the students' quarters.

Built as a barracks for soldiers in ancient times, it was perfectly suited for people to live in. Students ran around the halls with cleaning tools in hand.

When Ricart appeared, they hesitated for a moment. Then they ignored him and went back to chasing one another.

Ricart glanced through the open doors of the students' rooms as he passed. Everyone seemed to be doing well.

Then he spotted the students who had bullied Boribori. Since Boribori had never told him, Ricart did not know who they were.

But the moment they saw Boribori, they became frightened and quickly hid out of sight like rats.

Boribori paid the rats no attention. They were not worth even that much.

When they left the Inner Castle, warm sunlight greeted the two boys. It felt as though a gentle giant had softly clasped their entire bodies.

Castles were naturally shadowy and chilly inside, with air and temperatures different from the outside.

That was why nobles often took walks and sunbathed. Staying inside a castle for too long was not good for one's health.

Ricart and Boribori headed toward the area opposite the old chicken coop, beside the girls' quarters.

A new clearing had been made there by cutting back part of the forest. The eight students who had gone out together to take on a commission, along with several others, had gathered there.

Volka, Molty, and Pallen sat resting shirtless and sweating, while Ice, Jerome, and Melson stood nearby talking.

Perhaps because they had experienced real combat on the edge of death, they all trained hard. Lara and Delphi, now princesses, even taught the so-called ladies, telling them not to do things that way and to get a grip.

When they spotted Ricart and Boribori, they raised their hands.

“Is training going well?”

“It feels like something might happen, or like I might have improved a bit. Something like that.”

Volka answered. He spoke casually, but after experiencing real combat, his skill was on an entirely different level from before.

Volka could seem rather simple at times, but he learned quickly. Just as he had when Ricart beat him up before.

Boribori awkwardly kept trying to hide behind Ricart, though it was not as if hiding would make Boribori disappear.

Then Ice looked at Boribori and spoke.

“Have you practiced?”

“Huh? Y-yes...”

“Show me.”

Boribori seemed unwilling, reluctant, or perhaps simply embarrassed. Boribori awkwardly took one of the practice swords the students had been using.

Everyone's eyes naturally turned toward Boribori. Boribori gripped the sword, concentrated, and began trembling all over.

It was enough to make one wonder what Boribori was doing, but no one laughed.

Because black traces of mana, like ink, followed the clumsy path of the sword soon afterward.

The swing was terribly awkward, and Boribori could not properly control the power, making his whole body shake. Yet mana had clearly blossomed.

After swinging the sword once, Boribori seemed completely exhausted. Sweat poured down as Boribori panted, Huff, huff, and watched Ice's reaction.

“Well done. Keep practicing. Otherwise, you’ll get hurt.”

If handled incorrectly, mana could rupture muscles or blood vessels, burst one's eyes, or in severe cases, damage internal organs. If vital organs such as the brain or heart were injured, death would be immediate.

Everyone here knew Boribori possessed tremendous talent for mana.

After all, Boribori had beaten a student to death with bare hands.

That was why failing to control it properly could be extremely dangerous. Ice was the one teaching Boribori how to control mana, or Mana Drive. Boribori had once disliked Ice for being a heretic.

Perhaps that was why Boribori felt so guilty and did not know what to do with himself.

“Normally, mana builds up little by little, so it’s safe to use it on the body. But for you, it would be safer to do the opposite.”

Boribori was a highly unusual case. Boribori had been born with a great deal of mana and a large vessel to hold it, so despite being terrible at swordsmanship and fighting, Boribori was already training in the so-called Sword of Blooming.

“Yeah... thank you...”

Boribori's voice was so quiet that even an ant would have struggled to hear it.

But Ice did not teach in order to receive thanks. As always, Ice's expression remained indifferent.

Then Ice turned to Ricart.

“Please.”

Ricart had been standing there blankly. He went over to Boribori, took the practice sword, and moved to the center of the clearing.

Ice also took a practice sword and slowly walked to the center.

The eyes of the watching students changed at once. Watching skilled fighters spar was more precious than gold. It was something one could see only at the Academy, and rarely anywhere else.

Ricart turned the sword in his hand this way and that, as if examining it casually. Then he raised his head and looked at Ice.

His gaze was merely calm.

But when Ice met that calm gaze, it felt as though some unknown force had bound Ice's entire body. Fine hairs rose, and chills ran across Ice's skin.

It was not the first time.

Ice felt this every time they sparred. Whenever Ice faced those eyes directly, Ice strangely got chills and felt the body stiffen.

Those eyes.

Those eyes were the greatest problem.

Ricart's eyes did not seem to merely look at an opponent. They seemed to see what lay beyond. As though they could see through one's thoughts and even into one's heart.

Ice had to forcibly turn the neck and move the arms and legs to make sure nothing was wrong. Still, meeting those eyes made the chest feel tight.

Ice took deep breaths, struggled to relax, and finally assumed a stance.

“Please go first.”

Ice always asked Ricart to attack first because whenever Ice attacked first, Ice had never lasted even one exchange.

Without hesitation, Ricart moved sharply left, slipped to the right, and swung at Ice's waist.

The form was clean, but the movement was nothing special. It was about as fast as trained boys of that age could move at their best. To a skilled fighter, it was not especially fast.

Ice could respond easily enough.

So Ice stepped toward the incoming attack and took Ricart's blind side.

So far, there was no problem.

Ricart turned and faced Ice again, immediately lifting the sword high overhead.

At that moment, Ice's sword aimed for Ricart's side.

But Ricart's blade, raised above his head, was pointed downward.

Clang!

At their first collision, Ice thought it was time to retreat.

Then countless possible developments rushed through Ice's mind.

But Ricart moved in a way that was absent from all of them.

As if Ricart had read Ice's thoughts in advance and responded to them.

Startled, Ice met Ricart's eyes again.

Those eyes... What in the world were they seeing? What could they see in me?

Tap tap tap.

Ricart swiftly chased after the retreating Ice. Ice clenched his teeth and swung a counterattack.

Ice could not just keep blocking and lose. Something had to be done.

Whoosh! Thud!

The two swords passed by each other.

One cut through empty air.

The other struck the opponent squarely in the neck.

“Urgh!”

Ice staggered for only a moment after being struck in the neck by the blunt blade, then reflexively tried to continue fighting.

But with real swords, the match would already have been decided.

Ice stopped.

Ricart had already created distance and was quietly watching Ice.

“You still think too much. How many times do I have to tell you? You shouldn’t let your thoughts swing your sword. Just swing at what you see. Trying to outthink your opponent is a bad habit.”

To be honest, Ricart could not see any real progress in Ice. In that sense, Ice did not seem any different from Boribori.

When someone at a higher level looked at those below, they all tended to seem about the same.

In truth, a fight between skilled people of a certain level almost always became a contest of calculated moves.

But Ricart was speaking of something beyond that.

A state without thought or self.

Ice had been stopped by a wall here.

How could a person fight without thinking?

Ice was certainly a genius. It was difficult to find an opponent of a similar age. Ice could immediately think of every possible attack and defense, choose the best among them, and put it into action.

But abandon thought?

How was that supposed to work?

“...Thank you.”

Ice spoke while lightly frowning, as though in pain, and rubbed the sore spot on the neck.

Molty, who had been watching, spoke flatly.

“That makes exactly ten bouts and ten losses.”

“I can’t understand their sparring no matter how many times I watch.”

Volka replied.

From the outside, it had not seemed like anything special. Their matches were always like that.

To Volka and the other students, Ice was genius itself. They knew from sparring with Ice directly. They lost as though they were being toyed with.

Yet Ice always lost so easily when sparring Ricart, and they could not understand it even while watching.

“It is like stacking blocks into a tower.”

Ricart spun the practice sword as if playing with it and spoke to Ice.

“You build it up carefully, then bring it all crashing down at once. Then new things unfold before your eyes. You realize that the tower you cherished and worked so hard on was actually nothing at all, and you no longer need to think. It seems you are not ready to bring down your tower yet.”

It was hard to understand.

But telling Ice how far apart to place the feet or how to take a stance would have been meaningless, so this was the only explanation Ricart could offer.

Ricart himself thought it was a fairly precise explanation. There was no other way to put it.

In his previous life, Ricky had always lived in an environment where he had to tear down his carefully built towers, whether he wanted to or not. If his patterns became predictable, it led directly to death.

Creative attacks and defenses, attacks and defenses that surpassed even those and looked ordinary instead, the workings of force, paths, lines, points, a state without thought or self, the heart, and the life one had lived.

The farther one went beyond one's limits, the harder it became to express in words.

“Um, excuse me...”

As Ice and Ricart returned to the other students, Boribori unexpectedly approached Ice.

Wondering what it was, Ice turned to see Boribori holding out a small paper packet.

“For your neck... I made it by chewing it really well...”

Ice said nothing and took the paper packet Boribori offered. Inside was something like crushed grass.

“It won’t scar, and it’ll heal quickly...”

Boribori could not meet Ice's eyes while speaking.

Volka saw this and laughed.

“You would never make something like that for me.”

“B-but, Volka is tough.”

“What are you talking about? Ice is tough too.”

“No, but... Ice is handsome. It would be such a waste if Ice got a scar.”

“What did you say?! Hah! Ha ha! Hah!”

Volka kept letting out hollow laughs in disbelief.

The other students who heard it burst into loud laughter.

And so the students of Beringen Academy supported one another, encouraged one another, competed in good faith, and continued to improve.

But the students had no idea that the teaching they received so casually right beside them came from the first person ever to break through the limits of humanity and open a new horizon for the sword.

Nor did they know the extent of their own potential.

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