WeTried Translations

Translator/Editor: ZERO_SUGAR

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◈ Ode of the Brave ◈

Chapter 32: Only a Pure Soul

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The Academy students lived in a world of their own, beyond the adults’ concern. Like wildflowers growing in a field.

Adults’ concern was not always a good thing, but without proper guidance, children were bound to lose their way.

And sometimes bring cruel fates upon themselves.

There were at least dozens of Adventurer Guilds in the Empire, and dozens among them operated Academies.

No one knew what life was like at each Academy, but Beringen Academy at least had something called hope.

The students could earn money through their own work, train in martial arts, support one another as friends, and have the chance to forge their own lives after graduation.

Even if desperate struggle and death cast their shadows over them, the children were stronger than one might expect.

Of course, there were despicable people everywhere. But just as wildflowers overcame pests and disease, a positive atmosphere fortunately prevailed at Beringen Academy.

Ricart was the one who led that positive atmosphere.

Just as bandits did not gather while a lord held their post, while wicked thugs naturally gathered when the lord was absent, Ricart’s mere presence at the Academy created a good atmosphere.

Even if he did not intend it.

Volka, Molty, Ice, Lara, Delphi, Pallen, Jerome, and Melson, who had carried out the deserter pursuit request with Ricart, were old enough now to look rather grown-up.

Those eight, along with Ricart, were on an entirely different level from the other students. Together with Ricart, they shaped the atmosphere at the Academy.

The overwhelming gap in their skill, and the futures they looked toward, became an example for the other students.

I want to become like them.

In any case, as boys and girls grew with the passing years, the graduation of those eight gradually drew closer. They had entered the Academy about ten months to a year before Ricart.

The Academy’s program lasted two years, though most students graduated either slightly after two years or a little before. That was simply how things went in such a loosely run place.

They often went out on requests in small groups, though not all together. They also spoke with active adventurers about whether to join existing clans or form a new clan of their own.

After childhood, siblings’ paths diverged.

After youth, friends’ paths did as well.

“So, what do you think about making a clan of our own?”

Volka spoke up. It was in his nature to take the lead in anything, so he said it without hesitation.

It was late at night. A bonfire burned in the clearing between the Inner Castle and the girls’ dormitory, with the nine students gathered around it.

Night insects chirped in the grass, while stars glittered silently in the black sky.

They were supposed to be asleep, but the nine best students, including Ricart, had a little more freedom from the rules.

“I can’t. I have something to do.”

Ice shook his head. Jerome and Melson were with Ice as well. The three had been together from the beginning, so it was understandable.

“What do you have to do? Can you tell us?”

“I have to take the final examination.”

“Why?”

“It is my destiny.”

The final examination meant becoming Special Rank and going to Fernland. There was a legend that anyone who passed it would become a Sword Master.

No one except those who had passed knew what exactly happened for that to be possible.

But almost no one passed.

The final examination itself was exceedingly rare. No one knew who oversaw it, when it was held, or why.

People only knew that it existed.

Only one person passed every few decades, and in Beringen Academy’s seventy-year history, not a single graduate had ever passed the final examination.

Taking the final examination and passing it was, in truth, almost impossible.

Still, Ice called it destiny. What could they say?

The nine friends and comrades respected one another. For some reason, Ice looked a little bitter.

“Hmm... Can’t be helped, then. What about the rest of you?”

Volka looked around at the students. Molty was negative as well.

“I’m going to quit being an adventurer. I like working iron. Sorry.”

“I can’t either. I decided to live with Molty. Sorry.”

Lara spoke.

It looked as though the two were going to marry. They were already adults, so it was entirely possible.

“Um, sorry, but I’m out too. I know an older adventurer, and I decided to join that clan.”

Pallen said this. Pallen had briefly traveled with Ricart and Ice while chasing the deserters. Pallen lacked confidence, but had more than enough skill to pull his weight.

“No, you don’t need to apologize.”

Volka said that, but the disappointment was obvious.

Only three remained: Volka, Delphi, and Ricart.

The problem was that Ricart still had a long way to go before graduation.

Volka looked at Delphi with an almost pleading expression.

He made it so obvious that Delphi could not stop a laugh from escaping.

“Fine, fine. I get it, so stop making that face. I know I’m the only one who’ll look after you.”

“Delphi...”

“But what about Ricky?”

Delphi, whose short hair was tied back, asked.

“Let’s bring Bori in too.”

“Huh?”

“Bori said he wanted to be an adventurer. It would be better to do it together.”

“I don’t mind, but you know it’s dangerous work, right?”

“Bori and I still have some time before graduation. We should build up our skills until then. And I believe Bori will do well. He’s tougher than you might think.”

“Well, if you say so... Then who will be the clan leader?”

“Volka should do it. You’re the leader.”

Ricart smiled without the slightest hesitation. He had never had any ambition for something like that.

Ricart’s personal strength and ability to lead others in battle were unmatched, even among active adventurers. But he was not especially good at managing things in ordinary life.

Managing meant managing people.

Trust and leadership mattered more than controlling people with money, and Volka was better at that. He also had connections everywhere.

And whenever they received a request, Ricart could lead temporarily in the field. Nothing had been decided yet.

They were the ones deciding it.

“Good. Then what should we call the clan?”

Delphi asked.

Volka and Ricart exchanged looks. Though neither spoke, they seemed to understand each other, and smiles spread across both their faces.

“Viola. Clan Viola.”

Viola meant violet.

Delphi did not understand why, but did not raise any objection. Delphi only thought it was an unexpectedly feminine name.

Clan names were usually things like Fire Axe, Widowmakers, Black Wolves, or Lion’s Roar.

In any case, Clan Viola was born.

Ricart was eleven years old, Volka and Delphi were sixteen, and Boribori was thirteen.

They said all that, but they would not be parting ways right away.

Graduation came when someone from the Guild arrived to collect the students, around late autumn or winter.

It was summer now, and several months still remained.

Those who had carried out requests together were busy preparing for graduation in one way or another.

After graduation, they would step into a harsh world according to their own goals, or even without any goals at all.

From summer onward, the Academy became somewhat restless.

There were barely any classes. Some students desperately saved money, while many worried about where they would go and how they would make a living.

While everyone was busy, Boribori swung a practice sword in the backyard behind the old dormitory.

But Ricart, lying on his side in the shade with his head propped on one hand, watched indifferently, unsure whether Boribori was actually swinging the sword or simply playing around. His expression creased slightly into a frown.

“What are you doing?”

“Hm? Oh, I was writing letters. Ancient script. I can study and train at the same time like this. Heh heh heh.”

“Bori, didn’t you hear we made a clan too?”

“Yeah. You told me last time.”

Ricart was so dumbfounded that he almost said something, but stopped himself.

It was not as though saying anything would change matters.

Still, Boribori began cutting through the air again with the sword. Watching closely, Ricart thought it actually looked better than ordinary swordsmanship.

Huh? Wait. What is this?

Ricart had mastered the sword, and he sensed something strange.

But he could not tell exactly what it was.

He had never seen or heard of anything like it.

“Ricky, watch. I can do something like this now.”

Boribori gripped the sword and began to focus.

For an instant, Ricart’s heart raced.

He did not know why.

Then Boribori’s sword moved swiftly.

He wrote ancient characters in the empty air. A black afterimage of mana remained behind the blade, leaving letters hanging in the air for a brief moment.

“Oh!”

Ricart’s eyes widened as he cried out without realizing it.

The letters made of mana’s afterimage vanished immediately, but it was undeniably astonishing.

“What was that? What was that, Bori?”

Ricart sprang up from where he lay.

Even Ricart, who rarely lost composure, was startled enough to become excited.

In any case, Boribori was the only one who could shake Ricart’s emotions like this.

Boribori drove him mad with frustration, then startled him like this.

“Heh heh heh.”

“Hey! Your swordwork was clean too! This is better. Let’s go with this!”

“Really?”

“Yeah! This is the answer! I’ve never seen anything like this either!”

Without question, Ricart had never seen such a sword even in his previous life.

“Really? Then should we give this swordsmanship a name?”

“...Not yet. It’s too early to call it swordsmanship. It’s nothing more than a trick. Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

Ricart spoke sternly, certain that it was not yet ready.

“...Okay...”

“No, should we give it a name at least? Why not?”

“Right, right. Then what should we call it?”

“Obviously, Boribori Swordsmanship. You name swordsmanship after yourself. Bori Sword Art!”

“But my name isn’t very cool.”

“It will be now. It’ll be cool.”

“Will it?”

“Yeah. So, shall we spar now? I’ve gotten a lot better at sparring too.”

Ricart had mastered a sword meant solely for killing, so he had never known how to hold back in sparring.

But after sparring with Ice, he had now learned, in his own way, how to fight without hurting an opponent.

Ice had been badly beaten at first, and sometimes even suffered cracks in his bones.

In that sense, Boribori owed Ice a great deal, not only for Mana Drive but for many other things as well.

Ricart took up a practice sword and faced Boribori.

With the particular gleam in his eyes that appeared when he faced a fight, he wore a confident smile.

“Go ahead. Do whatever you want.”

Boribori nervously swallowed, but unlike Ice, he did not stiffen.

Boribori simply knew that no matter what he did, he could not hurt Ricart.

So he swung the sword with complete ease.

No mana afterimage remained. That consumed too much mental strength.

Ricart easily evaded Boribori’s sword.

He slightly tilted his head or turned his body, continuing to dodge from within Boribori’s range.

Then Ricart opened up a little distance.

Boribori tried too hard to follow, tangled his steps, and nearly fell on his own.

Ricart had not swung his sword even once.

Ricart caught Boribori as he fell and said,

“Much better. The strokes are cuts, and the dots are thrusts. Even with the same character, there could be tremendous changes depending on how you write it. Just pay a little more attention to your steps.”

Ricart grasped the heart of this unfamiliar swordsmanship at once.

And he saw its limitless potential.

“Okay.”

Boribori nodded vigorously.

Then their sparring began again.

Boribori first brought to mind a character he liked.

Then he drew strokes and placed dots.

Sometimes powerfully, sometimes gently.

No one had taught Boribori. He simply did it on his own.

Then Boribori found one hand more comfortable than holding the sword with both, and his stance naturally changed as well.

As if by magic, Boribori improved from moment to moment at an unbelievable speed.

The difference between the sword Boribori had swung just before and the next sword swing was enormous.

This was possible because it was not training or practice.

It was simply play.

Boribori freely painted upon the limitless canvas that was Ricart, while Ricart, a great mountain and sea, accepted it all.

Before long, Boribori began laughing without realizing it.

Ricart laughed loudly as well.

“Ha ha ha ha ha!”

Who had said that those who attained enlightenment laughed loudly?

The two boys seemed to be like that now.

Ricart felt as though he could fly.

This was something he had never experienced before.

He could be this happy while holding a sword.

A sword forged only on desperate battlefields.

A sword tempered in fire and steel, blood and death.

A sword that had relentlessly burned itself at the stake...

When that sword met Boribori’s sword, it felt liberated.

Like a demonic sword shedding a clinging curse and transforming into a holy sword.

Since the deserter incident, something that had remained knotted in one corner of Ricart’s heart finally seemed to come undone.

He did not know why.

But he did not need to.

If he could explain why, it would not be enlightenment.

From Ricart, some gained a subject for contemplation, some felt a wall and suffered, while some simply found joy.

No one knew what made those three different.

For now, only the laughter of the two boys could be heard for a long while in the backyard of the dormitory that had once been like a chicken coop, cooler than the wind.

Chapter 7: Only a Pure Soul. End.

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