WeTried Translations

Translator/Editor: ZERO_SUGAR

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◈ Ode of the Brave ◈

Chapter 34

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In winter, terrible stories too horrifying to put into words crept across the snowfields. Stories of mothers driven by hunger to eat their babies, or people digging up graves to eat corpses.

There was no need to worry much about wild beasts while traveling in winter. It was the season when people became wild beasts.

Wheel tracks and footprints lay scattered along the road through the snow-covered plains. The muddy ground had frozen into sharp ridges.

Beside the road stood a broken carriage, tipped to one side. Corpses lay strewn around it. One body farther away had no head.

The snow had stopped for a while, and cold sunlight shone down that morning. Ricart and Boribori stood silently, staring at the aftermath of whatever had swept through here. The vast white plains glittered beneath the sun, and white breath poured from the two boys’ mouths with every exhale.

No one could have survived. A single night outdoors was enough to freeze to death. Blood had melted holes all across the snow.

If there was one small mercy, it was that no one had carved flesh from the corpses. Whether that was truly something to be grateful for was another matter.

What was strange was that anyone after food or money would have stripped the bodies of their equipment. Even sold as scrap metal, it would be worth a fair amount.

But something even more surprising came before that question.

“This is surprising.”

Ricart had been examining the area.

“Huh?”

“One person. The attacker. You can tell from the blade marks and footprints.”

Ricart ran his fingers over a deep, sharp gash in the carriage.

Ricart had always possessed a sharp eye, and his experience from his previous life had made him exceptionally skilled at judging an opponent’s strength from a scene like this.

That ability had allowed him to gain a tactical advantage even when an earlier job had turned into an unexpected ambush.

This scene, in particular, made it clear exactly how that one person had killed everyone.

It almost felt as though the chaotic sounds from that moment brushed past his ears. The clash of blades, desperate screams, terror, and cries of agony.

People killed before they could even take a few steps. People dragged back after trying to run. People whose heads had been split in two...

The dead had few other wounds. It meant each had died in a single blow. Most had their heads split open. The attacker seemed to use something like a battle axe, not a sword.

“Uh... but there are more than ten bodies. And most of them were armed.”

“That’s why it’s surprising.”

“Then isn’t it dangerous here?”

“No. It was like a wild beast hunting. It caught its prey, so it won’t come back.”

Ricart spoke as he looked at the headless corpse in the distance. The attacker had not come for money. They seemed to have wanted that one head.

If it had been a robbery, the attacker would not have acted alone or left valuable things behind. It might have been a grudge. Of course, there was no way to know for certain.

Ricart looked inside the shattered carriage. There was the body of an unidentified noblewoman, but her clothes had not been removed. There were no signs that she had been violated.

Unlike the others, a dagger was lodged in her chest. She had been killed by a stab through the heart. It was not easy to do that in one blow, since the ribs had to be avoided.

It felt as though the attacker had respected her honor, even while killing her. Or perhaps it held some other meaning.

Who had done this, and why? Ricart felt an odd sense of familiarity.

Still, they had a destination and could not stay long. Ricart and Boribori searched through the bodies and the carriage.

They found a few coins, several pieces of hard bread, and some jerky. Were they lucky?

They wrapped the food in paper and put it in their bags, then left the gruesome scene behind and continued down the road. If they failed to reach their destination before sunset, they would be in serious trouble.

They had left Beringen in the dark before dawn, so if they hurried, they could reach a place called Anna’s Loss by early evening. Fortunately, it was not snowing, so they could walk faster.

Boribori kept up better than expected. Considering that Boribori had traveled a long distance alone to reach the Academy, he was not just naive. He had a stubborn resilience too.

Being weak was relative, and as Boribori’s Mana Drive improved, he was gradually becoming as strong as an ox.

Wearing dark brown and red cloaks, the two boys walked across the snowy plains along the southwestern road.

As the sun began to set, a blizzard rose again. Fortunately, they reached a large building beside the road.

It was a two-story building with an attached stable, though the stable stood empty. White smoke curled from its chimney.

A large, conspicuous mark had been carved into the wall like graffiti.

Anna’s Loss.

Ricart entered the tavern with his sword slung over one shoulder. Warm air rushed over him, along with a foul smell.

The tavern was full of people who looked bad from head to toe. It was as if every criminal in the northeast had gathered here.

People with one cloudy eye as though they had cataracts, only a few yellow teeth left, rough unkempt beards, missing fingers, or grime-streaked faces covered in scars were ordinary here.

They all seemed to express the worst possible human appearance in their own distinctive ways.

The people inside turned to look at Ricart and Boribori. Not all of them did. Some were already dead drunk and sprawled carelessly across the tavern’s filthy floor.

“Close the door. It’s cold.”

Someone spoke. Their breath seemed foul enough to reach Ricart from there, making him squeeze his eyes shut. Still, he had business here, so he shut the door and stepped into the unpleasant place.

People found it strange that a pair of kids had come here, but the boys were armed, and no one could cause trouble here. So no one paid them much attention.

This place was managed by the Arisen Brotherhood, a thieves’ guild, and served as a kind of neutral ground.

Causing trouble here was the same as making an enemy of the thieves’ guild. Even hardened criminals knew where to put their feet, so when they wanted a fight, they took it outside.

Ricart approached the bar. The bartender was more occupied with drinking than serving customers. They took swigs straight from the bottle while joking with a cheap prostitute.

Ricart placed the golden cloak clasp on the bar.

“Dunkel sent me.”

The bartender, who had ignored Ricart while laughing with the prostitute, stared at the golden cloak clasp.

Its fine workmanship made it difficult to forge. Only then did the bartender properly look at Ricart.

After looking back and forth between the clasp and Ricart’s face, the bartender snapped at the prostitute, who kept talking without reading the room.

“Hey. Shut up and get lost.”

“Tch. Asshole.”

The prostitute pouted and glared at the bartender. The bartender ignored her and looked at Ricart.

“What do you want?”

“About the Ernberg Five...”

“Shut the fuck up.”

The bartender cut Ricart off the moment he mentioned them. The bartender set down the bottle, shook their head hard, then slapped both cheeks.

Afterward, as if calming their startled heart, the bartender let out warm breaths.

Huff, huff.

“So where’s the person here to handle the job?”

The bartender apparently thought Ricart was merely a messenger.

“I’m the one handling it.”

“...What? Don’t mess with me. Do I look like some fucking chump?”

“You do look like one.”

Since the bartender kept speaking crudely, Ricart answered in kind. The bartender bristled, but Ricart’s calm gaze told the bartender something was not right.

Then something came to mind.

“Is it you? Ricky the Severer?”

“Yeah.”

The bartender looked Ricart over once more. Blond hair that did not cover Ricart’s ears, hazel eyes, a winter gambeson, a red cloak, and only a longsword slung over one shoulder.

Ricart’s not-yet-grown body bothered the bartender.

“...Even so. That bastard Dunkel, seriously... Look, I’ve heard you’re a rare genius with a sword. But not this job. Go home.”

Ricart blinked. He had not expected this. Dunkel had agreed, so Ricart had naturally assumed he would take the job. Had Dunkel sent him here deliberately, without ever intending to let him accept it?

There was no way to know unless Ricart returned and asked. Still, he had walked all day to get here.

Ricart turned to Boribori, wondering what to do, but Boribori only shrugged. What solution could Boribori possibly have?

“I heard capable adventurers can’t do it because their faces are known, and that it would be better for a student to step forward.”

“I understand what you mean, but no means no. It’s night now, so stay quietly and...”

The bartender, a member of the thieves’ guild, could not finish speaking. The tavern door flew open roughly.

Clatter!

Everyone, including Ricart, turned toward it. A huge man stood there, while the blizzard outside poured fiercely into the tavern.

Whoooooosh...!

The man wore a Nord-style helmet with a nasal guard. Black cloth attached to it completely covered his lower face.

He wore a thick garment resembling an apron over scale armor, tough leather gloves on his hands, leather belts across his waist and chest, a rope at his left hip, and a one-handed battle axe at his right. He also carried a heavy bundle stained with dried blood.

His scale armor only reached his elbows, leaving part of his forearms exposed. They were as thick as logs and covered in scars.

Breathing as though he struggled for air, he slowly scanned the tavern.

Wheeze, wheeze.

Blue eyes gleamed like a beast through the helmet’s eye slits.

“It’s cold. Close the door.”

Someone said it, but the newcomer ignored them and walked into the tavern.

He held a badly crumpled piece of paper. After seeming to compare it with someone, he tossed it aside. It was a wanted poster.

Then someone in the tavern with a vicious-looking face trembled in fear before suddenly shouting. That was the beginning.

“...Fuck!”

Whoosh! Crunch!

The man immediately drew his axe and swung it, splitting someone’s head in an instant. The victim’s body jerked before collapsing.

People screamed and scrambled to their feet. Those sprawled drunkenly across the floor were trampled. More than a few people tripped over them and fell.

Tables and chairs overturned, spilling dice, coins, cups, and other gambling pieces across the floor. The tavern became chaos in an instant.

“You bastard!”

There were many criminals in the tavern who were no pushovers. They drew their weapons and rushed the man.

And the man fought like a true wild beast.

Whoosh! Thud! Whiiish! Clang! Crack! Whoosh!

He ignored minor cuts, letting his armor take them. His fists, hard as iron, smashed faces apart. Every heavy swing of his axe split another head open. He kicked, trampled, and drove his knees into people however he pleased.

Bones shattered and broke, bodies torn apart. Chunks of flesh fell to the floor.

Splat, splat.

The situation ended almost instantly. Blood covered the floor, and twisted corpses lay everywhere.

The man stood among them, his shoulders rising and falling as he breathed heavily for a while.

Wheeze, wheeze.

“Uuugh...”

Whoosh! Thud!

The man chopped down at the neck of someone groaning on the floor. Then he grabbed the head by its hair and walked toward Ricart.

Bloody footprints marked the floor with every step. Blood streamed from the severed neck in his hand.

A cheap prostitute stood near Ricart. She could only tremble, unable even to scream. Urine ran down her legs and spread across the floor.

The bartender who had been speaking with Ricart dropped to the floor as the man approached. They shook in terror.

Had causing trouble in a tavern not meant making an enemy of the thieves’ guild? But the man did not seem to care about such unwritten rules at all.

Ricart simply watched him. The man glanced at Ricart, then immediately looked away without paying him any attention. As he came closer, his wheezing grew louder.

He grabbed a bottle of liquor from the bar and poured it over the scratches and cuts across his forearms.

Then he threw the empty bottle to the floor.

Clang!

The man put the head into his empty bundle and walked out of the tavern. Most people had gathered in the corners, trembling as they watched him.

“Th-the Nameless One... X the Nameless...”

The bartender muttered from the floor. X the Nameless was a famous bounty hunter and one of the Nine Swords of the Empire. Why was he here?

“It must be cold outside...”

Boribori muttered to himself.

Ricart was certain that man had attacked the carriage they had seen earlier that day. The man strangely overlapped with the person Ricart had been in his previous life, and Ricart felt drawn toward him like a magnet.

“Let’s follow him.”

“Huh?”

“I said let’s follow him. It doesn’t look like they’ll give us any information if we stay here anyway.”

“It’s cold outside.”

“Can’t be helped.”

“Then let’s go.”

“Grab a lantern and come out.”

“Okay.”

Boribori casually took one of the tavern’s lanterns.

Then the two boys walked toward the entrance, where the blizzard still whirled inside. This time, they shut the door behind them.

Clunk.

The tavern became quiet again, though it was already a complete wreck.

No one dared make a sound. Only the noise of blood dripping from the edge of a table could be heard.

Drip, drip.

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