WeTried Translations

Translator/Editor: ZERO_SUGAR

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◈ Ode of the Brave ◈

Chapter 44

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The world did not contain only beautiful, fragrant things. There were more things that were dirty and ugly.

But what if the world had been filled with nothing but beautiful things? Humans would probably have been unable to bear the boredom.

In the end, it was the nasty habit of the animal called humanity to destroy heaven with their own hands. Or perhaps, conversely, that was what made humans human.

Marie had left a safe, protected environment, half by her own choice and half against her will, and entered the dirty, ugly world.

She had not set out with the mindset of a thoughtless girl full of dreams. She had heard enough, one way or another, to know that the world was dangerous and brutal.

Still, vaguely imagining something and experiencing it firsthand were as different as heaven and earth.

Some things were less serious than she had worried they would be, while other things she had thought were nothing turned out to be more dangerous and difficult than expected.

Not knowing where to go, dangerous people whose intentions she could not read, hunger, cold, and death.

It was a world where death was never far beyond the front gate. Of course she was afraid and wanted to avoid it. But was it right to live while forgetting that, or should she accept it?

Then she met the two boys. Ricart and Boribori. When they spoke normally, they were simply children her own age, but they differed from her in countless little ways.

Watching the time, judging the weather, packing what they needed, and above all, knowing where to go, choosing a path, and walking it.

There was something in the boys that Marie did not have. It was the distinctive composure and strength possessed only by people who had grown up, along with the air that flowed from it.

And there was also how they acted when faced with danger.

“Y-you bastard!”

“Kill him!”

The thugs shouted. Instead of backing away, Ricart threw himself at them.

Several grown men rushed at the lone boy, but the space was cramped. Ricart lowered his stance, slashed one man across the side, and darted into the narrow gap.

Then, passing the thugs, he sprang lightly onto a table in full armor.

He bent his knees until he was almost crouching on the tabletop, then spun around once as quickly as a top.

Whoosh.

The thugs turned toward Ricart, and something pale flashed before their eyes with a sharp sound cutting through the air.

The arc of the sharp blade sliced across several people’s eyes, noses, cheeks, and necks. One man whose gums were cut lost his teeth in a clatter.

“Aaaaaaagh!”

The screams of those who were startled mixed with the screams of those cut by the blade. Some of them rushed at Ricart on the table.

But Ricart leaped lightly off the table again. As he did, he swung his sword swiftly through the air from side to side.

Two heads dropped with thud thud.

Everyone watching but Boribori stared wide-eyed at the skill that was nearly divine. They could not tell whether they felt fear or admiration.

When Ricart kicked one of the headless bodies, those rushing him without a thought were blocked by it. They fumbled to shove the corpse aside and attack Ricart, but he was no longer there.

From then on, they could not even tell where he was. They only heard the sound of a sword swinging. Each time, someone died in a spray of blood.

Some staggered and fell. Others died in a single blow.

What is this? Am I having a nightmare?

That was what the thugs on the receiving end thought.

Ricart had changed since he last left the tavern called Anna’s Loss. Had he grown? No, more accurately, it was a change in style.

Once someone reached a certain level, it was less about what was better or worse and more about differences in style. Without realizing it, Ricart had begun to resemble the Nameless One.

But he was not simply imitating him. He had made it his own.

His style had been marked by timing that seized fleeting moments and clean lines. Now, he did not care much for those things. He fought more as he felt, in a somewhat rougher way.

And certainly, his body had grown a little over the past few months, and his strength had improved as well. He was getting closer and closer to the skill he had possessed in his prime.

Meanwhile, Marie watched it all as if spellbound. She did not see the thugs dying. She saw only Ricart.

He was like a painter creating a picture with blood as paint. A master’s work with very rough lines.

It was shockingly beautiful. She had never seen anything like it, nor had she ever imagined such skill.

Thud. Crash.

The last thug fell across a table like laundry hanging from a clothesline, then fell to the floor with the table. It did not take long to deal with six or seven thugs.

No tables or chairs remained standing properly, and the place was covered in blood. The thick smell of blood was enough to make one dizzy.

The others huddled in a corner, trembling in fear. Just as they had when the Nameless One came here.

Ricart swung his sword through the air, roughly shaking off the blood. Drops splattered across the ceiling and walls. Then, avoiding the mess and the pools of blood, he approached Boribori and Marie.

Boribori held out a towel stained brown. It was a towel that had been washed and reused many times, and the brown stains were bloodstains.

Ricart wiped down the sword, sheathed it, and returned it to its owner. Then he looked at Marie.

“I fought so my armor wouldn’t get scratched too badly. But some blood splashed onto this surcoat.”

He pointed to the purple surcoat worn over his armor.

“...Huh?”

“I’m asking if that’s okay.”

“Y-yeah...”

“Anyway, we can’t stay here now.”

Boribori looked over the wrecked tavern. When he turned to look at the bartender, the man was breathing heavily despite having done nothing but stand there. He was trembling like a leaf.

When Ricart approached him, the bartender’s legs gave out and he collapsed. Ricart spoke to the man, whose mouth moved soundlessly.

“You know this wasn’t our fault, right?”

The bartender nodded frantically. Ricart and Boribori left him behind and walked out of the tavern.

Unlike before, there was no trace of innocence left in them. They had gone through many things like this over the winter, and they also had the ability to deal with the consequences of what they did.

“What are you doing? Let’s go, Marie.”

“Y-yeah.”

Marie felt a little lightheaded, but she barely pulled herself together and followed Ricart and Boribori.

Once outside, the warm air vanished, and cold air wrapped around their faces again. Still, freed from the stench and smell of blood, Marie felt as if her head had cleared.

In the end, the three had no choice but to sleep outside. Was it better to sleep while smelling blood, or endure the cold? From experience, Ricart and Boribori thought the latter was better.

They lit a campfire in a suitable spot, and Ricart took off his armor again. Even without anyone helping him, he removed it remarkably well on his own, as if he had handled combat equipment for a long time.

“You should be able to wear it again tomorrow.”

Ricart looked at Marie as he spoke.

“Yeah...”

“Anyway, you’re not as shocked as I expected.”

Boribori spoke to Marie.

“Huh?”

“People usually freeze up when they see someone die for the first time. Have you seen it before?”

“Well, I have seen executions fairly often. Beheadings, hangings, burnings, drownings, dismemberment... Is what happened earlier better than that? Anyway.”

There were many kinds of execution. Since it was an era that valued honor, even the method of execution differed when criminals were put to death. The method changed according to the crime and the criminal’s status.

When the criminal was a noble, they were generally beheaded. Even then, there was a difference between being beheaded by a sword and by an axe.

Being beheaded with an axe was dishonorable.

Witches and mages were not always burned at the stake, but there was a high chance they would be. It meant burning even their souls, in case they cursed someone after death.

In the countryside, a lord sometimes carried out beheadings personally. In cities, there were professional executioners.

And many executions were public. Since entertainment was scarce, public executions were a kind of popular show.

One of the most horrible executions involved climbing a ladder to a high place, tying up the criminal, and having a skilled torturer flay them for days. The longer they kept the person alive, the more money they earned.

“That makes sense.”

Boribori understood at once. Though Boribori was innocent by nature, the harshness of the times had given him a kind of tolerance for cruel things.

“By the way, where does Ricky rank? Are all Academy students as strong as you?”

“He’s first.”

Boribori answered in place of Ricart, who was roasting sweet potatoes and potatoes. Marie visibly panicked.

“Huh? Uh...”

“What? Was he not good enough to be first?”

“Huh? N-no. No, that’s not it.”

Ricart and Boribori did not understand why she was so flustered, but they did not care much.

“Marie, have you ever killed someone?”

Ricart asked. His eyes were fixed on the potatoes roasting in the campfire. The firelight made his hazel eyes look reddish.

“No. Not yet.”

“Then you should brace yourself.”

“I am prepared.”

“What kind of preparation?”

“To not hesitate.”

For some reason, Ricart and Boribori grinned. Since she did not know why they were laughing, Marie only blinked.

“Not that. I mean killing people, cutting them down and all that. It’s strangely addictive, you know? Don’t get too caught up in it.”

“...”

It was shocking and chilling, something she had never even heard from her swordsmanship instructor. Marie was speechless.

What kind of kids are these...?

Boribori rolled a hot potato back and forth between both palms to cool it. It was still cold out, so it felt quietly pleasant.

“Ricky and I talked about why bad people are bad, and that’s usually it. They develop a taste for killing people. Then they enjoy the way others look at them in fear. They get drunk on that and do worse things, until they can’t turn back. They forget what kind of person they used to be.”

“That’s why I said principles were important before.”

Ricart split a sweet potato in half and held one piece out. Its golden flesh gave off an appetizing scent.

Marie felt overwhelmed and had nothing to say. She only held the half sweet potato, blowing on it and eating it little by little.

“Training hard and getting stronger are only part of the process. They can’t become the goal itself. I think it’s more important to make good friends and overcome hardships together.”

“Right, right.”

Ricart spoke, and Boribori agreed.

But perhaps they could say such things only because they were as strong as they were. It was a world where weakness left one unable to do anything.

Still, it could not be helped. Whether their starting lines differed or the ground beneath them stood higher, the two boys simply saw things differently from ordinary people.

What they had gone through, their experiences, how they had grown. So much had happened over the past year.

And there was still another year ahead.

The three set off for Beringen early in the morning. It was about a day’s walk at a normal pace, so they hurried a little.

But the return journey was not as easy as the trip there. The snow had begun to melt, turning the road muddy.

Their feet sank into the mud up to their ankles, so they walked through grassy fields instead. The roots held the ground together more firmly, making it easier.

Marie looked exhausted walking in armor again. Sweat poured down despite the cold weather. Still, perhaps because she had trained her mana somewhat, she managed to keep up even while tired.

Ricart and Boribori did not show her more consideration than necessary. They did not carry her on their backs or hold her helmet and sword for her.

They only judged the time by the sun, walked ahead, and waited for her.

“S-sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize. We’re not tired.”

“...Huh?”

The two boys certainly thought differently from ordinary people.

In any case, after resting a little and walking diligently, they reached Beringen around evening.

Ricart and Boribori felt as though they had returned home. In unfamiliar places, people unconsciously remained on edge, and that was mentally exhausting.

The two boys entered the guild headquarters below the hill first. Dunkel was there, resting his chin on a hand with his elbow on the bar. The moment he saw Ricart, his eyes went wide.

Then he sucked in a breath as if he had seen a ghost.

“Gasp!”

“What’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a dead person.”

“...N-no.”

Regardless of Dunkel’s reaction, Ricart took Erze’s ears, Reto’s crystal ball and magic wand, and Reto’s bizarre nose from Boribori’s bag and placed them on the bar.

“We completed the request. Are the children doing well?”

Dunkel looked at the items on the bar. His already wide eyes grew even wider, and he looked as though he might faint from shock.

“You didn’t decide we would fail and stop sending food, did you? That wouldn’t be funny.”

Ricart spoke politely, but his tone was clearly threatening. Dunkel seemed out of his mind for a while, staring blankly. Then he quickly shook his head.

“N-no. The children, the children never starved to death. I swear. You sent a lot of money while you were gone.”

“Really? That’s a relief.”

“N-no, that’s not what I mean. You really...”

“Someone helped us. We learned a lot. Both Bori and I did.”

Ricart spoke calmly. But despite the boy’s calmness, what he had accomplished was truly hard to believe.

“Was anything wrong at the Academy? Other than the food problem.”

“...Uh, well.”

Dunkel seemed to need time to collect himself. His eyes shifted as he thought. After swallowing once, he spoke.

“I think you need to straighten some people out. Some students who are hard to control joined recently. If that’s a problem, then that’s the problem. But it’s not a major problem, exactly. Anyway, you came back safely. Honestly, I didn’t expect you to.”

Ricart merely smiled faintly.

“Prepare some hot water. I’m very tired. It feels like I’ve come home.”

“Sure. Rest first, and we can talk later. You did well. We’ll discuss the reward in detail tomorrow.”

They had killed two members of the Ernberg Five. It was not something that could be settled simply with a little money.

Moreover, it was not only those two who had died. Every member of the Ernberg Five was dead, and two of the Nine Swords of the Empire had died at once.

Ricart did not really understand the impact of the incident. He did not know what response the guild needed to make, or whether other powerful figures in the world would take notice.

In any case, Ricart and Boribori needed rest now. No, there were three people who needed rest.

“Oh, right. Please prepare enough bathwater for three people. We have someone with us. She’s an Academy student too. We met her on the way here.”

Ricart pointed his thumb at Marie. She wore Ricart’s red cloak and had pulled the hood low, so her face could not be seen clearly.

That was not difficult, so Dunkel nodded. He caught sight of the purple surcoat beneath the cloak, but he was too shocked to pay attention to it now.

Ricart unpacked in his room, took off his clothes, and soaked in heated bathwater. A weariness so deep it nearly made him lose consciousness washed over him.

Boribori felt the same, as did Marie, who was not used to travel. They had slept outside for two nights.

People who suffered together naturally grew close because they developed a sense of kinship.

Having that kinship meant that the range in which they could understand each other had widened. As that kinship grew, they became especially close.

Thus winter passed, and spring slowly approached. New ties began to sprout like the buds of spring.

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