WeTried Translations

Translator/Editor: ZERO_SUGAR

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◈ Ode of the Brave ◈

Chapter 47

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When winter passed and spring ripened, it meant the season of huddling up was over and a good time to work had come. But a good time for work was also a good time for fighting.

No one knew whether a guild war had truly broken out in earnest. Perhaps skirmishes were already underway, or perhaps both sides were merely watching one another.

The Academy, so far removed from the world, had little way of hearing news from it.

But perhaps it was only because it stood apart from the world that it could offer abandoned children a final place to rest.

“Welcome to the Academy! Newbie!”

Carlich shouted inside the boys’ dormitory of the Inner Castle. Anyone could hear how excited he was.

He threw a blanket over the new student, then enthusiastically beat them together with the other students.

After they had hit the newcomer enough, Carlich pulled off the blanket and grabbed the student’s arm, forcibly hauling them to their feet. The new student looked half out of it and wore a pained expression from the beating.

“With this, you’re now a proud member of Beringen Academy! All right, everyone, applause!”

Clap clap clap clap clap!

As though presenting the winner of a tournament, Carlich raised the new student’s arm before the other students.

Then he looked at Ricart as if asking, Didn’t I do well?

“...”

Watching Carlich’s performance from the top bunk, Ricart did not know whether to call it ridiculous or simply say nothing at all.

Unlike when they had first met, Carlich was more enthusiastic about Academy life than anyone else.

In truth, children from noble families far removed from inheritance were not much different from bastards, apart from the degree.

What kind of family would be mad enough to send its heir to the Academy? Coming to an Adventurer Academy meant, put harshly, being cast out. Put kindly, it meant receiving one final bit of support so they could make a life for themselves.

In the past, people had disliked the idea of becoming adventurers, but that view had softened somewhat.

After all, nobles had hired the Adventurer Guild in one way or another and found it useful.

They also thought there was not much difference between dying in a knight order, dying in a mercenary company, or dying as an adventurer.

And in each case, someone who succeeded in their chosen group could help their family.

No, adventurers could be even more useful in practical terms.

Knight orders followed the knight commander’s orders first, and mercenary companies cost too much. Adventurers were simply more versatile.

“You can use this bed. Stop whining. Is this all the clothing you have? Do you have food? Tell me anytime if you’re hungry. Ask that one about chores for now, and tell me if you need work in the city. Classes cost money, you know. I can lend you some, but first you’ll need to find a job in the city...”

Carlich led the new student to an empty spot while explaining this and that.

There was nothing wrong with it, but that was the problem, if it could be called one.

Carlich had far too much motivation.

After Ricart beat him soundly on his first day, it was not that Carlich had come to his senses. He had simply realized, Ah, there are rules here too, and adjusted himself to them.

He adapted very quickly. He was sharp, full of drive, and so eager that it was almost burdensome.

Carlich was a noble, but not a traditional noble.

In other words, he came from a merchant-noble family.

Traditional nobles were those who held titles, owned land no matter how small, and fulfilled a knight’s duty.

Merchant nobles had no titles, only family businesses. They might own private property, but that was different from a territory attached to a title.

For that reason, traditional nobles often did not even consider merchant nobles to be true nobles.

There were even cases where a merchant noble came to the battlefield armed, only for a traditional noble to refuse to fight beside “someone like that.”

Still, traditional nobles could live in poverty in the countryside, while merchant nobles could have enough money to live in magnificent mansions in the city.

That was the reality. But this was an age when family records, bloodlines, and honor mattered. No matter how wealthy they were, city nobles had no choice but to yield before traditional nobles.

Even their seating was different at an official event held by a ruler.

Of course, they often looked down on one another in private.

Country bumpkins strutting around just because of their bloodline.

What kind of noble was a mere merchant?

“Ricky, Ricky.”

Carlich approached Ricart with a sheet of paper in hand.

“...What?”

“You said you’d buy clothes for the kids. I got their measurements and organized them here.”

Ricart took the paper. It listed the names of the Academy students, along with their height, arm length, leg length, waist measurements, and more.

“...”

This was the first time he had seen such a neat, organized list in the Academy, which usually ran on rough improvisation.

“I think dark blue would be best. Other colors are often extracted from plants, so supply can be difficult depending on the season. Lapis lazuli is expensive, but there’s a mine nearby, so we should still be able to get it cheaper than elsewhere. I did the calculations, and it should fit the budget more or less. If we’re making them anyway, shouldn’t we make them look good? It’ll raise the pride of our Beringen Academy. So, if you leave it to me, I’ll handle it. I won’t disappoint you.”

Carlich looked at Ricart with expectation written across his face, his eyes showing too much white.

Ricart saw madness in those clear eyes and felt a kind of fear he had never known before.

“Uh, uh...”

“Great!”

Carlich happily clenched his fist.

“No, but why are you working so hard? Is it because you’re worried I’ll say something?”

At Ricart’s question, Carlich grinned, his eyes still showing too much white.

That smile made him even scarier.

“No one interferes with me here. There’s no scolding from Father, no contempt from my brothers. For the first time, I feel like I’m a useful person. It’s better not to have status at all. I’m sick of traditional nobles and merchant nobles. Everyone here is a brother. And I looked through Imperial law. There’s a provision that says, ‘In the name of Emperor Martellus, under the Empire’s protection, an Academy follows the laws, rules, and traditions of the Academy.’ That means we can make our own laws, rules, and traditions, doesn’t it? Isn’t that exciting?”

It was the first Ricart had heard of such a thing.

In reality, most regions followed their own customary laws, while written Imperial law often existed in name only.

If the Emperor tried to force Imperial law upon them, it could provoke the local nobles. Strict enforcement was difficult, so even the Emperor did not invoke Imperial law carelessly.

To be honest, the Emperor himself did not know much about it. He simply asked a legal officer whenever the need arose.

Still, everyone followed a few important provisions. Men inherited titles and territories first. Lords across the land held their own judicial, executive, and military authority, but could not negotiate with nations beyond the Empire. When judging and punishing criminals, one had to be fair before God.

Ricart had learned only the very basics at home, such as reading, writing, and simple arithmetic. He had never received an advanced education, so it was simply fascinating to him.

Carlich’s eyes shone like stars with his own ambitions.

There was a little madness mixed in too, of course.

Watching him, Ricart felt that properly educated nobles really were different.

Still, Carlich made him feel uncomfortable and pressured, so Ricart quietly slipped away.

He left the room and went up to the second floor, intending to study ancient script in an empty classroom.

But Boribori was already there, reading something.

“Oh? Ricky.”

“What are you reading?”

“The sex lives of the ancients.”

“...Why are you reading something like that?”

“There aren’t many ancient books, and there are even fewer handwritten copies among them, so I’m not in a position to be picky. Besides, it’s surprisingly interesting.”

Ricart had nothing to say to that.

So he sat beside Boribori, rested his chin on his hand, and looked out the window. Blue sky and open fields filled Ricart’s hazel eyes. A gentle breeze stirred his shining blond hair.

“Are you bored?”

Boribori asked.

“Hm? No.”

“You look bored. Want to make a bet with me?”

“What kind of bet?”

“I can’t beat you, Ricky, so we each teach someone and have them fight each other. Whoever’s student wins, wins.”

“I’m not doing that. There’s no one who understands what I’m saying anyway.”

Ricart taught the students from time to time, but they often failed to understand him, leaving him frustrated.

Other than sparring with the friends he had before graduation, commonly called the Nine, he had not taught anyone particularly well.

“Then write a book. Someone who understands you might appear someday.”

“A book?”

“Yeah. But it would be boring to write it normally, so why not write it in ancient script? You can study at the same time.”

Ricart was interested.

It did not sound like a bad way to pass the time.

Lately, Ricart felt as though the Academy was gradually leaving his hands. He had not exactly managed it, but the students worked hard and improved on their own.

Watching them made him proud and happy, but he felt like there was nothing left for him to do.

All Ricart had done at the Academy was lay the groundwork. Do not bully anyone. Do not exploit anyone. At the very least, make sure no one starved to death.

And maintain order and follow the rules.

So if the Academy was doing well on its own, he had nothing to do. He did not need to learn swordsmanship or fighting techniques himself, so he was merely wasting time.

“That sounds good.”

“Hehe, right?”

Ricart immediately spread out some paper and brought ink and a pen.

But something stopped him from the very beginning.

“What should I call it?”

“Ricky Sword Art! You’re supposed to name it after yourself.”

“But that’s too uncool.”

“What? You told me to call mine Bori Sword Art.”

“Anyway, putting my name in it is too clichéd. I’ll just call it Basics of Swordsmanship.”

“Huh? That’s too plain.”

“This is better. It’s fine if it isn’t written well. Whoever understands it will understand it.”

“Ricky, you’re kind of shy, aren’t you?”

Ricart did not deny it. He only smiled.

Then he wrote a large title.

Basics of Swordsmanship.

His handwriting flowed as gracefully as willow branches, filled with his mother’s love. Boribori’s handwriting had more strength to it.

Ricart sorted through his thoughts and began writing a rough outline. Whenever he did not know something about ancient script, he asked Boribori. He also referred to sentences in the book as he wrote.

But since the book was about the sex lives of the ancients, he sometimes saw things he should not have seen and squeezed his eyes shut.

Looking back on his own swordsmanship was fairly enjoyable, but when he remembered the frustration of teaching the other students, he found himself at a loss over what to write.

Should he leave things out?

Was that difficult?

Why was it difficult?

What did difficult even mean?

Hm. He did not know.

His reason for writing was that only those who understood should understand, so Ricart did not think too deeply and kept writing.

Boribori, watching from beside him, said something.

“It feels like you’re writing prose instead of explaining.”

“Is that so? But language isn’t perfect anyway. It can’t be helped. I’m only expressing it as it is. This is the accurate way.”

“I don’t know. Wouldn’t it be better to explain as much as possible?”

“Then you write one too, Bori.”

“I should. I’ll call it Bori Sword Art. Hehehe.”

Boribori put down the book he had been reading, brought over blank paper, and began writing various things.

His handwriting was neat and strong.

The boys’ writing was still unpolished, but the differences between them were already clear.

Ricart seemed to be writing an epic with no distinction between beginning and end, while Boribori truly divided his work into chapters and built it up step by step.

After writing for a long time, they looked over each other’s work.

And their thoughts differed as well.

“Hey, why are you wasting paper on this? Everyone can already do this.”

Ricart frowned at Boribori’s writing and spoke as though he disliked it.

Paper was never cheap. It varied by quality, but paper meant for books was among the most expensive kinds.

“The reader might be a beginner. They should take in and understand simple things first, then gradually move on to harder things. If you just write things like, ‘If you think before striking, it’s too late,’ ‘Focus on accuracy over speed,’ and ‘A powerful attack is meaningless if you do not understand how force works,’ who’s going to understand that?”

When Ricart thought about it, he realized Boribori was right.

But if he wrote every little detail, the work would become far too long, and he did not want to write that much.

Besides, if he went on and on, would he not stray even further from the essence of it all?

Ricart felt an unreasonable urge to resist.

“...That’s why I’m writing it so only people who understand will understand.”

“Um... Then how about this? I’ll make a separate commentary, and you can look it over and review it, Ricky. What do you think?”

“If there’s a commentary, it won’t be cool.”

“No, it’s fine. It’ll still be cool. You really are shy.”

Ricart laughed in disbelief.

Then he reached out and roughly ruffled Boribori’s tawny bowl-cut hair.

Boribori laughed too.

“Hehehe.”

He really had grown a lot.

In a good way.

Ricart felt proud of him.

Boribori was Ricart’s most precious friend, his student, and now perhaps his teacher too.

When someone taught and guided another person, and watched them grow, perhaps the one doing the teaching was also guided and grew in turn.

Spring ripened.

It was good weather for working, good weather for fighting, and good weather for strengthening friendship.

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