WeTried Translations

Translator/Editor: ZERO_SUGAR

Discord: https://dsc.gg/wetried

◈ Ode of the Brave ◈

Chapter 52

──────

* * *

A headless person was holding their own head tucked beneath their left arm. Ricart watched their back.

The person slowly turned to look at Ricart.

It was Steiner.

The head, severed from where it should have been, opened its mouth as though it were still alive.

“What’s the difference between you and me?”

“...”

“You’re far worse. Compared to you, I’m nothing more than one of the Demon Lord’s lackeys. Isn’t that right?”

“...”

“I simply never had them. A loving family. Decent friends. God and the world never allowed me to have them. Is that my fault?”

“...”

Ricart wanted to open his mouth and say something, but no words would come out. The frustration was enough to drive him mad.

Steiner gave a derisive snort, then spoke one final time before walking away into the abyss.

“Life is pain, and reality is hell, my friend. I understand those words.”

Ricart wanted to run after Steiner, grab hold of Steiner, and shout that they were different. But his limbs would not move, and the words remained trapped in his throat.

Desperate with frustration, he struggled wildly, then woke from the nightmare with a scream, jerking his upper body upright.

The moment he woke, he felt someone resting their head against his chest.

“Argh!”

“Ah! You scared me!”

Ricart moved on reflex. He grabbed the unknown person by the hair and sharply bent their head back, then pulled out the dagger beside his pillow and thrust it forward.

No, the dagger stopped beneath Marie’s chin.

Ricart stared at Marie with wide eyes. Marie looked just as startled, her head bent back.

Their faces were close enough to kiss. They could feel each other’s startled breaths.

Ricart flinched, quickly released her hair, and pulled back the dagger.

“S-Sorry.”

“I-It’s okay.”

Ricart gathered his senses and looked around. They were inside a tent, and Boribori was sleeping soundly in the corner beneath a blanket. Two of his fingers were tightly wrapped in bandages.

A wet towel lay on the ground nearby. It seemed to have been resting on his forehead.

“You were groaning, so I thought you might have a fever...”

Marie said, smoothing her hair.

“Sorry. I’m really sorry. I had a bad dream. I’m not usually like this. I’m sorry.”

“...”

An awkward silence settled between them. Ricart touched his forehead for no reason, then picked up the wet towel.

“Thanks.”

“It’s nothing. We help each other.”

“Did you get any sleep?”

“Yeah...”

“You couldn’t sleep well because of me.”

“No...”

Ricart was still not fully awake when he suddenly realized that the front of his clothes had been loosened.

Wait. Someone had their head against my chest earlier.

“I! I had to listen to your heart, your heartbeat. That’s what you do with patients.”

Marie spoke in a fluster.

Ricart tilted his head. Was that really a thing?

“Is that so? Anyway, thank you. Get some sleep. I think I’m fully awake now.”

“I-I got enough sleep too. I’m fine.”

Ricart still felt both sorry and grateful. In any case, he was wide awake now, so he fixed his clothes and stepped outside the tent. Dawn was already breaking.

Several people from the Widowmaker Clan were standing night watch. Volka and Delphi were asleep in a tent with no entrance, holding each other tightly.

Amazingly, none of their side had died the previous night. The enemy had not suffered as many losses as expected either. After roughly checking the high ground, Ricart found only a little over a dozen corpses.

Most had died from shoving each other, or from mistaking allies for enemies and stabbing or cutting them down. Some had rolled down the high ground and cracked their heads against rocks.

The flames that had burned all night were now sending up cold smoke. Yet the enemy had not fled very far. They were still sleeping or wandering around the Kaits area.

It was hard to understand. Ordinary soldiers would have run all the way home, but perhaps because they were adventurers, they did not seem particularly shaken by their defeat.

In fact, most did not think they themselves had lost. They thought the guild had lost. That was how lower-rank adventurers saw things.

The people whose standing was heavily affected by whether their guild prospered or collapsed were at least intermediate-rank adventurers.

As the sky gradually brightened, Ricart turned to look at the eastern horizon.

The sun had not appeared yet, but its bluish presence was already visible beyond the distant horizon.

Ricart sat down and waited for the sun to rise. Marie sat beside him and looked in the same direction.

Then Ricart felt something gently settle onto his shoulder.

“If you’re going to lean on me, lean properly. You look exhausted.”

“Huh? I-Is that okay?”

“You’re already leaning on me. Why ask now?”

Ricart let out a small laugh and gently wrapped an arm around Marie’s waist, pulling her closer.

Marie froze in surprise, but Ricart held her head and guided it onto his shoulder. She was afraid he might hear her heart pounding.

Ricart quietly watched the sun rise.

The sun rose and set every day, yet the magnificent sight filled him with an indescribable emotion.

The sun peeked over the horizon, then slowly rose and spread hands of light across the whole world in an instant. Who could possibly imitate that?

Ricart felt humbled as he watched the sunrise with Marie.

“Ricky.”

“Hmm?”

“You... Never mind.”

“What is it?”

“It’s just nice being with you.”

“I feel the same.”

The words they exchanged were neither light nor heavy. But their feelings seemed slightly out of step. Marie sensed that subtle difference. So she thought this was good enough.

As time passed, people woke one by one. Reinhart urinated off the rocky cliff from early morning. He had drunk so much alcohol that the stream did not stop for quite some time.

“Ahh, that feels good.”

Volka, Delphi, and Boribori woke as well. The five of them lit a campfire, sat around it, and ate breakfast. As always, it was potatoes, sweet potatoes, smoked ham, and the like.

“Hey, yesterday was seriously satisfying. Honestly, I was a little scared. But it was nothing much.”

Volka said as he gave Delphi a sweet potato first.

But Ricart shook his head.

“I don’t think this will work.”

“Huh? Why? Didn’t you say we could handle it?”

“The enemy isn’t running away as much as I expected. It’s not good in the long term.”

“Can’t we fight like yesterday?”

“No. That was a fight left to luck. It wasn’t planned. When something happens, we can’t just react to it each time. We might get good results once or twice. But if we keep doing it and mess up even once, we’ll all die.”

Since this was a fight between groups that could not be properly controlled, even Ricart could not predict what would happen.

Ricart interpreted the situation based on his experience from his previous life, but he was not bound by it. A guild war was clearly something he had never experienced before, so he kept observing.

Nobody knew what unexpected situation might arise. There were no proper commanders, and even if there were, adventurers would not listen for shit. There was no telling what might happen.

So once something happened, they had to make judgments and act in ways that would gain an advantage within that situation. But if things continued like this, the smaller side would eventually be at a disadvantage.

“Then what do we do? I don’t think we can talk sense into that pig.”

Volka said, pointing toward the defense tower.

Ricart let out a breath through his nose.

“There won’t be a problem for a while. The enemy took a hard hit too. But in the long run, headquarters needs to send support. Or at least, we need to know what’s happening over there.”

Ricart wanted to understand the overall situation. But right now, he could not. He did not know how the war was going, or whether they truly had no allies at all.

“Who goes?”

“You know where headquarters is, Volka. Go with Delphi.”

“Will you be okay?”

It might not have seemed like losing two people would make much difference to their fighting strength, but it did. Their numbers were so small, and the Viola Clan had only five members. On top of that, Boribori had injured his fingers.

“Bori, are you okay?”

Ricart asked, looking at Boribori’s fingers.

“Yeah.”

“Don’t just say that. Are you really okay?”

“I used a potion. What a waste.”

“Still, don’t move those fingers carelessly for three days.”

“Okay.”

Ricart looked back at Volka.

“Let’s do this. We’ll watch the situation for a few days first. If things seem all right, you two can head to headquarters.”

“That sounds best.”

The Viola Clan had decided on its own course of action.

It would have been nice if they could coordinate with the Widowmaker Clan as well, but Ricart worried whether they could even communicate properly.

When Ricart went to ask Reinhart what he planned to do, Reinhart seemed hesitant, perhaps because he had seen Ricart the day before. He did not speak in his usual rough voice.

“I’m just going to defend this place...”

“But you attacked recklessly yesterday.”

“Those bastards were the ones acting cowardly.”

“Then who was guarding the defense tower?”

“We defended it anyway.”

Ricart was at a loss for words.

How did this man’s mind work?

Still, he had come to one clear realization. The very idea that he could make adventurers do as he wished was wrong. Adventurers were never soldiers, and guilds and clans were not armies.

In the end, the Viola Clan had no choice but to follow its own policy and coordinate with the Widowmaker Clan as best it could whenever necessary.

Ricart watched the enemy from the high ground.

They showed no signs of being defeated soldiers. The enemy was just as disorganized as they were.

Some groups seemed to be leaving the war altogether, while others appeared to be looking for food.

Around forty people from the group of eighty scattered and headed elsewhere.

People who seemed to be at least clan leader rank gathered and appeared to be talking. But judging by their gestures and shaking heads, they too seemed unable to reach any agreement.

Around noon, a group of people suddenly climbed the high ground. They had not come on anyone’s orders. They were acting on their own.

“Hey! Ricky of the Red Cape! Fight me!”

A tall, bare-chested man shouted with a two-handed sword resting on his shoulder.

In weapon classifications, a two-handed sword was a sword larger than a greatsword. The sword Ricart had used in his previous life had been a greatsword.

The opponent’s sword was longer than Ricart was tall, from hilt to tip. It looked quite intimidating.

But Ricart sprang forward as though he had been waiting for this. In truth, Ricart was acting on his own as well.

The difference was that Ricart stepped forward because he judged that killing skilled enemies when he could do so with certainty outside a chaotic melee would be helpful. He was not accepting a duel to show off or prove himself.

When Ricart stepped forward, the people of the Widowmaker Clan and his companions came down as well, unlike the day before. They carefully watched their surroundings, keeping guard in case anyone tried another ambush.

Perhaps understanding the meaning of that, the enemy chose one of the flatter areas on the high ground as the dueling ground.

Ricart’s opponent spread his long arms wide, apparently trying to seize the initiative and make his already large body appear even bigger.

“I am Folk, the Iron Horn of Tanburg!”

Ricart was not about to be intimidated by that. He simply drew his sword and tossed the scabbard toward where his allies stood.

“Ricky of the Viola Clan.”

The duel began.

The man with the great blade swung it around in broad circles. As he did, he cautiously measured the distance between them.

Ricart held his longsword in one hand, resting the flat of the blade against his shoulder. Without taking any particular stance, he calmly walked around Folk.

He moved around the outer edge as though drawing a circle, subtly closing the distance. Folk was no ordinary opponent either. He stopped swinging the sword and powerfully swept it toward Ricart.

Whoooosh!

The sword was so large that its wind pressure could be felt. Its range was beyond imagination, and its destructive power was tremendous.

But Ricart bent so low that his upper body nearly touched the ground and instead slipped toward his opponent. His sword remained braced against one shoulder, while his other hand touched the ground.

Folk realized that his attack had missed. But because of his great reach, he managed to retreat quickly enough. Then, as Ricart relentlessly closed the distance, Folk lashed out with a huge foot.

At that moment, Ricart planted his foot and swung his sword hard.

Whoosh!

Thud!

Folk’s knee was severed.

He squeezed his eyes shut.

His body tilted and fell to the side, but before his head even hit the ground, before he could let out a scream, his neck was cut.

The moment Ricart cut his opponent’s leg, he had swung his sword upward. His skill with a sword was almost ghostly.

Whiiish!

Thud!

Crash.

The huge man collapsed, missing one leg and his head, blood spurting out in streams.

Ricart rested his sword against his shoulder again and surveyed the enemy. His breathing had not even grown ragged. His inhales and exhales remained steady.

Yet surprisingly, almost no one looked frightened. Most wore expressions as though they had just watched something entertaining.

It was fun to watch in daylight.

Just as nobles had no notion of dying for their country, adventurers did not care much if someone died unless they belonged to the same clan. So they watched with pure interest and admiration.

Only a few stared closely at Ricart with gleaming eyes.

Folk’s companions came forward and collected the body.

Ricart walked around with heavy steps, looking over the enemy as though asking whether anyone else wanted to challenge him. No one seemed willing to step forward yet, so he returned to the defense tower.

Only the next day did someone request a duel, and another person did so the day after that. They seemed to have put their heads together to analyze Ricart’s fighting style before challenging him.

But every challenger died. Ricart’s swordsmanship had no fixed form that could be countered.

Most tried to counter it by fighting awkwardly, then died without even displaying their own skills properly.

Then, as the days passed, something absurd happened. Civilians suddenly began gathering around Kaits, then settled there.

They had come for one reason only.

To watch the duels.

In an age when even public executions were a kind of show, duels fought at the risk of death were a rare spectacle.

Ricart could not even guess what was going on.

This was a guild war?

Join our discord at https://dsc.gg/wetried