WeTried Translations
Translator/Editor: ZERO_SUGAR
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◈ Ode of the Brave ◈
Chapter 54
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The greatest difficulty in any defensive battle was having no initiative.
You never knew when the enemy would attack, so your nerves could not help but stay on edge. It was more mentally exhausting than one might think.
Food was not a concern, but Ricart and his friends had no walls they could trust and rely on.
There were not even trenches or stakes around the defense tower. They had none of the most basic defensive structures.
Adventurers would die before picking up a shovel. That was the greatest difference between them and a regular army. A real army spent far more time holding shovels and pickaxes than weapons.
What was more, it had been three days since Volka and Delphi left, yet there was no sign of them returning. Worrying about his friends was another thing gnawing at Ricart’s mind.
Everyone, not just Ricart, knew that a serious attack was imminent. But when?
Down below the highlands, the mood was festive every day. It was rare enough for people to gather in large groups outside their village communities, and everyone seemed excited simply to be there.
Even at night, people built large fires, roasted meat, sang songs, and danced. Bards played lutes while jesters performed their antics.
Since they could see clearly from above, they could even spot men and women making love in secluded places.
“Damn lovebirds! Eat this!”
Perhaps irritated by the sight, the Widowmaker Clan members hurled excrement and stones at them.
When the startled couples hastily gathered their clothes and ran away, they cackled with amusement.
Reinhart drank himself silly and enjoyed the festive mood. Ricart, Boribori, and Marie took turns guarding the suspension bridge, one at a time.
A round full moon hung in the night sky, making it brighter than usual. When moonlight was truly bright, it could almost feel like morning.
Under the strangely bright moonlight and pleasantly cool air, Ricart sat by a campfire with Marie.
But Marie kept moving close to him, and Ricart subtly edged away. She moved closer again, and he moved away again. They repeated this several times.
Ricart was perceptive enough to understand the girl’s feelings to some extent now. But once or twice was one thing. This was becoming a problem.
As Ricart consciously kept avoiding her, Marie opened her mouth with some embarrassment.
“Um, Ricky...”
“Hm?”
“You know...”
“We can’t let down our guard, Marie. We didn’t come here for fun.”
Ricart deliberately spoke coldly. Marie, who had been about to say something, closed her mouth and lowered her head.
A night with such bright moonlight should have felt special, but right now it only felt cruel. Rather than soothing her heart, it seemed to lay it bare.
I shouldn’t have moved so close. I shouldn’t have brought it up.
Marie was overcome with deep regret over something so small.
But as Ricart said, something ominous truly did happen.
Several dozen people, each holding a torch, were climbing toward the defense tower.
Ricart sprang to his feet. Marie, who had been looking down, flinched in surprise. She too soon sensed something was wrong.
“Hey!”
Ricart shouted toward the Widowmaker Clan. He meant for them to stop fooling around by the cliff and keep a proper watch.
At first, they looked confused, but then they saw the dozens of torches and quickly came to their senses.
What was that?
The people approaching the defense tower were not civilians. Every one of them wore a weapon at their waist.
They were adventurers.
As though carrying out some religious ritual, they strangely did not draw their weapons and remained silent. They simply stood there at a certain distance.
What were they doing?
Then, all of a sudden, the person guarding the narrow path to the defense tower screamed and sprayed blood.
“Aagh!”
Ricart’s head snapped around.
Men with weapons, who had apparently been hiding somewhere, broke through the entrance and rushed up the path.
The real battle had begun.
Drawing his sword, Ricart spoke to Marie.
“Stay with Boribori. If things go bad, cross the bridge.”
“R-Ricky, what about you?”
Ricart did not answer. He ran toward the entrance.
But when the person who had killed the guard saw Ricart, they immediately ran elsewhere.
Then five or six people, each carrying a shield as tall as a person in both hands, pressed together and advanced on Ricart.
Ricart hesitated.
They came prepared.
With a shield wall pushing toward him, Ricart had few options. He tried to quickly change position, but enemies who had barged in with such determination were not about to leave him alone.
The shield wall rapidly drove toward him.
In that instant, Ricart realized what they intended.
They were trying to shove him off the cliff.
Even then, the dozens holding torches did not join the fight. They only watched.
They had been ordered to join in only if victory seemed certain, since they did not have to fight otherwise.
They were lower-rank adventurers who would not listen well and would be of little help anyway. At least they could draw attention.
Whoever had given the order had been fairly clever. It had succeeded in distracting them.
But the enemies’ huge shields blocked their view, and because they were packed so tightly together, they could not easily change direction.
One of them peeked over a shield.
Ricart’s sword flashed like a ghost.
Thwack!
The upper part of the man’s skull, including his eyes, was cleanly sliced away.
The other shield-bearers mindlessly kept pushing forward, shoving one unlucky Widowmaker Clan member along with them.
The man could not even react before being forced over the cliff.
“Aaaaaaah!”
He flailed his arms in midair and fell onto the people below, who had been enjoying themselves around a large fire.
One unlucky person collided with the falling man. Both died instantly.
Crunch!
There was more than one place where broken bones had burst through flesh.
The scene that had resembled a festival became complete chaos in an instant.
“Aaaaaah!”
The top of the cliff was no different.
Reinhart, who had noticed the attack while drinking, seized his massive club and smashed through shields and all.
“You sons of bitches! Just what I needed when I was getting restless!”
Bam!
The blow was so heavy that it simply shattered the shields. Reinhart grabbed nearby enemies by the face and tore at them with his hands.
Once the troublesome shield-bearers were neutralized, Ricart quickly looked around to grasp the state of the battle.
Those holding torches were hesitating, wondering whether they should join in or not. Meanwhile, the intermediate-rank enemies and above had drawn their weapons and begun fighting in earnest.
Ricart first shouted at the lower-rank adventurers holding torches.
“Come any closer and you die!”
Coming from Ricart, the warning made them hesitate.
At the same time, the intermediate-rank enemies and above who heard him all targeted Ricart at once.
Clang! Thud! Clang!
At last, Ricart swung his sword, and moonlight flashed brilliantly.
As always, he broke enemy blades, severed necks, and cut off arms.
When Ricart’s concise and deadly swordsmanship unfolded, two people fell, one with each stroke.
Seeing the terrifying sword they knew so well, someone shouted.
“Fall back! Bring the nets! Drive him toward the cliff!”
Ricart immediately recognized the speaker as the leader.
Someone who knew how to command a large group really was a nuisance.
Wolfgen, the clan master of the Heigen Guild, had stayed far away from Ricart from the beginning as he directed the battle.
The intermediate-rank adventurers and above moved according to his commands. They were not as organized as a trained army, but they still managed to corner Ricart.
They hurled throwing weapons from afar and cast nets whenever he showed an opening, never engaging him directly.
Like a hunted tiger, Ricart could do nothing but keep moving and avoiding them.
He was already outnumbered, and now the terrain worked against him too.
Then Ricart instinctively realized something.
These people had not come to seize the defense tower.
They had come to kill him.
The moment he understood, Ricart decided that his only chance was to draw them away from the tower.
As soon as he reached that decision, he leaped down the slope.
Then he ran toward the lower-rank adventurers carrying torches.
“W-What?!”
The startled adventurers hurriedly moved out of his way.
“What are you doing, you bastards?! Stop him!”
Wolfgen shouted, furious beyond belief.
But the lower-rank adventurers could only resent him inwardly.
You said we didn’t have to fight.
Ricart raced down from the highlands. The upper-rank adventurers who had been waiting to finish him off hurried after him.
Ricart’s tactical judgment proved right.
A gap suddenly opened in the enemy’s forces around the defense tower, and the Widowmaker Clan began its counterattack.
The enemy forces had abruptly split in two, and all of their core strength, the upper-rank adventurers, had gone after Ricart.
Wolfgen panicked for a moment.
Why was this happening? They had almost won.
Even now, the lower-rank adventurers holding torches only watched blankly.
What? It looks like they’re losing. If we had joined in, we would’ve been the ones in danger. Whew, that was close.
The upper-rank adventurers had their own goals. They wanted to kill Ricart, whether to settle personal grudges or restore their clans’ fallen honor.
They had never cared about taking the defense tower.
Only the intermediate-rank adventurers were left stranded in the middle, unable to go forward or retreat.
Then Boribori, who had been guarding the suspension bridge, finished dealing with matters there and joined the battle in earnest.
The intermediate-rank adventurers had no way to hold out.
“Fuck...”
Wolfgen stood there in despair and cursed.
Then Boribori’s sword swung toward him, and Wolfgen quickly lost consciousness.
Meanwhile, Ricart drew the upper-rank adventurers after him as he ran down the highlands. He turned toward an area without civilians and kept running.
His breath caught in his throat, and his vision was spinning, but about ten swordsmen relentlessly pursued him and spread out to surround him.
When one came close, Ricart stopped running and counterattacked.
But upper-rank adventurers had reflexes and physical ability near the limits of human capability. They did not easily give him an opening.
They had truly come prepared today. Forget honorable duels. They focused only on maintaining a distance that was almost close enough to strike while keeping him surrounded.
Their faces made it clear that they meant to kill Ricart by any means necessary.
Sweat beaded on Ricart’s face and those of his enemies. Their eyes shone with utter focus, as though none of them could afford to loosen their concentration.
Ricart could tell at a glance.
They intended to take him down even if they suffered mortal wounds themselves.
And there were not one or two of them.
There were ten.
Is this finally the time I die? Is this as far as I go?
The thought crossed his mind.
But he was not afraid.
That was all.
Then, in that state of extreme tension, taut as a drawn string, someone spoke calmly to Ricart.
It was Gramshwitz.
“Do you have siblings too? Losing a brother is like losing an arm or a leg. That pain and sorrow...”
Ricart did not know who Gramshwitz had lost, but he had siblings himself. He understood those words.
He could also guess the depth of the resentment Gramshwitz held toward him.
But this was not a time for mutual understanding.
The bond forged by resentment could only be cut with swords.
“Hyaah!”
Someone shouted behind Ricart.
But rather than looking back, Ricart rushed at the enemy in front of him.
You attacked from behind. To coordinate with that, you have to attack too.
Sure enough, this time the enemy in front did not keep their distance. Prepared to die, they thrust their sword at Ricart.
The swordsmen on both sides attacked moments later.
Ricart half-turned his upper body and bent his knees deeply. He raised his arm, pressing the flat of his blade against his body.
Then he pulled his sword back with all his strength.
The blade swung horizontally, knocking several swords aside at once.
Claaaaang!
He had created a golden opening.
Gritting his teeth, Ricart swung his sword again.
Whoosh! Thud!
Thud.
After knocking aside several attacks, he had cut halfway through one person’s waist.
Though they were all among the strongest in their own regions, they trembled.
“Y-You monster...!”
Even swordsmen prepared to die were intimidated.
But once Ricart seized an opportunity, he knew not to let it go. He continued his momentum.
He swiftly closed in on those whose footing had briefly tangled, swinging his sword left and right before bringing it down in a flawless display of offense and defense.
Clang! Clang! Thud!
It was not simple swordplay, but art at its highest level.
If there was only one true swordsmanship in the world, this alone seemed worthy of the name.
Two people fell, spraying blood.
Blood also streamed from Ricart’s upper arm.
As the shadow of death fell over him, Ricart instead felt himself becoming more exhilarated.
Like the Nameless One, he drove his enemies back fiercely.
He was like a raging torrent, like a wild blaze.
Yet he was also precise and delicate.
The swordsmen facing Ricart had also lived and would die by the sword.
They were captivated by it.
How could it be so beautiful?
But this would end only when Ricart died, or when all of them died.
In an instant, three of the ten had fallen. The enemies widened the distance again and regained their formation.
They steadied their breathing with rough breaths.
Huff. Huff.
But the encirclement was incomplete. Ricart broke through the gap and ran up toward the highlands again.
Naturally, the enemies pursued him.
Then it happened.
“Ricky!”
Ricart looked up the highlands in surprise.
Marie was urgently running toward him.
His eyes widened.
What? Why?
The remaining seven swordsmen were also flustered by the appearance of someone new.
Still, unlike the Ernberg Five, they were apparently not vicious enough to immediately think of taking Marie hostage.
Not that Marie would have meekly allowed herself to be taken hostage.
Ricart kept running and eventually met Marie halfway down the slope.
Neither spoke.
They simply ran side by side, looking in the same direction.
In a way, it was not even funny.
As they rounded the mountainside, an early field of buckwheat blossoms stretched out before them.
It looked as though sleet had fallen. The round full moon cast its languid light over the field, creating a breathtaking sight.
Ricart and Marie ran through the flowers.
For a moment, neither knew how things had become this way or why they had to run.
Their bodies brushed through grass that had grown to their waists.
Rustle, rustle, rustle.
But they could not run for long.
A precipice lay ahead.
Yet perhaps it was the peculiar madness mingled with the moonlight, but a small part of Ricart felt as though it would be all right to hold hands and leap off together.
Ricart stopped and turned around.
The seven swordsmen stood in the buckwheat field.
Ricart’s meteoric iron sword, Marie’s jin silver sword, and the seven other swords reflected the moonlight.
Everyone panted heavily.
Huff. Huff.
Ricart spoke.
“I’ll move to the right. Marie, put some distance between us. They’ll stay on me. Join me then, and we’ll fight together.”
Even now, Ricart made a tactical decision.
“No, um...”
“Why?”
“I’m sorry, but I don’t think I can say it unless I say it now.”
Ricart looked at Marie.
Marie looked at Ricart.
Their sweat-soaked blond hair clung to their faces.
Her eyes, a mysterious color somewhere between green and brown, and his jewel-like blue eyes were more beautiful than anything.
They were close enough to kiss if either of them leaned forward.
After their earlier conversation, Marie had feared that would be their last exchange.
But she could say it now.
Her heart pounded.
“I think I like you...”
“...”
It truly was not an appropriate time for a confession.
But the moonlit field of buckwheat blossoms was so beautiful that Marie wondered when else she could reveal the pure feeling she had carried for the first time in her life.
Ricart was silent for a long time.
Then he gave a bitter smile and spoke gently.
“I’m sorry. I don’t believe in love. But I can die for you.”
The boy could understand the resentment his enemies held toward him, but he could not understand the girl’s pure love.
No, to be exact, he could not accept it.
Even now, he believed love was another name for the cruelest curse, the seed of all misfortune.
Resentment and love resembled each other.
For a moment, Marie’s mind went blank.
Wait. What did he mean?
I got rejected, didn’t I?
Ricart said nothing more and threw himself to the right.
As expected, the enemies remained wary of Marie, but closed in on Ricart.
Rustle, rustle.
Soon, the seven swordsmen and Ricart clashed.
Metal rang from time to time through the bright moonlit night, and red blood sprayed over the pure white buckwheat blossoms.
One or two at a time, they fell, making the flower field their grave.
Gramshwitz fell as well.
Thus, resentments fell one by one, like fading flowers.
To Marie, Ricart swinging his sword looked more beautiful, more desperate, and more magnificent than ever before.
You jerk...
But as wounds began to multiply across Ricart’s body, Marie ran toward him in a half-dazed state and fought for his sake.
What kind of situation was this?
The boy and girl who had just suffered heartbreak entrusted their lives to each other as they fought.
Entrusting your life to someone was something you could do only with the person you trusted most.
The swordsmen did not run, not even the last one.
In the end, all of them fell in the buckwheat field.
But corpses were not the only things that had fallen there.
Unfulfilled revenge and a rejected first love had fallen with them.
The round full moon seemed to watch the two in silence.
Neither of them spoke.
Quiet moonlight. Modest buckwheat blossoms. Blood and sweat running down the boy’s body. A single tear rolling down the girl’s cheek.
They spoke in place of words.
Chapter 10: Unfulfilled Feelings. End.
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