WeTried Translations

Translator/Editor: ZERO_SUGAR

Discord: https://dsc.gg/wetried

◈ Ode of the Brave ◈

Chapter 57

──────

* * *

Becoming a branch chief was not simple. It was complicated.

First, one had to sign a contract with the guild. It was similar to a vassal contract.

Because transportation and communication had not developed much in this age, a branch chief held nearly independent authority over their branch. However, when necessary, they were obliged to provide supplies and military force to address guild-wide problems together.

In return, the guild had to provide the branch chief with initial settlement funds and protect the branch. It was a two-way, bilateral contract.

Second, the branch chief had to become established in the local area. That was the difficult part.

First, they had to offer gifts and tribute to the local lord to obtain what was essentially the right to do business. Then they had to put down roots in the region by cooperating with existing local forces, or fighting them if necessary.

The Beringen Guild had already made a basic agreement with the Duke of Sigpringer, so the broad framework was in place. But this was a feudal society, and the branch still had to make separate contracts with the duke's vassals.

After securing the right to operate, driving out competing organizations, and safely establishing themselves, they had to manage people.

The clan of a branch chief who had signed a branch contract with the guild master was commonly called the core clan. But a core clan alone was not enough to run a branch.

They had to gather adventurers and manage them so they would carry out requests properly without causing trouble.

Finding capable, trustworthy people was difficult enough, and managing them well was even harder. In fact, that was where every complicated problem arose.

So, when necessary, they had to drive people out, coax and placate them, intimidate them, or even eliminate them.

The responsibility for all of that rested on Volka's shoulders. Ricart and his friends had to help him ensure that the branch settled in properly and ran smoothly.

“Simple, right? First, go to Count Reinhold and offer him a gift. The contract with the duke is already in place, so he'll accept you.”

It was not simple at all, but Sally called it simple. Ricart had not known it before, but she was the deputy master of the Beringen Guild.

Ricart and the others sat across the table from her. They were staring at her with slightly dazed expressions.

That was because a mountain of plates had piled up before Sally.

“What? Is this your first time seeing someone eat?”

Sally accepted another plate from the server. A whole boiled chicken sat on it. The server's expression was not much different from Ricart and the others'.

“...No. You have quite an appetite, but you maintain your figure well.”

Delphi spoke.

“I move that much. Ever since that bastard Dunkel became master, he barely moves at all. He's completely lost his touch.”

Complaining, Sally began tearing apart the chicken with her hands and eating it. Was that her third chicken already? Was that even possible?

Ricart stared at her in blank disbelief, then gestured to Volka that they should leave.

“Then, we'll be going now.”

“Sure, sure. Work is work, but an enemy guild is still lurking around there, so be careful.”

“Yes. You too, Sally.”

Ricart and Volka each carried a chest out of the inn. The chests were not very large, but they were filled with silver coins, making them quite heavy. They were the guild's initial settlement funds.

The two went to the stable attached to the inn. They draped cloth over a donkey's back, loaded the chests on either side, and secured them tightly with rope.

Boribori stroked the donkey's head and gave it a carrot.

“Magnoli, let's go.”

Magnoli was the donkey's name, a variation of magnolia.

Naturally, Boribori had named it on his own. It was the clan's first possession and the first item on its inventory, so it was special to the others as well.

Boribori took the reins and gently led Magnoli onward. Magnoli began to follow with a clop, clop.

The Viola Clan was leaving the small town for none other than Ernberg.

Ernberg had been the base and primary area of activity for the Ernberg Five.

It felt symbolic somehow. Ricart had been the one to put them down, so it almost felt like spoils of war.

Yet it was also the place closest to an enemy guild called Lucerat. It was a border region of sorts, and the current front line.

Establishing themselves there was the Viola Clan's task and mission. It was also a dream that the five of them, none yet twenty years old, had to build together.

“Ah, so you're the boy hero, Red Cape. Then are you Boribori of Fivefold Dismemberment?”

A man with an impressive mustache curled at both ends spoke after pressing his signet ring into red wax. This was Count Reinhold, lord of Nordline, the region that included Ernberg.

“No, Boribori of Fivefold Dismemberment is him.”

The count had addressed Volka, but Volka corrected him while pointing to Boribori.

“Huh? That innocent-looking boy? That gives me chills. To think he enjoys chopping people into pieces with that innocent face.”

“I don't enjoy it...”

“Anyway, I accept your gift offering. You may conduct business in Ernberg. However, I will not protect you. What I mean is that I have taken money from other guilds and issued them permits as well. Whether you want to slash at each other is up to you, but do not harm decent people. I'll overlook a certain amount, but no, you all know that already, so there's no need to say more.”

A chest full of silver coins rested on the count's desk. Half the initial settlement funds had gone toward the gift offering for him.

There was no concept of bribery in this age. Offering gifts or tribute when obtaining permission to conduct business was only natural.

Still, no amount was fixed, and if a lord disliked someone, even a fortune would do them no good. Fortunately, Count Reinhold was fairly easygoing.

Honestly, it was free money, and having a reliable Adventurer Guild in the region was convenient in many ways.

It helped keep the peace, and troublesome matters could be handled through requests. Mobilizing an army or hiring a mercenary company was difficult for a count to afford.

It was not cost-effective, either. One could hardly march out in full armor on a warhorse just to catch a single fly.

And because they did not need much oversight, the Adventurer Guild and noble lords had a relationship rather like crocodiles and crocodile birds.

“Still, getting rid of the Ernberg Five is like having an aching tooth pulled. For Red Cape's sake, I'll personally tell the mayor to find you a good building. Is there anything else you wish to discuss?”

Volka looked around at his friends once, then addressed the count.

“No, there isn't.”

“Good. I wish you fortune in battle. You may go.”

With the most important business permit in hand, Ricart and the others left Count Reinhold's castle.

The castle had been built long ago, then expanded and repaired over many years, making it quite grand. It was beyond comparison with the castle in Ricart's hometown of Stormhertz.

Even a lord who lived in a castle like this could not easily mobilize an army. That was why this was an age when lords had to arm themselves and fight personally.

With its now-lighter load, Magnoli walked toward Ernberg.

The journey from the count's castle to Ernberg took a day, so the group had to sleep outdoors along the way. Having a donkey made a great difference.

They could carry more travel equipment, pitch a fairly proper shelter, and bring pots, ladles, and tableware, which allowed for a more varied meal.

It was also near the end of spring, and the weather was suitable. The nights were still chilly, but compared to winter, they were wonderfully warm.

In the north, the grass grew short, while the trees were thick, straight, and tall. Most were firs.

Their shelter was not quite a tent, but it could at least keep out wind and rain. They hung tough cloth over branches, pulled ropes taut, and drove in stakes. It was roomy enough for all five of them.

They lit a fire in front of it and fed Magnoli dried bean stalks and the like. One person washed the pot and fetched water from a nearby river, while another sliced fruit and vegetables to prepare the ingredients.

The five of them truly looked like a family. Ricart and Marie sat close together, preparing what passed for a feast. They looked like a young married couple.

“Did I cut these too thick?”

Ricart asked as he sliced a turnip. Usually, he just ate whatever he had, but now that he was actually trying to cook, he had no idea whether he was doing it right.

“Give it here. I'll do it.”

Marie took the turnip from Ricart. Without even setting it on a cutting board, she sliced it with a sharp dagger and tossed the pieces into the pot.

Watching from beside her, Ricart thought she did not seem to know much better than he did. Still, her bangs kept falling into her eyes, so he reached over and tucked them behind her ear.

Ricart did not know that such thoughtless gestures, made without any deeper intent, made Marie's heart race.

Though she came from a fairly noble family, Marie did not hesitate to do demanding work. She did not seem to care at all if her appearance became a little disheveled.

Her hair could become tangled, her clothes could shift to reveal a little flesh at her side, her face could get dirty, and her clothes could become stained, yet none of it diminished her beauty. If anything, it made her shine more brightly.

Still, the food the group was making was honestly little better than a complete mess. They were throwing all sorts of things together and boiling them at once. Perhaps they should simply be grateful for getting a balanced meal.

In any case, they made something strange that was neither soup nor porridge, then served themselves. It tasted decent enough.

“So, what do we do now?”

Delphi opened the conversation after blowing on a spoonful of the strange mixture.

“We meet the mayor and establish the branch, obviously.”

Volka spoke as though she had asked something self-evident.

“No, that's not what I mean. That will just proceed according to the process. I'm asking whether the enemy will leave us alone.”

“...Right. That is a problem.”

At the Kaits highlands, the enemy had been clear. Their numbers had been the problem, but since they were right in front of them, the people they had to fight were clear as well.

Here, it was different. They did not know when, where, or how many would come at them.

“There is a way to deal with this.”

Unexpectedly, Boribori spoke with confidence. Everyone looked at him, and he grinned before shouting.

“Ricky-Ricky, help us!”

Ricart laughed in disbelief. What was with Ricky-Ricky, anyway?

“I don't really have a solution either. The surest way would be to turn the enemy's stronghold into a wasteland. If we stormed the headquarters of Brabant or Lucerat and killed them all, that would settle things neatly. But that would be difficult, so shouldn't we first gather information to find out who the enemy is and how they're moving?”

“Should we visit the Thieves’ Guild?”

“That will probably be difficult.”

Boribori answered.

“Why?”

“We smashed them all up last winter.”

“Hmm...”

In truth, going around and wiping out every kind of criminal organization was an unbelievable achievement, but that had largely been thanks to the Nameless One.

He had been an excellent vanguard commander. As long as they protected his back, they could sweep away most organizations without much thought. Volka was also the vanguard commander type, but he was no match for the Nameless One.

“We need to build influence first, with help from the locals. I heard Ernberg is famous for its Masons' Guild. Why don't we start by finding them?”

There were all kinds of guilds in the world. A guild was an association of people in the same line of work who gathered to protect their mutual interests.

Naturally, they formed and operated around a local region, and they tended to wield great influence there.

In this age, whether one was doing business or anything else, one needed enough force to protect oneself. Merchant and artisan guilds could not be ignored.

The Blacksmith Guild and Masons' Guild in particular performed extremely difficult and demanding work, so their members were often as frightening as professional fighters.

“But doesn't the Thieves’ Guild grow back like poisonous mushrooms, no matter how many times you get rid of it?”

Delphi asked.

“That is true. But would they look kindly on us?”

Ricart was skeptical because of what they had done last winter. He did not particularly object to joining hands with the Thieves’ Guild if necessary, but they were not people one benefited from getting involved with.

“I'll handle that. I have a rough idea of what to do.”

Volka spoke. He might not devise clever plans like Ricart, but he was better at handling people. Coaxing them, persuading them, or threatening and intimidating them.

Show strength to those who needed to see strength, soothe those who needed soothing, and feed money to those who loved money. Using the right means for each person was a skill in itself.

When that went wrong, problems surfaced. But Volka had been good at it since his Academy days. He had introduced students to jobs and stepped in to solve their troubles, so he had built up plenty of experience.

“Once we get a building for the branch, let's move in two teams. One team can guard the branch while the other goes outside. Volka and Delphi, then me, Bori, and Marie. Let's split up that way.”

“Sounds good. But five people really is a bit tight.”

Volka said this while sucking his fingers clean, having somehow already finished eating.

Every member of the Viola Clan possessed remarkable strength, but any task required manpower.

One important role of a branch was gathering and leading capable, reliable adventurers.

As a core clan came to lead several other clans, it could become the ruler of a region and sometimes even surpass the guild headquarters.

But starting with only five people was, as Volka said, a tight fit.

At least Ricart and Boribori's reputations gave them a certain advantage. Ricart had felt it earlier when they met Count Reinhold.

If they had tried to establish a branch from nothing, there would have been countless cases that drove people mad. Nothing would go right from beginning to end.

Perhaps Ernberg would become their second hometown. They had been born elsewhere, but they had to approach this with the resolve to die and be buried here.

Because the most important thing when establishing a branch was to mingle with the local people and share their hardships and joys.

If they could not become part of the local community, they would remain outsiders. And there were limits to what outsiders could accomplish.

It might seem insignificant, but the local community was what would trip one up at a decisive moment, or lend one strength.

Ricart thought that perhaps it was humanity's fate to leave the land where one was born and choose the land where one would be buried.

Living one's whole life and dying in the land of one's birth was not bad. But he thought there was meaning in offering anew to others the affection between family members, nourished by their hometown, and the concern of local people.

All of them were children who had been abandoned, in one way or another. There had been such people in the past, and there still were.

What could be more meaningful than people like that gathering together, becoming each other's strength, and supporting one another?

Connections between people could sometimes feel like terrible pain. But as Ricart had learned from the Nameless One, in the end, only people could save people.

Ricart looked past the tangled branches of the forest at the stars shining in the night sky. The stars were the same as they had always been, but the heart that looked upon them was different.

Suddenly, he thought he could see himself years from now, older and tilling fields with his friends. And beside him, Marie was smiling.

Could I really have such happiness?

Anxious thoughts covered that image like a shadow. In the end, Marie was brave, and he was the coward.

He felt sorry, but he had decided not to say he was sorry. So Ricart kept quiet, sitting close beside Marie and looking up at the stars with her.

Ricart always said there was no need to become sentimental, but perhaps he himself was the person who became sentimental most often.

His first friend, Caldebert, had said he possessed the qualities of a poet.

Ironically, the only person who knew Ricart's sentimental side was a friend from a hundred years ago.

A person born with the qualities of a poet, yet walking the path of the sword. Perhaps he kept happiness at a distance because he feared becoming unhappy.

I am a coward, Marie. I'm sorry. Forgive me.

Feeling a light weight settle against his shoulder, Ricart spoke silently to himself.

Night deepened. As the darkness grew, the stars shone brighter.

Then, at the hour when the quiet night put everything to sleep, Ricart, sleeping close to his friends, suddenly woke at a strange sound from afar.

Volka, standing night watch, sat beside the campfire with his head turned toward the sound.

“You heard it too?”

Ricart asked. Realizing only then that Ricart had awakened, Volka answered.

“It was the sound of swords striking.”

Clang...

Before Volka had even finished speaking, another metallic sound rang out in the distance.

“Wake the others. I'll go take a look.”

Ricart rose, taking up his sword.

“Okay. Be careful.”

Volka did not try to stop him by saying it was dangerous. It was hard to imagine that Ricart would have an opponent, and Volka had seen enough to know that.

Without putting on his cloak or fastening a belt around his waist, Ricart walked toward the sound with only a sword in one hand. The fir forest had little undergrowth or brush to hinder him, but his view was dark.

The farther he walked through the dark forest, the clearer the signs of people became. He heard several people running and shouting, and the dying cries of the wounded.

Ricart meant only to assess the situation from a distance, but someone suddenly ran swiftly toward him.

He was about to draw his sword like lightning when he saw the person's face beneath the dim moonlight and froze.

It was Ice.

Ricart and Ice collided as though they had struck each other in passing. With a thud, they fell to the ground and rolled once or twice. Ricart sprang up and grabbed him.

In Ricart's arms, Ice stared up at him, his eyes trembling wildly. He did not even say that he recognized Ricart. His face twisted badly, as though he might burst into tears.

Ricart was so shocked that he could not speak either. Ice looked terrible, as though he had suffered beyond measure.

He had become painfully thin, and his once beautiful silver hair had lost all life and become rough. He looked like a wounded deer fleeing from a hunter.

Ricart had only heard that Ice was performing feats as impressive as his own. He had never imagined that Ice would be in such a state.

Was this what it meant for countless emotions to cross one's heart? In that brief moment, Ricart felt many things.

The truth was that Ice had been worked brutally hard by the guild.

Dunkel had already made his judgment about Ice. He had driven Ice into dangerous missions, as though hoping he would either leave on his own or die. Despite Ice's outstanding ability, he was little more than a discarded piece to the guild.

Ricart remembered what Dunkel had said.

“It would be better not to get close to him. One day, his path will diverge from both the guild and you. That bastard is so obsessed with becoming a Sword Master for the church that he's lost his mind.”

So what? If words like that could shake him, he would never have made friends in the first place. And Ricart had not forgotten the promise he had made.

“Even if you abandon me, I won't abandon you, Ice.”

Ricart spoke as though making an oath. Then he drew his sword and rose to his feet.

At the sight of the boy standing firm as ever, Ice finally shed tears of sorrow.

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