WeTried Translations

Translator/Editor: ZERO_SUGAR

Discord: https://dsc.gg/wetried

◈ Ode of the Brave ◈

Chapter 58

──────

* * *

It was a night in the forest when even the scops owls did not cry. The savage footsteps of humans carrying torches were the loudest sound.

“Go around that way!”

“No, to the left!”

“I’ll kill that bastard for sure!”

Ricart hid behind a tree and estimated the number of enemies from their confused footsteps. Four? No, five.

His ability to determine the enemy’s numbers almost exactly from footsteps alone was inhuman. Even so, Ricart could tell these enemies would not be easy to handle.

Pursuing Ice while forming an encirclement and keeping their distance from one another was no simple task, especially at night.

They were definitely from the same clan, and they were skilled.

But if the enemy did not know he was there while he knew where they were, there was no more favorable position.

Ricart was not merely accomplished with a sword. He knew how to fight.

Not swordsmanship, but combat.

A hundred years ago, this had mattered even more than his swordsmanship in making Ricart the strongest. People surprisingly did not know that.

Instead, they obsessed over becoming Sword Masters and failed even to imitate him.

The forest was full of thick, straight trees, so the enemies carefully checked behind every trunk as they closed in. But if they moved too slowly, they might lose Ice, the White Sable. They advanced as quickly as they could while staying cautious.

Ricart saw the torchlight reach nearby. Hidden in the darkness, he focused on the approaching footsteps. Without even trying, he could picture the distance between them, their weight, even their posture.

Then he heard footsteps enter exactly the right range.

Step.

Whoosh!

Thud!

Ricart did not look at his enemy and then swing. He leaped out and swung his sword first, cutting cleanly through the man’s neck.

The enemy’s head flew off before he could react. The other pursuers, who had been following at a distance, flinched and quickly realized what had happened.

“Over he...!”

The person closest to the fallen companion shone a torch on Ricart and shouted, but the cry did not finish.

Ricart darted between light and darkness, closing the distance in an instant.

The man holding a torch in one hand and a sword in the other hurriedly stepped back and raised his blade to defend himself. But he could not possibly block Ricart’s sword from such an awkward stance.

True to the nickname Ricky the Severer, once spoken throughout Beringen, Ricart broke the man’s flimsy sword and cut off his head as well.

Clang! Thud!

After taking down the second enemy, Ricart immediately threw himself back into the darkness. The three who chased after him hurriedly shone their torches in that direction, but suddenly, a sword point was before their eyes.

Swish! Thud!

“Urgh!”

A sword plunged into his chest. He fell backward. In the instant a nearby companion looked at the fallen man in shock and turned back, a boy with a dagger was rushing at him.

Ricart’s dagger sliced through the inside of his thigh and his armpit as swiftly as the wind.

“Aaaaaaagh!”

The scream echoed through the quiet forest. His main tendons severed, he dropped the torch and collapsed helplessly to the ground.

The last remaining man could not help focusing on his screaming companion.

The torch spun around with a fierce whoosh, and this time Ricart appeared behind him. He seized the man’s forehead, bent his head back, and slit his throat.

“Ghk! Cough!”

Blood gushed out and blocked his airway. He fell twitching right in front of the companion whose tendons had been cut.

Thud.

The enemy sitting on the ground with the tendons in his thigh and armpit severed was so shocked and terrified that he sucked in a sharp breath. His body froze.

Trembling violently, he lifted his head. He was so frightened that a thought echoed through his mind.

I’m dead. I’m dead. Dead. Kill me. Please kill me quickly.

Ricart stabbed the man in the throat and cut through his cartilage, finishing him off. His eyes were not cold, only calm, but they held no pity or sympathy.

Still sprawled on the ground, the man’s upper body pitched forward onto his companion’s corpse. Blood spread across the earth.

After killing them all, Ricart looked around the scene. Torches lay scattered here and there. Their light only illuminated parts of the corpses, making the sight all the more sinister.

But they were not weak enemies simply because they had all died so quickly.

The enemies had relied only on torchlight. Ricart, meanwhile, could hear the sounds around him and picture the battlefield almost as if he could see the future. That was why there was such a difference.

And he had ambushed them. Even skilled enemies had no way to withstand that.

When Ricart had fought the ten swordsmen in the Kaits highlands, it had been a night with a full moon bright as morning. There had been no chance to hide himself or take advantage of the terrain.

He had been forced to face them with swordsmanship alone, so he could not help struggling.

Even so, defeating them all had been remarkable. That was why so many people spoke of it.

Ricart knew how to assess the battlefield, even the enemy’s state of mind, and turn their weaknesses into his strengths. That was not an ability one developed through sword training alone.

It required innate instinct, real combat experience, and the luck to survive.

Ice possessed a natural gift for swordsmanship, but this was where he differed so sharply from Ricart.

What Ice had done so far was impressive as well, but this was why he could not produce the monstrous results Ricart did.

“Ricky?”

It was Marie’s voice. Ricart, who had been retrieving and wiping his sword while searching through the loot, looked at her. She had clearly run over in a panic to help him.

But she had not expected it to be over already, and her expression was blank with surprise.

“Huh?”

“Ah, no. I came to help.”

“What about the others?”

“They took Ice back to the camp.”

“Is he all right?”

“He has no external injuries, but he passed out. He must be exhausted. Looks like he was chased for quite a while.”

“That’s a relief, at least. Can you help me?”

“With what?”

“We need to take their equipment. And their money, if they have any.”

“Huh? Ah, right.”

Marie had killed people before, but she had apparently never searched a corpse. She hesitated, thinking this somehow did not feel right, but Ricart searched them so casually that she followed his lead.

“Uh, how thoroughly am I supposed to search them?”

“Hm?”

“I mean, I can’t put my hands inside their pants.”

“Hahaha. You don’t have to go that far. Just pat them down. If you find a coin purse or something, take it. Focus on weapons, too. Only take what we can carry. If we take too much, it becomes baggage. It could cost us fighting strength later. Don’t get greedy, Marie.”

If they had truly intended to strip the bodies clean, they should have taken everything but their underwear. But as Ricart said, there was no need to go that far.

“I wasn’t being greedy...”

“I’m joking. Let’s go.”

“Okay.”

Ricart took two swords and a coin purse. Then he returned to the camp with Marie.

Ice lay beneath a blanket. Pale tear tracks remained on his face. Boribori had placed some unidentified grass beneath his nose.

“When he wakes up, he’ll have an appetite.”

It was one of Boribori’s baseless folk remedies, but it was occasionally useful.

Volka’s expression as he looked down at Ice, however, seemed complicated in many ways. He was lost in thought, only noticing Ricart’s return after some time.

“Did you kill them all?”

“Yeah.”

“Can I talk to you for a moment?”

“Why? Say it here. The others all know anyway.”

Ricart had an uncanny sense for these things, and he could roughly guess what Volka wanted to say.

Because of what he had heard from Dunkel, Volka likely wanted to discuss how they should deal with Ice.

Boribori and Delphi had attended the Academy with Ice, so they knew he was a heretic. But they did not know the details, and their faces showed confusion.

“Wouldn’t it be better to discuss it together? We’re the same clan.”

Ricart said it again. Marie was not an official member of the Viola Clan, but she was practically halfway one already. The others treated her that way too.

Volka agreed and spoke honestly.

“You all know Ice is part of the Church of Judgment. But apparently, he isn’t just a believer. It seems he holds some kind of position in the church. If he’s involved that deeply, isn’t that a problem? If he faces a heresy trial, we could get dragged into it too.”

It was shocking news to those who did not know. If he held a position in the church, he was undeniably a heretic. If discovered, he would be sent straight to the stake without even needing an interrogation.

“So... my opinion is that we treat him and send him on his way. We’ll be busy with the branch’s affairs anyway.”

Volka cautiously gave his opinion first. The mood was heavy, but at some point scops owls and night insects had begun to cry.

The campfire gave off a soft crackle, crackle. But no one who had awakened in the middle of the night spoke.

Boribori crouched beside the sleeping Ice, looking down at him.

“I don’t really know. Ice is someone I owe. But the clan isn’t just me...”

It was an opinion similar to Volka’s. Boribori was saying that although they did not want to, it might be difficult to remain together.

Yet Boribori’s expression held pity and concern. Guilt and sympathy seemed to have softened his heart.

Delphi was practically Volka’s wife, so she would likely follow his opinion. That left only Ricart’s.

But unexpectedly, Marie spoke.

“You don’t need to worry about a heresy trial. The ones persecuting the Church of Judgment are the royal families of each country, not the Holy Imperial Court.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s complicated, but that’s what I heard. People keep leaving their territories, and they say it’s because of the church. The Imperial House stands by and watches. It benefits them if the kingdoms grow weaker.”

The relationship between kings and the Emperor was complicated and unusual. The Emperor stood above kings as the supreme ruler of the world, but that did not mean he could treat them however he pleased.

The kingdoms had independent military authority and self-rule, and they wielded considerable influence within the Empire.

Simply put, when the kingdoms grew stronger, the Emperor was threatened. When the Emperor’s authority grew stronger, the kingdoms were weakened.

Though they did not show it openly, the Emperor and the kings were practically enemies.

But if the balance of power collapsed, it would be bad for both sides. They were in the same boat. They hated each other enough to kill, yet neither wished for the other’s destruction.

They could become each other’s strength at crucial moments, or hold each other back at crucial moments. That was the relationship between the Emperor and the kings.

The royal families of each country and the Imperial House were also bound by blood through marriage alliances, which made matters even more complicated.

In any case, this was an age when population meant national strength. Without people, there could be no farming or other labor.

In other words, peasants moving elsewhere meant the territory was growing weaker. And moving without permission was illegal.

But what if they moved outside the kingdom? Once the migrants entered imperial territory, even a king could not easily lay a hand on them.

Ricart remembered Dunkel comparing the Ernberg Five to prostitutes.

His quick mind began piecing things together, and when he reached one conclusion, he frowned.

“Could it be that the kings secretly instigated the Ernberg Five?”

The Ernberg Five had caused trouble everywhere, but the reason they were especially infamous was because they had committed so many massacres on the scale of entire villages.

Most of those villages had been settlements established by migrants who believed in the God of Judgment.

From the kings’ perspective, they needed to kill those brazen migrants as an example. If they left them alone, it would spread.

A king, if not the Emperor, could still use their power to ensure the Ernberg Five were not wanted. It would be even easier if there were two kings, or more.

“I don’t know about that much. But I think you’re right, Ricky.”

It was impossible to know whether the Imperial House had knowingly turned a blind eye to what the kings were doing, or simply had no interest and did not know. But the Ernberg Five had certainly begun to irritate them.

“But how do you know that?”

Volka looked at Marie.

“Huh? I... I could’ve heard it somewhere, couldn’t I?”

Marie forced her gaze away. Anyone could see how suspicious she was. Volka had only recently learned that Ricart was a noble, so he wondered whether she might be one too.

Ricart and Boribori had realized it the moment they first saw her, though they had never imagined she was an imperial princess.

Ricart rubbed his chin and thought for a long while. Everyone seemed to be waiting for him to speak.

The clan came first. That was obvious. There was personal honor and pride, but the greatest reason they had risked their lives fighting until now was for the clan.

To create a home of their own.

But if accepting Ice would put the clan in danger, should they accept him?

Then again, it was uncertain whether he would truly harm them. Should they reject him for that uncertainty alone?

And if they accepted him, why should they? Because he was a friend? How far could one go for a friend? Before that, what even was a friend?

The more he thought, the more difficult questions led to others. If he were alone, Ricart would naturally take Ice in. But the clan was involved, so he could not simply force his own opinion on everyone.

Still, these were not questions meant to find one correct answer. In the end, they were questions he had to define for himself and use to establish his own beliefs.

Ricart could have spent all day thinking about this, or all day debating it. But he set all those thoughts aside and focused on what mattered most.

Stripping everything away and speaking honestly.

“First, we protect him. We desperately need help ourselves, and he’ll be a major fighting force. He must have gathered a lot of information while fighting our enemies. And...”

Ricart trailed off. The clan members listened to him carefully, each in their own way, their expressions calm.

“Right now, it seems like there’s nowhere else that will take him in. If even we cast him out, that would be too cruel.”

“...”

His friends said nothing. It was impossible to tell whether they wanted to or not. But the words that there was nowhere else for him to go had moved them.

They too had each been abandoned once.

Those who had never experienced that hopelessness, that desperation, could not understand it. Shouldn’t those who knew those feelings be the ones to embrace someone else?

No one openly agreed, but everyone gradually came together in favor of accepting Ice.

And when he thought about it, Volka owed Ice his life. Was it not Ice who had saved him from Lorenzo in Griffinswald?

Boribori would not have properly learned Mana Drive without Ice either. If he had mishandled his mana and caused an accident, he might have been crippled.

Everyone except Ricart and Marie owed Ice something in one way or another.

It was a sleepless night.

More accurately, they had awakened in the middle of the night.

About an hour later, deep blue began to sweep away the darkness from the edge of the world.

Having nothing else to do, Ricart and his friends began preparing breakfast early in the morning.

Crack! Smack! Crack! Smack!

“Ugh! Ngh! Nngh! Ugh!”

The sound of a whip cracking, and someone groaning through a gag, filled the air. This was no ordinary whipping. There was obvious murderous intent behind it.

The young Ice stood facing the wall, listening to those sounds. He was not the only one. More than a dozen children stood in a line, all facing the wall.

It was time for punishment and training to erase their emotions. Joy, sorrow, fear, all of it had to be offered to the God of Judgment.

Even their parents and families had to be offered.

Crack! Smack! Smack! Crack!

At some point, the groaning stopped.

The child must have died.

Ice slowly followed the gaps between the cold bricks with his eyes.

Imagine this is a valley path. If I follow the path, I can keep walking even if there is no exit. I do not need to wander. I just walk. The path is already set.

Then I will not think of anything.

No, I will not feel anything.

The sounds of whipping, the groans, even the final sounds of dying will not reach my ears.

When the priest told them to turn around, Ice saw a boy lying limp, his back torn open to expose his ribs. He was a bloody pulp, nearly impossible to recognize.

The boy’s crime was that he had laughed during training.

The priest who had carried out the punishment panted as though he were about to collapse. Another priest took their place and addressed the boys with an utterly blank expression.

“Brothers, the day of prophecy is not far off. We must spur ourselves on even harder. Do not falter. Do not be shaken. Offer everything to the God of Judgment, and let us return to heaven. God of Judgment, close your eyes upon us.”

“God of Judgment, close your eyes upon us.”

At the priest’s words, the other children, including Ice, repeated the final phrase. Their voices sounded like those of dolls.

At the priest’s gesture, the children stepped forward one by one and spat on the dead child.

Ptooey.

Then the next boy. Then the next. And the next. And the next.

It was Ice’s turn.

Ice approached the boy who had died so horribly.

Then, for the briefest instant, whether it was a great tremor or the slightest movement, his heart stirred.

Because the dead boy was his younger brother.

Everyone’s eyes were on Ice. He could not show even the slightest change in expression or wavering of heart.

Ice spat.

Ptooey.

At that moment, Ice’s heart died.

Even if he lived, he was not alive. He was no longer human. He was merely a doll that moved for God alone.

He had surely been.

Ice gently opened his eyes.

He heard the clink of dishes and the soft murmur of conversation. They were comforting sounds that pleasantly tickled his ears.

He could hear early-rising birds chirping and smell delicious food.

Ricart and the others, their familiar faces, came into view. His heart, which had been racing from the nightmare, gradually calmed, and relief washed over him.

Ice had woken in the middle of his sleep, so he was still dazed. For a moment, he wondered whether this was heaven.

Ricart, preparing food with Marie, turned toward Ice.

“Huh? He’s awake.”

Looking at the blond boy, Ice unconsciously recalled a verse from scripture.

<Come to me, all who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.>

Chapter 11: A Resting Place. End.

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