Ode of the Brave - Chapter 62

WeTried Translations

Translator/Editor: ZERO_SUGAR

◈ Ode of the Brave ◈

Chapter 62

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Having a river beside a village or city made it easier to secure a water source, but more than anything, the river breeze was pleasantly cool.

Compared to other inland cities, Ernberg had remarkably little foul smell, and the people were neatly dressed.

It was a wonderful place to live. But even this pleasant place had its problems.

Problems naturally arose wherever people gathered. If there were a society without a single problem, it was probably seriously sick.

So there was no need to become disillusioned with people themselves just because of social problems.

There were good people everywhere, and there were bastards too. That was all.

“I told you before, didn’t I? The boy who killed Mad Dog Steiner is my friend. Ta-da! I brought him! This is Ricky, the one I told you about. Amazing, right? Hard to believe, right? But it’s true. I was there too. If you underestimate him, you might lose your head. I’ve seen dozens of people end up that way. Hee hee hee.”

Boribori spoke to a sturdy grown man with a bandana wrapped around his head. This was Mason, the guild master and leader of the Stoneworkers Guild.

At Boribori’s frivolous words, Mason folded his arms and stared at the boy in the red cape.

It was hard to believe what Boribori said, but Mason did know that the famous Red Cape had come here.

Ricart, however, was looking past Mason toward the docks.

Several ships that had been unable to depart for days were docked there. About fifty members of the Stoneworkers Guild and their families had spread out at the docks and were living there.

The women had carried over several huge pots, struggling under the weight, and built fires to cook food with their families. Their livelihoods had become difficult lately, so they were cooking together.

Watery porridge filled the pots, with whole fish caught from the river floating in it. The smell drifting over on the breeze was not especially pleasant.

“So, what are you suggesting?”

Mason asked Boribori in a blunt tone that somehow made people shrink back.

But Boribori did not care at all. Whether he was confident, cheerful, or simply thoughtless, he just spoke in his own way.

With the Ghost Sword at his waist, Boribori held up a finger, eyes wide. In his own way, he seemed to be trying hard to make a sale.

“We’re adventurers, you know? When there’s trouble, our job is to handle it for you. Of course, we need a small reward. So we can collect the money you’re owed. What do you think? Don’t we seem reliable?”

In truth, they looked far from reliable. Boribori was only around 160 centimeters tall, while Ricart was as tall as an adult but still had a clearly youthful face.

Even after building a great reputation, it might not feel real to people living in a different world.

But this was Ernberg. Though they wandered through many regions and did not always remain here, it had at least nominally been the former base of the Ernberg Five.

The people here knew better than anyone how terrifying they had been. And Ricart was the boy who had killed them.

They had also already heard the rumors. The boy in the red cape, Boribori of Fivefold Dismemberment, and X the Nameless. The Heroes of Sigpringer had executed the Ernberg Five.

The stoneworker in the bandana stared at Ricart. Ricart, however, was looking at the people eating.

Following his gaze, Mason turned his head and saw more than ten people crowded around each of the three huge pots, scraping them clean. The fish porridge vanished in no time.

Mason turned back to Ricart.

“As you can see, this is our situation. We don’t have money to hire the Adventurer Guild.”

Ricart’s red cape fluttered. Whatever he was thinking, he only watched the people eating porridge.

A woman feeding the babies first. A small child squeezed between siblings, barely managing to pick up a piece of fish. An elderly person saying they had no appetite and giving their share to the children.

Ricart took in those sights, then looked at Mason.

“For the fee, you can add interest to the money you’re owed, and we’ll take the interest. Before that, could you tell us what happened? Marconis says he paid the construction costs.”

Mason led Ricart and Boribori elsewhere. Near the docks, where wooden crates had been stacked, he took out a contract and showed it to them.

The man pointed to a clause in the contract.

The Stoneworkers Guild was not simply a group of people who carved stone and handled stonework.

A stoneworker was someone who cut and shaped stone, but the Stoneworkers Guild meant something different. It referred to people responsible for every aspect of a construction project, from start to finish.

They handled design, surveying, material procurement, transport, construction, literally everything related to building. They even hired local workers to secure labor.

The Ernberg Stoneworkers Guild was famous because it built everything, from ordinary homes to lords’ castles, city walls, and temples.

They were an extraordinarily skilled group, yet surprisingly, they were not treated well by society.

Even when they took on huge projects that cost astronomical sums and saw them through to completion, little money remained for the Stoneworkers Guild after labor and material costs.

Their skills had been passed down and developed through generations. They were not something one could learn at an educational institution.

So once people like them collapsed, those skills could not be restored.

“Hmm. So you received all the construction payment, but the issue is the additional costs. It’s clearly written in the contract. Why are they refusing to pay?”

Ricart asked in puzzlement. In truth, there was nothing puzzling about it. It was obvious the Merchants’ Association was refusing to pay because it was acting like a bunch of thugs. Still, he asked.

“They say, how can anyone know whether additional materials were used now that construction is already complete?”

It was nothing more than finding fault. No matter how detailed a contract was, there had to be mutual trust when doing business. It was impossible to know whether the Merchants’ Association lacked that trust or was doing this deliberately.

“But I’m curious. Even if you needed additional materials, couldn’t you just build as much as the money covered?”

Or stop the construction and make a new contract. Ricart wondered whether there had really been any need to complete the construction at their own expense.

Mason, the leader of the stoneworkers, stared at Ricart before suddenly asking him a question.

“Why do you swing a sword?”

“Pardon?”

“Do you swing it simply because you’re drunk on power, like the Ernberg Five?”

“No.”

“We have traditions and principles. ‘When you build something, you must build it with the intent for it to remain forever.’ That is a saying passed down to us from ancient times. We built houses, raised castles, and constructed cities. Their owners may all be different, but every one of them was made by our hands. Look at this city. Look at these docks. Look at those city walls. Our fathers, grandfathers, and ancestors built them all.”

There was proud confidence in his words.

As Mason said, Ricart looked from the nearest docks to the houses throughout the distant city, then the city walls. They looked different now. Yes, people must have built all those things with their own hands.

Some buildings were only a few years old, others decades old, and some even centuries old, yet they still stood firm. Our home had probably been built by these people as well.

“You probably kill people easily and earn money easily. So we must look foolish to you. But we have values more important than making a living. We accept hunger to protect them.”

“You don’t look foolish.”

“...”

“You look admirable. I’m sorry if that was a rude question. I only asked because I was curious.”

Ricart smiled and apologized as refreshingly as the river breeze. Apologizing to a person like this was neither embarrassing nor humiliating.

Perhaps surprised by Ricart, Mason looked at him as though he had not expected that. He had thought Ricart would be arrogant, but he was not.

In truth, Ricart treated each person differently. There were times when he could be arrogant, but Mason was admirable, and Ricart wanted to respect him.

“We can draw up the contract later. For now, do you agree to let us collect the money you’re owed?”

“...If you can collect it, we’d be grateful.”

“Good. Let’s go, Bori.”

“Huh? Where?”

“Where else? We’re going to collect the money.”

Ricart slung his sword over one shoulder and walked away from the docks. He was headed for the mansion they had visited the day before to attend the banquet.

Boribori hurried after him.

“Can we really do this right away without even writing a contract?”

“You can tell at a glance. Whether someone’s decent or a thug. The Merchants’ Association seemed full of shady people. If we’re going to settle in this city, shouldn’t we think long-term? Then I think it’s better to judge people by who they are rather than by money.”

“No, I’m asking whether it’s okay not to write a contract.”

“Nobles keep their word with their lives. Some even consider it an insult to ask for a written contract.”

“Huh... Since when did Ricky start acting like a noble?”

“You little brat.”

Ricart roughly ruffled Boribori’s hair. Boribori was fourteen now and would become an adult next year, but Ricart, who was two years younger, was bigger.

“Anyway, how are we getting the money back?”

“How else? We use force.”

It was not an age without trials, but people resolved problems through force far more often than through the courts.

Trials took a long time, and unless a lord personally presided over one, they had little authority. Even if someone won a trial, there was nothing to be done if the loser simply refused to pay.

Of course, there were many kinds of trials. A duel trial, however, resolved things neatly. Every legitimate noble had the right to demand one.

Ricart had the confidence of a legitimate noble. If necessary, he could just demand a duel trial.

More than anything, there was no real way to collect unpaid money except through force.

Ricart arrived at the gate of the mansion they had visited the day before and spoke to the gatekeeper.

“You saw me yesterday, right? Please open the gate.”

The gatekeeper looked at Ricart through a gap in the beautifully carved gate, then obediently opened it. He remembered Ricart because he had come dressed so shabbily.

“What brings you here, young master?”

“I’m here to collect money that wasn’t paid.”

“...Pardon?”

The gatekeeper looked bewildered, unable to understand what he meant.

Whether the man understood or not, Ricart pushed open the gate and entered the courtyard. He wandered around the mansion, looking it over, then headed for the stables.

“Bori, grab a rein too.”

“Huh? What are you going to do?”

“We’ll sell the horse and cover the unpaid money.”

“Huhhh?”

Horses were extremely expensive. Unless it was a packhorse, even the cheapest horse could fetch several gold coins. Expensive horses were unimaginably, endlessly costly.

The stable was fairly large and well-built, and five large horses stood inside.

Ricart chose the horse with the shiniest coat and best build. It was clearly a horse that had been cared for very diligently.

“Wh, who are you?”

The stable hand had been sweeping the floor. When strangers entered, he asked in alarm. Whether the man was alarmed or not, Ricart brought over the tack and put it on a horse with a striking brown coat dotted with white patches.

“Wh, who are you? Don’t touch it.”

“Don’t come any closer. I might kill you.”

Ricart drew a dagger and threatened him. It was practically robbery, but it was enforcement under a contract.

When the sharp dagger flashed with a cold gleam, the horrified stable hand fled at once to inform his master.

In the meantime, Ricart finished saddling the horse, led it outside, and mounted it. He had learned to ride at home and was fairly skilled at it.

Boribori did not know how to ride, so he only held the reins and hurried out.

Meanwhile, Ricart rode into the courtyard and waited for Boribori.

Clop. Clop. Clop.

He changed directions again and again, trampling the lawn as though it were his own grounds.

A person on horseback had a distinctive, overwhelming presence, and all the servants at the mansion stared in surprise.

“Open the gate! Or I’ll trample you!”

Ricart drew his sword, pointed it at the gatekeeper, and shouted. Faced with the huge horse, the sharp sword, the commanding cry, and Ricart’s glaring eyes, the gatekeeper opened the gate wide without thinking.

Boribori hurried out, and Marconis emerged from the mansion, shouting with a stunned expression.

“Wh, what do you think you’re doing?”

Ricart looked down at him from horseback and sneered.

“I came to collect unpaid money. You should pay your debts on time. If the price of this horse isn’t enough, I’ll come again next time. Goodbye. Hyah!”

Then he shamelessly dug in his heels and rode out of the mansion. Pale dust rose beneath the pounding hooves.

Clop! Clop! Clop! Clop!

His blond hair streamed in the wind, and his red cape fluttered.

The mansion servants could not take their eyes off the boy, who looked like a painting. It seemed that what proved one’s bloodline was not appearance, but bold action and a proud bearing.

Meanwhile, Marconis, the horse’s owner, could only stare blankly at Ricart as he rode away in utter disbelief.

The horse Ricart had just taken was worth far more than the unpaid money.

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