WeTried Translations

Translator/Editor: ZERO_SUGAR

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◈ Ode of the Brave ◈

Chapter 63

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A horse market was being held at the southwestern entrance to Ernberg City. It was crowded with people.

A wide clearing stretched around a gentle hill. Beside it stood temporary stables and fenced enclosures filled with all kinds of horses, from ponies and packhorses to multipurpose horses and riding horses for nobles and the wealthy.

Horse merchants occasionally led their horses around the clearing. It was partly to show them off, but also a way to display their own skill at handling horses.

Caring for horses required tremendous know-how and skill. In particular, the training and breeding methods held by the stablemasters of emperors, kings, and great nobles were practically state secrets. Carelessly revealing them could earn someone a horrific execution.

Most horses at the market were packhorses or multipurpose horses. There were few well-kept riding horses, and warhorses were nowhere to be seen. Perhaps there were one or two somewhere.

People haggled with horse merchants throughout the market. Some were buying horses because they truly needed them, while others wanted them for breeding.

Others had come to sell horses that were family property, for reasons unknown. They were not especially fine breeds, but their owners had evidently washed and brushed them properly for the first time in a while, trying to make them look as neat as possible to fetch a better price.

Then, all of a sudden, someone came galloping into the clearing on horseback. The fluttering red cape was striking.

Clatter! Clatter! Clatter! Clatter!

“Hey!”

“H-Hold on!”

Those leading horses around the clearing panicked and scrambled out of the way. Horses had to be handled carefully. If they got into an accident, their value would plummet.

“Sorry. I’m in a hurry.”

The rider was none other than Ricart. Remaining mounted, he rode all over the clearing.

He cut a rather imposing figure. At first, the horse merchants stared at him in disbelief, but before long, their attention was captured by the horse Ricart was riding. They looked as though they had fallen in love at first sight.

Ricart’s horse had a balanced, sturdy build, with sleek yet powerfully defined muscles. One look was enough to tell that it was a warhorse.

Warhorses belonged to an entirely different category from ordinary horses, and their prices soared accordingly. Few breeds were suited for it, and they required special training from a young age.

Warhorses were no longer herbivores. They needed fierce courage, the endurance to withstand spears and blades, obedience and loyalty to their masters, and more.

The more they possessed acceleration, stamina, maneuverability, and quick reactions as well, the more they became something money could not buy.

Of course, it was difficult for a horse to possess every one of those qualities. If it did, even an Emperor would ride it sparingly, cherishing it.

For a knight, a horse was both the beginning and end, honor itself, and life itself. There was even a tale of a king who bought a fine horse even if it meant selling his castle.

Naturally, such horses appeared only once in every thousand warhorses. If they were born in the right era, they would write legends alongside heroes.

Ricart’s horse was not quite at that level, but it was undoubtedly the finest horse in this market.

“Quick sale! Who wants it? Quick sale!”

Ricart shouted as he rode back and forth across the clearing as he pleased. The clearing was supposed to be used in a strict order, with people walking their horses slowly in turn, but Ricart did not care about any of that.

No one pointed it out, either. The horse was simply too magnificent. Everyone had been captivated by it.

Among them was a man in silk robes, surrounded by people. His beard hung down to his chest, and he had an imposing build.

He watched Ricart riding about recklessly from afar before boldly approaching him.

“Young man.”

Ricart turned at the call. Just then, Boribori came panting over while holding the reins of another horse. Ricart took the reins and approached the man.

“There are actually two horses for sale. I’d prefer it if you bought them both at once.”

Anyone could tell from the way he blurted that out that he was no merchant. The man in silk robes let out a hollow laugh.

Calmly, he stroked the neck and head of Ricart’s horse as he inspected its condition.

It was excellent. It was clear that its caretaker had tended to it with the utmost devotion. One could tell at a glance whether a horse had been handled carelessly or treated with love and affection.

The horse Boribori had brought was somewhat inferior to the one Ricart rode, but it was not a bad horse.

After inspecting them, the man in silk robes looked up at Ricart.

“Do you know what sort of horse this is, and you’re selling it in a hurry?”

“It’s a pretty good horse.”

“This is a warhorse, the kind knights ride. Warhorses are divided into coursers and destriers. Even coursers fetch far higher prices than other horses. Destriers, meanwhile, fetch far more than coursers. That is what I’m asking. Do you know that?”

Even among destriers, there were many grades, ranging from legendary steeds to the horses ridden by ordinary knights.

Judging from its physique alone, Ricart’s horse ranked among the better destriers. Its courage and endurance would need to be tested, of course.

“I know that much. My father rode a destrier.”

“...Hm.”

If his father was a knight, that meant Ricart was from a knightly family. Even so, the man in silk robes was neither intimidated nor particularly concerned.

“I’ll give you 180 gold coins for both.”

“Four hundred.”

“Ha ha ha! It’s good to have spirit, but that is far too unreasonable, young man. I distinctly heard this was a quick sale.”

“That’s true. Since it’s a quick sale, let’s see. Just give me 390.”

“Thank you for letting me see such fine horses. Find yourself another good owner.”

Ricart named such an absurdly high price that the man in silk robes patted the horse’s neck and simply turned away.

Ricart hurried after him.

“Fine. Two hundred.”

“One hundred eighty. I have no wish to haggle any further.”

“Understood. Give me 180.”

Ricart dismounted as he spoke. The man gestured to someone, who quickly brought over a money pouch. That person handed Ricart two fairly large pouches and one small one.

Ricart opened them and checked the money. With only a few movements of his fingers, he counted the exact amount. There were indeed 180 gold coins.

“R-Ricky, what do we do? We’re rich.”

Seeing an amount of money beyond anything he had imagined, Boribori’s eyes grew huge. He grabbed Ricart and shook him vigorously. Perhaps because he had grown up poor, Boribori was rather fond of money.

Then they heard the urgent sound of hoofbeats.

Clatter! Clatter! Clatter! Clatter!

It was Marconis, without his usual hat and showing his half-bald head.

“Hey! Hey! That horse isn’t for sale!”

He rushed over and stopped in front of Ricart and the man in silk robes. Then he hurriedly dismounted. He saw Ricart holding the money pouches. The deal had already been completed.

“Sir, that horse isn’t for sale.”

Marconis spoke to the man in silk robes. The man looked between Ricart and Marconis, then snorted.

Without answering, he gave a sharp whistle, Wheeeet!, and snapped his fingers toward the people nearby.

At once, a group of people mounted the horses in the enclosure and rode over. They wore light armor, but carried spears and swords like a band of mounted bandits.

They also looked foreign. Ricart and Boribori had only heard of them, but with their narrow eyes and low noses, they appeared to be a nomadic people living somewhere in the distant lands of the Salaman.

It was the first time Ricart and Boribori had ever seen nomads, and their eyes widened. Mercenaries? What were they?

But regardless, those mounted riders glared coldly at Marconis with weapons in hand. There was nothing more frightening than people one could not communicate with.

Besides, there were sinister rumors about nomads. People said they rode horses like ghosts and ate human beings.

Even in his haste, Marconis swallowed dryly and grew tense beneath their stares.

“A thousand.”

The man in silk robes spoke briefly. If Marconis wanted the horse back, he would have to pay 1,000 gold coins.

Anyone could tell it was a deliberately outrageous price. Overwhelmed by the man’s forceful presence, Marconis could not answer.

“If you have no money, get lost.”

The man in silk robes spoke firmly.

Marconis only moved his lips as if he wanted to say something, but no words came out. He felt as though he would die if he said the wrong thing.

As a merchant, he could not possibly have the nerve to risk his life. So he said nothing at all and backed away.

Perhaps lingering regretfully, he kept looking back even as he left the horse market.

Ricart watched Marconis leave, then asked the man in silk robes.

“What? Was this horse actually worth a thousand gold coins?”

The man gave a faint smile.

“A fine horse cannot be found unless fate brings it to you, regardless of price. Putting a price on one is foolish.”

“But you’re a horse merchant. You should know what a fair price is.”

The man in silk robes smiled slightly at Ricart.

“Do I look like a merchant to you?”

“...What?”

“Whether you stole the horses or not, you got what you needed. Our transaction was satisfactory for both sides, was it not?”

With that, the man walked away. At his instruction, the nomads also dismounted.

Ricart thought that man was definitely no ordinary horse merchant. Was he truly the leader of a band of mounted bandits?

In any case, they had disposed of the horses, so Ricart and Boribori rushed to the docks. There, they met Mason, the master of the stonemasons’ guild.

“How much money were you owed?”

In truth, Ricart had not even known how much they were owed when he stormed in, seized the horses, and sold them.

“With transport costs included, 120 gold coins.”

Ricart immediately gave him 120 gold coins. Mason had apparently not expected much, because his eyes widened when he actually received the money.

“H-How did you...?”

“How else? I went in, took the horses, and sold them.”

“...”

“When you’re collecting money someone owes you, you have to use force. Just camping out at the docks isn’t enough.”

Whether he was bold or shameless, Ricart spoke as though it were obvious. But that was reality. It was difficult to recover owed money without using force.

Ricart looked at the people still camped out at the docks. At least they would not have to live outside anymore, he thought. That alone made it meaningful.

“By the way, we haven’t even signed a contract yet, have we?”

Boribori asked.

Come to think of it, they had not. Still, a verbal agreement was also a proper contract.

Verbal agreements were only difficult to argue over when trouble arose. If both sides carried them out without issue, there was no problem.

“We have money left over.”

They had a full 60 gold coins remaining. In less than an hour, they had completed a request and earned 60 gold coins.

However, Ricart stared at the money pouch full of gold coins and spoke to Boribori.

“How much interest should we charge?”

“Um... From what I heard yesterday, they’d already gone three days without paying. That makes today the fourth day.”

Interest rates could be set however one wished, but the usual rate was one-tenth per day.

It was an era of brutal interest rates. That was why it was best not to borrow money if possible, and if one did, it had to be repaid on time no matter what.

Compared to truly vicious usury, however, one-tenth was quite reasonable.

“Twelve times four is 48 gold coins. Let’s return the rest.”

“Huh? Why?”

“We need principles too. We should only take what we earned. Otherwise, how are we any different from thieves?”

“Um... I think you’re right.”

Boribori clearly looked disappointed, but he followed Ricart’s decision.

Ricart remembered Mason’s words about upholding tradition and principles, and he believed those words were right.

There was no problem with taking all the spoils gained through battle, but he thought payment for a request needed to be exact.

So he and Boribori immediately headed back to the mansion.

When they arrived, the mansion was in uproar because of him. Yet when the very person who had caused the commotion appeared again, everyone in the mansion could only blink in disbelief.

Ricart grabbed someone and asked.

“Where is Marconis, the head of the merchant company?”

“Y-Yes? W-Why do you ask?”

“I came to return the leftover money.”

“...He is in his study on the second floor, but...”

Ricart walked into the mansion as though it were his own home. He went to the second-floor study and threw open the door.

Marconis, who was sitting at his desk with his head in his hands, shouted angrily.

“I said no one was to come in...!”

But when he realized that the person entering was Ricart, he flinched and could not finish shouting.

“I sold the horses and received 180 gold coins. I returned 120 to the stonemasons’ guild, and we decided to keep the interest. You did not repay the money for four days, so we charged one-tenth interest per day. We kept 48 gold coins and returned the remaining 12.”

Ricart spread twelve gold coins across the desk.

Marconis stared blankly at him, then only let out an incredulous breath.

“...Hah!”

“What? Do you feel wronged?”

“...Do you have any idea what kind of horse that was?”

“No.”

“What did you say?”

“Do I need to? All I know is that you did not pay the money, and we took the request to collect it for the stonemasons’ guild. Aren’t owed debts normally collected through force? As a merchant, you should know that.”

“Hah... Fine. Let’s say you’re right. But what do you take me for? I am a member of the Ernberg Merchants’ Association and its chairman. Do you think I will simply let something like this go? There is such a thing as common sense. What is this supposed to be? Twelve gold coins? Ha! Are you joking?”

Marconis seemed to be losing his reason more and more. Even someone as cold and cunning as him appeared to regret losing the horses, despite not being a knight who fought in battle.

Still, even men who were not knights had their own dreams. Swords and horses were the most common of them. That was why Marconis had ridden a destrier even though it was more than befitted his station.

Ricart looked blankly at Marconis, who was breathing heavily, as though unable to understand his reaction.

“What is this Merchants’ Association? What are you going to do if you don’t let it go? I have no common sense? If I were Mad Dog Steiner, do you think your head would still be attached to your neck right now? Do you want me to show you what real lack of common sense is? This is ridiculous.”

At the name Mad Dog Steiner, Marconis flinched. Only then did he seem to come to his senses somewhat and remember what sort of person the boy before him was.

Ricart glared coldly at Marconis and released his killing intent.

Marconis’s heart pounded, and cold sweat ran down his body. Without realizing it, his mind began to fill with the thought that he was about to die. Ricart’s eyes were not human eyes.

“Listen to me carefully, Marconis. If you’re a merchant, then do business. Rich people always think they’re something special and cross the line. Then they die. There is no other reason for it. Are you a knight? Are you going to ride into battle and fight on horseback? Is that horse truly as important as your life? No, it isn’t. If you don’t want to die, know your place. Understand?”

Ricart left the warning as though he truly intended to kill him, then left the study with Boribori. Before leaving, Boribori gave Marconis a small bow.

Once Ricart was gone, Marconis finally felt as though he could breathe again. The pressure had been immense. He once again realized that the boy had executed the Ernberg Five.

But in Marconis’s view, Ricart was not normal either. Looking at the twelve gold coins spread across his desk, Marconis thought Ricart was a different kind of madman from Mad Dog Steiner.

If he was going to take it, why not take everything? What was the point of returning twelve coins? From hitting his daughter to seizing the horses and returning the remaining gold, everything Ricart did was incomprehensible.

Marconis suddenly realized that he had been mistaken to think he could win over or tame the beast that had killed the Ernberg Five.

A fierce beast like a lion or tiger was deeply captivating. Its leisurely stride and relaxed posture when lying down were elegant, beautiful, and majestic.

But trying to approach and touch it merely because it was captivating could bring disaster. It would reveal its powerful claws and fangs, and tear a person apart.

Blood splattered everywhere. Entrails spilled out. Limbs were crushed and torn apart.

When a tiger vanished from the mountains, foxes and wolves would rise to power. Marconis realized that he himself had been one of those foxes or wolves.

Even clever people could lose their judgment when things went too well. He had been one of them.

There were people in this world who were truly like beasts. Provoking them was an utterly foolish thing to do.

Marconis always said that before doing anything, one had to first weigh the gains and losses.

But before weighing gains and losses, one first had to consider that one might die.

Chapter 12: A Tiger in the Mountains. End.

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