Ode of the Brave - Chapter 64

WeTried Translations

Translator/Editor: ZERO_SUGAR

◈ Ode of the Brave ◈

Chapter 64

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Ricart’s collection of money from the Merchants’ Association on behalf of the stonemasons’ guild had firmly established his presence throughout Ernberg. It also served to promote the Beringen Guild branch.

People naturally came to see that the Beringen Guild branch could be trusted to handle requests properly, and the branch quickly secured its footing in the city.

Though it had not been intentional, it had also mediated between the city’s two major powers, the stonemasons’ guild and the Merchants’ Association. The guild branch had done an excellent job of serving as a point of balance between them.

Thanks to Volka and the others’ efforts, they had also quickly become friendly with the local merchants.

They could now reliably obtain food, travel supplies, and combat equipment, while the merchants had gained a steady customer. It was good for everyone.

Only one thing remained before they could truly settle here.

Time.

As children grew up, beloved couples became spouses, had children, raised them, and grew old, the Viola Clan would naturally become part of this place as well.

When Volka and Delphi married and had a child, that child might one day grow up hearing a story like this.

Long ago, five very wicked villains lived here, and my friend defeated them.

A paved uphill road ran through the center of Ernberg, with smaller roads branching off to either side at intervals.

The low Mount Ern had been artificially carved into terraces, with buildings built upon them. The entire mountain resembled a single vast complex.

At Mount Ern’s summit stood a very small castle built long ago. It was almost too insignificant to call a castle, but a few buildings stood around it.

From the summit, the area around the Main River lay in clear view. The stonemasons’ guild members and their families had returned to their livelihoods, while the Merchants’ Association’s ships were finally sailing along the Main River.

The merchant ships rowed at first, but when the wind was right and they unfurled their sails, they vanished into the distance in no time.

At one corner of Mount Ern’s summit, Ricart stood without his cape, wearing only a dagger at his waist as he watched the boats moving slowly, then swiftly below.

At one point, sunlight shattered into glittering fragments across the river. The cool breeze blowing from it made Ricart’s hair flutter.

“Huh? Ricky’s slacking off.”

A young voice called from behind Ricart as he admired the peaceful riverside view. When he turned around, he saw Benny’s daughter, Bennybenny.

Names were usually repeated when children inherited a parent’s name. Then, when the parent died, they dropped one half and used the remaining name.

The six- or seven-year-old girl often hovered around the adventurer building, claiming she was helping while actually bothering people. Still, everyone found her adorable.

Though anyone could tell she really came to see Ice.

“I’m not slacking off. I’m taking a short break.”

“My mom says the hours when the sun is up are golden hours. She says slacking off means throwing gold away.”

“I said I’m not slacking off.”

“But everyone else is working. Volka was looking for you, you know?”

“Oh, come on.”

As usual, Ricart fled from Bennybenny’s pestering and headed down the back trail of the mountain.

It was called a trail, but there had originally been no path there. People had simply kept passing through until something like a path formed.

The slope was steep and somewhat dangerous, but it was certainly faster on the way down.

“Don’t follow me. You’ll get hurt.”

“Ricky’s running away! Marie!”

Bennybenny shouted from above. Ignoring her, Ricart quickly disappeared into the thick trees and walked along the riverbank.

Beside the smithy, a waterwheel turned as it worked the bellows. Creak, creak. He could also hear the sound of iron being hammered.

After passing it and rounding the foot of the mountain, he came upon the stonemasons’ guild’s worksite. It was something like a half-indoor workshop, with only a roof overhead and no walls.

Most of the space was filled with stone, and large and small sculptures stood scattered about. Most appeared unfinished or abandoned midway through.

Mason stood on a platform, shaping a piece of marble as tall as a person. He set his chisel against it and lightly struck it with a hammer, carefully carving away the stone.

It was far from complete, but Ricart watched as a shape gradually formed, as though life were being breathed into a stone that had once meant nothing.

Mason noticed Ricart only after a long while. Though he had barely sweated, he wiped his forehead and spoke.

“What? If you’re here, say something.”

“I was just watching. What are you making?”

At Ricart’s question, Mason merely gave a small laugh.

“Who knows.”

Not wanting to interrupt his work, Ricart left him alone. The workshop was fairly large, so he slowly wandered around and examined the unfinished works displayed as if they were part of an exhibition.

Then, in one corner, he noticed a shabby old book. Thinking it might be a blueprint, he looked at it without much thought, only to find that its title was written in ancient script.

Calling it a book was a stretch. It was actually a very long piece of parchment folded into equal sections, stacked together, and tied with string.

It had to be untied and unfolded one section at a time to read. Ricart loosened the string without hesitation.

<The mana of mages and martial artists shares the same origin. Yet, just as an infant differentiates into male or female inside its mother’s womb, the manner in which one first approaches mana gives it entirely different qualities. This cannot be changed.

Thus, only those who walk the path of the martial artist can become Sword Masters. A Sword Master’s Sword of Light differs in quality and in its very nature from the enchantment magic of mages.

A Sword Master is one who infuses mana into a weapon, drawing out the weapon’s innate qualities to their utmost limit.

The weapon’s cutting power and durability rise dramatically, allowing it to slice through even the hardest armor in a single stroke. Therefore, one who reaches the level of Sword Master finds it difficult to meet an equal.

Yet while the definition of a Sword Master is clear, the path to becoming one is abstruse, complex, and elusive, making it difficult to define.

Many renowned sword families zealously conceal their secret arts, making it difficult to gather material. Sword Masters also occasionally emerge from outside established circles, making it hard to establish a single theory.

Many martial artists despair at the threshold of Sword Master. Some say one’s qualification to become a Sword Master is decided at birth. Others say one becomes a Sword Master when talent and effort bloom after reaching their absolute limits. Yet neither is certain.

Here, I wish to make one proposal. There is no point in speaking of what we do not know, so let us first clarify what we do know.

First, there is certainly a boundary that must be crossed to become a Sword Master.

Whether what is needed to cross that boundary is innate aptitude, talent, or effort is unknown. But why not focus only on crossing the boundary?

Beginning with this thought, I found one clue. It was the training method practiced by the Church of Emptiness.

......

Therefore, one must pay a price to cross the boundary. One must offer a sacrifice. That price, that sacrifice, is a part of one’s humanity.

Much research is still required, but I am certain.

......>

Ricart skimmed through the rest of the book from the middle onward. For some reason, it left him feeling uneasy and creeped out. It carried the scent of madness and obsession.

Still, it did not clearly explain how one could cross that boundary and become a Sword Master.

The author was convinced that a person had to carve something out from within themselves through some kind of religious ritual.

Was becoming a Sword Master really worth going that far? Ricart could not understand it.

Still, he had learned one thing from the book. There was a proper path to becoming a Sword Master, and then there was the path of people like its author, who did not know the proper path and only cared about becoming one somehow.

“Ricky, can you read that?”

Mason asked as he passed behind him.

“Yes. I learned ancient script before.”

“Really? Then you can have it.”

“Really? Is that okay?”

“To be honest, people have skipped out on paying me plenty of times. Too many to count. This time, the amount was just bigger than usual. I built a chapel for some baronial house before, and when they came up short on payment, I just took that book. But it won’t sell. Who would buy a book they can’t even read?”

Ricart looked down at the book he had folded back up.

The title, <The Boundary of the Sword Master>, looked different to him now.

In a way, this was a Codex too. All books written in ancient times were called Codices.

What he had just read did not contain extraordinary knowledge, but it did convey knowledge that was dangerous and intriguing.

It did not seem especially useful, but since Mason was giving it to him, Ricart took it for now.

“Thank you.”

He left the workshop and walked around the outskirts of Ernberg. Only in the late afternoon did he climb the central uphill road.

When he reached the branch building, adventurers were now coming and going with some regularity. Merchants delivering food and other daily necessities were there as well.

Some people had come to submit requests, while local residents sat outside on mats, simply chatting among themselves.

When Ricart appeared, people here and there greeted him.

“Hey.”

“Volka was looking for you, Ricky.”

Outside of fighting, Ricart was fairly easygoing, so everyone felt comfortable around him.

Ricart merely waved and nodded as he entered the building. Adventurers rested at tables and before the fireplace inside.

“Ricky.”

Someone called to him as soon as he entered. It was Delphi, carrying food.

“I told you to hire staff.”

“Hey, paying people costs more than anything.”

“Why not just hire Bennybenny?”

“She’s too young. Sometimes severed heads come in. Injured people too.”

“Is there anything I can help with?”

“You’ve gotten good at saying things you don’t mean.”

Delphi said with a smile as she turned away. To be honest, Ricart often slacked off. He had not attended classes properly at the Academy either.

Ricart simply smiled and headed to Volka’s private room, which also served as his office. Volka had been looking for him, after all.

“Volka, were you looking for me?”

Volka sat at his desk, reviewing papers and calculating money. Piles of silver coins and copper coins stood before him, along with a few gold coins.

Boribori and Marie were beside him, organizing documents and helping with various tasks.

“Damn it, I said I needed help. At this rate, I’ll die doing this stuff forever.”

Counting money itself was not difficult, but payments had to be sent and received accurately from various places, and the accounts had to be checked continuously.

“You get better at math the more you do it. You’re just slow at calculating.”

Ricart’s calculations and eye for detail were almost inhumanly sharp, so he was honestly a great help whenever he did assist. But he rarely did. This sort of work was annoying.

“Forget it. Dunkel got in touch. He says they’ve started negotiations.”

“What negotiations?”

“Negotiations to end the war.”

Ricart had expected frequent fighting because this was supposedly the front line, but that had not been the case. Maybe the enemy did not come because they feared him from the start, or perhaps they did not have the means to do so.

And it was not easy for a mere Adventurer Guild to deploy personnel throughout all of Sigpringer.

Rather than both sides wasting money and losing people, negotiations were not a bad thing. But negotiations were not settled in a day or two. Negotiation was another kind of war.

Ricart had no role to play in that war.

It was a little deflating, but it was still fortunate. The greatest reward for weary soldiers was the end of a war.

“Anyway, shouldn’t you, Boribori, and Marie go back to the Academy?”

“Do we really need to?”

“You have to graduate. That’s how you officially become adventurers. Think of it as the bare minimum procedure, even if the place is run in such a slapdash way.”

“Really?”

“Really. They might come to pick you up as early as early autumn. Go back ahead of time. You worked hard. Thanks.”

Ricart answered Volka’s thanks with a smile. Then he sat on the bed and asked the busy Boribori and Marie.

“What about you two?”

“Us? What about us? We’ve already packed.”

Marie answered.

Perhaps she had been too busy working to feel any regret. They had only just settled down and begun building this place up.

Still, graduation was close, so they would soon be able to come here again. Maybe Ricart was the only one pointlessly growing sentimental.

“What’s that?”

Boribori asked, looking at the Codex in Ricart’s hand.

“Oh, this? Mason gave it to me. He said I could just keep it.”

“Really? Can I see it?”

“...There’s no reason you can’t, but it’s kind of a creepy book.”

“What’s it about?”

“It goes on about how you have to abandon your humanity to become a Sword Master.”

“Then I’m not reading it.”

At Ricart’s words, Boribori answered without even looking back. Aside from Ice, none of them aimed to become Sword Masters, so Boribori did not seem to care much.

Ricart went to his room and packed his things. As he put the Codex in his bag, he paused and stared at the old, faded book.

He remembered the goal he had set when entering the Academy. He wanted to find out whether the war a little over a hundred years ago had been worth fighting, whether its cause had truly been something called a Codex, and what a Codex actually was.

That was why he had learned ancient script.

He had not seen every Codex, but if they were filled with this sort of thing, it was disappointing.

Still, it was difficult to answer whether they had been worth going to war over. If there had been no war, if there had been no Codices, the Adventurer Academy would not have been established.

Ricart pitied the children who had suffered for so long in that chicken coop-like place. But then again, if not for that chicken coop, would he have met his friends as they were now?

So the question of whether the war had been worth fighting was not one he could answer lightly.

In any case, Ricart packed his belongings. He stayed at the branch for several days, helping Volka with his work and giving him some breathing room.

Once Volka could finally breathe a little easier beneath his excessive workload, Ricart left east with Boribori and Marie.

Back to the Academy.

Like cool river winds pushing a sail onward, their steps on the way back were light.

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