WeTried Translations

Translator/Editor: ZERO_SUGAR

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◈ Ode of the Brave ◈

Chapter 75

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If he said he was not trembling, he would be lying. He was about to enter an abyss where not a speck of sunlight reached.

But was that trembling fear? Or anticipation? And if it was anticipation, what was he expecting?

Rather than carrying his sword over one shoulder as usual, Ricart held it in one hand as he followed Remania, ready to draw at any time.

Deep within the Garden of Roses theater was a passage connected to the catacombs. Honestly, he had expected this.

Ricart and Ice followed Remania down the dark passage leading into the catacombs. The click, click of Remania's shoes echoed through the deepening darkness.

The farther they went, the darker it became. By the time they reached the stairs leading down, Ricart could no longer see his own hand.

When Ricart and Ice were swallowed by complete darkness and could no longer take another step, beastlike eyes gleamed in the dark. Unlike the green eyes of other beasts, these were red.

Dozens of red eyes shone high and low, near and far. It was a chilling sight that would have made an ordinary person faint.

Ricart was not afraid, but he was concerned. His senses were razor-sharp even in the darkness, but there were simply too many of them.

Could they win if they fought with their backs to the wall? Leaving this narrow passage would be dangerous. Thoughts like that ran through his mind.

Perhaps sensing his unease, Remania snapped her fingers. The torches hanging on the walls flared to life one after another.

The place revealed by the fire had a high ceiling and was vast. Holes covered the walls like a honeycomb, and a coffin rested inside each one.

Some vampires had already entered their coffins to sleep through the morning, but others were still awake.

Several had bright red blood smeared around their mouths. In one corner lay a body so mangled by torture that it was no longer recognizable.

The chill unique to a basement wrapped around Ricart and Ice. It was not cold, but it seemed to seep into their hearts.

Ricart boldly looked over the vampires. Yet something was strange. Their eyes were far too empty and lifeless.

They showed no hostility toward humans. He could not even sense the slightest curiosity, much less a desire to eat them. During the performance, they had laughed so loudly and taken such pleasure in deceiving humans.

“They're empty shells. They only imitate pleasure.”

As they entered the passage leading properly into the catacombs, Remania spoke of the other vampires with contempt. She did not care whether they heard her or not.

Looking at the vacant vampires, Ricart felt as though he had witnessed their true faces.

If they wanted, finding delicious prey was easy for them. They had also mastered every kind of twisted pleasure. Yet all that remained in the end was emptiness.

Eventually, their ghoulification would progress, and they would become ghouls. Beings that lost their intelligence and were driven by endless hunger.

Ironically, Leman had gained a higher form of intelligence by choosing a long death through starvation, while those who pursued pleasure were left with nothing in the end.

And these creatures told humans to live by pursuing their desires. It sounded like the selfish words of a drowning ghost trying to drag others down. The vampires had deceived even themselves.

Once they entered the catacombs, the walls were covered entirely in human skulls. The sheer number of deaths gathered there was overwhelming.

At each fork in the path stood a large pillar in the center, and those pillars too were piled high with skulls.

Remania passed through them, leading Ricart and Ice deeper into the abyss.

Before long, they saw vampires whose ghoulification had begun. Later, they even saw ghouls wandering through the catacombs with hunched backs.

The creatures flashed mad eyes at Ricart and Ice, but Remania overwhelmed them so completely that they did not dare attack.

Still, they kept following at a fixed distance. Eventually, they filled the passage, completely blocking the way back.

Fortunately, as they kept walking, they reached a path that branched to both sides. At the intersection sat a boy. Melted candles surrounded him, and dozens of candle flames glowed nearby.

The boy was thin and bare-chested, sitting cross-legged. His arms hung limp, his head tilted slightly to one side and bowed low. He appeared to be unconscious. Perhaps he was asleep.

But the moment Ricart saw him, every other danger and worry vanished from his mind. He could only stare in bewilderment.

He felt an indescribably sacred presence.

“My father, my lover, my son, my god, Armand.”

Remania spoke. Then she knelt, bowed deeply, and kissed the fingertips of the boy's limp hand. Her devotion was absolute.

Ice was equally confused. He had expected some enormous monster, or someone like Leman. Instead, there was only a frail boy who looked close to death.

More than anyone, Ice's heart pounded at the sight of Armand. He was reminded of his dead younger brother. They did not look alike, yet somehow their images overlapped.

“Are you okay?”

Ricart grabbed Ice as his breathing grew rougher. Ice barely managed a nod.

“Y-Yeah...”

Ricart signaled with his eyes that they should take the left path if something went wrong. At that moment, Remania, who had nearly collapsed beside Armand as she looked up at him, spoke.

“Blood.”

Ricart looked behind him. The ghouls crowded together, filling the passage. It seemed as though they would rush them at any moment. Armand and Remania stood before him.

Still, Ricart thought, A promise is a promise.

Ready to draw his sword if necessary, he took out his dagger, rolled up his left sleeve, and cut his forearm.

Blood immediately welled up and dripped down. The ghouls behind him grew restless.

A scent of blood spread through the air. Humans would struggle to notice it, but wicked things could certainly sense it.

Remania looked up at Armand with a desperate expression.

Please. Please, open your eyes.

Yet even at the scent of the purest blood, Armand kept his head bowed and did not open his eyes. Had Ricart won the bet? Remania had said that if Armand showed no reaction, he could kill him or spare him as he pleased.

And if he killed him, the request would be complete.

Then a single tear rolled down Armand's cheek.

Remania's eyes widened as she stared up at him from where she knelt. It was the first reaction he had shown in decades since she abducted him.

Armand's mouth slowly opened.

His voice was like the ringing of glass, like a single drop falling into a still pond.

“It wasn't your fault, Ice.”

Was this what it would be like to hear the voice of a god? The words themselves seemed to hold sacred power.

Ice was so shocked that he nearly stopped breathing, while Ricart's eyes went wide.

What was happening?

Armand slowly opened his eyes and raised his head to look at Ice. They were not the bright red eyes of a vampire. They were clear turquoise eyes.

He rose, approached Ice, and gently took his arm.

“Let's go. It's dangerous here.”

Then he grabbed Ice's hand and immediately started down the right path. Ricart had no idea what was happening, and Remania was just as flustered.

“Father!”

Remania cried out. Armand turned back toward her as he led Ice away.

“There are no chances left for you, Remania. You die here.”

Ricart did not know what that meant, but it seemed to strike Remania like a bolt from the blue. She froze on her knees, while Ricart decided to stop thinking about it and followed Armand and Ice.

As he ran after them, he looked back. Remania was still staring in their direction with a blank expression.

Ricart instinctively felt that something had gone wrong, so he drew his sword first.

“Hey, do you know the way out?”

Ricart asked Armand.

“Yeah. If it's still the same as before.”

“When was before?”

“Hmm... Maybe around six hundred years ago? I'm not sure. I don't have much sense of time.”

Ricart did not think they should trust him, but he did not know the way either.

Meanwhile, Ice seemed completely out of it. Armand's voice had shaken the deep-rooted guilt inside him.

“Get a hold of yourself, Ice. Get a hold of yourself. I said, get a hold of yourself.”

Ricart grabbed Ice by the shoulders and shook him hard.

“H-Huh?”

“Get a hold of yourself. I think something went wrong. Let's focus on getting out. The sun's up outside, so we'll be safe once we get out.”

“Ricky's right. Let's get out first.”

Armand spoke. Ricart tilted his head.

“How do you know my name?”

“I saw it in a dream.”

“Do you have prophetic dreams or something?”

“Yeah.”

Armand answered as though it were nothing. Perhaps living a long time while keeping one's sanity gave someone special abilities. The problem was that he had needed to starve for six hundred years to get them.

“What?”

“But I get confused about whether they're things from the past or the future. One thing is certain, though. Ricky, you will eventually have to face your past self. Only then can you move forward.”

“...”

“You will face it, so don't worry too much. Pain nourishes the growth of the soul. You can do it. No. You already did. What will happen, happens, and it is the same as something that has already happened. The future and the past are the same.”

What was he talking about?

By then, Ricart was too dumbfounded to speak.

Whether the prophecy was right or wrong, though, Armand's voice was strangely captivating. But it was the opposite of something evil. It was closer to something sacred, as though it gave him strength to reach for hope.

Then suddenly, a ghoul lunged at them from ahead with its mouth wide open.

Ricart instinctively raised his sword and thrust it into its mouth.

Screech!

He kicked the ghoul away and pulled his sword free. Blood streaked the blade. As he hastily wiped it on his clothes, he heard a chattering noise behind him. The ghouls that had been following them were probably closing in.

“Hey, can't you use magic or something? This doesn't feel right.”

“Sorry. I've starved too long. I don't have the strength.”

He had the power of prophecy, but it seemed he had lost the powerful abilities he once possessed as a vampire.

“Want to drink my blood?”

Without hesitation, Ricart held out the forearm he had cut earlier.

Armand looked a little dumbfounded by Ricart's boldness. He gave a hollow laugh and shook his head. After starving for hundreds of years, Ricart was offering him blood now.

The sounds of pursuit continued behind them. Ricart immediately slashed at the skulls and bones piled along the walls, sending them tumbling down. He was creating an obstacle, however hurriedly.

“I'll follow the sound of your footsteps, so go on ahead.”

Ice hesitated, but Armand grabbed his arm and pulled him along.

“Don't worry. Ricky lives much longer than you do.”

Ricart kept swinging his sword, building barriers of bone. The grotesque cries and rushing footsteps of the ghouls drew closer.

Then, at some point, the ghouls rushed Ricart.

They opened their mouths like rabid dogs, trying to bite anything they could reach.

Ricart calmly stepped back and swung his sword, taking heads and splitting skulls. If even one swing missed, it would create the smallest opening, and he would be swept away and killed as though by a wave.

But his sword never missed.

The ghouls also tripped over one another and the barriers of skulls. Their path was blocked, and their charge soon slowed.

In an instant, ghouls and corpses piled up all the way to the ceiling. Seeing his chance, Ricart turned and ran, following the distant sound of Ice and Armand's footsteps.

Then the torches lighting the catacombs suddenly went out.

Darkness swallowed Ricart in an instant.

No matter how sharp Ricart's senses were, he could not distinguish inanimate objects. He moved forward with one hand against the wall, but Ice and Armand were moving away faster.

Ricart felt increasingly isolated. He was not afraid, but he could not stop his heart from racing or his breathing from growing rough.

Then he heard a voice.

“Since it's come to this, I guess I'll have to drink your blood.”

It was Remania.

She attacked from the front. Though he could see nothing, Ricart ducked and avoided the attack precisely before striking back.

Whoosh! Whoom!

Their attacks crossed almost at once. Remania had not expected Ricart to counterattack, and she leaped back in surprise.

Ricart stared into the pitch darkness, every nerve tense.

Unlike him, Remania could see Ricart clearly in the dark. She tilted her head.

He definitely can't see me.

To test him, she attacked again with inhuman movement. She sprang up so fast that her body flipped upside down and her feet touched the ceiling, then tried to slash Ricart's throat with her nails.

But the instant Remania moved, Ricart's eyes fixed on her with perfect accuracy.

What?

Clang!

Remania was no ordinary vampire. In that instant, she blocked Ricart's counterattack with her nails. Her throat had nearly been cut, and she could not understand what was happening.

She stood far away and looked at Ricart again. His vision was clearly blocked. His eyes, staring into the darkness, were completely unfocused.

Remania could not make sense of it.

“Of course. My brother wouldn't have sent just anyone.”

Then Remania invoked her authority and summoned the ghouls. The sound of a crazed charge surged toward him.

Startled, Ricart immediately ran. But since he could see nothing, he had no choice but to move slowly.

All the while, Remania kept needling him. She was not truly attacking, only trying to hold him in place.

“Where are you going, little boy? Come to your big sister!”

She shrieked with laughter. Ricart struck back at the sound of her voice, but he was too busy fleeing and counterattacking. More wounds accumulated on his arms and legs. All he could do was protect his vital points.

“Oh my! You look so delicious!”

Remania kept taunting him. It seemed that after being abandoned by her father, she had lost her mind and decided to enjoy herself while she could.

Ricart was gradually losing his composure.

Then Armand's cry rang out from somewhere in the catacombs.

“Ricky! Drink the Holy Oil!”

Ricart pulled Illya's Holy Oil from his clothes. He did not think drinking this would solve anything, but he had no other option. He opened it and drank.

Thick oil entered his mouth. The scent of olives spread through it, and it slid smoothly down his throat.

But it was only greasy. Nothing changed.

Of course... This kind of thing is just superstition...

That was what he thought when he suddenly felt something like wind blowing inside his body.

The wind filled his body in an instant. From the top of his head to the tips of his toes, it swept wildly through his heart, liver, lungs, blood vessels, and muscles without any fixed rhythm.

It was something on an entirely different level from Mana Drive. Yet it felt vaguely familiar, or perhaps it did not. It was both familiar and unfamiliar, but not unpleasant.

Was it a longing for the innocent days he had lost? Nostalgia for home?

Had Besprim returned safely to his homeland? What had happened to his brothers on the battlefield? And Caldebert?

Random questions welled up in his mind. At the same time, his past life and present life blended together until he could not tell them apart.

Which one was real?

At that moment, the wind inside him became an intense fire.

For a brief instant, Ricart felt as though his brain were burning. Then he lost consciousness.

When Ricart stood still with one hand against the wall and his head bowed, Remania mocked him.

“What are you doing? Have you given up?”

Then Ricart raised his head.

Golden flames burned in both his eyes.

Remania was suddenly overwhelmed by a sense of wrongness.

No, it was not merely wrongness. It was unmistakable terror of death.

At that very moment, the charging ghouls crashed over Ricart in a wave. They threw themselves at him all at once, leaving him no room to dodge.

For a brief moment, Remania felt relieved.

It's over. Finally.

Then a sacredly burning sword burst forth and swept away the ghouls in a single strike.

Shhhhk!

Blood rained down in torrents, and chunks of flesh fell with wet splats.

Ricart stood drenched in blood, his burning eyes gleaming. Unlike before, he looked straight through the darkness at Remania. Golden flames roared along his blade.

Remania froze, unable to speak.

He wasn't human. Then what is this?

“How dare you stand before me?”

A voice of unfathomable hatred and rage flowed from Ricart's mouth. Remania felt her long-dead heart begin to pound.

Ricart no longer needed to react to his opponent's movements or turn their strength against them.

He could simply cut through everything.

Remania launched herself away at tremendous speed, fleeing the area. Yet the burning sword pierced through her sensual body from behind.

Then it cut upward in one stroke.

Remania's body split in half, and she died without even being able to scream. She only fell onto the floor of the ancient underground tomb as a rotting mass of flesh.

Ricart silently looked down at Remania's corpse.

What was that?

The thought had barely crossed his mind when Ice's voice pierced his ears from far away.

“Ricky!”

Ice's voice passed through Ricart's ears and struck his brain. In an instant, Ricart's consciousness returned to normal. At the same time, the golden flames burning in his eyes and along his sword vanished.

Ricart stood alone in confusion, but then he remembered that he had been running away. He immediately rushed toward the sound.

Before long, he saw Ice and Armand surrounded by ghouls. Iron bars blocked the way behind them. Unlike six hundred years ago, the exit had been sealed.

Ice fought desperately while protecting Armand, and Ricart joined them, cutting down ghouls from behind.

“Did you drink the Holy Oil!?”

Armand asked at once.

“I think I did, but I don't remember.”

“Good. Then open this.”

Armand pointed at the iron bars.

What was he talking about? Shouldn't they break through the ghouls and find another exit?

“Hurry!”

Armand urged him. Without thinking, Ricart dropped his sword and grabbed the iron bars.

He gritted his teeth and pulled with all his strength. At some point, the bars bent like sticks of taffy.

Ricart's eyes widened in surprise.

Why are they bending? Is the iron weak?

Taking that chance, Armand grabbed Ice by the hem of his clothes and passed through the bars. Ricart hurried after them, with the ghouls chasing behind.

Then a straight beam of sunlight poured down.

The ghouls could chase no farther.

But Armand took Ice's hand and threw himself into the light.

They emerged onto a beach on the outskirts of Harlen. Cool waves crashed nearby.

Armand ran across the sand while holding Ice's hand. After they had run for a while, Armand's skin began to burn and smoke rose from it.

Only then did the startled Ice realize that he was a vampire and grab him.

Armand's arm broke off limply, and he collapsed onto the soft sand.

“Ah, the sun after a thousand years. I forgot. Hehehe.”

Armand laughed as he lay on the beach. Ricart, who had followed them out, quickly took off his cloak and covered Armand's body. But it was not enough.

“I-I'm fine. It was meant to happen. No, it already happened.”

The midday sun continued to burn him. Armand's body gradually turned to gray dust. Ricart and Ice could do nothing.

“When you have prophetic dreams for a long time, someone can feel like an old friend, even if they haven't been born yet. Isn't that foolish? Ice, your younger brother didn't resent you... So you have to be happy. I really wanted to tell you that... Ah, ahh, ah...”

The sunlight did not stop burning Armand. He closed his eyes and endured the pain, his body trembling in tiny shudders as though he had a fever.

“Ricky, you already...”

Armand tried to leave Ricart with something as well.

But the sunlight burned him completely. The last of his skin turned gray.

The pile of ash that had taken the form of a boy collapsed with a puff.

Ricart and Ice felt their hearts drop.

The sea breeze came and swept away the ash. Then the waves rolled in and carried it off.

On that beautiful beach, an emotion beyond words enveloped Ricart and Ice.

They had come to kill him.

They had not even known him for long.

So what was this deep sense of loss?

It was the first time the sun had felt hateful.

Only the drifting ash and the sound of the waves remained.

Chapter 14: The Unforgiven. End.

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