WeTried Translations

Translator/Editor: ZERO_SUGAR

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◈ Ode of the Brave ◈

Chapter 77

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Time passed after Ricart completed the Special Rank request and returned to Ernberg.

The withering grass dried further. Every leaf clinging to the trees fell away, and snow covered all those bare things.

The wind lashed like a whip. In the harsh, merciless winter, all people seemed to become miserable slaves.

Yet the movement of the heavens was not indifferent only to humans. Slowly but surely, it brought even winter to an end.

Before long, rain fell instead of snow. Spring had come. The snow that had piled up through winter gathered in the rivers like prisoners of war and was driven out to sea.

As the weather warmed, people began to move little by little, like new shoots sprouting. They gathered themselves and went on living. That was life.

But when swordsmen had no work, they sharpened their blades. While others nurtured life, they made money through death. It was not as if they had simply rested through winter, either.

Usually, they cleared snow from roofs, chopped firewood, repaired buildings, and maintained them. Still, their main way of earning a living was swinging a sword.

Even so, the Beringen Adventurer Guild's Ernberg branch was not something people feared. If anything, it was familiar and trusted.

It also had a strong reputation throughout the surrounding area for fast, precise, high-quality work. It completed nearly one hundred percent of requests, with a full refund if it failed.

In particular, Ricart, Ice, and Boribori were known as the Three Swordsmen of the Violet. They had no rivals anywhere in the Sigpringer region.

Naturally, anyone who wanted to commission one of those three by name had to pay a high price.

Still, Ricart's life did not change dramatically. Even after completing a Special Rank request and becoming a swordsman who could hardly find an equal, he did not live some extraordinary life.

Like everyone else, he lived with the seasons. In the larger picture, little had changed. He simply went quietly about his days, or enjoyed the small pleasures of ordinary life with his friends.

Was that really true? It did not seem so.

There might have been no visible change, but deep inside him was a seed Armand had planted.

Face yourself. Even if it tears your heart to pieces.

Ice laughed more often, while Volka told him to go back to how he used to be, saying a handsome bastard should not have a good personality too.

But Ricart, on the other hand, spoke less and smiled less than before. He was not depressed. Nor was he in a bad mood.

Even he did not know why. Boribori said that maybe Ricky was becoming an adult.

Well, the answer was probably inside me, but I could not find it. Or perhaps I was unconsciously turning away from it.

In any case, rain always fell when the seasons changed. From winter to spring, and from spring to summer.

The barley and wheat fields around Ernberg were still green, their ears not yet fully formed. Little by little, they were turning yellow.

Around then, documents arrived from the guild headquarters. Ricart assumed they were wanted posters as usual, but one special document was mixed in.

It said that the Imperial Swordsmanship Tournament would be held in autumn. The winner would receive an enormous cash prize, land, and the honor of becoming a member of the imperial family.

Becoming a member of the imperial family meant being engaged to the thirty-second imperial princess.

Martelia von Nibelinger.

At the sight of that name, the seed planted in Ricart's heart began to sprout.

“Whaaat? Marie was an imperial princess?”

Boribori, riding the donkey listed as the clan's number one asset, widened his eyes as they walked along the embankment road.

Ricart, who had grown much taller, walked beside him. They were on their way back to the branch after finishing a request together.

“You didn't know? You were there with me then.”

“When was that?”

“At graduation.”

“Oh, then? But I was too far away to hear what they were saying.”

“Anyway, that's how it is.”

“Then you'll enter the tournament, Ricky?”

“...I don't know.”

“What do you mean, you don't know? Marie is so pitiful.”

Ordinary commoners had no reason to pity an imperial princess. But Boribori had watched her suffering from up close.

“Maybe this is the end of it.”

“What is? Your bond with Marie?”

“Yeah.”

“Honestly, Ricky, you're so cruel. I know you're stubborn, but this doesn't seem right. It'll only make both you and Marie unhappy.”

“Life is unhappy by nature. You're only happy for a little while, once in a while. The harder you struggle to be happy, the unhappier you become.”

“No. I don't think so. Look at me. Do I look unhappy? Or happy?”

Boribori had lived through a time more miserable than anyone, so he understood well that happiness and unhappiness depended on one's state of mind.

“You just don't think.”

“W-What? That's harsh, Ricky. I may look like this, but I've studied a lot.”

In truth, Boribori had read many books and studied quite a bit. His knowledge was actually greater than Ricart's.

“So you're not going?”

“I said I don't know.”

“Hmm, all right. I guess I need to give you a push.”

“Hahaha. Do I look like someone who can be pushed around? Me?”

“I'm not the only one. If I tell the others, they'll all tell you to go.”

“...Were they all that interested in me and Marie?”

“Of course. You two suit each other. If you ask me, Marie is like a female Ricky. You're very alike.”

“What? A female Ricky?”

“Yeah. She doesn't bully the weak, and she stands up to the strong. She looks a little naïve, but she's actually smart. She's warmhearted, but when she needs to be, she's clear-headed. Most of all, you're brave too, but Marie is even braver than you.”

“...”

Was that how others saw them? Ricart found himself thinking about Marie again. Her shy smile lingered before his eyes.

“And isn't it awful? Calling her the winner's spoils? Is Marie an object? You know she doesn't deserve to be treated like that, Ricky.”

In fact, from ancient tribal societies onward, it had been a long tradition to give a daughter to a capable wandering traveler and make him a son-in-law. That was how families, and eventually villages, protected themselves.

That tradition had continued, and it was not unusual for a jousting tournament winner to marry a princess.

For a knight, it was a chance to rise in status, while a king gained military strength. It was not merely romantic. There were interests involved. Perhaps it was a feature of warrior culture.

That was why it was unconventional, but entirely plausible, for the imperial family to hold a swordsmanship tournament and engage the winner to an imperial princess.

But people were not fools. They knew the Emperor was a womanizer with countless bastards, and that he was simply tossing one of his lower-ranked princesses to someone as a favor. The thirty-second princess, no less.

Even so, it was certainly an honorable matter. Marie's bloodline was not questionable even on her mother's side, and the land that came with her was attractive.

Of course, Ricart had no interest in any of that. Still, Boribori's words felt like a hammer blow to the head.

Why should Marie be treated that way? The more he thought about it, the angrier he became.

“You're right, Bori. I hadn't thought that far.”

“Hehe, see? I do think.”

Ricart smiled and roughly ruffled Boribori's hair for no reason.

“Yeah. You're better than me now.”

Boribori, whom Ricart had practically picked up off the street and raised, had become someone who could think for himself and even offer Ricart advice.

He was also, undeniably, a swordsman renowned throughout the central north of the Empire. Though unintentionally, he had also gained a reputation as a crazed dismemberer.

When they returned to the branch, it was crowded with adventurers. It was one of the most successful branches in the Sigpringer region, and people flocked there because of famous adventurers like Ricart, Ice, and Boribori.

Volka had another task as well: sorting the worthy from the unworthy to accept new Viola Clan members, and managing the other clans. He was now both the branch chief and a clan master.

Ricart had not intended it, but his relationships with others were somewhat closed off. He was not unfriendly, but he did not have deep conversations with anyone outside his friends.

So even among fellow Viola Clan members, there were often people whose names he did not know, or whom he had never seen before. He simply accepted it and moved on.

Surprisingly, many people followed Boribori. He was kind, and he freely shared his swordsmanship and combat experience.

Ricart, on the other hand, gave off an unapproachable air, so people found it difficult to approach him.

Even though Ice had improved from before, he was still cold toward strangers, so there were rarely people around him.

The Ernberg branch continued on well enough that way. The world was overflowing with problems, so requests never stopped. It was a business that could not fail.

In any case, Ricart reported the results to Volka and told him about the tournament and Marie. Then all his friends said the same thing.

“Why aren't you going?”

Just as Boribori had said, Ricart was practically pushed out the door.

Still bewildered, he packed his gear and belongings and boarded a merchant ship. As the ship departed, he looked back at Ernberg. It was small, but full of life.

But the ship was heading for greater waters. Waters so rough that one wrong move could get him killed.

The Imperial Swordsmanship Tournament was to be held in autumn, but autumn had not even arrived yet, and Nibelungen was already crowded with outsiders from every corner of the Empire. Most of those outsiders were swordsmen.

As a result, incidents occurred every day. Fistfights were common, and outside taverns, duels fought for pride more precious than life broke out constantly.

Imperial knights went out to maintain order, but they did not actually enforce it very well.

It was cleaner if one side simply died. If they stopped a fight only for the fighters to cause trouble somewhere else, it became even more troublesome.

So the knights and soldiers limited themselves to protecting locals. In effect, people from other regions received no protection and had to survive on their own.

Only undertakers, priests, and grave robbers enjoyed an unexpected boom. Even more outsiders continued to pour in, enough to exceed the city's capacity.

Ricart stepped off the ship and set foot in that place. All he carried was simple luggage, a meteoric iron sword, and a dagger tucked inside his clothes.

As he surveyed the city in the river wind, it seemed old-fashioned and beautiful. There was a forest across the river, and the paved roads were broad.

There were no walls, so the wind moved freely through the city. It even had water and sewer pipes, so it did not have the usual foul smell of a city.

The Emperor's castle stood on a hill, but it was smaller than Ricart had expected. The imperial family actually lived in a palace some distance from the city.

They had lived in the castle long ago, but it was not a good place to live, so it was now essentially run as barracks.

Ricart first walked down the main avenue. Since it was the capital, there seemed to be many wealthy people. Carriages occasionally passed by, leaving horse droppings scattered along the road.

One person was putting the droppings into sacks, not to clean the streets, but to sell them as fertilizer. In any case, the city was rather pleasant.

After getting a rough sense of the city's layout, Ricart went looking for a place to stay. But once he left the main avenue, he felt eyes on him from all around.

They were a little different from the looks of thieves after money and equipment.

They were simply provocative.

In a situation like this, there was one way to survive safely.

Keep your eyes lowered.

But Ricart did not do that. He only stared back blankly.

What? What are you going to do about it?

Thankfully, the locals did not seem to care much. You could tell outsiders and locals apart at a glance, from their clothing and their strange atmosphere.

Ricart approached someone moving oak barrels and asked,

“Excuse me. Where can I find a decent inn around here?”

“An inn? They're probably all full.”

“What?”

“The expensive inns near the imperial palace have all been taken by famous swordsmen. As for the rest, people have probably already gotten rooms by paying extra. If you go that way and leave the city, there's a tent camp. But I'll warn you now, it's dangerous there. Blades come out all the time. How could anyone get a proper night's sleep?”

People who lived in the imperial capital of Nibelungen were rather kind. But being kind did not mean they could solve his problem.

“Ah... I understand. Thank you.”

“I wish you good fortune. I hope you get a good result.”

Ricart thanked the citizen of the capital and turned away.

Still, this was quite troubling. Where should he go? Should he board another ship, return home, and come back when the tournament was closer?

Since he was already here, he decided he might as well register. So he approached an imperial knight who was standing by the roadside, trading jokes with some soldiers. The knight wore chainmail beneath a white surcoat.

“Hello, sir.”

When Ricart spoke, the knight stopped grinning and turned with a hard expression.

“I would like to register for the tournament. Where should I go?”

The knight looked Ricart up and down, then silently pointed with his chin. It was toward the castle on the hill.

Ricart thanked him and was about to leave when the knight asked,

“What is your name? You seem young.”

“I'm Ricky. An adventurer.”

“...Ricky? Surely you don't mean Ricky the Red Cape?”

“I seem to be called that.”

The knight looked slightly surprised, then grinned.

“It is an honor to see the real thing. Come with me.”

He led Ricart toward the imperial palace.

“There are orders to receive distinguished guests separately. You should have contacted us in advance.”

“Is that so? I didn't know.”

“You'd best only sleep at the imperial palace at night. During the day, those bastard's brats might make your life difficult.”

“B-Bastard's brats?”

Ricart was startled by the sudden curse. Then he had a bad feeling.

“You've heard the rumors too, haven't you? That womanizing Emperor. Even that bastard has a proper wife. The Empress's children are those bastard's brats.”

Ricart doubted his ears. W-What was this man saying? By bastard's brats, did he mean the imperial princes?

The knight did not seem to have even a speck of loyalty toward the Emperor or the imperial family. It was obvious that he only did this work for money.

There was a limit to how pathetic someone could be. The one who had damaged the Emperor's authority was none other than the Emperor himself. Who else was there to blame?

For decades, not merely a year or two, he had done nothing but pathetic things. Naturally, those beneath him thought, What a worthless idiot.

“You should be careful of the Empress Dowager. Just don't catch the imperial family's attention. Nothing good comes from getting involved with them. If you win, sell the fief immediately, take the money, and leave. In my opinion, that's the best deal. What right of succession would the thirty-second princess have? They'll only use her as an excuse to summon you to battlefields here and there.”

It was very, very cynical advice.

“...”

Ricart could not speak. He could not think of anything to say.

Perhaps because of that, the only person he could think of now was Marie.

Was the Emperor not the pinnacle of all humanity? What kind of household was the imperial family, anyway?

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