WeTried Translations
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◈ Ode of the Brave ◈
Chapter 78
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There was an oak forest on the outskirts of Nibelungen, and the Imperial Palace stood within it.
The gardens had merely been tended while preserving as much of the forest as possible. Their beauty came more from nature than artifice. They said this reflected the tastes of Bellator I, the fifth Emperor, who had built the palace.
Ricart stayed at the edge of the Imperial Palace as a sort of guest. Great tapestries boasting the imperial family's history hung in rows along the corridors.
They were splendid, lavishly woven with gold, silver, red, and purple threads. The heroes of the past remained majestic and proud, still alive within the tapestries.
Caldebert was among them, raising his sword high. Before him lay a heap of barbarian corpses, rendered entirely in red thread.
“What happened to that ragged red cape of yours?”
Someone spoke beside Ricart as he stood in the middle of the corridor, admiring the tapestry. The words carried a faint sneer.
When Ricart turned, he saw a young swordsman in light clothing, with a long Side Sword at his waist.
His wet-looking black hair hung slickly down one side. With long lashes and distinct features, he had a striking face. A ruby earring glimmered from one ear.
“Who are you?”
Ricart asked because he genuinely did not know.
The young swordsman gave a soft laugh.
“Liberio di Bonatelli. In my homeland, they call me Skipping-Stone Liberio. You would do well to remember it, Red Cape. And what a pathetic epithet yours is. Red cloth is not so rare where we come from, unlike among poor folk like you.”
Judging by his name, he seemed to be from some far southern country. Or perhaps a republic. In any case, he appeared to have come for the tournament, like Ricart.
But Ricart did not know what he was supposed to do about it. He understood that Liberio was mocking him, but it did not particularly anger him.
Northern people tended to speak bluntly. When they picked a fight, they openly cursed or challenged someone to a brawl. Ricart truly could not understand what this man wanted.
“Ah, yes... I see.”
“The Nine Swords of the Empire is merely a name thrown around by ignorant country bumpkins. If you take pride in it, I would like to tell you that it means nothing.”
“I'll decide that for myself.”
At Ricart's mild answer, Liberio gave another soft laugh.
“Be humble, unless you wish to hasten your death.”
With that, Liberio strode past Ricart. As they passed close together, a brief tension seemed to hang in the air, but Ricart neither froze nor let down his guard.
Soon, Liberio opened a door, walked into the next corridor, and vanished.
The Imperial Palace housed famous swordsmen who did not need to compete in the preliminaries. Liberio was one of them.
Ricart had no interest in how the other swordsmen lived, but he could not help overhearing things.
The swordsmen staying in the palace were divided into two broad groups. The first attended banquets every day, attached themselves to the imperial princes, and formed factions among themselves.
The Empress had borne eight children. Her eldest son had died young, so the current Emperor's nine-year-old grandson was the Crown Prince.
The second child and eldest daughter had married into a distant country. The third child and second son had become a count and a direct vassal of the Emperor, so he was not at the Imperial Palace.
The second son was second in the line of succession, but he had shut himself inside his castle, cut off contact with the world, and never came out.
That left the fourth child through the youngest at the palace. Three were princes and two were princesses. The oldest prince had only just come of age at fifteen, while the youngest was six.
All the remaining princes and princesses had been formally registered from among the Emperor's bastards. Though they shared the same father, there was as much difference between them and the Empress's children as between heaven and earth.
Apparently, the third prince, the fourth child, spent much time with swordsmen. Ricart could not tell whether that was because of ambition or simply good social skills.
Thus, the palace was largely divided into the Crown Prince's faction and the third prince's faction. Ridiculously enough, the Empire's other lords had long been divided between those same two sides. The current Imperial Palace looked like a smaller version of that.
However, Varsilia, the current Emperor's mother and the Dowager Empress, led the Crown Prince's faction and guided state affairs. So, on the surface, the Crown Prince's side held the advantage.
The other group among the swordsmen staying in the palace quietly kept to themselves, caring nothing for factions. Ricart was one of them.
Liberio belonged to the third prince's faction and was quite close to the third prince. Perhaps that was why he had been so full of himself and felt compelled to say something to Ricart.
Thinking he had merely run into someone while standing in the corridor, Ricart stopped admiring the tapestries, retrieved his sword from his room, and went outside.
Once he crossed the not-very-large courtyard and passed through the main gate, the fresh forest air seemed to wash clean through his lungs.
There were many oaks hundreds of years old. Some had grown into such strange shapes that they seemed like fine works of art themselves. They looked as if they had split in half long ago, then continued growing separately.
Moss clung to the trees, which were slightly damp and overflowing with life.
Walking through the forest with a crunch beneath his feet, Ricart felt as if he might lose his way. Ranger watchposts stood here and there, but no one watched him closely.
Their main duty was to drive away wild beasts and tend this forest and garden. They were gardeners as well as rangers.
Since Ricart did not enjoy banquets, he had little to do except walk. When bored, he occasionally went into the city for a while before returning. It was entertaining if he happened upon a fight.
Still, he mostly passed the time by taking walks.
Besides, despite the imperial knight's warning when he had first arrived, the palace did not seem particularly dangerous. Perhaps that was because he had no reason to get involved with the princes. There had been no problem with peacefully living as he pleased.
Not yet.
“Hey, swordsman.”
Someone called down from above Ricart's head.
Looking up, he saw a child sitting on the thick branch of an old oak, gazing down at him. The child looked about ten. Ricart had left home at exactly that age.
But judging by the clothes, the child was clearly one of the princes. A sacred oak, the imperial crest, had been embroidered in gold thread upon a purple tunic.
“Yes, Your Highness.”
“What is your name?”
“Ricky.”
“Is that so? Hm, I haven't heard of you.”
“Pardon me, but I don't know Your Highness's name either.”
“What? Hahaha, that is only natural. I am Bellator. I share the name of my grandfather, who built this Imperial Palace.”
He seemed to be around the current Emperor's fifth or sixth son.
“I see. Bellator I seems to have been someone who truly understood beauty. He did not cut down the old trees, and preserved as much of the forest's original form as possible.”
“I think so as well. Still, you are the first person I have met who thinks as I do.”
Though still so young, he smiled faintly as he imitated an adult's way of speaking.
He slowly climbed down the tree. His extraordinarily expensive clothes became dirty and scratched with soil and bits of bark, but Bellator did not care in the least.
Once he reached the ground, he was only tall enough for the top of his head to reach Ricart's neck. Ricart was now in the high one hundred seventies in centimeters.
By blood, Bellator and Marie were half siblings. Perhaps because of that, Bellator had bright blond hair like Marie's and skin as white as snow. He was the current Crown Prince's uncle.
“I am carrying a weapon. This does not seem like an appropriate place for you, Your Highness.”
Ricart spoke because he held a sword in one hand. It was plainly unsafe for a prince to meet a stranger like this without any attendants.
“Then will you harm me?”
“No.”
“Then that settles it. You can be my guard.”
Ricart's eyes widened slightly in surprise. Was the child bold, or simply fearless? Few could match Ricart when it came to having no sense of fear.
Had living in the Imperial Palace made Bellator careless about danger? To Ricart, who had lived somewhere like the harsh wilderness, the prince seemed somewhat unaware of the world.
Bellator slowly walked through the forest with his hands behind his back. Ricart was rather bewildered, but he followed.
“Where are you going?”
“To see the witch. I have been curious as well, but until now, I did not think it was my place to interfere. Now that I have a guard, surely I can go.”
“The witch?”
“Yes, Martelia. My half sister.”
Ricart frowned slightly.
“Why is Marie a witch?”
“Marie?”
“Marie and I attended the Academy together. We are close friends.”
“Is that so? I didn't know. I had heard that my sister attended the Academy. But my older brother and His Highness the Crown Prince both call her a witch, so I carelessly did the same. Please forgive me for speaking thoughtlessly.”
Bellator apologized far more quickly than Ricart expected, and Ricart's rising anger soon faded.
“It is nothing. Please do not worry about it. But is Marie here?”
“Did you not know? She has been staying at Irmin Castle for two weeks. She is the prize of victory, so should she not be kept somewhere special?”
Two weeks ago meant about a week before Ricart had arrived at the Imperial Palace. They had come at almost the same time.
Still, the word prize grated on him.
“What do you mean, a prize? That is too much.”
“Hm? Why?”
From Bellator's reaction, he did not seem to mean any harm.
“Marie is neither a bird locked in a cage nor an object. She is a person. How can you decide her fate without considering her wishes at all?”
“That is another way of seeing it. I had never thought of it. Interesting.”
Bellator had grown up seeing people treated as tools in the imperial family. Ricart's words had given him his first encounter with an ordinary perspective.
“Then does every human possess free will?”
“Of course. When God created humans, He did not create nobles and commoners separately. Nobles and commoners are divided because each has a role. Nobles must fulfill their duty as protectors, while commoners must earn a living and protect their families. By joining their strength, they can stand against even mighty enemies. Just as the first Emperor defeated the Salaman and crushed the orcs.”
“Hm... Is that so? Perhaps it is. Thank you for speaking honestly, Ricky. Other people either flatter me or have no interest in me. But you speak with sincerity.”
“My father only taught me that a man must value honesty as much as his life.”
“I envy that. I have never heard anything from His Majesty my father.”
His circumstances were better than those of the bastards, but even as the Empress's son, he received no attention from his father.
“...”
Ricart had nothing to say about that. Living as a prince seemed harder than he had thought. He felt sorry for Bellator. From the outside, he was still only a child.
Moreover, Bellator was the fifth prince. Three brothers stood above him, and the Crown Prince was his nephew. He was fifth in the line of succession, but in truth held no power at all.
The imperial family seemed no different when it came to neglecting, or at times making miserable, sons who had nothing to do with succession. They merely dressed them up like pretty dolls for the sake of imperial dignity.
But Bellator did not seem to care much for such power. He did not appear ambitious either. Perhaps he was simply a child who could play happily alone even when no one paid attention to him.
With his hands still behind his back, he continued walking somewhere. At some point, the path began to rise, and a defensive tower came into view on a low hill.
It was a thick cylinder topped with a pointed, cone-shaped roof. It looked too meager to be called a castle, but in the distant past, labor had been scarce, and buildings had generally been no bigger than this.
As time passed, castles were moved and rebuilt, or expanded to become ever larger. Irmin Castle seemed to have been abandoned long ago.
Vines grew wildly across its walls, and because it had been built for defense, its windows were small. It looked practically like a prison.
Marie was in there.
But about twenty people had gathered around the tower. Among them, the ones who clearly seemed to be in charge were the young Crown Prince and the third prince. The rest were attendants or swordsmen gathered for the tournament.
“Hey! Witch! Show your face!”
The Crown Prince shouted, calling his aunt a witch. He picked up a stone and threw it toward the window, but it fell far short.
Then the third prince gave a mocking smile.
“Now it is my turn, Your Highness.”
The Crown Prince puffed up his cheeks in frustration, but perhaps because the third prince was older, he did not say anything.
The third prince selected a suitable stone and tossed it toward the window. It went roughly high enough, but not accurately. The stone merely struck the wall and fell.
It seemed they were making a bet over who could get Marie to look out the window.
“My turn!”
When the third prince missed, the Crown Prince quickly stepped forward again. But one of the people carrying swords at their waists spoke.
“Your Highness, may I throw one? I am Your Highness's servant. If I succeed, it will be no different from Your Highness succeeding.”
“Hm? Well...”
The Crown Prince looked back and forth between the stone in his hand and the high window. Even he seemed to realize it was too high.
“Fine. Go ahead.”
“This is a contest between His Highness the Crown Prince and the prince. Do not interfere without permission.”
A swordsman standing with the third prince frowned and stepped forward. It seemed even adults were joining the children's fight.
“I have just received His Highness's permission. Are you challenging His Highness's will?”
“...Tch.”
Even if only in name, the Crown Prince would become the next Emperor, so the swordsman from the third prince's side took a step back. The third prince consoled him.
“I am fine. I only worry that you may suffer because of me.”
“Your Highness...”
The third prince was older, so he seemed better at handling people than the Crown Prince. But it was obvious he was not sincere. His acting was clumsy enough that he ought to take acting lessons from a vampire.
In any case, the swordsman from the Crown Prince's side took the stone from him and hurled it toward the castle window. Mana sent it flying like lightning, and it passed precisely through the window before striking the ceiling and bouncing back with a Tap!
“Oh!”
The Crown Prince was visibly delighted. To swordsmen who could use mana, it was nothing impressive, but the Crown Prince's reaction made them jealous.
I could do that too. I could smash the whole thing.
But Marie did not look outside. This time, someone from the third prince's side stepped forward holding a dagger.
It was Skipping-Stone Liberio.
“I will enter as a champion as well.”
Throwing stones was bad enough, but it could at least be dismissed as a cruel prank. A blade was different. It could strike the ceiling as before, bounce the wrong way, and injure her.
No one seemed to care how Marie might feel. They did not care whether she was hurt or not. All they cared about was pleasing the Crown Prince and the third prince.
Liberio smiled confidently, leaned his upper body slightly back, and aimed at Irmin Castle's window. Then he activated Mana Drive and hurled the dagger.
But a stone flying in from somewhere struck the dagger in midair and knocked it aside.
Clang!
The people flinched. Every swordsman turned toward the direction the stone had come from.
It was Ricart.
Eyes blazing with anger, Ricart spoke.
“Stop.”
The people looked at Ricart with confusion, or with offended expressions.
But regardless of how they looked at him, Ricart walked over with a crunch beneath his feet and stood before the castle, blocking their way. It was as though a small human meant to protect a great castle.
“Stop this fucking nonsense.”
Ricart said it again.
It was an unmistakable warning.
“Who are you?”
The young Crown Prince merely blinked, while the third prince frowned and asked.
It was a prince's question. Depending on his answer, Ricart could face terrible consequences.
People might call the princes sons of bitches behind their backs, but no sane person spoke so carelessly before them.
What should he say? Should he fall to his knees, beg them not to do this, and plead pitifully? Or should he apologize now and admit he was wrong?
Neither.
Filled with anger, Ricart drew his sword and shouted. Like the heroes of the past woven into the tapestry, he was majestic and proud.
“I am Ricart of the Calderbern family of Stormhertz! By a noble's right, I challenge any who threaten this castle to a duel!”
Aside from his close friends, this was the first time Ricart had publicly revealed his real name and origins.
At Ricart's forceful cry, the third prince was startled into pressing his lips shut.
And that cry reached even beyond the high window above, loud as thunder.
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