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◈ Ode of the Brave ◈

Chapter 79

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It was a beautiful forest, shaded just enough and touched by just enough sunlight. The old castle blended with the ancient trees, fitting into the forest as though it were part of it.

A beam of sunlight fell straight from the sky through the forest like a spear, striking Ricart’s sword. The light flowed along the blade, from its base to its tip.

A drop of light gathered at the tip, making several people squint for a moment.

The Third Prince was older than Ricart and already an adult, but he had grown up in a greenhouse. Faced with a wild beast raised in the wilderness, he had no idea how to handle the situation.

It was the first time anyone had ever shouted at him like this, and Ricart had a forcefulness that was hard to believe from someone close to his age.

In truth, he had little interest in tormenting Marie. He simply enjoyed showing everyone that he was superior to the Crown Prince.

But when faced with a real problem, he did not have the ability to deal with it either. A duel? He had only heard people talk about such things.

The nine-year-old Crown Prince was startled, but his expression held more curiosity than fear. He found it interesting and exciting. His eyes were wide as he blinked, unable to take them off Ricart.

Bellator, who had come here with Ricart, watched him from afar. He had never seen such confidence in the imperial palace. It shocked him, yet he also felt as if he were being drawn in.

In short, this was the first time Bellator had ever thought someone was cool. There had been no one in the imperial palace who was manly, warrior-like, or worth looking up to.

Everyone bowed their heads and acted polite on the surface, but it was obvious that they looked down on him inside. Because of that, Bellator had believed all people were different on the outside and within.

But now, someone who was not like that stood before him. And he thought that someone like that was this cool.

Confusion, curiosity, and shock. The three imperial princes each felt something different as they watched Ricart.

The people most displeased by this were the swordsmen who had come to enter the tournament. They gave off a subtle killing intent. But with the Crown Prince and imperial princes present, they restrained themselves.

Those staying at the imperial palace had all passed Hellawman’s assessment, so they were highly skilled. Ricart was not the only one who had fought battles between life and death. They had crossed their own lines of death.

They sharply assessed Ricart’s ability. His stance, breathing, eyes, and mana.

The more one mastered Mana Drive, the more accurately one could gauge another person’s mana. Though they were not on Hellawman’s level, the people present could judge it with near precision.

Yet strangely, they could not sense any mana from Ricart. Even though he had clearly intercepted the dagger in midair earlier.

That had been a technique close to divine. Even if one had mastered Mana Drive, it was nearly impossible to accurately hit a flying object by throwing another object from a different angle.

That alone showed that Ricart deserved to stay at the imperial palace. His precision and reflexes were highly developed, almost beyond human limits.

But if I fought him, who would win? Could I defeat him without getting hurt? He seems to use longsword techniques, but isn’t that blade a little too large for his build? What sort of swordsmanship does he use? Is it the fierce, attack-focused style unique to the north?

The swordsmen had forgotten all about impressing the Crown Prince and the Third Prince. Like beasts facing an unfamiliar rival, they stared at Ricart.

None of them were afraid, but neither did anyone step forward carelessly.

Then someone came forward. It was Skipping-Stone Liberio. Whether it was simple confidence or whether he had assessed Ricart in his own way, no one knew.

“I told you to be humble. You’re a disobedient little brat. Well, there’s still time before the tournament. A little entertainment would be nice.”

Keeping a fair distance from Ricart, who had the castle at his back, he slowly circled him like a prowling wolf.

He drew a long side sword in his right hand and held a dagger in his left. He appeared to wield two swords. It was an extremely difficult style, but when used well, it was hard to find an equal.

“I heard you killed a Sword Master. But do you know this? Once people become Sword Masters, they sometimes get worse because they only face opponents weaker than themselves. I heard that Mad Dog only slaughtered farmers. I can tell what a man like that was worth without even seeing it.”

“Sorry, but I’ve never heard of you.”

Ricart spoke. In other words, someone like Liberio had never even been worth his notice.

“Hmph. Let me introduce myself again. I am Liberio, the Fourth Sword of the Bonatelli Swordsmanship Family. Did you learn swordsmanship from your family? Or at that Academy? Either way, your swordsmanship has no lineage. I’ll show you the difference between swordsmanship with proper roots and someone who prances about relying only on talent.”

He had been like this when they met in the corridor too. Ricart could not understand what he was talking about. He could see that the man took great pride in himself, but what did lineage matter in a duel where lives were at stake?

Liberio took his stance from quite far away. His left foot was forward, his dagger extended, while he raised his side sword above his head and pointed its tip at Ricart.

Yet with every step, he sometimes pulled back the dagger and brought the side sword forward. It looked insignificant, but it made it difficult to tell which weapon was for feints and which was for the main attack.

The problem was that an unskilled person would only confuse themselves doing that. But since he had caught Hellawman’s eye, it was obvious he could handle it freely.

One step forward, one step to the side. Switching his front and back hands, Liberio slowly approached Ricart.

The side sword and dagger were vastly different in length, making it hard to judge distance whenever he switched hands. At least, it would have been for anyone else.

Ricart bent his knees slightly and held his sword beside his face. With his usual chilling gaze, he stared into Liberio’s eyes.

Then, in the middle of changing his stance, Liberio suddenly thrust his side sword straight forward. The duel began.

Ricart swung his sword head-on. It was far faster and more powerful than before. But Liberio’s sword, which had been thrusting straight at him, skipped away in an instant as though it were a stone skipping over water.

It grazed Ricart’s blade and lightly cut the fabric over his upper right arm. At the same time, Liberio stepped away, narrowly avoiding Ricart’s sword.

Whoosh! Clang!

A rose-colored afterimage lingered in the air. Liberio seemed to be on the verge of becoming a Sword Master.

He thrust his dagger upward from below at Ricart’s abdomen, using the hidden weapon that was truly meant to end a life. From a distance, it looked as though something crimson was stabbing forward.

But astonishingly, in that brief instant, Ricart withdrew the sword he had thrust out and struck the dagger precisely with the pommel.

Clang!

The mana-infused dagger broke. Before Liberio could even feel the pain in his wrist, he sprang backward, rapidly widening the distance.

His heart had dropped for a moment, but reacting immediately was worthy of praise. Still, he could not hide his confusion. Was that even possible?

Infusing mana into a weapon increased its sharpness and durability. In an age where the quality of iron goods, including weapons, varied greatly, that alone gave tremendous power. A Sword Master could slice through shields and armor as though cutting cheese.

But breaking a mana-infused blade with a pommel? It was a moment that defied common sense.

The swordsmen watching were all shocked as well. They still could not sense any mana from Ricart.

This was possible because Ricart had gained the power of Ilya, the legendary hero said to have slain a dragon. His physical strength alone exceeded that of most people who used Mana Drive.

Ricart closely pursued Liberio as he retreated. Rather than attacking, he seemed intent on closing the distance first. Despite possessing monstrous strength, he did not rely on it alone.

Liberio quickly stepped aside and swung his side sword at Ricart’s wrist. Ricart twisted his sword and blocked the wind-like attack.

Clang!

Red mana burst forth as though exploding. Then came a continuous assault that flowed as naturally as breathing.

Whoosh! Thud!

His stylish, damp-looking black hair and ruby earring hanging from one ear. Liberio’s head separated from his body.

His violently moving body lost control, spun around, and collapsed with a thump. Blood sprayed outward in a circle. The head that had flown into the air fell with a thud after the body collapsed.

And so, the swordsman with proper roots died with his head cut off, and the duel ended.

The watching swordsmen felt a shiver run through them. They saw a method they had never heard of or witnessed before, followed by its simple defeat and a killing blow. For a moment, they had nothing to say.

They knew it had looked easy, but was anything but. Above all, Ricart had not panicked or become excited. From beginning to end, he had made no wasted movements.

Even after the duel ended, Ricart was not excited. He simply looked down calmly at the torn fabric on his upper right arm. He was not bleeding because his skin had not been cut.

“Wow...”

The Crown Prince stared wide-eyed at the duel and let out a breath of admiration.

“What? What? I didn’t see it properly, but that was amazing.”

The Crown Prince tried to run fearlessly toward the swordsman who had just finished the duel. The nearby guard knights hurriedly lifted him up and stopped him.

“What are you doing? Let go.”

“His sword is not sheathed yet, Your Highness.”

At the knight’s words, Ricart first wiped the blood from his sword and sheathed it. The Crown Prince then ran over again, looked up at Ricart, and spoke.

“That was amazing. It’s my first time seeing a real duel. You said you’re Ricart of the Calderbern family, right? Are you entering the tournament too?”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

Ricart lowered his head as he answered.

There was a headless corpse nearby, but the Crown Prince did not care at all. He had seen plenty of such things at executions.

Right now, he was simply fascinated by the contest itself, in which swordsmen had poured their life’s work into the fight.

Of course, Ricart had not fought at full strength, but to someone who knew nothing about swords, it had been impressive regardless.

“Are you not scared?”

The Crown Prince asked.

“Everyone is scared at first. But once you get used to it, you are not afraid anymore.”

“Really? Then how much practice do I need to fight like you?”

“I do not know that either. But if you train hard and test yourself in contests, there comes a time when you gain confidence.”

“Is that so? Good. Then teach me swordsmanship. Come to my room every morning. I do have a swordsmanship teacher now, but that person is not as cool as you.”

“...”

This was unexpected. Ricart felt as though he had gotten caught up in something troublesome. But he had no choice. He needed to protect Marie.

“Then could you release Princess Martellia from the castle and make sure no one can torment her?”

“Hmm... I want to grant that request, but the Count Palatine made that decision, so I need to ask Grandmother. It probably won’t be possible. Sorry.”

There were others with real power in the imperial palace. They were the Empress Dowager and Hellawman. The Crown Prince was still too young to make decisions.

“...Understood. I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”

“No. I want to talk to you more. Follow me.”

The Crown Prince took Ricart’s bloodstained hand and pulled him away. The Third Prince and Bellator could only watch. Ricart was dragged along by the Crown Prince, with the guard knights following them.

The swordsmen of the Crown Prince’s faction had worked desperately to gain his favor. Now Ricart had captured all his attention at once, leaving them dumbfounded.

Past the forest, the Crown Prince brought Ricart to his room. It was enormous, and its decorations were excessively lavish. Yet it was refined rather than vulgar.

Mobiles hung from the ceiling, while all sorts of strange toys were piled up like mountains. Every one of them had been carefully crafted by the finest artisans.

“Do you see a toy you like? Want one?”

The Crown Prince asked with an innocent smile. Was he naive, or was he pure? At the Crown Prince’s age, Ricart had left home, defeated bandits, and wandered from battlefield to battlefield.

The Crown Prince did not seem to know how to win people over. He simply gave nice things to people he liked, while telling his grandmother about people he disliked so they would be punished. Perhaps that was only natural, since he had never had a true friend.

That was why everyone except the imperial princes tried to please him.

But Ricart was different. Right now, all he could think about was Marie.

“They are remarkable, but not interesting. I am only a swordsman here to enter the tournament. I need to compose myself and focus on the coming matches, so I should leave now. I will visit you every morning, but I do not think I can play with you.”

“Huh? Uh... Uhh...”

It was the first time the Crown Prince had ever experienced something like this, and for a moment his mind went blank. Ricart was courteous, but not servile. He did not flatter him either. He had truly never met anyone like this before.

Then the Crown Prince became anxious over how he could make Ricart like him.

“Uh, I can give you a good sword too. And horses. I have armor as well. You like those, right?”

Ricart shook his head at all of it. He did like such things, but he could not accept them this way. Feelings such as friendship or love were not things one could give in exchange for something.

“You cannot buy a person’s heart with money or possessions. Do not be impatient. Let us slowly get to know each other. There is always tomorrow.”

“I have to wait until tomorrow?”

Having always gotten what he wanted immediately, the Crown Prince had no patience.

“If waiting is painful, why not do something else? Then time will pass quickly.”

“Like what?”

“Read a book, perhaps. You said you wanted to learn swordsmanship, so you could practice it. Look again, one by one, at the things you threw aside because you grew tired of them. You may find some enjoyment you did not notice before.”

“...Should I? All right. I’ll try it.”

“I’ll be going, Your Highness.”

“Okay...”

The Crown Prince answered dejectedly. Watching him, Ricart thought he was not a bad child. He was simply lacking something because of the environment he had grown up in.

The Crown Prince’s status seemed like a curse. It was as though it had robbed him of the chances to learn, endure pain, overcome adversity, gain understanding, and grow.

Like a beautiful bird, Ricart captured the Crown Prince’s heart and escaped his grasp. Then he headed back to Irmin Castle.

When he arrived, the corpse had been cleared away and only bloodstains remained. No one was around the castle. People had gathered in the first place to win the favor of the Crown Prince and Third Prince, so once they were gone, everyone naturally left.

Ricart looked up at the window. They were so close, but could not see each other. So he leaned against the castle wall and simply sat there. Should he call out to her, at least? Would that be all right?

All sorts of thoughts came to him, but he could not bring himself to act. As he hesitated and let time pass, the sun eventually set.

Ricart got up to return to the imperial palace. Then, with a sudden to-hell-with-it feeling, he grabbed the vines and climbed the castle wall. It was extremely dangerous.

If the vines broke, he could fall and be seriously injured. Sure enough, the vines nearly snapped several times with a crack, yet Ricart still made it to the window.

Moonlight fell into the room. The bed was draped in silk, and a silhouette could be seen beyond it.

“Marie.”

Standing on the vines and leaning against the window frame, Ricart called to her. But the silhouette sitting on the bed did not respond.

“Marie, it’s me. Ricky. Are you all right? I came because I was worried.”

Ricart spoke to her again, but there was no answer. No, after a long while, she finally replied.

“What does it have to do with you?”

Her words were cold, but her voice trembled faintly. Hearing Marie’s voice for the first time in a while made Ricart’s chest tighten for some reason.

“I have something to tell you. Can you come out for a moment?”

“...”

Marie stayed still for a long time, then pulled aside the silk and stepped out. She wore a thin nightgown, her long hair hanging loose.

The soft moonlight falling over Marie looked like clothing made just for her.

She was breathtakingly beautiful, but her expression was as cold as ice. Her air seemed to say, Go on, say whatever you came to say. Ricart made himself speak first.

“First, um, I came to enter the tournament too.”

“...If you win, isn’t that not what you wanted?”

Winning meant becoming engaged to Marie. But Ricart had rejected her feelings before. That was what Marie meant.

“No, I do want it. I like you too.”

With a smile, Ricart simply laid his feelings bare. Marie looked confused. He was not someone who would joke about something like this. What was going on?

But Ricart’s confession was not over.

“You know, I have a deep wound. So I was afraid that if I truly came to love someone, that wound would cut deeper and I would lose myself. Honestly, I’m still very uneasy. I think I needed some time to come closer. But I can say this for certain. I like you, Marie.”

Marie stared at Ricart. Especially at his eyes. His steady hazel eyes. Eyes purer than anything, eyes that knew no lies. Marie knew that better than anyone.

Marie blinked. Then she blinked quickly, her expression becoming strangely complicated.

She looked as though she might cry, yet as though she might laugh. Her heart churned so fiercely that she could not tell whether she was sad or happy.

Perhaps embarrassed by herself, Marie turned away and hid her face behind her long golden hair, glimmering in the moonlight.

All the pain she had suffered until she felt she might die washed away as though it had been a lie, turning instead into joy. Joy so overwhelming that she might faint if she let herself go.

Marie tried to smile as though nothing was wrong, but she kept wiping away her tears with trembling hands. Whenever a tear fell, it looked like a droplet of moonlight falling.

“Can I wipe your tears for you?”

Ricart, who had been quietly watching her, spoke.

“What are you saying, idiot? I’ll wipe them myself.”

“Hmm, I guess Bori was right.”

“Huh?”

“Bori said you’re Ricky if Ricky were a girl.”

Marie’s tears vanished at once from sheer disbelief. She let out a hollow laugh and turned to Ricart. Her tear-soaked sapphire eyes sparkled.

Ricart watched her with the gentlest smile in the world.

“What do you think? Does that sound right?”

“No. Not at all. You’re the worst.”

“You like me even though I’m the worst.”

“Hah!”

Marie let out a breath in disbelief. But she could not deny it, and before she knew it, a smile had spread across her lips.

“Then does that make me Marie if Marie were a boy?”

“Stop it, Ricky. It’s not funny.”

“But you already laughed.”

“I laughed because it was ridiculous. Not because it was funny.”

“Fine, let’s say that’s true. Anyway, how have you been? How is the Academy?”

“Just boring. Kalli wants to become a professor. Did you know he’s secretly really good with a sword?”

“Really? I didn’t know that.”

“You know the book Boribori wrote? It seems to be a huge help.”

“What about mine?”

“That one...”

Marie could not bring herself to say that no one read it because they did not understand what it meant.

“I don’t think many people read it. It seems like only more advanced students do.”

“Just as I expected. My book really was superior.”

“...R-right. But how have you been?”

“Oh, right. Marie, have you ever seen a vampire? A high vampire.”

“A vampire?”

“When we graduate, we receive our first commission. You know Sally, right? That woman...”

Ricart began telling her about last year’s Special Rank commission. It had been an extraordinary experience, and perhaps he was here because of Armand. Armand had told him to face himself, and Ricart had gradually overcome his fear and revealed his feelings.

Yet Ricart and Marie merely continued chatting as though they had met only yesterday. But it was so comfortable, and that alone was wonderful.

They needed nothing special. Simply looking at each other made every small thing special.

Before long, Marie was sitting on the window frame, listening to Ricart as she looked down at him.

It felt as though stars were pouring from the gazes the boy and girl shared.

Then, without either of them realizing it, their lips met.

So no one could peek, clouds drifted over and hid the moon for a while.

Chapter 15: The Princess in the Oak Forest. End.

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