WeTried Translations

Translator/Editor: ZERO_SUGAR

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◈ Ode of the Brave ◈

Chapter 8

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New buds clung like dew among the bare branches. Before long, they would unfurl and blossom.

Someone once said that a traveler was lucky as long as they did not encounter rain or snow.

It was not entirely wrong. Few things were as exhausting or harmful to one's health as being caught in the rain on the road.

Only two days had passed since Ricart set out, and fortunately, he had not encountered rain. He was merely passing through a mountain road infested with bandits.

It was still cold in the mornings and evenings, yet beads of sweat gathered on Ricart's temples as he climbed the pass.

The donkey carts rattled constantly, and people had to push the carriages from behind now and then.

They ought to have been sneaking through, yet they were practically shouting to the bandits that they had arrived. They moved slowly enough that, unless they abandoned their possessions, they could not even be sure of keeping their lives if they encountered bandits.

Exhaustion naturally made people lower their heads. The women had bundles strapped to their backs and babies in their arms as they walked.

At least the older children rode in the backs of the rattling carts and carriages.

Even though he was tired, Ricart did not lower his head. He studied the surrounding terrain as he walked. Danger had to be spotted early.

Then, a girl sitting in the back of a cart he had not realized was nearby suddenly held something out to him. It was a flower ring braided from plant stems.

“Is this for me?”

Ricart asked. The girl only nodded silently.

Ricart himself was somewhat dirty after going two days without washing properly, but the girl's hair was disheveled and grime streaked her face. She nearly looked like a beggar.

Still, the whites of her large eyes were as clear as boiled egg whites, and her green irises shone like emeralds. They stood out all the more against her ragged appearance.

Boldly, the girl grabbed Ricart's hand and slipped the flower ring onto his finger.

“We're married now, you and me.”

Ricart laughed in disbelief.

“We don't even know each other's names.”

“We can learn them now. What's your name?”

Just as Ricart was about to answer, Arno, who was walking beside him, abruptly cut in.

“You filthy little brat. Do you know who this gentleman is, spouting such nonsense?”

“I'm fine, Arno.”

“No, Young Master. I'm a commoner too, but you shouldn't be kind to commoners. They start getting above themselves. Do you think a nobleman's marriage is something any dog can meddle with? Get your head straight, bitch.”

At the word “noble,” everyone walking nearby looked over in shock. The girl flinched and shrank back at Arno's scolding.

Ricart looked a little dirty in their eyes, but his clothes were still neat. His teeth were even, his face had no harsh angles, and he lacked the lines and shadows distinctive of commoners living hard lives.

Looking again, he really did seem like a young master from a noble family. But why would such a young master be here?

The people felt fear along with their confusion. Getting involved with a noble the wrong way could get one's skin peeled off. The people traveling with them reacted even more strongly.

Having lived in the countryside, Ricart did not know how commoners generally viewed nobles. The nobles he had met in his previous life had either been military commanders or enemies.

In Stormhertz, commoners and nobles alike had all played together.

Still, the atmosphere of an estate varied greatly depending on the noble and the region. There were all sorts, including perverts and lunatics.

“I'm sorry, my lord.”

One woman carrying a baby urgently grabbed the girl and pulled her away roughly. The girl nearly fell from the back of the cart.

Ricart caught her reflexively.

“It's all right. I don't know why Arno is making such a fuss.”

When Ricart spoke politely, the woman looked utterly baffled. It seemed the lord where she had lived ruled with considerable cruelty.

“I told you, they get above themselves...”

Arno grumbled disapprovingly.

Ignoring him, Ricart spoke to the girl.

“Thank you for the ring.”

“...”

Unfortunately, the girl who had been so bold could no longer answer him.

Whether because of Ricart or Arno, an uneasy mood settled over the procession.

Then the carriage ahead failed to get over a rock again, and the procession stopped.

The carriage carried goods being transported by a merchant, but for some reason, ordinary men were pushing it from behind. The two armed guards merely stood with their weight on one leg and watched.

Since the procession had been delayed, Arno and Ricart stopped to rest briefly. Then Ricart spotted people standing on the mountain slope above.

At a glance, they looked no different from the ordinary commoners traveling with them. They did not even hide. They simply stood there, blankly looking down at the road.

“Those people are bandits, right?”

“What?”

“Up there.”

“Uh...”

At Ricart's words, Arno looked up the slope. He could see two or three people standing there and watching them. No, not two or three. There seemed to be four or five. Huh? Why were there more and more of them? Wait, fuck?

They really did seem to be bandits. Not all of them, but some wore gambesons that did not fit or helmets perched loosely on their heads without their chin straps secured. They were clearly armed.

“Huh?”

The others soon noticed the bandits on the slope as well. At first, they merely looked like strangers who had happened to meet.

Then one person on the slope casually raised a bow, nocked an arrow, drew the string, and aimed at them.

“Huh?!”

Whiz. Thunk.

An arrow flew and buried itself in a nearby tree. Astonishingly, that one arrow destroyed the ordinary men's will to fight. No one had even been killed or injured.

Eek!

Some collapsed where they stood. Some hid beside the carriage. Some abandoned their families and ran back the way they had come.

“You can't go that way!”

Ricart shouted at those fleeing. If the bandits were showing themselves so openly, it meant they had already blocked the escape route.

“Damn it!”

“Let's just go!”

“What are you talking about? We can't leave the goods behind!”

The merchant's group at the front was not in good shape either. The two guards had drawn their swords, but they did not seem eager to risk their lives fighting.

Meanwhile, several bandits who had been watching from the slope came down with spears.

Two of them approached one of the armed guards. The guard only awkwardly leaned backward and waved his sword through the air to threaten them.

“D-Don't come any closer, you fucking bastards!”

The two bandits said nothing. They merely exchanged glances, then thrust their spears from both sides at once. Their equipment was crude, but they were clearly not doing this for the first time.

The guard absurdly failed to block or evade them, allowing one spear to pierce his stomach.

Clang.

“Fuuuck... you sons of...”

His sword fell limply to the ground. All he could do was clutch the spear shaft lodged in his stomach and curse through his clenched teeth.

One bandit quickly picked up the fallen sword and used it to stab its former owner through the neck.

When a person, especially an armed person they had relied on for reassurance, died so absurdly, everyone else simply panicked.

Aaaah!

A woman's piercing scream rang out. From then on, everyone fled in every direction. Before death, belongings, merchandise, even children meant nothing.

The carriage horse panicked and thrashed wildly, but it was tied to its harness and the wheels were stuck, so it could not flee. The scene became chaos in an instant.

Yet Ricart stood still, as though he were either fearless or stunned, watching what the bandits did.

Two men remained on the slope, looking down without coming all the way down. They were likely the commanders. The other bandits began attacking people.

Taking goods was fine, but the best plunder in this age was people. Goods could be collected later, and they went after the women first.

Then someone suddenly grabbed Ricart's arm. It was Arno. He ran not forward or backward, but toward a place without any road.

“Big brother!”

Just as he began to run, a young voice struck Ricart's ears. The flower ring on his finger had not yet wilted.

Ricart shook off Arno's hand. Startled, Arno turned and shouted.

“Young Master!”

The adults had all run away, while the girl could only crouch beside the cart with her head covered, not knowing what to do. Ricart hurried over to her.

“Can you stand?”

But the girl was too shocked and frightened to do anything but tremble. She could neither answer nor move.

Ricart gave her a gentle smile and made a joke to help her relax.

“I'm Ricky. What's your name? We should at least know each other's names if we're married, shouldn't we?”

Even in her terror, the girl stared at Ricart as if enchanted before barely answering.

“...Daisy.”

“Like the flower?”

“Yeah.”

Strangely, as the girl's trembling subsided, everything else in the world seemed to grow distant. Her eyes could see only the boy's face, and her ears could hear only his voice.

Then the two men who seemed to be the bandits' commanders finally came down the slope and walked toward them. They had clearly heard a girl's voice somewhere nearby.

Compared to the other bandits, the two had fairly decent equipment. They wore leather breastplates made from several layers of leather, hard enough to turn aside most swords and blades.

Perhaps because of that, they walked over without any caution to look behind the cart. Then a child suddenly darted out and collided with one of them.

The bandit reached out to grab the child who had bumped into him. But the child swiftly pulled away from his grasp.

Then the bandit felt a burning sensation in his lower abdomen. Looking down, he saw his intestines spilling out through the gap in his armor.

“Uh...?”

He did not immediately understand what had happened to him.

By the time he realized the intestines spilling onto the ground were his own, he felt an emptiness in his abdomen unlike hunger. His legs gave out, and he collapsed.

“What is it? What's wrong?”

The bandit behind him asked, wondering what had happened. His companion had suddenly collided with a child and then collapsed weakly.

Soon, he noticed his companion's intestines spilling from his stomach, and his eyes widened. The man was absentmindedly trying to put his intestines back into his abdomen.

The gruesome sight held his gaze. It was a fatal mistake.

Just as he raised his head to see who had done that to his companion, Ricart's dagger deeply sliced through the gap in his armor, across his inner thigh.

Aaaagh!

Without even understanding what had happened, he fell with his eyes tightly shut. Ridiculously, pain and shock kept him from drawing the sword at his waist. He only flailed his arms through the air.

Meanwhile, Ricart grabbed the hair of the bandit trying to gather his intestines and pulled his head back before cutting his throat. The dagger was so sharp that it passed smoothly even through cartilage.

Ricart casually pushed the bandit's head forward. Blood poured from the man's throat as his face struck the ground, and he began to drown in his own blood.

Cough. Gasp. Gurgle...

The man with the cut thigh writhed on the ground. He stared in horror as his companion died.

He tried to rise, but the tendon in one thigh had been severed, so his body would not move properly. He repeatedly managed to get up a little, then collapsed again.

Ricart kicked him hard in the chest. Holding the dagger in a reverse grip, he raised it high overhead, nearly falling with the force of the motion as he drove it into the bandit's eye. It sank in to the hilt.

Thud!

As the blade passed through the eye and reached his brain, the bandit's body flopped like a fish out of water.

Ricart pulled out the dagger with all his strength, wiped its blood and grease on the bandit's clothes, and rose to look around. Everyone was either fleeing or chasing after those who fled, so there was no one nearby.

Only Arno had stopped running. He sat on the ground with his mouth hanging open, staring in Ricart's direction.

To Arno, Ricart was inhumanly calm. He was not pretending to be fearless. He looked as though he lacked something essential as a human being.

Or perhaps he was possessed by an evil spirit and needed an exorcism. He did not look like an ordinary ten-year-old boy at all.

More unbelievable still was Ricart calmly searching the bandits' clothes, cutting off fingers, and taking their gold rings.

The mountain wind cooled his sweat, but Arno felt no pleasant chill. Terror swept over him so fiercely that it chilled him to the bone and raised goosebumps across his body.

Ricart wiped a few drops of blood from his face with his sleeve. Then he smiled at Arno as usual.

“I didn't think they'd be stupid enough to walk right over. I got lucky.”

Before climbing the mountain road, had Ricart not said that luck was something people made? Encountering bandits on the road might have been bad luck, but saving the girl in time might have been good luck.

Good and bad luck, happiness and unhappiness, were like roads crossing each other. Or perhaps they were joined together like two sides of a coin.

In the end, it was one's own choice which road to take at the crossroads, which side of the coin to see.

So there was no need to despair just because misfortune came. It only meant that a moment of choice had arrived, and choice was made by one's own will. That was how Ricart saw it.

Perhaps that was why his comrades in his previous life had once given him such a nickname.

Chapter 2: Lucky Ricky. End.

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