WeTried Translations
Translator/Editor: ZERO_SUGAR
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◈ Ode of the Brave ◈
Chapter 81
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“If, and only if, you find yourselves in real danger, you don't need any special technique. Stab them in the stomach like this, twist your wrist, then slash upward or to the side. The chest is difficult for a beginner because of the ribs. Bones aren't easy to cut through.”
Holding a sharp dagger, Ricart demonstrated by stabbing at the air. The Crown Prince and Bellator sat on the ground, staring up at him blankly.
“Most people lose their strength and collapse after that. Then run without looking back.”
Whether this was all right or not, Ricart was teaching the Crown Prince and an imperial prince not swordsmanship, but methods of killing. Of course, it was only for self-defense in a final desperate moment.
Then Bellator, who had been listening, raised his hand.
“Please speak.”
“Isn't the neck more deadly?”
“When you panic and get startled, it's hard to aim precisely for the neck. Your hands will shake beyond your control as well. If you truly want to target the neck, it's better to do it after cutting open the stomach as I just described. See the soft spot beneath the jaw? Stab there, then cut sideways. There's cartilage in the middle, so you'll feel some resistance. Cutting the throat guarantees death, but beginners should keep their movements to a minimum.”
Ricart spoke while boldly tracing a finger across the fifth prince's throat. Bellator himself did not mind.
It was a chilling lesson, the sort that made one wonder whether children should be taught such things. Yet it was a technique Ricart himself had already used when he was ten.
The Crown Prince, however, seemed to find it rather uninteresting.
“But it isn't cool like Ricky.”
“It may not be cool, but it's effective. You can't properly handle long-reach weapons after practicing for just one or two years. Especially not in a real fight.”
“We shouldn't test it?”
Bellator asked.
“No, don't test it.”
“Not even on animals?”
“No.”
“Then how do we verify it?”
“Honestly, neither Your Highness nor the prince will ever have reason to use it, will you? Still, knowing it may help when an unexpected situation arises. When you're facing certain death, a side of yourself you never knew can come out. What matters then is not hesitating.”
Even outside the imperial family, high nobles usually put forward champions. They rarely had to duel or fight in person.
“That concludes today's lesson.”
“Are you going to see Aunt again?”
the Crown Prince asked.
“Yes.”
“I wish Ricky could become part of our family. You'll win, right?”
Ricart did not particularly want to become entangled with the imperial family, but those words pleased him. A natural smile came to his face.
“Of course.”
Ricart returned the dagger to its original owner, Bellator, then bowed and left.
Once the lesson ended, the imperial knights watching from afar took the Crown Prince away.
Bellator remained alone, gazing silently at the dagger in his hand. It was so sharp that it could slice through skin without effort.
Bellator looked down at it for a long time, lost in thought.
For some reason, Ricart did not head straight to Irmin Castle. Instead, he went into the city. He had ordered a gift for Marie.
The imperial palace overflowed with treasures, and he could have received as many as he wanted by asking the Crown Prince. But he did not want to do that.
Ricart headed for the street where jewelry craftsmen gathered. It was home to the artisans' guild, where goldsmiths, silversmiths, and gem cutters worked together to create a single piece.
When Ricart entered a shop, a stern-looking person smiled and brought out a small wooden box. Inside was a necklace carved with a gentian flower from amethyst, with a sapphire set in its center.
The craftsmanship was so extraordinary that it looked alive, like a real flower. What mattered, though, was that it would never wilt.
I liked it, but I was anxious that Marie might not. Still, for the sake of the craftsman who had worked so hard, I forced a smile.
“Thank you. I like it.”
“I am glad to hear that.”
Ricart had already paid, so he took the necklace and left the shop. Then someone suddenly called out to him on the street.
“Young master?”
When he turned around, an elegant woman stood there. He did not know who she was, but she seemed somehow familiar.
“Uh...”
He could not immediately remember who she was, no matter how hard he thought. The beautiful woman seemed to understand and smiled gently.
“It's me. Daisy's mother.”
“Oh? Ah, it's good to see you. I didn't expect to run into you here.”
He was glad to see her, but Ricart felt something was strange. She had clearly left her hometown with nothing, yet now she looked no different from a noblewoman.
“I am relieved to see that you're doing well. I've heard of the young hero in the Red Cape too. But you don't actually wear a cape?”
“Haha, it depends on the occasion. I don't wear one all the time. Is Daisy doing well too?”
“Daisy... Yes. She's probably doing well. She became a prophetic nun for the God of Judgment. It's happy news.”
“...What?”
“Have you come to watch the swordsmanship tournament as well, young master?”
Daisy's mother seemed to deliberately change the subject.
“No. I came to compete.”
“What? Ah, well...”
She suddenly seemed hesitant, and something about her reaction felt odd. Ricart frowned slightly and tilted his head.
“If possible, you shouldn't participate...”
“I can't do that. I have a reason I must win.”
“Is that so... But the promised day...”
What promise? Ricart was confused.
But Daisy's mother could not finish. A middle-aged man had put an arm around her shoulders.
Behind him stood a guard with an unusual presence. Ricart recognized it instinctively.
That guard was a Sword Master.
The middle-aged man was none other than Emperor Claudius. He was the Crown Prince's grandfather and the father of Bellator and Marie.
The Emperor was nowhere to be seen in the imperial palace, yet here he was openly walking through the city.
“Is he your son? He's bigger than I expected.”
“No, he's someone I met briefly before.”
“You dated him?”
The Emperor seemed to hear nothing but that and began saying unpleasant things.
“Oh, what are you talking about? He helped me when I was in trouble.”
“I see. Excuse me, young man.”
Ricart was so dumbfounded that he forgot to be polite. In the meantime, the Emperor took Daisy's mother into a carriage and left.
Ricart watched the carriage depart for a moment, then suddenly came to his senses and headed straight for Irmin Castle.
There was a gate through which one could enter the castle, but officially, no one except the maids could pass through it. So Ricart always had to climb the vines.
When he reached the window, the maids were trying dresses on Marie. She had to wear a dress on the day of the tournament.
“Oh?”
“Oh?”
Ricart had not known anyone besides Marie was there, so he was flustered. Then again, hadn't the rumors already spread everywhere?
“That is enough. You can leave now.”
Marie said.
Fortunately, the quick-witted maids simply giggled and left them alone.
Ricart was embarrassed, but he climbed through the window anyway.
Marie, wearing a white dress, truly looked like a flower. The dress had been made to create exactly that effect.
Together with her bright blond hair and pale skin, she was almost blinding. The blue stars in her large eyes made it impossible to look away.
She was already beautiful, but the light makeup made it hard for Ricart to gather his senses. Marie always wore clothes that were easy to fight in.
“Don't stare so much. It's embarrassing...”
“Oh? Ah, sorry.”
“This is a little uncomfortable. I can't move freely. But, um, do you like it?”
“Yeah. So much that I might die if I keep looking at you.”
Marie gave a small laugh. She was not unhappy, though. Her heart swelled as she thought how nice it was that he could not lie.
“Ah, um, I came to give you this.”
Ricart took out the wooden box. He could have given it to her more romantically, but he felt he might forget if he did not give it to her now.
“What is this?”
“Open it.”
The moment Marie opened the box, it felt as though her heart stopped. She could not speak. The necklace was beautiful, but it was the meaning behind the gift that mattered. What the gift was did not matter.
“Do you like it?”
This time, Ricart asked.
But Marie was so overwhelmed that she truly could not answer.
“Sit down. I'll put it on you.”
Ricart and Marie sat side by side on the bed. Ricart put the necklace around her neck, and Marie lifted her hair.
The length was just right, and it suited her perfectly. Then again, what would not suit her?
Marie looked at herself in a brass mirror, but the brass could not capture all the colors.
“By the way, I think the rumors have all spread already. I wonder if the tournament still has any meaning.”
At Ricart's words, Marie burst out laughing. Only then did the heavy feeling in her chest seem to ease.
“You're right. Can't we just leave like this?”
People entered the tournament for their own honor, the honor of the groups they belonged to, land, and a rise in status. Ricart alone was entering a tournament because of love.
“I want to do that too, but it would be better to make things official properly.”
“Hoo... Right...”
Marie took a deep breath and let it out.
In truth, she hated her own birth.
She had never received love from her mother, and she had still never seen her father. Yet on the day of the tournament, she had to pretend to be an imperial princess treated with respect.
She had spent most of her life as a bastard and had only been formally registered into the family two or three years ago. To her, being part of the imperial family was not an honor. It was disgusting.
But none of that mattered now.
Because he was by my side. Because he liked me. Because I liked him.
She wanted to give him everything right now, but she could not. There was a belief that if a man knew a woman before coming of age, his fighting ability would weaken.
It was a tradition and folk belief passed down from the distant days of tribal society.
Marie's racing heart would not calm down easily. Reality felt like a lie, as though she were breathing inside a dream.
She wondered if it was all right to be this happy. Her past unhappiness almost made her feel grateful.
People sought the gods when they were desperate, but they also sought them when they were overwhelmed with joy.
God, thank you. For letting me be born into this world, for letting me live, for letting me love.
Then Marie finally began to calm down when she saw her sword, Ricky, propped against the wall.
“Ricky.”
“Hmm?”
“If it comes to it, let's kill them all and run away.”
Ricart gave a faint smile. He took it as a joke.
“I won't run away.”
As the day of the tournament drew closer, people began withdrawing. In the end, only six of the skilled fighters staying at the imperial palace, including Ricart, remained.
Those who withdrew had enjoyed luxurious lives to their hearts' content, then planned to watch the tournament and leave.
However, several hundred people had already fought preliminary rounds for months, and only two had survived to compete in the swordsmanship tournament.
The tournament would be held in a bracket with eight contestants. Winning just three times would make one the champion.
But those three wins would not be easy. When fighters of similar skill faced each other, even a single duel could not guarantee survival.
Above all, even if one won, serious injury was likely. Anyone unable to continue competing would be eliminated.
The day of the tournament arrived.
The broad rectangular wooden arena looked hastily constructed, with seats arranged high above it so spectators could look down.
It could not hold many people, so the seats were occupied mostly by nobles and wealthy people. However, both sides of the arena were nearly wide open, so commoners could watch to some extent from outside.
People gathered around the arena like clouds. The trees were so packed that there was no room left in them, and some even watched from the hill where the castle stood, so far away that it was hard to believe they could see anything.
The preliminary rounds had been little different from a festival of blood, so the city's excitement had reached its peak.
Hundreds of swordsmen gathered from all over the Empire had dueled and died in this arena. No matter how much they covered the ground with dirt and cleaned it, they could not erase every bloodstain.
The eight duelists wore assigned red and blue clothing, so they could be easily distinguished from afar. By coincidence, Ricart wore red.
At the center of the spectator seats sat the Emperor, the Empress Dowager, the Crown Prince, the imperial princess, and even the Emperor's mistresses. Marie, the prize for the victor, sat alone on the opposite side.
Absurdly, the seats closest to the Emperor were occupied not by his family, but by his mistresses.
Of the Emperor's Champions, two had gone to the battlefield. One of the Emperor's close guards and Hellawman had come.
Hellawman had practically been retired until now. Since he was a man over a hundred years old who was still vigorous and alive, his reappearance after so long was a spectacle in itself.
For some reason, he was in high spirits, laughing heartily and shaking hands with the nobles around him.
He was pleased because he had already half achieved a certain goal.
That goal was none other than the deaths of hundreds of swordsmen during the preliminary rounds.
And the swordsmen had not died only in the preliminaries. Many had been assassinated amid the confusion.
He had wanted to use the tournament as an excuse to reduce those unfriendly to the imperial family and nurture useful people. He did not care about the others who had been swept up and killed.
Besides, Ricart and Marie got along well, so he considered that a good thing. It would only be irritating if they hated each other.
To ordinary people, it was simply a festival full of things to see. To the imperial family, it was a kind of show with hidden political purposes. A successful festival also increased support for the imperial family.
So what if the Emperor was a womanizer? It wasn't as if he had caused any real harm. As long as it was fun, that was enough. Long live His Majesty the Emperor.
The excited mood naturally changed even the way people thought.
The leaves had not fallen yet, but they had begun to turn yellow and red.
It was also the season of harvest. A time when everything was abundant. Laughter, excitement, and pleasure easily covered up the sinister scheme.
Yet the Emperor seemed to feel no shame. In front of his mother and children, he was busy kissing and pawing at his mistresses.
Marie was seeing her father for the first time, and the shock left her dazed.
That man is my father? The Emperor?
The Crown Prince and the imperial princes lowered their heads with gloomy expressions. The Crown Prince buried his face in his great-grandmother's embrace, trying not to see his grandfather's shameful behavior.
What an unbelievable family.
Even Hellawman, who had been laughing heartily, stiffened when he saw the Emperor.
Damn it, he should have died of an STD by now...
“Ahem! Ahem! Ahem! Ahem! Ahem!”
Only after clearing his throat loudly several times did he finally draw the Emperor's attention away.
“Let us begin.”
“Hasn't it started yet? Hurry up and start.”
When the Emperor gestured, several trumpeters blew their horns at once.
Baam-ba-baam! Ba-ba-baam baam-ba-baam!
Then, as prepared beforehand, the duelists in blue and red walked out from opposite sides of the arena. Ricart was among them. The duelists lined up side by side before the Emperor.
Standing before the Emperor, Ricart turned his head and looked toward Marie in the spectator seats directly opposite him.
Just as a smile spread across his lips, the herald by the railing unrolled a scroll and shouted.
“Contestants! Kneel before His Majesty the Emperor, the pinnacle of all humanity, and show your respect!”
The eight contestants knelt on one knee before the pathetic Emperor. When the Emperor waved his hand as if granting permission, they rose again almost as soon as they had knelt.
Watching them, the herald shouted again. His voice was thunderous, worthy of someone chosen for the role.
“People, listen! Since ancient times, our ancestors have believed in only one truth! Victory! The victor gains everything, and the defeated lose everything! This harsh truth alone is the justice ordained by God! The victor is justice itself! Thus, since honoring and refining martial arts is a virtue, His Majesty the Emperor has established this swordsmanship tournament to encourage it! People, follow the example of the victor! But you who are defeated, do not grieve! God has mercy for the brave! If you do not flee and die with a weapon in your hand, heaven awaits you!”
Whether it was right or wrong, those words reflected the spirit of the age. Perhaps the small wars, petty conflicts, and sword fights all sprang from such beliefs.
“Contestants, listen! Swords, axes, maces, clubs, spears! All melee weapons are permitted! However! Cowardly bows and crossbows are forbidden! And no one! May interfere with this sacred contest! Anyone who shoots from afar! Anyone who defiles the contest with wicked magic! Will be pursued and given the most terrible punishment! After death, they will fall into hell and suffer forever!”
Once the herald had finished reading the proclamation, he rolled it up and shouted.
“Contestants, go to your respective waiting areas and prepare for an honorable death!”
With that, Ricart headed for the waiting area alongside the people in red.
For a moment, he casually looked at the people in blue heading in the opposite direction. Neither they nor Ricart seemed to have any personal feelings toward the others.
The waiting area was a temporary place enclosed by tents. Thick cloth blocked the view, so they could not watch the other matches.
The wind made the tent flap lightly. When the herald called a contestant's name, one person took up a weapon and left the waiting area.
A little later, the herald shouted.
“Let the match begiiiiin!”
At the same time, cheers that seemed to shake heaven and earth erupted.
The noise was so loud that even Ricart flinched in surprise.
He could not understand why this was so exciting.
Waaaaaaaaah!
Before thousands of people of every rank, a match of life and death, no, a show, began.
It was a show where one person died and another lived. If they were unlucky, they might live but be crippled.
The first match did not last as long as expected. Cries of “Oh!” and “Wow!” rang out, and soon the person who had left earlier returned.
But not alone.
The contestant was being supported by officials. Their calf had been cut so deeply that it hung in tatters, blood pouring from it. They did not seem capable of competing any further.
That meant someone would advance with a bye.
The officials poured potion onto the wound and gave emergency treatment, but it did not look as though the muscle would fully heal in only a day or two.
All the contestants had survived countless hardships, but this was their first life-or-death duel before thousands of spectators. They kept taking deep breaths, trying to calm their excitement.
Ricart was the same. Competing itself did not bother him, but between the situation and his thoughts of Marie, he could not help being nervous.
Please, heart. Calm down.
Then the herald's mighty voice rang out.
“Stormhertz! Third son of the Calderbern family! A member of the Beringen Guild! Ricart of the Red Cape!”
At that shout, Ricart felt his entire body calm as if by magic.
He picked up his weapon, sprang to his feet, and pushed aside the tent flap as he stepped into the arena.
Cheers that seemed to crush his entire body poured over Ricart.
Waaaaaaaaah!
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