WeTried Translations

Translator/Editor: ZERO_SUGAR

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◈ Ode of the Brave ◈

Chapter 9

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Even the sharpest sword in the world varied in power according to who wielded it.

In a child's hand, it would only wound its owner. In a master's hand, it might cut down an entire age.

There was no doubt that Ricky, the Empire's first Sword Master a hundred years ago, possessed unrivaled skill, unlike any seen before or since.

But people who focused only on Ricky's martial prowess knew only half of who he was.

Ricky knew how to use his abilities as a tool. Whether fighting an individual or a group, he could devise the most suitable plan to inflict fatal consequences on his opponents, then carry it out like a machine.

He had learned that naturally while crossing the line between life and death countless times, in horrific wars and in a struggle born of rage against the world.

Win or die. His gamble-like tactics and methods of fighting grew more precise with every battle, until at some point they stopped being gambles at all.

So despite still having an undeveloped body, killing a few mediocre bandits was nothing.

“They'll gather here again. They'll come one or two at a time, so kill them as they come. There were eight in all. There may be a few more if anyone's blocking the escape route, but not many.”

Did he have the presence of mind to count heads in that situation? In any case, Ricart spoke as he calmed the carriage horses amid the chaos.

But from the look of it, Arno had completely lost his wits and did not seem to hear Ricart.

“Pick up a weapon. You don't need any special skill to kill bandits. Don't swing it. Stay calm and stab them in the stomach. Not the chest. You could hit the ribs.”

Arno only drew quick, ragged breaths as if he were hyperventilating. He could not pull himself together. Even as time passed, he showed no sign of calming down.

Daisy was better off, but she was not normal either. She clung tightly to Ricart's side and stared only at his face.

Without a word, Ricart unfastened the sword from the bandit leader's belt and brought it to Arno.

Arno stared blankly at the sword Ricart held out, then flinched in belated surprise.

“I, I, I... I...”

“Get a hold of yourself. Didn't you take some kind of courier's oath?”

The oath was to not drink, not cause trouble, and always deliver parcels to their intended recipients. It said nothing about fighting enemies.

Still, it was not as though Arno had never seen blood in his life. The world was already more than cruel enough in its punishments for criminals. Beheadings in the public square were standard.

He was not shocked by the blood.

Ricart was simply terrifying enough to make his skin crawl.

Arno finally came to his senses and took the sword Ricart offered with trembling hands.

Only then did Ricart crouch beside the carriage and hide. He intended to kill the bandits one or two at a time when they arrived.

Arno and Daisy crouched beside Ricart. Watching them, Ricart thought Arno's hands shook so badly that he might not even be able to draw his sword in time.

“Draw it beforehand. The first time is hard, but you'll get used to it quickly.”

“...D-d-did you receive knightly training?”

Arno apparently needed something he could accept. Something that would explain how a ten-year-old could kill people so casually. Otherwise, Ricart could only seem like a being possessed by an evil spirit, or the devil himself.

“Sure. Let's say that.”

Ricart gave a vague answer. Then he spoke to Daisy as well.

“Don't stick so close to me. It's hard to move.”

“Yes, honey.”

“...Unbelievable.”

Taking care of one child and one adult while doing this made Ricart sigh inwardly.

Even then, intermittent screams and laughter drifted from both nearby and far away. Among them was a cry of, “The baby! At least save the baby!”

Then someone came up the mountain path again. Just as Ricart had expected, it was a bandit bringing prisoners.

The prisoners looked terrible, their faces filled with resignation and despair. The two bandits were joking with each other.

When they reached the carriages and carts, they found the two bodies Ricart had left behind. Their joking stopped at once.

“Did the two fight?”

“What do we do?”

Though their leaders were dead, they showed no grief at all. They merely assumed the two men had fought and killed each other.

Then Ricart crept up from behind and suddenly rushed forward, cutting deeply behind one bandit's knee.

“Urk! What the hell?”

His knee buckled, and he fell backward onto the ground. Then Arno threw himself forward in a desperate charge.

He used too much force, becoming tangled with one bandit and falling to the ground. Still, he seemed to have succeeded in stabbing the man from behind.

Ricart had already slit one bandit's throat, but Arno climbed on top of the other, gripped his sword backward, and repeatedly drove it down.

“Fuck! You! You rotten! Bastard!”

He was far too worked up. The sword's point quickly dulled against bone, and his angle slipped until he dropped the sword.

Still unable to calm down, he picked up a nearby rock and repeatedly smashed it into the dead bandit's face.

Thud! Thud! Thud!

“Stop. Stop it. He's already dead.”

Only after Ricart stopped him did Arno flinch and freeze. Blood had splattered across his face, and his hands were covered in it.

With a wildly excited expression, he panted and stared blankly at Ricart.

Seeing the boy's astonishingly calm face, which barely changed at all, seemed to settle Arno's pounding heart somewhat.

“I... I did it. I did it.”

“Yeah, you did well. So get a hold of yourself.”

Ricart had no idea how many times he had said it, but Arno might have been experiencing the most exciting moment of his life.

The two women who had been dragged along opened their eyes wide when Ricart and Arno killed the bandits.

“Move the bodies out of sight from below, at least roughly, then hide again. Put the weapons away too.”

“Of course, young master!”

Arno answered energetically.

They continued dealing with bandits who brought prisoners up the path. Since they always came in pairs, they seemed to be moving in teams of two.

After they had killed six men, Arno wondered whether it was really supposed to be this easy. Once his fear faded, the bandits looked insignificant. I was scared of these bastards?

He could also see Ricart properly now.

There were no flashy techniques at all. Ricart's movements were short and simple, stabbing and cutting vital points without mistakes. The stomach, the backs of the knees, the throat.

It sounded easy, and even looked easy in practice, but it was not. If he missed or got his limbs tangled up, a child could not overcome an adult.

Arno had only heard about knightly training, but he could only think that this must be what it taught. Nobles really were frightening. On the surface, Ricart was just an innocent little boy. Good thing I didn't act up around him.

There was not a single man among the prisoners, though. They might have been killed, fallen to their deaths, or managed to escape. There was no way to know.

At least Daisy's mother and family were among those rescued.

The final prisoner brought up was a merchant, the only male prisoner. The bandits had likely captured him because they expected a ransom.

“Yes, sir! Yes, sir! You can get at least ten gold coins in ransom for me! My trading company can't function without me! Hehehe.”

He seemed willing to say anything to live. Ten gold coins, my ass. Unless it was royalty or a great noble, even a noble would struggle to fetch that much ransom. He was utterly pathetic.

“Do we look like idiots to you? Ten gold coins, my ass. If your trading company offers less than five silver coins, we'll just kill you.”

As expected, the bandits were not entirely ignorant of the world. After all, it was not as though they had only sold one or two captives.

“W-what? Th-that...!”

“Shut up. Why does it smell so bloody around here?”

“Looks like the boys killed people again for no reason.”

“Fuck, we're all going to get scolded together. Don't they understand when they're told something?”

The two bandits neared the carts and carriages, frowning at the smell of blood thick in the air. They were all doing this to make money, but some men occasionally got worked up and lost their heads.

When they finally reached the carts, they saw bloodstains scattered across the ground and trails where something had been dragged. There were no bodies.

No, they could see feet sticking out from behind the carriage.

Feeling that something was wrong, they headed toward the carriage. Then something suddenly jumped out of the bushes beside them. Startled, one of them flailed his arms, and someone shoved him hard.

“What the fuck?”

The bandit cursed as he landed on his backside. Only then did he realize that his stomach was burning. Blood poured out and soaked his clothes.

“What...?”

“Eek!”

“W-what is that?!”

The merchant, the wounded man, and the other bandit stared with eyes wide as lanterns.

Then they saw the boy standing there with a bloodstained dagger.

While their attention was fixed on Ricart, Arno charged out from the opposite side and drove his sword into the remaining bandit's flank.

“Urk!”

As before, the bandits could not resist the sudden ambush even once. Once they had suffered a fatal injury, cutting off their breath was easy.

Ricart killed one by driving his blade into the man's throat, neither fast nor slow, almost as if he were simply placing it there. Arno, no longer shaking much, finished off the other bandit.

Warm blood burst out in pulses and soaked the ground. The merchant sat trembling on the ground, having no idea what was happening.

Only then did the women emerge from hiding. The merchant's wide eyes darted around in panic as he tried to understand the situation. Meanwhile, the women grabbed the bodies by the legs and dragged them behind the carriage.

Ricart and Arno stood on either side of the seated merchant, looking down at him.

“Can you fight?” Ricart asked.

“...Pardon?”

“I asked if you can fight. Where's your guard? You had one left.”

“Uh... right. Yes. Where did he go? Ah! H-he... he ran away. Or did he die? I don't know.”

“Fine. Then pick up a weapon. Not a spear, something like a sword or an axe. We'll hide and ambush the ones who come up.”

“Uh...”

“Get up. We don't have time. We don't know when they'll come.”

Arno grabbed the merchant by the collar and forcibly pulled him to his feet. Still dazed, the merchant simply did as he was told without knowing what he was doing.

He picked up a weapon and hid behind the carriage with Arno and Ricart. When he turned his head, he saw the bandits' bodies laid out in a row.

He was shocked all over again. What happened here?

It was not terribly difficult when analyzed step by step, but people tended to see only the result. To the merchant, it looked as though Ricart and Arno had defeated all these men by themselves.

“Sir Hero, I failed to recognize you and treated you with disrespect.”

After watching them cautiously for a long time, the merchant finally managed to speak to Arno. He could not imagine that Ricart had led this operation.

“Hero? Me? The hero is the young master here. He dealt with those two leaders too.”

The merchant looked at Ricart, then at the two bodies Arno pointed to. It was hard to believe, but he had seen the boy kill a bandit with his own eyes, leaving him with nothing to say.

Looking more closely at the two leaders, who had died with their eyes rolled upward and mouths hanging open, he had the feeling he had seen them somewhere before.

Two men? If there were two, then...

“They're the Biltun brothers. I heard they were on the run, but I never imagined they were hiding here. And the young master killed both of them?”

“I saw it with my own eyes, and I still couldn't believe it for a while. But it's true. Merchant sir, you saw it too, didn't you? He cut open that one's stomach. Look at this bastard too. His belly split open, his guts spilled out, and while he was out of it, the young master cut his throat.”

Ricart, who had done it, said nothing, while Arno bragged as though it were his own heroic tale.

The merchant looked at Ricart again. Ricart was wiping the dagger with a cloth, and the blade gleamed like new. The image of the boy killing the bandit flashed through the merchant's mind, and goosebumps rose on his skin.

“E-excuse me, but may I ask where you're from, young master?”

“Stormhertz.”

“Stormhertz... Ah! Are you perhaps the young hero said to have beaten a wild boar to death with his bare hands?”

Ricart did not know how far the rumor had spread, but it sounded exaggerated.

“Not with my bare hands. I killed it with a spear.”

“That is still remarkable. I had no idea you were this young. As expected of a member of the Stormhertz family, famous for its martial prowess. Ah, about twelve years ago, I followed the army to the Battle of Briden as a war merchant. I made my seed money by supplying prostitutes to the soldiers. Your banner has a white cross on a red field, does it not? Your lord charged magnificently on a brown horse, like something from a painting. The enemy scattered in terror.”

Perhaps because he had narrowly escaped death, or because he believed his life was in this young boy's hands, the merchant flattered Ricart as smoothly as if his tongue had been greased.

Ricart did not know what he was supposed to do with that, so he gave a vague reply.

“Right...”

“I deal in pigments, and as a token of gratitude for saving my life, I will give you a cloak when we reach the city. Would you prefer red or blue?”

“Hmm... My family's color is red, so I would prefer red.”

“Ha, as expected of a noble young master. You have an eye for it. Originally, only the commander-in-chief leading His Majesty the Emperor's army could wear a red cloak. And not all reds are the same. There is a mineral called cinnabar that has a red hue. Red made by grinding it is as red as blood. They say those who mine it go mad or die before long. So prisoners and slaves are made to mine it, which is why it costs more than gold.”

What was he even talking about? The merchant talked far too much. He seemed to be the sort of person who talked more when nervous.

“...These days, colors are no longer distinguished by rank, but purple is still reserved for His Majesty the Emperor...”

“Wait.”

“Yes?”

“How long would it normally have taken to cross the mountain pass if we had not encountered the bandits?”

“We set out in the morning, so we would have crossed the pass by late afternoon.”

“Then let's get moving.”

“Pardon?”

“The leaders are dead, and even if bandits remain, there should be fewer of them than us. It should be safe to leave now.”

Thinking about it, that was true. How many surviving bandits could there be? One or two, perhaps?

“Before that, shouldn't we cut off their heads?”

“What heads?”

“The Biltun brothers were fairly well-known wanted men. Rainfurt isn't far, so we can take them there without salting them. If we bring them to the Adventurer Guild, the reward should be quite substantial.”

Was that so? Ricart had not considered it. After thinking about what to do, he decided to cut off their heads. More accurately, he sliced them off.

Once he put the heads into cloth bags, blood quickly soaked the bottoms and began dripping out. He put the bags into a basket and loaded it onto the carriage.

They fed the horses and donkeys plenty of carrots. They had worked hard, after all. With everyone pushing the carriage together, they barely got it over the rocks.

Eight bodies lay in a row amid bloodstains at the site, two of them headless. No one buried them.

After reaching the highest point of the mountain pass and beginning the descent, men who had either hidden or fled emerged one by one and joined them.

Though the men had run away and abandoned their families, the women accepted them. They too had fled and abandoned even their children, and without accepting the men, making a living afterward would be difficult. They had no choice.

They were people accustomed to living that way.

Counting the dead and missing, there seemed to be six or seven. The victims were tragic, but the living had survived, so they had to keep struggling through life once again.

Daisy looked happy without pause, while Arno walked with his chest puffed out far more proudly than necessary.

Ricart felt that, so far, the world had not changed much in the past hundred years. There had been bandits then, there were powerless people, and living was painful for everyone.

By the time they came down from the mountain pass, the sun had set. The people built campfires and prepared to camp for the night.

With Daisy attached to his side like a leech, Ricart sat beside the fire and warmed himself.

He thought of his father's words. Honor, salvation, family, things like that.

He did not cling too tightly to his father's words, but neither did he let them simply pass by.

Ricart sank into thought, letting all kinds of thoughts blow through his mind like wind through an open front door and back door.

The looks people gave the boy were strange. They seemed to see a hero, yet also something like a terrifying demon.

He had indeed saved them, but someone who casually cut open bellies and slit throats was far from a prince on a white horse.

As night deepened and the view disappeared into darkness, the cries of frogs awakened from hibernation, the calls of scops owls, and the crackling campfire became clearer.

And in the night sky, just as they had a hundred years ago, the stars shone.

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