WeTried Translations

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◈ Ode of the Brave ◈

Chapter 91

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I think I was around this age. No, perhaps I was a little older when I left for Fernland. Back then, I followed an imperial recruiter without knowing anything.

Like a leaf drifting aimlessly down a river, I traveled for a month before arriving in a place that was, quite literally, hell.

But I did not despair or lose heart too badly. I simply struggled through hell alongside my comrades and learned how to become a demon.

How to stab, slice, and hack apart. How to kill quickly and efficiently. How to make blood tears stream from an enemy's eyes. How to drive them to despair. How to utterly destroy anything, whether human or object.

Caldebert, you said I had the makings of a poet. But perhaps you too would have been a far better person if not for the battlefield.

Thinking about it now, perhaps I did not need to leave the battlefield at all.

Not if I was only going to face that lie and betrayal.

If you had offered even a warm word, or at least looked at me with pity. But that cold gaze?

You might have thought I was dead. Still, not that icy look. Not words so heartless. What choice did that leave me?

Other than killing them all.

“Ricky.”

Marie, sitting across from him in the rattling wagon, called out. Ricart came back to himself.

“Hmm?”

“What are you thinking about?”

“Nothing. Just the past.”

“You've drifted off.”

“What?”

“Stay sharp. Stay sharp.”

Marie repeated something Ricart had once said, making him laugh.

“Got it. I'll stay sharp.”

“Anyway, I hope this ends soon. We don't have much agarwood incense left.”

The agarwood incense Dr. Reno had given them had lasted for about a month. After that, they had bought more with their own money. It was expensive and difficult to obtain, and the price varied from time to time.

Sometimes, they paid nearly the price of a house for it. Other times, they received it as payment for handling a job. As a result, Ricart and Marie were not in very good financial shape.

Marie had met the wrong boyfriend and was practically penniless despite being a Sword Master. Of course, she had no complaints. She only wanted to do even more for Ricart.

Ricart turned to look outside the wagon. The adventurers from the Ernberg branch marched behind them with their heads lowered, silent and steady.

They reminded him of himself when he had left for Fernland.

The fields had already dried to yellow. The plan had been to begin the campaign in spring, but various practical constraints had delayed the order to gather until autumn.

Surprisingly, the commander-in-chief was Hellawman, the Count Palatine of Kelbron. He was personally taking the field.

More than ten guilds had been mobilized, and the Beringen Guild had sent around a hundred adventurers. Forty of them came from the Ernberg branch, which had the highest proportion of participants. Their total force numbered around seven hundred.

Still, Ricart was somewhat doubtful.

The problem was that adventurers were not soldiers. In other words, this was not an army.

Individual adventurers might possess greater combat skill than ordinary soldiers, but an army relied less on individual strength than on its ability to form a unified, organized group.

Adventurers, each with their own strong personalities, might be suited to scouting, annihilation missions, and other small special operations. They were not suited to large-scale battles.

Ricart believed that the more adventurers gathered in one place, the less efficient they became.

Still, the enemy was probably in a similar situation, so he was not particularly worried.

A capable military commander was rarer than a Sword Master. Ricart did not think either side had someone like that, so perhaps it was fair enough.

“I think we're here. You can see it over there.”

Boribori's voice came from outside the wagon. Ricart lightly jumped down from the moving vehicle.

Colorful tents stood scattered across the distant field. The adventurers who had arrived first were already there.

“By the way, I don't see a river.”

Volka looked around. All he could see was a vast plain, rippling gently like calm water. There was no actual water in sight.

“There isn't a river here. We have to dig wells.”

Ricart knew the area's geography, so he answered immediately.

Then his heart began pounding wildly, almost beyond control. He could not calm it easily. Imagining this place and actually coming here were entirely different.

A familiar scent of nostalgia rose from the mountains, fields, sky, and wind, and Ricart's chest kept aching.

It felt as though something were cutting into him with a blade, while at the same time filling him completely. He could not explain it.

Emotion welled up in his throat, and he tried hard to swallow it without showing it.

Everywhere he looked, this was a place steeped in painful longing.

It was where betrayal, hatred, despair, and rage had been born.

It was also the hometown of a pure boy who had once lived more peacefully than anyone else in the world.

Two wagons, five carts, and around forty Ernberg adventurers approached the gathering point. When they did, members of the Beringen Guild who had been watching from afar came over to greet them.

“Damn, did you guys put everything on the line for this job?”

“Wow, almost all of them actually came.”

“Don't tell me you really believe the Fifth Prince's promise.”

Their words, half greeting and half friendly teasing, rained down on Volka and the other adventurers.

At the same time, the adventurers who had arrived first kept glancing at the Ernberg group of four: Ricart, Marie, Boribori, and Ice.

Ricart's breastplate, visible now and then beneath his cloak, especially caught their attention. He had destroyed an entire guild and claimed its treasured heirloom as spoils. That carried a certain weight.

“Hey, when else are we ever going to become nobles? This is our chance. The idiots are the ones who didn't come.”

Volka spoke with confidence. Bellator, the Fifth Prince, had publicly declared that anyone who distinguished themself in the campaign would receive a title.

Ricart did not know whether Bellator truly had the authority to grant one when he was not the Emperor. Still, many ownerless lands had been devastated by outlaws, so it did not seem to be a complete lie.

More than anything, the campaign was highly important to Bellator in terms of symbolism.

He was avenging the late Emperor.

“Nobles always say one thing first and another later. How many times are you going to fall for it?”

“Then why are you here?”

“I'm here to ride along. I could still get a share, right? Hey, life's all about squeezing in on someone else's deal!”

“Heh heh heh. Idiot.”

Volka exchanged pointless chatter with clan leaders and other branch chiefs. Then he went to Dunkel's tent to report their arrival and began assigning their campsite.

They leveled the ground with shovels, spread tough cloth over it, then pushed up thick logs to set the central poles.

It was work that should have taken several people, but Ricart lifted the heavy log alone and planted it into the ground. People nearby watched him in amazement.

After setting up a spacious two-person tent and placing cots and other necessities inside, Ricart started walking somewhere.

“Where are you going?”

Boribori, who had been following Volka to a meeting for clan masters and branch chiefs, turned and asked.

“Just going to look around.”

“Shouldn't someone with a lung disease be getting some rest?”

“My arms and legs aren't cut off.”

“Marie is going with you, right? Make sure she goes.”

I really have lived to see the day.

Boribori was worrying about Ricart. Ricart's condition was clearly not normal, so Boribori seemed concerned.

It felt rather nice to have someone worry about him. Ricart could not help smiling.

“There she is. I'll be back before sunset.”

Ricart waited for Marie, then headed out into the vast fields with her.

They were going to the old village.

Someone stared directly at the sun.

For some reason, it was not blinding.

She did not know why she was looking at the sun, but the ominous feeling that something bad was about to happen settled inside her like certainty.

Then, at some point, a round shadow began to cover the sun from above.

What in the world was happening? Was something like this even possible?

The girl watching the sun felt her heart pounding. For some reason, the fear that the world was about to end came over her.

The shadow descended further and further. It was as though the sun were closing its eyes.

At one point, the bright day suddenly became night.

When the sun fully closed its eyes, a sacred ring of light flashed.

A figure stood there, wearing it upon their head like a halo.

Covered in pitch-black shadow, the figure stood atop a sacred altar and slowly turned their head. Eyes burning gold blazed in the darkness.

The girl's anxiety changed into unbearable sorrow, pain, and regret, swallowing her whole.

“Ah!”

Daisy jolted awake. Cold sweat ran down her body, and goosebumps covered her arms and neck. Her soft bed and pillow were slightly damp.

Daisy took several quick breaths and calmed her pounding heart. Light seeped through a gap in the thick curtains.

“Mikela, are you all right? Did you have another prophetic dream?”

Mikela was the name Daisy had received after entering the Order.

The girl in the bed beside hers spoke to her. She was a beautiful young girl, dazzling enough to hurt the eyes.

Still, Daisy, with her air of deep melancholy, was no less lovely. The whites of her large eyes were smooth and spotless like the surface of a boiled egg, while her long blonde hair was as fine as silk curtains.

“Yeah...”

“You've been having them often lately. An eclipse?”

“Yeah.”

“Even so, you're doing better than most. Ariela dreams of all kinds of horrible corpses.”

“But I can feel the emotions. It's sad and painful. Too painful to bear.”

Prophetic dreams were not merely glimpses of future scenes. The dreamer fully felt the emotions of whoever stood in that situation, including negative feelings such as terror, fear, and anxiety.

Unlike Armand, however, they could not observe the whole picture. They only saw fragments, so the Order compared several prophecies to verify the truth.

More recently, Daisy's visions had revealed something decisive: God would be resurrected on the day of an eclipse.

They had even used astronomy to calculate the date exactly. That was why they had caused that incident in the imperial capital, Nibelungen, last year.

The girl in the bed beside Daisy was also one of the prophetic nuns. She looked three or four years older than Daisy, though she was probably only fifteen or sixteen.

She came over to Daisy and comforted her, rubbing her shoulder.

“It'll all be over soon. When God is resurrected, all that anxiety and fear will be taken away. We only need to think of God. Believe. And obey. Then peace will settle here.”

The girl pointed to Daisy's heart.

But instead of answering, Daisy changed the subject.

“...But do you still have dreams too, Aisa?”

“Mine aren't much help.”

Not every prophetic dream was useful. There were twelve prophetic nuns in all, but only three, including Daisy, saw truly crucial visions.

One saw God being resurrected. One saw a sacred blade of golden flame. One saw a blood-soaked scene.

The Order interpreted these visions as God returning and killing all their enemies.

In any case, since the Order did not know the preferences of the god who would return, it managed nuns across a range of ages, from twelve to twenty.

Once God returned, the nuns had been taught to worship, revere, and love only God, offer everything, and continue God's bloodline.

But Daisy was different.

She buried her true feelings deep inside her heart. Her beloved was not God, but another man.

“Still, I want to hear it.”

Aisa did not understand why Daisy liked her simple visions so much. Still, if it could calm Daisy, there was no reason not to tell her.

“Hmm... All right. There's a cool breeze, warm midday sunlight, and a ruined village. In the southwest, there's a lone house. A young man in a red cape is there. His eyes are hazel...”

Whenever Daisy heard that insignificant story, or rather, prophecy, her heart pounded.

She was certain that young man was her beloved, Ricart.

She could never forget.

That moment was carved into Daisy's heart forever.

‘I'm Ricky. What's your name?’

She did not care about God. To Daisy, that boy was her savior.

“Feeling calmer now? Do you want to go wash up?”

“Yeah.”

Daisy headed to the bathhouse, led by Aisa's hand.

The bathhouse was meticulously finished with marble tiles, making it very luxurious. Warm water was always available as well.

The prophetic nuns received strict training, but they were managed rather loosely. They were women meant to serve God, so nobody in the Order could mistreat or punish them.

As a result, most of what the nuns did involved tending to their beauty or practicing arias that would please God.

They were given fresh, nutritious food, clean bathwater every day, and specially made beauty ointments from the Order.

Compared to the children following the Sword Master course, their treatment was as different as heaven and hell.

In return, the nuns always had to wear white mourning robes and veils. They were not allowed to show their faces carelessly to anyone.

Having been thoroughly cut off from the outside world, the nuns formed close bonds with one another.

Daisy and Aisa had washed in the bathhouse, combed each other's hair, and applied ointment. But when they came out, Daisy headed somewhere completely different from their quarters.

“Where are you going?”

“Aisa, keep watch for me.”

“You, you, again?”

Since this was not the first or second time, Aisa was horrified.

The prophetic nuns lived in a separate palace within the sprawling temple, which was as vast as a castle on the plain. There was hardly any surveillance.

Daisy went to a small side gate in the wall and easily opened its rusty lock. She had sawed through it herself over several days.

Aisa kept looking around helplessly, her veil fluttering with every movement.

Daisy did not care. She simply opened the gate.

“Mikela! You have to be back before sunset!”

Aisa called out softly. The nuns were not punished, but if Daisy was caught, she would have to listen to a full day of scolding from the nun who was like their eldest sister.

“Got it. Don't worry. I know when it is.”

Aisa's prophecy had clearly said it would be midday, so Daisy thought she would have plenty of time to return before sunset.

She boldly went outside.

Then she took off the cumbersome veil that fluttered in the wind.

The wind blew so hard that her long white robe clung to her body, but Daisy did not hesitate.

She was not merely waiting for fate. It was as though she intended to seize it herself.

When Daisy's mother had entrusted her to the Order, they had passed through a ruined village.

That was why Daisy knew where it was.

Daisy walked for nearly four or five hours from the cool morning until she reached the ruined village. It had become a ruin over a hundred years ago, and grass grew thickly through it as though it had become part of nature.

She had not even eaten, so she should have been hungry. But she did not care.

Southwest. Southwest.

Murmuring those words, Daisy arrived at a house whose roof had long vanished, leaving it open to the sky.

She went inside, crouched down, and waited without doing anything else. Occasionally looking at the sun to guess the time was all she did.

It did not matter if he did not come today. She could come again and again.

In fact, she often came here to wait.

But she had walked for hours without resting and was exhausted. Daisy began nodding off like a sick chick.

How long had she dozed?

A cool breeze suddenly blew in and gently brushed against Daisy.

Like the wind from the prophecy, it seemed to tell her that he had come.

“Oh? There's someone here.”

An unfamiliar voice.

Daisy's sleepiness vanished at once, and she raised her head.

A red cape. A man standing with the light behind him.

Huh...?

The backlight made Daisy frown for a moment. Her eyes slowly adjusted, and she saw the man clearly.

But she did not recognize him at first.

He had grown so much during the time she had not seen him. His face still retained some youthful softness, but it was difficult to call him a boy now.

“Huh?”

Ricart also thought she looked familiar, but he did not immediately recognize the slightly changed Daisy.

Marie, who had been elsewhere, walked over.

“There's someone here? Isn't she a spy?”

Then Daisy shouted at the top of her lungs and threw herself into the arms of the man she had longed so desperately to call out to.

“Honeeeey!”

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