WeTried Translations

Translator/Editor: ZERO_SUGAR

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◈ Ode of the Brave ◈

Chapter 94

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As the night deepened, the revelry grew wilder. The flames danced as they burned, seeming to stir their excitement even further.

There was crude laughter, drunken tongues twisted by alcohol, and even animal-like panting and moans from some of the tents.

Standing watch on a night like this brought all kinds of feelings. The strongest of them was a sense of being left out.

But adults, professionals, knew how to handle such feelings. The sentries understood that they could not simply do whatever they felt like.

That did not mean they stood with their eyes wide open, staring into the darkness to see whether enemies were coming.

They simply rolled dice on a small table near a bonfire at the edge of the camp.

Copper coins lay scattered about, while the dice went clatter, clatter across the table. One person watched, leaning heavily on a spear.

Standing watch was not a fight against enemies. It was a fight against sleep and boredom. As long as they stayed awake, they were on guard. In that sense, they were excellent sentries.

“Did you hear?”

One person asked as two dice rolled across the table. Their eyes remained on the dice as several coins changed hands. They did not seem particularly affected by winning or losing.

“Hear what?”

“Reggie got his nose broken.”

“Really? How?”

“Looks like he got into a fight with the Hestein lot.”

“What did the captain say?”

“He said to make them pay damages and let it go.”

“How much are they paying?”

“Who knows? Probably a few silver coins.”

“That won’t be enough for someone like Reggie.”

“Exactly. How are we supposed to live right next to the Hestein lot after this?”

“What can we do about it?”

“We pay them back first.”

By paying them back, they meant breaking their noses in return.

No one knew whether Hestein was a guild or a clan, but the sentries clearly did not get along with them.

In truth, there was not an Adventurer Guild or clan without grudges and debts tangled up with another guild or clan. Ricart himself was practically sworn enemies with the Rubens Guild.

Everyone had complicated ties of resentment and obligation. Putting people like that in one place was bound to cause trouble.

“I’m sitting this one out.”

“What?”

“Don’t call me disloyal. We could really die, you know. He’s the Emperor’s Champion. Didn’t he say that if someone gets killed in a fight, he’ll hold everyone jointly responsible?”

“You believe that?”

“And if I don’t? Look at his eyes. He’s no ordinary man. I think he’ll make an example out of someone, no, an entire clan, before long. The timing’s bad.”

“You scared, bastard?”

“Hey.”

“Forget it. Fine. You don’t have to do it. You might be right. Things don’t look good.”

“Just roll the dice.”

An argument nearly broke out, but fortunately it passed. Then one of the two dice rolled across the little table slipped off.

It rolled quite far away. As they followed it with their eyes, they noticed something truly strange.

“What’s that sound? Did you hear it?”

“What? Huh?”

The camp had grown quieter as the night wore on, though laughter and chatter still came from afar. Beneath those sounds, something unfamiliar seemed to be coming from the opposite direction.

The two gamblers and their spectator stared into the darkness together. The strange sound gradually became clearer.

“Uuugh...”

It sounded like the groan of someone seriously ill. Then came the sound of shuffling footsteps. It was definitely coming closer.

The gamblers quickly gathered the money from the table and drew their weapons.

“Who’s there?”

One adventurer drew a sword and called out a warning toward the darkness. There was no answer. Instead, at the edge of the bonfire’s light, they saw a man staggering toward them.

The sentries frowned at once. The man did not look quite right for an enemy.

Thick black veins stood out all the way up his neck and face. He looked severely poisoned. Yet he kept coming closer.

“Uuugh...”

“Fuck, is that some kind of undead?”

“Hey! If you’re a person, speak before you die.”

“Eram, give me your spear.”

“Yes? Ah, yes.”

One gambler took the spear from the new adventurer, then turned it around and poked the approaching man with the butt instead of the spearhead.

“Hey, sir. I said don’t come any closer. We’re not good people. We don’t care whether you die or not.”

Yet the staggering man only stumbled backward before continuing to approach.

“Fuck, something’s really wrong here.”

“Eram, go tell the captain. If he’s drunk, crack his skull open if you have to and wake him up.”

“What the hell is this? Hey!”

The one holding the spear kept prodding the staggering man. If he got angry, it looked as though he would switch his grip and stab with the spearhead.

“Ghk. Ghk. Ghuuugh...”

Then the man convulsed as if he were about to vomit. A crimson light shone beneath his skin.

Their eyes widened at the sight, but before they could react, the staggering man’s upper body burst apart. It was less like bursting and more like an explosion.

“Boom!”

Bone fragments burst outward like shrapnel and embedded themselves in the adventurer holding the spear. Chunks of flesh and organs flew far into the air. Gas carrying a terrible stench spread in every direction.

Then, after a brief delay, explosions erupted all over the camp at once.

“Boom! Kaboom! Boom!”

The spectator watching from behind jumped in fright. Their face twisted at the stench, but they covered their nose and stepped forward to save their companion.

At that moment, a flash of light cut through the darkness.

“Whoosh!”

The adventurer trying to save a companion lost their head in a single strike. The killer emerged at the edge of the bonfire’s light, wearing a pointed mask like a bird’s beak and wrapped head to toe in a black cloak.

Meanwhile, the new adventurer Eram was searching for their clan leader.

The masked Sword Master entered the camp.

In an instant, the camp fell into chaos. Screams rose everywhere, along with frantic shouts calling for others.

“Ahhh!”

“Hector! Hector!”

“Get your weapons first! Don’t run!”

Ricart, asleep beside Marie, snapped awake. Instinctively sensing that something bad had happened, he hastily threw on some clothes, grabbed his sword, and ran outside.

Marie hurried out as well, and the two saw the camp in an uproar. Flames rose in the distance.

“It’s a raid.”

“Where are the enemies?”

Ricart quickly took in the situation, then rushed back into the tent and emerged carrying his armor.

Marie thought he was hurriedly putting it on, but instead he simply hung it from a pole.

“Come here. Protect me.”

“Okay.”

Ricart hung his armor from the pole and ran toward Volka’s tent, shouting as he went.

“Ricky’s here! Ricky’s here!”

The adventurers from the Ernberg branch, who had been panicking in confusion, turned toward him.

Ricart’s armor gleamed as it reflected the firelight, making it visible even from afar. The violet-embroidered surcoat fluttered in the wind.

Unlike the other adventurers, those from Ernberg quickly gathered around Ricart.

None of them were properly equipped. One had even lost a shoe. They were a complete mess, but every one of them held a weapon.

There was no time to check their numbers in a situation like this.

Ricart drove the pole into the ground with monstrous strength, then spoke to the wide-eyed Volka.

“If we hold this place, we win. You understand?”

Volka could only nod frantically.

When people were ambushed, they could not help panicking. At times like this, they could not scatter in all directions. They had to come together as one.

Ricart swept his gaze over the area. Dozens of frightened, panicked eyes were fixed on him. More people had gathered than he expected, and he was secretly surprised.

In an instant, he counted all the allied forces and grasped the state of the battle.

Even amid the confusion, Ricart’s eyes gleamed as he watched the direction from which the enemy had attacked, their numbers, the state of his allies, and their chance to counterattack.

The enemy force did not seem as large as expected. The initial fright had them jumping at shadows, and confusion was breeding more confusion.

Surprisingly, the allied forces were not fleeing in a panic.

Ordinary soldiers might have scattered at once, but the adventurers were divided into clans and had long-standing habits.

They lacked experience in large-scale battles, but they had seen plenty of small fights.

They had not gathered as quickly as Ricart’s group, but they were clustering around their clan leaders and handling the chaos in their own way.

Then Ricart spotted one enemy clearly. It was a Sword Master wearing a mask with a protruding birdlike beak.

The figure disappeared and reappeared behind the tents. As Ricart watched, he realized that the bastard did not seem very skilled at fighting.

Perhaps the enemy had trained hard enough to become a Sword Master, but had no actual objective. There was no sign of a plan to seize the command center or wipe out the camp.

There were too few enemies to annihilate the camp in the first place, and they were not mounted knights who could rapidly break through toward the command center. They were only focused on killing whoever happened to be in front of them.

That was why they were killing fewer people than expected. They seemed just as flustered, wildly lashing out without thought.

It was like someone trying to cook meat without ever having eaten it. Even the arson was clumsy. That was not how it was done.

Had they simply thought that sending in a few Sword Masters would guarantee victory? To everyone else, the enemy was terrifying. To Ricart, they were not much at all.

“The rest of you stay here. Volka, take command. Put out the fires around us. Water will be hard to find, so just make sure they don’t spread. Marie, Ice, Bori, come with me.”

Without properly putting on his armor, Ricart headed out with his friends to kill the enemy, carrying only an arming sword.

The enemy had been eagerly chasing someone, barely managing to kill one person, then losing another behind tents and cutting uselessly at empty canvas. Then the Sword Master noticed Ricart’s group approaching.

Perhaps thinking it was fortunate, the enemy rushed at them. Marie drew her sword and met the attack. Two Sword Masters collided, each blazing with different light.

“Clang!”

A tremendous metallic crash tore through their eardrums, unlike anything they had ever heard. In that brief moment, Boribori and Ice drew their swords like lightning and attacked together.

The enemy had not expected Marie to be a Sword Master and hastily retreated in panic. Boribori and Ice might not have been Sword Masters yet, but they were far from easy opponents.

As their two swords flashed, one of the enemy’s arms flew away in an instant. Yet perhaps through the power of faith, the enemy twisted their body despite losing an arm, somehow avoiding a fatal blow before thrusting a sword at Marie.

Then, with a dull sound, the enemy’s head snapped to the side, killing them instantly. Ricart had landed a high kick from their blind spot.

The kick carried the monstrous strength of the legendary hero Ilya. A blow to the head was difficult to survive.

“Crack!”

The shattered mask flew away and rolled across the ground. The enemy collapsed with their head bent beyond ninety degrees. Marie stabbed them through the neck to make sure.

Ricart looked around again. He was honestly surprised that the adventurers had not fled as much as expected and were holding the camp in their own way.

They’re useful after all.

The area around the campfires was a complete mess, but as time passed, the chaos slowly began to settle.

Ricart spotted another Sword Master and immediately rushed over. But someone else arrived first.

It was Hellawman.

The adventurers had responded well, but his efforts seemed to have played a major part in bringing the chaos under control. He was not an outstanding military commander, but when it came to the sword, he was said to be the strongest in the entire Empire.

Blood was splattered across his face and clothes, as though he had already killed several enemies. He wore a broad smile, as if he were truly enjoying himself.

Hellawman looked at the masked enemy and spoke.

“We too once made many people like you through something called the final examination. But we stopped. Do you know why?”

“...”

“Because you’re useless. A dog that bites its master is useless. Every last one of you ends up broken.”

Hellawman looked unusually excited. He seemed far from normal himself, yet Ricart could strangely understand him. Hellawman was happy to have finally found an opponent worth facing.

“Carve away pity and compassion to become a Sword Master... Yet I was born without such things. So I still find this fun, while you’re bored enough to go mad. That is the difference between you and me. Though it is a shame there is no pleasure in cutting you down.”

Mana gathered in Hellawman’s sword. It shone blue, but its density differed from that of an ordinary Sword Master. Blue smoke-like wisps rose from it in streams.

In comparison, the Church holy knight’s sword was no more than a firefly beneath the moon.

A duel between Sword Masters was rare. Before long, adventurers had gathered all around, watching in silent anticipation.

Hellawman walked toward the enemy. The outcome already seemed decided by their presence alone. Even among Sword Masters, the gap in their level was obvious.

Then the enemy suddenly shouted and rushed at Hellawman.

“I swear to God! I fought to the very end!”

The attack was fast, but far too simple. And the swordsmanship resembled Ice’s in some way.

Yet Hellawman boldly stepped into the path of the enemy’s blade.

In an extremely brief moment, he slipped past the sword by a hair, like a gentle breeze. Then he spun his own sword with only his wrist and slashed hard across the enemy’s waist.

The blade, sharpened to an extreme edge, cut through the waist so lightly that it seemed almost unreal.

Driven by momentum, the holy knight’s upper body flew forward a little while the lower body fell flat to the ground. Blood dripped between the severed halves, and long intestines spilled across the ground.

Before the enemy had even fallen, Hellawman was already returning his sword to its sheath. Not even blood stained the blade.

His neatly slicked-back hair was not disturbed in the slightest. Still, he casually brushed the hair at his temple back with one hand.

Seeing the strength and skill of someone beyond human, the adventurers were so stunned that they could not even cheer. He was a superhuman.

A terrifying superhuman.

The Emperor was dead, and the throne remained vacant, but the Champion still stood.

Yet after enjoying himself for only a moment, Hellawman was suddenly overcome with emptiness.

He briefly glanced toward Ricart and Marie, then left the adventurers with a single order before returning to his tent.

“Clean it up.”

Marie’s hand trembled faintly. She had thought she had barely escaped his grasp, but after seeing such overwhelming power, she felt anxiety and despair. If he wanted to make her his puppet again, could she resist?

Ricart took her hand.

They had repelled the raid, but they still had no idea who the enemy was.

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