Chapter 100

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For a human to harbor the heart of God was like suffering an illness. It brought an immense sorrow for the world.

So, to recover, Ricard had withdrawn from the world with Marie and spent his days tending sheep. He fell asleep looking at her at night, and when he opened his eyes in the morning, she was there.

In truth, though, they were mostly just passing the time. They did their chores, walked hand in hand through the fields, watched the sunset. That was all.

Without a purpose, without regrets, they lived savoring each moment.

They offered food and the use of their barn to the occasional travelers they met, and killed those who proved to be villains rather than decent wayfarers. That was their only contact with the world.

Then the uninvited guests came.

"I asked you to keep this a secret..."

Ricard spoke to Bremen as he herded the sheep into their shed.

There were only a few sheep: four or five adults and three or four lambs. He put the lambs and their mothers in separate pens. Sheep had surprisingly little maternal instinct. It was best to keep them apart except when the lambs needed to nurse.

Once the sheep were inside, Ricard turned to Bremen. At eighteen, he was now unmistakably a grown man.

He looked to be over 180 centimeters tall, his frame fully developed and his shoulders broad. The forearms exposed by his rolled-up sleeves were not monstrously thick, but they conveyed a rugged strength.

"I'm sorry about that. But we couldn't very well stand there and let the bandits have their way with us."

"That's true."

Ricard looked toward the barn. The wounded man and a few others were inside, while the rest sat outside beneath their tents. From the look of things, they would be staying more than a day or two—if they meant to wait for the injured man to recover.

Marie emerged from the barn after giving the wounded man first aid. She wore a blue dress that allowed her to move freely, with a white cloth covering her hair. The covered hair signified that she was married.

She approached, wiping her hands on the stained apron she always wore. Though she had washed them, the bloodstains had not come off completely.

When she reached Ricard, it was clear how tall she was herself, only a little shorter than him.

"How is he?"

"Fifty-fifty."

Ricard asked, and Marie answered. It was a thoroughly matter-of-fact exchange. Fifty-fifty meant an equal chance of living or dying.

Marie propped an elbow on the sheep pen's fence and leaned against it as she addressed Bremen. There was something more hardened and practical about her manner than before.

"Has it been about six months? What happened to the people you took with you last time?"

"They all died."

"Were they attacked by bandits?"

"No."

"Then what happened?"

"They killed one another. Discord comes to the strong and the weak alike."

"..."

Both Ricard and Marie knew perfectly well what a grim place the world was, but hearing it firsthand could hardly leave them feeling good.

"Where did you say you were taking those people?" Ricard asked.

"The eastern frontier."

"... The frontier? Don't you mean the eastern expeditionary front?"

Failing to understand at first, Ricard tilted his head as he asked. They had exchanged few words at their first meeting, so only now did he learn where Bremen was leading these people.

"That expedition set out a hundred years ago, didn't it? It's a frontier now. A refuge for the weary and the downtrodden, a place of salvation, their last hope."

"That place? I find that hard to believe."

In Ricard's memories, the eastern expeditionary front was a hell that should never have existed in this world. And now it offered salvation and a last hope?

He could hardly believe it. Part of him was curious, while another part wondered how that could possibly be true.

"Believe it or not, more and more people are heading there. And most die along the way."

"... Have you ever been there yourself, sir?"

"No."

"Then isn't this a scam?"

Ricard had always been somewhat blunt, but this was particularly direct.

"That's because they all died before we reached Rottweil. Have you heard of the Giants' Gateway? You have to pass through it to reach the frontier. If this group doesn't fall apart before we get there, then I'll finally see the eastern frontier myself."

Ricard knew Rottweil well. Back when he was an academy student, he had reached that city after passing through Griffinswald. It was where the Beringen Guild's branch head lived. Alter, wasn't it?

He had taken a commission there to track down a deserter, and his encounter with the man had left him deeply troubled.

An immensely high mountain range ran from north to south, marking the boundary between the Empire and the unknown lands. Though it had been summer, the wind blowing down from those mountains was cold.

"In any case, I'd be grateful if you'd let us impose on you for a while. I'll speak to the others and see if we can give you at least a calf."

With no money on hand, he seemed to want to pay in whatever way he could. Of course, Ricard was not the sort to charge for something like this.

"Don't worry about it. It's neither an inconvenience nor any trouble. Right, Marie?"

Marie nodded.

Watching the couple gave Bremen an odd feeling. How could he put it? They seemed like beings who had stepped beyond the realm of humanity.

They helped people without fuss and killed people with the same indifference. They were not ordinary people.

Above all, Ricard's tremendous abilities were anything but normal. Cutting off a man's head with a wooden stick?

Before asking how skilled he was, one had to ask whether such a thing was even possible.

It made Bremen curious about the young man's past.

"May I ask what you did before you became a shepherd?"

The young couple grinned at the same time. Those smiles held a wealth of meaning. Now a single smile could stand for all that suffering and hardship.

Of course, it had not all been hardship. Had it been, they probably would never have made it this far.

"Well, who knows? Since ancient times, many heroes have started out as shepherds. People don't realize it, but this work is rougher than you'd think. Your stamina and fighting skills improve all on their own."

That was true. If left to graze in one place, sheep would eat even the roots of the grass and strip the land bare, so they had to be kept moving.

A shepherd walked through hills and fields all day and needed enough fighting ability to survive an encounter with wolves or bandits, even if defeating them was beyond him.

He could break through the enemy and run to the village to raise the alarm, or deal with them himself. In his previous life, Ricard had usually handled them alone because the village was so far away. With nothing but a staff.

Perhaps that was when he had first grown accustomed to fighting alone.

Above all, a shepherd needed a strong sense of responsibility. After all, it was easy enough to steal a few lambs if he set his mind to it.

At Ricard's evasive reply, Bremen gave an awkward laugh.

"Haha... Is that so? Yes, I suppose so. I've heard as much myself."

"Anyway, I won't take any money, so make yourselves comfortable. Helping with a few chores while you're here will be plenty."

There was much they could help with, whether repairing and maintaining the sheep shed or fetching water.

Ricard had only just returned after spending several days roaming the fields, so he went into the cottage to rest.

In a way, the travelers had been remarkably lucky to find him in those vast fields just when they needed him. When one stopped to think about it, the world was full of miracles.

People watched as Ricard and Marie walked toward the cottage. Knowing they were uninvited guests, with nothing to offer in return, they seemed deeply awkward and ill at ease.

Ricard smiled to let them know it was all right.

Near the cottage, he stripped off his shirt and washed himself, scooping water from a rainwater jar with a dipper. His firm muscles gleamed in the sunlight.

When he went inside afterward, Marie was taking off her headscarf. She turned to him, smoothing her slightly disheveled hair. Despite the years she had spent living as a countryman's wife, her beauty was dazzling.

If Ricard held one truth to be eternal, it was that Marie was the most beautiful woman in the world. He took her face in his hands and kissed her.

Having attended to what needed attending to, Ricard found himself considering his present circumstances with his usual objectivity. More precisely, the words "eastern frontier" were on his mind.

Naturally, those hellish days rose in his memory, but they no longer distressed him. All he felt was a wistful sorrow for Chaldebert, his first friend.

If he had one regret now, it was that he had not stayed by Chaldebert's side a little longer.

In any case, he wondered whether people could ever truly separate themselves from the world, however far they withdrew from it.

He had not retreated because he was sick of the world or disillusioned with it. Perhaps he had simply exhausted himself by running headlong forward without ever looking back.

The heart of God. Well, Ricard had no desire to be bound by such a grandiose notion.

Four years. If he had been ill, that was more than enough time to heal. Though now he found himself rather puzzled, wondering whether he had ever been ill at all.

Leisurely days tending sheep and the touch of Marie's skin had been an excellent remedy. Nothing could have soothed his body and mind more.

But now his thoughts kept wandering far to the east.

That place, once engulfed in fire and steel, blood and death, now offered people their last hope. Just how had it changed...?

After a long, lazy sleep—not an afternoon nap, but a morning one—he woke to find it was afternoon.

Blue skies, warm sunlight, and a cool breeze greeted him outside the cottage. But even a view like this lost its power to move him when he saw it every day.

Two cows grazed peacefully in the field, their young calves never straying far from them.

The children played on the cows' backs or petted the calves. The older children took turns tending the wounded man and helped Marie carry things.

Hearing the crack of splitting wood, Ricard turned to see a man chopping firewood with an axe. It seemed to be his way of repaying them for offering a place to stay.

They were not bad people. They seemed simple and honest. Of course, given that they had left their homes to journey so far, the stories buried in their hearts were likely dark ones.

As it happened, the three young louts had been captured by the bandits, leaving only three adult men in Bremen's party. One of those lay wounded, hovering between life and death.

Of the other two, Bremen and Hartmann, Bremen was an old man. In practice, Hartmann was the only one able to do a man's share of the work.

Ricard did not need to hear their stories to know how vulnerable the group was. All he could see were women and children.

Sensing someone behind him, he turned to find a boy who looked about eight or nine standing hesitantly with both hands hidden behind his back.

"Do you need something?"

"N-no, that's not it. This..."

The boy shyly brought something out from behind his back: a wreath adorned with red, yellow, and white spring flowers.

It suddenly reminded Ricard of Boribori's fondness for flowers, and he smiled without meaning to. Did he still like them?

"I'm sorry. I don't have anything else..."

"What are you talking about? It's a wonderful gift."

Ricard accepted the wreath and put it on his head. It fit surprisingly well; the boy must have studied the size of his head from a distance.

His ready acceptance of the gift seemed to reassure the boy and ease some of his tension.

"What's your name?"

"Roy."

"I'm Riki. Nice to meet you. You're welcome to stay as long as you like, so there's no need to be nervous around me."

"Thank you."

Then, apparently shy again, Roy scampered back to his father. Hartmann had been watching them while chopping wood. He drew his son to his side and gave Ricard a small bow of his head.

Ricard returned the nod, then went to the shed to let the sheep out. Staff in hand, he headed into the fields.

By the time he returned that evening, the wounded man had died. He had three daughters and a son, yet his children did not weep before his grave.

It was not because they felt no sorrow. Death was familiar in this age, and they lived with its acceptance every day. Children in these times knew all too well that death was never far away. Besides, with him wounded as he had been, this was hardly unexpected.

More than anything, their fear and worry over how they would survive from now on had crushed their grief.

The next day, Bremen's party took down their tents and prepared to leave. They did not beg Ricard for any further kindness, but simply thanked him for what he had given them and set out again.

Ricard stood beside Marie, watching them leave in silence. They would probably die. Before discord even had a chance to arise, sudden violence would descend upon them and take their lives.

Marie spoke.

"Want to go with them?"

"... Yeah. Let's."

Ending four years of life as shepherds required no great resolve.

Just as they had abruptly left the world behind, they would just as abruptly set out into it again.

Ricard and Marie went into the cottage, pried up the wooden floorboards, and retrieved the equipment they had buried there so long ago.

A holy sword, or perhaps a demonic sword. Ricard's blade was wrapped in cloth. He had not so much as glanced at it since using it that one time, and its grip and guard were now so worn and rusted as to be utterly unusable. He would have to visit a smithy to have them replaced.

The blade alone gleamed with an almost unbelievable sharpness, though he had never once maintained it. Perhaps it was enchanted.

Marie was able to dress herself in proper traveling clothes, but Ricard had grown so much that his old clothes no longer fit. Of his former belongings, only his sword and red cloak could go with him.

A red cloak over shabby shepherd's clothes. They looked terribly mismatched, but there was nothing for it.

After gathering what they needed, the young couple went to the sheep shed and simply released the sheep into the fields. They could easily have sold them in a nearby village or town, but chose not to.

Ricard merely watched the sheep walk out into the fields. Looking at him, Marie said,

"Riki, you look like some kind of mage standing there."

It was ridiculous, but she had a point. With a red cloak over his shabby clothes, a sword in one hand, and a staff in the other, he did cut a rather comical figure.

Then Marie placed the flower wreath on his head—when had she picked that up?—and burst into laughter at how much sillier he looked.

Ricard smiled too.

"Let's go."

And so, with his staff in hand and Marie beside him, he walked toward those setting out on their long journey. His red cloak fluttered in the wind.

Part 20 – The Sword-Bearing Shepherd. End.