Chapter 103

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"Sandy told me about you, but... has it been eight years?"

Blatter uncorked a wine bottle that looked rather like a medicine bottle and poured it into a wooden cup as he spoke. He slid the cup toward Ricard. His left index finger was missing.

He was a veteran who had lived by the sword for over ten years. Perhaps losing one finger instead of his life counted as getting off lightly.

Ricard lifted the cup and took a sip. Wine. It was pleasantly astringent, with what seemed to be a faint floral note.

Even Ricard, who knew little about drink, could tell it was good wine. He could also tell that Blatter had brought it out especially for someone he had not seen in a long time.

A breeze off the river swept across his face. He turned to see the sunset breaking into fragments on the gentle ripples.

There was no smell of shit here, and it was fairly quiet. Not just anyone was allowed to camp in this spot, but thanks to Blatter, the party had been able to move to the riverbank.

It was just like that other time. Blatter had been drinking then, too, and they had talked beside a river.

What had changed? Blatter's missing finger? The fact that Ricard himself had grown older and shot up in height?

If anything was different, it was that they were sharing a drink, perched on a tree stump and a large rock with an empty wooden crate for a table. Ricard had not drunk back then.

"How is Sandy doing?"

"Well, unfortunately for her, she's my wife now."

"What kind of way is that to put it?"

Ricard chuckled at the word "unfortunately." Blatter merely gave an embarrassed smile, as faint as the fading daylight.

"Anyway, Riki, I remember you were doing pretty well for yourself. How did you end up heading for the eastern frontier?"

Ricard's reputation had never progressed beyond that of a prodigy with a sword. Little of what had happened at the Church of Judgment's sanctuary was properly known, so few people even knew he had taken part in the fighting there.

Add four years of absence, and only those already familiar with his exploits remembered them.

Ask someone whether they knew the Red Cloak, and the usual response was, "Oh, that kid? Incredible for someone so young. Is he still alive, though?"

"Oh, I'm just curious. They say there's one last hope out there."

"... You haven't changed a bit. What did you say back then? Something about a war?"

"Whether the war was worth fighting. Whether there was any need to go all the way to the eastern expeditionary front and fight such a bloody war."

Now, just as then, Blatter could not understand what the boy was talking about. He could only respect it.

He worried less now, though. Ricard was at least as skilled as he was, if not better.

"So was that war all those years ago worth fighting?"

"Who knows? If you want reasons, you could list them forever. Politics, achievements, things like that. They must matter to someone. But rather than dwelling on the past, isn't how we live now more important? Bad things can turn out well, and good things can turn out badly."

"Listen to you. You sound like an old man who's lived his whole life already."

"Hahaha... Anyway, are you with the Brotherhood, or what? They don't seem like a particularly good bunch."

Blatter had once been an adventurer. He had belonged to the Beringen Guild and had practically lived as a tenant of the thieves' guild in Rheinfurt while trying to establish a branch of his own.

He took a drink straight from the bottle, then spoke while watching the river, just as he had all those years ago.

"I'm not one of them. I'm just making a living by the sword, quite literally. I'll do whatever pays. I'm not even in a guild anymore. So I'm not an adventurer, either. A lot's changed since the Emperor kicked the bucket. These days, if you haven't got land of your own, this is how you have to live. The clans are pretty much all going their separate ways. It's the same in the other guilds."

"... Really? Why?"

"Why do you think? There's nothing to gain from staying in a guild. Do this, do that, nothing but troublesome orders. I've got enough on my hands making a living. Why should I listen to them? There's no Emperor anymore. That makes the guild just another private organization."

The Emperor's death seemed to have had more far-reaching consequences than Ricard had imagined. After all, the Emperor had been the source of the adventurers' legal standing. Once that foundation was shaken, perhaps it was only natural for everything to collapse along with it.

But the people did not vanish when their organizations fell apart. All those swordsmen had lost their jobs or quit of their own accord.

"And as you know, most academy graduates are bastards. Plenty of them hold a grudge against their main house. Apparently, some have been taking advantage of the chaos, banding together, storming their family homes, and killing everyone. Then they take the place for themselves."

"Really?"

"I know. It sounds absurd. But those are the times we're living in. Most get killed trying, of course, but some manage to get away with it. Everything's such a mess that apparently even the great nobles often just take an oath of fealty and leave it at that. Sometimes they don't even know what's happened to their vassals."

Some people bore a grudge against the ruling class, like the Church of Judgment. Others carried the deep resentment of having been born a bastard or a second son.

Ricard had enjoyed a relatively comfortable upbringing. He held no grudge against his main house, nor did he have any burning desire to rise in status.

Others were different. These turbulent times were an opportunity. A chance to rise in the world. And the way to seize that chance was to murder their own flesh and blood.

The Second Prince and Fifth Prince, glaring at each other over the imperial throne, were in essentially the same position as everyone else.

Why shouldn't I be lord? I think I'd do a better job. I have no right of succession? Then if I kill you, I'll have it, won't I?

Seeing something made people want it. As society descended into chaos, thoughts they would never normally have dared entertain rose naturally to the surface. And when they saw someone else succeed, greed drove them wild. I could do that, too!

Of course, there were failures who met horrific ends. But people blinded by greed tended not to notice those.

Who was a robber, and who was a thief? To say the world was in turmoil meant that such distinctions had become difficult to make.

"What about the academy? Is it doing all right?"

"The academies are doing better than anyone these days. A few seem to have gone under, but Beringen just keeps going from strength to strength. They say it has more noble-born students than bastards now. Donations are pouring in from everywhere. It's not a chicken coop like it was in our day, and the students wear these strange tailored outfits. They're better trained, too... They wouldn't even treat me as a respected senior anymore. Twenty-six, and I'm already a relic of the past. You'd probably get the same treatment, Riki."

It was good to hear the academy was thriving without trouble, but its success would not necessarily take a form that benefited him personally.

Ricard was Beringen Academy's very first graduate, but he had no desire for special treatment, so that was fine. Of course, he was only the first because Karlich had taken it upon himself to give him a diploma.

Karlich had given one only to Ricard at the time. He was not part of an inaugural graduating class with the other students, but quite literally its first graduate.

Still, what had originally been little more than a gathering place for abandoned children was shifting toward admitting more and more children from wealthy or reasonably influential houses.

At the center of that change was Karlich, who was establishing a proper educational system. Ricard had spent his time herding sheep, so he knew little about how the place was actually run these days.

"Anyway, if you're heading for the eastern frontier, avoid the eastern road. You're better off going north, even if it's a long detour. I hear the Kingdom of Adelorn is practically hell right now. The north should at least be safe. The Viola clan has a firm grip on it."

"The Vio-what?"

Ricard, who had been enjoying the fine wine as he listened, paused at the familiar word.

Blatter evidently knew only rumors about Ricard and whatever Sandy had told him, not the details of his life.

Unlike Ricard, whose activities had been concentrated in the north, Blatter had worked mainly in the central and southern regions. Only Sandy had occasionally traveled elsewhere on assignments.

"The Viola clan. They supposedly made the greatest contribution to the campaign against the church. An imperial prince granted them land in person, which is rare, and they were given autonomy, too. They changed the times. Other adventurers realized that you could make it big as a clan without belonging to a guild, and that ultimately you needed land of your own. Of course, most adventurers are still wandering around looking for work, like me."

"Where is it? The Viola clan's territory, I mean."

"Britzlingen. Three or four days' walk from here. Anyway, the Nine Swords of the Empire are old news. That was just people who liked a good story running their mouths. What did they know? But the Viola clan is different. Right now, they're the strongest clan in the Empire. They say criminals can barely breathe anywhere around there. Their guardian is a man called the Black Sword. Now that the Emperor's champions are all out of the picture, he might be the strongest man in the Empire. The White Sword might give him a run for his money. But they're so far apart, I doubt they'll ever meet."

"..."

It felt strange to hear about the Viola clan and Boribori as though they were strangers. So much had changed, and Ricard had been absent from it all.

His first thought was simply that they had certainly been working hard. They had stamina, too. Didn't they ever get tired?

"It's not an academy, but apparently they take pupils like one. I hear the Black Sword's students are incredible with a sword despite their age. Just like you, Riki."

"Haha, I'm not quite so young anymore. I'm married, too."

Eighteen was still the bloom of youth. But he had cut down formidable enemies at such an unbelievably young age that, by comparison, he was past the point where his youth alone would impress anyone.

"Oh, that was her earlier, wasn't it? A real beauty."

"So is Sandy."

"Well, that only lasts three months."

"Not for me."

"You poor bastard. She's got you properly trained. And at your age, too."

"That's not what I meant."

Ricard shook his head, laughing. He had not met many married men, but every one of them had complained. Blatter was no exception.

"What about Sandy? Is she still doing this work?"

"She's nursing the children at the moment. Once they're a bit older, well... you know how it is. You can't put down your sword for too long. I doubt she can work as a swordswoman anymore. Even if she does, getting her touch back won't be easy. Something might happen to her in the meantime. I'd rather she didn't."

Ricard had not held a sword in four years, yet his skills did not seem to have grown rusty. Technical improvement had become meaningless to him. He had reached a realm where simply swinging his sword as his heart wished created a new sword technique.

"Then you'll have to work yourself to the bone, Blatter."

"That's right..."

"What about joining a clan? Viola isn't the only clan in the world. And you used to lead one yourself."

"That's the tricky part. Starting over from the bottom at this point would be hard. But I'm not good enough to have my experience count for much, either. In the end, it's all about connections. You get in through someone you know. From a clan's point of view, why would they trust a fellow like me enough to take me in?"

"Really? You get in through someone you know?"

"That's how the world works, Riki."

As Blatter said, this was a world with no objective measure of a person's character or ability. To join a group, one had little choice but to secure a recommendation.

It was true of presenting someone to a lord, of the various guilds, of the army. Everywhere was the same.

In such a harsh world, a person needed at least the credibility of being someone trusted by someone you trusted.

"Then let's do this. Come with us to Britzlingen. I'll introduce you to the Viola clan. I used to be a member. A founding member, actually."

"... Really?"

"Of course. We chose the violet as our clan's symbol to stand for eternal friendship. You don't belong in a place like this, Blatter. That much I know."

"I'd be grateful, but... hold on. If you're a founding member, why were you herding sheep?"

"I just wanted a rest. Anyway, I don't know whether it'll work out. But there's an opportunity in asking, isn't there? Come with us."

Blatter had no reason to refuse. In times as dangerous as these, steady employment was almost a dream.

Ricard had made the offer lightly, but opportunity had a way of fluttering lightly into one's life like a little bluebird.

"Let me fetch some more wine first."

Blatter stood and went off somewhere. It seemed the wine lover intended to bring out every fine bottle he had collected over the years.

The sunset had faded, and stars were already blossoming in the sky.

After replenishing their traveling supplies in Wertheim, Ricard and the others set off north with their new companion, Blatter.

Ricard had also exchanged his shabby clothes for a gambeson and proper boots, dressing as a swordsman again, and had a smith replace his sword's worn grip and guard.

With the sword sheathed in a purely functional scabbard devoid of ornament and fastened at his waist, he looked much like his old self. No, he was taller and more heavily built now, and looked all the more imposing and stalwart.

Yet, perhaps because he had grown accustomed to it, he still walked with a staff despite his youth.

The migrants bound for the eastern frontier felt they were enjoying an undeserved luxury, now that they had three swordsmen traveling with them: Ricard, Marie, and Blatter.

Hiring a skilled swordsman as a bodyguard cost no small sum. Had they possessed that sort of money, they would never have needed to leave their homes in the first place.

The road north from Wertheim gradually descended toward the lowlands, making the journey no harder than usual.

Perhaps that was why everyone's faces brightened and conversation flowed more freely. Marie seemed to catch their high spirits and kept playing around. Blatter teased the young couple.

Even Bremen, their perpetually anxious guide, put aside his worries for the day. Everyone took a turn holding Dahlia's baby, as though each were offering the child a blessing. His name was Riche, wasn't it?

How wonderful it would have been if they could travel all the way to the eastern frontier like this. But that was truly no more than a dream.

The road stretched straight across green fields. Beside it stood an immense, ancient oak.

But instead of acorns, people hung thick from its branches. It was what people called a hanging tree. One occasionally encountered them while traveling the world.

The laughter stopped abruptly. No one spoke anymore.

Bremen scanned their surroundings warily. While Blatter and Marie guarded the party, Ricard went ahead alone to examine the tree. Or rather, to examine how far the corpses had decayed.

Crows and insects had already eaten away the soft eyes and lips. Maggots had fallen in showers to the ground, and flies that had emerged from them buzzed about.

Ricard walked through the grass around the tree, examining the other bodies as well.

An ordinary person might not have noticed, but he could tell that the bodies were at different stages of decomposition. They had died at different times. People were being hanged here regularly.

Yet this gruesome scene alone could not tell him whether it was the work of villains or the result of lawful punishment.

Only a stench more foul than the livestock manure he had smelled the other day pierced his nostrils.

But Ricard did not grimace. It was as though he were paying his final respects to the dead, regardless of what sins they might have committed in life.

White clouds drifted across the blue sky. The breezy fields would have made a fine place to graze cattle or sheep.

Turning his head, he saw what looked like a village in the distance. There were no signs of fire, but no people in sight, either.

Then a youthful voice spoke behind him.

"Travelers? Heading for the eastern frontier?"

He turned to find a boy and a girl standing there. They looked fourteen or fifteen, though since fifteen was adulthood, perhaps "boy" and "girl" were not quite the right words.

The girl had her auburn hair tied tightly back. The boy reminded him somewhat of himself when his fame had been at its height.

Both wore swallow embroidery on their chests and swords at their waists.

With the wind from the fields blowing against him, Ricard answered.

"The eastern frontier."

"Then you'd better turn back. Or go east."

"I hear the east is hell."

"It's hell here, too."

"Then where are we supposed to go?"

"Well, isn't that for you to decide? You came from Wertheim, didn't you? You could stay there a few months, then set off again."

The boy remained silent throughout. Only the girl spoke with Ricard.

"And if we insist on going on?"

"I wouldn't recommend it. You and the people behind you will die."

"Unless you've got the mettle, perhaps. You are wearing a sword."

The boy spoke for the first time.

Ricard chuckled at the word "mettle." No matter how numerous or powerful his opponents, he had never once shied away from a fight, nor had he ever lost.

"And what sort of mettle brings you two wandering through this hell?"

"It's not mettle. Our master told us to. He said that for every decent person we save, we earn one more reason to be allowed to wield a sword."

"Admirable. Who's your master?"

"You wouldn't believe us if we told you. Nobody ever does."

"Really?"

Ricard turned away as if to say they needn't tell him if they did not want to. He glanced at the distant village, then back toward his companions.

Blatter, Marie, and the others were watching him and the two youngsters.

"Bori, the Black Sword. He's our master."

"Hard to believe, isn't it?"

The boy and girl spoke in turn. Ricard turned back to look at them.

Then he said,

"Well, I suppose you'd find it hard to believe if I told you I taught Bori."