Chapter 106

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All they could see were streaks of light. Some swept in broad arcs; others fell in straight lines. It was as though flashing light were embroidering the dark night.

When people witness something truly astonishing, the sight, the sheer moment, can overwhelm them. That was what happened to Kaspar and Yulia. They had no room for thoughts of awe or respect. They were simply overwhelmed.

For their enemies, of course, the results were gruesome. Blood sprayed, bodies fell, and the darkness of night covered them like a shroud.

Seemingly fierce, yet seemingly unhurried, each movement flowed into the next like water, while the swinging sword blazed like lightning. Simple and concise, every stroke held softness and strength, speed and slowness—all those opposing qualities melded into one.

Ricard’s swordsmanship defied words. It had to be seen, and even seeing it brought no understanding. Before anything else, though, Kaspar and Yulia found it hauntingly beautiful. Was this truly swordsmanship? Not a painting?

Ricard swept his sword wide to the right, then raised it straight over his head. Clenching his teeth, he brought it down with all his strength, as though hauling something toward him, and put an end to the troubled remainder of Ringwald’s life. A slanting, vertical afterimage lingered like a bolt of lightning, but no thunder followed.

Ringwald, standing stupefied by the sheer shock, was cut apart from his right shoulder to his left hip without offering any resistance. Mustering the will to fight after witnessing the ultimate Sword Master before one’s very eyes was no easy thing. Hot blood and organs spilled out in a rush.

Ricard grabbed the hair of the portion of Ringwald’s body that had slumped to the ground and lifted it. Corpses lay around him, and some people were still alive, but he paid none of them any mind. He had overwhelmed them with something beyond mere presence. Indeed, the surviving enemies could do nothing but tremble. It was as though they had seen a ghost or a demon.

Holding Ringwald by the hair, Ricard walked out of the castle. Each step splashed through the blood pooling on the ground. Sensing that something was terribly wrong inside, the swordsmen had gathered around the castle. Their eyes went wide when Ricard emerged carrying a piece of Ringwald’s body, its arm dangling.

Ricard flung Ringwald’s mangled remains down before them and addressed them with his burning sword in one hand.

Flames rose from the blade in the dark night. Their flickering golden light dimly illuminated only one side of Ricard. He did not look like any human being one might encounter in reality.

He spoke.

"Ringwald is dead. I killed him. Unless you leave this place before daybreak, you will all die too."

It was both a declaration and a sentence. One against many? Nothing of the sort. It was not the many but the one who held everyone in his power and chose to show mercy. This was not a matter of surviving a fight against superior numbers. He was making it clear that their lives and deaths were his to decide. And every last one of them understood.

Above all, the scent of blood carried far through the dead of night, sending an even deeper chill through those watching Ricard.

"What are you standing around for? Get the hell out! Get out now, you vermin!"

His shout made them all jump, then scramble into motion. Hastily gathering what they had plundered, they scattered and fled.

That was the sort they had always been: ready to run whenever the situation turned against them. The pimps and merchants who had catered to the thugs, however, discreetly hid between the houses. It seemed the ruler had changed, and they intended to bribe the new one and carry on doing business. They were parasites that lived alongside their hosts, so Ricard did not bother driving them out as well.

With that settled, Ricard sheathed his sword, returned to the castle, and entered the keep. It was not particularly large, so he soon found the wealth Ringwald had amassed. The thugs’ plunder amounted to no more than a handful compared with Ringwald’s share. He had kept all the real treasures for himself.

Ricard called to Kaspar and Yulia, who were still standing in a daze outside the keep.

"Find a wagon or a cart outside. Let’s load this up and take it with us."

Like puppets on strings, Kaspar and Yulia obeyed without any apparent awareness of what they were doing. Their faces were utterly blank. They brought a workhorse out of the stable and put a bridle on it, then went back and forth through the keep, loading sacks of food and treasures. Ricard helped too. They also gathered up all the livestock—cattle, pigs, chickens—and left the castle with the wagon, treading through blood-mixed mud.

Some of the thugs had scattered and fled, but others still stood watching blankly. No one stepped forward to stop them or avenge their leader. They merely stared. And so, just three people crushed the Sword Brotherhood and calmly walked away. Of course, Ricard had done almost all of it himself.

Ricard led the way on foot, holding the reins in one hand and a torch in the other. In the darkness, visibility was scarcely a few meters, but there was only one road, so that posed no problem.

It was not until the cool hours of dawn that Ricard, Kaspar, and Yulia returned to the village where the others were staying. There were bodies here too. Unlike the chaotic bloodbath at the castle, however, these had been laid out neatly beside a building and covered with cloth. Despite their exhaustion, Kaspar and Yulia felt a sudden stab of fear that something had gone wrong, but that was not the case.

Marie stood with her arms folded and a sword at her waist, watching the direction Ricard had gone. Since he had returned from a different direction, she had not spotted him.

"Marie!"

At his shout, she whipped her head around. She had stayed awake waiting for her husband, and now she ran to him and threw herself into his arms. He had not even been gone a full day.

"Why did you stay up waiting?"

"It shouldn’t have taken this long. Something seemed wrong..."

"Sorry. I should have sent one of the kids back."

"No, you must have had your hands full."

"Is everyone all right? What are those bodies?"

"Some bastards who came by every so often to harass the people here for no reason. I killed them."

"Good. I killed that Ringwald fellow too. Gathering everything worth taking held me up a little."

It was a rather odd conversation for a married couple, but they were both safe and sound, so all was well. Just then, a rooster crowed loudly from the wagon Ricard had brought, announcing the dawn.

"Anyway, this is a relief. I told the others that the people here looked so hungry, we should share some food with them. I was just feeling bad because I think they agreed even though they didn’t really want to."

"You did well. You did the right thing."

Ricard stroked Marie’s shoulder as he praised her.

Even if the whole world disliked what she did and opposed her, Ricard’s approval was all Marie needed, so she was happy. And, of course, things had worked out well.

People began to stir. Those on night watch, already awake, gazed at the enormous quantity of supplies Ricard had brought. After so long living hungry and deprived, their lifeless eyes shone for the first time in ages. Ricard distributed everything among the people, keeping nothing for himself. It had been theirs to begin with, after all.

Watching Ricard and Marie, Bremen and the others traveling to the eastern frontier felt a strange emotion. Was helping others truly possible when looking after oneself and one’s family was already so difficult? It felt as though welcome rain had fallen on the parched earth of their hearts and new shoots were sprouting. A faint swell of feeling tickled their chests.

Everyone harbored a devil in their heart, but an angel lived there too. It was as though an angel long dead were awakening. To help others even amid hardship that left one gasping for life—that was a reminder that one was human in this wild world.

"Still, will these people be safe once we leave?"

Bremen asked, apparently still troubled by a lingering worry. Ricard answered with bitterness in his heart.

"All I can do is give them some breathing room. They’d be better off going elsewhere, but I doubt they’ll leave."

Ricard was not the common people’s protector, nor was he obliged to be. Before leaving with his companions, he merely placed the weapons taken from their enemies into their hands.

"If anyone tries to take your property by force, stand together and resist. As long as you have courage, you should be able to drive off most of the riffraff."

He did not know whether this was right, but it was the most consideration Ricard could offer. And those who had suffered Ringwald’s ruthless exploitation felt that consideration deeply. Only then did these people, who had lacked even the strength to be wary of outsiders, open their hearts.

A wrinkled old man with a bent back laboriously approached Ricard and asked,

"May we know your name, brave hero?"

"Hmm..."

There was no reason not to give his name, but Ricard cast his eyes about in needless thought, then smiled mischievously.

"Just remember Kaspar and Yulia of the Viola clan."

"I see. Please, accept this."

Even those in rags and starving had human hearts, and they expressed their gratitude. Helping someone, expressing thanks—perhaps those acts had meaning in themselves, and the process or outcome mattered less.

The old man, who seemed to be the village headman, offered a well-preserved gold bracelet as a token of thanks. Given that he had kept it rather than sell it even on the brink of starvation, it must have been a very precious treasure. It formed a band that looked like twisted rope. The ends did not meet; instead, two finely carved dragon heads faced one another.

"It’s a Viking bracelet," Marie said from beside him.

Vikings were what the Nords had been called in the old days, when they were invaders. These days they had either settled in the Empire and assimilated or made their living mainly through trade. There were still rumors of trouble along certain coasts, but compared with the time of the Empire’s founding, it was practically nonexistent.

A Viking bracelet was given to a boy when he was recognized as a warrior, or acknowledged as a son by his warrior father. He would never remove it for the rest of his life, and losing it to an enemy was considered more shameful than death.

Ricard did not know how such an object had ended up here, and its significance had faded over the long years. Still, he gladly accepted it and put it on in front of the old man. It fit astonishingly well.

"Thank you. I’ll wear it well."

He smiled as he spoke, then set off again. The ox carrying their belongings trudged steadily onward.

After several hours of walking, they reached the checkpoint and saw the scattered bodies of those Ricard, Kaspar, and Yulia had killed the day before. The sight seemed to remind Kaspar of something, and he asked Ricard,

"Um, why did you give our names?"

"Hmm? What do you mean?"

"To that old man in the village. We didn’t really do anything."

Ricard smiled cruelly.

"Being famous isn’t a good thing. Challengers come after you to make a name for themselves. Admittedly, that worked in my favor a little on Mount Kaitz, but it’s a real nuisance. So I didn’t give them your names for your benefit. I did it to saddle you with a burden."

"..."

"If someone picks a fight or provokes you on the road for no reason, just accept that they’ve come to kill you and make a name for themselves."

Fame was like the two sides of a coin. It brought social advantages, but it could also make one a target. In particular, earning a name among swordsmen meant constantly being asked to prove oneself. That proof came in the form of duels and fights. Ricard had once been plagued by them for quite some time, so he regarded fame as nothing but a nuisance. He had simply passed it on to his two green juniors.

If word spread that Kaspar and Yulia had killed the boss of Ringwald’s Sword Brotherhood and shattered the organization, they could gain tremendous fame for a pair of novices. But without the skill to match, they could just as easily become tremendous laughingstocks. With bad enough luck, a powerful challenger might even kill them. They could tarnish their clan’s prestige into the bargain. Still, did not everything in life have two sides?

"You must be tired. Let’s go a little farther, then rest. Get a nap, at least. You worked hard. Well done."

Was it because everything had ended well, or was this how he truly felt? Hearing praise from Ricard, Kaspar felt something well up inside him, and his eyes reddened. Perhaps it was the sleepless night, the mental strain, and the physical exhaustion, but praise from someone who seemed incapable of giving it packed a uniquely potent punch.

Yulia squeezed her eyes shut and bowed her head, tears dripping down her face. Marie’s eyes widened at the sight, and she asked Ricard,

"How hard did you push them to get them like this?"

"I didn’t do anything."

"Riki, were you going on about putting your life on the line again?"

Ricard felt a guilty jolt. Could she somehow eavesdrop on conversations a thousand miles away? But he shook his head.

Marie continued, her gaze still suspicious.

"It’s enough if they can protect themselves. Not everyone needs to become a Sword Master. After all the misery I went through over that, were you shouting at these kids and bullying them?"

"I told you, I didn’t do anything. And they’re not kids. How old are you two?"

"Fifteen."

"See? They’re already adults. Think about it, Marie. You and I and the others were even younger when..."

"The world is just as dangerous now as it was then, but back then we had no one to shelter us. That isn’t true now. We had to be thrown out into it. We had no choice. But now? We can’t force them to do things the way we did."

"... Staying sheltered will only make them weak. What’s the point of carrying a sword, then? If you’re going to do something, do it properly. You and Bori are both too soft."

"There you go being stubborn again."

Ricard had a stubborn streak of his own. Rather than argue further or continue the conversation, he simply clamped his mouth shut. The obstinacy that had kept him from changing his mind while writing his swordsmanship manual, no matter how much Bori and Marie objected, had not gone anywhere.

Marie found his sulking so cute that she almost laughed. Once, he had been resolute enough to seize a blade and try to drive it into his own heart. Now, even if he would not yield his position, he would take a step back. Only for Marie. Meanwhile, with Ricard suddenly seeming to be on the receiving end of a scolding, Kaspar and Yulia tactfully averted their eyes and kept quiet.

Following the road beyond Rotheim’s border, they came upon a great oak standing alone in the middle of a field. Fortunately, no one was hanging from it. It merely cast cool shade for the weary. The party decided to stop there to eat and rest. After their sleepless night, Kaspar and Yulia could finally close their eyes for a little while.

They had been so exhausted in mind and body that it had slipped their minds, but as they drifted toward sleep, the events of the previous night naturally returned. The burning sword. Slashes like lightning. Only afterimages flickered before their eyes, and they were no longer certain just what they had seen. One thing was clear: it had been a realm on an entirely different level.

When they realized that Ricard was only three years older than they were, a wave of self-reproach washed over them. Sleep swept in at the same time, and their master’s words echoed in their ears. At last, those words sank into their hearts. He had meant that they should not grow conceited, but remain humble.

There were no geniuses in this world. Except Riki.