Chapter 109

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The clan’s rules were absolute. A thief’s hand was cut off at the wrist. Britzlingen owed its peace to strict enforcement of the law.

Britzlingen Castle was in an uproar first thing that morning. The clan’s quartermaster was dragging Roy around by the hair, bellowing at the top of his lungs.

“Thief! Thief!”

The students poured out to see what was happening before morning roll call had even begun. The full-fledged clan members staying in the keep looked out the windows or watched from a distance.

With the crowd blocking their view, Roy’s parents initially had no inkling that it was their son. Even when his sister Becca cried out in alarm, they could not believe it. Their son would never do such a thing.

“Roy!”

Yet a sudden wave of dread swept over them. Repeating to themselves that it could not be, that it simply could not be, they pushed through the crowd. There stood a grown man, dragging Roy back and forth by the hair as though abusing an animal.

“You!”

Hartmann roared like an enraged beast, his eyes blazing. He rushed the quartermaster and seized him by the collar. Blades sprang out from every direction and pressed against Hartmann’s neck.

That should have given him pause, but he showed no fear at all. He thrust his face right up to the quartermaster’s and shouted as though he would devour him. The blades cut his skin, and blood trickled down his neck.

“Let go of him!”

Even the quartermaster, who had been beside himself with fury, was cowed by his ferocity and released Roy’s hair.

Just then, Volka limped out of the keep. The trainees who had drawn their swords hurriedly sheathed them.

“What is going on?”

A brief silence fell, like clear skies returning after a storm. Then the quartermaster pointed at Roy.

“This little rat sneaked into the clan’s storehouse and helped himself to our food reserves. He broke a bottle of your prized liquor too, Master.”

Murmurs rose among the probationers. Just as they had expected. A beggar. A woodcutter’s brat. Hidden in the crowd, Les watched with fear in his eyes.

Volka turned toward the murmuring onlookers.

“From this moment on, anyone who speaks without being asked a question will have their tongue cut out. All of you, shut your mouths.”

Silence descended like an unseasonable frost. Though Volka now walked with a limp, his commanding presence as the leader of so many people seemed to have grown even stronger.

He studied Roy quietly. Before him stood a frightened, cowering boy, his eyes darting about like a rabbit waiting to die.

“Is what he said true?”

Roy looked fearfully at Volka, then at his parents and sister nearby. They looked desperate and precarious, as though standing on the edge of a cliff.

His feelings as he looked at them were too tangled to describe. Yet for some reason, instead of protesting his innocence, he merely kept his mouth shut.

“...”

His silence seemed an admission of guilt.

“In this land, the clan’s rules are absolute. Even honored guests are no exception. A thief’s hand is cut off at the wrist. Will you still say nothing?”

Did it have to go this far? Even if he truly had committed the crime, was it right to maim him permanently for eating a few pieces of ham and cheese?

But this customary law was too deeply entrenched for questions of proportionality. A thief’s hand was cut off at the wrist. That was what people considered a fitting punishment for theft.

“Please, say something, Roy.”

His mother spoke as though begging him. She could not accept this. She could not bear the thought of his hand being cut off, but more than anything, she could not accept that her son had done such a thing.

Roy wavered. He did not know why he was torn, or what kept him from simply telling the truth.

He looked around at the people surrounding him. Eyes filled with contempt and disgust, his parents’ and sister’s desperate gazes, Volka’s unwavering, stern stare—all were fixed on him.

Then he met Les’s eyes in the crowd. At that moment, Roy could no longer think of himself. All he could see was his terrified friend.

And so, though he was trembling, he said it.

“... I did it.”

No sooner had the words left his mouth than his mother, Elia, collapsed as though fainting. Those around her hurried to support her. His father Hartmann’s eyes reddened, perhaps with rage.

Roy closed his eyes to the world. Let him die. He alone had to die. If someone had to die, it should be him. He could only feel sorry toward his father and mother. It would soon be over.

With proper treatment, however, losing a hand would not kill him. Regardless, Roy had truly resolved to die.

The moment he confessed, it was over. All that remained was to carry out the punishment.

But Hartmann suddenly stepped forward to shield his son. Thrusting out his thick forearm, he shouted,

“I will take responsibility! As his father, I will pay for my son’s crime! Cut off my hand!”

Roy wept. His mother, lying weakly in her daughter’s arms, wept as well.

They had thought they had finally made it. They had thought they could begin a new life here, without having to travel all the way to that distant eastern frontier. How could such a tragedy strike without warning?

Ricard, who had watched all of this unfold, still did not step in. Traveling together, or being young, did not mean a wrong could simply be swept away as though it had never happened.

And while he had seen Les go in with Roy and come out alone, he did not know exactly what had happened inside the storehouse.

He merely watched what people said and did, his friend’s judgment, and a young child’s resolve.

Marie’s hand tightened around his. Ricard squeezed it in return. Being able to do nothing but watch was harder than he had expected.

At that point, however, Volka displayed remarkable composure and insight.

“I have not yet reached a decision. Please step back for a moment, honored guest. We can discuss who will bear the punishment afterward.”

Then he turned to the quartermaster.

“Quartermaster, how did you discover the crime?”

“Pardon?”

“Explain exactly what happened.”

“There’s nothing much to explain... I thought it was strange that the padlock was locked, so I fetched the key and opened it, and there he was!”

“Why was it strange that the padlock was locked?”

“Pardon?”

“Isn’t it supposed to be locked?”

The quartermaster was momentarily speechless. After all, his habit of leaving the padlock unlocked could be considered neglect of duty and careless management.

Volka’s question made the watching probationers and trainees pause too. Huh? That was true. Something did seem odd.

They had simply been swept along by the atmosphere, assuming some beggarly boy would lose an arm. But there was more to it than that.

“Lie to me now, Quartermaster, and you will be punished too.”

Volka fixed him with a fearsome glare. Only then did the quartermaster break into a cold sweat. His mouth opened and closed several times before he finally managed an answer.

“I-I don’t usually lock the padlock. Locking and unlocking it every day is a bit... And sometimes I forget the key, and it’s such a long walk back...”

It was an absurd excuse. How far could his quarters possibly be from the storehouse?

“We will discuss your neglect of duty later. For now, I am judging only the theft. If it was locked from the outside, how did this child get in?”

“...?”

Now that he mentioned it, it was strange. The boy could have entered while the padlock was unlocked, but how could he have locked it without coming outside?

That meant there was at least an accomplice—or someone else was framing Roy.

Volka turned back to Roy. The boy had thought confessing would end everything, but it was not nearly as simple as he had imagined.

“If you truly committed the crime, tell me exactly how you did it and what led you to do it.”

Roy was at a loss for words. He could not say that Les had woken him before dawn, that he had followed him, and that one thing had led to another.

He had done nothing wrong. If anything, he had tried to stop it. Yet he had confessed because he wanted to bear it all himself, so everyone else could be safe.

Foolish, stubborn, and contrary to all common sense though it might be, he was so young that he could see no other way.

“I-I don’t remember.”

“This only just happened, and you don’t remember? Then how could you confess?”

“...”

“Let’s go to the scene. Perhaps that will jog your memory.”

Volka began limping toward the storehouse. The crowd parted to let him through.

It was only a short walk away. Once they arrived, what had happened was plain to see even from the doorway: a few scattered pieces of ham and cheese, and a broken liquor bottle.

Above all, there were footprints. In the shock and confusion earlier, there had been no chance to examine them.

“Huh?!”

The quartermaster, who had followed along, stared wide-eyed. The footprints made it obvious that two people had been inside.

Avoiding the footprints on the floor, Volka approached the mess. Roy was brought along too, while the others watched from a distance.

“These footprints show that someone else came in with you. Did that person go outside and lock the padlock?”

“...”

“The bottle probably broke and frightened him. So he tried to pin the blame on you.”

Perhaps it was because he had spent so long leading people, but Volka’s insight into how the incident had unfolded was truly impressive. He was no pushover.

In truth, all manner of things happened when one led a group. This was far from the first time Volka had dealt with such an incident, and he had often handled matters far more serious.

A few children’s clumsy antics could hardly fool him.

Yet the matter itself was grave. Theft was a serious crime. He could not simply let it slide.

As the leader responsible for so many people, he had to demonstrate before them all how fairly and wisely he handled matters. Volka knew that if confidence in that faltered, the group itself would falter.

His position did not allow him to show mercy merely because he wished to. Nor could he kill people and cut off arms indiscriminately. Volka felt the weight of that responsibility keenly.

“Who was the other child who came with you?”

Cornered, Roy trembled. He was never any good at lying, and he could not think of anything to say.

“I will find out even if you keep your mouth shut. Do you think that will keep your friend safe? An even harsher punishment will await him. You there! Find out who was absent from the probationers’ dormitory before dawn! We’ll compare their footprints!”

Volka shouted the order to the onlookers. Now the truth really would come out in no time.

But at that moment, driven by the thought that he had to do something, Roy suddenly swept the liquor bottles off the shelf. The expensive liquor fell to the floor in a crash of shattering glass.

No one had expected it. Everyone was stunned.

Roy, who had kept his mouth stubbornly shut all this time, looked at Volka with a resolute expression. At least for this moment, he was not trembling.

“Is that enough now? I did it. Go on, cut off my hand.”

Ricard’s eyes widened at the sight. Even Volka, who had remained calm and cool throughout, could only blink in bewilderment.

Les had been watching too. Seeing Roy go to such lengths shocked him so deeply he could barely breathe. I betrayed you. How could you do this much for me?

At this moment, the young boy overwhelmed everyone present. His parents, the other adults, even the pupils who trained so diligently—all were speechless.

A thought suddenly struck Volka. Leaving aside this entire uproar, this little bastard was something special.

In the silence, Ricard stepped forward. He walked over to Roy and looked down at him.

“Why won’t you tell the truth?”

“I-I don’t know.”

“I saw who was with you. I could point out the child who was with you, right here and now. But if you tell me why you’re going this far, I’ll keep my mouth shut too.”

Roy hung his head and answered in a voice barely above a whisper.

“... Because he’s my friend.”

“All right. If you insist on carrying that heavy burden, so be it. I’ll help you carry it.”

Ricard turned to Volka and the onlookers.

“From now on, this boy is my pupil. Volka, I respect you as my friend and as the Clan Master, and I hold the clan’s rules in the strictest regard. But for my pupil’s sake, to hell with the clan and its rules. If you tell me to leave the clan, I will. But if you try to punish this child by force, you’ll have to fight me. Anyone who has a problem with that can take it up with me.”

Ricard was stronger than anyone, but he did not like using that strength to force his way. This time was different. Perhaps for the first time in his life, he threw his strength around as if to say, Do your worst.

For the sake of a boy willing to shoulder an honorable disgrace, he would accept disgrace himself.

The child was still unpolished, but there was real substance at his core. Ricard wanted to protect that core—the seed of something that might one day grow into nobility and greatness.

Volka looked at his old friend.

“In the old days, I might have laughed this off. Not now, Riki.”

“I understand.”

“For now, I’ll think this over before making a decision.”

Volka let out a deep sigh, turned, and limped away.

He had once wondered which he should choose if forced to choose between the clan and his friends. Because of the trouble involving Ice, Volka had always said he would choose the clan.

But as time passed, he began to wonder what any of it was for. In the end, all he had wanted was to live peacefully with the people he liked.

Even the firmest convictions could waver and change with time. Now Volka was no longer sure what should come first.

Ricard turned to Roy. The boy did not seem to understand quite how things were unfolding.

“If I’d been you, I would have killed the one who betrayed me with my own hands. You’re the opposite of me, Roy.”

“... I just feel sorry toward my parents. I don’t know why I did it either.”

“Who knows? Perhaps this happened for the sake of something greater. No one can know God’s designs. We only find out afterward.”

“Thank you, anyway.”

“By the way, I went and made you my pupil without asking. Is that all right with you?”

“From everything I’ve seen, Riki, I think you’re a wonderful person. I’d like that.”

Ricard gave a little chuckle.

“Wonderful, am I?”

Ricard led Roy out of the storehouse. Volka had gone, but a crowd still stood outside. Every one of them looked at Ricard and Roy.

With a faintly scornful expression, Ricard swept his gaze over them. Most were strangers.

At the beginning, there had been only a handful of friends. Was this really the same clan he had known and loved?

Volka had accomplished much and created better conditions. But was there a place for him here? He was not sure.

Quite simply, Ricard did not much like the current system or its people. He just had not said anything about it.

There was competition, the pursuit of profit, scorn and contempt, groveling before the strong and cruelty toward the weak.

He understood that such things were unavoidable in running an organization efficiently. It was not that he thought it was wrong. It simply did not suit him.

“Move.”

Ricard’s tone was rather cold, though less so than the way these people had treated Roy.

He led Roy past them. Hartmann and Elia, who had been waiting, approached. The family embraced one another, relieved above all that Roy was safe.

A day later, after careful deliberation, Volka reached his decision. Hartmann’s family would be banished.

Those who chose to stay remained, and Ricard set out once more for the eastern frontier. Hartmann’s family, Bremen, and Marie went with him.

Les followed them out of the castle. He kept following even after they passed along the embankment road and reached the domain’s border.

The sun was just rising. Roy, at last carrying a load suited to his size, turned to Les before taking the road up the pass.

After a long hesitation, Les approached him.

“I’m sorry...”

“Friends don’t need to apologize.”

Les’s face crumpled. Tears streamed down his cheeks as he spoke.

“I’m sorry...”

“I’m all right. If you need me to accept your apology to feel better, then I accept it. Study hard. I hope you become a wonderful swordsman someday.”

“I will... I promise. I really will. I won’t betray you this time.”

Roy watched the weeping Les with a bittersweet expression, then turned toward the people waiting for him. Far away, the sun hung over the crest of the pass.

“I’m going now. Take care.”

On that cool morning, violets bloomed at every step along the mountain road through the Viola clan’s autonomous domain in Britzlingen.

End of Chapter 22 — Friendship at a Crossroads.