Chapter 113

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Why couldn’t they do it? Why? They had arms and legs just like him. Ricard finally abandoned that line of thought. He at last accepted that, just as he could do it without a thought, some people simply could not.

Others struggled desperately to accomplish what came naturally to him. The real difference between them and him was not ability or inability, but desire.

Those who desired, and those who did not. The very act of wanting something inevitably brought suffering. Those who desired therefore had to be prepared for unhappiness, and wishing for happiness was a contradiction from the outset.

But there was no need to call those floundering in that contradiction foolish. Was he truly wise himself? Probably not.

Through the sword, Ricard reflected on one facet of human nature. Now he could see it. A little.

“Um... h-how was that?”

In the longhouse’s enclosed backyard, Roy had been swinging his sword for some time, shifting from stance to stance. Now he asked the question cautiously, searching Ricard’s face. He was still young, and the sword was rather large for his frame.

The donkey watched the young master and his little pupil with a bored expression, steadily chewing bean stalks.

Ricard gazed at his pupil, then emerged from his reflections and spoke.

“You couldn’t kill a frog with that.”

Roy immediately looked crestfallen. Well, a master had to make his pupil face reality when necessary.

“Don’t get too fixated on form. The whole point of practicing stances is to cut out unnecessary movements and put your strength behind your attacks properly. If your stance stops you from doing that, you’ve got things backward. Don’t forget the purpose while you’re practicing. Can you feel any mana yet?”

“No...”

“That’s fine. Plenty of people can sense mana and still have terrible swordsmanship. I’ve found that knowing how to use a sword properly is enough to leave you without a rival.”

That was true only by his own standards. An ordinary person who trained in swordsmanship alone would find it difficult to contend with someone who wielded mana.

It seemed Ricard still had more reflecting to do.

“But you do need mana to cut someone’s head off with a wooden stick like you do, right, Master?”

“You little rascal, always wanting to show off. What would you do that for? It’s just a trick.”

“Looking impressive matters too. It makes you want to learn.”

“Does it? I suppose you might be right.”

Ricard tilted his head. He had none of a master’s attachment to authority, and seemed willing to accept a valid point even from his young pupil.

“But don’t get overconfident. If you ever find yourself in real danger, don’t waste time worrying about stances. Stab them in the belly, quickly. The belly. Understand? And if they’re wearing armor?”

“Aim for the inner thigh.”

“Exactly. People rarely armor themselves properly there. You don’t even need a full cut. Just think of slicing. Or you can aim for the knees. People are surprisingly bad at blocking that.”

Alongside swordsmanship, Ricard taught him bits of practical combat knowledge. Roy nodded, taking it to heart.

“The more I think about it, the more a sword seems like a vessel for the heart. Or perhaps a mirror. People don’t have only good sides. Negative feelings can hold you down and eat away at you, but they can also make excellent weapons against your enemies. Mishandle a sharp blade and you hurt yourself. Use it well, and you defeat your enemies and protect yourself and the people you care about. Perhaps training with a sword is ultimately a process of learning to govern your heart. Rather than simply shunning or suppressing negative emotions, you have to handle them well.”

The Riki of his previous life and the Riki of the present walked opposite paths, yet remained connected as one. Going beyond mere instruction, Ricard passed his recent realizations on to Roy as well.

As a result, the level of his teaching varied wildly. At times it was so advanced that even an eminent swordsman would struggle to understand, while at others he could not even teach the fundamentals properly. One thing was certain: he showed his thoughts and actions exactly as they were.

Roy was deeply influenced by that, starting from when he first met Ricard—including the sight of him boldly going to collect payment for a cow.

It might be too early for a beginner to hear such things, but how much he understood was up to him. Perhaps there were things he could grasp precisely because the world had yet to leave much of a stain on him.

“You mean even negative feelings depend on how you use them.”

“But you have to handle them carefully, as though you were touching a truly sharp blade. Most people end up ruining themselves. I did too. It all depends on what you set your mind to. You make the choice.”

“Yes. I’ll remember that.”

“Good lad.”

Ricard stroked Roy’s soft blond hair and lightly pinched his cheek. He was such an endearing pupil, but Ricard felt sorry for him too, having to endure all this hardship so young.

“Let’s go,” Ricard said.

After two nights at the longhouse, Ricard and his companions set out again. They descended the underground stairs and emerged from what looked like an ancient sewer, then followed a mountain path steadily northeast.

They met no one, as though the path was used only by those who knew it existed. The dense trees seemed to hide a secret, and the towering peak stood like a silent witness.

It was late spring. Sunlight splintering through the gaps between the branches felt as fresh as new shoots.

The steady clop of Magnoli’s hooves added to the tranquility. The donkey carried a rider while the people walked with their packs.

“If anything happens, I think we should head up the mountain,” Ricard told Bremen.

“Why?”

“When people who don’t know better get scared, they tend to run into the forest where they can hide. But that separates them from their own people too. Up on the mountain, we can look down and keep an eye on the enemy without getting separated.”

It sounded like simple common sense, but it was something one would not know without experience. Bremen gazed at Ricard before asking,

“... Have you worked as a mercenary too, by any chance?”

“No. I’ve done something similar.”

Ordinary swordsmen knew nothing of military combat. Training to wield a sword and living as part of a group conducting military operations were entirely different disciplines.

Still, just as crayfish and crabs resembled each other, there could be some overlap among those who made their living with blades.

“Well, you are a swordsman. Don’t worry. I’ll look after everyone.”

Bremen nodded.

Ricard kept Roy beside him as he talked with Bori. Marie had Becca with her, and the girl watched her with adoring eyes.

With Ricard and Marie naturally looking after the children, Hartmann and Elia walked together in intimacy, almost like newlyweds.

There were many people in the world, each with wishes of their own, but all these travelers wanted now was to continue safely on their way, just like this.

But as always, violence and tragedy arrived without warning to shatter the tedium or ease of everyday life. Like an unwelcome guest appearing unbidden at the door.

As they rounded a bend, they found several men blocking the path. More precisely, the men were not standing in their way so much as sitting there, apparently passing the idle hours.

It was neither an ambush nor a surprise attack. They had simply stumbled upon each other, unaware of the other party’s presence. At first, they merely stared.

Just as tension began to rise, the strangers spotted Bori riding the donkey and went rigid.

The party immediately understood what that change in their faces meant. Foreboding ran down their backs.

As Bori swiftly dismounted and drew his sword, the men took something out as well. It looked like a strange iron rod. They pointed it upward, and a flare shot high into the sky.

FWEEE—BOOM!

For a moment, Ricard, Marie, and the rest of the party looked up at the firework bursting high above.

Hartmann and his family, who had never seen a firework in their lives, stared wide-eyed. Meanwhile, the men who had launched it quickly left the path and fled into the forest.

Bori started after them, then hesitated. He turned to the others.

“I think we need to get up the mountain. Now.”

He did not look particularly frantic, but the situation was serious.

Ricard instinctively sensed danger. Rather than charging in blindly, the enemy had spread their people out and established a signaling network. They were operating in an organized fashion.

Was heading for the peak the right choice? What if they already had men stationed there? Where would the enemy come from?

These questions arose, but as always, Ricard was quick to decide.

“Bori, Marie, guard the front and rear. I’ll scout the peak first.”

“Right.”

Without delay, Ricard raced up toward the peak, his cloak streaming behind him. He moved almost as quickly as if he were running over level ground, scanning his surroundings with speed and precision all the while.

Some slopes were so steep that he had to haul himself up with his hands; elsewhere, he had to pick his way from foothold to foothold.

As he climbed around a boulder, a spearhead suddenly flashed beside his face.

He jerked his head back to evade it and yanked hard on the shaft. Rather than being dragged along, his opponent simply let go. An experienced fighter.

At that moment, several men leaped from the rocks, descending on Ricard as though to cleave him apart.

He looked up and reached for his sword hilt. Time seemed to slow briefly before lightning erupted from his waist.

SHIIING!

With a single stroke, he severed several weapons and sliced through limbs and torsos alike. Broken blades clattered to the ground in a shower, followed by the heavy thumps of corpses.

Having thwarted the sudden ambush with one stroke, Ricard thought, ‘I knew it.’ Their plan had been to attack from above when his party fled up the mountain.

Those Rubens bastards were as relentless and devious as ever.

Ricard sprang atop a boulder slightly taller than a man. Looking down, he found someone trembling in a corner.

He was no prisoner. He was another enemy, but when the time came to spring the ambush, he had lost his nerve and failed to attack with his comrades.

“I understand why you’re shaking, but I’m short on time, so I won’t wait for you. You’d better answer promptly. Where are the rest of your comrades?”

His hand shaking like a leaf, the man pointed to a spot on the mountain.

“How many?”

“T-ten or so...”

“Are there men in the forest too?”

He nodded.

“How many altogether?”

The man shook his head, indicating that he did not know.

Having hastily learned the essentials, Ricard ran him through and killed him. Then he raced like the wind toward the place the man had indicated.

The terrain was rugged enough that there were only a few possible routes up, and the enemy had laid their ambushes along them. This time, of course, Ricard ambushed them instead, killing every startled man.

He tossed the bodies aside to clear the area, then hastily scuffed his feet across the ground to hide the blood.

He was nearly finished with the rough cleanup when he spotted Bori coming up from below.

“Over here.”

At Ricard’s call, Bori turned to look.

It was an excellent spot: from above, one had a clear view of everything below, but from below, it was hard to find without careful scrutiny. That was presumably why the enemy had chosen it for an ambush in the first place.

Ricard addressed the others as they climbed up after Bori.

“I’ll keep this brief. You saw that firework, right? The enemy will be coming soon. But we’re not going to fight our way through or run. We don’t know their numbers, and we aren’t familiar with the terrain. That would be more dangerous. We’re going to defend this place like a fortress. Do you understand? It’s our best option right now.”

Neither Bremen nor Hartmann’s family had quite fallen into a panic, but the situation was bound to shock them. They simply listened to Ricard in a daze.

“There are only a few ways up, so large numbers can’t rush us all at once. As long as we keep our wits about us, we can fight them off, whether there are dozens or hundreds. Bori, guard the path. Marie, stay right beside everyone. Bremen, Hartmann, don’t rush in to help those two. You’ll only get in their way. Think of fighting as a last resort, and hold this spot. Understood?”

Ricard’s orders came like a storm. Bremen and Hartmann could only nod, their expressions grim.

“What about you, Master?” Roy asked.

“I’ll attack. Attacking is another kind of defense.”

“Can’t I come with you? Like a squire.”

Ricard smiled and stroked his pupil’s head.

“The thought is enough. Hold on to that feeling. Your time hasn’t come yet.”

With that, he ran a short distance away from the path and leaped. His red cloak billowed as he landed with incredible precision amid a jumble of rocks.

Then he bounded from rock to rock down the trackless slope, vanishing in an instant. At that moment, Roy felt a greater emptiness than he had expected.

Had he been traveling with Ricard for a month? It certainly felt as though several weeks had passed. After constantly being at his side, being separated from him made Roy feel as though he had lost his way.

Family was precious, but as a boy grew into a man, he inevitably yearned for the wider world. If Roy’s father was the pillar of his inner life, Ricard was a kind of ideal.

Meanwhile, members of the Rubens clan scattered throughout the area began converging after seeing the signal flare.

They moved in groups like detachments, ranging from five or six men to around fifteen. Their equipment truly resembled that of an army.

Only a few carried close-combat weapons such as swords, axes, and maces. The rest were armed with crossbows, large shields, nets, billhooks, and throwing weapons.

They were unlike ordinary clan swordsmen because they knew what sort of being they were hunting. No one understood better than they did that a head-on fight offered no hope of victory.

But just because a tiger was frightening and strong did not mean it could not be hunted. Track it, drive it, exhaust it, and even a Sword Master, being human flesh and bone, could not hold out forever.

What they overlooked was the possibility of becoming the hunted themselves. It was hard to imagine a tiger capable of tactical thought and execution existing in this world.

The first small group to arrive encountered a man standing atop a large boulder.

Shining blond hair streamed in the wind, and a red cloak fluttered. He looked down at them with a sword at his waist. It was Ricard.

Surveying them from above, Ricard knew this could not be all of them, but he gained a rough sense of their composition and the tactics they would use.

Not bad, he thought. It sounded simple, but splitting a force into small units and operating that way was more difficult than most imagined. Each small unit needed to work well together and understand the overall plan.

One man stood out among the six or seven below. He wore striking clothes embroidered with antlers against black fabric.

His ears were pointed at the tips, and his enlarged canines made him look like a vampire beginning to degenerate. His skull was slightly elongated from front to back as well, making Ricard wonder whether he was really human.

Bori had said they ate hearts. Did that cause physical changes? Looking down at the man, Ricard spoke.

“First you abandoned your honor as swordsmen. Now you’ve thrown away your pride as human beings too?”

The man looking up at him gave a derisive laugh.

“Hmph. What is a human being, anyway? I don’t know. Do you?”

“Look in a mirror. At least then you’ll know what isn’t one.”

“Beast, human, monster—we all rot away when we die. Only power has any meaning.”

“Then what happens when you face a greater power? If you can’t even inspire fear, you’ll lose your reason for existing as a monster too. You poor bastard.”

Perhaps Ricard’s incisive observation, born of deep insight, had rendered further conversation unnecessary. The man gestured to one of his subordinates.

The subordinate aimed a loaded crossbow at Ricard. Its string thrummed, and a bolt shot out.

Rather than ducking behind the boulder, Ricard launched himself straight at the enemy.

He looked like a figure swooping down on red wings. Drawing his sword in midair, he raised it high overhead, and flames sprang up along the blade like a trick of the sunlight.