Chapter 118

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What did those tears mean? Joy? Sorrow? Or resentment?

But could I bear their weight? Who was I, after all? I’m not that great a man.

Still, I couldn’t simply walk past when there was something I could do.

If I could cut people down out of compassion, why couldn’t I protect them out of compassion?

And I had already been living that way, ever since my academy days. Not sacrificing myself for the greater good, but saving others by doing what I could. Like setting out in the bitter winter to bring the Ehrenberg Five to justice.

Perhaps it wasn’t only his pupil Roy who was gradually growing out of his immaturity. Perhaps Ricard was, too.

“Riki.”

Marie called to him. When I turned toward her, Bori was looking at me too, as were Bremen, Roy, Becca, and the siblings’ mother. Every pair of eyes held the same sentiment.

They respected my judgment. No, they trusted it. Their eyes shone with the resolve to follow me, whatever might happen.

When had this trust begun to grow? Where had it come from?

“Hmm...”

Ricard lowered his head and thought for a moment, then spoke to Harbert, who was still kneeling.

“Let’s do what we can. But I’m not that great a man. I don’t know what you expect of me, but hope and salvation are things you must win for yourselves. All I can do is help a little.”

With that, he turned and headed down the mountain. As his friends and traveling companions followed, the others rose and crowded after them.

Spring flowers bloomed in profusion along the mountain trail, swaying in the breeze, but Ricard’s heart was not entirely light.

The Kingdom of Adelorn lay in one vast basin. Its south was mountainous, covered in ranges of modest height, while its north was a plain. Thus, since ancient times, the north had lived by farming and the south by raising livestock.

In terms of recorded history, the Kingdom of Adelorn was far older than the Empire.

Invasions by orcs and Nords, along with wars against the Salaman people, had forced it to become part of the Empire, but its people felt little sense of belonging to it.

One reason was their long-standing enmity with the Bering tribe to the northwest, in the region now called Beringen—the home of Beringen Academy.

Of course, tribes had long since disappeared, so the distinction no longer meant much. Yet some resentment did remain.

The people of Adelorn were called Adelonians. They were hostile to outsiders and had developed a distinct culture in which they took great pride.

In some respects, however, they had also fallen behind the times. Perhaps that was the most fundamental cause of their present plight.

At the height of its glory, the kingdom had wielded formidable power as the first country in the world to establish an order of knighthood. But that was all ancient history now.

All that remained were songs, poems recounting the exploits of heroic knights of old, and hollow ballads.

Who could possibly save this ruined country? Even if all those heroes returned from the dead, it seemed impossible.

Yet perhaps Ricard could dare attempt this impossible task precisely because he had no grand ambition to save a country or deliver its people.

He would simply look at what was before him and find something he could do. That was all.

Following the river northeast along the kingdom’s northwestern border with Beringen, one eventually reached a point where the mountain ranges on either side broke off and a plain opened wide.

Adelivari stood near that point. It had grown into a city after a former king of Adelorn discovered hot springs there, serving as a royal retreat, a gateway city, and a trading center.

Whether the terrain was natural or man-made, the city stood partway up a mountain, atop a sheer rock face four or five meters high.

Its entrance lay in a narrow cleft in the rock, as though a giant had struck it with an axe. A staircase ran all the way up through it—the only route to the main gate.

The problem was the enormous throng at the foot of the mountain. In an age when so many people rarely gathered in one place, everyone with Ricard was struck speechless.

“This is...”

Bori couldn’t bring himself to say this was a terrible idea.

More people than the population of most major cities were swarming together there. And this wasn’t even all of them.

Ten thousand people could cover an entire slope of a small mountain. Twenty thousand could cover the whole mountain. With thirty thousand or more spread across a field, you couldn’t see from one end to the other.

Ten thousand fighting men, with fifty thousand people following them. The numbers alone conveyed little, but seeing them with one’s own eyes left no room for anything but awe.

And they were supposed to fight these people? Fighting a typhoon or a thunderstorm seemed more realistic.

Not to Ricard, however. While the others were still reeling, he alone surveyed the scene with a cool head.

Before long, he abruptly called everyone together.

“Gather round.”

As the others gathered around him, Bori and Marie looked dazed, while the soldiers who had guarded the border already seemed resigned to death.

Showing them a way forward and steadying their resolve was Ricard’s job as well. Having decided to do this, he had to do it properly.

“Pull yourselves together. We aren’t fighting all those people. Just hear me out. See that over there?”

Ricard pointed into the distance.

“No matter how many troops they have, they can’t go up the front. The enemy knows that too. They’ve camped around it and are just milling about. There’s no sign of fighting. That leaves them only one option: circle around, climb the mountain, and attack the city from above.”

The others studied the battlefield where he pointed. At first, they had no idea what to make of it, but with his explanation, they felt as though they were beginning to grasp a slender thread.

“Look at the mountain over there. Some of them have already gone around and climbed up. See those makeshift structures? How many troops do you think are up there? I’d say fewer than a thousand. Climbing a mountain without a trail to attack a city isn’t as easy as it sounds. You men who guarded the border should know that well.”

The soldiers who had joined Ricard were border guards who had lived in mountain stockades to begin with. Moreover, this was their homeland. They knew these mountains better than anyone.

“It’s simple. We take a wider route around and sweep them away. Marie, Bori, and I will lead. They have no defenses in place, so even if they outnumber us, all we have to do is push through. Bremen, Elia, please bring the rest along slowly behind us.”

Ricard’s orders were simple. Circle farther around and climb the mountain, then follow the ridge to strike the enemy from behind and drive them out. That was all.

Put that way, it really didn’t sound like much.

“This is a trading city, so holding the pass behind it is crucial. If that falls, it’s all over. As long as the supply route stays open, they can hold out as long as they need to. First, let’s get inside the city and join forces with the people there. Then we can discuss our next move.”

Ricard alternated between blunt commands and polite requests. There was a sense that he was deliberately speaking bluntly when issuing orders, since those needed to be firm.

“Let’s go. Once Marie, Bori, and I throw the enemy into disarray, just hold your formation and push hard.”

He repeated even these simple instructions, then set off ahead of the others.

As they took the long way around to climb the mountain, they saw people living in tents here and there.

There were mercenaries among them, but the host was so large that, on seeing Ricard and the soldiers, they merely assumed this was some unit or group they didn’t recognize.

It never occurred to them that these were enemies, or that they were about to come under attack.

That was only natural. Who would dare attack them now? That was the vague assumption they all shared. Attack us, with so many people here? What madman would do that?

Of course, Ricard wasn’t mad. Neither were his friends nor the soldiers following him.

The climb itself wasn’t easy, though, since there was no proper trail. The slope was steep enough that they had to pull themselves up from tree to tree.

The soldiers were essentially mountain troops and climbed as nimbly as wild animals, but the civilians who had joined them along the way struggled. Helping them up was the only thing that took some time.

At the crest, they found an old side trail running along the ridge, once used by soldiers or perhaps merchants.

It was difficult to spread their formation sideways, though in truth it was less a formation than simply standing as far apart as they could.

Some had to walk along the ridge, while others moved along the slope. It was somewhat dangerous, but they knew the terrain and managed well enough.

After watching the soldiers make ready, Ricard walked slowly forward with Marie and Bori.

Before long, they saw the enemy working up on the mountain. Whether they meant to build a mountain stockade or cobble together a catapult, they were felling trees and busily assembling something. They were also cutting into the ground with picks and shovels.

The enemy weren’t fools either. They seemed to understand that this was their only option, but the work was progressing sluggishly.

The men under Grantz the Invincible were something like a loose confederation of mercenaries, and they resented being the ones assigned to the operation.

In any case, they weren’t keeping watch and paid no attention whatsoever to the possibility of intruders.

So when Ricard approached in his red cloak, they merely stared blankly at him.

“Good day.”

Since no one stopped him, Ricard took the initiative and greeted them instead.

“... Who’re you? Haven’t seen you before.”

“Riki, newly assigned to this operation, at your service.”

Naturally, the man had never heard the name before, but he simply took it at face value.

“But I keep telling them we’ve got enough men. When are they bringing the booze up? I’m dying of thirst here. Didn’t you get the message?”

“Hmm. If you’re that thirsty, go down and get yourself a drink.”

“What?”

As the mercenary asked in bewilderment, Ricard suddenly kicked him square in the chest. He went tumbling down the mountainside. Dull cracks of breaking bones rose as he struck tree after tree.

The mercenaries nearby turned in shock as the man fell to his death. While they were still wondering what had happened, Marie and Bori drew their swords.

Clusters of purple and black stars flashed, and in an instant, the nearby mercenaries were tumbling down the slope, dead and spraying blood.

Ricard leisurely drew his sword and sliced through the supports of a hastily erected wooden structure.

It slowly tilted, then crashed down the mountainside and broke apart. Thick clouds of dust rose. It was quite a sight.

From that moment, the tens of thousands of people below were all looking toward Ricard’s position. Anyone who hadn’t seen it was nudged by someone pointing up at the mountain.

They still had no idea it was an attack, though. They thought it was merely an accident. Oh dear. They should have been more careful. What a shame.

But a little later, another structure toppled. They thought they could hear screams, too, and on closer inspection, things seemed rather chaotic up there.

Staring hard, they could occasionally glimpse something like a red flag. Then, suddenly, a mighty shout rang out from the mountain.

It was the cry of the stockade soldiers following Ricard.

“The prince has returned! Make way!”

“The prince has returned! Make way!”

Now, even from a distance, they could see mercenaries tumbling down the mountain in droves. Huh...?

Someone was clearly attacking. Grantz the Invincible was under attack. It was plain for everyone to see. Yet it took both Grantz and the crowd quite some time to accept what was happening. It simply couldn’t be.

Having seized full control of the pass, Ricard stood there looking down. He was so far away that he looked as small as an ant. His sword was aflame, but to the crowd, it looked as though he were holding a torch in broad daylight.

Ricard burned the banner of some nameless mercenary company serving under Grantz. Then he tossed it aside carelessly and entered Adelivari by the rear road.

The tens of thousands who had watched the events on the mountain in silence broke into a noisy murmur once Ricard disappeared.

They were all saying the same thing.

Who did they say had returned?