Chapter 138

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The Benicio Trading Company poured its heart and soul into crafting Ricard’s equipment to reduce the outstanding payment by even a little. Ricard was happy to receive well-made equipment, the smith was happy to show off his skills without worrying about production costs, and the company was happy to reduce the balance it owed. Everyone benefited.

Ricard found it remarkable that people could pursue their own interests without clashing, and all come away pleased. He also felt he had glimpsed the secret to keeping the peace in Tujis. So this was possible, too.

He had always been somewhat inclined to look down on the pursuit of personal gain. His father had greatly influenced the foundations of his identity, and although he was not a knight, he placed great importance on acting honorably.

Time was money, however, and even though they claimed to have worked as quickly as possible, the equipment took over a week to finish.

In any case, once it was all ready and he tried it on, one thought occurred to him. He hadn’t wanted anything quite this extravagant.

Of course, it was thoroughly functional, with engravings throughout that seemed to bring the artisan’s skill to life.

The armor as a whole blended ancient styles with those of the northern Vikings. On the shoulders, a thunder god with a bristling beard glared in fury. The arm guards bore eagles with spread wings, while lightning bolts were engraved on the greaves to signify swift running.

His lower body was protected by what they called belt armor: several layers of dangling leather straps hung from a belt, overlaid with pieces of iron engraved with runes. The symbols represented things such as valor, strength, and fortune in battle.

The helmet had a nasal guard and left his ears exposed. Like the helmets of the ancient people of the Empire, it bore a stiff red crest that rose above his head.

All of it had been gilded and gleamed brilliantly in the sunlight. His cloak and battle robe were a splendid red as well. Thank goodness the battle robe covered the armor. Otherwise, he would have been too embarrassed to hold his head up in public.

After also receiving tunics made from the finest silk, comfortable, sturdy leather shoes, and horse tack with iron plates protecting only the head and chest, he collected eighty gold coins as the remaining balance.

He did wonder how much he would have received if he had taken the entire payment in cash, but the outcome was satisfactory to everyone.

Once the transaction had gone through smoothly and the contract was fulfilled, the merchant spoke with a broad smile.

“If you’d told me sooner, I would have given you a little discount. Hahaha.”

He was being glib now that the deal was already done. Knowing it was mere flattery, Ricard let the remark pass.

“You’ll have to wait a few more days for news from Adelorn. I made some urgent inquiries with headquarters, and it seems Grantz the Invincible is gathering allies. The prince’s consort is so merciful that she enjoys great trust, and with heroes such as the Black Sword assisting her, I don’t believe you need to worry for the time being.”

The Benicio Trading Company had its roots in war profiteering, so it seemed able to gather news of wars fairly quickly. But the prince’s consort? The man was practically gilding Ricard himself with flattery.

“Our deal has gone well and ended in smiles, but I hope we never meet as enemies.”

Ricard spoke calmly, though his words carried a warning. War merchants inevitably sided with whoever offered a profit, which meant they might just as easily join his enemies.

“Naturally. Please remember that whenever you call on us, the Benicio Trading Company can supply the finest goods with the greatest speed. Your fame has reached even the holy city and the desert, Your Highness. Choosing a side is hardly difficult for us.”

For these people, those who waged wars were always the best customers. Unlike at their first meeting, when the merchant’s look had practically asked what sort of fool Ricard was, his eyes now sparkled as though he wanted to kiss him.

Of course, Ricard did not take all this sweet talk at face value. Still, their recent dealings had been quite satisfactory, and however irritating war merchants might be, they were always necessary. He said nothing. There was no harm in cultivating a good relationship.

“If your company has survived and prospered this long, you must have chosen your sides well. Speak as frankly as you did when we first met. Do you think I’ll win or lose?”

The merchant gave a faint smile.

“A man can only do everything within his power. God determines the outcome.”

The merchant had deftly evaded the question. Still, he wasn’t wrong, so Ricard merely chuckled.

“I’ll be going. It was a good trade.”

“My name is Paolo. Contact our company at any time and give them my name, and I will come at once.”

Perhaps because Ricard was a potentially important customer, the Benicio merchant named Paolo was eager to recommend himself. Indeed, merchants often served as sovereigns’ personal secretaries or treasurers. Making a favorable impression on Ricard could only benefit both him and his company.

“Just wish me fortune in battle.”

“I have been doing so from the beginning.”

Ricard shook his head as he mounted.

Clad in ornate armor, a red battle robe, and a red cloak, astride a scarlet horse, he looked like the most honorable man in Tujis, where wealth was honor.

Hashim was already mounted and waiting, wearing a turban and dressed like a Salaman nobleman. Leading the spare horses, Ricard passed through the ancient triumphal arch and left Tujis.

Tujis was a place where very different people coexisted. Ricard had thought such a thing impossible, but here he had found hope.

Hope that everyone could live together in peace.

After leaving Tujis, they headed west along the coast, changing mounts as they went. Without pushing themselves particularly hard, they reached the World’s End in two days.

An ocean without a single island stretched before them, said to be home to krakens and dragons that devoured people. Yet when they looked north, another continent was visible in the distance. It truly was the end of the world.

A strangely shaped mountain rose at each end of the strait. One face was a sheer cliff, while the other sloped at an angle as though neatly sliced with a knife. Like a wedge of cheese.

People called them the two pillars that held up the world, though neither mountain was particularly large.

In any event, cities had naturally developed at the two tips of land where the continents faced one another. Sinatria had no overwhelmingly dominant power and was divided among numerous factions, so wars large and small never ceased. There were plenty of people who made a living trading with them.

In other words, one side consumed, and the other supplied.

There were always many people wanting to cross the strait. Ricard and Hashim boarded a ship and were across in no time.

At last, he had set foot on the land of his birth. Looking back, he could see the land he had traveled through on the opposite shore. An inexplicably strange feeling came over him.

It was so close, yet somehow it felt as though he could reach out and never touch it.

“Let us follow the coast. The interior is hot, dry, and mountainous, but the coast is cool and good for riding.”

Hashim spoke as though he sensed their journey was nearing its end. In truth, his quest to recover his lost memories had been as good as over from the moment he obtained the crystal flower. Yet the flower remained untouched in its glass bottle.

He seemed to have a great deal on his mind, but Ricard did not ask. There were many things Ricard had learned from him, but one was clear: mages were not so unsettling after all.

“Let’s go,” Ricard said.

It had been exactly twenty days since he left Adelorn. The sun was warm and the breeze cool. That was what the World’s End was like.

Sinatria’s eastern shore truly had the most beautiful beaches in the world. Fine white sand covered them, and the sea was emerald green.

As they continued north, however, they encountered people heading south with bundles of belongings. They were refugees fleeing the war.

Most resembled the Tujistans, though there were Franken people among them as well. With frightened eyes, they looked up at Ricard in his excessively splendid armor. The contrast was so stark that they hardly seemed to be the same human race.

The beautiful waves rolling onto the beach were like a comforting hand, but they could not reach the people.

Ricard hung his helmet and lance from his saddle and simply watched them with his face uncovered. The refugees headed south in scattered groups, like a flow broken into drops. No matter how far north he rode, they never stopped appearing. Like falling tears.

His eyes met those of an innocent baby cradled in its mother’s arms. Thinking of the future that lay ahead for that child, he could not simply smile without a care.

Farther north, they encountered a group of riders. The men were surveying the refugees, looking for pretty women or people who had something worth stealing.

They spotted Ricard from a distance and stopped their horses, tilting their heads as though trying to get a better look.

Several stayed where they were while one rode over. He wore mail beneath Salaman-style cloth and a somewhat tall helmet. Looking from Ricard to Hashim, he spoke.

“Who might you be, sir, and where are you from?”

“I am Ricard of Stormhertz. I am fighting a war in Adelorn and have come to request the Order of Flame’s aid.”

As always, Ricard’s honest answer was difficult for the other man to believe. Adelorn and Sinatria were, after all, at opposite ends of the Empire. Some people did not even know where Adelorn was, or had never heard of it at all.

“An imperial knight?”

“I’m not a knight, but you may think of me as one.”

“Is that so? Apparently anyone can pass himself off as a knight in the Franken people’s Empire. Still, that’s a fine horse you’re riding. I’ve never seen one so red. Would you let us have a ride?”

He was starting to test the waters. Ricard knew this sort of probing well. Was this bastard an easy mark or not? Was he merely flashy, or was there substance beneath the show?

Ricard exhaled through his nose.

“If you’re trying to test me, don’t bother. And who are you?”

“We are knights of Valensha. We serve the emir. That makes you an outsider in this land. Do you understand?”

“And?”

“What do you mean, ‘and’? Can’t you see my comrades back there? You don’t seem to understand what I’m saying.”

“You’re the one who doesn’t understand. If you want to test me, stake your life on it. Otherwise, fuck off.”

Ricard delivered his warning with an icy glare. The man gave a faint smile.

“We’ll see.”

He signaled to his companions, then turned his horse to put some distance between himself and Ricard.

Horses hurried about both near and far, filling the air with a bewildering clatter of hooves. The riders drew their weapons: lances, curved swords, and cords with weights attached to their ends, which they spun in circles.

As the confrontation unfolded, Ricard seized his lance and shot forward. Hashim rode toward the refugees to protect them, while those fleeing south stopped to watch.

Three Salaman knights charged at Ricard. The man who had been probing him changed direction again and came in from the flank.

Too late, they realized how fast the red horse was. Timing was everything in mounted combat, and they had lost the initiative.

As the red horse charged like an arrow, Ricard leaned forward and drew the lance tight against his body, pointing it ahead. His mount was exceptional, but he also lifted himself slightly out of the saddle and braced himself firmly with his thighs. The lance tip did not waver in the slightest.

CLATTER! CLATTER! CLATTER! CLATTER!

“Aaagh!” \n

THUD!

In the blink of an eye, the lance pierced the chest of the man on the far left and sent him flying backward. His riderless horse kept running.

The other two looked back in alarm. Incredibly, a blade flashed before one man’s eyes. Ricard had already turned and closed in right behind him.

CRUNCH!

The blade split his helmet and skull. The remaining man, who held the weighted cord, dropped it in terror and flailed his arms. He was too shocked even to defend himself properly.

Without losing any force, Ricard’s sword sliced down through the body of the man whose skull it had split, then struck off the other man’s head. A single stroke had killed them both.

THUD!

The headless body continued forward on horseback, while the severed head fell to the ground and rolled wildly.

The knight who had first provoked Ricard and was charging from the flank recoiled at the sight and hastily pulled his reins aside.

There were limits to how skilled a man could be—or so he had thought. This had happened because he had never dreamed Ricard could be this good. Besides, mounted men always harbored a certain complacency: they thought they could survive by fleeing whenever they pleased. They had horses, after all.

Before the man could get far, however, Ricard deftly slid his sword back into its scabbard, rode to the knight who had died with a lance through his chest, pulled it free, and hurled it.

The lance flew in a shallow arc, almost a straight line, and pierced the back of the man who had only just turned to flee.

THUD!

“Aagh!”

The force of the lance folded him forward and sent him tumbling miserably from his horse.

Having dispatched four Salaman knights in the blink of an eye, Ricard was not even breathing hard. He merely surveyed the somewhat messy scene at his leisure.

Quick-witted Hashim had rounded up two of the riderless horses and was bringing them back. When Ricard looked toward the refugees, they were all staring blankly at him with their mouths hanging open.

Hashim spoke to him.

“Hard times always bring out the dung flies.”

“I know. All too well.”

Ricard approached the man who had died with the lance in his back and pulled it out again. It was well made, with no bends anywhere, and its point was still sharp. Blood ran down it, but that could be wiped away.

Leaving the scene as it was and taking only the two horses, he resumed his journey north along the coast.

Then the refugees began to follow him. At first, only those who had witnessed the astonishing sight came after him. Later, others followed without thinking, simply because everyone else was doing so.

Hard times brought out dung flies, but they also gave birth to heroes.

And people knew better than anyone how to recognize a hero. For on dark nights, the stars shone especially bright.