Chapter 140

If there was one truth in this world, it was that no one had chosen to be born.

Why, then, did life lead toward an inevitable death? Before that fundamental absurdity, every human being was weak.

Yet to live despite that absurdity, one had to discover a reason to go on. Perhaps that was the cruelest burden imposed upon humanity.

When morning came and one opened one's eyes, one had to believe there was a reason to live through the day, a purpose to fulfill.

Was that not true faith, and the path toward God? Was life itself not the process of discovering the purpose one had been given?

But now, Ricard's heart held nothing but emptiness. Never in his life had he felt such an overwhelming sense of loss.

Neither the stars filling the night sky over the Keresi Highlands nor the moon gazing quietly down upon the world could fill that void.

The campfire merely burned, crackling now and then. A faint scent of smoke brushed his nose.

Ricard sat with his legs drawn together, staring into the flames. His mind was utterly blank.

Sprawled on the ground, the red horse occasionally nudged Ricard's shoulder with its muzzle. It seemed to be urging him to take heart, as though it understood how its master felt.

Still, Ricard did not respond.

Only after swallowing his words hundreds, thousands of times did Hashim finally speak.

"Go to Saramusa."

"..."

"The people will be waiting for you."

"... Isn't there a spell that can bring someone to their senses?"

"Well, your brother has simply chosen a path. He hasn't gone mad. What you must face is that your paths have diverged. You have a choice, too. Leave all this behind and return to Adelorn, or face it."

"What am I supposed to face?"

"You know that better than anyone, don't you?"

"..."

Ricard fell silent. It felt as though his heart had rotted away. Yet it was so thoroughly rotten that it could no longer feel pain.

"... I'll apologize on his behalf."

"Hmm?"

"For the cruel things Billy, my brother, said to you, Hashim. I'll apologize in his stead. So please, forgive him."

"Riki, you truly are..."

Looking at the dispirited Ricard, Hashim could not finish. How could someone be so kindhearted? No matter how he looked at it, such kindness seemed at odds with the way Ricard wielded a sword. Like a lion born with the heart of a gentle lamb.

"I haven't taken it to heart. I was sold from place to place as a slave, remember? I've heard plenty of harsh words."

"Being numb to it doesn't mean it can't hurt you."

"I can't argue with that. But get some sleep. I'll keep watch tonight."

"Will I be able to sleep...?"

"Try anyway. You'll feel much better."

As Hashim suggested, Ricard lay down on the bare ground, using his bundle as a pillow. Rather than trying to sleep, he simply shut his eyes.

Tears immediately began to flow, though there had been no fresh surge of emotion. His throat tightened. His chest ached with sharp, stabbing pains. Behind his closed eyes, he saw his childhood.

More tears fell. With all the tears he had to wipe away, sleep seemed out of the question. Yet ironically, those sorrowful days of the past became a dream and lulled him to sleep.

A dream was a dream precisely because it was only a dream. That made it fleeting, and sad.

Time passed, dawn began to break, and Ricard opened his eyes. The campfire was still burning, if faintly. Hashim must have tended it.

But he was nowhere to be seen. Ricard knew instinctively that he had left. Yet the horse Hashim had ridden was still there.

Ricard sat up. With his hair sticking out, he sat motionless, watching purple spread across the far reaches of the dark sky.

The stars bidding farewell for the day resembled someone who departed without a word. A sudden glance back revealed only emptiness.

For all his splendid armor and finery, it seemed to mean nothing as he sat alone in the vast Keresi Highlands in the predawn gloom.

Still, just as Hashim had said, he felt a little better after sleeping. The uncontrollable surges of emotion that had overwhelmed him yesterday had eased somewhat.

Then was resolve what he needed now?

Ricard sat quietly, lost in thought, unaware of time passing.

Marie, his friends, and the others were waiting in Adelorn, but he could not return with things as they were.

He could never have imagined that such profound despair and sorrow awaited him at the end of his long journey. Yet he knew there was no salvation for those who rejected the call of fate and fled.

No particularly good ideas came to him. But around the time the sun peeked over the distant horizon, he made one decision. He would win so overwhelmingly that he could force a surrender.

Once his mind was made up, he rose without hesitation. His body was a little stiff, but he easily shook it off by moving his joints.

He stamped out the campfire and gathered his belongings. After feeding the horses plenty of hay and carrots, he mounted the red horse.

Holding the ropes linking the other horses in one hand, Ricard set out for Saramusa with sorrow tucked into a corner of his heart.

But he could not tell whether that sorrow was for what had passed or what was yet to come.

Having set out that morning and kept a fairly brisk pace, he reached Saramusa in the afternoon. In military terms, it was practically on the doorstep of Karagosa, the Order of Flame's stronghold.

Two branches from a single trunk now faced each other as enemies. Just like the brothers.

Saramusa Fortress stood where two rivers met. The rivers joined, then split into two once more.

A vast aqueduct built in the days of the ancient empire crossed the city. Though nearly a thousand years old, it still stood firm and served its purpose.

The clear water it brought down from the mountains supplied the city, serving both to irrigate the fields and to quench people's thirst.

The people who had followed Ricard had settled here. They tilled the hard earth and planted the seeds they had cherished as dearly as their lives. They were beginning to live again.

But they were extremely vulnerable. Saramusa was a conventional military fortress, not a place equipped to accommodate so many people.

The knights of the Order of Flame appeared to be making an effort to patrol the surrounding area. When they spotted Ricard, they greeted him with unexpected warmth. It was the exact opposite of Bilter's reception.

"Did your talk with your brother go well?"

Ricard shook his head. Disappointment appeared on the knights' faces.

"Our commander is waiting for you. Come with us."

With the order split in two, it now had two commanders. The commander of this faction was Raimund, whom Ricard had met before.

Perhaps because traveling back and forth was inconvenient, he was living in a tent below the fortress rather than inside it.

He was already outside his tent when Ricard arrived. As Ricard dismounted, he asked the same question as the knight who had greeted him earlier.

"Did your talk with Sir Bilter go well?"

"No."

"... Must brothers turn their swords on one another after all? Ah, I didn't mean you and Sir Bilter."

"Think nothing of it. It's true."

"What do you intend to do now, then?"

"Defeat him. If his army is crushed, my brother will have no choice but to abandon his plans."

Raimund understood Ricard's feelings perfectly. No, they felt a mutual kinship in their suffering. The bonds between the order's knights were as close as those between brothers of the same blood.

"But do you have any experience in battle, Sir Ricard?"

"More than enough."

"Where did you see battle?"

"On the eastern expeditionary front."

"?"

"Charging through knee-deep mud. Watching comrades die following idiotic orders we knew were wrong. Rotten fruit and moldy bread. Nightmares that kept us awake. In winter, more than a few men had to have their frozen toes cut off. I went through all of it."

Experiences no one could know without having seen real combat flowed from Ricard's lips.

Raimund was somewhat bewildered. Seeing Ricard dressed in such splendid armor, he had assumed he was merely a highly skilled knight trained in mounted combat.

A merciful knight of exceptional skill who liked to show off. That had been his first impression of Ricard. He was bewildered because, contrary to his expectations, Ricard seemed to have endured truly desperate battles.

Raimund was not particularly learned and knew little about the war a hundred years ago, so he simply took it at face value.

What mattered was not whether every word was true, but that Ricard had combat experience. In truth, one could recognize such men at a glance.

Raimund sensed that Ricard's calm gaze was like one side of a coin. Beyond that composure, he could faintly perceive the distinctive quality that lurked within a killer.

And it gave him a sense of kinship. The knights of the order were much the same: killing machines, rigorously trained and tempered in the fire and blood of battle.

"You've been through much the same as we have."

"And do you believe those experiences had any meaning, Sir Raimund?"

"I don't know. Our predecessors did it for hundreds of years, so we simply carry on. Defending the Empire's borders. But now that the Emperor has cast us aside, I don't know what we should do. Only that Sir Bilter's way is not the answer."

In short, they were watchdogs abandoned by their master. The duty and honor they had upheld for hundreds of years, the values they had cherished as dearly as their lives, had vanished overnight.

"How many men do you have?" Ricard asked.

"Two hundred knights, three hundred squires, and two hundred soldiers. We're short of supporting troops as well. Sir Bilter, on the other hand, has eight hundred knights, twelve hundred squires, and two thousand soldiers."

Two hundred knights were a truly formidable force. That meant two hundred fully equipped heavy cavalrymen, a force even the kings of most countries would struggle to field.

Maintaining all of that, however, cost a great deal of money. That was why the order had engaged in banking.

But now their source of funding had been cut off, and they had been burdened with disgraceful false accusations.

Morale had plummeted. They were even debating whether to sell the knights' horses, which they valued more than their own lives.

The hay alone cost an enormous sum. There was no need to mention the wages owed to their squires and soldiers.

Under such circumstances, perhaps it was only natural that embittered extremists like Bilter would emerge. Looking beneath the surface, all that talk of founding a nation might have been no more than an excuse.

Raimund and the knights who followed him, on the other hand, were trying to preserve their honor as knights and as human beings to the very end.

And so the brothers of the divided order now hated one another fiercely. Each side saw the other as traitors.

"Is there a reason?" Ricard asked.

"A reason for what?"

"I mean, a particular reason... why you won't follow my brother."

At Ricard's question, Raimund's expression briefly grew somber.

Avoiding his gaze, he looked toward the people reclaiming the desolate farmland in the distance.

He too was of Franken origin and had blond hair. He looked older than Ricard, though not by much.

His hair, just long enough to brush his ears, stirred gently in the wind.

"It was a heathen girl. The last person I killed. When I raised my sword, she looked up at me. There was no resentment in those wide eyes, no hatred. She simply looked at me with pity. Why do you think that was? She knew. She knew God would forsake me. That I had forsaken God..."

Raimund was tormented by guilt. Even when people went through the same things, some grew more bitter and drove themselves harder, while others reflected on themselves.

There were many reasons the Order of Flame had split in two, but that was the most fundamental.

Once people began to think that what they were doing was wrong, their paths were bound to diverge.

For hundreds of years, they might have suppressed such feelings and continued to fulfill their duty. But not now, after the Emperor had abandoned them.

"No. God has not forsaken you, Raimund."

"I wonder..."

"God casts nothing aside. Nor can you truly abandon Him simply by trying. Look at yourself now. Perhaps your journey toward salvation has already begun, though the present may be hard."

"... Do you truly believe that?"

"Without a shadow of a doubt. When this is over, you may come with me. Once the war in Adelorn is over as well, I will provide a home for you and anyone else who needs one. Your vows of chastity end now. Start a family and raise your children with love. Love your neighbors. I am certain that is how you can repay God, and how you can atone to that heathen girl."

Raimund looked somewhat stunned by Ricard's words. His heart trembling, he gazed into Ricard's unwavering hazel eyes.

Perhaps those were the very words he had most wanted to hear. Unlike the knights, who were largely ignorant of anything outside combat, Ricard possessed keen insight and abundant compassion. Warmth that passed from heart to heart. Sincere encouragement.

Above all, he had a firm, unshakable faith.

"By the way, do you have enough supplies?"

"... Hmm? Ah, well, King Santonio hasn't been especially generous with his support. I understand. He can't trust us entirely, either."

From the king's perspective, they had not sworn him fealty, and even if he accepted them all into his service, he could not afford their upkeep.

So it seemed King Santonio had merely allotted them some scraps of land and was looking for a way to put them to use.

Men and horses alike needed food and water to move and fight. Without supplies, there could be no battle.

"Introduce me to King Santonio. I'll try asking him for support."

Raimund found it hard to answer readily. He had only just met this peculiar hero, yet the man was already drawing his heart toward him. That frightened him a little.

But there was nothing else he could do at present. Far better to place his hope in someone than to remain dejected and dispirited, even after making the right choice.

"Very well. Let's go. I'll take you to him."

In Ricard, the sin-laden knight sensed a glimmer of salvation.