Chapter 83

The Emperor was dead. He had not died of old age, or illness, or fallen in battle. He had been assassinated.

The man who stood above all others, the guardian of the Empire, had been assassinated. Of course, despite those grand descriptions, the man himself had been utterly unimpressive.

While Ricard and Marie escaped the storm-tossed scene where history was unfolding, the Crown Prince and Bellator were, for some reason, racing through the alleys of the nearby city.

They were not alone. The entire city was running frantically in every direction. Fear had spread, seemingly robbing people of their capacity for rational judgment.

Yet amid the chaos, some seized women and violated them, while others went on looting sprees.

Even people who had no connection to the church let their long-buried grudges surface and committed murder.

The turmoil showed no sign of subsiding anytime soon.

"I told you to stop following me!"

Someone looked back and snapped irritably. It was the Third Prince. The Crown Prince and Bellator had blindly run after him without the faintest idea what was happening. The Third Prince himself did not even know where he was fleeing.

He had already reached adulthood, but neither his mental age nor his judgment had caught up.

All he could think of was hiding. The assassins who had rushed at them with blazing eyes had utterly terrified him.

Staying beside his bodyguards would have been safest, but how could he trust them?

The people who had suddenly attacked the nobles when the tournament's final match ended had been close to their victims for years, sometimes decades.

The wet nurse who had nursed you, your childhood friend, the steward whose family had served yours for generations, the mistress you had considered nothing more than a plaything.

When people like that suddenly turned on them with knives, the victims had been helpless even with bodyguards at their sides.

The Third Prince entered an even more secluded alley and flung open the door of a shed in search of somewhere to hide. Inside, several men were committing an unspeakable crime.

"What the hell!?"

A rough-looking man turned and roared menacingly. The prince recoiled in fright and shut the door again.

He wandered this way and that, then slipped into another shed without knowing how he had reached it. The place reeked of animal dung.

The Crown Prince and Bellator followed him inside to hide.

"Ugh, that stink."

The Crown Prince pinched his nose and grimaced.

"Will you be quiet!"

Perhaps it was the urgency of the situation, but the Third Prince snapped at him without a trace of his usual courtesy.

And hearing the Crown Prince complain about the smell at a time like this, one had to wonder how anyone could be so utterly childish.

People kept running about outside. At some point, the assassins had ceased to be the main problem. The gangs exploiting the chaos to make a quick score had become a greater menace. They had all but taken over the city.

There were screams. Pleas for mercy. Laughter, too. In short, the world had gone mad.

The Third Prince was wholly occupied with peering outside through the cracks in the shabby door, while the Crown Prince kept fanning his hand to disperse the stench.

Bellator was doing neither. He took a dagger from inside his clothes and drew it. The keen blade flashed in the light filtering through the gaps in the shed, reflecting into his eyes.

Dazzled, he briefly frowned, but neither closed his eyes nor looked away.

He waited for his eyes to adjust, gazing down at the sharp blade. Ricard's words came back to him.

["When you're faced with a moment of life or death, a self you never knew you had comes out. What matters then is not hesitating."]

If not now, you will never have another chance. The words sounded in Bellator's ears like a devil's whisper. It was the voice of his own heart, but devils did, after all, dwell in human hearts.

He could almost see Ricard's final duel playing out before him.

He told us to cut open the belly, so why did he stab the heart? Had he resorted to a desperate measure to kill his opponent first in that fleeting instant? Accepting the risk? I see.

In truth, Ricard had simply forced his way through, breaking the ribs with brute strength, but Bellator interpreted it differently. His interpretation was not entirely wrong, however. A wound to the heart was indeed more lethal than one to the belly.

Bellator merely decided that, in that case, he too would accept the risk.

"Uncle?"

Still pinching his nose, the Crown Prince turned toward Bellator. Bellator lifted his gaze from the dagger he had been studying and looked at him.

"Let us do this, Your Highness. I will stab you in the heart. If your ribs stop the blade and I fail, I will kill myself at once. If not, I will become Emperor."

"... What?"

The Crown Prince was dumbfounded by the absurd declaration that had come out of nowhere. But Bellator did not hesitate, just as Ricard had taught him.

He seized the Crown Prince's shoulder, angled the dagger sideways, and thrust at his heart, driving it in slightly from right to left.

With uncanny precision, the blade slipped between his ribs and pierced his heart.

"Hh!"

The Crown Prince's body went rigid the moment his heart was pierced. Even his throat froze, leaving him unable to scream.

His eyes stretched wide. Bellator watched them impassively. Then he lowered the Crown Prince almost gently, letting him fall onto a pile of rotting straw that reeked of dung.

He immediately pulled out the dagger and approached the Third Prince, who was still wholly absorbed in watching the street.

"Brother."

"Hey, I told you to be quiet! Don't talk to me!"

Ignoring him, Bellator wiped the blood from his hand onto his brother's clothes, then placed the dagger in the Third Prince's hand.

"Huh? What's this?"

Instead of answering, Bellator flung the shed door wide open and shouted at the top of his lungs.

"The Third Prince has killed the Crown Prince!"

"What?"

"The Third Prince has killed the Crown Prince!"

He screamed himself hoarse. Imperial knights frantically searching the area heard him and came running.

Bellator stopped them and pointed to his older brother, the Third Prince, who stood there blankly holding the dagger.

"His Highness the Crown Prince's body is inside."

He was astonishingly composed and utterly audacious. Ricard had said your hands shook the first time, but Bellator's hands did not even tremble.

The evidence was clear. No special skill had been necessary. All it took was resolve and the will to act without hesitation.

With that, he leaped from fifth in the line of succession to second.

Bellator had four older brothers. The eldest had died young, leaving the Crown Prince behind. The second had left the imperial palace long ago and become a count. The third now stood falsely accused of a crime he could never clear himself of, and the fourth had lost his life in the chaos.

Now he only had to kill his brother the Second Prince to become Emperor himself. His brother had been away from the palace for so long that Bellator held the advantage.

So he believed. Clever as he was, he had yet to acquire the wisdom to understand that the world did not always bend to his will.

Some used the chaos to unleash their filthy desires, others seized it as an opportunity, and still others sought to escape its heart.

Marie and Ricard belonged to the last group. But there was one problem: Ricard was unconscious.

The poisoning was bad enough, but the stab wound in his abdomen was another serious concern.

Fortunately, they were near the tournament grounds, so Marie was able to find a potion close by. As an emergency measure, she poured it liberally over the wound, then took the remainder into her mouth and fed it to Ricard mouth-to-mouth.

Next she commandeered the first carriage she found, laid him inside, and secured him tightly with leather straps. Taking the driver's seat herself, she brought down the whip.

"Hyah!"

CRACK!

The two horses surged forward, the wheels spinning swiftly over the paved road.

She was finished with that wretched family now. Goodbye to nobility, to being a bastard, to the imperial household, and to this city. She was free now. Whatever happened, she would survive and live with Riki. No one would stand in her way.

Marie had all but gone wild. She looked as though she needed to calm down, but it hardly seemed anyone could have stopped her.

A boat would have been the quickest way back to Ehrenberg, but the docks were overflowing with people now. It was better to avoid them.

Besides, finding a merchant ship bound specifically for Ehrenberg would have been difficult.

With people running everywhere, she nearly hit several of them, but somehow managed to leave the city without injuring anyone.

One small mercy was that this was the Emperor's city. Paved roads stretched far beyond its boundaries, allowing her to drive unhindered.

The hellish city grew ever more distant, and its agonized uproar faded with it.

Before long, the sounds of nature outnumbered the loathsome sounds of humanity. Marie's carriage alone raced along the road.

As the wind sweeping across the fields struck her, the rage that had filled her to bursting finally began to subside. The horses, too, were exhausted, white foam gathering at their mouths.

Marie stopped the carriage in the middle of the road. She climbed down from the driver's seat, opened the door, and checked on Ricard. She had bound him so tightly that he looked uncomfortable even in unconsciousness.

"Uhhh..."

Judging by his groans, he might be able to come around. Marie shook him awake.

"Riki. Riki. Wake up."

"Urrgh..."

His eyes seemed about to open, only to drift shut again as his head drooped.

Startled, Marie examined his condition. But what did she know? At least he was breathing. Was the potion making him sleepy? Fortunately, the wound in his abdomen had stopped bleeding.

For a moment, she felt utterly lost. She herself had come to Nibelungen by boat and did not know the overland route back very well.

Besides, once the paving ended, a carriage like this could go no farther. More importantly, she had fled the city in such haste that she had brought no food.

She lifted the cloth covering the carriage roof and, by a tremendous stroke of luck, found a sack full of carrots. These would have to do until she found a village.

She took several carrots and fed them to the horses, then crunched through a raw one herself.

Then she climbed back onto the driver's seat and drove slowly onward. Fields stretched all around her. The only sounds were the wind, the clop of hooves, and the rumble of wheels.

Feeling as though they were the only two people in the world gave Marie a peculiar sensation. How lovely it would be to live together forever somewhere no one else existed. But then her friends' faces immediately came to mind.

She drove on, burdened by a tangle of thoughts, worries, and unease. Eventually, the paved road ended and the carriage began to jolt violently.

She tried to be as careful as possible for Ricard's sake, but there was nothing she could do on a road like this. This sort of carriage was meant for the imperial capital or wealthy neighborhoods, not ordinary country roads.

Still, she pressed doggedly onward. Time passed, and before she knew it, the sky was beginning to glow with sunset.

By now, Marie had gained a fair amount of experience as an adventurer, so she began looking for a campsite in advance.

As the sun sank and night approached, she stopped beside a large tree. First, she climbed into the carriage and undid the straps binding Ricard so tightly.

Even though she had saved his life, she felt guilty. She thought she had kept him tied up too much.

In any case, she laid him out properly, unharnessed the horses, and tied their reins to a branch. She fed them plenty of carrots, too.

But she lacked the most important thing: water. Both people and horses were thirsty. She had no flint to light a fire and no cloak to wrap around herself, either. She truly had nothing but a sword and carrots.

It was autumn now, and the nights were cold. Marie's dress was woefully inadequate against the chill. Worse, she had torn the skirt high enough to expose her undergarments, leaving her legs freezing.

She went inside the carriage and massaged Ricard's arms, legs, and the rest of his body to keep his blood circulating.

As she did, something beyond his control rose up despite his unconscious state.

She was glad he was healthy, but she felt embarrassed all the same. She kept having to resist a devilish temptation: maybe she could touch it just a little?

She sat him up again and held him tightly in her arms. Braving the cold, she kept watch alone.

At first, her heart fluttered with excitement, but that only lasted an hour or two. As the night deepened, she grew sleepy, and it became truly difficult. She had only just escaped the prolonged mental strain she had been under, leaving both her body and mind exhausted.

Sword Master or not, there was no escaping sleepiness, hunger, and thirst.

The night wore on. Marie nodded off.

How much time had passed? Sensing something amiss, she opened her eyes to find a beggar-like man staring at her through the carriage door he had opened. Gooseflesh swept over her arms and neck.

Cramped and awkward as the space was, she drew her sword with practiced reflexes and stabbed at his face like lightning. The point pierced his skull at once.

As he fell, she heard another man's voice outside.

"Wh-what the hell!"

"See! I told you someone would be inside!"

"Damn it!"

Marie hurried out of the carriage with her sword. She saw people who had untied the horses fleeing with them.

Even as they fled, the horse thieves kept looking back, their eyes widening at her beauty. Whether they were checking for pursuit or simply trying to catch another glimpse of her was hard to say.

Marie started after them, then stopped. She had to protect Ricard.

The thieves might return with companions. She quickly hoisted him onto her back and walked in the opposite direction from their flight.

She must have slept much longer than she realized. The sky had already turned deep blue. The autumn air was cold.

Now she had lost the horses and even the carrots. All she truly had left was a single sword.

Beyond the villages, towns, and other places where people lived, the world was little different from the wilderness. There was nowhere to get food, and without traveling supplies, nowhere suitable to sleep.

Becoming a Sword Master had raised her strength and stamina to superhuman levels, but no person could live without food or sleep.

At that moment, Marie could think of nothing but heading north at all costs and finding water.

Carrying Ricard, she returned to the road and continued straight north. Yet there was not the slightest sign of a settlement. Nor were there any travelers or merchants.

Had she taken the wrong road? Did no one use this route? She needed to meet someone before she could ask for kindness—or threaten them with her sword, if necessary.

Had she left the city too rashly? Should she turn back even now? No, she had already come too far. A thousand thoughts crowded her mind.

She walked without rest. One hour, two hours, three hours—six whole hours. The sun stood high overhead.

A full day had passed without a proper meal, and she had managed only a little fitful sleep.

Never mind Ricard; at this rate, Marie herself was on the verge of collapse. Yet after walking with hope in her heart, what she encountered was a vile source of despair.

The horse thieves appeared with companions. She had no idea how long they had been following her. They watched from a distance rather than approaching rashly. But they made no attempt to hide, staring openly.

Several were armed, however crudely. Two were even on horseback. They had bows and crossbows, too.

Killing them would be easy, but she did not know whether she could fight while protecting Ricard. So she made her choice: she broke into a run.

With Ricard on her back, she ran blindly forward. The mounted men immediately gave chase, and the other bandits began running after her as well. Their intentions were plain.

CLIP-CLOP! CLIP-CLOP! CLIP-CLOP! CLIP-CLOP!

Hoofbeats sounded behind her. Marie wished for a hill or a rise in the road. She wished desperately. Or at least somewhere to hide Riki. God! Please!

How long had she been running? She could scarcely catch her breath.

Then, to her despair, a rider came charging straight toward her. She was trapped. With no other choice, she lowered Ricard beside the road and drew her sword.

Purple light flashed along the blade. But even a Sword Master could die if struck by a charging horse.

Something was strange, though. The rider approaching from ahead wore mail and carried a shield and lance. He looked more like a knight than a bandit. His red surcoat bore a white cross.

And rather than charging into Marie, he rode past her.

CLIP-CLOP! CLIP-CLOP! CLIP-CLOP! CLIP-CLOP!

He charged straight at the mounted bandits. They hastily hauled on their reins, trying to turn their horses.

But the knight closed the distance in an instant and ran one of them through with a single thrust of his lance.

THUD!

He immediately drew his sword, leaned over, and struck off the other bandit's head. The way he changed weapons atop a galloping horse was as effortlessly graceful as a painting.

THUD!

The bandit impaled on the lance was hurled backward by the impact. The beheaded man's body swayed, then fell from his horse.

At the sight, the bandits running behind them turned and fled in terror. Rather than pursue them, the knight caught the reins of the two riderless horses and approached Marie.

He had a stern face and a thick, neatly groomed beard.

"Stay back!"

Marie shouted like an enraged wildcat.

Unfazed, the knight continued toward her at an unhurried pace. The autumn breeze was cool.

Beneath the midday sun, he silently studied not Marie but the boy lying beside the road. Then he addressed her.

"I am Abelich, Lord of Stormhertz. And who might you be, my lady, running with my son on your back?"