Translator: Willia

Around each flickering flame, people had gathered. And under the firelight, all they did was roll dice or play cards.

Not so much because it was fun, but because gambling and alcohol were simply a part of life.

Was it to ward off boredom on a sleepless night, or was there a reason they couldn't sleep?

It was closer to the latter. Though this wasn't a battlefield, they kept night watch to protect their families and possessions. Theft was a common occurrence here.

Of course, if one was caught, getting a hand chopped off was the least of it, they could be lynched on the spot by an enraged crowd.

The muddy ground was sporadically covered with broken wooden planks. Like irregular stepping stones, people walked over them.

Ricardt walked step by step on the planks, holding Rena’s hand.

A strong stench of feces wafted toward Ricardt from a distance. And unfortunately, the direction Rena was pointing in was exactly where that foul smell originated.

The source of the smell was a large area enclosed by a crude fence, sectioned off to hold livestock. Goats, sheep, cows, draft horses, and donkeys. On one side, there were also rabbits, chickens, and geese.

It seemed like every kind of livestock a human could raise had been gathered there. It was a place where merchants made money by buying animals cheaply from migrants and selling them at high prices.

Flickering torches. Yet they couldn’t completely drive away the darkness, so the surroundings remained dim. Rena looked around, unable to find the merchant she had sold the cow to.

Ricardt waited a moment, then walked over to a gambling table where the players were enthusiastically rolling dice and asked,

“Where can I find the merchant who buys and sells cows here?”

One of the onlookers, arms folded, turned to Ricardt. After glancing him up and down, he pointed toward another gambling table and said,

“Try over there.”

Ricardt looked up to see several bonfires burning and a fairly large gambling table set up in that area.

He walked there with Rena. Though anxious, Rena had no choice but to entrust her fate to Ricardt. Still, she felt a strange mix of anticipation and reassurance.

At the large gambling table, there was a dealer. Cards were laid face down, and gamblers placed their bets. The minimum bet was silver coins, and there were even a few gold coins.

Ricardt asked Rena,

“Is he here?”

Rena carefully scanned the faces illuminated by the firelight. Then, pointing at one of the men placing bets, she said,

“That man…”

As soon as Rena pointed him out, Ricardt immediately approached and tapped him on the back. The man, who wore a coif and had a filthy beard, turned around.

He looked up at Ricardt, unsure if it had been an intentional tap or just a casual bump, when Ricardt spoke.

“You know this girl, don’t you?”

Ricardt gestured toward Rena with his chin. The livestock merchant recognized her instantly, without even needing a closer look. And he quickly figured out why Ricardt had come.

“The deal is already done.”

“That wasn’t a deal. It was fraud.”

“If I had committed fraud, my tongue would’ve already been ripped out by the crowd. But I’m fine, aren’t I?”

“So what you’re saying is, you won’t pay the full price?”

“Haha, this guy… You should know when and where to scream bloody murder.”

Scream bloody murder? Ricardt didn’t quite understand, but it sounded like some slang used here. Probably meant to intimidate and make a scene.

Sure enough, some burly men standing around the gambling table were giving Ricardt provocative looks. A silent warning not to continue his nonsense unless he wanted trouble.

But Ricardt didn’t use words, he showed them through action. Without warning, he kicked the gambling table.

Crash!

Cards scattered and coins clinked and rolled. The surrounding people were startled and flustered.

But not all of them. The atmosphere turned hostile in an instant. Ricardt stared directly at the still-seated livestock merchant and said,

“I asked you. Even now, you can’t pay the fair price? Answer me.”

It seemed like a violent outbreak was imminent, and those who had nothing to do with it hurriedly picked up their money and quickly vacated the area. On the other hand, some people came from a distance to watch, expecting a fight.

In the midst of this, the livestock merchant didn’t get up but instead looked Ricardt up and down. His clothes were worn but clean, well-laundered, with a red cloak. No weapons, only a staff. What kind of outfit is that?

From the merchant’s perspective, it was hard to guess Ricardt’s background just by his appearance. Was he just a hot-blooded youth acting out of impulse, or was he someone with real ability and confidence?

Fortunately, or perhaps unfortunately, a chance to glimpse Ricardt’s true nature came immediately.

“Hey, punk.”

A big man, seemingly unable to bear watching any longer, reached out to grab Ricardt. But Ricardt swiftly seized his wrist, and a disturbing sound was heard in the surroundings.

Crack.

The big man didn’t feel pain as much as he felt his hand suddenly fall limp, no longer under his control. The chilling sensation shot down his spine.

Just as he went “Huh?” Ricardt grabbed his waist and the back of his neck, and hurled him into the livestock enclosure. It was an incredible show of strength.

The man ended up face down in the feces-filled mud, flailing about in it.

For a moment, the place fell silent. Then, realizing one of their own had been attacked, the thugs shouted.

“You fucking bastard!”

“You want a piece of us, huh?!”

But before they could do anything, Ricardt’s staff moved like lightning, and with sharp cracking sounds, the thugs collapsed helplessly.

The other thugs, not even knowing what had just happened to their comrades, frantically tried to draw their weapons.

But Ricardt, without the slightest tremor, pointed the end of his staff at them and said,

“Draw your sword and you die.”

There was an unspoken rule in the world of sword-wielders: if someone pointed a sharp weapon at you, killing them was justified. That’s why those who lived by the sword were extra cautious about drawing one.

No matter how close a relationship, you never pointed a sword at someone. Four years ago, when Ice pointed his sword at his own friends, it had deeply shocked Boribori. That’s why.

It was one of the few rules Ricardt followed. If someone was bare-handed, he’d just beat them up and be done with it. But if they drew a weapon, more often than not, he’d kill them.

Faced with Ricardt’s ghostlike skill, precise movements, and unwavering gaze, the thugs froze mid-motion as they were about to draw their weapons.

Only then did they realize this was a fighter on a whole different level.

His unhesitating and commanding demeanor instantly overwhelmed the crowd. Ricardt tapped the ground with his staff again and looked back at the livestock merchant. The merchant now wore a dazed expression.

“Answer.”

“…What?”

“I said, answer. Will you pay the proper amount?”

“Uh… y-yes, of course. I should do business with conscience, yes sir.”

With trembling hands, the merchant pulled out his money pouch. He held it out to Ricardt with both hands.

But Ricardt only took twenty silver coins from it and then casually tossed the rest back. Then he firmly placed the twenty silver coins into the hands of the girl who had endured so much.

“Let’s go. Do business properly.”

Ricardt left those words with the merchant and walked back toward the campsite with Rena.

The merchant stared blankly at the money pouch that had been returned to him. Why do I still have this? He was momentarily confused, trying to make sense of the situation.

When Ricardt returned to the group's camp, everyone looked at him with concern.

It seemed he had succeeded in getting the money, possibly by beating someone up or doing something drastic, but they were worried about possible repercussions.

Of course, Marie didn’t seem to care at all as if nothing had happened, and Roy looked at him with admiration.

It was because, even when his own father sometimes stayed silent under unjust threats or pressure, Ricardt had boldly gone and retrieved what was owed.

But Bremen, the guide responsible for the group, felt differently.

“Listen, did it really have to be that way…”

“What do you mean?”

“The merchants here are under the protection of the Reiken Brotherhood. They won’t let this slide.”

“Still, we can’t just sit and get swindled.”

“But it wasn’t like the entire sum was lost. With a few silver coins, those kids could’ve managed to eat and drink while we made our way to Torveil.”

Ricardt sensed a difference in mindset, beyond what was simply right or wrong. He didn’t particularly like criticizing or judging what others thought, but what was wrong was wrong.

“Well, if you let it slide once, you’ll be taken advantage of again. It’s like gradually retreating. If you keep giving in to threats and intimidation from bad people like that, in the end, you’ll be driven into a corner and become a slave. Even if someone with a slave mentality arrives at the Eastern Frontier, do you think there will be salvation or hope waiting for them?”

Whether the matter was big or small, if they kept yielding little by little, eventually, they’d lose everything. That was Ricardt’s belief. To preserve one life, you end up handing your soul over to others.

Ricardt respected those who fought to survive stubbornly. But at the same time, he detested those who acted servilely.

It wasn’t so much a warrior’s mindset as it was a fate that must be embraced for the sake of self-reliance.

Salvation extended a hand only to those who sought to stand on their own. Just like Marie and his friends, who had become Sword Masters. So on this matter, Ricardt held firm conviction.

Hartmann, perhaps because that was his nature, nodded in agreement with Ricardt’s words. Roy, as if under a spell, listened and etched Ricardt’s words into his heart without even realizing it.

But Bremen and the others still seemed concerned.

"We're not as strong as you..."

Maybe it was because he’d grown too old to muster up the strength to resist. Bremen muttered to himself.

“A traveling companion on a long journey isn’t just a light connection. I’ll help you, so don’t worry too much. Besides, maybe doing it this way gives us a higher chance of success.”

Ironically, perhaps only by taking on risk could one break through danger and achieve their goal. Maybe all those past failures had come from avoiding and running away.

In any case, Rena held the recovered money tightly in her hands. It felt especially precious. It was her mother’s blood price, and it had been reclaimed by her hero-like oppa.

Night deepened.

The next morning, almost as if following a predetermined sequence, someone from the Reiken Brotherhood came looking for them. He was dressed in luxurious silk clothing with a thick fur cloak draped over his shoulders. He was already a large man, but the cloak made him appear even bigger.

All ten of his fingers bore rings with chunky gemstones, and gold necklaces clinked around his neck.

He arrived with his subordinates, accompanied by the livestock merchant, who pointed at Ricardt as he sat by the fire eating breakfast.

As everyone watched with unease, Ricardt swallowed the food in his mouth, picked up his staff in silence, and walked toward him.

“Greetings.”

The man greeted him first with a broad smile.

“What’s the matter?”

“I heard you’ve got some skill.”

“So?”

“Can you show me?”

Ricardt silently observed the man, then, using his wrist, swiftly swung his staff in front of him. The man flinched slightly, thinking he was about to be struck, but quickly pretended as if nothing had happened.

When Ricardt tapped the ground with his staff again, the string fastening the fur cloak was sliced, and the heavy cloak fluttered to the ground.

But that wasn’t all. The elaborate gold necklaces were also severed and clattered to the floor, and even the string of his trousers was cut, causing his pants to fall down completely.

Everyone who had been watching nervously now had their eyes wide as lanterns. A wizard. He must be a wizard.

No one thought Ricardt was a swordsman. They truly believed he was a real wizard.

The man who had appeared with his subordinates stared down for a long moment at his own hairy, bare legs.

Quietly pulling up his trousers, he said,

“Sorry for disturbing your meal.”

With that, he held up his pants and turned around, heading back the way he came. His subordinates quickly picked up the fallen cloak and necklaces and followed after him.

By midday, someone else appeared with a group of subordinates. Unlike the one who came in the morning, this one wore a plain gambeson and a cloak, with a sword at his waist, a young swordsman.

Though his presence was formidable, to Ricardt and Marie, he seemed no different from anyone else.

However, in the eyes of the others, it looked like a swordfight could break out at any moment, and they grew increasingly nervous. Hartmann quietly reached out toward where he had left his axe.

Beside the swordsman stood the same man from the morning, the one whose trouser string had been cut. This time, he raised his hand and pointed toward Ricardt, who was once again eating. So much for apologizing for disturbing his meal.

But the new swordsman stared intently at Ricardt, then tilted his head. Suddenly, his eyes widened in surprise.

“Huh?”

Ricardt, too, was puzzled at first, but as the familiar face stirred his memory, his eyes widened as well.

“Huh?”

He couldn’t recall the details immediately, but soon remembered. It was an adventurer he had seen when he first left home at age ten and arrived in Reinfurt. He had been the leader of the clan Sandy belonged to. Blatter, was it?

Meeting an unexpected person in an unexpected place, both Ricardt and the man stood there dumbfounded, staring at each other. What are you doing here?

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