Translator: Willia

"I heard from Sandy... has it been eight years?"

Blatter uncorked a bottle of liquor that looked like a medicine bottle and poured it into a wooden cup as he spoke. As he casually handed the cup to Ricardt, it was noticeable that his left index finger was missing.

He was a veteran who had been living by the sword for over ten years. Perhaps losing just one finger instead of his life was getting off lightly.

Ricardt lifted the cup and took a sip. It was wine. It had a moderately astringent taste, slightly mixed with a floral scent.

Even Ricardt, who didn’t know much about alcohol, could tell it was a good drink. And he could also tell that this fine wine was brought out especially for someone he hadn’t seen in a long time.

A breeze blowing in from the river brushed past his face. When he turned his head, the sunset was scattering across the calm ripples.

There was no smell of feces, and it was quite a quiet spot, one not just anyone could settle into. But thanks to Blatter, the group was able to move their position to the riverside.

It was the same as back then. Blatter had been drinking, and the place they talked had been by the river.

What had changed? The fact that Blatter was missing a finger? That Ricardt himself had grown up and aged?

If there was anything different, it was that they were using an empty wooden box as a table, sitting on tree stumps and large stones while sharing drinks. Back then he hadn't drunk alcohol.

"Is Sandy doing well?"

"Mm, I feel sorry for her, but she became my wife."

"What kind of way is that to say it."

At the word "sorry," Ricardt let out a brief laugh. Blatter only gave a faint smile, like the dimming end of the day, looking sheepish.

"Anyway, I remember you doing well, Ricky. How did you end up going to the Eastern Frontier?"

Ricardt's reputation had stopped at being a genius swordsman. Since what happened at the Order of Judgement's Holy Fortress wasn't properly known, few people even knew if he had participated in that battle.

And with the added gap of four years, only those who had seen his past feats firsthand remembered them.

If someone asked about the "Red Cloak," the usual response would be, "Ah, that guy? He was amazing for someone so young. But is he still alive?"

"I was just curious, that’s all. They say there’s one last hope there."

"...You're just the same as before. What did you say back then? Something about war, wasn't it?"

"Whether the war was worth fighting. Whether there was really a need to go all the way to that distant Eastern Expedition Territory and fight a bloody war."

Back then, and now too, Blatter still couldn’t understand what this guy was saying. He could only respect him.

And now he worried less. Because Ricardt was at least as good as him, if not better, and his skills hadn't declined.

"So was that war from long ago really worth fighting?"

"Well, I could give endless reasons if I wanted to. Politics, achievements, things like that. I'm sure those things are important to someone. But rather than being bound by the past, isn't it more important how we live now? Bad things can turn good, and good things can turn bad too."

"You're talking like you've seen all there is in life, like some old man."

"Hahaha... by the way, are you part of the Brotherhood or what? Doesn’t seem like a very decent group."

Blatter had been an adventurer in the past. He belonged to the Beringen Guild, and at one point, he had practically lived under the thieves' guild in Reinfurt while trying to establish a branch.

He took a swig straight from the bottle, then looked at the river like he used to and said,

"I’m not affiliated. Just making a living off the sword, like I said. If it's profitable, I’ll do anything. I’m not even in a guild anymore. So I’m not an adventurer either. Ever since the Emperor died, everything’s changed. These days, if you don’t have your own land, this is how you have to live. Most of the clans are pretty much scattered. All the other guilds are the same too."

"...Really? Why?"

"What do you mean why? There’s no benefit to being in a guild anymore. They just keep giving you annoying errands to do. I’m busy trying to make ends meet, why should I listen to that? There’s no Emperor anymore. So the guilds are basically just private organizations."

The Emperor’s death seemed to have had a bigger impact than expected. Come to think of it, it was the Emperor who had given adventurers their legitimacy. So if that foundation was shaken, it was only natural that everything else would collapse too.

But even if the organization collapsed, the people didn’t disappear. Many of those sword-wielders either lost their jobs or quit on their own.

“And as you know, most of the academy graduates are illegitimate children. A lot of them hold grudges against their main family. Taking advantage of the chaos, some band together and attack their own houses, killing everyone. Then they take over the place for themselves.”

“Really?”

“I know, right? It sounds absurd to me too. But that’s the world we live in now. Of course, most of them die in the process, but some succeed in slipping through. Since it's so chaotic, even the great nobles often just accept oaths of loyalty and let it slide. Or they don't even know what happened to their vassals."

Just like the Order of Judgement had people who bore resentment against the ruling class, there were also many born as illegitimate or second sons who had deep-seated sorrow and resentment.

Ricardt had grown up relatively well, so he held no grudge against his family nor did he have any ambition for social elevation.

But others were not the same. These chaotic times were an opportunity, a chance to climb the social ladder. And the way to seize that chance was by killing one’s own blood.

Whether it was the Second Prince and Fifth Prince glaring at each other for the Emperor’s throne, or anyone else, their situations were essentially the same.

Why can’t I be a lord? I think I could do better. No succession rights? Then if I kill you, I’ll have the rights, won’t I?

As the saying goes, “seeing leads to desire.” When society became chaotic, thoughts one wouldn’t dare harbor under normal circumstances began to rise naturally. And when they saw someone next to them succeed, their eyes turned. I can do that too!

Of course, there were failures, and those people met miserable ends, but once your eyes turned, it was hard to see clearly.

Who is a robber, who is a thief? A chaotic world meant it became difficult to distinguish the two.

“What about the academy? Is it okay?”

“The academy is thriving these days. Some have apparently gone under, but Beringen is doing incredibly well. These days, there are more noble-born students than illegitimates. So donations are pouring in from all over, it’s no longer a henhouse like in our time, and they’re wearing custom-tailored uniforms. The students are smarter, too... I don't even get treated as a senior anymore. At 26, I'm treated like an old-timer. You probably will be too, Ricky."

It was a relief that things were going well without trouble, but that didn’t necessarily mean it would be in his favor.

Ricardt was the first graduate of the Beringen Academy, but he didn’t care about receiving any special treatment. Of course, that “first” was because Karllich had arbitrarily handed him a diploma.

Back then, since Karllich had given the diploma only to Ricardt, he wasn’t a graduate alongside other students but truly the first and only graduate.

Originally, the academy was closer to a place that gathered abandoned children, but now the trend was shifting toward admitting children from wealthy or powerful families.

At the center of that change was Karllich, who was establishing the educational system. Ricardt, having spent his time tending sheep, didn’t know exactly how things were going there.

“By the way, if you’re planning to go to the Eastern Frontier, avoid the eastern road. Even if it’s a longer way around, it’s better to go north. The Adeloron Kingdom is said to be hell right now. The northern side is at least safe, thanks to the Viola Clan having a firm grip on it.”

“Vi... what?”

Ricardt paused, drinking the delicious wine, when he heard a familiar name.

Blatter apparently didn’t know the specifics about Ricardt, only some rumors and what he had heard from Sandy.

That was because Blatter had mainly operated in the central and southern regions, while Ricardt had worked mostly in the north. Only Sandy had occasionally moved around as a sort of dispatched agent.

“Viola Clan. They’re the ones who made the biggest contributions in the Order purging operations. The prince himself granted them land, and they were also given autonomy. After them, the era began to change. People realized that even without being part of a guild, you could succeed as a clan, eventually, you need land to make it. Other adventurers came to understand that. Of course, most of us, like me, are still just roaming around looking for work.”

“Where is that? Where the Viola Clan is.”

“Britzlingen. It takes about three to four days to get there from here. Anyway, the Empire's Nine Swords is an old story now. Only people who like stories talked about it, what did they know? But the Viola Clan is different. As of now, they’re the strongest clan in the Empire. Criminals in that area reportedly can’t even breathe. The person called Black Sword is their clan guardian, and with all the Emperor’s Champions wiped out, that person might be the strongest in the Empire now. Maybe White Sword could match him. But they're so far apart they probably won't meet."

“......”

Hearing about the Viola Clan and Boribori like they were someone else’s story gave Ricardt a strange feeling. So much had changed over time, and he hadn’t been part of it.

He could only think, “They must have worked hard.” They had stamina, too. Didn’t they ever get tired?

“They’re not an academy, but they take on disciples like one. I heard Black Sword’s students are young but already incredible with the sword. Just like you, Ricky.”

“Haha, I’m not that young anymore. I’m even married now.”

At eighteen, it was the prime of youth. But since he had cut down powerful enemies at an unbelievably young age, compared to back then, it was already too late for people to be impressed just by his youth.

"Ah, that person earlier, right? She was incredibly beautiful."

“Sandy is beautiful too.”

“Well, that only lasts three months.”

“Not for me, though?”

“You bastard, you’ve been properly tamed. Poor thing. At such a young age."

“That’s not what I meant.”

Ricardt shook his head with a laugh. He hadn’t met many married men, but every one he had met seemed to lament their lives. Blatter was no exception.

“How’s Sandy? Is she still doing this kind of work?”

“She’s nursing the kids right now. Once they’re a bit older, well, you know, right? You can’t be away from the sword too long. She probably won’t be able to keep sword fighting. And even if she tries, it’s hard to get the edge back. Something could go wrong in the meantime. I kind of wish she’d stop.”

Ricardt hadn’t held a sword for four years, yet his skills hadn’t dulled. That was because technical improvement no longer had meaning for him. When he swung his sword as his heart guided, it became a new swordsmanship in itself.

“Then I guess you’ll have to work hard, Blatter ssi.”

“That’s right...”

“How about joining a clan? Viola Clan’s not the only one in the world, right? And you were once a clan leader too.”

“That’s the tricky part. It’s hard for me to start from the bottom again now. And I’m not skilled enough to be treated according to my experience. In the end, it’s all about connections. You only get in through people you know. What would a clan trust in someone like me?”

“Really? You get in through someone you know?”

“That’s how the world works, Ricky.”

Just as Blatter said, in a world with no objective measure of a person’s character or ability, the only way to join a group was through recommendation.

That applied to introducing someone to a lord, to joining a guild, or the military, everywhere was the same.

In such a harsh world, you needed at least the trust of someone trusted by someone you trusted.

“Then let’s do this. Come with us to Britzlingen. I’ll introduce you to the Viola Clan. I’m actually from that clan. I’m even one of the founding members.”

“...Really?”

"Of course. We chose violets as the clan symbol for eternal friendship. You're not someone who should be in a place like this, Blatter ssi. I know that."

"I'd be fine with it, but... wait, if you're a founding member, why were you just herding sheep?"

“I just wanted to take a break. Anyway, I don’t know if it’ll work out or not. But saying something is a chance in itself, right? Come with us.”

Blatter had no reason to refuse. In these turbulent times, having a stable job was almost like a dream.

Ricardt had spoken lightly, but opportunity often came fluttering like a small bluebird.

“I’ll go get more drinks first.”

Blatter stood up and headed off somewhere. As a drink lover, it seemed he intended to bring out all the good liquor he had collected over the years.

The sunset had already passed, and before long, stars were blooming across the sky.

Ricardt and his group resupplied travel goods in Wertheim, then headed north with their new companion, Blatter.

Ricardt, too, changed from shabby clothes into a gambeson and proper boots, dressing once again like a swordsman, and replaced the worn sword hilt and guard at the blacksmith’s.

When he sheathed his sword into a scabbard that had no decoration beyond its basic function and fastened it to his waist, he somewhat regained his old look. No, he looked even more dignified and imposing now, having grown taller and broader than back then.

Yet, perhaps out of habit, he still walked with a staff despite his young age.

The migrants heading for the Eastern Frontier felt an almost extravagant sense of privilege with three swordsmen, Ricardt, Marie, and Blatter, accompanying them.

Hiring skilled swordsmen as guards wasn’t something you could do without spending a fortune. If they’d had that kind of money to begin with, they wouldn't have needed to leave their hometowns.

The road heading north from Wertheim gradually descended into lowlands, so the journey wasn’t as tough as usual.

Perhaps because of that, people looked more relaxed and chatted more. Marie also seemed to be in a buoyant mood, constantly playing around. Blatter teased the young couple in return.

Even Bremen, the guide who was always full of worries, seemed to put aside his concerns for the day, and Dalia’s baby was passed around for everyone to hold at least once. As if each person was bestowing a blessing upon the child. The name was Riche, wasn’t it?

If only the rest of the journey to the Eastern Frontier could go this smoothly, but that was just wishful thinking.

The road stretched across green fields, and along the roadside stood a very old and large oak tree.

But instead of bearing acorns, the tree was hanging people. It was what they called a gallows tree. You would occasionally come across one if you traveled the world long enough.

The laughter of the people came to an abrupt stop. No one spoke anymore.

Bremen scanned the surroundings warily. While Blatter and Marie stayed close to protect the group, Ricardt stepped ahead alone to inspect the tree. Or rather, to assess the degree of decay in the corpses.

The soft eyes and lips had already been devoured by crows and insects. Maggots were falling to the ground in clumps and buzzing around as flies.

Ricardt trudged through the grassy area around the tree and checked the other corpses.

Ordinary people might not have noticed, but Ricardt realized that each corpse showed a different level of decomposition. In other words, they had died at different times. It meant someone had been hanging people here regularly.

But just from the gruesome scene alone, it was impossible to tell whether this had been done by bad people or if it was the result of justified punishment.

One thing was certain, the stench was far worse than the smell of livestock dung they had encountered earlier.

However, Ricardt did not frown. Whether the dead had committed sins in life or not, he stood as if offering his final respect.

White clouds floated in the blue sky. The cool fields were a decent place to herd cows or sheep.

When he turned his head, he saw what looked like a village in the far distance. There were no signs of fire damage, but there were no people in sight either.

Then, a young voice called from behind.

“Traveler? Heading to the Eastern Frontier?”

When he turned, there stood a boy and a girl, looking about fourteen or fifteen. Since fifteen was considered an adult, perhaps “boy” and “girl” weren’t quite the right words.

The girl had tied back her reddish-brown hair tightly, and the boy bore a slight resemblance to Ricardt, back when Ricardt’s fame had been at its peak.

Both of them had an embroidered swallow on their chests and wore swords at their waists.

Facing the breeze blowing across the field, Ricardt replied.

“Eastern Frontier.”

“Then it’s best to turn back. Try going east instead.”

“I heard the east is hell.”

“This place is hell too.”

“Then where should I go?”

“Well, isn’t that something for you folks to decide? Why not stay in Wertheim for a few months and then head out again?”

The boy stayed silent the entire time, and only the girl conversed with Ricardt.

“If I insist on continuing?”

“I wouldn’t recommend it. You and the people behind you will die.”

"It might be different if you have spirit. You're wearing a sword."

It was the first time the boy opened his mouth to speak.

Ricardt gave a faint chuckle at the word "spirit." No matter how many opponents there were or how strong they were, he had never once avoided a fight, nor had he ever lost.

"And what kind of spirit do you two have, wandering around in a hellish place like this?"

"It’s not really about spirit. Our master told us, every time we save even one more good person, we gain one more reason to hold a sword."

"That’s admirable. Who’s your master?"

"You wouldn’t believe us even if we told you. Nobody ever does."

"Is that so?"

Ricardt turned his head away with a shrug, as if to say they didn’t have to answer if they didn’t want to. He glanced once at the distant village, then looked back toward where his companions were.

Blatter, Marie, and the others were watching Ricardt and the two youths.

"Black Sword, Bori. He’s our master."

"Hard to believe, right?"

The boy and girl spoke. Ricardt turned to look at them again.

Then he said,

"Well, I guess if I said I was the one who taught Bori, you two wouldn’t believe me either."

****

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