Chapter 10
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 10
It was around noon when they arrived in the city of Rheinfurt. The mornings and evenings were still chilly, but once the sun rose high, the air turned pleasantly cool—the very picture of a perfect spring day.
A long line of people stretched before the city gates. Those who had been denied entry for one reason or another had pitched tents near the outer walls, forming a makeshift settlement. Vendors moved among them, selling daily necessities and various goods, effectively creating a bustling community outside the city proper. Rickert wondered if this was how cities expanded—people settling down, building structures, and eventually pushing the borders outward.
In any case, the line moved faster than expected, and soon it was their party’s turn. Arno and the merchant presented their identification, and it was only then that Rickert learned the merchant’s name was Kaufman. He apparently ran a small trading company specializing in dyes and pigments. The fact that he’d driven his wagon straight into a mountain pass known for bandits, however, suggested he wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed.
"Killed the Bilton brothers? Who are they?" the guard asked.
"The bandit bosses! The wanted men!" Arno declared with a flourish. "This here is the famous Boar Slayer of Stormherz, Young Master Rickert. In the blink of an eye, he sliced open their bellies and slit their throats! I saw it with my own two eyes, I swear!"
Arno seemed to know the city gate guard and chatted with him for a moment. Somehow, completely against Rickert's wishes, the rumors continued to inflate, and absurd titles kept attaching themselves to his name. Boar Slayer? Really?
The guard stared intently at Rickert. With his blonde hair, hazel eyes, and scruffy appearance from days without washing, he looked like nothing more than a child. Thinking Arno was just blowing hot air, the guard hesitated, but Kaufman gave a silent, confirmatory nod.
"He only recently began his knightly training, but he possesses a natural-born gift," Kaufman added.
Though Rickert hadn't said a word, Arno beamed with pride as if he were the one being praised.
"What's knightly training got to do with it?" the guard scoffed. "Isn't that just running errands for knights and polishing their gear?"
"What do you know?" Arno shot back.
"Well, I wouldn't know. But neither of us has done more than hear stories about it. At any rate, welcome to the city of Rheinfurt, Young Master."
The guard wasn't overly polite, but he showed the proper courtesy.
"Come by Hendel later and I'll give you all the details," Arno boasted. "I killed four bandits myself!"
Hendel was the name of the tavern Arno frequented. The guard’s eyebrow twitched in clear skepticism.
"You? Right, whatever. Move along, I've got work to do. Next!" The guard waved his arm frantically, calling for the next person in line.
Passing through the shadowed city gate, Rickert was once again bathed in sunlight, which brilliantly revealed the city’s clean, orderly buildings. Gray, navy, or red-tiled roofs capped walls finished with neat plasterwork done by skilled masons. The structures were packed closely together, almost all of them standing at least two stories tall.
Truth be told, based on appearance alone, the city buildings looked far better than the manor back in Stormherz where Rickert had grown up. The Stormherz manor was an ancient, castle-like structure—too small to be a proper castle, yet too large for an ordinary house, so people simply referred to it as a manor.
The people bustling through the streets seemed busy, their attire noticeably finer than that of the rural folk in Stormherz.
Kaufman mentioned he wanted to give Rickert a cloak and asked him to follow, leading the way along the city walls. He headed toward an artisan district where the crisp clank of iron on iron resonated through the air and tanners could be seen treating hides. The pungent stench of processing chemicals pricked at the nose.
Kaufman stopped his wagon outside a cloth shop, greeted a few acquaintances, and disappeared inside. He returned shortly with a neatly folded red cloak and offered it to Rickert.
"I believe this is where we part ways, Young Master. Thanks to you, I made it to the city in one piece. Please, accept this. The materials were so expensive that I had it made somewhat small, but perhaps the God of Destiny arranged it specifically for you. Hehehe."
The cloak was a vivid, blood-red hue. Made entirely of materials worth their weight in gold, it was an extraordinarily expensive item. Rickert took off his old, worn cloak and immediately put on the new one. It had a hood, and though the hem dragged slightly on the ground, a quick adjustment of the clasp made it fit reasonably well.
"Don't I get anything?" Arno asked, having watched quietly from the side.
Kaufman shot him a look that clearly said, ‘And who are you?’ before speaking. "Didn't you run away at first? In business, as on the battlefield, the one who takes the risk takes the spoils. If you want a cut, go ask the young master for one."
The logic sounded sensible on the surface, yet something about it felt off. When told to claim his reward from Rickert, Arno immediately fell silent.
"We'll split the bounty once we turn in the heads," Rickert said.
"Oh, no, it's fine, Young Master! I was just kidding," Arno stammered.
"No, you helped," Rickert insisted. He then gestured toward the refugees unloading baggage from the cart. "But what will happen to them?"
"I've decided to hire them," Kaufman explained. "I was planning to expand my business anyway and needed the hands. Since we've shared a life-and-death struggle together, it’s better than hiring total strangers. They need a place to stay in the city for the time being, so it works out for both sides."
They would likely be put to work dyeing fabric. From what Rickert had gathered on the journey, the refugees had fled their lord's domain due to crushing taxes. Even after cutting their own meals to turn in grain, they fell short and were forced to borrow more—only for the interest to snowball out of control. The absurd part was that the person who lent them the grain was the lord himself. The lord collected the taxes, and the lord acted as the loan shark. Even more ridiculous, leaving the lord's territory without permission was a crime. Were they criminals, or victims of an absurd system? Rickert simply felt a quiet sense of kinship with them.
Still, there was nothing more he could do. Their paths diverged here.
Just then, someone tugged at the hem of his clothes. He wasn't surprised; he already knew who it was. Turning his head, he saw Daisy, just as he’d expected.
"I'll feed you and give you a place to sleep! Live with me. We're husband and wife, aren't we?" she pleaded, her voice trembling on the verge of tears.
As Rickert hesitated, unsure of what to say, Arno flared up, his eyes glaring.
"The young master treats you nicely, and you lose your damn mind! Hey, you filthy wench, go wash up before you blabber such nonsense! Have you no shame?"
"You don't need to go that far..." Rickert said weakly. Arno’s tongue seemed sharper than his sword.
"No, Young Master. What did I tell you? Give them an inch and they'll take a mile. Know your place, girl! Stop clinging to the young master and get lost!"
Daisy's face contorted as if she were about to burst into tears, but she held them back. She was a surprisingly resolute child. Even so, she couldn't bring herself to let go of Rickert's new cloak.
Her mother paused her unpacking and hurried over, pulling her daughter away. "Forgive her, milord! The child knows no better..."
"It's alright. I'm not offended."
When Rickert offered a gentle smile, Daisy’s mother wore an indescribable expression—one of deep gratitude mixed with sheer disbelief.
"...You have a truly kind heart. And thank you. May the God of Condemnation close His eyes to you, Young Master."
Daisy's mother raised a hand, covering her eyes with the back of it. God of Condemnation? What was that? A god worshipped by peasants? Rickert had certainly never heard of such a deity back in Stormherz.
Regardless, receiving such a heartfelt expression of gratitude gave him a strange sensation, a softening in his chest.
"Take care. You too, Daisy, and Mr. Kaufman. As long as we're alive, perhaps our paths will cross again."
Leaving the brief encounter behind, Rickert followed Arno toward the Beringen Adventurers' Guild. Only then did Daisy finally bury her face in her mother's chest and weep bitterly.
*
Just as light casts a shadow, the city of Rheinfurt was no exception.
When they had first passed through the gates, the paved roads and immaculate buildings had left a strong impression. But as they turned into narrow alleyways and entered the slums, Rickert wondered if a place of such squalor could truly exist in this world. A foul stench of mixed filth wafted from clogged drains. It was a hell for humans, but a paradise for rats.
Curiously, however, the area wasn't entirely gloomy. Drunks bellowing songs at midday and the shrill laughter of cheap prostitutes lent the place a twisted sort of vibrancy, though it did little to diminish the misery.
"Is the Adventurers' Guild really in a place like this?" Rickert asked Arno, who walked ahead. "Are you sure this is the right way?"
Arno tilted his head, looking just as doubtful. "I've only heard about it, so this is my first time, too. I was just told it's near the Ghost Tree. Hold on, we're here."
Rounding a corner, they came upon a tree that looked as if it had died long ago. Its thick trunk was gnarled and twisted, resembling the contorted form of a screaming human. The surrounding area was a vacant lot piled with trash, and nearby stood a dilapidated building with people slipping in and out. Surely that can't be it, Rickert thought.
Arno, who had been brimming with confidence after killing a few bandits, felt his bravado deflate like a pricked balloon. He realized they were in a high-crime district—a neighborhood where killing a man and dumping his corpse in a gutter was a regular occurrence, a place where no one felt pity and crimes were rarely investigated.
"Let's at least go ask."
Reassuring himself that nothing terrible would happen in broad daylight, Arno approached a group of men lounging by the entrance. Whether they were guards or just killing time, the men were sitting on piles of splintered wood, rolling dice on a small makeshift table.
"Excuse me," Arno said politely. "May I ask a question? Is this the Beringen Adventurers' Guild branch?"
At his words, the men—who had been watching two rolling dice with solemn concentration—turned in unison to stare at Arno, and then at Rickert standing behind him.
"Who the hell are you?" a man with a scar over his eye spat, his tone immediately aggressive.
"I'm a courier affiliated with the Imperial Guild Bureau," Arno announced. "I'm here on business."
"Imperial? Guild Bureau? What the fuck is that?"
"Pardon?"
"I asked what the fuck that is, you bastard," the man growled, acting like a rabid dog.
Blindsided by curses when he had only asked a simple question, Arno blinked in a mix of absurdity, confusion, and fear. He was struck speechless. They don't know the Empire? What on earth does that mean?
"Arno, step back," Rickert said from behind him. His expression was calm, but his gaze was ice-cold.
While Arno froze, Rickert unfastened the straps of the basket slung over his shoulder. Basket in hand, he stepped toward the men. They watched as a kid in a crimson cloak approached, their eyes asking, What's this now?
Rickert briefly locked eyes with the scarred man before dumping the contents of his basket onto the table cluttered with dice, copper coins, and gambling tiles.
Thud. Clack.
The heavy objects crashed down, scattering coins with a loud jingle and throwing the table into disarray. Until that moment, the men had been scowling, ready to pounce. But the instant Rickert ripped the cloth away from the objects, the atmosphere shifted completely.
"Gah!"
"Holy fuck!"
Crash!
Including the scarred man, the thugs scrambled to their feet or tumbled backward, desperately trying to get away from the severed heads.
"Hey! Get out here!" someone shouted.
As if on standby, a crowd of men poured out from inside the building, surrounding Arno and Rickert.
"What is it? What's going on?"
"What's this?"
"Fuck, what is that?!"
The men who rushed out widened their eyes at the sight of the heads rolling on the table. Arno's eyes darted around like a frightened rabbit, completely at a loss.
Amidst the fear and panic, Rickert alone spoke with absolute composure, as if he commanded the entire scene.
"These are the heads of the Bilton brothers. I've come to collect the bounty."