Chapter 13
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 13
The thin walls might as well have not been there. From the next room came the rhythmic thumping of a bed and the shameless moans of a man and woman in the throes of passion.
Yet Rickert and Sandy, sitting in their own room at the inn, looked completely unbothered.
After the events of the afternoon, such noises were hardly enough to stir emotions that had long since hardened to stone.
Sandy leaned against the window frame, her gaze lost in the night sky. Countless stars glittered above, but it was the overwhelming darkness between them that truly dominated the expanse.
Before long, the thumping from next door stopped. Silence descended, thick and heavy.
“What are you, really?”
After six hours of absolute silence since the incident, they were Sandy’s first words.
“What do you mean?”
“Roach became a high-rank adventurer on pure skill. You might get the drop on the Bilton brothers and kill them, but not Roach. Never.”
There was a limit to how extraordinary someone could be. A ten-year-old boy overwhelming a top-ranked adventurer from the Academy, one who had trained in the Mana Drive, was simply too absurd to comprehend.
Rickert considered her question carefully before answering.
“Every attack has a focal point where all the force is gathered. That point shifts from moment to moment, but if you can catch it at the right instant and deflect it in the right direction, the attacker’s own momentum will destroy them. It’s like holding a spear steady at the forehead of a charging boar. I don’t even need to thrust. I didn’t break his sword—that man, Roach, broke it himself.”
It wasn’t a perfect metaphor, but it was the principle of a counter, applied to armed combat.
“That’s what I mean… That’s easy to say, but how do you actually do it?”
“You get better with practice. Eventually, you can do it as easily as breathing. On a battlefield, you don’t have time to swing your weapon more than once. You have to kill with a single strike, every single time. If you don’t, a stray spear or arrow will kill you first.”
All martial arts were born from necessity. Swordsmanship for the battlefield had to be simple, efficient, and lethal. It wasn't just about killing as many enemies as possible; it was the only way to survive.
Sandy turned from the window to stare at Rickert. He looked every bit the part of a cute young master from a noble house. He couldn’t have fought in a war at his age, and even if he had, he couldn’t possibly have that much experience.
“You said you were from a knightly family, right? Did your father teach you all this? From a young age?”
“Yeah, something like that,” Rickert answered vaguely.
Sandy fell into thought for a moment before speaking again. “I’ve seen plenty of talented kids. And on rare occasions, I’ve seen monstrous geniuses who make the talented ones look ordinary. But Ricky, I’ve never seen anyone like you.”
“Is that a compliment?”
“A compliment? Hmm, let’s call it that. But… it was also a little terrifying.”
“And now?”
Sandy just watched him in silence for a long moment. Her expression shifted as she seemed to be re-evaluating everything she had seen of the boy that day. For some reason, Rickert’s words from earlier—So what?—had been echoing in her mind all day. The tone, the cadence, the absolute sincerity behind them.
Finally, Sandy’s eyebrows gave a playful twitch, and a smile touched her lips.
“Let’s just say you’re less of a kid than I thought.”
“Hahaha…”
Rickert chuckled, and the tension that had hung between them finally began to dissipate.
It was late, and the two of them slept in the same bed, clad only in their underwear. It was the first time Rickert had shared a bed with a woman who wasn't his mother.
He hadn’t lied to Sandy, but he hadn’t told her everything, either. He hadn’t told her that he felt sorry for her, or that he was glad she had companions who were like family to her. He knew that half-hearted sympathy was the greatest insult of all, so he kept those thoughts buried deep inside.
Tomorrow, he would finally arrive at the Academy. His four-day journey was coming to an end.
Every meeting was just a prelude to a parting. Cradled in Sandy’s arms, Rickert thought of the people who had passed through his life.
Arno, Daisy, Kaufman, Sandy’s companions, his family… and one by one, the faces of those who had fallen on the battlefields of his previous life.
The night deepened.
*
Beringen, the capital of the Margraviate of Beringen, was a military fortress city. It had no choice but to be, as it was the territory tasked with defending the frontier.
To the east lay a low mountain range, and beyond it stretched a forest teeming with monsters where humans dared not tread: goblins, orcs, undead, man-eating spiders, werewolves, trolls, and worse. While a man might be able to handle a single beast, human strength was no match for them once they formed hordes. The wisest choice was to mark the boundary and never, ever cross it.
Historical records told of occasional large-scale orc invasions, none of which humanity had ever successfully repelled. The accounts merely described how the orcs would lay waste to the land, eat their fill, fracture into warring factions, and eventually withdraw on their own. In short, a full-scale monster invasion was treated like a natural disaster—an earthquake, a tsunami, a hurricane. One could only pray it passed quickly.
Far to the north lay the sea, a domain frequented by Norsemen who sailed down in their longships. They were merchants one day and marauders the next—trading peacefully when it suited them, but turning to war the moment the winds changed.
In other words, Beringen’s sole purpose was to hold the line against invasion. The alternative was to become prey. Preventing foreign threats from penetrating deeper into the Empire was Beringen’s duty, its inescapable fate.
Beringen Fortress was built atop a large hill that had been flattened, elevating it above the surrounding terrain. Sturdy stone walls encircled the entire summit. A population of about two hundred resided within, though the Margrave himself did not live there. Instead, an estate steward was stationed to oversee its administration.
Far more people lived below the hill. A population of around ten thousand was scattered across the plains at its base, farming, hunting, grazing livestock, and plying their trades, all without the protection of the walls.
Beringen Academy, however, was located neither atop the hill nor at its base.
A half-day’s journey from the city, perched atop a sheer, rocky mountain, stood another small, outpost-like fortress. This ancient structure was Beringen Academy.
Climbing the narrow set of stairs carved into the cliff face led to a castle gate, where an inscription emanated a heavy, chilling aura:
<Discipline Shall Set You Free.>
A young boy stood staring up at the inscription in a daze, beads of sweat glistening on his forehead from the grueling climb.
“What’s this? Who the hell are you?”
Startled by the sudden, aggressive question, the boy snapped back to his senses. Someone slightly older than him—perhaps sixteen or seventeen—was slouched against the gate, a sword at his waist, glaring down.
“Ah… I-I’m Boribori. I came from Duisen… Mr. Hartmann sent me. He said I could get food and a place to sleep here…”
“Bori-what? What did you say your name was?”
“Boribori.”
“Are you fucking with me?”
“N-no! My real name is Boribori…”
The sword-wielding boy scowled as he sized Boribori up. He had yellowish-brown hair in a bowl cut, vaguely sad-looking eyes, a cute button nose, and a somewhat large mouth. It was hard to tell his exact age, but he looked to be around ten or twelve, and of average height.
The problem was that Boribori looked like a literal beggar.
“Go wash up first. You’re fucking filthy.”
“S-sorry.”
“Hey.”
“Huh?”
“We don’t say ‘sorry’ here. Got it?”
“Huh?”
“Say ‘huh’ to me one more time and I’ll beat you to a pulp.”
“S-sorry…”
“Why, you little bastard!”
Thwack!
Without warning, the older boy launched a front kick straight into Boribori’s gut. Taking the blow head-on, Boribori doubled over and dropped to his knees, gasping for air.
“What the fuck is wrong with your ears? If you want to live, don’t make me repeat myself, you filthy brat.”
He grabbed Boribori by the hair and dragged him toward a well in the courtyard. A few passing students glanced over; some snickered, but most paid them no mind. The boy hauled up a bucket of water and, without hesitation, doused Boribori with it.
Splash!
Already reeling from the kick, Boribori was left dazed and shivering violently from the shock of the ice-cold water.
“Strip.”
“…”
Boribori almost reflexively blurted out “Huh?” but quickly clamped his mouth shut and complied. He stripped bare in the middle of the open courtyard, in broad daylight. Anyone else might have felt humiliated, but as a bastard who had lived a life of abuse and bullying, he endured it without much thought.
The older boy dumped a few more buckets of water over him before pointing a thumb toward one of the buildings.
“Throw those clothes away, finish scrubbing yourself clean, and get in there.”
With that, he walked off.
Cold, his stomach still aching terribly, Boribori stood naked and trembling like a prisoner of war. Shivering uncontrollably, he hoisted bucket after bucket of water to scrub himself down. Among the students watching from a distance, some giggled—including a few girls.
Boribori scrubbed until the water ran clean, then covered his privates with his hands and walked toward the building the boy had indicated.
He opened the door cautiously and stepped inside. The room was vast, filled with sixty bunk beds stretching into the distance, leaving only a narrow aisle down the center.
“Who the fuck are you?”
Another hostile question flew his way. It seemed people here greeted newcomers with aggression, not curiosity.
“I-I’m Boribori. It’s my first day…”
“So what?”
“Huh? Ah, I mean… sorry, no…” Forbidden from saying ‘huh’ or ‘sorry,’ Boribori was at a complete loss for words.
“Don’t stand there showing off that ugly mug. Go find a corner and disappear.”
“He says his name is Boribori? What kind of stupid name is that? Hehehe.”
“Hey, if you’re gonna croak, do it somewhere far away. If you die and make us clean up your corpse, I’ll fucking kill you myself.”
Remarks flew in from all directions—not a single kind word, only contempt and hatred.
They told him to find a corner, but the beds were packed so tightly there wasn't a corner to be found.
Unable to even dry himself, Boribori tiptoed naked down the aisle and cautiously sat on what looked like an empty bed. The kids nearby snickered.
A moment later, a few more boys entered from a door at the far end of the room. One of them, a hulking figure larger than most grown men with a face that looked like it belonged to a man in his forties, walked over to where Boribori was sitting.
“Hey.”
“…Yes?”
“You wanna die?”
Boribori stared up at him blankly, consumed by mortal terror. The giggling around them grew louder. The hulking boy glared at the snickering onlookers and snapped, “Hey, you fucking cunts. You bastards just standing there watching are even more irritating. You all wanna die?”
“S-sorry, Molty. Hey, kid, come over here.”
A boy standing a short distance away called out to Boribori, who scrambled up and hurried over.
“This bed is empty. Clean it up a bit and you can stay here.”
For an “empty bed,” it was far from clean, cluttered with random trash.
“T-thanks.”
“Don’t say ‘thanks’ in this place. No ‘sorry’ either. And when you’re walking down the aisle, you always step aside first.”
“Got it.”
“Hierarchy is everything here. It’s not an absolute rule, but guys on the top bunks are generally ranked higher, and the farther back you go, the stronger they are. If you want a specific spot or don’t want to move aside for someone, you have to fight for it.”
“…”
“Dry yourself off with this, and wear these. They belonged to the guy who used this bed before you.”
They weren’t new clothes. They hadn’t even been washed. But Boribori wasn’t in a position to be picky. Swallowing the ‘thanks’ that rose to his throat, he silently got dressed.
“By the way… where did the guy who used this bed go?”
“He died.”
“Huh?”
“He’s dead. Around here, you have to earn your own money for everything. Guess he got caught in a sword fight while working down in the city. He was trying to make some quick cash.”
“…”
“Don’t worry too much. There are safe jobs. He just got greedy.”
Boribori was speechless. An overwhelming sense that he had come to the wrong place washed over him. But if he left, where would he go? His family had always treated him like a useless nuisance; that place was just as brutal as this one.
Having nowhere else to go was a story shared by most of the kids here. Though a few left from time to time, a surprising number stayed. Here, at least, they could feel a shallow sense of belonging that even their own families had failed to provide.
Boribori was no different. Born the son of a maid, he had grown up watching the legitimate children of the house torment his mother, even forcing him to join in on the abuse. He had left home with only a few words: I’m sorry, Mother. I can’t live like this anymore.
There wasn’t a single kid here who didn’t have a miserable backstory. If anything, their stories were usually worse than Boribori’s, never better.
That night, Boribori was thrown under a blanket and beaten black and blue.
“Welcome to the Chicken Coop, newbie!” the kids yelled.
He was beaten until he passed out. When he opened his eyes, it was morning. Aside from a few students resting inside, most had already left for classes or gone down to the city. Their ages ranged from twelve to sixteen, with vast differences in physique.
Boribori adapted slowly, keeping his head down. He explored the dormitory and managed to get acquainted with a few kids he could talk to, even if they weren’t friends.
A month passed quickly. He saw other newcomers subjected to the same harsh hazing he had endured.
Then came a new recruit wearing a red cloak. He had blond hair and hazel eyes. Unlike Boribori, this newcomer wasn’t dressed like a beggar; he looked quite neat.
“Hey, who the fuck are you?” a boy standing near the entrance asked provocatively.
Boribori watched silently from a distance.
“Ricky.” The newcomer was none other than Rickert.
“Ricky? That’s a pretty little name for a brat like you.”
“What’s your name?”
“What?”
“I asked what your name is.”
“The fuck do you care? You wanna die?”
“You shouldn’t say things you don’t mean.”
“W-what did you just say?”
“So, where’s my bed? I’m new here.”
Boribori’s eyes widened. Though he hadn’t been here long, he had never seen a newcomer act so bold. Every single one before this had cowered and taken their beating. He wasn’t the only one who felt it; all eyes in the room were now drawn to the entrance.
“Y-you crazy bastard… You really wanna die?”
“Sorry, but you’re not scary at all. It doesn’t suit you.”
“W-what?!” The boy picking the fight could only blink in dumbfounded disbelief.
“Well now, looks like we got an interesting one for a change,” someone remarked.
Intending to teach the newcomer a lesson, several boys got off their beds and approached him. One of them snuck up from behind, holding a blanket.
“Hey.”
“Yeah?”
“This won’t do. Time for your beating.”
At that exact moment, the boy in the rear threw the blanket over Rickert’s head. As the others rushed in to stomp him, a blur of motion flashed before the eyes of the boy standing face-to-face with Rickert.
Smack!
Then came a chaotic flurry of dull, heavy thuds.
CRACK! THWACK! BAM! SMACK!
Boribori’s eyes bulged. He couldn’t even process what had just happened, but the result was clear: Rickert was the only one left standing, surrounded by boys groaning on the floor.
“Ugh…”
“Ah… fuck…”
Rickert grabbed one of the boys by his hair and slammed his head into a nearby bedpost.
THUD!
With blood gushing from his nose, the boy collapsed in a heap. The blanket was now draped over Rickert’s arm. He looked back and forth between the blanket and the fallen boys.
Then, he said something utterly unbelievable.
“Ah, was this an initiation ritual? My mistake. Should we try again?”