Chapter 17
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 17
White clouds drifted across a brilliant blue sky. The breeze was cool, the sunlight warm. It was the kind of day that lifted one’s spirits for no reason at all.
Rickert gathered his coin and dagger, draped his red cloak over his shoulders, and followed Volka out of the lodging.
For some reason, Volka seemed to be in a good mood. When Boribori smiled, he looked like a ray of spring sunshine, and his cheer was infectious enough to brighten Rickert’s mood as well.
Still, while he hadn’t noticed on the way up, the descent down the sheer mountain face was far more terrifying. There were no safety railings, and the narrow steps were uneven, making it easy to lose one’s footing. The wind blew fiercely at this altitude, whipping Rickert’s hair and cloak about relentlessly.
“Someone’s going to get hurt here,” Rickert commented.
“Some kids jump on purpose,” Volka, walking ahead, said as if it were nothing. He meant they ended their own lives.
“What?”
“The Cliffs of Heaven. It used to happen all the time. Kids jumping off.”
“…What about now?”
“Haven’t seen it recently. Not for about three months, I guess?”
“…”
Rickert was at a loss for words, a sharp ache in his chest. He wanted to offer a prayer for the children who had perished, but he knew neither their faces nor their names.
Yet Volka spoke of it as if children leaping to their deaths was a mundane occurrence, nonchalantly changing the subject.
“It’s a six-hour walk. What do you want to do? Stay the night in the city, or just look around and head back? If you’re coming back today, though, I can’t go with you. I’ve got my own business to take care of.”
That meant a twelve-hour round trip. Since it was still morning, returning to the Academy lodgings on the same day would leave almost no time to spend in the city.
As Rickert pondered his options, he remembered something his eldest brother, Grout, had once told him when he was young.
You don’t make plans on a day like this.
Rickert looked up at the blue sky, dotted with fluffy white clouds. Letting the heavy mood drift away on the breeze, he said, “I’ll figure it out when we get there.”
“Sure. You said you had some coin, right?”
“Yeah.”
“In the city, money is king. Hell, money is the emperor. If you’ve got coin, you’ve got nothing to worry about.”
“It can also be the root of misfortune.”
“Haha, fair enough. But who’d be stupid enough to mess with you?”
Volka knew of Rickert’s skill, so he wasn’t worried about his safety. In truth, if Rickert were just some ordinary brat, Volka wouldn’t have even bothered walking to the city with him unless it was to introduce him to some work.
Regardless, the view of the endless fields while descending the rocky mountain was truly magnificent. It was the peak of the season, and colorful spring flowers embroidered the lush green landscape. Spring in full bloom settled softly over the land, making the staircase feel like a path descending from heaven itself.
Knowing that children had often ended their lives here tainted the beauty of the scene. Or did it make it even more beautiful? No—it simply had to be beautiful.
When they finally reached the bottom, a single dirt path stretched all the way to the city. Unpaved and forged solely by the footsteps of countless travelers, it possessed a rustic, evocative charm.
Boribori happily sprinted ahead, pointing at their surroundings and shouting, “Corydalis! Daffodils! Lily of the valley! Star bellflowers!”
He called out the names of every grass and flower in the field, on and on without end. Listening to him, Rickert realized for the first time that the plants he used to see back home all had individual names.
“You actually memorize shit like that?” Volka asked, scowling as if he’d already grown sick of it.
“But they’re so pretty! It’d be sad if nobody looked at them.”
“Oh yeah? Still pretty like this? Hah!”
Volka stomped on a yellow daffodil. Boribori flinched and fell silent. Rickert merely chuckled. Still, he walked over to the crestfallen Boribori, patted his shoulder, and spoke.
“It’ll grow back. A flower falling doesn’t mean its life is over.”
“Yeah…”
“I don’t know about Ricky, but you need to get your head on straight,” Volka scolded sharply. “You think you can just ride his coattails because you got lucky and made a good friend? What are you going to do in two years?”
Volka’s criticism of Boribori was scathing. Yet the very fact that he bothered to say anything at all suggested he was starting to care, even if just a little.
“Still, we have a six-hour walk ahead of us. Listening to flower names isn’t so bad,” Rickert offered in Boribori’s defense—though in truth, even he couldn’t understand why Boribori memorized such things.
Volka just huffed, clearly dissatisfied.
Despite being two years older than Rickert, Boribori possessed the most childlike innocence of the three.
“What’s that flower over there?” Rickert asked, trying to lift Boribori’s spirits.
“Violets.”
“And that tiny one?”
“Forget-me-nots.”
“Wow, you really know everything. I heard flowers have their own language, too. Can you tell me about it?”
At the request to explain the language of flowers, Boribori’s eyes began to shine again. “They say violets bloom right around the time swallows return from their winter migration. In the language of flowers, it means ‘eternal friendship.’”
“Is that so?”
Rickert picked three purple violets. Handing one to Boribori, he said, “Does this mean we’re friends forever?”
“…Hehehe.” Boribori grinned foolishly, taking the flower and tucking it behind his ear.
“You take one too, Volka.”
“You’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you?”
“Doing what?”
“To mess with me.”
“What are you talking about? Didn’t you hear? It means eternal friendship.”
“This kind of crap is for little girls.”
“So you don’t want it?”
“I don’t believe in this garbage.”
Contrary to his words, Volka snatched the flower from Rickert’s hand. Rickert laughed. Re-energized, Boribori began sharing tales related to the various flowers: heartbreaking stories of innocent maidens, legends of flowers blooming where a brave knight bled out, and myths of blossoms brought to earth by descending angels. Whether true or false, believable or not, the stories kept the long walk to the city from growing dull.
The wind blew, its sound rustling through the fields of grass and flowers like the crashing of ocean waves.
Whooooosh…
Below the hill, the city of Beringen had no distinct boundaries. At some point, the open fields gave way to farmland, and cattle came into view, grazing on the grass. In the distance, a castle perched atop a hill loomed over the landscape, and the population grew denser the closer they got.
Volka gestured around as he explained, “This is the Eastern District. A lot of Guild and Academy folks live here, so it’s relatively decent. But you’d better stay away from the North and the West. The Northern District is where Norse immigrants live. They’ve got their own customs, so keep your mouth shut there, or you’ll get an axe in your head. The Western District is full of locals who’ve lived here forever. They don’t take kindly to outsiders like us.”
“What about the South?” Rickert asked.
“Just a total mix. People from deep inside the Empire. Plenty of nasty scumbags among them. So as long as you lay low in the Eastern District, you’ll be safe enough. For now, let’s head to headquarters.”
Rickert and Boribori followed Volka. It was afternoon, a few hours before sunset.
Headquarters was a large, unusually shaped building. Its second floor was larger than the first, with an elevated bridge connecting it to an adjacent structure. A dedicated area for carriages held five parked vehicles. In the stables, horses relieved of their heavy tack after long journeys ate fodder and drank water.
Having visited an unofficial branch before, Rickert noted that at least this headquarters had its own dedicated building.
“The real headquarters is inside the castle,” Volka clarified. “Strictly speaking, this isn’t it, but everyone just calls it that.”
In practice, this was where most of the actual work was handled. The true headquarters inside the castle was for the high-and-mighty, who did little more than pass down orders.
“Normally, kids like you aren’t allowed inside, but I know someone, so it might be fine. Once we’re in, don’t open your mouths. More often than not, the mood in there is fucking awful.”
“Why?”
“Why do you think? Because people die.”
“Ah.”
The real work only began after surviving two years at the Academy. That was when the death toll was highest. The survivors were then divided into High-Rank, Mid-Rank, and Low-Rank.
Out of two hundred students, male and female, fewer than fifty actually attempted to become adventurers. That was how difficult and dangerous the work was. A few ran away, but most simply found other jobs.
Volka went inside, while Rickert and Boribori stood close together, looking around.
People with weapons buckled at their waists milled about. Their shadowed faces and haunted eyes told the story of the lives they led. If they were adventurers or trainees, it meant every single one of them had graduated from the Academy.
They were all upperclassmen, yet none of them radiated any positive energy. In stark contrast to the bright weather, they looked gloomy and exhausted.
Even more numerous than the adventurers were the merchants. Anyone could commission the Guild, but merchants were by far its primary clientele. Snippets of conversation drifted on the wind: whether someone had received their goods, how a certain lord had begun levying transit tolls, which gang was causing trouble, where goods were cheap, and where they were expensive.
Presently, Volka emerged from the building.
“They said it’s fine to take a quick look around. Just stay quiet and don’t wander off.”
“Okay.”
Rickert finally stepped inside the Guild headquarters. The interior looked no different from an ordinary tavern, except for the wanted posters plastered on the walls. There were so many that they weren’t neatly arranged; in some places, they were layered messily over one another.
But upon entering, Boribori spotted a man at the bar and gasped, his body trembling. It was the man who had hit him and poured water over his head on his very first day.
The man had a sword at his waist and was chatting with the bartender. Noticing Rickert and Boribori trailing Volka, the bartender offered a friendly greeting.
“Ah, so these are the kids. You boys need to eat well and grow big. Make yourselves comfortable. No alcohol, though. Learning to drink before you’re old enough ruins a person.”
It sounded like decent advice. At any rate, when the bartender addressed their group, the man he had been talking to naturally glanced over.
The moment his eyes met Rickert’s, he jolted in a panic. “Huh? Uh—uh.”
“Hello,” Rickert greeted him politely.
“A-Ah, yes. Uh, are the lodgings treating you well?”
“Yes. They seem fine.”
“Ah… yes…”
As a capable adventurer and Academy graduate fumbled nervously, Volka, Boribori, and even the bartender stared with wide eyes. Volka and Boribori were utterly flabbergasted, completely unable to make sense of the situation.
The senior adventurer’s panic was simple: Rickert was a noble.
Rickert had also encountered the man on his first day. But when Rickert had shown him his admission permit, the man had become visibly flustered. Seeing that reaction, Rickert had realized he shouldn’t reveal his nobility if he wanted a comfortable life at the Academy, which was why he had started going by his nickname instead of his real name.
From the senior’s perspective, treating Rickert like a noble felt awkward, yet treating him carelessly was impossible. It made dealing with him uncomfortable and daunting. Rickert was not the eldest son, but he was a legitimate son—a true noble. And bastards were inherently intimidated by legitimate heirs. The senior, too, was a bastard.
“I-I’ll get back to it. Excuse me.”
He abandoned his drink and hurried away, bowing politely to Rickert before he left.
Volka and Boribori turned to stare at Rickert, their eyes demanding an explanation.
Rickert shrugged and offered a simple excuse. “I didn’t beat him up or anything.”
Even if he was a good fighter, could he really have beaten a senior? In a profession where strength was king, becoming an official adventurer meant possessing skill on a completely different level.
The bartender, who had been watching with wide eyes, soon relaxed his expression as understanding dawned. He had heard rumors that a noble was joining the Academy and realized this boy must be the one.
Unlike the man who had fled, the bartender remained composed. Dealing with all sorts of people every day had made him sharp. Sensing that Rickert didn't want to flaunt his status, he quickly changed the subject.
“Looks like Hunt’s losing his mind from all the drinking. See? Liquor’s no good for you. Anyway, Volka, have you heard the rumor?”
“Huh? What rumor?”
“You know Roach, right?”
“Ah… yeah.”
Roach didn’t have a good reputation. He was a decent fighter, but there were whispers that he secretly committed crimes. On top of that, he was a thug, so few people liked him. While adventurers weren't honorable like knights, they weren't immoral like bandits, either. They had a line, and Roach was famous for walking dangerously close to it.
“Word is he got a hole poked right through his chin. Pierced his tongue, too, so he can’t even eat properly.” The bartender gestured, poking a finger under his own chin.
“Why? How’d that happen? I thought he was pretty capable.”
“Seems he tried messing with a woman from the Bletter Clan. That’s why you gotta stay humble in this business. Skill isn’t everything. Mark my words, that bastard’s gonna die soon. He’s made enemies everywhere. Idiot.”
Though they belonged to the same Guild, the bartender despised Roach enough to practically curse him to death. Or perhaps it wasn’t a curse, but simple foresight.
“What’s a clan?” Rickert asked. He had been curious for a while but hadn’t had a chance to ask.
The bartender wiped a cup with a towel as he answered. “A clan is a group of like-minded people in the Guild who stick together. Skill is great, but trust comes first. That’s why your time at the Academy is so important. The kids who stick together there keep sticking together later. After all, nobody knows better than them who’s skilled and who can be trusted.”
So the Guild was essentially a collection of clans. Though not a strict hierarchy, that was how it worked in practice. The Guild provided clans with work, passed down directives, and, most importantly, granted them legality through its ties to the Emperor. That was what mattered most.
“Are you an Academy graduate too, mister?” Rickert asked, leaning his arms on the bar. The counter came up to his chest.
“Mister? Me? Hahaha, sorry to disappoint, but I’m no Academy grad. I was just an adventurer. A fixer for the Guild, you could say. I retired from fixing and do this now, but I’m still with the Guild. Providing weary adventurers with a warm place to sleep and passing along Guild orders now and then.”
“What’s a fixer?”
“A fixer is a fixer. Someone who ‘takes care of business.’”
“That’s what I’m asking. What does that mean?”
“In this line of work, ‘taking care of business’ means getting the client the result they want, no matter the means.”
“Uh… is that something scary?”
“Could be, could not be.”
“I see. By the way, do you have a room where three of us can stay for the night?” Rickert asked, pulling a coin pouch from his cloak.
But the bartender shook his head. “Since it’s your first visit, I’ll let you stay one night for free. I have that much discretion. Head upstairs and take the last room on the right.”
“Thank you. What’s your name, mister? I’m Ricky.”
“…I suppose it beats being called ‘mister.’ I’m Dunkel.”
“Is that your real name?”
Dunkel smiled faintly, put down the cup he was wiping, and leaned closer to Rickert, lowering his voice so others couldn’t hear.
“Is ‘Young Lord’ your real name?”
The bartender who called himself Dunkel had a neat appearance, with well-groomed brown hair and a trimmed beard. Yet hidden beneath his casual gaze was the sharpness of a dagger. Rickert could see it.
Rickert simply smiled back without a word. Then he turned to his two companions. “Let’s unpack first, then go look around. What do you think?”
But Volka and Boribori were both staring blankly at him, completely thunderstruck.
“What’s wrong?”
“…Huh? Oh, no. Yeah, let’s do that,” Volka snapped back to his senses. It was strange. This wasn’t the kind of place that showed hospitality just because it was your first visit. In fact, hospitality didn’t suit this place at all.
As for Boribori, he was utterly speechless at how casually Rickert dealt with such dangerous people.
Feeling bewildered, the two followed Rickert up the stairs.
Silence fell over the hall, leaving only adventurers slumped over tables sleeping or gloomily sipping their drinks.
A woman approached Dunkel.
“Well?”
“Seems easygoing enough.”
“No. Not that.”
“I didn’t feel any mana from him.”
“So was Roach just an idiot, or has the boy learned his family’s secret swordsmanship?”
In truth, those in the know were already aware that Rickert had bested Roach. That was why the Guild had been quietly keeping an eye on him since he joined the Academy.
“Probably both.”
“Hmm… So, are you going to test him?”
Dunkel pulled out a bottle of liquor, poured it into the glass he had been wiping, and handed it to the woman as he shook his head.
“No. That’s not our job. It’s the Academy’s.”