Chapter 22
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 22
A few items were essential for rough outdoor work like war or hunting. One was a good pair of gloves, and the other was sturdy footwear.
Without gloves, lifting heavy objects or handling coarse gear would quickly tear up one’s hands or rip off their fingernails.
As for sturdy shoes, nothing was more disastrous in the field than having a hole blown through your boots. It wasn’t as if you could just go buy a new pair somewhere.
Therefore, footwear made of tough leather that could withstand rough terrain and had durable soles was an absolute necessity.
Other essentials included coats and cloaks for sleeping outdoors. As for rations… well, they weren't heading off to an actual war, so bringing just enough personal provisions would suffice.
…Or so Volka rambled on, explaining all this in front of everyone.
But since they all knew this already, his audience was indifferent. Volka’s face fell, deflated.
“...Ah, a dagger is essential too. You need it for all sorts of things. Ricky, you already have one, so you’re good… Anything else?”
A dagger was not only a weapon but also a versatile tool for daily life. The difference between having one and not having one was night and day.
Listening quietly to Volka's explanation while wearing his newly bought gloves and boots, Rickert thought that the list of required supplies hadn't changed much in a hundred years.
If anything, Rickert knew far more about these things than Volka, who was still green when it came down to it.
Still, Volka was the leader. No matter how close they were as friends, Rickert felt that his position and authority ought to be respected in an official setting. Thus, he refrained from interrupting, adding remarks, or interfering.
A total of fourteen students were participating in this request: Rickert, Volka, and Molty; four unfamiliar female students; two unfamiliar male students; and the five from Ice's gang.
Just as the Adventurers' Guild was made up of various clans, their party naturally split into three groups.
Rickert, Volka, and Molty formed one group; the four girls and two boys formed another; and Ice's gang formed the third.
On the surface, however, they were a single team sent by the Academy to support the operation.
“So what's the request about?” one of the unfamiliar male students asked Volka, his expression blunt. He used to be one of the students who collected tribute money, but now he was keeping a low profile.
The students generally accepted the results of their fights, so there hadn't been any major trouble or backlash lately. After all, no one needed to be taught the value of their own life.
“Like I said before, we're basically taking off deserters' heads. Sounds like quite a few ran off. Since we're only here as backup, though, we need to meet up with the Jagd Clan first. The rendezvous point is our guild's hideout on the outskirts of Griffinswald. Anyone know where Griffinswald is?”
Two or three raised their hands. Volka hadn't asked because he didn’t know; he was just checking. He proceeded to explain for those who were clueless.
“It's not that far from here. About a two-day walk southeast. If we force-marched, we could get there in a day, but since we still have a week before the meeting, there's no rush. I'd like to set off tomorrow or the day after. Any objections?”
Volka definitely possessed leadership skills. Leadership came in many styles, and his leaned toward actively listening to his members' opinions. He gathered their thoughts, set a goal everyone could agree on, and encouraged them to follow voluntarily. It was a good form of leadership—after all, shouting and coercion were just another form.
However, no one voiced any objections. They were still too awkward around one another.
Volka turned to Ice and asked, “Ice, do you have anything to say?”
Ice simply shook his head. The female students watching him had dreamy expressions on their faces. He really was unnaturally handsome. The four boys who tagged along with him were equally good-looking.
As usual, Ice remained silent, but Rickert decided to speak up. “I'm curious, though. How did you become Rank 1 in the first place?”
Coming from Rickert, the current Rank 1, the question subtly shifted the atmosphere—unintended as it was. The two of them had never actually fought each other directly.
Ice stared at Rickert quietly before answering, “Just because.”
“By the way, you're really handsome. Are you a descendant of elves or something?”
“Don't know.”
He kept giving short, clipped answers.
“Do you not want to talk to me?”
“...”
Ice turned his head away, remaining silent. He was clearly uninterested in continuing the conversation.
If he didn't want to talk, what could be done? Rickert wasn't particularly offended, but another issue troubled him. The only reason he had bothered to strike up a conversation was that he felt a degree of bonding was necessary, considering they were embarking on something akin to a military operation.
Theirs was a line of work that dealt with weapons and life-or-death stakes; they needed to be able to trust one another in an emergency. When such situations arose, there was no time to hesitate or weigh decisions. You either trusted your comrades and charged, or you ran together.
But aside from being fellow Academy students, they had no connection to Ice's gang, making it impossible to know if they could be trusted. If Rickert at least knew they were untrustworthy, he could stay on guard, but Ice's group was a complete unknown.
Seemingly understanding why Rickert had tried to talk to them, Volka looked at Ice and his group for a moment before speaking. “They'll handle themselves. Alright then, let's set off tomorrow.”
With the decision made, Ice and his gang left without a backward glance. The other students dispersed as well.
Only Rickert, Volka, and Molty remained. The three of them wandered around the city buying various necessities: potions, herbs, bandages, and travel provisions. These had to be paid for out of pocket, and Rickert covered most of the expenses. As a result, he was left with barely any money.
*
The next day, Rickert left the Academy and headed toward Griffinswald with the others.
Molty carried the luggage in a pack large enough to cover his entire broad back. His weapons were a one-handed axe and a shield. His helmet and round shield were strapped securely to the pack.
Since they might have to camp, all the students wore cloaks, concealing their bodies and making it impossible for others to discern the state of their gear. All five members of Ice's gang wore pitch-black cloaks. They looked like an order of death knights straight out of a fairy tale. The other students’ cloaks were dark brown or other muted colors, so Rickert stood out in his bright crimson.
Even though the weather was somewhat warm, the students wore thick coats. This was because they served as a substitute for armor. Weapons, armor, and horses were astronomically expensive. Metal armor was beyond their wildest dreams, and helmets were just as pricey—not because of the amount of iron required, but because forging them demanded advanced smithing techniques.
Thus, gambesons—padded cotton coats—were widely used for both daily wear and combat. Unless one was a knight or a wealthy mercenary, almost everyone wore them.
Molty was the only one with a helmet, which he hadn't bought; the blacksmiths at the smithy had gifted it to him, wishing him good fortune in battle.
Be that as it may, the Academy students set out to support the adventurers, reasonably well-prepared in their own right.
Volka took the lead as the vanguard commander, the other students walked in the middle, and Ice's gang brought up the rear. They hadn't formally set a formation; it just naturally ended up that way.
Rickert walked down the road stretching to the southeast, a different path from the one he had taken with Sandy. The road he had traveled with her was at least a main highway with relatively decent security, but this road leading southeast felt ominous from the start.
Right in the roadside bushes lay old bones. They weren't animal bones; from the looks of it, it was a human shinbone. Once again, he was back in a world where death lurked just around the corner.
Still, perhaps because they were chosen from the top ranks, nobody lost their nerve at the sight. They simply marched on in silence.
Having set out in the morning, the road entered a forest by noon. The party stepped into the woods—a peaceful place filled with the chirping of birds, at least on the surface. Beringen was a frontier region, which meant monsters could appear if they were unlucky. It was by no means a safe forest.
Everyone stayed on guard as they walked. Fortunately, nothing out of the ordinary happened before sunset.
As night fell, the party built campfires at a suitable site that travelers seemed to frequent. There were three campfires in total, with the three groups of students sitting slightly apart from one another.
It felt like they were traveling together, but not really together at all.
Rickert used the same dagger he had used to snap opponents’ swords and kill men to slice ham and cheese. As he ate, he called out to the female students.
“Hey. You.”
The girls turned to look at him, though none of them answered.
“Do you girls have ranks too?”
“No,” one of the girls replied.
“Then what?”
“We have classes. It's a bit complicated, but broadly speaking, there are maids, ladies-in-waiting, ladies, and princesses. Those below lady-in-waiting just wait on others and don't receive separate training. Only ladies and princesses train.”
Childish beyond belief, Rickert thought. Calling themselves ladies and princesses when they’re just bastards or commoners? Of course, he didn't care enough to argue about it.
“Then are you girls princesses or ladies?”
“None of us are princesses.”
“Did they stay behind at the Academy?”
“No. They died. Participating in requests like this one. If we make it back alive from this, we'll probably become princesses.”
So even the girls are ruthless. It seemed there hadn't been any princesses for a while. For the boys, it was a ranking system where a vacancy at the top automatically bumped everyone up, but it wasn't like that for the girls.
“What happens if you become a princess?”
“It just feels amazing, I guess? Unlike your dorm, ours is divided into five rooms. A princess is basically the head of her room. You get to do whatever you want inside the dorm, you're the only ‘good’ girl, you're the prettiest, you're the strongest—stuff like that.”
“...Absurd,” Volka muttered while carving a baked potato with his knife. He had dated a female student once, so he knew about this setup, but hearing it again was still ridiculous.
“So do maids and ladies-in-waiting just wait on others until graduation?” Rickert asked.
“If they're lucky, they might get to keep doing it even after graduation.”
“...That's lucky? Doing that?”
“Yeah. What else are they going to do to earn a living? They aren't pretty, and they don't have any skills. They were all abandoned by their families anyway, so they have nowhere else to go.”
“Right... I suppose so.”
It was a bitter reality. Rickert felt a pang of pity, but he knew there was nothing he could do for them. It wasn't as if teaching them swordplay would magically make them good at it, nor was he going to marry them all to support them.
“Anyway, aren't you interested in girls? Maybe because you're still young? How old are you?” the girl asked.
“Eleven.”
“Then you're about at the age where you should start knowing about that stuff.”
“Unfortunately, I don't believe in things like love.”
At Rickert's words, the girls' eyes went wide, and then they cackled with laughter.
“We don't believe in it either!”
Rickert offered an awkward smile.
“Hahaha…”
“Don't bother talking to those girls,” Volka advised quietly. “Their personalities are way too fierce. No matter how good you are at fighting, Ricky, they'll eat you alive before you even realize it.”
“Yeah… I'll be careful.”
Rickert gave another sheepish chuckle at Volka's advice. He wasn't offended. Though wasn't Volka the one who dated a female student before?
Still, it was certainly true that they had fierce temperaments. Girls who trained in swordsmanship and combat were hardly ordinary. In fact, the two boys hanging out with them seemed somehow cowed.
That aside, based strictly on appearance, the girls were exceptionally pretty. There was a common rumor that bastards were usually handsome and beautiful. After all, when people had affairs, they tended to do so with handsome men or gorgeous women, not just anyone. The rumor seemed to hold some truth; nobles’ bastards often had high-class prostitutes for mothers.
“Shouldn't we set up a night watch?” Molty said.
“Since there are a lot of us, how about we pick six? Two from each group,” Rickert suggested. Volka nodded in ready agreement, and no one else, including Ice's gang, raised any objections. Thus, it was decided that two from each of the three groups would stand watch.
Standing watch for someone meant guarding and trusting them. In this small way, they seemed to be drawing a little closer.
*
The group spent the night that way and set off early the next morning toward the rendezvous point. Having passed the first day without incident, everyone seemed a bit more relaxed.
Slung over one shoulder was a sword too large for his frame as Rickert walked behind Volka.
Yet even after walking all through the previous day and into this afternoon, the forest path showed no signs of ending. That was because Griffinswald itself was a settlement nestled deep within a forest.
Just as Rickert began to think they ought to run into locals like herb gatherers or hunters soon, something caught his eye. At a glance, it looked like a bush swaying gently in the wind, but to his eye, there was something artificial about it.
“Volka.”
“Huh?”
Rickert called out and gestured with his chin toward the suspicious spot. Volka looked over, and soon the other students focused their gazes there as well. On the surface, nothing seemed out of place, but perhaps because Rickert had pointed it out, the spot now appeared strangely ominous.
The procession ground to a halt, everyone warily scanning their surroundings. Suddenly, from the very spot Rickert had suspected, someone popped up and hurled a spear with all their might.
Whoosh!
From the opposite side of the road, hidden attackers emerged all at once.
Rustle! Rustle! Rustle-rustle!
Judging from the rustling of the grass, there were far more than just a few of them. An ambush. It was a blessing in disguise that they weren't monsters, but whether monster or human, their intent to kill was unmistakable.
“Who the hell are you?!”
The startled students panicked.
Even though they ranked among the Academy's top, faced with actual combat—and a surprise attack at that—they couldn't even draw their weapons properly. Overwhelmed by shock and confusion, they flailed helplessly.
“Eek!” a girl shrieked.
From that point on, it became a desperate, messy brawl against the unknown assailants. They completely forgot everything they had trained for, relying on brute, clumsy instinct. Still, the fact that they stood their ground instead of fleeing was commendable in itself.
Of course, commendable or not, survival took absolute priority.
One of the attackers closed in rapidly on Rickert, thrusting his sword. Rickert reflexively pivoted out of the way, grabbed the sword resting on his shoulder, and smashed the pommel up into the man's jaw.
Crack!
The attacker's head snapped back before he collapsed face-first onto the ground. Without a second to check on him, Rickert unsheathed his sword and tossed the scabbard aside.
He dashed toward the girl he had spoken with the previous night. She had managed to deflect an attack but had fallen flat on her back and was now in grave danger. An enemy raised his sword high to strike down. All the girl could do was hold her blade up like a stick to block. Positioned like that, the force of the downward blow would shatter her guard and split her head open.
Swish—!
Clang!
In the nick of time, Rickert leaped in and parried the downward slash. Grasping the ricasso—the unsharpened base of his blade—he thrust the sword into the enemy's stomach like a short spear. As he ripped the blade free, blood gushed from the wound, and the enemy dropped to his knees with wide, vacant eyes.
“Fuck…”
The blade was dripping with blood. Rickert barked at the girl as if enraged.
“Get up!”
This was no situation for gentle words. The chaotic clashing of steel echoed from all sides.
Rickert swept his gaze across the area, instantly assessing the enemy's numbers. Over thirty in all. Far too many.
“Volka!”
The enemies were too numerous and jumbled together for Rickert to spot Volka clearly. But a shout confirmed he was still alive.
“Ricky!”
Rickert charged blindly in that direction.
In the chaos of the melee, the attackers lacked coordination. Amidst the frenzy, Rickert caught enough details to realize these men were definitely no ordinary bandits. But whatever their identity, the students needed to regroup first. Fighting on like this was suicide. If they stayed, sheer numbers would wipe them out.
Rather than trying to kill every enemy, Rickert focused on thrusting and slashing to carve an escape route. Screams of agony broke out around them, along with desperate calls of unfamiliar names.
Reaching Volka's side, Rickert saw his friend’s face flushed red, holding a sword that wasn't even his own—and even that blade was bent. Molty was weaponless, holding his shield with both hands and using his massive physique to slam into and drive back the attackers. Blood streamed down Molty's flank; he had been hit by the spear from the initial ambush.
“This way!” Rickert bellowed. Instinctively, he aimed to break through the weakest point in the enemy's line.
Attackers moved to block them, but Rickert halted sharply, caught the perfect timing, and swung his sword in a wide horizontal arc.
Whoosh!
Clang! Shatter!
With a sound that cleaved the air, three attackers' weapons snapped like dried stalks. Stunned, the ambushers froze. Capitalizing on the momentum, Rickert lunged forward, sending them scrambling backward.
Taking advantage of the gap, Rickert cleared a path and got Volka and Molty out.
“Over here!”
Volka and Molty were utterly disoriented from the frenzied fighting, moving solely on the direction of Rickert's voice. The other students scrambled after them in a frantic herd.
Rickert, however, stayed behind to fight off the pursuing enemies, holding them back completely before catching up to the rest.
After sprinting blindly into the forest off the main path, it was hard to tell where they were, but fortunately, Rickert found the spot where Volka and Molty were hiding. The other students who had fled were already gathered there. The girls' hair was disheveled, and the boys looked completely shell-shocked.
Two of the five in Ice's gang were missing. That brought their current headcount to nine. There had originally been fourteen.
Unlike his usual demeanor, Ice looked disheveled, gasping heavily with dilated pupils.
Molty leaned against a rock wall, struggling for breath. Forcing his pack off his back, he choked out, “T-Take it.”
Ignoring him, Rickert sat beside him and drew his dagger. He ripped open Molty's clothes, exposing the wound. Molty must have pulled the spear out in his panic, as the spearhead was gone. But because of the barbed tip, the wound was severe. Blood was spurting out in heavy gushes.
Rickert pressed his hand firm against Molty's wound. His palm was instantly stained crimson.
“Potions. Get the potions out.”
Rickert barked at the surrounding students. But one of them was trembling so violently he couldn't even pull a potion from his bag.
“Get it out, fast! You bastard!”
Rickert whipped his head around, snarling like a wild beast. It was a habit from his past life—in a crisis, his senses sharpened to a lethal edge.
Though trembling just as badly, Volka couldn’t stand by any longer. He stepped in, snatched the bag away, and pulled out a potion, handing it to Rickert.
Rickert poured water from his canteen to wash the wound, then popped the potion open and doused the injury. He made Molty drink what was left. Each bottle cost a gold coin, but he didn't hesitate for a second.
Next, he pulled out a needle and thread, stitched the gash closed, and slathered on nearly an entire jar of ointment before wrapping it tightly with bandages.
While everyone else was falling apart, Rickert had single-handedly carved out their escape route, held off their pursuers, and personally treated the wounded.
After finishing the emergency treatment, Rickert finally caught his breath and looked down at Molty. Having lost so much blood, Molty was in no condition to fight. Potions were just first aid; they couldn't instantly heal an injury this severe.
“Haa… haa… haa…”
“Molty. It’s over. You’ll live. Got lucky, huh? Just stay with me.”
“Haa… haa… Haha… hahaha…”
His face deathly pale, Molty managed a weak chuckle. As long as he rested quietly, he would survive. The real problem was the approaching enemies. They didn't even have time to wonder if the other five were alive or dead before their pursuers closed in.
Just then, Ice turned to leave.
Rickert’s eyes widened in disbelief.
“Where are you going?”
“To complete the request.”
“Are you out of your mind?”
Rickert scowled, staring at Ice as if he were insane. It was the first time he had ever shown open hostility toward him.
“……”
Ice met Rickert's gaze for a silent moment, then simply turned and walked away. Flustered and indecisive, the other students scrambled to follow him.
“I’m sorry,” the student he had saved muttered as she hurried away.
Was he supposed to feel lucky she’d at least apologized?
Lucky, my ass. He hadn't saved her expecting gratitude, but he damn sure hadn't done it for a token apology, either.
Yet what frustrated him most was his own powerlessness. He couldn't force them to stay and fight for a wounded comrade. Rickert watched their retreating backs, dumbfounded.
Volka, who had been watching them flee with equal disbelief, cursed under his breath.
“Those fucking bastards…”