Chapter 30
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 30
Some memories were so intense they became etched into the mind like tattoos. The smell, the colors, the emotions of that moment—everything was felt with absolute clarity.
When that happened, it was no longer just a memory, but something that lived on, even after a hundred years.
In his youth, Hellauman had been quite talented. He possessed a robust build, perfectly suited for the martial arts.
Yet, at some point, an inexplicable frustration began to weigh on him. A feeling he couldn't quite put his finger on tormented him.
Back then, he thought he was simply bored of practicing the same routines day after day. But that wasn't it.
For several years, rumors had been circulating about the peerless killer, Ricky. It was said that he had single-handedly slaughtered renowned knights, master swordsmen, and even the elite assassination squads sent by the Emperor.
Was such a thing even possible? Was it all just a rumor? Yet it was impossible to dismiss it as mere exaggeration; news of his exploits arrived endlessly, and eventually, even Hellauman's own family sought to slay Ricky to win renown.
Then came a certain night. Someone kicked open the doors of the guild building, shattering them as they barged inside.
His father, his brothers, his relatives, and all the disciples training in the dojo stared in sheer shock. Hellauman, too, watched from among the crowd.
The intruder who had burst in was none other than Ricky. He was tall and broad-shouldered, with eyes that burned like fire.
"You chased me like annoying gnats, yet now that I stand before you, why does no one dare to attack?"
He spoke in a raspy, metallic voice. The young Hellauman's heart pounded wildly.
And then, he quietly slipped away to hide inside a wardrobe and watch. In that moment, his instincts screamed: Everyone is going to die.
"W-Wait, sir. Calm down. There seems to have been a misunderstanding."
His father stepped forward, attempting to placate the man. But Ricky’s answer was not words, but a lightning-fast slash. Before his father could even react, his head was severed.
As the corpse collapsed, Ricky, his greatsword already drawn, looked at the crowd and spoke.
"I will kill you all."
At the sight of their father's corpse, his brothers lost all reason and lunged first. Soon, the rest of the family and all the disciples followed.
Was it courage? Or merely an attempt to forget an unbearable terror? To Hellauman, it looked like simple resignation. They were just throwing their lives away. It was foolish.
Regardless, Hellauman witnessed it all from the closest possible vantage point. That flawless swordsmanship. It was not mere technique; it was art. It was so deeply moving that tears welled in his eyes, and he had to cover his mouth to stifle his sobs.
Along with that profound emotion, Hellauman finally understood what had been suffocating him all this time. It was the question of how far one could truly go with a sword—the sheer scope of what was possible.
It was a level of swordsmanship so unimaginably high that his stubborn father and foolish brothers could never have conceived of it. Ricky's sword was a pinnacle he would have to spend his entire life striving to reach.
A great stride to the right, a downward slash. A shift in the opposite direction to create space. Another lightning-fast swing forward, a slight retreat to secure his position again. A left slash, a parry, a thrust. He used a corpse to block an opponent's path, then moved right again, and just then, golden flames erupted from the blade...
With his eyes closed, Hellauman recalled the moment, shifting his body slightly as if tracing the steps of a ghostly dance. His mouth continuously muttered, "Right, left, forward, back..."
Rickert watched Hellauman with a bewildered expression. Not knowing when this would end, he finally spoke up.
"Excuse me..."
"Shh!"
Hellauman raised a finger to silence Rickert, continuing to execute his imaginary movements. No, he was mimicking them. The movements he had repeated countless times over the past hundred years, yearning to emulate them. Yet, in the end, he had fallen just a hair's breadth short of reaching that realm.
Perhaps the memory hadn't been tattooed onto his mind; perhaps he had tattooed it there himself. Ceaselessly.
Only after a long while did Hellauman take a deep breath with his eyes closed, then open them.
"Whew... Haa... To think you saw this from the very beginning... Hmm..."
He fell into deep thought, his expression grave. Saw it from the beginning. Saw it. Seeing. Not thinking, but seeing...
Hellauman pondered deeply on the principle, or perhaps the meaning, of "seeing." He remained entirely oblivious to the fact that Rickert was looking at him as if he were a madman.
Regrettably, Hellauman did not achieve a clear enlightenment. He stopped just short of the peak, left with a tantalizing, elusive sensation. Yet, he felt neither frustrated nor tormented.
For having something to ponder meant that, for the first time in a long while, something interesting had entered his tedious life.
Only then did Hellauman turn back to Rickert.
"I have made a fool of myself. Forgive me, young lord."
"No, it's fine..."
"We shouldn't be standing here. Let us move. I invited you, yet I've kept you standing for too long. Follow me."
Hellauman led Rickert up a narrow spiral staircase, heading deeper into the building.
It wasn't a particularly special place, just an ordinary parlor. A single window offered a sweeping view of the city below the hill. The view was magnificent.
"I do not often visit Beringen. Thus, I have nothing special to offer you," Hellauman said, sitting down on a hard wooden chair. Despite his advanced age, his posture was perfectly straight.
"It's fine."
"I was merely passing through on business, but having heard news of you, my curiosity was piqued. I have gained something unexpectedly wonderful."
"I'm glad I could be of help, even if unintentionally."
"Hahaha... You are humble. Even without mana, talent in swordsmanship is a precious gift. For fifty years, I was obsessed with swordsmanship, and for the next thirty, I was obsessed only with mana. Then, I returned to the beginning. Lately, I've come to think that perhaps mana is not so important after all. No matter how vast or pure one's mana, the vessel that holds it is fixed. The Mana Drive has clear limits. But the principles of swordsmanship are endless."
This was the exact opposite of Ice's opinion. Since Hellauman had contemplated this for so long, was he correct?
However, if it wasn't a matter of who was stronger, but rather which path was right, there was no way to know. Could the assertion that the Mana Drive has clear limits also be wrong?
In any case, it wasn't a subject that interested Rickert.
"Is there anything you desire? If it is within my power, I would like to grant it," Hellauman said.
"Well, I would like you to send a professor of Ancient Script. I've been waiting for a while, but the position hasn't been filled. And once I learn the Ancient Script, I want to take a look at something called the Codex."
At Rickert's words, Hellauman wore a look of incomprehension. He had expected the boy to ask for a famous sword, a vast sum of money, or perhaps even a fief.
"May I ask why?"
"In the Eastern Campaign Front, there was a war there about a hundred years ago. I heard the reason for that war was the Codex. I want to see the Codex and find out if it was truly worth fighting a war over."
Hearing Rickert's words, Hellauman reacted much like everyone else. Why on earth would you be curious about that?
Still, if the boy himself was curious, there was no ground to criticize him for it.
"I do not know the exact details either, but the war was not fought solely because of the Codex."
"Pardon?"
"As long as humans live on this earth, war is inevitable, is it not? Even now, in some region, people are killing and being killed for reasons both trivial and grand. And monarchs who dream of greatness are destined to wage great wars. Only then can they perform immortal deeds and, through them, achieve eternal life."
"..."
At this unexpectedly absurd statement, Rickert felt as if his brain had momentarily ceased to function. Live forever? But they don't. And because of something like that, so many people have to be physically and mentally destroyed?
"I can send a professor right away. However, viewing the Codex will be difficult. It is kept in the Imperial Archives. As for the copies of the Codex circulating in the market, it is hard to verify their authenticity. Most are fakes. I have seen it once myself, but since I do not know the Ancient Script, I can't say if it is truly that important."
"I see... Thank you anyway. I'll finally be able to take Ancient Script classes."
"Hahaha, frankly, I find it a bit absurd. When I was young, boys were intentionally kept from learning to read and write. It was believed that learning letters made one weak. Thinking back now, it seems there was some truth to it, yet here you are asking for the Ancient Script. Hahaha..."
"Well, it's fine to do as a hobby."
"Geniuses always have their eccentricities. But the reason I asked to see you privately was not just out of curiosity; I also had a specific matter to discuss."
"Please, go ahead."
"In the future, more and more nobles will enter the Academy. The times are changing. People's mindsets have shifted as well. Therefore, I hope you will lead them well."
"Me?"
"In my opinion, if you can kill a Clan Master at the age of eleven, no one among the Academy students can match you. I shall become your patron, so if you ever need anything or find yourself in a difficult situation, contact me through Dunkel at any time."
To have a Count Palatine and the Emperor's Champion as a patron was to gain immense backing. However, Rickert wasn't particularly moved.
He believed that if he needed something, he could obtain it himself, and if a difficult situation arose, he could resolve it on his own.
No, actually, there was something he needed. A thought suddenly occurred to Rickert.
"There is something I need right now."
"Oh? What is it?"
"Please install handrails on the stairs leading to the Academy. It's a bit dangerous if someone slips. Also, the students' living quarters are too cramped. The professors live in the Inner Keep, but since they're rarely there, much of the space is wasted. I'd like the students to use that area."
"I shall have it taken care of immediately. Is there anything else?"
For a Count Palatine, such matters were trivial. In any case, with this, the students of Beringen Academy could finally escape the "chicken coop."
"That's all for now."
"Indeed, noblesse oblige. A noble should naturally practice charity. Good. I feel I have judged you well. I had a feeling when I heard the news about you. At my age, one's intuition becomes highly developed. It is almost always accurate."
"Then you must make a fortune playing dice."
Rickert recalled what Arno had said in the past and quoted it.
At this unexpected remark, Hellauman threw his head back and laughed heartily.
"What? Hahahahaha! I never thought of that! Young lord! Hahahahaha!"
Rickert smiled faintly. The old man seemed a bit unhinged, obsessed with the sword, but Rickert liked his easygoing personality.
Thus, after meeting Hellauman, Rickert was finally able to return to the Academy.
*
About a week after Rickert and the high-ranking students left the Academy to assist with the adventurers' requests, ominous news arrived.
The news was that the students, including Rickert, had been attacked and killed by a rival guild. The one most shocked by this was Boribori.
His heart pounded wildly, and though he kept telling himself it couldn't be true, tears began to trickle down his face.
"N-No. That can't be. Ricky is so strong."
Given the era, false rumors were common, so at first, the other students didn't fully believe it either.
However, because external news did not reach the Academy quickly, during the time Rickert's group stayed in Torvail, the rumor of their deaths gradually became accepted as fact within the Academy.
Consequently, the way the other students looked at Boribori began to subtly shift.
Then, one day, a student approached Boribori, who was resting on his bed.
"Hey."
"Huh?"
"Let's swap beds."
Boribori had originally slept next to Rickert, so his bed was on the second bunk near the middle of the aisle. For someone without a rank, sleeping in such a spot would have been impossible without Rickert.
"Oh... Okay."
Knowing this, Boribori meekly gave up his spot. As he gathered his belongings and climbed down, he felt gazes on him from all sides. They were not friendly.
But as soon as he swapped places and finished unpacking, another student came over.
"Hey."
"Huh?"
"Swap places."
"Oh... Okay."
Boribori packed up the belongings he had just unpacked and swapped places again. Yet, the moment he finished this time, another student demanded they swap.
This pointless cycle repeated, pushing him further and further toward the edge of the room.
But this was only the beginning. With cunning malice, the surrounding students gradually escalated their bullying.
At first, it was just minor shoving. Next, they would pinch him for no reason as they passed by or steal his personal belongings. Eventually, they threw the shoes Rickert had bought him right off the cliff.
Boribori climbed all the way down the cliff to search for them, taking him from morning until night. And once he brought them back, the students threw them off the cliff again.
The bullying grew endlessly worse, tormenting him mentally and physically in every cruel way imaginable.
They would drag him away, force him to close his eyes and open his mouth, and feed him bugs. If he couldn't swallow them and spat them out, several of them would gang up and beat him. They kept him on night watch continuously so he couldn't sleep and even extorted the money he needed for his tuition.
The sad part was that it wasn't the ranked students doing this; it was mostly the unranked, so-called "lower-class" students who shared a similar status.
They hadn't been on bad terms with Boribori before, but the moment Rickert was gone, they turned on him.
Boribori did not resist. Whether he couldn't or simply chose not to was unclear.
But what tormented Boribori the most was having to accept that Rickert was dead.
With each passing day, Boribori grew more haggard, yet the bullying only intensified.
Cutting grass, emptying latrines, cleaning, and various other chores were things he had always done, but now he had to take on everyone else's chores as well. There was no way his small body could endure it.
One day, he lay limply on his bed, feeling as though he might actually die. His eyes were swollen shut, and dark bruises covered his face and body.
Even so, the boys came over to torment him with harsh words. There was nowhere to run. This was, after all, the place he had been abandoned.
"Hey, I heard your mom was a maid. Did she have to seduce the master? How pathetic."
It was truly wicked how they insulted his parents when their own circumstances were hardly any different.
"Are you slutty just like your mom? Huh?"
"Isn't that how you seduced Ricky too? Why don't you do me once?"
"Pfft, hey, are you crazy?"
"N-No. Don't speak ill of Ricky," Boribori said.
He had endured all the bullying and even the insults to his parents in silence, but the moment they mentioned Rickert, he reacted.
"Is this bastard crazy? Hey, that Ricky you love so much is dead. I was planning on killing that little shit myself."
"I should've knocked all his teeth out before he left. Hehehe."
They say people will curse even a king behind his back, but this was utterly despicable.
"S-Stop it."
"This bastard needs a beating to wake up."
With that, the boys tried to drag Boribori off the bed. Though he had no strength left, Boribori clung to the bedpost to keep from being pulled away.
"You piece of shit! Let go while we're being nice!"
"Say Ricky is a pathetic loser!"
"Ricky is gone! You idiot! He's dead!"
The boys beat, pulled, and scratched at Boribori. Just as before, they knew he wouldn't resist. They assumed he never would.
But they were wrong.
"I said, stop!"
CRACK!
The voice was unmistakably that of a boy, yet its volume was like thunder, reverberating through the entire dormitory.
Without even realizing it, Boribori had ripped the bedpost right off. With one of its supports gone, the bed tilted precariously.
Startled out of their wits, the boys tumbled backward. Before they could process what was happening, a completely crazed Boribori grabbed one of his tormentors by the collar and lifted him into the air.
The boy caught in his grip saw it. A dark, ink-like energy was swirling in Boribori's eyes.
It was mana. But mana was never supposed to manifest outside the body like this.
It wasn't like Ice's precise Mana Drive, which shaped mana along a sword's trajectory; this was pure mana overflowing directly from his body.
The size of the vessel Hellauman had spoken of. Though Boribori's body was small, making him weak and unable to fight, the capacity of the vessel holding his mana was unfathomably vast.
Boribori slammed the boy he was holding hard against the wall.
THUD!
"Ack!"
Then he began to beat him relentlessly. Having never hit anyone before, his strikes were wild and reckless. Yet, driven by a monstrous strength, wherever his hands landed—collarbones, ribs, organs—everything broke and ruptured.
Thud! Thud! Thud! Crash!
Boribori reduced the boy to a bloody pulp with his bare hands. Still holding him by the collar, he spoke, tears streaming from eyes that swirled with dark energy.
"Please. Just insult Ricky one more time. Then I think I can kill you."
It was a nonsensical yet utterly terrifying statement. But the student in his grip was already knocking on death's door.
But right then.
"Bori, what are you doing?"
In that instant, Boribori froze like a stone. The death of his friend, which he had found impossible to accept, had been slowly breaking his spirit. Yet, there was his friend's voice.
In a flash, the dark energy vanished from Boribori's eyes. When he turned his head, he saw Rickert standing at the entrance of the dormitory, backlit by the light.
An indescribable sense of relief washed over him, and the sorrowful rage that had threatened to incinerate his mind cooled with unbelievable speed.
Fortunately, Boribori did not cross the line between human and monster. He did not break. Unlike the Ricky of his past life, and unlike that deserter.
A true friend was someone who, by the mere fact of being alive, served as a pillar for one's soul, keeping it from collapsing.
It had been a long journey. For everyone.