Chapter 33
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 33
Time passed. The flowers that bloomed in summer's glory withered and fell, their vibrant leaves drying to a dull brown.
One by one, students began to leave, following adventurers sent by the guild. No graduation ceremony was held; this was simply how one graduated. It was an era where the very notion of such a celebration didn't exist.
Volka, Molty, Lara, and Delphi were the first to go. Once the snow began to fall, Ice, Jerome, Melson, and Palen departed as well.
Their farewells were dry and unsentimental. There were no tearful hugs or dramatic goodbyes. No one openly showed their lingering regrets. They simply smiled, wished each other good fortune, and promised to meet again someday.
It was a relief that Molty had given up adventuring to continue working at the smithy; they would still be able to see him whenever they visited the city.
The spaces they left behind were not filled right away. While new recruits trickled in steadily, the main influx of freshmen wouldn't arrive until spring.
The remaining students had to endure the winter. But winter was a season of rest and, at the same time, a season of survival—against the cold, the hunger, and the loneliness.
Loneliness wasn't an issue with so many students living together at Beringen Academy, but the cold and hunger were inescapable. Firewood quickly ran out, making it difficult to keep fires burning, and even the hard bread they once received for free was now gone.
They had to fend for themselves, but with food scarce everywhere at this time of year, a trip to the city offered no guarantee of provisions. Jobs were equally hard to come by. The rare work they managed to find paid not in coin, but in rotten potatoes or a handful of grain.
Students who had stockpiled food during the summer and autumn were in a slightly better position, but the real problem lay with those who had saved nothing. They filled their bellies with icy water, dug up grass roots, or ventured into the fields to trap mice and rabbits. They scraped by, day by day.
Rickert and Boribori could have survived on their own stockpiles of salted meat, blocks of cheese, and grain, but turning a blind eye as their peers starved and fell ill beside them was unbearable.
Pooling all the food for rationing was also out of the question. On what grounds could they confiscate provisions from students who had worked tirelessly to gather them? Yet, sharing what little they had was far from enough, and they couldn't very well starve themselves to save others. The winter food shortage was something even the Count Palatine could do nothing about, especially when his own subjects were starving.
Still, Rickert had to do what he could.
He put on a thick gambeson, wrapped his cloak tightly around himself, and prepared to head out. He wore a dagger at his waist and slung a longsword over his shoulder. With a clear purpose in mind, he packed some spare rations and stepped outside with Boribori.
Before leaving, he glanced back. The students were huddled together in a single room, wrapped in blankets and shivering by the fireplace. To conserve firewood, they had no choice but to crowd into one space. The sick were gathered in a separate room, coughing under their blankets in cold sweats. Lately, the students' first task each morning was to check if anyone had died overnight.
"Let's go," Rickert said.
Boribori pulled up his hood and followed silently. It seemed winter had frozen even the innocent smile on the young boy's face. At his waist, a one-handed sword known as a ‘side sword’ hung in silence.
As they left the academy and descended the cliff, the sight of white snow falling from a gray sky, blanketing the vast fields, was truly spectacular. It was so beautiful it felt almost cruel, making one want to ask how the world could look so pristine while they suffered so deeply.
At the bottom of the cliff, a trail of snow-covered footprints stretched toward the west. Rickert and Boribori walked across the vast, white expanse, listening to the soft whisper of falling snow.
Crunch. Crunch…
After walking for six hours, they finally arrived in Beringen. They brushed the snow from their heads and shoulders before stepping into the guild headquarters.
The moment they opened the door, a wave of warm air rushed over them. As feeling returned to their numb, frozen faces, a wave of dizziness washed over them. The adventurers inside turned to see who had entered. Recognizing him by his build and red cloak rather than his face, they quickly lost interest and looked away.
Rickert was quite a celebrity in Beringen and its vicinity. He was known as the boy swordsman in the red cloak, or "Ricky the Severer" for his habit of breaking the sword of anyone he clashed with.
Dunkel, who was leaning on the bar with his chin in his hand, quickly averted his eyes the moment he spotted Rickert. As if Rickert wouldn't notice such a blatant dodge.
Rickert closed the door with a heavy thud and walked straight toward him.
"I didn't come to borrow food again."
Having come to borrow food several times before, Rickert knew how awkward it made Dunkel feel and decided to make his intentions clear from the start.
Dunkel slowly turned his head back. "Then what brings you here?"
"I'm looking for work. A major request—one that pays enough to keep the students from freezing and starving this winter."
Dunkel stared at Rickert, lost in thought. Why does he care so much about others? What’s it to him? Instead of seeing Rickert as kind or noble, Dunkel simply couldn't comprehend his mindset. He himself had lived a life of strict self-interest.
"There's always work…"
"Really? What kind?"
"But… sigh… your patron is one thing, but the guild has its own position to consider, Ricky." Dunkel seemed to have a dilemma he couldn't easily voice. Knowing who Rickert's patron was only made him more hesitant.
"Why? Don't you trust me? Or did I cause trouble at some point?"
"It's not that. I know you're capable, and everyone here knows it too. But there are some jobs we can't just hand out. The deserter request last time had that mishap, but the job itself wasn't that difficult, was it?"
"Right."
"But some jobs… difficulty aside, there are tasks that absolutely cannot fail. To be precise, if you fail, the guild washes its hands of you. And to be even more blunt, failing means you die a dog's death. Do you understand?"
"…Is it an assassination?"
The moment Rickert uttered the word, Dunkel gestured for him to follow. He led them behind the bar and through a door reserved for staff. Rickert and Boribori exchanged a glance before following him into a sparse room, its walls lined with an impressive array of liquor bottles. A cold draft whistled through the gap in the door leading outside.
Dunkel sat on a backless stool and picked up where he left off. "Have you heard of the Ehrenberg Quintet? Their leader, Steiner, is one of the Nine Swords of the Empire."
"I've heard of them."
"The request is to kill two of them: Leto the Experimenter and Erze the Skin Collector. You can kill more if you want, though that's practically impossible."
Since they traveled as a group of five, picking off just two was an incredibly difficult task. Realistically, it meant facing the entire quintet, and even Rickert couldn't guarantee success against such odds. Yet, a run-of-the-mill contract wouldn't yield enough to feed nearly a hundred students through the winter. To secure that kind of funding, he had no choice but to take on a job of the highest difficulty.
"That quintet has made enemies everywhere while operating around Ehrenberg. Plenty of people have been itching for payback for a long time. But every person or faction that tried to take them down ended up dead or ruined."
In short, they were not to be trifled with. You couldn't mobilize an army just to hunt five people, and even if you did, they would simply slip away.
"What on earth have they been doing?"
"There are no good guys or bad guys in this line of work, but those five are villains by nature. If they want something, they take it. They kill, handle dirty work for nobles to secure protection, then stab those same nobles in the back before running off. They live completely lawless lives. Leto the Experimenter enjoys torturing people, and Erze the Skin Collector is said to skin her victims and wear their hides. Oh, and they call themselves adventurers, too. They don't belong to any guild, and their very existence drags our reputation through the mud."
Dunkel spoke as if he held a personal grudge against them.
"Well, it sounds like no one will miss them if they die. That's good enough for me."
"No, no, did you even listen to a word I said? The issue isn't whether they deserve to die, but whether you can actually kill them. If you fail and they find out the guild set this up, we'll be in deep trouble. We're already struggling with rival guilds; the last thing we need is to draw the wrath of one of the Nine Swords."
"If I get the job done, is it guaranteed that we'll get enough food and firewood to survive the winter?"
This kid isn't listening to a damn word I'm saying, Dunkel thought. But he couldn't bring himself to scold or refuse Rickert. He knew who the boy really was. He regretted bringing it up at all, having only mentioned it because Rickert had been pestering him so much for food.
"That much is guaranteed," Dunkel admitted. "Several organizations have secretly pooled a massive fund for this. Some even offered to pay in provisions from the start."
"I'll start right away. Please advance us some food as a retainer. You don't need to give it to me—just send it straight to the academy."
"…Do you really need to go this far? I swear, in the entire history of the academy, there's never been anyone quite like you."
Rickert offered a faint smile. "I don't act out of necessity. If I want to do it, and if I can do it, I do it."
"…I see." Dunkel didn't look convinced.
"Anyway, I'm glad there's a job available."
"There's always a job. Someone always wants someone else dead, regardless of the season. Spring or winter, rain or snow."
"…I suppose so."
It was a bitter reality—that someone was always wishing for another's death. But as long as humanity existed, that would never change.
"How do I get to Ehrenberg?"
"Follow the southwest road. You'll find a tavern called 'Anna's Loss.' Show them your cloak pin and tell them I sent you. They'll give you the details."
"I take it it's not a guild branch?"
"No. It's the thieves' guild—the Arisen Brotherhood. Given the nature of the job, we can't move openly. Let me make this absolutely clear: we know nothing about this."
Rickert looked back at Boribori, who was simply staring blankly at Dunkel. Dunkel assumed the boy was just tagging along to run errands, not to fight.
"Are you sure about this?" Rickert asked Boribori.
"I'm fine," Boribori replied. "As long as I'm with you, Ricky. I don't care if I die."
To Boribori, Rickert was a beacon of light. He had pulled him from the dark, miserable swamp of his existence. He could bear to lose his life, but he could not bear to lose that light. Boribori knew all too well that there was nothing more wretched than merely existing for the sake of it.
"No, wait—" Dunkel started.
"To be honest," he interrupted himself, "having a student handle this is actually a good option for the guild. All our active, capable members have recognizable faces. You're the perfect fit, Ricky. But don't you dare think about fighting them head-on. That really would be a dog's death. The Nine Swords are no joke. They're infamous throughout the entire empire."
Though Rickert was famous, his reputation was confined to Beringen and its surroundings. The gap between him and one of the Nine Swords of the Empire was the difference between a local champion and a national legend. Furthermore, Rickert was still just a rising rookie; he hadn't even solidified his position as the strongest in his own region.
"I'll handle that myself."
"…Are you really not listening to a word I say?"
"I'm listening to the parts that matter."
"..."
Dunkel shook his head, wondering what made the kid tick. Yet, as eccentric as Rickert was, there was no denying his extraordinary talent.
"It'll take you a day to get there, so stay the night. Leave in the morning. As for the advance… I'll have it sent to the academy."
Rickert nodded and left the room. He and Boribori headed upstairs, where they unpacked their gear and lay down on the beds to rest.
Rickert stared at the snow falling outside the window. The pristine white drifts did nothing to soothe the hollow ache left by his departed friends; if anything, they only made the world feel emptier. His gaze drifted to Boribori. It had already been several months since the boy had begun training and sparring with him.
Boribori's unique swordsmanship seemed practical enough, but whether it would hold up in a true life-or-death struggle remained to be seen. In real combat, keeping one's composure, mastering fear, and refusing to freeze were far more critical than raw skill. Rickert wondered if a boy as pure as Boribori was truly capable of taking a life. He was a companion who seemed entirely ill-suited to the cold, lethal nature of a sword.
"Aren't you nervous?" Rickert asked.
"No," Boribori replied. "I don't mind dying."
"Why is that?"
"Because I feel like I already died the day I abandoned my mother. Now, I just want to be useful to you, Ricky. That's all I care about. I won't get in your way."
"…Don't talk like that."
"Okay. Sorry. I just wish winter would pass quickly."
Rickert looked back out at the falling snow and quietly agreed. "Me too."
Boribori understood exactly why they were doing this, and why they had to. Watching their fellow students starve, fall ill, and die before their very eyes was agonizing. What could these young boys and girls have possibly done to deserve such a fate?
Yet, even outside the academy, countless people across the empire were dying of cold and hunger. That was simply the nature of the season. Winter was merciless.
The silently falling snow was no longer beautiful. Surely, the spirit of death was white.