Chapter 39
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 39
Though they had unintentionally earned the moniker of “heroes,” the trio’s goal remained strictly revenge—specifically, to eliminate the Ehrenberg Quintet.
Regardless, Rickert, Boribori, and the Nameless traveled together as if they were a single entity, striking down villains wherever they went.
Two boys and a beast-like man whose language they couldn’t understand and whose origin—whether Norseman or Imperial—was a mystery. It was a truly bizarre combination, yet the three of them worked in perfect harmony, like a family.
They grew closer with each passing day, and the bond between Boribori and the Nameless was especially strong. The Nameless looked after Boribori in his own aloof way, while Boribori did his best to act cute in return.
Once, a rural lord treated them to a hot bath to show his gratitude, the first they’d had in a long time. The three washed each other’s backs, laughing together despite the language barrier. Afterward, they put on fresh clothes and lay down to sleep in clean beds.
Rickert wasn't a particularly devout believer, but as he drifted off, he offered a quiet prayer. He prayed that the weary and exhausted would find rest and that those he was grateful for would be blessed.
Rickert understood the agony of never getting a single night of proper sleep, of punishing oneself until the day one died. So, whether the Nameless would have nightmares or sweet dreams, he prayed with all his heart.
Lord, grant rest to this poor beast.
Perhaps the prayer was answered, for the Nameless slept deeply for the first time in what felt like an eternity. He couldn’t remember the last time he hadn’t been half-awake, his nerves constantly on edge.
The journey continued, and the trio went about executing villains who also happened to be targets of the Nameless’s personal revenge.
Then one day, they were hunting down the last of his enemies, save for Steiner.
Inside a dark building, a wooden wall suddenly splintered with a deafening crash. A massive figure burst through the wreckage, violently slamming another person against the adjacent wall.
Thud!
“Ack!”
The large man gripped the throat of the person he had pinned. His thick forearm, covered in scars, looked like a log that had been haphazardly hacked with a blade. In his other hand, he held a battleaxe, its blade dripping with thick blood.
“Ack… cough… ugh.”
The man being choked grimaced in agony. Before him stood a figure wearing a helmet that completely obscured his face. The helmet was covered in deep, scar-like scratches, giving it an incredibly menacing appearance. Even more terrifying were the blue eyes gleaming like a beast’s from behind the visor and the characteristic, heavy wheezing that accompanied his every breath. It was Nameless X.
Yet, the Nameless did not finish off his mortal enemy immediately. He only stared, hesitating, gripped by an emotion he had never felt before.
Emptiness? Futility? Why now, of all times? Had he forgotten the brand he had carved into himself?
<Your wife was raped and murdered, and your young son was torn limb from limb. Find the enemies and kill them all. You live only for this. Do not forget it for a single moment.>
Had he forgotten those words, engraved in his mind, his heart, his very bones and soul? What was he doing? He had to tear this man apart. Kill him. Now.
The Nameless mentally whipped himself. His emotions surged, and the hand gripping his enemy’s neck trembled violently.
Just then, a youthful voice called out from behind him.
“Mister! You have to kill him quick! More are coming!”
The voice belonged to Rickert.
They had ambushed a thieves’ guild disguised as a merchant company. On the surface, they dealt in normal goods, but behind the scenes, they bought and sold human beings. While all thieves’ guilds were secretive, this one was exceptionally covert, making them difficult to track down.
“Mister! Hurry!” Rickert shouted again.
At that, the Nameless twisted his hand, snapping his enemy’s neck. Despite his battered body, his grip was immense—it was terrifying to imagine what he must have been like in his prime.
Crack.
The man collapsed, his mouth agape, his face already turning a bruised blue and foaming at the lips.
The Nameless slowly raised his foot and stomped down hard on the man’s head. It shattered in a single blow, like a crushed watermelon.
Splat!
“Did you kill him? Did you kill him?” Boribori, who was keeping watch outside with a sword in hand, kept looking back and asking Rickert.
Rickert glanced at the enemy, whose head was now crushed beyond recognition. “Yeah, he’s dead. Let’s go. Mister, let’s move!”
Rickert slipped out through the back door he had scouted beforehand. Since their opponents were formidable this time, they had decided to eliminate only the target and retreat rather than fighting everyone.
Slipping out the back door, they found themselves at a dock on a wide river, bustling with smugglers moving cargo. Rickert turned down an alleyway toward the plaza, intending to blend into the crowd. A perfect assassination. But when he looked back, the Nameless was nowhere to be seen.
“Where’s Mister?”
“Huh? He didn’t follow?”
“I definitely saw him kill the guy…”
“What do we do? Should we go back?”
Rickert thought for a moment before making a quick decision. “Let’s double back to the docks first.”
“O-okay…”
Rickert and Boribori took a detour back to the docks, hiding in the reed beds along the riverbank. From a distance, they watched the building they had just struck. The thieves’ guild members were swarming the area, but there was no sign that the Nameless had been caught or that a fight had broken out.
In other words, the Nameless had escaped. But where had he gone?
“…He must have gone alone,” Rickert said. His quick mind had already pieced together the truth.
“W-where?”
“To kill the Quintet.”
“Why?”
“It’s probably one of two things. Either we were a nuisance, or…”
“T-that can’t be.” Boribori, who usually agreed with Rickert, shook his head in denial.
Rickert had said it, but he had a hunch. There was a part of it that only he could understand. Perhaps the Nameless felt he was growing weak because of them. Or maybe he wanted to kill Steiner on his own, afraid they would get hurt in the process.
“Let’s go to the emergency meeting point and wait for now.”
“…Okay…” Boribori replied dejectedly. A lump of disappointment formed in his throat.
Rickert and Boribori emerged from the reeds and left the city. They waited for the Nameless in an isolated clearing off the road, the air feeling exceptionally cold. Not knowing how long they would have to wait, they built a fire. Time ticked by, but neither of them said a word.
Night fell, and stars bloomed in the cold winter sky. On a weary journey, the moon and stars could sometimes offer comfort, but tonight, they could not fill the emptiness in their hearts.
In the end, despite having a city right in front of them, Rickert and Boribori spent the night outside in the freezing cold, waiting for one person. But that person never came. He had truly left them.
As dawn broke, Rickert dragged his exhausted body to its feet. He felt reluctant to wake the sleeping Boribori, knowing that even when he woke, the Nameless wouldn’t be there. But they couldn’t wait forever. As much as sadness and regret weighed them down, they had their own tasks and a place to return to.
Every journey offered special experiences, but this one felt different. It had been a truly bizarre connection—roaming the northern regions with a mute, nameless man, a beast punishing himself in the name of revenge.
How much time had passed? A month? A month and a half? What month was it now? Were the Academy students doing well? He had been sending money to the Academy through the Imperial Guild Bureau whenever he could, but with grain prices sky-high, he was still worried.
Rickert’s mood sank under the weight of his concerns. He almost wished for a heavy snow to fall and bury his thoughts. Pulling his cloak tight, he shook Boribori, who was curled up asleep.
“Bori. Bori, wake up.”
“Mmm… What about Mister? Did he come?”
“No.”
“I see…”
“What do you want to do?”
“About what?”
“If we track the Quintet, we might run into him. He probably went after them alone.”
“Then let’s go.”
“We might die.”
“Didn’t we leave the Academy prepared for that?”
“…True.”
Boribori sluggishly got up. He roughly smoothed down his messy bowl-cut with his hands, tied his bag shut, and slung it over his back. Then he stood and looked around.
“Where should we go?”
“It’s dangerous here, and Siegfringer is relatively better, but the Adventurers’ Guild would have the most information… Should we try a thieves’ guild instead…?”
To track someone, they needed information. But Rickert had made enemies of so many thieves’ guilds that he’d be lucky not to be attacked on sight, let alone get information.
“Let’s just start moving,” Rickert decided.
“Okay.”
They had been a trio that moved as one, but now they were back to being just two. Their footsteps were heavy, a deep sense of emptiness weighing them down.
Rickert and Boribori walked along the road leading east. After about an hour, they saw someone approaching from the opposite direction, his hood pulled low and leaning on a staff. He didn’t appear to be armed, and a lute was slung over his back. A bard?
They were about to pass him by when a familiar voice called out.
“Young Master?”
Rickert turned. It was a welcome face, a reminder that every parting can lead to a new meeting. It was the messenger from the Imperial Guild Bureau who had escorted him from his hometown to Rheinfurt.
“Huh? Arno?”
“It is you, Young Master! What are you doing here? Didn’t you enter the Academy?”
“I’m an Academy student. I’m just out on some business right now.”
“Is that so? How is life at the Academy?”
“It’s good. I made some good friends. Let me introduce you. This is Boribori, my friend.”
Rickert introduced Boribori, who was standing beside him looking bewildered.
“Nice to meet you. I’m Arno.”
“Uh… hello. But who is ‘Young Master’?”
“The Young Master is him, right here. Young Master Rickert, the Boar Slayer of Stormherz.”
“…Pardon?” Boribori stared at Rickert with a dumbfounded expression.
Rickert merely offered an awkward smile. “I just thought everyone would find it uncomfortable. My name is Rickert. Ricky was just a nickname my family used.”
“…What are you talking about?”
“Just that. It’s not important.”
“You were a noble?”
“Well, yeah, something like that…”
“What?!” Boribori’s eyes widened to their limits. Arno blinked, completely lost.
Rickert quickly tried to change the subject. “Have you been well, Arno? Didn’t you say you were going west to become a monk?”
“Ah, hahaha. My goals have changed. I’m trying to become a bard now, so I’ve been traveling and gathering stories.”
“So you quit the delivery job?”
“Yes, that’s how it turned out.”
“Hmm… I don’t know much about it, but I’m rooting for you.”
“Thank you. You’re still as kind-hearted as ever, Young Master. You haven’t changed a bit.”
Rickert smiled faintly. “I wonder. By the way, have you heard of the Ehrenberg Quintet?”
At Rickert’s question, Arno’s expression suddenly stiffened.
“…Why do you ask about them?”
“Just some business. Have you seen them recently, or heard any rumors?”
“It’s best not to get involved with them, Young Master. They’re terrifying bastards. They once massacred an entire village—just slaughtered everyone. There are even gruesome rumors that they skinned children with fair skin.”
“I know they’re bad. I’m asking if you know their current whereabouts.”
“…”
Arno stared at Rickert in silence for a moment. They say children change by the day, but Rickert seemed exactly the same, save for being slightly taller. He still had that calm demeanor, no matter the situation, and that subtly chilling aura.
“I don’t know about all five of them, but I heard that a man named Leto the Experimenter has his laboratory in the Sidria Swamps.”
“Really? Where is that?”
“Sidria is further north from here. Not many people live there. I heard necromancers used to appear from time to time, but if you actually go, it’s just an endless stretch of squishy, moss-covered ground.”
“So if I follow this road north, I’ll get there?”
“…Young Master, I don’t know what this is about, but this isn’t right. They are madmen. Do you know the most chilling fact about them?”
“What? Do they eat people?”
“No. Despite committing such horrific acts, they aren’t wanted criminals. Isn’t that strange?”
“…Huh? You’re right.”
The villains they had defeated with the Nameless were the scum of the earth, yet it was bizarre that fiends even more heinous than them were not on any wanted lists. Rickert realized he was carrying out a “request” to kill Leto and Erze, not hunting down wanted fugitives.
“Rumor has it that the Emperor secretly instructs them when he wants to punish vassals he dislikes. Of course, it’s a treasonous rumor, so everyone keeps their mouths shut.”
No matter how powerful the Emperor was, his direct rule only extended to his own demesne. He was in a constant state of tension and conflict with his vassals, always trying to keep them in check or win them over by any means necessary. In this context, the Emperor’s Champion was more of a political asset than a direct military tool and was virtually never dispatched to some remote province just to maintain public order.
This was a limitation of feudalism. The lords of this era, including the Emperor at its pinnacle, shared a similar mindset. When a rural lord fell into trouble, there was no guarantee his liege would help, especially when it came to mobilizing troops. Helping others at one’s own expense could be fatal.
Because of this, criminal organizations were clever, operating within certain boundaries. If they murdered a high noble or went too far, truly enraged lords might mobilize their armies to crush them. But for lesser evils? The fundamental mindset of the era was: Aren’t counts and dukes there to protect their own lands? Why should I clean up your mess? Why should I spend my precious money and sacrifice my people?
The concept of a nation was faint. A man might die for his honor or his family, but dying for a nation—something they barely understood—was hard to imagine. They only truly united when faced with foreign invasion or a great calamity. In this era, society ran not on laws, but on the charisma and capability of individual rulers. Depending on the Emperor, king, or lord, everything from the economy and military to diplomacy and the arts could fluctuate wildly.
Of course, that didn't mean rulers completely neglected their vassals. Politics was a complex game, and if it were simple, the world wouldn’t be so tragic. In the end, the powerless always suffered the most.
It was an era that desperately needed heroes.
“The Emperor is behind them?” Rickert asked.
“It’s just a rumor, of course.”
“…”
“Anyway, it’s good to see you after so long. People’s hearts have grown harsh this winter, but they say Siegfringer is doing relatively well because heroes suddenly appeared and took care of the villains. Since the bad guys aren’t sucking the lifeblood out of the people anymore, they’ll probably survive this winter that even the Emperor can’t seem to fix.”
“That’s good.”
It was a feat accomplished by the three of them, but Rickert didn’t let it show. They hadn’t done it for praise or glory. He was just glad the people were doing well.
“Indeed. It’s a great relief. It’s why a scrawny guy like me can travel the roads alone, isn’t it? Hahaha.”
Rickert smiled faintly at Arno, who seemed to have changed for the better.
“It was good to see you too, Arno. Next time we meet, play me a song.”
“Understood. I’ll be sure to compose a masterpiece just for you.”
“Good luck. I’m off.”
“May good fortune attend your path, Young Master.”
When they had parted before, they hadn’t been able to say a proper goodbye. This time, meeting again after so long, they could finally bid each other a proper farewell, sending each other off with smiles and lessening any lingering regret.
As Rickert was about to set off, he glanced back at Boribori, who was still blinking with a dumbfounded expression.
“What?”
“You know…”
“Yeah.”
“I feel betrayed.”
“What? Why?”
“A noble, of all things.”
“Are you betrayed because I’m a noble, or because I hid it?”
“Both.”
Rickert let out a dry, dumbfounded laugh. “So all the hard times we shared and the moments we laughed together were fake?”
“Well, not that, but…”
“Let’s go. We have to find Mister.”
Rickert started walking. Boribori fell in step behind him. After a period of silence, he asked, “Why did you come to the Academy?”
“Just because. Being a noble doesn’t make me any more special than you.”
“No way.”
“Think what you want.”
“Then where in the north are you from?”
“Not the north. The south-central region. Stormherz. I’m Rickert, third son of House Caldebern.”
“Ugh. It sounds like you’re speaking a foreign language.”
“Hahaha.”
“Anyway, Ricky is still Ricky, right?”
“Yeah.”
“By the way, what Volka said was right.”
“What?”
“He said he’d never seen a nutcase like you. A noble coming to the Academy… it makes no sense.”
Rickert, walking ahead, turned his head to glare at Boribori. “Hey.”
“It’s fine. Even if you’re a nutcase.”
“No, that’s not the point.”
Boribori just grinned, pleased that he had managed to tease Rickert for once. Rickert let out a chuckle in response.
Every meeting leads to a parting, they say, but some bonds remained. Although the two boys couldn’t fill the empty space left by the Nameless, they could at least soothe the ache with something else for a little while.
Along the roadside, tiny buds were already beginning to sprout on the trees. Slowly, that fierce winter was also beginning to fade.