Chapter 44
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 44
The world was not filled only with beautiful and fragrant things. More often than not, it was filthy and ugly.
What if the world were filled with nothing but beauty? Humanity would probably have found it too boring to bear. Perhaps it was a nasty habit of the creature called man to destroy paradise with its own hands. Or maybe, that was precisely what made them human.
Partly by choice, partly by force, Marie had stepped out of her safe, protected world and into a filthy, ugly one.
She hadn't set out with the mindset of a naive, dream-filled girl. She had heard enough to know that the world was dangerous and brutal.
But there was a world of difference between a vague guess and firsthand experience.
Some things were less daunting than she had feared, while others she had dismissed as trivial turned out to be far more dangerous and difficult than she could have imagined. The helplessness of not knowing where to go, the danger of people with inscrutable intentions, the gnawing pangs of hunger, the biting cold, and the ever-present shadow of death.
It was a world where death was never far once you stepped outside your door. It was only natural to feel afraid, to want to run away. But was it right to live in denial, or should one accept it as part of life?
It was then that she met two boys: Rickert and Boribori. When they spoke, they seemed like ordinary kids her age, but they differed from her in so many ways, starting with the smallest details.
They could tell the time by the sun, read the weather in the clouds, and knew exactly what supplies to pack. Above all, they knew where they were going—they chose a path and walked it.
There was something about the boys that set them apart from her. It was the unique composure and strength possessed only by those who had truly grown up, and the aura that radiated from it.
And, of course, there was how they acted when faced with danger.
“Y-you bastard!”
“Kill him!” the thugs shouted.
Instead of backing down, Rickert lunged straight at them.
A crowd of grown men swarmed the single boy, but the space was cramped. Rickert ducked low, his blade slashing through one man’s flank as he darted swiftly through a tight gap in their ranks.
Slipping past the thugs, he leaped lightly onto a table, still fully clad in his armor. He crouched low, bending his knees, and spun like a top.
Whoosh!
The moment the thugs turned to face him, a sharp sound sliced through the air as a white blur flashed before their eyes. The sharp arc of his sword slashed through eyes, noses, cheeks, and necks. One man, his gums sliced open, spat out a shower of teeth.
“Aaaaargh!”
Screams of terror mingled with the shrieks of the wounded. Amidst the chaos, several men lunged at Rickert on the table.
But Rickert had already leaped down, his sword whipping left and right in mid-descent. Two heads thudded to the floor.
At this near-miraculous display of skill, the eyes of everyone watching—save for Boribori—widened as far as they would go. They couldn't tell if what they felt was terror or awe.
Rickert kicked one of the headless corpses forward, blocking the path of those rushing him blindly. As they scrambled to push the body aside, he was already gone.
From then on, they couldn't even track his position; they only heard the whistle of his sword. With every swing, someone sprayed blood and died. Some stumbled and collapsed, while others dropped dead on the spot.
What is this? Am I having a nightmare? the thugs thought as they were slaughtered.
Rickert was different from when he had first left this tavern, Anna's Loss. Had he grown? No, to be precise, it was a change in style.
Once a person reached a certain level of mastery, it was less about what was better or worse and more about a difference in style. Rickert had unconsciously come to resemble The Nameless. Yet he wasn't merely mimicking the man; he had made the style entirely his own.
His technique, once characterized by precise timing and clean, sharp lines, now seemed to disregard those constraints. He fought more instinctively, with a touch of wildness. And, of course, his body had grown and his physical strength had developed over the past few months. He was drawing ever closer to his peak form.
Marie watched all of this as if spellbound. She didn't even register the dying thugs; her eyes were fixed solely on Rickert. He was an artist painting with blood, a grandmaster's masterpiece rendered in rough, bold strokes. It was shockingly beautiful—a level of skill she had never seen, nor even imagined.
Thud. Crash.
The last thug collapsed onto a table like laundry draped over a clothesline before crashing to the floor along with the table itself. It hadn't taken long to deal with the half-dozen men.
Not a single table or chair in the tavern remained upright, and the floor was a sea of blood. The thick, metallic stench was enough to make one’s head spin. The other patrons huddled in the corners, trembling in terror, just as they had when The Nameless visited this place.
Rickert swung his sword, flicking most of the blood onto the ceiling and walls. Stepping carefully around the debris and puddles, he walked over to Boribori and Marie.
Boribori handed him a towel stained with brown spots—old bloodstains from being washed and reused repeatedly.
Rickert wiped his sword, sheathed it, and handed it back to its owner. Then, looking at Marie, he spoke.
“I fought carefully to avoid scratching the armor, but some blood splattered on the surcoat here.” He pointed to the purple surcoat she wore over the armor.
“…Huh?”
“I asked if you’re okay with that.”
“Oh, uh…”
“Well, staying here tonight is out of the question,” Boribori said, surveying the ruined tavern. He glanced at the bartender, who was panting heavily despite having done nothing but stand there, shaking like a leaf.
As Rickert approached, the bartender’s legs gave out, and he sank to the floor. Rickert spoke to the man, who could only gape silently in terror.
“This wasn’t our fault. You know that, right?”
The bartender nodded frantically. Leaving him behind, Rickert and Boribori walked out of the tavern. The innocence they once had was gone. Not only had they experienced many such incidents over the past winter, but they now possessed the strength to handle the consequences of their actions.
“What are you doing? Let’s go, Marie.”
“Oh, right.”
Marie’s mind was still in a daze, but she managed to snap out of it and hurried after them.
Outside, the warm air vanished, and the cold wind once again wrapped around her face. In return, she was freed from the stench of filth and blood, and her head began to clear.
In the end, the three of them had no choice but to camp outside. Was it better to sleep smelling blood, or to sleep enduring the cold? From experience, Rickert and Boribori knew the latter was far better.
After building a campfire in a suitable spot, Rickert took off the armor again. He stripped it off with remarkable ease, as if he had been handling combat gear for years, needing no assistance.
“You’ll be able to wear it again by tomorrow,” Rickert said to Marie.
“Okay…”
“By the way, you aren’t as shocked as I thought you’d be,” Boribori remarked.
“Huh?”
“Usually, people freeze up the first time they see someone die. Have you seen it before?”
“Ah, well, I’ve seen executions quite often. Beheading, hanging, burning at the stake, drowning, quartering… I guess what just happened was better than those, anyway.”
There were many forms of capital punishment. In an era that valued honor, the method of execution varied depending on the crime and the person’s social status. A noble was usually beheaded, though there was a distinction between being executed with a sword or an axe—the axe was considered disgraceful. Witches and mages were often burned at the stake, a method meant to destroy their very souls and prevent them from casting curses from beyond the grave.
In the countryside, the local lord might perform the execution himself, while cities had professional executioners. In most cases, these were public events. Since entertainment was scarce, public executions served as a popular spectacle. One of the most horrific involved tying the criminal to a ladder while a torturer flayed them alive over several days. The longer they kept the victim alive, the more they were paid.
“That makes sense,” Boribori agreed immediately. Despite his innocence, living in such an era had given him a certain immunity to cruelty.
“But tell me, what rank is Ricky? Are all the Academy students as strong as you?”
“He’s number one,” Boribori answered for Rickert, who was busy roasting potatoes in the fire.
Marie looked visibly taken aback. “Huh? Oh…”
“Why? Was his skill not good enough for number one?”
“What? Oh, no. No, no, it’s not that.”
Rickert and Boribori had no idea why she was so flustered, but they didn't pay it much mind.
“Marie, have you ever killed anyone?” Rickert asked. His eyes, fixed on the roasting potatoes, glowed red in the firelight.
“No. Not yet.”
“Then you’d better steel yourself.”
“I’ve already prepared myself.”
“Prepared for what?”
“Prepared not to hesitate.”
At that, Rickert and Boribori chuckled. Not understanding why, Marie could only blink.
“Not that kind of preparation,” Rickert said. “What I mean is, cutting people down… it’s strangely addictive. I’m telling you not to get swept up in it.”
“…”
It was a shocking, chilling piece of advice she had never heard from her swordsmanship instructor. Marie was left speechless. What kind of kids are they?
Boribori rolled a hot potato between his palms to cool it. The warmth felt nice in the cold. “Ricky and I talked about why bad guys are bad, and it turns out most of them are like that. They get a taste for killing. They enjoy the way others look at them in fear. They get drunk on that feeling, commit even worse deeds, and eventually reach a point of no return. They forget who they were.”
“That’s why I said principles are important,” Rickert added, splitting a sweet potato in half and offering it to her. A mouthwatering aroma wafted from its golden flesh.
Overwhelmed, Marie found herself at a loss for words. She simply took the sweet potato, blew on it, and took small bites.
“Training hard and getting stronger is just a process,” Rickert said. “It can’t be the goal itself. I think making good friends and overcoming hardships together is much more important.”
“Exactly,” Boribori agreed.
But perhaps they could only say such things because they were strong. In this world, the weak couldn't afford to think like that. Whether they had started from a different place or now stood on higher ground, the two boys possessed a perspective entirely different from that of ordinary people. Their journey, their experiences, their growth—so much had happened over the past year.
And they still had another year ahead of them.
*
The three of them set off for Beringen early the next morning. It was about a day’s journey at a normal pace, but they hurried their steps slightly.
The return trip, however, was not as easy as their departure. The melting snow had turned the roads into a muddy mess. Sinking ankle-deep, they chose to walk through the grassy fields instead, where the roots held the ground firm.
Marie, wearing her armor again, struggled to keep up. Despite the cold, sweat poured off her. Thanks to her mana training, however, she managed to maintain the pace, exhausted as she was.
Rickert and Boribori did not coddle her. They didn't offer to carry her on their backs, nor did they take her helmet or sword. They simply estimated the time by the sun, walking ahead and occasionally waiting for her to catch up.
“S-sorry.”
“You don’t have to be sorry. We’re not tired.”
“…Huh?”
Truly, the two boys operated on a different wavelength.
By taking brief rests and walking diligently, they managed to reach Beringen by evening. At this point, even Rickert and Boribori felt as if they had returned home. In unfamiliar places, one's nerves were constantly on edge, which was mentally exhausting.
The two boys were the first to enter the guild headquarters. Dunkel was there, leaning on the bar with his chin in his hands. The moment he saw Rickert, his eyes widened like saucers.
“Gasp!” he choked out, looking as if he’d seen a ghost.
“What’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a dead man walk in.”
“…N-no.”
Ignoring Dunkel’s reaction, Rickert reached into Boribori’s bag and pulled out Erze's ear, Leto's crystal ball and magic wand, and his grotesque nose, placing them on the counter.
“The request is complete. How are the kids?”
Dunkel stared at the items. His already wide eyes stretched even further, and he looked as if he might faint.
“You didn’t withhold the food supplies thinking we wouldn’t finish the job, did you? Because that wouldn’t be very funny.”
Though Rickert spoke politely, his tone carried an unmistakable threat. Dunkel, utterly dazed, stared blankly for a moment before frantically shaking his head.
“T-the kids… the kids didn’t starve. I swear. You two sent back so much money.”
“Is that so? That’s a relief.”
“N-no, that’s not what I mean… Did you really…”
“We had help,” Rickert said calmly. “We learned a lot. Both Bori and I.”
Despite the boy’s calm demeanor, what he had accomplished was truly unbelievable.
“Has anything happened at the Academy? Besides the food.”
“…Uh, well.” Dunkel seemed to need a moment to gather his thoughts. His eyes darted around before he swallowed hard and spoke. “I think you might need to restore some discipline. Some rather… uncontrollable kids have joined recently. That’s the main issue. Nothing too serious. Anyway, welcome back. To be honest, I didn’t expect you to make it.”
Rickert merely offered a faint smile. “Just prepare some warm water for us. We’re exhausted. It really feels like we’ve come home.”
“Right, go rest. We’ll talk later. Good work. We’ll discuss the reward in detail tomorrow.”
This was a job that involved killing two members of the notorious Ehrenberg Quintet. It couldn't be settled with a few coins. Furthermore, the entire quintet had been wiped out, and two of the Nine Swords of the Empire had fallen at the same time. Rickert didn't fully grasp the repercussions—whether the guild would have to take action, or if the other powers of the world would turn their attention to this event.
For now, he and Boribori needed to rest. No, there were three of them who needed to rest.
“Oh, right. Please prepare bathwater for three. We have a companion. She’s also an Academy student we met on the way.”
Rickert gestured with his thumb at Marie. She was wrapped in his red cloak with the hood pulled low, hiding her face. A glimpse of a purple surcoat peeked out, but Dunkel was too shocked to pay it any mind. Since it was no difficult task, he just nodded.
After unpacking in his room, Rickert sank into the warm bathwater. A wave of exhaustion washed over him, so profound he nearly lost consciousness. It was the same for Boribori, and for Marie, who was unaccustomed to travel. After all, they had camped outside for two nights.
Sharing hardship forged a natural camaraderie, drawing people closer. This growing bond expanded their understanding of one another, and as it deepened, it promised to transform them into something truly special to each other.
Thus, as winter faded, spring slowly approached. And like the first shoots of the new season, a new bond began to blossom.