Chapter 47
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 47
When winter passed and spring blossomed, the time for huddling indoors was over. It was a good season for work, but a good season for work was also a good season for war.
It was impossible to know if the guild war had truly begun. Whether skirmishes were already breaking out or the factions were merely sizing each other up, the Beringen Academy, isolated from the world, could not easily receive news from the outside.
Yet, perhaps because it was so cut off, it was able to provide a final sanctuary for abandoned children.
“Welcome to the Academy, freshman!” Karlich shouted at the top of his lungs inside the boys' dormitory, his voice dripping with unrestrained excitement.
He threw a blanket over the newly arrived student and, along with the others, gave the boy a thorough, enthusiastic thrashing. After a solid beating, Karlich yanked the blanket away, grabbed the freshman’s arm, and hauled him to his feet. The boy looked half-dazed, his face twisted in pain.
“With this, you are now a proud member of Beringen Academy! Come on, everyone, give him a round of applause!”
Clap, clap, clap, clap, clap!
Karlich hoisted the freshman’s arm high in the air as if celebrating a tournament champion. He then shot Rickert a look that practically screamed, See? I did a great job, right?
“…”
Watching the spectacle from his top bunk, Rickert was at a loss for words, unsure whether to be dumbfounded or just sigh. Unlike when they had first met, Karlich was now more passionate about Academy life than anyone.
In truth, while the circumstances varied, the children of noble families who were far removed from succession weren't much different from bastards. What family in their right mind would send their heir to the Academy? Ending up at an adventurers’ academy was, to put it harshly, a form of exile. To put it kindly, it was a final gesture of support, allowing them to carve out their own path.
In the past, many had hesitated to become adventurers due to the profession's poor reputation, but that stigma had faded. Nobles had begun submitting requests to the Adventurers' Guild and quickly realized how useful they could be. Besides, they figured, there wasn't much difference between dying in a knightly order, a mercenary company, or as an adventurer.
Furthermore, the potential to rise through the ranks and bring honor or aid to one's family remained the same. In fact, becoming an adventurer could offer more practical benefits. A knightly order prioritized the grand master’s commands and a mercenary company was far too expensive, but having an adventurer in the family was much more versatile.
“You can use this bed. Stop whining. Is this all the clothes you brought? Got anything to eat? If you're hungry, just let me know. For chores, ask that guy over there. If you need a job in the city, talk to me. You need money for classes, you see. I can lend you some, but to pay it back, you'll have to find work…”
Karlich explained one thing after another as he led the dazed freshman to an empty bunk. There was nothing wrong with what he was doing, but that was precisely the problem. Karlich was almost excessively enthusiastic.
After getting thoroughly beaten by Rickert on his first day, he hadn’t just learned his lesson. He had realized, Ah, so there are rules here too, and adapted his behavior accordingly. He was incredibly quick to adapt, highly perceptive, and overflowing with a passion that was almost overwhelming.
Though Karlich was a noble, he was not a traditional one. To be precise, he came from a family of merchant nobility. Traditional nobility held a title, owned land—no matter how small—and fulfilled their duties as knights. Merchant nobility, on the other hand, had no titles, only their family businesses. While they might own private land, it was a completely different concept from a fief tied to a title.
Consequently, traditional nobles often refused to treat merchant nobles as their equals. There were instances where a merchant noble would arrive on a battlefield fully armed, only for a traditional noble to refuse to fight alongside “such a fellow” and boycott the battle entirely. Yet, even as traditional nobles could live in poverty in the countryside, merchant nobles often possessed vast wealth and lived in grand city mansions.
Despite this reality, they lived in an era where lineage and honor reigned supreme. No matter how wealthy they were, the city nobles had no choice but to defer to their traditional counterparts. At any lord’s official banquet, even their seating arrangements were different.
Naturally, they looked down on each other in secret. The city nobles scoffed at the country bumpkins putting on airs based solely on their bloodlines, while the traditional nobles sneered at the “mere merchants” pretending to be aristocrats.
“Ricky,” Karlich said, approaching Rickert with a sheet of paper.
“…What is it?”
“You said you’d buy clothes for the kids. I went ahead and got everyone’s measurements. I organized them here.”
Rickert took the paper. It contained a neat list of every student at the Academy, complete with their height, arm length, leg length, and waist size.
“…”
In an academy that had always run on makeshift, rule-of-thumb methods, this kind of systematic organization was a first.
“I think dark blue would be best. Other colors are often extracted from plants, which makes the supply chain difficult depending on the season. Lapis lazuli is expensive, but since there's a source nearby, we can get it cheaper than elsewhere. Based on my calculations, the budget should just about cover it. Since we're making them anyway, shouldn't we make them look sharp to boost the pride of our Beringen Academy? If you don't mind, let me handle this. I won't disappoint you.”
Karlich stared at Rickert with wide, sanpaku eyes full of anticipation. Looking into those clear eyes, Rickert saw a flash of madness and felt a strange chill he had never experienced before.
“Uh, sure…”
“Alright!” Karlich pumped his fist in delight.
“But seriously, why are you working so hard? Are you worried I’ll scold you or something?”
At Rickert’s question, Karlich grinned, his sanpaku eyes still wide. He looks even scarier when he smiles, Rickert thought.
“No one interferes here. There are no scoldings from my father, no contempt from my brothers. For once, I feel like a useful human being. Honestly, I'd rather have no status at all. I'm sick of all this talk about traditional nobility and merchant nobility. Here, everyone is a brother. And I looked up the Imperial Law! There's a clause that says: 'In the name of Emperor Martelus, under the protection of the Empire, the Academy shall follow its own laws, rules, and traditions.' That means we can create our own laws! Isn't that exciting?”
It was the first Rickert had heard of such a thing. In reality, most regions followed their own customary laws, and the written Imperial Law was often little more than a dead letter. If the Emperor tried to enforce it, he would provoke backlash from local lords, making strict enforcement impossible. Thus, even the Emperor rarely invoked it lightly. To be honest, the Emperor himself probably didn't know the laws very well; he just consulted his magistrates when needed.
Still, everyone adhered to a few key provisions: titles and estates were inherited by males; local lords held sovereign authority but could not negotiate with foreign nations; and in determining guilt, all must be fair before God. Having only learned the bare basics at home—how to read, write, and do simple arithmetic—Rickert had no higher education, so he could only listen in wonder.
Karlich’s eyes shone like stars, fueled by his personal ambition—and a hint of madness. Watching him, Rickert realized that a properly educated noble really was different. Even so, being around Karlich felt somewhat overwhelming, so Rickert quietly slipped away.
Leaving the room, he headed to the second floor to study ancient script in an empty classroom, only to find Boribori already there, reading something.
“Oh? Ricky.”
“What are you reading?”
“The Sex Life of the Ancients.”
“…Why are you reading that?”
“Ancient books are rare, and handwritten copies are even rarer. I can’t afford to be picky. Besides, it’s surprisingly interesting.”
Rickert had no reply. He simply sat down next to Boribori, rested his chin on his hand, and stared out the window. The blue sky and the vast, cool fields were reflected in his hazel eyes. A gentle breeze blew past, fluttering his shimmering blond hair.
“Are you bored?” Boribori asked.
“Hmm? No.”
“You look bored. Want to make a bet?”
“What kind of bet?”
“Since I’m no match for you, let’s each train someone and have them duel. Whichever disciple wins, wins the bet.”
“No way. None of these kids can understand a word I say.”
Rickert had occasionally tried to teach the students, but they rarely understood his instructions, leaving him frustrated. Consequently, he rarely taught anyone, except for sparring with the circle of friends now known as the group of nine before they graduated.
“Then why don’t you write a book? Maybe someday, someone who understands you will show up.”
“A book?”
“Yeah. But writing it normally is boring, so how about writing it in ancient script? It'll help you study, too.”
Rickert’s interest was piqued. It didn't sound like a bad way to pass the time.
In truth, he had recently felt the Academy gradually slipping from his grasp. Not that he had ever actively managed it, but the students were now working hard and improving on their own. While watching them grow brought him a sense of pride, it also made him feel as though there was nothing left for him to do. All he had really done was set the stage: he ensured no one was bullied, that everyone had enough to eat, and that order was maintained. With the Academy running smoothly on its own, he was simply idle.
“That actually sounds like a good idea,” Rickert admitted.
“Hehe, right?”
Rickert immediately laid out some paper and brought over ink and a pen, but he hit a snag right from the start.
“What should I title it?”
“Ricky-style Swordsmanship! People usually name it after themselves.”
“But that sounds tacky.”
“Hey, you’re the one who called mine Bori-style Swordsmanship.”
“Anyway, putting my name on it is too cliché. I’ll just call it Basics of Swordsmanship.”
“Huh? That’s so plain.”
“This is better. It doesn't matter if it's not written perfectly. Those who are meant to understand, will understand.”
“You’re surprisingly shy, Ricky.”
Rickert didn’t deny it; he just smiled. Then, he wrote the title in large letters: Basics of Swordsmanship. His handwriting, shaped by his mother’s loving guidance, was as elegant as a willow branch. In contrast, Boribori’s was full of raw energy.
Rickert organized his thoughts and began drafting an outline. Whenever he encountered an ancient character he didn’t know, he asked Boribori or referenced the book. However, because that book was The Sex Life of the Ancients, he occasionally caught glimpses of things he shouldn't have, forcing him to squeeze his eyes shut.
Reflecting on his own swordsmanship was enjoyable, but when he recalled the frustration of trying to teach the other kids, he felt at a loss for what to write. Should he simplify the content? Was it really that hard? Why? He didn't know. Since his only motivation was to write for those who could understand, Rickert didn't overthink it and simply wrote.
Boribori, watching from the side, chimed in. “It reads more like prose than an explanation.”
“Does it? Well, language is never perfect. I’m just expressing it as it is. This is the most accurate way.”
“I don’t know. Shouldn’t you try to explain it as best you can?”
“Then why don’t you write one too, Bori?”
“Maybe I will. I’ll call mine Bori-style Swordsmanship. Hehehe.”
Boribori set down his book, pulled over a blank sheet of paper, and began to write. His handwriting was neat and forceful. Though the works of the two boys were still unrefined, the difference between them was already stark. Rickert wrote as if composing an epic poem with no clear beginning or end, while Boribori meticulously divided his work into chapters, building it up step-by-step.
After a while, they looked over each other’s work.
“Hey, why are you wasting paper on this? This is just common sense,” Rickert said with a frown, his tone disapproving. Paper was by no means cheap.
“Because the reader might be a beginner. They need to understand the simple things first. If you just throw out lines like, ‘If you think before you strike, you are already too late,’ or ‘Without understanding the mechanics of force, a strong attack is meaningless,’ who is going to understand that?”
Rickert thought about it and realized Boribori had a point. However, the thought of writing out every single detailed explanation made him lose interest. A stubborn streak flared up.
“…That’s why I’m writing it so only those who can understand will get it.”
“Hmm… then let’s do this. I’ll write a separate commentary, and you can review it. How about that?”
“Having a commentary makes it look uncool.”
“No, it’ll still be cool. You really are shy.”
Rickert laughed, dumbfounded. He reached out and playfully ruffled Boribori’s yellowish-brown bowl cut. Boribori let out a soft chuckle. He really had grown a lot, and in a good way. Rickert felt a swell of pride.
To Rickert, Boribori was his most precious friend, his disciple, and now, perhaps, even his teacher. When you teach someone and watch them grow, perhaps you, the teacher, are also being guided and growing alongside them.
Spring had fully ripened. It was perfect weather for working, perfect weather for fighting—and perfect weather for deepening a friendship.
