Chapter 52
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 52
A headless man stood with his own severed head tucked under his left arm. Rickert could only stare at the man’s back.
As the figure slowly turned, Rickert saw that it was none other than Steiner.
The head, detached from its body, opened its mouth and spoke as if it were still attached.
"What's the difference between you and me?"
“...”
"You're far worse. Compared to you, I'm just a lackey of the Demon King. Isn't that right?"
“...”
"I simply didn't have them. A happy family, decent friends. God and the world never allowed it, so how is that my fault?"
“...”
Rickert wanted to open his mouth, to say something, but the words wouldn't come out. The frustration was driving him mad.
Steiner snorted in derision, uttered one last thing, and walked away into a deep abyss.
"Life is pain and reality is hell, my friend. I finally understand those words."
Rickert wanted to run, to grab Steiner and scream that they were different. But his limbs refused to move, and the words remained trapped in his throat.
Struggling desperately against the suffocating paralysis, he bolted upright with a scream, tearing himself from the nightmare.
The moment he woke, however, he felt someone's head resting on his chest.
"Aaargh!"
"Ah! You startled me!"
Rickert reacted on pure instinct. Grabbing the unknown person's hair, he yanked their head back violently while drawing the dagger he kept by his bedside.
But the tip of the dagger stopped just beneath Marie's chin.
Rickert stared at her, his eyes wide with shock. Marie, her head forced back at an awkward angle, stared back with equally startled eyes. Their faces were inches apart, close enough to kiss, and they could feel each other's ragged, startled breaths.
Shuddering, Rickert quickly let go of her hair and sheathed his dagger.
"I-I'm sorry."
"I-it's okay."
Rickert gathered his wits and looked around. They were inside a tent. In the corner, Boribori was fast asleep under a blanket, two of his fingers wrapped tightly in bandages.
A wet towel lay on the ground nearby. It must have fallen from his forehead.
"You were groaning so much, I thought you had a fever..." Marie said, smoothing down her disheveled hair.
"I'm sorry. Really, I'm sorry. I had a bad dream. I don't usually react like that," Rickert repeated.
“...”
An awkward silence filled the tent. Rickert touched his forehead for no reason, then picked up the damp towel from the floor.
"Thank you."
"No, it's nothing. We're supposed to help each other."
"Did you get any sleep?"
"Yeah..."
"You couldn't sleep well because of me."
"No, that's not it..."
Rickert was still dazed when he suddenly noticed the front of his shirt was unbuttoned. Wait, had she really just pressed her head against his bare chest?
"I-I had to listen to your heartbeat! That's what you do for patients," Marie said, her face flushing.
Rickert tilted his head. Was that really a thing?
"Is that so? Anyway, thank you. Get some sleep. I think I'm wide awake now."
"I-I've slept enough too. I'm fine."
Rickert felt a lingering mix of guilt and gratitude. Since he was fully awake, he buttoned his shirt, adjusted his clothes, and stepped out of the tent. Dawn was already breaking.
He saw a few members of the Widowmaker Clan standing watch, while Volka and Delphi were sleeping huddled together inside a doorless tent.
Surprisingly, none of their allies had died last night. The enemy's casualties weren't as high as expected, either. A quick scan of the high ground revealed only a dozen or so corpses. Most of them hadn't even died in direct combat, but from shoving each other, friendly fire, or accidental stabs. One man had even died by rolling down the slope and cracking his head on a rock.
The fires that had blazed all night now sent up columns of cool, gray smoke. Strangely, however, the enemy hadn't fled far; they were still sleeping or loitering around the Kaits area.
It was baffling. Regular soldiers would have deserted and fled straight back to their hometowns after such a defeat. But perhaps because they were adventurers, they didn't seem particularly shocked. Most of them seemed to believe that even if they lost, it was the guild's defeat, not their own. At least, that was how the low-rank adventurers felt.
Only mid-rank adventurers and above felt their personal standing was directly tied to the rise and fall of their guild.
As the sky grew brighter, Rickert turned his head toward the eastern horizon. Though the sun hadn't yet shown itself, its presence was known, casting a pale blue glow from beneath the distant ridgeline.
Rickert sat down to wait. A moment later, Marie sat beside him, gazing at the same spot.
Then, he felt something gently rest on his shoulder.
"If you're going to lean, do it comfortably. You look exhausted," he said softly.
"O-oh? Is that okay?"
"Why ask when you're already doing it?"
Rickert let out a soft chuckle. He gently wrapped an arm around Marie's waist and pulled her closer. Startled, she froze for a second, but he gently guided her head to rest fully on his shoulder. Marie was terrified he might hear her pounding heart.
Rickert quietly watched the sun rise. It was an ordinary sun that rose and set every single day, yet the grand spectacle always brought an indescribable sense of awe. The sun crested the horizon, its rays instantly stretching like golden hands to embrace the world. Who could ever hope to replicate such a thing?
Filled with a natural sense of humility, Rickert watched the sunrise alongside Marie.
"Ricky."
"Hmm?"
"You... never mind."
"What is it?"
"Just... it's nice being with you."
"Me too."
The words that passed between them were neither too light nor too heavy, yet their feelings seemed slightly misaligned. Marie sensed that subtle gap. Still, she thought, this is enough.
As time passed, people began to wake up one by one. Reinhardt started his morning by urinating off a rocky cliff. Having drunk so much alcohol the night before, his stream seemed to go on forever.
"Ahhh, that's refreshing."
Once Volka, Delphi, and Boribori were awake, the five of them lit a campfire for breakfast. As always, it consisted of potatoes, sweet potatoes, and smoked ham.
"Man, yesterday was so satisfying. Honestly, I was a bit scared, but they were nothing," Volka said, handing a sweet potato to Delphi first.
But Rickert shook his head. "This isn't going to work."
"Huh? Why? Didn't you say we could pull it off?"
"The enemy isn't running away like I expected. In the long run, this isn't good for us."
"Can't we just fight like we did yesterday?"
"No. That wasn't a planned victory; it was pure luck. We can't just react to events as they happen. We might get lucky once or twice, but if we keep doing that and slip up even once, we're all dead."
Since this was a clash between groups with absolutely no discipline, even Rickert couldn't predict what would happen next. While he interpreted the situation based on his past life's experiences, he didn't let himself be bound by them. A guild war was a first for him, too, which was why he was constantly observing.
For starters, no one knew what unexpected variables might arise. There was no proper commander, and even if there were, adventurers never listened to a damn word they were told. This meant they had to make decisions on the fly to gain advantages as situations arose, but if things continued this way, the side with fewer numbers would ultimately lose.
"Then what do we do? I don't think that pig is going to listen to reason," Volka said, pointing toward the defense tower where Reinhardt was.
Rickert let out a sigh through his nose. "For now, we should be fine. The enemy took a heavy blow. But in the long run, we need support from headquarters. Or at least, we need to know what the situation is like back there."
Rickert needed to grasp the overall picture, but there was currently no way to know. How was the war progressing? Did they really have no other allies?
"Who's going?" Volka asked.
"You're the only one who knows where headquarters is, Volka. Go with Delphi."
"Will you be okay?"
Losing two people might not seem like a big deal, but it was more significant than it looked. Their numbers were already tiny, and Clan Viola had only five members to begin with. On top of that, Boribori was injured.
"Bori, you okay?" Rickert asked, looking at Boribori's bandaged fingers.
"Yeah."
"Don't just say yes. Are you really okay?"
"I used a potion. It would be a waste if I weren't."
"Still, don't move your fingers carelessly for at least three days."
"Got it."
Rickert looked back at Volka. "Let's do this. We'll monitor the situation for a few days. If things seem stable, you two can head to headquarters."
"Sounds like a plan."
With that, Clan Viola had established its own course of action. It would have been ideal to coordinate with the Widowmaker Clan, but Rickert doubted they could even communicate properly.
When Rickert went to Reinhardt and asked what he planned to do next, Reinhardt seemed to hesitate, perhaps because of how Rickert had acted the day before. He didn't speak in his usual gruff manner.
"I'm just going to defend this place..."
"But you recklessly attacked yesterday."
"That's because those bastards played dirty."
"Then who was supposed to guard the defense tower?"
"We defended it anyway, didn't we?"
Rickert was left speechless. Wow, how does his brain even function?
He gained a clear realization: the very idea of trying to command adventurers was flawed. Adventurers were not soldiers, and guilds were not armies. Ultimately, Clan Viola had to stick to their independent plan and simply coordinate with the Widowmaker Clan on the fly as best they could.
Rickert observed the enemy from the high ground. They showed absolutely no signs of being a defeated army. And just like his own side, the enemy was highly disorganized. Some groups seemed to be preparing to pull out of the war entirely, while others appeared to be heading off to forage for food. Out of a force of roughly eighty, about forty scattered and moved elsewhere.
Meanwhile, those who appeared to be clan leaders gathered to talk, but judging by their waving hands and shaking heads, they were having just as much trouble reaching a consensus as his side was.
Around noon, a man suddenly marched up toward the high ground. He wasn't acting on orders; he was doing as he pleased.
"Hey! Red Cloak Ricky! Let's have a duel!" a lanky, shirtless man shouted, resting a Two-Handed Sword on his shoulder.
In the classification of swords, a 'Two-Handed Sword' referred to a weapon even larger than a 'Greatsword'. The sword Rickert had used in his past life was a greatsword. This man's weapon, from hilt to tip, was longer than Rickert was tall. Visually, it was highly intimidating.
But Rickert stepped forward as if he had been waiting for this. In truth, he was also acting on his own whims. However, his decision was based on the cold calculation that killing an enemy expert outside of a chaotic melee would be beneficial. He wasn't dueling to show off.
As Rickert stepped forward, the members of the Widowmaker Clan and his friends also came down from the tower, unlike the previous day. They scanned the surroundings, keeping watch to ensure no one attempted another ambush. Understanding their intent, the enemy chose the flattest area on the high ground as the dueling site.
Perhaps trying to intimidate him, Rickert's opponent spread his long arms wide, making his already towering frame look even larger.
"I am Folk the 'Bullhorn' of Tanburg!"
Rickert was not one to be intimidated by such antics. He simply drew his sword and tossed the scabbard toward his allies.
"Clan Viola, Ricky."
And so, the duel began. The man with the massive sword swung it in wide, whooshing circles, carefully measuring the distance.
Rickert held his longsword in one hand, resting the flat of the blade on his shoulder. Without taking any particular stance, he calmly circled Folk, subtly closing the distance. His opponent was no amateur; sensing the shift, he unleashed a powerful strike, swinging his spinning sword directly at Rickert.
Whoosh!
The sword was so massive that the wind pressure alone was palpable. Its reach was immense, as was its destructive power.
Yet, Rickert dropped into a low crouch, his torso nearly brushing the ground as he lunged inside the sword's arc. His blade remained on his shoulder, while his free hand braced against the earth.
Folk realized his attack had missed. Thanks to his long reach, he managed to retreat quickly. But as Rickert relentlessly closed the gap, Folk lashed out with a kick from his massive foot.
At that exact moment, Rickert planted his feet and swung his sword with immense force.
Swish!
Thwack!
Folk's knee was severed. He squeezed his eyes shut in a silent grimace.
As his body tilted and collapsed sideways, before his head could even hit the ground—and before a scream could escape his throat—his neck was severed. The upward slash that took his head was a seamless continuation of the strike that had taken his leg. His swordsmanship was, in a word, uncanny.
Whoosh!
Thud!
The giant of a man collapsed in a heap, missing a leg and his head, blood spurting from the wounds. Rickert rested his sword back on his shoulder and scanned the enemy. His breathing wasn't even labored; his inhales and exhales were perfectly steady.
Surprisingly, almost no one looked afraid. Most of them wore expressions as if they had just watched a great show and were about to applaud. Seeing the duel in broad daylight made it all the more entertaining.
Just as nobles had no concept of dying for their country, adventurers didn't care if someone else died unless they belonged to the same clan. They simply admired the spectacle with pure, morbid curiosity.
However, a select few watched Rickert intently, their eyes gleaming.
Folk's companions stepped forward to retrieve the corpse.
Rickert paced around, looking at the enemy as if to ask if anyone else wanted a challenge. Seeing no immediate takers, he climbed back up to the defense tower.
It wasn't until the next day that someone else requested a duel, and another followed the day after that. It seemed they were putting their heads together to analyze Rickert's fighting style before challenging him.
But every single challenger died. This was because Rickert had no set form or pattern to exploit in the first place. In fact, most of them died without ever showing their true skills, having fought awkwardly in their clumsy attempts to counter a swordsmanship they couldn't comprehend.
Then, as the days went by, something absurd happened. Civilians suddenly began gathering around Kaits, eventually settling down right there.
They had come for one reason and one reason only: to watch the duels.
In an era where public executions were a form of entertainment, a duel to the death was a rare and thrilling spectacle.
Rickert couldn't even begin to fathom what was happening. Was this really what a guild war was like?