Chapter 54
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 54
In any fight, the defender’s greatest weakness was their lack of initiative. Unable to predict when the enemy would strike, their nerves were stretched taut—a mental exhaustion far greater than any physical toll.
Though they had no worries about food, Rickert and his companions had no sturdy walls to rely on. There were no trenches dug around the defense tower, no sharpened stakes driven into the ground; they lacked even the most basic fortifications. Adventurers would rather die than pick up a shovel, which marked the greatest difference between them and a professional army. In a real army, soldiers spent far more time with shovels and pickaxes than they did with their weapons.
Furthermore, three days had passed since Volka and Delphi’s departure, and there was still no sign of their return. Worrying about his friends was another drain on Rickert’s mental fortitude.
Everyone, not just Rickert, knew a full-scale attack was imminent. The only question was when.
Below the highlands, a festive atmosphere had reigned for days. Since it was rare for so many people to gather outside a formal community, everyone seemed giddy with excitement. Even when night fell, they lit massive bonfires, roasted meat, sang, and danced. Troubadours played their lutes while jesters performed their antics. The view from above was completely unobstructed, allowing them to see everything—even couples making love in the secluded shadows.
"Damn you! You bastards! Take this!"
Finding the lovers’ trysts offensive, members of the Widowmaker Clan hurled shit and stones down at them. As the startled couples scrambled to gather their clothes and flee, the clan members cackled with amusement.
Meanwhile, Reinhardt simply guzzled alcohol and enjoyed the festive mood, while Rickert, Boribori, and Marie took turns guarding the rope bridge.
A round, full moon hung in the night sky, making it much brighter than usual. When the moonlight was this brilliant, it felt almost like morning, with only a slight exaggeration. Under the strangely bright moon and in the pleasantly cool air, Rickert sat by the campfire with Marie.
However, Marie kept pressing closer to him, prompting Rickert to subtly slide away. She would draw near again, and he would pull back, a cycle that repeated several times. Rickert wasn't completely oblivious; by now, he had some inkling of the girl's feelings. But while once or twice was one thing, her persistence was becoming troublesome.
As Rickert continued to subtly avoid her, Marie finally spoke up, a hint of embarrassment in her voice.
"Um, Ricky..."
"Yeah?"
"You see..."
"We can't let our guard down, Marie," Rickert said, his voice intentionally cold. "We didn't come here to play."
At his words, Marie, who had been about to say something, snapped her mouth shut and lowered her head. A night with such bright moonlight should have felt special, but now it only felt cruel. Instead of soothing her heart, the light seemed to expose it completely.
If I had known it would be like this, I shouldn't have sat so close. I shouldn't have even tried to speak, Marie thought, a deep wave of regret washing over her for something so trivial.
But just as Rickert had warned, something unusual was indeed beginning to happen. Dozens of people, each holding a torch, were climbing toward the defense tower.
Rickert sprang to his feet. Marie, who had been hanging her head, startled. A moment later, she too sensed the ominous atmosphere.
"Hey!" Rickert shouted toward the Widowmaker Clan, signaling for them to stop fooling around and watch the cliff.
At first, they looked back with confused expressions, but they quickly snapped to attention upon seeing the dozens of torches. What is that?
The people approaching the defense tower were not civilians. Every one of them wore a weapon at their waist. They were adventurers. In a strange display, like a religious ritual, they kept their weapons sheathed and remained silent, simply standing there at a distance. Why are they doing that? What are they up to?
Just then, the guard stationed at the narrow path leading to the tower screamed as blood sprayed from his throat.
"Argh!"
Rickert’s head whipped around. Armed men, who had been hiding God knows where, had already breached the entrance and were charging up the path. The real battle had begun.
Rickert drew his sword and spoke to Marie. "Stick close to Bori. If things go south, cross the bridge."
"R-Ricky, what about you?"
Rickert didn't answer, instead dashing toward the entrance. However, the man who had killed the guard spotted him and immediately bolted in another direction. In his place, five or six men, each gripping a man-sized shield with both hands, locked them together and began advancing on Rickert.
They came prepared, he thought, pausing.
Faced with a surging shield wall, Rickert had no immediate counter. He tried to reposition, but the enemies who had breached the perimeter with such clear intent were not about to let him. The shield wall pressed in rapidly. In an instant, he realized their goal: They're trying to push me right off the cliff.
Even amidst this, the dozens of people holding torches did not join the fight; they merely watched. They had been instructed that they didn't need to fight—only to join in once victory was assured. They were useless, disobedient low-ranks, and were being used as a distraction. Since they had succeeded, whoever gave the order was clearly clever.
However, because the enemies were holding such massive shields, their vision was obstructed. Being packed so tightly also made it difficult for them to change direction.
The moment one of them peeked his head over his shield, Rickert’s sword swung with uncanny precision. With a sharp thwack, the top of the man’s skull—eyes and all—was cleanly sliced off.
The remaining shield-bearers blindly kept pushing forward, sweeping up an unfortunate member of the Widowmaker Clan in their momentum. Unable to react in time, the poor man was shoved backward until he tumbled over the edge of the cliff.
"Aaaaaaargh!"
Flailing his arms, he plummeted toward the crowd partying around the bonfire below. Unluckily, he collided directly with someone on the ground, killing them both instantly.
Crack!
Bones protruded through torn flesh from the severe fractures. The festive scene below instantly devolved into chaos.
"Kyaaaaaah!"
The top of the cliff was in no better state. Reinhardt, who had realized they were under attack mid-drink, grabbed his massive club and began bashing the shields.
"You sons of bitches! I was getting bored anyway, this is perfect!"
Boom!
His blows were so heavy that they shattered the shields outright. He then reached out and clawed at the faces of any enemies within arm's reach.
With the troublesome shield-bearers neutralized, Rickert quickly scanned his surroundings. The torchbearers were hesitating, unsure whether to join in, while the mid-rank and higher adventurers had drawn their weapons and begun fighting in earnest.
Rickert first shouted at the low-rank adventurers holding the torches. "Come any closer and you die!"
Coming from none other than Rickert, the warning made them hesitate. At the same time, hearing his shout, the mid-rank and higher enemies targeted Rickert all at once.
Clang! Thud! Screeech!
When Rickert finally swung his sword, the moonlight flashed brilliantly along the blade. Without fail, he shattered his enemies' swords, severing necks and lopping off arms. As he unleashed his signature concise, lethal swordsmanship, two men fell in quick succession, each with a single strike.
Witnessing the terrifying blade they had only heard tales of, someone shouted, "Fall back! Bring the nets! Drive him toward the cliff!"
That bastard is the leader, Rickert realized. Having someone who knew how to coordinate a mob made things incredibly annoying.
Wolfgen, the Clan Master of the Haigen Guild, directed the battle from a safe distance, staying far from Rickert. As the mid-rank and higher adventurers moved according to his commands, they managed to corner Rickert, showing a degree of coordination that, while not on par with a trained army, was still formidable.
They hurled throwing weapons from afar and cast nets whenever they saw an opening, avoiding direct confrontation. Rickert could do nothing but constantly reposition and dodge, like a hunted tiger. Fundamentally outnumbered, he was now at a geographical disadvantage as well.
But in that moment, Rickert realized instinctively: These people didn't come to capture the defense tower. They came to kill me.
The moment he understood this, he made a split-second decision. I have a better chance of winning if I lure them away from here.
As soon as the thought crossed his mind, Rickert leaped down from the mound and charged straight toward the low-rank adventurers holding the torches.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa!"
Startled, the low-ranks scrambled out of his way.
"What are you doing, you bastards! Block him!" Wolfgen screamed, his anger boiling over at their sheer incompetence.
But the low-rank adventurers only grumbled to themselves, Didn't you say we didn't have to fight?
Rickert sprinted down the highlands, and the high-rank adventurers who had been waiting to deliver the finishing blow quickly gave chase. With that, his tactical decision paid off. A massive hole opened in the enemy's forces around the defense tower, allowing the Widowmaker Clan to launch a counterattack.
With their forces suddenly split and their core strength—the high-rank adventurers—all chasing Rickert, Wolfgen fell into a panic. How did it turn out like this? We were almost there!
Even now, the low-rank adventurers holding torches just stood there, watching blankly. Wait, are we losing? If we had fought, we would've been the ones in danger. Whew, thank goodness.
As for the high-rank adventurers, their sole objective was to kill Rickert to settle personal grudges or restore their clans' tarnished honor. They had never cared about capturing the defense tower in the first place. Only the unfortunate mid-rank adventurers were caught in the middle, stranded with nowhere to go.
To make matters worse, Boribori, having secured his post at the rope bridge, joined the fray. The mid-rank adventurers stood no chance against him.
"Fuck..." Wolfgen spat out a curse, his face a mask of despair. A moment later, Boribori's sword swung toward him, and his consciousness went dark.
Meanwhile, Rickert continued to sprint down the highlands, leading the high-rank adventurers away. He veered toward an area clear of civilians and kept running. His breath hitched in his throat and his vision spun, but the dozen or so swordsmen pursuing him relentlessly spread out to surround him.
When one of them drew close, Rickert stopped and counterattacked. However, high-rank adventurers possessed reflexes and physical capabilities at the absolute peak of human limits; they did not yield their ground easily. They had truly come prepared. Casting aside any notion of a fair duel, they focused solely on maintaining their encirclement, keeping just out of his reach. Their faces made it clear: they would kill Rickert by any means necessary.
Beads of sweat rolled down the faces of both Rickert and his enemies, their eyes shining with absolute focus, refusing to let their concentration slip for even a second.
Rickert could tell at a glance: These men are willing to take fatal wounds just to drag me down with them. And there were ten of them.
Is it finally my time to die? Is this as far as I go? The thought crossed his mind, but he wasn't afraid. It was what it was.
Yet, in this moment of extreme tension, like a string pulled taut, someone suddenly spoke to Rickert in a calm voice. It was Gramschwitz.
"Do you have a brother as well? Losing a brother is like losing a limb. The pain and the sorrow of it..."
Though he didn't know the man, Rickert understood those words, for he, too, had a brother. He could feel the depth of the grudge held against him. But this was not the time for empathy. A bond forged in resentment could only be severed with a sword.
"Haaah!"
A battle cry erupted from behind Rickert. He didn't look back; instead, he lunged at the enemy in front of him. Since he's attacking from behind, you'll have to strike now if you want to coordinate.
Sure enough, the enemy in front did not try to maintain his distance. Prepared to die, he thrust his sword straight at Rickert. A split second later, attacks came from both sides as well.
Rickert twisted his upper body, bent his knees deeply, and raised his arm, pressing the flat of his blade close to his body. Pulling his sword back with all his might, he spun the blade horizontally, parrying multiple swords at once.
Claaaaang!
Having carved out a golden opportunity, Rickert gritted his teeth and swung his sword once more.
Whoosh! Slash!
Thud.
When he deflected multiple attacks and sliced halfway through one man's waist, the others—each a renowned powerhouse in their own right—shuddered in fear.
"Y-You monster...!"
Even these men, who had resolved to die, were utterly appalled. But Rickert knew how to seize an opportunity and press his advantage relentlessly. Approaching those whose footwork had faltered for a fraction of a second, he swung his sword left and right, delivering downward strikes in a flawless display of offense and defense.
Clang! Clack! Thud!
It was no mere swordplay; it was a work of art. If there were only one true swordsmanship in the world, this had to be it. Two more men collapsed, spraying blood. Blood now trickled down Rickert's upper arm as well.
As the shadow of death loomed, Rickert felt a rising surge of exhilaration. He began to drive his enemies back fiercely, just like the Nameless. His movements were like a rushing torrent, yet also like a wild blaze—all while remaining precise and delicate.
The swordsmen facing him, men who had lived and breathed the sword their entire lives, found themselves captivated. How can it be this beautiful?
Yet, this was a fight that would only end when either Rickert died or they all did. With three of the ten falling in an instant, the remaining enemies backed away to regroup, panting heavily to catch their breath. Their encirclement was no longer perfect. Rickert broke through a gap and dashed up the highlands once more. Naturally, his enemies pursued.
But just then—
"Ricky!"
Startled, Rickert looked up. Marie was running down toward him in a hurry. Seeing her, his eyes widened. What? Why?
The sudden appearance of a new player startled the remaining seven swordsmen. However, they were not as wicked as the Ehrenberg Quintet, so they didn't immediately think of taking Marie hostage—not that she was the type to be easily taken, anyway.
Rickert kept running, eventually meeting Marie halfway. Neither said a word. They simply ran side by side, looking in the same direction. In a way, it was an absurd situation.
Then, as they rounded the mountainside, a premature field of buckwheat flowers unfolded before them. It looked as though a light dusting of snow had fallen, and the light from the full moon hung lazily over it, creating a breathtaking sight.
Rickert and Marie ran through the field of flowers. For a moment, they ran without knowing how they had ended up here, or even why they had to run. The rustling of the waist-high blossoms brushing against them tickled their ears.
But they couldn't run for long. Ahead of them lay a sheer cliff.
Perhaps because of the strange madness laced in the moonlight, a fleeting thought crossed their minds that it might be alright to hold hands and jump together.
Rickert stopped running and turned around. The seven swordsmen now stood in the buckwheat field as well. Rickert's Meteoric Iron Sword, Marie's Truesilver Sword, and the seven other blades all reflected the moonlight.
Everyone panted heavily, catching their breath.
"I'll break to the right," Rickert said. "Marie, keep your distance. The enemies will focus on me. Join the fight then."
Even now, he was making tactical decisions.
"No, well..."
"What is it?"
"I'm sorry, but I don't think I'll ever be able to say this if I don't say it now."
Rickert turned to look at Marie. She looked back at him. Strands of sweat-soaked blonde hair clung to both of their faces. Her mysterious eyes, shifting between green and chestnut, and his jewel-like blue eyes were incomparably beautiful. They were so close that if either of them leaned in, their lips would meet.
After their earlier conversation, Marie had been terrified that it would be their last. But now, she could say it. Her heart pounded.
"I think... I like you..."
"..."
It was, indeed, a highly inappropriate time for a confession. Yet, because the buckwheat field bathed in moonlight was so breathtakingly beautiful, she felt that if she didn't reveal the pure feelings she held for the first time in her life now, she never would.
Rickert remained silent for a long moment. Then, with a bitter yet gentle smile, he spoke.
"I'm sorry. I don't believe in love. But I can die for you."
The boy could understand the grudge his enemies held, but he could not understand the girl's pure love. Or rather, he could not accept it. He still believed that love was just another name for the most terrible of curses, a seed of misfortune. To him, resentment and love were two sides of the same coin.
Marie’s mind went blank. Wait, what does that mean? I was... rejected, wasn't I?
Without another word, Rickert threw himself to the right. As he had predicted, the enemies kept an eye on Marie but focused their attack on him.
The grass rustled softly. Soon, the seven swordsmen and Rickert clashed.
Under the bright moonlit night, the occasional ring of clashing metal echoed as red blood splattered across the pure white buckwheat flowers. One by one, they collapsed, making the buckwheat field their grave. Gramschwitz fell as well. Thus, the grudges fell one after another, like fading blossoms.
In Marie's eyes, Rickert, as he swung his sword, looked more beautiful, desperate, and cool than ever before. You jerk...
But as wounds began to accumulate on his body, Marie found herself running forward in a half-dazed state to fight by his side.
It was a bizarre scene: a boy and a girl, fresh from a moment of heartbreak, now fighting back-to-back, entrusting their lives to one another. And entrusting one’s life was an act reserved only for the person you trusted most in the world.
Not a single swordsman fled. In the end, all of them lay fallen in the buckwheat field.
Yet, it was not only corpses that lay there. Unfulfilled revenge and a heartbroken first love had fallen alongside them.
The round, full moon seemed to watch over them in hushed silence. Neither of them spoke.
The quiet moonlight, the simple buckwheat flowers, the blood and sweat trickling down the boy's body, and a single tear rolling down the girl's cheek. These spoke in place of words.
Arc 10 – Unfulfilled Hearts. End.