Chapter 58
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 58
It was a night in the forest where not even a scops owl dared to cry. The loudest sound was the heavy, aggressive footsteps of men carrying torches.
“Go around that way—no, left!”
“I’m going to fucking kill this bastard!”
Such shouts drifted through the trees.
Hiding behind a tree, Rickert estimated their numbers from the chaotic footsteps. Four? No, five.
His ability to pinpoint the exact number of enemies just by listening to their footsteps was nearly superhuman, but even Rickert could tell these foes were no pushovers.
It was no easy feat to form a dragnet around Ice while maintaining their formation, especially in the dead of night.
These guys definitely belong to the same group, and they're highly skilled, he thought.
But if the enemy was unaware of his presence while he knew exactly where they were, there was no greater advantage.
Rickert didn't just possess masterful swordsmanship; he knew how to fight. This wasn't mere fencing—it was the art of combat itself.
A century ago, this was what had truly made Rickert the strongest, far more than his sword techniques alone. Surprisingly, most people never realized this. Instead, they obsessed over the title of Swordmaster, which was precisely why they could never hope to imitate him.
Because the forest was filled with thick, straight trees, the enemies closed in, methodically checking behind each trunk. However, if they were too slow, they risked losing the “White Stoat,” Ice. Thus, they moved as quickly as possible while remaining cautious.
Rickert saw the torchlight drawing near. Hiding in the darkness, he focused on the sound of the approaching footsteps. Even without conscious effort, the distance to the target, their weight, even their posture—all painted a clear picture in his mind.
Then, he heard footsteps enter his strike range.
Step.
Whoosh!
Thwack!
Rickert didn't wait for a visual. He lunged, leading with his blade, and cleanly severed the man's neck.
The man's head flew from his shoulders before he could even register the attack. The other pursuers, who had been keeping their distance, flinched as they quickly realized what had happened.
“Over here—!”
The man closest to the fallen comrade shouted, shining his torch toward Rickert, but his cry was cut short.
Rickert darted through the flickering light and shadow, closing the distance in the blink of an eye.
The man, holding a torch in one hand and a sword in the other, hastily raised his blade in a clumsy defense. A half-hearted stance like that stood no chance against Rickert.
True to the moniker that had once echoed across Beringen—"Ricky the Severer"—Rickert shattered the man's flimsy blade and took his head in the same motion.
Clang! Thwack!
After taking down his second foe, Rickert immediately threw himself back into the darkness. The remaining three pursuers swung their torches toward the sound, only for a sword to suddenly materialize from the darkness before one man’s eyes.
Whoosh! Squish!
“Urgh!”
The sword pierced his chest, and he collapsed backward. As a nearby companion stared at his falling ally in shock, he turned his head just in time to see a boy wielding a dagger lunging at him.
Moving like a gust of wind, Rickert’s dagger sliced through the man's inner thigh and armpit.
“Aaaaaaargh!”
His scream tore through the silent forest. With his major tendons severed, he dropped his torch and collapsed helplessly to the ground.
Naturally, the last remaining man instinctively turned his attention to his screaming comrade.
As the man's torch swung wildly, Rickert was already behind him. He grabbed the man by the forehead, yanked his head back, and slit his throat.
“Gurgle! Cough!”
Blood gurgled in his throat, choking him as he collapsed, writhing in front of his crippled companion.
Thud.
The man sitting on the ground with severed tendons gasped sharply, paralyzed by sheer terror. His body froze.
Shaking violently, he looked up. The thought I'm dead, I'm dead, I'm dead, just kill me quickly screamed through his mind.
Rickert finished off the man, who had lost all will to fight, by driving his blade through his throat. His gaze wasn't cold, but calm—utterly devoid of pity or sympathy.
The man, still slumped on the ground, collapsed forward over his comrade's corpse. Blood pooled and spread.
Having killed all the enemies, Rickert surveyed the scene. Torches lay scattered here and there. Their flickering light cast long, dancing shadows, partially illuminating the corpses and creating an eerie scene.
Yet, just because they had all died in an instant did not mean they were weak.
While the enemies relied solely on torchlight, Rickert could map out the entire battlefield with his hearing alone, as if through premonition. That was what had made the difference.
On top of that, with the element of surprise, even highly skilled opponents stood no chance.
When he had fought the ten swordsmen in the Kaits Highlands, the battle had taken place under a full moon as bright as day, offering no shadows to hide in or terrain to exploit. Forced to face them with pure swordsmanship, Rickert had been pushed into a difficult fight. Even so, defeating them all was an incredible feat, which was why the tale was on everyone's lips.
Rickert knew how to analyze the battlefield environment and the enemy's psychology, turning their weaknesses into his strengths. This was not an ability that could be cultivated through sword practice alone. It required innate talent, real combat experience, and the luck to have survived it all.
Ice possessed a natural genius for swordsmanship, but this was where he differed starkly from Rickert. Of course, what Ice had accomplished so far was impressive, but the reason he couldn't produce the same monstrous results as Rickert lay in this distinction.
“Ricky?”
It was Marie’s voice. Rickert looked up at her while wiping his sword and rummaging through the spoils. It was clear she had rushed over to help.
However, not expecting the fight to be over so quickly, Marie stood there with a dumbfounded expression.
“Huh?”
“Ah, no. I came to help.”
“Where are the others?”
“They took Ice back to the camp.”
“Is he okay?”
“No external injuries, but he's unconscious. Probably sheer exhaustion. Looks like he was chased for quite a while.”
“That's a relief, at least. Can you help me?”
“With what?”
“We need to gather their gear. Loot them for any coin they have.”
“Oh? Oh, r-right.”
Though Marie had killed people before, she had never looted a corpse, so she was a bit flustered. She felt a twinge of hesitation, but seeing Rickert casually rummaging through the bodies, she followed suit.
“H-how far do I have to search?”
“Huh?”
“I mean, I'm not going to stick my hands down their pants.”
“Hahaha, you don’t have to go that far. Just pat them down, take any coin pouches you find, and focus on their weapons. Only take what we can carry. If we take too much, it'll just weigh us down and could hinder our combat readiness later. Don't get greedy, Marie.”
Normally, proper looting meant stripping them down to their underwear, but as Rickert said, there was no need to go that far.
“I wasn't being greedy…”
“I'm joking. Let's go.”
“Okay.”
Rickert grabbed two swords and a coin pouch, then headed back to the camp with Marie.
Ice was lying down, covered with a blanket. White tear stains marked his face. Boribori had placed some mysterious herbs under his nose.
“He'll have a good appetite when he wakes up.”
It was one of Boribori's typical, baseless folk remedies, but sometimes they actually worked.
Meanwhile, Volka's expression was complicated as he looked down at Ice. Lost in thought, he only belatedly noticed Rickert's return.
“Did you kill them all?”
“Yeah.”
“Can I talk to you for a second?”
“Why? Just speak here. The others already know anyway.”
Rickert, ever quick-witted, already had a good idea of what Volka wanted to discuss. Volka likely wanted to consult him on how to handle Ice, especially after what they had heard from Dunkel.
Since Boribori and Delphi had attended the Academy with Ice, they knew he was a heathen. However, they didn't know the details and looked puzzled, not understanding the gravity of the situation.
“Wouldn't it be better to talk about it together? We're in the same clan,” Rickert said once more.
Although Marie wasn't an official member of Clan Viola, she was practically treated as one, and the others regarded her as such.
Volka agreed and spoke honestly. “You all know Ice belongs to the Order of Condemnation. But it seems he doesn't just believe in it; he holds an official position within the Order. If he's that deeply involved, I think it could be trouble for us. If he's tried for heresy, we could be dragged down with him.”
This was shocking news to those who hadn't known. Holding a position in the Order made him an undeniable heretic. If caught, he would be sent straight to the stake without a trial.
“So… well, my opinion is that we treat his injuries and then send him on his way. We're going to be busy with the branch's affairs anyway.”
Volka cautiously voiced his opinion first. The atmosphere grew heavy. After a moment, the sounds of the forest returned as scops owls and night insects began to chirp. The crackle of the campfire filled the silence, but the companions, awakened in the dead of night, remained quiet.
Boribori squatted beside the sleeping Ice, looking down at him as he spoke. “I don't really know. Ice is someone I'm grateful to. But the clan doesn't belong to just me…”
His opinion was similar to Volka's. He was suggesting that, though reluctant, it might be difficult for them to stay together.
Yet, contrary to his words, Boribori's face was filled with pity. He had clearly softened, caught between duty and sympathy.
Since Delphi was practically married to Volka, she was likely to agree with him, leaving only Rickert's opinion.
But surprisingly, Marie spoke up. “You don't need to worry about heresy inquisitions. It's the royal families of each kingdom that are suppressing the Order of Condemnation, not the Holy See.”
“What do you mean?”
“It's a bit complicated, but that's what I heard. People are abandoning their fiefs, and the nobility blames the Order for it. The Imperial Family is just standing by because if the kingdoms weaken, the Emperor's position strengthens.”
The relationship between the kings and the Emperor was complex. While the Emperor held the supreme position, he couldn't simply command the kings, who possessed their own military power and autonomy. Simply put, if the kingdoms grew stronger, the Emperor was threatened; if the Emperor’s authority grew, the kingdoms were diminished. They were rivals, yet bound together—they might undermine each other at every turn, but neither wished for the other's complete collapse, as it would destroy the balance of power.
However, because a collapse in the balance of power would be detrimental to both, they were also in the same boat. They hated each other to death, yet they didn't wish for the other's destruction. The Emperor and the kings had a relationship where they would support each other in critical moments, yet drag each other down at crucial junctures. To make matters worse, the royal families of each kingdom and the Imperial Family were bound by blood through marriage alliances, making it a truly tangled issue.
In any case, this was an era where population was power. Without people, fields couldn't be farmed and other labor couldn't be utilized. In other words, peasants migrating elsewhere meant the weakening of a fief's power. Furthermore, unauthorized migration was illegal. But what if they migrated outside the kingdom? No matter how powerful a king was, once the migrants entered Imperial territory, he couldn't easily lay a hand on them.
Dunkel's words, comparing the Ehrenberg Quintet to prostitutes, flashed through Rickert's mind.
His brilliant mind quickly connected the dots, and as he reached a conclusion, he couldn't help but frown.
“Could it be… that the kings are secretly hiring them? The Ehrenberg Quintet?”
Although the Ehrenberg Quintet had caused trouble in many places, they were particularly infamous for committing massacres on a village scale. Most of those villages were settlements established by migrants who believed in the God of Condemnation.
From the kings' perspective, they needed to make an example of the migrants to stop others from leaving. If left alone, the migration would only spread. While not as powerful as the Emperor, a king had enough influence to ensure the mercenaries wouldn't end up on wanted posters. If it wasn't just one king, but two or more, it would be even easier.
“Well, I don't know that much. But I think you're right, Ricky.”
It was unclear whether the Imperial Family turned a blind eye knowing what the kings were doing, or if they simply didn't care and remained ignorant. However, it was true that the Ehrenberg Quintet was starting to become an eyesore.
“But how do you know that?” Volka asked, looking at Marie.
“Uh? I-I must have heard it somewhere?” Marie said, forcing herself to look away. Anyone could see she was acting suspicious. Moreover, perhaps because Volka had only recently found out Rickert was a noble, he thought, Maybe she is too…
In truth, while they didn't suspect she was an Imperial Princess, Rickert and Boribori had noticed her noble background from the moment they first met her.
In any case, Rickert stroked his chin and fell into deep thought. Everyone seemed to be waiting for him to speak.
The clan came first. That was obvious. If asked why he had risked his life to fight until now, personal honor or pride played a part, but ultimately, it was for the clan. To build a sanctuary of their own.
But if accepting Ice put the clan in danger, should they really take him in?
Yet, it was unclear whether it would actually cause harm. Should they reject him based on mere uncertainty?
If they were to accept him, for what reason? Because he was a friend? How far could one go for a friend? Before that, what even was a friend?
The more he thought, the more difficult questions piled up, one after another. If it were just him, he would accept Ice without hesitation, but with the clan's fate on the line, he couldn't simply force his own opinion on everyone.
But this wasn't a problem with a single correct answer. In the end, it was a matter of defining his values and taking a stand.
Rickert could have spent all day pondering the issue, or debating it for hours, but he set aside the complex arguments and focused on the core of the issue, speaking from the heart.
“Let's protect him for now. We desperately need help, and he'll be a great asset. He must have gathered a lot of information while fighting those enemies. And…”
Rickert trailed off. The clan members listened to his words carefully, each processing them in their own way with calm expressions.
“Right now, it seems he has nowhere else to go. If we turn him away, too… it's just too cruel.”
“…”
His friends remained silent. It was hard to tell if they agreed or not. But it was true that the phrase "nowhere else to go" had touched their hearts.
They had all experienced abandonment at least once. That sense of helplessness, that desperation—no one who hadn't experienced it could truly understand. That was why those who knew that feeling had to embrace him.
Though they didn't explicitly agree, everyone's consensus leaned toward accepting Ice.
And come to think of it, Volka owed Ice his life. It was Ice who had saved him from Lorentz in Griffinswald. Boribori, too, wouldn't have mastered his Mana Drive properly without Ice. If he had made a mistake while manipulating mana, he might have ended up crippled.
Except for Rickert and Marie, everyone owed Ice in one way or another.
It was a sleepless night. To be precise, they had just been woken in the middle of it.
About an hour later, a deep blue began to peel away the darkness from the edge of the world.
With nothing else to do, Rickert and his friends started preparing breakfast in the early dawn.
*
Crack! Snap! Lash! Crack!
“Ugh! Sob!Gasp! Urgh!”
The sound of whipping, along with the muffled groans of someone gagged, echoed through the chamber. It was no ordinary whipping. It was clearly laced with murderous intent.
A young Ice stood facing the wall, listening to the sound. He wasn't alone. Over a dozen children stood in a line, all facing the wall.
This was the hour of punishment and the training of emptying one's mind. Joy, sorrow, fear—all had to be offered to the God of Condemnation. Even parents and family had to be surrendered.
Crack! Lash! Snap! Crack!
At some point, the groans stopped. The victim was likely dead.
Ice slowly traced the gaps between the cold bricks with his eyes.
Imagine this is a path through a valley. If you follow the path, even if there is no exit, you can just keep walking. No need to wander. Just walk. Because the path is set.
This way, no thoughts will come. No, no feelings will arise. The sound of whipping, the groans, the final dying gasps—none of it will reach your ears.
When the priest ordered them to turn around, they saw a boy slumped over, his back shredded to expose his ribs. He was a bloody pulp, barely recognizable. The boy's sin had been smiling during training.
The priest who had administered the punishment panted heavily. In his stead, another priest spoke to the boys with an utterly dry, expressionless face.
“Brothers, the day of prophecy is near. We must spur ourselves further. Do not falter. Do not be shaken. Offer everything to the God of Condemnation, and return to heaven. O God of Condemnation, close your eyes.”
“O God of Condemnation, close your eyes.”
As the priest spoke, the other children, including Ice, repeated the final words. Their voices were as lifeless as speaking dolls.
At the priest's gesture, the children stepped forward one by one and spat on the dead boy.
“Ptu.”
And then the next boy, the next, the next, the next…
It was Ice's turn. Ice approached the brutally killed boy.
But for a fleeting moment, his heart—which was supposed to be empty—stirred.
Because the boy on the floor was his younger brother.
Everyone's eyes were on Ice. He could not show even a momentary change in expression or emotional disturbance. Ice spat.
“Ptu.”
At that very moment, Ice's heart died. He was alive but not living, no longer human. He was merely a doll moving solely for his god.
It was supposed to be that way.
*
Ice slowly opened his eyes.
He heard the clinking of dishes and the low murmur of voices—a pleasant, comforting sound that tickled his ears.
He could hear the chirping of early morning birds and smell the delicious aroma of food.
Familiar faces, including Rickert, came into view. The heart that had been pounding from the nightmare gradually calmed, and a wave of relief washed over him.
Having woken up in the middle of his sleep, Ice was still half-asleep. Perhaps because of that, a fleeting thought crossed his mind: Is this heaven?
Rickert, who was preparing food with Marie, looked back at Ice and said, “Oh? He's awake.”
Looking at the blond boy, Ice unconsciously recalled a passage from the Holy Scripture.
<Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.>
Arc 11 – Sanctuary. End.