Chapter 6
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 6
“Well, I must be on my way to prepare the documents,” Dr. Leno said. “The knightly order will likely send someone, but as for the adventurer training center… I’m not sure whether it would be better to go through the imperial family or contact them directly. I will do my best to find a good place, though. Somewhere that will take special care of our brave young master Rickert. Hohoho.”
There were several adventurer training centers within the empire, most sponsored by the emperor, kings, or high nobility and operated by various guilds. Since the system to train professional adventurers had only recently been established, their methods of operation varied, and almost none were fully settled.
In any case, with the boys’ decisions made, all that remained were the formalities. In an age like this, everything had to be handled by hand.
“Safe travels,” Abelich said. “And give my regards to the Count.”
“I will never forget your warm hospitality. Take care, young masters. Ah, there is one piece of advice I would like to leave you with. Never believe a word merchants say, and do not associate with spellcasters at all.”
“…Why?” Vilter asked.
“Merchants are the type who would sell their souls to the devil for money. Spellcasters look down on everyone else and are so selfish they feel no guilt. Their very way of thinking is different. It’s best not to get involved with them.”
Leaving them with this final piece of advice, he pulled a fur hat over his balding head to keep it warm and left the manor.
Though no one had told them to, Vilter and Rickert climbed the watchtower to see Dr. Leno off. The harsh winter wind blew fiercely, but it could not make the boys shrink back. As he neared the horizon, barely a speck in the distance, he waved his hand grandly. The two boys waved back just as vigorously.
If anything had changed since the doctor’s visit, it was that Vilter’s anxiety and irritation had transformed into excitement, anticipation, and a hint of fear. Rickert, for his part, was simply curious to see how the world had changed in a hundred years. He wasn’t quite as thrilled as his older brother.
*
About a month later, the frozen winter ground began to thaw. As the villagers spread manure over the fields, the scent of dung filled the entire estate.
Cutting through the stench, an unfamiliar knight arrived on horseback. He wore mail armor and a white surcoat emblazoned with the crest of a flame. Hanging from his saddle were a helmet, shield, spear, and axe—all scratched and worn, proving they were far from mere ornaments.
Rumor had it that a single knight of the Order of the Flame could take on at least forty Salamans. His sharp gaze and hardened demeanor made it easy to believe. An intimidating aura seemed to radiate from his very shoulders.
As he entered the courtyard, his sweeping gaze instantly cowed the crowd. The servants and retainers of Stormherz all averted their eyes. He remained mounted until Abelich, looking every bit the lord of the manor, emerged from the house. Only then did he dismount.
He introduced himself with a confidence that bordered on arrogance. “Edmund, senior knight of the Order of the Flame.”
“Abelich, Lord of Stormherz,” his father replied. “Does the Order of the Flame always drop in without prior notice?”
“Your house applied for enlistment, and we accepted. What further procedure is required? I did not come as a guest, nor do I expect to be treated as one.”
“…”
“Who is the volunteer? I will take him immediately.”
Barging in and demanding to take Vilter on the spot was both absurd and baffling. Everyone instinctively looked at Vilter, who was staring up at the knight with a shocked expression. His excitement and anticipation seemed to crumble in an instant, replaced by a swelling fear.
Just then, an unexpectedly youthful voice piped up.
“Who said anything about treating you like a guest? This is Stormherz, not your knightly order. Since you have entered another’s domain, you should show proper respect to the master of the house.”
Startled, everyone turned to see the speaker was Rickert.
The knight named Edmund stared quietly at the glaring boy before letting out a smirk. “Is it you? The volunteer? You’ve got decent eyes. But don’t get cocky. The order won’t treat you like a young master.”
“Hmph. Look in a mirror. Aren’t you the one being cocky in someone else’s home right now?”
“…”
While everyone else was too intimidated by the knight’s presence to speak, Rickert, the smallest person there, was talking back fiercely. However, with his youthful voice and innocent face, his mature words lacked any real weight. In truth, he wasn’t wrong. He had only stepped forward because of the knight’s dismissive attitude toward his father, his brother, and their people.
“Ricky, stop,” Abelich said, holding him back. He turned to the knight. “I apologize for my son’s rudeness. Edmund, you have done nothing wrong. As you said, we volunteered, and the order merely accepted. However, the volunteer is not Ricky, but my second son, Vilter. Wait a moment. I have something to give my son.”
Abelich went inside the manor.
Hearing that Rickert was not the volunteer, Edmund looked slightly surprised. He had actually taken a liking to the boy. Whether you called it venom or defiance, kids with that kind of spirit were the ones who survived.
The knightly orders were grueling, and the Order of the Flame was known to be the most demanding of them all. No, it was indisputably the hardest, which was why the finest combat forces in the empire gathered there. High-intensity training, strict discipline, and countless life-or-death battles—one could not endure such a place with ordinary determination.
And failing to endure usually meant death. Furthermore, once enlisted, one could neither quit nor run away. Desertion was a capital offense.
Even after Abelich went inside, Rickert kept his mouth shut, continuing to glare at Edmund with an angry expression. A ten-year-old’s glare was hardly going to frighten a battle-hardened knight, but Edmund felt a strange unease from those hazel eyes. It was the kind of instinctive warning honed through real combat, a feeling he quickly dismissed as impossible.
Meanwhile, Vilter, standing beside Rickert, wore the terrified expression of any ordinary boy. Seeing this, the interest Edmund had briefly felt because of Rickert quickly cooled.
“Have you ever served as a squire?” Edmund asked Vilter.
“…”
Vilter seemed so dazed that he didn’t hear the question. Rickert, without taking his eyes off Edmund, nudged his brother in the ribs.
“Ah! What? Huh?”
“He asked if you’ve ever served as a squire,” Rickert whispered.
“S-serving as a squire? W-well, I know how to maintain armor and weapons to some extent…”
“Any combat experience?”
Unlucky young nobles were sometimes dragged into battle as early as fourteen. Great heroes, on the other hand, often distinguished themselves in battle from a young age.
Fortunately or unfortunately, Vilter had no such experience.
“N-no, none…”
“If you volunteered for the order out of vanity, you had better lower your expectations. If your family decided this for you, it will be easier to just accept it. There is no turning back now. There is only service and devotion to the Empire. Do not think too much. It will only eat away at your resolve. Just endure in silence.”
“…”
It sounded less like advice and more like a chilling warning. Of course, life in the knightly order was, in fact, chilling.
Just then, Abelich emerged from the manor again. In his hands, he held a heater shield painted with the family crest: a red field quartered by white lines, a coat of arms bestowed by the Emperor himself.
“Take this. I pray this shield will protect you.”
Vilter accepted the shield, his heart heavy. Edmund watched the scene in silence, then mounted his horse without another word.
“Follow me. I shall take my leave, Lord Abelich.”
With that, he turned his horse and rode out of the courtyard.
Vilter stammered, looking back and forth between his family and the departing knight. Once he left, there was no telling when, or if, he would ever return. He felt like he should say something, but the words wouldn’t come. What was he supposed to say? Shouldn’t he say goodbye?
Meanwhile, Edmund moved further and further away, and Vilter had no choice but to start walking. It was customary for a knight to ride and a squire to walk. The hardship began immediately. After all, it would take at least a month on foot to reach the headquarters of the Order of the Flame.
Rickert watched until Vilter was far away. His brother would run to catch up with Edmund, then walk again, looking back countless times.
Eventually, he disappeared over the horizon.
*
Even after Vilter left, nothing changed in Stormherz. Plowing, sowing, weeding…
The older village boys he had run around with as a child tried not to show their sadness. Whenever Vilter’s name came up, they would say, “It’s not like he went off to die.”
True. He hadn’t gone off to die. And it was his own choice. There was nothing to do but trust that he would do well. If they ever met again, wouldn’t he be a gallant knight?
Rickert buried the bittersweet loneliness deep in his heart. Now, it was his turn.
He spent his days wandering the fief with an untrained, half-grown hound. Sitting in a field where green shoots were sprouting, he watched the dog run around happily. When it came over and lay down beside him, he stroked its head and back. Simply running through the fields no longer brought a smile to his face as it once had.
His daily routine was simple: return home with the dog at dusk, eat dinner with his family, wash up, and go to sleep.
About a week after Vilter’s departure, Rickert was returning home in the evening when Grout, who was pacing the courtyard in his outdoor clothes, spotted him.
“Ricky, perfect timing. I was just about to look for you. Go to the study, quickly.”
Rickert didn’t think, It’s finally time. He simply remained calm, accepting what was to come.
When he entered the study, a man was sitting on the sofa. He was slender and agile-looking, with a leather bag slung over his shoulder. He had none of the senior knight’s imposing presence; sitting there, staring blankly at Rickert, he seemed like an ordinary person. He didn’t look very old either, appearing to be around the same age as Grout.
He had been talking with Abelich, but he turned as Rickert entered.
“Ah, I’m a courier from the Imperial Guild Bureau. I’ve come to deliver something. You must be Young Master Rickert?”
“Yes.”
The Imperial Guild Bureau? He’d never heard of it. The man pulled a sturdy leather cylinder from his bag. Opening the cap, he produced a wax-sealed scroll and handed it to Rickert.
Rickert broke the seal and unrolled the parchment. It was an admission letter. To an academy?
Written in elegant script, most of the letter was just boasting.
Our academy boasts a long-standing tradition, where students learn ancient script, master survival techniques and other martial arts, foster cooperation, and through competition, blah blah blah…
<…We welcome young Rickert’s admission and wish good fortune to House Caldebern. Long live His Majesty the Emperor. May the Empire last forever.>
– Beringen Academy –
The borders of the letter were ornately gilded, and a seal combining the symbols of the imperial family and the academy was stamped at the bottom.
Rickert handed the letter to his father and spoke to the courier. “I heard they train professional adventurers there.”
“Well, young master, I’m just a courier, so I don’t know much. But a lot of people don’t look too kindly on the word ‘adventurer,’ do they? Calling it an ‘academy’ sounds more prestigious… I don’t think I’ve seen many places use the word ‘adventurer’ openly.”
“…In any case, it’s an academy sponsored by the imperial family?”
“That’s right. I believe it’s operated by the guild.”
“The Adventurers’ Guild?”
“Haha… probably?”
“Which Adventurers’ Guild?”
“Since it’s Beringen Academy, wouldn’t it be the Beringen Adventurers’ Guild?”
Beringen was a city in the northeastern part of the empire, though not as far north as Haiden. Most adventurer academies tended to be in the east, as they were close to Fernland. The ultimate goal of an adventurer academy was to venture into Fernland to find ancient relics or Codices. Fernland was a hub city, and the surrounding region remained uncharted territory.
Abelich silently read the admission letter and asked the courier, “It says to enroll by March 14th. Are you the escort?”
“No, my lord. I am merely a courier. I can guide you as far as Rheinfurt, but Beringen is out of the question. I have my own work to do…”
Unlike the Order of the Flame, which had sent a senior knight, the academy expected him to make his own way there by the designated date.
“The fourteenth is a bit tight…” Abelich fell into thought.
As the lord, he could not easily leave his fief, and the same went for his heir, Grout. It was also the busy farming season, so hands were sorely needed. Since the fief was not particularly wealthy, even a single missing person made a significant difference. And while he could send someone as an escort, it had to be someone capable of protecting Rickert, and those people were currently at their busiest.
“Once you reach Rheinfurt, there is a branch of the Beringen Guild,” the courier said. “Or, you could follow another courier heading that way. However, since it’s a long journey, the fee would be a bit…” He wouldn't take Rickert personally, but he was suggesting that money could solve the problem.
Abelich didn't trust the commoner before him. Then again, the man belonged to the Imperial Guild Bureau, which lent him some small measure of reliability.
“I’m fine, Father,” Rickert said resolutely. “I’ll follow this courier tomorrow. Whether it’s for Vilter or me, leaving home is the same. We can only pray for good fortune.”
Abelich had nothing to say. No matter how you looked at it, this was the reality of securing the succession: casting aside all sons but the eldest heir. The main family had shown interest and covered the expenses, and his father had done his best. Asking for anything more would be shameless.
For both Abelich and Rickert, it was time to steel their hearts.
Abelich opened a drawer in his desk. From it, he pulled out something wrapped tightly in cloth and handed it to Rickert.
“This was specially custom-made, not at our local smithy, but at the main family’s battle forge. Take it.”
Just as he had gifted Vilter a shield, he had something for Rickert as well. Rickert accepted it and unwrapped the cloth, revealing a dagger.
“It was forged by melting down the spearhead you used to kill the wild boar. Good fortune favors those who act, not those who merely speak. I hope the luck that was with you then continues to follow you.”
Rickert drew the dagger. It was wider and longer than an ordinary dagger. Sheathing it once more, he wrapped it back in the cloth. A smile played on his lips.
“It wasn’t luck, Father.”
“Hmm?”
“Thank you. I’ll put it to good use.”
Without another word, Rickert tucked the dagger into his breast.
Early the next morning, Rickert filled his stomach and left the house with the courier. It was an hour when most people had not yet awoken. From the window, his father watched his departing son.
It would be a lie to say he felt no regret, but Rickert kept what was precious and what he would miss locked deep within his heart. Thus, unlike Vilter, he did not look back even once.
On the path he walked of his own accord, there was no horizon for him to fade into.