Chapter 62
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 62
A river brought more than just a water source to a city; it brought a cool, refreshing breeze that was simply wonderful. Compared to other inland cities, Ehrenberg was surprisingly free of foul odors, and its people looked remarkably clean.
It was a truly pleasant place to live. Yet, even in such a wonderful place, trouble still brewed.
Problems were sure to follow wherever people gathered. A society without a single issue would likely be a sick one, deep down. Therefore, there was no need to grow disillusioned with humanity over societal problems. It was simple: wherever you went, there would be good people, and there would be bastards. That was all.
“I told you, didn’t I? The kid who killed Mad Dog Steiner is my friend! Ta-da! I brought him! This is the Ricky I was talking about. Amazing, right? Hard to believe? But it’s the truth. I was right there with him. If you underestimate him, you might get your head chopped off. I’ve seen dozens of people end up like that. Hehehe.”
Boribori chirped, looking up at a well-built man with a bandana tied around his head. This was Mason, the guild master and leader of the Masons' Guild.
At Boribori’s flippant words, Mason crossed his arms and silently stared at the boy clad in a red cloak. Honestly, it was hard to believe based on Boribori’s claims alone, but Mason was already aware that the famous Red Cloak had arrived in town.
Rickert’s gaze, however, was fixed past Mason, toward the docks.
Several ships that had been unable to set sail for days were anchored there. About fifty members of the Masons' Guild and their families had practically set up camp, huddled on mats spread across the ground.
Women grunted as they hauled over a few large iron pots, lighting makeshift fires to cook for their families. Because their livelihoods had taken a hit, they were pooling their resources to eat together.
Inside the pots, whole fish floated in a thin, pale gruel. The smell of the food drifting on the breeze was far from appetizing.
“So, what of it?” Mason asked Boribori. His blunt tone had a way of intimidating people.
But Boribori didn’t care in the slightest. Whether he was confident, cheerful, or just brainless, he simply spoke in his usual manner. With the Ghost Sword strapped to his waist, his eyes wide, and a finger raised as he spoke, he seemed to be doing his absolute best to sell their services.
“We’re adventurers, you know? When people are in trouble, it’s our job to handle it for them. Of course, we’ll need a small fee. But basically, we can get that stolen money back for you. What do you think? Don’t we look reliable?”
In truth, they looked anything but reliable. Boribori was barely 160 centimeters tall, and while Rickert was as tall as an adult, his face still bore the unmistakable innocence of youth. No matter how great a reputation one built, it might mean nothing to people from a completely different walk of life.
But this was Ehrenberg. Although they wandered through various regions, this city was, at least nominally, the former base of the Ehrenberg Quintet. The locals knew better than anyone just how terrifying those five had been. And this was the boy who had killed them.
Besides, they had already heard the rumors. The Boy in the Red Cloak, Boribori the Dismemberer, and Nameless X—the Heroes of Siegfringer had executed the Ehrenberg Quintet.
The bandana-wearing mason stared intently at Rickert. Yet, Rickert’s eyes remained fixed on the people eating.
Mason followed his gaze and saw more than ten people crowding around each of the three large pots, scraping them clean. The fish gruel vanished in an instant.
Mason turned back to Rickert and spoke. “As you can see, this is our situation. We don’t have the money to commission the Adventurers' Guild.”
Rickert's red cloak fluttered. Lost in thought, he simply watched the people eating their meal. A mother feeding her babies first; a young child squeezing between his siblings to get a single piece of fish; an elderly man claiming he had no appetite, leaving his share for the children.
Rickert took in the scene before finally looking at Mason.
“For our fee, we’ll just add interest to the unpaid amount and keep that for ourselves. Before that, could you tell me what happened? A man named Marconis claimed that the construction costs had already been paid.”
At that, Mason led Rickert and Boribori away. He took them to a pile of wooden crates near the docks and pulled out a contract to show them. The man pointed to a specific clause.
<Should additional construction materials be required, the Guild shall procure the materials first to complete the construction, and the Merchants' Association shall reimburse the cost of the additional materials.>
The Masons' Guild wasn't just a group of people who carved stone. While a “mason” was indeed a stone carver, a “Masons' Guild” was something different. It referred to those who took full responsibility for completing entire construction projects—from design, surveying, and material procurement to transport and construction. They even handled hiring local laborers.
The Ehrenberg Masons' Guild was famous because they built everything without exception, from ordinary houses to lords' castles, city walls, and temples. Despite being a group of highly skilled artisans, they received surprisingly little social respect. Even when they undertook massive projects costing astronomical sums, very little money actually ended up in the guild's pockets after labor and material costs were deducted.
Their skills were passed down and refined through generations; it wasn't something that could be learned in a school. If a group like this collapsed, their craft could never be recovered.
“Hmm, so the main construction fee was paid, but the additional costs are the issue. It's clearly written in the contract, so why won’t they pay?” Rickert asked, puzzled.
In truth, there was nothing to be puzzled about. It was obvious the Merchants' Association was acting like thugs and refusing to pay. Still, he asked.
“They claim they have no way of knowing if additional materials were actually used, since the construction is already finished.”
It was a blatant excuse. No matter how detailed a contract was, there had to be mutual trust. But it was unclear whether the Merchants' Association simply lacked it or was doing this on purpose.
“But I’m curious. Even if additional materials were needed, couldn’t you have just built up to what you were paid for and stopped there?” Or perhaps halted the construction and drawn up a new contract. Rickert wondered why they felt the need to complete the building even if it meant spending their own money.
Mason, the leader of the masons, stared at Rickert for a moment before suddenly asking, “Why do you swing your sword?”
“Excuse me?”
“Do you swing it just because you’re drunk on power, like the Ehrenberg Quintet?”
“No, I don’t.”
“We have traditions and principles. ‘When you build, build it to last forever.’ That is a saying passed down to us through generations. We build houses, raise castles, and construct cities. Though their owners may all be different, they were all built by our hands. Look at this city. Look at this dock. Look at those walls over there. Our fathers, our grandfathers—our ancestors—built them all.”
His words were filled with a fierce, resounding pride.
Following Mason’s words, Rickert looked around—from the nearest docks to the houses in the distance, and then to the city walls. They looked different to him now. Indeed, all of those must have been built by human hands. Buildings ranging from a few years to decades, and even centuries old, still stood firm. Even his own home had likely been built by people like them.
“You probably kill people easily and make money easily, so we must look foolish to you. But to us, there are values more important than just making a living. We are willing to starve to protect them.”
“You don’t look foolish at all.”
“...”
“I think it’s admirable. My apologies if my question was rude. I was just curious.”
Rickert smiled, offering an apology as refreshing as the river breeze. Apologizing to a man like this brought no shame or humiliation.
Mason stared at Rickert with surprise, finding him intriguing. He had expected the boy to be arrogant, but he wasn't. In truth, Rickert treated everyone differently. He could be quite arrogant when he wanted to be, but Mason was an admirable man, and Rickert wanted to show him respect.
“We can draw up a contract later. For now, do you agree to let us recover the unpaid money for you?”
“...If you can actually get it back, we would be grateful.”
“Great. Let’s go, Bori.”
“Wh-what? Where?”
“Where else? To get the money.”
Rickert slung his sword over one shoulder and walked away from the docks. He was heading toward the mansion he had visited the previous day for the banquet.
Boribori hurriedly caught up and asked, “Is it really okay to just go like this without even signing a contract?”
“You can tell just by looking whether someone is a decent person or a thug. The Merchants' Association people seemed shady. If we’re going to settle down in this city anyway, shouldn’t we think long-term? In that case, I think it’s better to judge based on the person rather than the money.”
“No, I mean, is it really fine not to write a contract?”
“A noble stakes their life on keeping their word. In fact, some even consider signing a contract to be an insult.”
“Huh… Since when did you start acting like a noble, Ricky?”
“You little rascal.”
Rickert roughly ruffled Boribori’s hair. Boribori was fourteen now and would be an adult next year, but Rickert, who was two years younger, was larger in build.
“Anyway, how are you going to get the money back?”
“How else? A show of force.”
It wasn't an era without trials, but it was one where resolving issues through a show of force was overwhelmingly more common. Trials took a long time and carried little weight unless the lord presided over them personally. Furthermore, even if you won, there was nothing you could do if the losing party simply told you to do your worst.
Of course, among the various types of trials, a trial by combat resolved matters cleanly. And every true noble had the right to demand one. Since Rickert was a true noble, he had an ace up his sleeve. If push came to shove, he could just demand a trial by combat.
But above all, there was no other real way to get the stolen money back besides a show of force.
Arriving at the gates of the mansion he had visited the day before, Rickert spoke to the gatekeeper.
“You saw me yesterday, right? Open the gate.”
The gatekeeper peered at Rickert through the gap in the beautifully carved gate and opened it without a fuss. He remembered Rickert because of the shabby clothes he had worn.
“What brings you here, young master?”
“I’m here to collect a debt.”
“...Pardon?”
The gatekeeper looked utterly bewildered, having no idea what Rickert was talking about. Ignoring his reaction, Rickert pushed the gate open and stepped into the courtyard. After scanning the mansion’s surroundings, he headed toward the stables.
“Bori, grab a rein.”
“Wh-what are you planning?”
“We’re going to sell some horses to cover the debt.”
“Huh?”
Horses were incredibly expensive. Unless it was a pack horse, even the cheapest mount could fetch a few gold coins. The expensive ones were so outrageously priced there was no upper limit. The stable was quite large and well-built, housing five large horses inside.
Rickert chose the one with the glossiest coat and the finest build. It was obvious at a glance that the beast had been meticulously cared for.
“Wh-who are you?” the stablehand, who had been sweeping the floor, asked in a panic upon seeing strangers enter.
Ignoring him, Rickert grabbed a harness and fitted it onto a horse with a striking brown coat and white spots.
“Wh-who are you?! Don’t touch that!”
“Stay back, or I’ll kill you.”
Rickert drew his dagger and threatened him. It was practically highway robbery, but to Rickert, it was a forced execution of a contract. Terrified by the glint of the sharp dagger, the stablehand fled in a panic to inform his master.
Meanwhile, Rickert finished saddling the horse, led it outside, and mounted it. He had learned to ride at home and was quite skilled. Since Boribori didn't know how to ride, he simply grabbed the reins of another horse and quickly led it out.
In the meantime, Rickert rode out into the courtyard and waited for Boribori.
Clip-clop. Clip-clop. Clip-clop.
He turned the horse this way and that, trampling the lawn as if it were his own backyard. A rider on horseback possessed a presence that naturally overwhelmed those on the ground, and the mansion's servants stared in shock.
“Open the gates! Or I'll trample you!” Rickert shouted, drawing his sword and pointing it at the gatekeeper.
Confronted by the massive horse, the razor-sharp sword, the commanding shout, and those glaring eyes, the gatekeeper threw the gates wide open in a panic. Boribori quickly slipped out. Just then, Marconis rushed out of the mansion, shouting in utter disbelief.
“Wh-what is the meaning of this?!”
Rickert looked down at him from atop the horse and sneered. “I’m here to collect the debt. You should have paid on time. If the value of these horses isn’t enough, I’ll be back for more. Farewell. Hyah!”
With shameless audacity, he spurred the horse and galloped out of the estate. Thick dust kicked up beneath its wild hooves.
Clack, clack, clack, clack!
His blonde hair whipped in the wind, and his red cloak fluttered behind him. The mansion's servants couldn't take their eyes off the striking image of the boy. It seemed what truly proved one's noble blood was not mere appearance, but bold actions and a commanding presence.
Marconis, the owner of the horse, could only stare blankly at Rickert’s receding figure, utterly dumbfounded.
The horse Rickert had just taken was worth far more than the unpaid debt.