Chapter 63
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 63
A horse market was underway at the southwestern edge of Ehrenberg, and the grounds were bustling with people.
A wide clearing stretched out, gently wrapping around a low hill. Beside it, temporary stables and pens held a variety of horses, from small ponies and sturdy packhorses to common utility mounts and the fine riding horses favored by nobles and the wealthy.
Every so often, a horse merchant would lead a horse by its reins around the clearing. It was a way to advertise their stock, but it also served as a demonstration of their own handling skills.
Caring for horses required immense expertise. The training and breeding methods used by the masters of horse who served emperors, kings, and high nobles were considered state secrets—so valuable that leaking them would result in a gruesome execution.
Most of the horses in this market were packhorses or utility animals; well-groomed riding horses were few and far between. Warhorses were virtually nonexistent, though one might find one or two with a dedicated search.
People haggled with merchants here and there. Some were buying out of genuine need, while others were seeking good breeding stock. A few had come to sell their family's prized horse, their circumstances a mystery. Though the breed might not be exceptional, they had clearly washed and brushed the animal for the first time in a long while, trying to make it as presentable as possible to fetch a slightly better price.
Then, suddenly, a rider burst into the clearing. A fluttering red cloak caught everyone’s eye.
Clip-clop! Clip-clop! Clip-clop!
"Whoa, whoa!"
"H-Hey, watch out!"
The people leading their own horses scattered in surprise. Horses were animals that demanded careful handling; a collision could cause their value to plummet in an instant.
"Sorry! I'm in a hurry!" the rider shouted.
It was none other than Rickert. He rode his horse around the clearing, cutting a majestic figure. The horse merchants, who had initially stared in bewilderment, soon found their eyes glued to the animal he rode, their expressions like men falling in love at first sight.
Rickert’s mount had a well-balanced, sturdy build, its sleek coat barely concealing the powerful, bulging muscles beneath. It was unmistakably a warhorse.
Warhorses were in a class of their own, and their prices were astronomical. They came from rare breeds and required specialized training from a young age. A warhorse was no longer a mere herbivore; it had to possess fierce bravery, the endurance to withstand spear thrusts and sword slashes, and absolute loyalty to its master. When you added acceleration, stamina, and responsiveness to the mix, you had a steed that money could hardly buy.
Of course, it was rare for a single horse to possess all these qualities, but when one did, even an emperor would treasure it. To a knight, a horse was their beginning and their end, their honor, their very life. Legend told of a king who had once sold his own castle just to acquire a legendary steed. Such horses were one in a thousand even among warhorses, and when paired with the right master, they wrote themselves into the sagas of heroes.
While the horse Rickert rode wasn't quite at that legendary level, it was by far the finest animal in the entire market.
"Quick sale! Anyone buying? Quick sale!" Rickert yelled, galloping recklessly back and forth. In truth, the clearing was a place where riders were meant to take turns walking their horses in an orderly fashion, but Rickert paid such rules no mind.
And no one dared to call him out on it. The horse was so magnificent that everyone was utterly captivated.
Among the onlookers was a man dressed in fine silks, surrounded by an entourage. He had a beard that reached his chest and an imposing build. After watching Rickert’s reckless display from a distance, he strode boldly forward to speak with him.
"Hey there, young man."
Rickert turned his head at the call. Just then, Boribori arrived, panting as he led another horse by the reins. Rickert took the second horse and walked over to the man.
"Actually, I have two horses to sell. I'd prefer to sell them together."
His blunt manner of speaking made it obvious he was no merchant. The man in silk let out a dry chuckle. He calmly stroked the neck and head of the horse Rickert had been riding, inspecting its condition.
It was superb. He could feel the immense care its handler had poured into it. It was easy to tell whether a horse had been treated roughly or raised with love. The horse Boribori had brought was slightly inferior, but it was still a fine beast.
After examining the animals, the man in silk looked up at Rickert. "Do you even know what kind of horse this is, selling it in such a hurry?"
"It's a pretty good horse."
"This is a warhorse. A mount for a knight. Warhorses are divided into coursers and destriers. A courser fetches a much higher price than an ordinary horse, but a destrier is far more expensive than a courser. Did you know that?"
Even among destriers, there were various grades, from legendary steeds to the common mounts of ordinary knights. Judging by its physique alone, the horse Rickert rode was a high-grade destrier, though its bravery and endurance would have to be tested.
"I know that much. My father's mount was a destrier."
"...Hmm."
If his father was a knight, that meant the boy was from a knightly house. Yet the man in silk was not the least bit intimidated and didn't seem to care.
"I'll give you 180 gold coins for both."
"Four hundred."
"Hahaha! I admire your boldness, young man, but that's absurd. Didn't I hear you say it was a quick sale?"
"Right. Since it's a quick sale… just give me 390."
"Thank you for showing me a fine horse. Go find another owner."
Seeing Rickert demand such an outrageous price, the man in silk patted the horse's neck, turned, and walked away without another word.
Rickert quickly followed him. "Fine. Two hundred."
"One hundred and eighty. I have no desire to haggle further."
"Alright. Give me 180."
Rickert dismounted as he spoke. The man gestured to one of his attendants, who quickly brought over two large coin pouches and one small one.
Rickert opened the pouches to check the money. With a few quick rumbles of his fingers, he counted the exact amount. It was indeed 180 gold coins.
"R-Ricky, oh my gosh! We're rich!" Seeing an unimaginable amount of money, Boribori's eyes went wide. He grabbed Rickert and shook him wildly. Having grown up poor, Boribori had a secret fondness for money.
Just then, the sound of rapidly approaching hooves echoed through the market.
Clip-clop! Clip-clop! Clip-clop!
It was Marconis, his usual hat missing, exposing his half-bald head.
"Hey! Hey! Those horses aren't for sale!" he yelled, rushing over and dismounting frantically in front of Rickert and the man in silk. His eyes fell on the coin pouches in Rickert's hands. The deal was done.
"Sir, those horses are not for sale," Marconis said, turning to the man in silk.
The man looked back and forth between Rickert and Marconis, then snorted. Instead of replying, he let out a sharp whistle and snapped his fingers toward a group of men.
At his signal, several men mounted horses from the pens and rode over. Though lightly armored, they carried spears and swords, looking like a band of mounted bandits. They appeared to be foreigners; with their narrow eyes and low nose bridges, they resembled the nomads from the distant lands of the Salamans, people Rickert had only heard stories about.
Seeing nomads for the first time, Rickert and Boribori stared, their eyes wide as saucers. Are they mercenaries? What's going on?
Regardless of their confusion, the mounted men glared coldly at Marconis, weapons in hand. In truth, nothing was more terrifying than people with whom you couldn't communicate. Besides, grim rumors surrounded the nomads—that they rode like demons and ate human flesh.
Under their intense glares, Marconis swallowed hard, his body tensing despite his urgency.
"One thousand," the man in silk said curtly. He meant that if Marconis wanted the horses back, he would have to pay 1,000 gold coins.
It was an absurd price, demanded on purpose. Overwhelmed by the man's sheer presence, Marconis couldn't find his voice.
"If you don't have the money, get lost," the man said firmly.
Marconis opened his mouth as if to protest, but no words came out. He had the distinct feeling that if he said the wrong thing, he would end up dead. As a mere merchant, he lacked the courage to risk his life. Unable to utter a single word, he backed away. Even as he left the market, he kept looking back, unable to let it go.
Rickert watched Marconis retreat, then turned to the man in silk. "What was that? Were these horses actually worth a thousand gold coins?"
The man in silk chuckled. "A fine horse cannot be found unless fate allows it, regardless of the price. Therefore, putting a price tag on one is foolish."
"But you're a horse merchant. You must know their fair value, right?"
The man in silk smiled faintly. "Do I look like a merchant to you?"
"...What?"
"Whether you stole the horses or not, you got what you needed. Isn't our transaction mutually satisfying?"
With that, the man walked away. Following his lead, the nomads dismounted. Rickert figured the man was definitely no ordinary horse merchant. Is he a bandit chief?
In any case, with the horses sold, he and Boribori ran to the docks. There, they met Mason, the master of the Masons' Guild.
"How much money were you stiffed?" Rickert asked. In truth, he had barged in, stolen the horses, and sold them without even knowing the exact amount of the unpaid debt.
"Including shipping costs, it's 120 gold coins."
Rickert handed over 120 gold coins on the spot. Mason, who hadn't expected much, stared in disbelief when he actually received the money.
"H-How did you…?"
"What do you mean, how? I just went over, took his horses, and sold them."
"..."
"When you're collecting a debt, you have to use force. Staging a sit-in at the docks isn't enough."
Whether he was bold or just shameless, Rickert spoke as if it were the most natural thing in the world. But this was reality. Without a show of force, collecting on unpaid debts was nearly impossible.
Rickert looked at the people still camped out on the docks. They won't have to live outdoors anymore, he thought. That alone made it worthwhile.
"By the way, didn't we skip signing the contract?" Boribori asked.
Come to think of it, they had. But a verbal agreement was still a formal contract. It only became difficult to dispute if problems arose; as long as it was successfully fulfilled, it didn't matter.
"We have money left over."
They had a whopping 60 gold coins remaining. Strictly speaking, they had resolved a request and earned 60 gold coins in less than an hour.
However, Rickert stared down at the heavy coin pouch before looking at Boribori. "How much interest should we charge?"
"Hmm… I heard yesterday that it had been unpaid for three days. So today is the fourth day."
Interest rates were up to the lender, but the general rule was ten percent per day. It was an era of harsh lending. It was best not to borrow money at all, and if one did, it had to be repaid on time, no matter what. Compared to predatory usury, ten percent was actually quite reasonable.
"Twelve times four is forty-eight gold coins. Let's return the rest."
"Huh? Why?"
"We need to have principles. We only take what we earned. Otherwise, how are we any different from bandits?"
"Hmm… I guess you're right," Boribori said, clearly reluctant but agreeing nonetheless. Hearing Mason talk about upholding tradition and principles had resonated with Rickert. While spoils of war won in battle could be kept entirely, he believed payment for a request had to be calculated with strict fairness.
So, he headed back to the mansion with Boribori.
When they arrived, the estate was in a chaotic uproar over what he had done. But when the culprit behind the chaos reappeared, the people inside could only blink in sheer disbelief.
Rickert grabbed the nearest person and asked, "Where is Merchant Leader Marconis?"
"Y-Yes? Why do you ask?"
"I came to return the leftover money."
"...He is in his second-floor office, but…"
Rickert walked right into the mansion as if he owned the place. He went up to the second-floor office and flung the door open.
Marconis, who was sitting at his desk clutching his head, roared, "I told you not to let anyone in—!"
But when he realized the person entering was Rickert, he flinched, his voice dying in his throat.
"I sold the horses and got 180 gold coins. Out of that, 120 went to the Masons' Guild. We decided to take the interest. Since you didn't pay for four days, we calculated a ten percent daily interest, which comes to 48 gold coins for us. Here is the remaining 12."
Rickert clattered twelve gold coins onto the desk.
Marconis stared blankly at him, then let out a hollow, dumbfounded laugh. "...Ha!"
"What? Do you feel wronged?"
"...Do you have any idea what kind of horses those were?"
"No."
"What?"
"Do I need to know? All I know is that you didn't pay your debt, and we took a request to collect it on behalf of the Masons' Guild. Isn't it standard practice to use force to collect unpaid debts? As a businessman, you should know that well."
"Ha… Fine, let's say you're right. But who do you think I am? I am a member and the president of the Ehrenberg Merchants' Association! Do you think you can pull something like this and just walk away? There is such a thing as common sense! What on earth is this? Twelve gold coins? Ha! Are you mocking me?!"
Marconis seemed to be losing his mind. Even for someone as cold and cunning as him, losing those horses was a painful blow—even though he wasn't a knight who rode into battle. But even if one wasn't a knight, men harbored certain romantic ideals. Swords and horses were prime examples. That was why Marconis, despite his station, had ridden a destrier.
Rickert stared blankly at Marconis, who was panting heavily as if unable to comprehend the situation. "What's the Merchants' Association going to do? What are you going to do if you don't let this slide? No common sense? If I were Mad Dog Steiner, do you think your head would still be on your neck? Want me to show you what a real lack of common sense looks like? Unbelievable."
At the mention of Mad Dog Steiner, Marconis flinched. Only then did his senses return, reminding him exactly who the boy standing before him was.
Rickert glared coldly at Marconis, letting his bloodlust flare.
Marconis's heart hammered wildly as cold sweat broke out across his body. Unconsciously, his mind filled with the terrifying certainty of impending death. Those were not the eyes of a human.
"Listen to me carefully, Marconis. If you're a merchant, stick to business. Rich people like you always cross the line, thinking you're hot shit, and that's how you get killed. There's no other reason. Are you a knight? Are you going to ride into battle? Are those horses really as important as your life? No, they aren't. If you don't want to die, know your place. Got it?"
Leaving behind a warning that felt like a literal death threat, Rickert walked out of the office with Boribori, who gave a polite bow before following him.
Only after Rickert was gone did Marconis feel like he could breathe again. The pressure had been suffocating. The reality that this boy had slaughtered the Ehrenberg Quintet sank in once more.
But to Marconis, Rickert was far from normal. Looking at the twelve gold coins scattered on his desk, he realized Rickert was a different breed of madman compared to Mad Dog Steiner. If he was going to take the money, why not take it all? Why return twelve coins? From beating his daughter to stealing his horses and then returning the leftover gold, the boy's actions were utterly incomprehensible.
Marconis suddenly understood that his belief that he could win over or tame the beast that had slain the Ehrenberg Quintet was a delusion.
Beasts like lions and tigers were captivating. Their leisurely strides and indolent postures possessed an elegance, beauty, and majesty. But just because they were captivating didn't mean one could approach and touch them without consequence. They would bare their powerful claws and fangs, tearing a human to shreds.
Spilled blood, spilling entrails, crushed and torn limbs.
When the tiger of the mountain disappears, foxes and wolves naturally rise to power. Marconis realized that he was merely one of those foxes or wolves.
No matter how clever a person was, success could blind them. That had been his mistake.
There were true beasts in this world. Provoking them was the height of folly.
Marconis had always made a habit of saying: Before you do anything, calculate the profits and losses first.
But before calculating profit and loss, one first had to remember that they could lose their life.
Arc 12 – The Tiger of the Mountain. End.
