Chapter 64
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 64
By taking on the Masons' Guild request and successfully extracting their money from the Merchants' Association, Rickert had firmly engraved his name in the minds of everyone in Ehrenberg. The incident also served as excellent publicity for the Beringen Guild Branch.
Naturally, people came to realize that any request entrusted to the Beringen Guild Branch would be completed without fail. With that, the guild branch established a solid foothold in the city almost overnight.
Though unintentional, Rickert had also mediated between the city's two major factions. The guild branch had performed brilliantly, acting as a balancing force between the Masons' Guild and the Merchants' Association.
Furthermore, thanks to the efforts of Volka and his friends, they quickly grew close to the local merchants. They were now able to secure a smooth supply of groceries, travel gear, and combat equipment. The merchants, in turn, gained a reliable client, making it a win-win situation.
Now, only one thing remained for them to truly settle down: time.
As children grew up, lovers became spouses, raised their own offspring, and grew old together, the Clan Viola would naturally assimilate into this place.
When Volka and Delphi eventually married and had a baby, that child might one day hear a story like this:
Once upon a time, a terrible quintet of villains lived here, and my friend defeated them.
Ehrenberg was built around a paved road that ran straight up a hill, with side streets branching off to the left and right like the limbs of a tree. The low-lying Mount Ern had been artificially carved into terraced steps, upon which the city’s buildings were erected. The entire mountain resembled a single, massive complex.
At the summit of Mount Ern stood a tiny castle built long ago. Though it was almost embarrassing to call it a castle, a few buildings were clustered around it. From the summit, one could see the entire Main River area in a single glance. The members of the Masons' Guild and their families had returned to their daily lives, and the ships of the Merchants' Association finally floated upon the waters of the Main River.
The merchant vessels started off with oars, but once they caught a favorable wind and unfurled their sails, they drifted away in the blink of an eye.
Standing on a corner of Mount Ern's summit, Rickert watched the ships glide away, appearing both slow and fast at once. He wore no cloak and carried only a single dagger at his waist. At certain points on the river, the sunlight shattered into glittering fragments. A cool breeze blowing from the water ruffled his hair.
"Huh? Ricky is slacking off."
A youthful voice sounded from behind him as he admired the peaceful scenery. He turned to see Bennybenny, the daughter of Benny, the grocery store owner. Repeating a name like that was a local custom for when a child inherited their parent’s name directly. When the parent passed away, the child would drop one of the repeated names.
The six- or seven-year-old girl often loitered around the adventurer building, pestering people under the pretext of "helping out," though everyone found her adorable. To any observer, however, it was obvious she was really there to see Ice.
"I'm not slacking. I'm taking a break."
"My mom says daylight is golden time. If you slack off, you're throwing away gold."
"I told you, I'm not slacking."
"But everyone else is working! And Uncle Volka was looking for you."
"Ah, seriously…"
To escape Bennybenny’s nagging, Rickert headed down the mountain's back path, just as he always did. Though called a back path, it wasn't an official road but a trail formed naturally by people taking the same shortcut. It was steep and somewhat dangerous, but it was definitely faster.
"Don't follow me. You'll get hurt."
"Ricky is running away! Big Sister Marie!" Bennybenny shouted from the summit.
Ignoring her, Rickert quickly hid himself among the thick trees and walked along the riverbank. He heard the squelching, rhythmic turn of the waterwheel next to the smithy as it pumped the bellows, followed by the metallic clang of a hammer striking iron.
Rounding the foot of the mountain past the smithy, he reached the Masons' Guild's workspace. It was a semi-indoor area, consisting of a roof supported by pillars but lacking walls. The space was filled mostly with stone blocks, with various sculptures of all sizes scattered about. Most appeared unfinished or abandoned mid-creation.
Mason was standing on a scaffold, working on a life-sized marble sculpture. He held a chisel to the stone, tapping it gently with a hammer as he carved with meticulous care. Though it was far from complete, Rickert quietly watched the form take shape, breathing life into a once-meaningless block of stone.
It took a while before Mason noticed his presence. He wiped his brow, though he wasn't sweating much, and spoke.
"What's up? You should've said something if you were here."
"I was just watching. What are you making?"
When Rickert asked, Mason merely chuckled.
"Who knows."
Not wanting to disturb his work, Rickert left him to it. Since the workshop was quite spacious, he wandered around slowly, looking at the unfinished pieces that were laid out like museum exhibits.
Then, a shabby book in a corner caught his eye. Thinking it might be a blueprint or a schematic, he casually glanced at it, only to find its title written in an ancient script.
<The Threshold of the Swordmaster>
Strictly speaking, it was hard to call it a book. It was actually a very long sheet of parchment folded into uniform sections and bound together with a string. To read it, one had to untie the string and unfold it section by section. Rickert untied the string without hesitation.
Thus, only those who walk the path of the warrior can become Swordmasters, and a Swordmaster's sword of light is qualitatively and fundamentally different from a mage's enchantment magic.
Generally speaking, a Swordmaster refers to one who infuses their weapon with mana to draw out its inherent attributes to the absolute limit. The weapon's cutting power and durability increase exponentially, allowing it to cleave through even the sturdiest armor in a single strike. Thus, those who reach the level of Swordmaster rarely find a worthy opponent.
Yet, while the definition of a Swordmaster is clear, the path to becoming one is abstruse, complex, and so elusive that it defies definition. Because many prestigious fencing families guard their secret techniques with absolute secrecy, gathering information is difficult. Furthermore, since Swordmasters occasionally emerge from obscurity outside of these families, establishing a unified theory is challenging.
Many warriors despair at the threshold of the Swordmaster. Some claim that the potential to become one is determined at birth, while others argue that one becomes a Swordmaster only when talent and effort reach their absolute peak and bloom. However, neither theory is certain.
Here, I would like to propose a thesis. Since speaking of the unknown is meaningless, let us first clarify what is certain.
First, there is undeniably a boundary one must cross to become a Swordmaster.
Whether crossing that boundary requires innate disposition, talent, or effort remains unknown, but what if we focus solely on the act of crossing the boundary itself?
Starting from this premise, I managed to find a single clue. It lies in the training methods practiced by the Cult of the Void.
…
Therefore, to cross the boundary, a price must be paid. A sacrifice must be offered. That price, that sacrifice, is none other than a piece of one's humanity.
Though much research is still required, I am absolutely certain.
…>
Rickert skimmed through the rest of the text. For some reason, it left an unpleasant, creepy aftertaste. He could feel the author's madness and obsession seeping through the words. However, it did not explain exactly how to cross that boundary to become a Swordmaster. The author was simply convinced that one had to excise something from deep within their human nature through some sort of religious ritual.
Do you really have to go that far just to become a Swordmaster? he thought. He couldn't understand it.
Still, Rickert gained one insight from the text. There was an orthodox path to becoming a Swordmaster, and then there were shortcuts—like the author's—where the orthodox way didn't matter as long as one achieved the end result.
"Ricky, can you read that?" Mason asked as he walked past.
"Yes, I learned the ancient script a while ago."
"Really? Then you can have it."
"What? Are you sure?"
"Honestly, I've had my money stolen plenty of times. Countless times, really. It was only an issue this time because the amount was so large. I took that book from a baron's estate a while back because they were short on payment for a chapel I built. But it's not like I could sell it. Who would buy a book they can't even read?"
Rickert stared down at the folded book again. The title, The Threshold of the Swordmaster, looked different to him now. In a way, this was also a Codex. Any book written in ancient times was called a Codex. While what he had just read didn't contain any profound wisdom, it certainly conveyed a dangerous yet intriguing kind of knowledge.
It probably wouldn't be of much use, but since it was being offered for free, Rickert decided to keep it.
"Thank you."
He left the workshop and took a long walk around the outskirts of Ehrenberg. It wasn't until late afternoon that he finally climbed the central road back up the hill.
When he arrived at the branch building, he saw a decent number of adventurers coming and going, along with merchants delivering groceries and other daily necessities. Some came to submit requests, while locals sat outside on mats, casually chatting.
As Rickert appeared, people greeted him from all sides.
"Hey there."
"Volka was looking for you, Ricky."
Since he was usually easygoing outside of combat, everyone treated him comfortably. Rickert simply waved and nodded in response as he entered the building. Inside, adventurers were relaxing at tables or by the fireplace.
"Ricky."
The moment Rickert stepped inside, someone called out to him. It was Delphi, who was carrying food.
"I told you, you should hire some staff."
"Hey, labor is the biggest expense."
"Can't you just hire Bennybenny?"
"She's too young. We get severed heads brought in here sometimes. Injured people, too."
"Is there anything I can help with?"
"Look at you, all talk these days," Delphi laughed as she turned back to her work. Honestly, Rickert was a frequent slacker. He hadn't even attended his classes properly back at the Academy.
Rickert chuckled and headed toward Volka's private room, which doubled as his office. Volka had been looking for him, after all.
"Volka, you looking for me?"
Volka was at his desk, reviewing documents and counting money. Piles of silver and copper coins lay before him, along with a few gold coins. Boribori and Marie were beside him, helping organize documents.
"Damn it, I asked for help. If this keeps up, I'm going to die from paperwork."
Counting money wasn't hard, but accurately paying out and receiving payments from various parties while constantly balancing the accounts was a never-ending chore.
"You get faster at math the more you do it. You're just slow," Rickert teased. His mathematical skills and observational keenness were almost superhuman; if he actually helped, it would be a massive boon. But he rarely did. This kind of work was just too tedious.
"Whatever. Anyway, we got word from Uncle Dunkel. They're starting negotiations."
"What negotiations?"
"Peace negotiations."
Rickert had expected frequent battles, since this was supposed to be the front line, but that hadn't been the case. Perhaps the enemy stayed away because they feared him, or perhaps they simply lacked the resources for an assault. Besides, it was no easy feat for a mere adventurers' guild to deploy personnel across all of Siegfringer.
Rather than both sides wasting money and lives, negotiating was a sensible choice. However, negotiations weren't settled in a day or two; they were a war of their own. Only, in that particular war, Rickert had no role to play.
It felt a bit anticlimactic, but it was still a relief. After all, the greatest reward one could give to weary soldiers was the end of the war.
"Which brings me to this: shouldn't you, Bori, and Marie head back to the Academy?"
"Is there any real need to go back?"
"You have to graduate. That's how you officially embark on the path of an adventurer. It's a minimum formality, even if things are run a bit haphazardly."
"Is that so?"
"Yeah. If things go quickly, they might come to pick you up as early as the beginning of autumn. You should head back ahead of time. You've all worked hard. Thank you."
Rickert responded to the thanks with a smile. Sitting down on the bed, he asked the busy Boribori and Marie, "What about you two?"
"Us? What about us? We've already packed our bags," Marie said.
Perhaps because she had been so busy, she didn't even seem to have time to feel sentimental. They were just starting to settle in and build things up here. But since graduation was just around the corner, they would be able to return soon enough. It was fine. Maybe he was just being unnecessarily sentimental.
"By the way, what's that?" Boribori asked, pointing at the Codex in Rickert's hand.
"Oh, this? Uncle Mason gave it to me. Said I could just have it."
"Really? Can I see?"
"...I don't see why not, but it's a bit of an unsettling book."
"What's it about?"
"It spouts some nonsense about how you have to abandon your humanity to become a Swordmaster."
"Then I'll pass," Boribori replied without even looking back. Aside from Ice, none of them aimed to become a Swordmaster, so he had no lingering interest.
Rickert went to his room to pack. As he slipped the Codex into his bag, he paused and stared at the worn, faded book. He recalled his goal when he first entered the Academy: to find out if the war a century ago had been worth fighting. He wanted to know if the reason for the war had truly been these things called Codices, and if so, what exactly a Codex was.
That was why he had learned the ancient script. He hadn't seen every Codex, but if they were all filled with this kind of drivel, it was rather disappointing.
Yet, it was hard to say whether that ancient war had been worth it. If not for the war, if not for the Codices, the Adventurers' Academy would never have been established. He pitied the children who had suffered for so long in that chicken coop of a place, but then again, if it weren't for that chicken coop, he never would have met his friends.
Therefore, the question of whether the war had been worth fighting was one he could not easily answer.
In any case, Rickert finished packing. He stayed at the branch for a few more days to help Volka, giving him some breathing room. Once Volka had finally caught his breath from the overwhelming workload, Rickert set off toward the east with Boribori and Marie.
Back to the Academy.
Like a cool river breeze pushing a sail, their steps on the return journey were light.