Chapter 7
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 7
A linen tunic, a belt, leather shoes, a woolen coat, a traveling cloak, a single dagger, and a satchel slung over his shoulder—that was the sum of everything Rickert owned.
He had no home to return to and no guarantee he would ever see his family again.
From one perspective, a new future and a vast world lay before him. From another, he was facing hardships the likes of which he had never known.
This was where remembering a past life proved useful. It kept him from feeling afraid, no matter the circumstances.
Crossing the borders of Stormherz—a land he had never once left since his rebirth—Rickert walked all day, stopping only twice for short rests.
Dusk fell early on the mountain pass. As the cool breeze turned chilly, the courier led the way to a place to make camp.
The spot was clearly a common stop for travelers: a hollow shielded from the wind, with a makeshift fire pit built from large stones and filled with dark ash.
With practiced ease, the courier struck a flint over the dry twigs and straw he had prepared, catching a spark. He blew gently to nurture the small flame before adding pieces of firewood scattered nearby.
Soon, the fire caught, crackling softly as it grew.
Rickert found a comfortable spot to sit and pulled a cloth-wrapped parcel of travel rations from his bag.
His sister-in-law had prepared it—a mixture of various grains, honey, and salt that had been steamed and then dried.
It was hard, forcing him to either nibble at it with his front teeth or crunch down and let it soften in his mouth. The taste was savory, salty, and sweet all at once.
The proportions were so well-balanced that it wasn't just palatable—it was delicious. He could feel his sister-in-law's care in every bite.
"Have you traveled before?" the courier asked blithely.
"No."
"You don't need to be so formal with me. It makes me uncomfortable."
"Is that so? All right."
"Well, that's strange. Nowadays, you've got plenty of people who aren't nobles strutting around like royalty just because they have a bit of coin, yet here's a true high-born noble being so polite."
"I'm just doing what my mother taught me. She told me to speak respectfully to my elders."
"Still, is this really your first journey?"
"It is. Why?"
"No... it's just, you don't seem worried or anxious at all."
In an age where a traveler could be murdered by bandits without any hope of the culprit being found, this was no small observation. Human trafficking ran rampant in the shadows, and nobles, in particular, were frequent targets for ransom kidnappings.
Yet here was a ten-year-old boy, leaving home for the first time on a long journey, without a single trace of worry or anxiety, just as the courier had pointed out. Was he simply ignorant of how the world worked?
Rickert merely offered a faint smile. He finished his food before turning the conversation back to his companion.
"Is the courier work manageable?"
"Manageable or not, having work is a blessing. It puts food on the table, after all. Thanks to this job, I've met plenty of people, and even if I quit, I have connections that could land me a few other positions. I'm employed by the Empire itself, you know! Hahaha."
"That's good."
"By the way, are you planning to become an adventurer?"
"For now, yes."
"I don't know... I guess we live in an age where even nobles become adventurers. Did you know? The mail delivery I'm doing now? This used to be adventurer work back in the day. So in a way, I guess that makes me an adventurer too."
"I don't care about titles like 'adventurer.' I'm more interested in whether the war was worth fighting. The Eastern Campaign Front... I believe it's called Fernland now. In any case."
"...Pardon? That's what you're interested in?"
"It's a personal matter. I don't expect you to understand."
The courier looked thoroughly baffled, but if the young noble said so, what could he do?
"Still, the reputation isn't so great. The Academy, I mean. Though I'm not sure if I should be telling you this."
"Why? Is there a problem with it?"
"There is and there isn't. I don't know exactly what goes on inside, either. But it's common for students to end up dead or crippled. I've seen it myself. The Academies seem to hold deep grudges against one another; they don't hesitate to shed blood. They'll fight viciously, make peace, then tear into each other all over again. You're still young, Young Master, so you won't be thrown into those fights right away, but when you get older, who knows? If you ask me, I suspect the Guilds are pulling the strings behind the scenes."
"So Academy students are mobilized for fights between Guilds?"
"That's my take on it. In the end, whether in the past or present, there's always been something unsettling about adventurers. The only difference is that people used to look down on them, but now... they fear them."
Despite not being particularly old, the courier kept talking about "the old days" and "back then," perhaps trying to play the part of a worldly elder for the young Rickert.
Rickert didn't take every word to heart, but he didn't dismiss it entirely, either. He simply absorbed it as information about the state of the world.
"There must be a reason for it, whether absurd or significant."
"Aren't you scared, Young Master?"
"Why? Are you hoping I'll get scared?"
"Not at all, but if I were you, I'd turn back right now, cling to the Lord's pant legs, and beg to be sent to a monastery. Living as a monk is surprisingly decent, you know? On weekends, you go to the village, dally with innocent country maidens without having to take responsibility if you get them pregnant, drink wine, pay no taxes, and never have to cater to a lord's whims."
"The monks I've seen weren't like that."
"Begging your pardon, but Stormherz is a bit of a backwater, frankly. People from the central region tend to be stubborn and narrow-minded. But people in the west? They're fiery and open-minded. So all you'd need to do is go to a monastery in the western region."
"Is that so? Is Stormherz considered the central region?"
"South-central, more or less."
"Do I seem stubborn and narrow-minded to you?"
"Hahaha, not at all! You're still young, Young Master. Anyway, once I save up enough money, I'm going to head west and open a winery."
In truth, the courier had never even set foot in the west. His work was limited to delivering mail around the central region.
He had simply built up a fantasy based on rumors he'd heard: open-minded beauties, fine wine, pleasant weather, and fertile land.
Not bad, Rickert thought. Grand, modest, or worldly—as long as a dream served as the driving force for one's life, it had value.
"What's your name? I can't keep calling you 'courier.'"
"It's Arno. When I was young, people called me 'Rabbit's Foot.' I'm good at running away, you see. That's why this job suits me so well. Did you know? Couriers take oaths just like knights do."
"What kind of oath?"
At Rickert's question, Arno straightened his posture and spoke solemnly.
"In the name of God and the Emperor, I swear that I shall not drink alcohol while on duty, nor shall I cause harm to others. I shall deliver the mail under any circumstances, without opening its contents, performing my duties with honesty and integrity. Should I break this oath, I shall become a criminal of the Empire and fall into hell upon my death."
It might seem excessive to make a mere courier swear such an oath, but the profession couldn't exist without trust. That was why nobles usually entrusted their letters to retainers or trusted confidants, rather than relying on someone from the Imperial Guild Bureau.
Still, it was clearly different from a knight's oath—there was no mention of fighting. It lacked the bloodthirsty vows about never retreating in battle or risking one's life to uphold honor.
Even so, Arno seemed to possess a strong sense of professional pride.
Though they were merely temporary traveling companions, spending the entire day walking together and sharing a campfire at night naturally brought them closer. Arno had gathered countless stories during his travels as a courier and had plenty to share.
He, too, seemed pleased to have someone to talk to. For the first time in a long while, Rickert spent a night that wasn't lonely as the hours crept by.
Early the next morning, the two put out the cold embers of the campfire with their boots to ensure no sparks remained, then set off. After crossing the mountain pass, they headed northeast.
Given his young age, one might have expected Rickert to tire from the endless walking, but he kept up without a word of complaint. Even without formal physical training, he was accustomed to running through forests and fields since early childhood. In a countryside with few entertainments, footraces were a frequent pastime; since all his opponents had been older boys, Rickert had constantly been forced to push his physical limits.
Yet no matter how exhausted he became, a good night's sleep restored him completely for another day of running.
But stamina aside, travel inevitably brought unexpected variables.
Due to his work as a courier, Arno often used shortcuts known only to locals. And right where another mountain pass began, they encountered a group of people.
Carriages and carts were parked along the roadside, surrounded by pitched tents where people were camping out.
The group included what looked like a newlywed couple, a large family spanning from a grandmother to grandchildren and cousins, a merchant-like man, and two armed guards protecting him. In total, there were around twenty people.
Such a motley gathering struck even Arno, accustomed to traveling, as odd. This was hardly a place to settle down.
The group stared blankly at Arno and Rickert as they walked along the secluded path.
"Hello there! I'm a courier from the Imperial Guild Bureau. Are you folks holding a spring festival out here or something?" Arno approached them with an easygoing greeting, asking what they were doing.
Despite his question, no one answered. Just as the awkward silence began to make Arno's cheerful smile falter, a merchant warming himself by a fire a short distance away spoke up.
"We're waiting for people."
"Is that so? Must be someone very important. Do you mind if I ask who you're waiting for?"
"No one in particular. Just trying to gather more people. But after waiting three full days, all we've gotten is a young man and a boy—seems like a waste of time."
Arno glanced at Rickert standing beside him, and they exchanged a quick look before he turned back to the merchant.
"Gathering more people? What for?"
"If our numbers are large enough, bandits won't dare approach us, will they?"
"Bandits? There are bandits here?"
"Why else would I be stuck here? Every passing day is a loss."
The merchant gestured toward a nearby spot with his chin. There were several dirt mounds, each stabbed with a crude wooden cross. They were freshly dug graves.
In the time Arno had been away from this route, bandits had taken root.
Robbers and bandits were far from rare. In an era where earning a living was harsh and punishment severe, many chose to turn to banditry instead.
"Should we head back?" Rickert asked.
"As you saw on the way here, Young Master, this is a single pass. If we turn back, we won't make it in time."
The deadline to arrive at the Academy was in fourteen days. The schedule was tight even when they departed; taking a long detour might make it impossible to meet the deadline, just as Arno said. Furthermore, Arno wasn't taking him all the way to his destination—Rickert had to hire another guide once they reached Rheinfurt.
"Judging by the fact they've killed people, these aren't your average robbers..." Arno muttered with a troubled expression. Rheinfurt was just past this mountain.
"It's early spring, so merchant caravans are probably scarce," Rickert observed. "Otherwise, they would have banded together to pass through. Waiting here is pointless."
How a young child knew such things was a mystery, but his words were spot on.
The merchant seemed to have arrived at the same conclusion. He had waited several days just in case, but with only Arno and Rickert arriving, he could delay no longer. Staying put would only exhaust his supplies. In trade, time and distance were money. Transporting goods over long distances in short times yielded profit; taking a long time over a short distance meant ruin.
Still, unwilling to bear the risk alone, the merchant turned to the rest of the group and spoke up.
"You people—even if you go back, the Lord will capture and execute you anyway. Wouldn't it be better to gamble your lives where there's at least a chance of survival?"
Whatever their story, the seemingly ordinary folk were clearly runaways.
"The numbers gathered here aren't small. Waiting any longer will only drain your food supplies, so let's make up our minds. I'll take the lead."
It was obvious he intended to spread the risk and sneak away himself if trouble arose. But since everyone shared similar motives, there was no point in singling him out as cowardly.
True to his merchant nature, he offered a pseudo-negotiation, and the word "food" galvanized the crowd. They began dismantling their tents and packing for travel.
Even so, there were only two armed guards, and including Arno, barely half a dozen adult men.
"Whether our luck is good or bad, it seems we have no choice, Young Master Ricky."
"Luck isn't something you only discover in the outcome. It's something you forge."
"Is that so? I wish I could forge luck. I'd make mountains of it and get filthy rich rolling dice. Just stick close to my side. I'll do my best to forge some luck for us."
"All right. Thanks."
Rickert chuckled faintly at the mention of dice gambling as he answered. Side by side, the two blended into the crowd as they began their ascent up the mountain pass.