Chapter 77
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 77
Time passed after Rickert completed his special-grade request and returned to Ehrenberg.
The dying grass withered away, the last leaves fell from the trees, and snow blanketed the bare earth. A whipping wind blew. In the harsh, merciless winter, it felt as though all of humanity had been reduced to miserable slaves.
Yet the turning of the heavens was not cruel to humanity alone. Slowly but surely, it brought even winter to its end.
Before long, rain fell instead of snow. Spring had arrived. The snow that had accumulated all winter was driven out toward the sea, gathering in the rivers like prisoners of war.
As the weather softened, people began to stir like sprouting buds. Once again, they gathered their strength to live on. That was life; that was what it meant to be alive.
But a swordsman sharpens his blade when he has nothing to do. While others nurture life, he makes his living from death. Not that they had spent the winter resting. They spent their days clearing snow from roofs, chopping firewood, and repairing buildings, but their true livelihood lay in swinging their swords.
Even so, the Ehrenberg Branch of the Beringen Adventurers' Guild was not feared. If anything, it was viewed with familiarity and trust. Known for its swift, precise, and reliable service, its reputation in the surrounding region was stellar. They maintained a near-perfect success rate, offering a full refund upon failure.
In particular, Rickert, Ice, and Boribori—collectively known as the Three Swordsmen of the Violet—reigned supreme, with no rivals to be found in the entire Siegfringer region. Naturally, commissioning a request that specifically targeted these three came with a hefty price tag.
Yet this did not dramatically alter Rickert's life. Even as a peerless swordsman who had completed a special-grade request, his day-to-day existence remained unremarkable. He lived in harmony with the seasons like everyone else. In the grand scheme of things, nothing had changed; he simply went about his business in silence, occasionally enjoying the simple pleasures of daily life with his friends.
Was that truly the case? Perhaps not.
Though nothing seemed different on the surface, a seed planted by Armand lay deep within his heart. Face yourself. Even if it tears your heart to shreds.
Ice smiled much more often now, prompting Volka to grumble that a handsome bastard shouldn’t have a good personality to boot, telling him to go back to his old self. Conversely, Rickert had grown quieter and smiled less than before. He wasn't depressed, nor was he in a foul mood.
He didn't know why himself. Boribori merely remarked that Ricky was probably growing up. The answer lay within him, but he couldn't grasp it. Or perhaps he was unconsciously turning away from it.
In any case, rain always accompanied the changing of the seasons, from winter to spring, and from spring to summer. Green fields of barley and wheat stretched across the outskirts of Ehrenberg, their stalks not yet full but ripening to a golden yellow bit by bit.
Around that time, a document arrived from the guild headquarters. He assumed it would be the usual wanted posters, but a peculiar notice was tucked among them.
It announced that the Imperial Swordsmanship Tournament would be held in the autumn. The winner would receive a massive cash prize, land, and the honor of joining the imperial family.
Joining the imperial family meant betrothal to the thirty-second princess.
Martelia von Nibelinger.
At the sight of that name, the seed planted deep within Rickert's heart began to sprout.
*
"Huh? Marie was a princess?!"
Boribori, riding the donkey that was Clan Viola's prized asset, widened his eyes in shock as they walked along an embankment. Rickert, who had grown significantly taller, walked beside him. The two were returning to the branch after completing a request together.
"You didn't know? You were right there with me."
"When?"
"At graduation."
"Ah, then? But we were so far away, I couldn't hear a word they were saying."
"Well, that's how it is," Rickert said.
"So, are you going to enter the tournament, Ricky?"
"...I don't know."
"What do you mean you don't know? Poor Marie."
Normally, a commoner would have no reason to pity an imperial princess. But Boribori, having witnessed her struggles firsthand, was different.
"Maybe it's better this way."
"What is? Your connection with Marie ending?"
"Yeah."
"Man, you're cold, Ricky. I know how stubborn you are, but this isn't right. You'll just make both yourself and Marie miserable."
"Life is inherently miserable," Rickert replied. "You only get fleeting moments of happiness. Struggling to be happy only makes you more miserable."
"No, I don't buy that. Look at me. Do I look miserable? Or do I look happy?" Having survived a childhood more wretched than most, Boribori understood better than anyone that happiness and misery were matters of perspective.
"You're just simple-minded."
"Wh-what?! That's harsh, Ricky! I've actually studied quite a bit, you know." In truth, Boribori read extensively and was quite well-educated. His general knowledge was actually higher than Rickert's.
"So, you're really not going?"
"I told you, I don't know."
"Hmm, I see. Looks like you need a little push."
Rickert laughed. "Hahaha. Do I look like someone you can just push around?"
"I won't be the only one. If I tell the others, they'll all tell you to go."
"...Is everyone really that interested in Marie and me?"
"Of course! You two are perfect for each other. Honestly, Marie is like a female version of you. You're practically identical."
"What? A female Ricky?"
"Yeah. She doesn't bully the weak, she stands up to the strong, she looks a bit clumsy but is actually smart, she's warm-hearted but cold as ice when she needs to be. And above all, you're brave, but Marie is even braver than you."
"......"
Was that how they looked to others? Rickert found himself reevaluating Marie. Her shy, smiling face flickered in his mind's eye.
"Besides, isn't it messed up?" Boribori continued. "A prize for the winner? Is Marie some kind of trophy? You know she doesn't deserve to be treated like that, Ricky."
In truth, marrying off a daughter to a skilled wanderer to make him a son-in-law was a tradition dating back to ancient tribal societies. It was a way to protect the family and, by extension, the village. That tradition had endured, making marriages between princesses and the winners of jousting tournaments a fairly common occurrence. For the knight, it was a chance to elevate his social standing; for the king, a way to secure martial power. It was not born of simple romance, but of mutual interest—a hallmark of warrior culture.
Thus, while the imperial family hosting a swordsmanship tournament to betroth the winner to a princess was unconventional, it was not entirely unprecedented.
Yet people were no fools. They knew the emperor was a notorious debauchee with countless bastards and that he was merely tossing away a low-ranking princess—the thirty-second, no less—as if granting a grand favor. Even so, it was undeniably a prestigious affair. Marie's maternal lineage was flawless, and the land offered as a prize was highly alluring.
Naturally, Rickert cared nothing for such things. But Boribori's words struck him like a hammer to the head.
Why did Marie have to be treated like that? The more he thought about it, the angrier he became.
"You're right, Bori. I hadn't thought of it that way."
"Hehe, see? Told you I'm not simple-minded!"
Rickert chuckled, affectionately ruffling Boribori's hair. "Yeah. You're better than me now."
Boribori, whom Rickert had practically rescued from the streets and raised, had grown into someone who could think for himself and offer sound advice. He was also a renowned swordsman in his own right, making a name for himself in the north-central region of the empire—even if he had unintentionally acquired the gruesome reputation of "Boribori the Dismemberer."
When they returned to the branch, it was bustling with adventurers. As the most prosperous branch in the Siegfringer region, it naturally drew crowds, largely thanks to its star adventurers: Rickert, Ice, and Boribori. For Volka, who was now both the branch head and the clan master, sorting the wheat from the chaff to recruit new members for Clan Viola while managing the other clans was a constant headache.
Though not by design, Rickert kept his social circle small. He wasn't necessarily cold, but he rarely engaged in deep conversation with anyone outside his close friends. Consequently, he often didn't know the names of fellow Clan Viola members or met them for the first time without realizing who they were. He simply accepted it and moved on.
Surprisingly, Boribori had quite a following. He was friendly and always willing to share his swordsmanship and combat experience. Rickert, on the other hand, exuded an unapproachable aura that kept others at a distance. Ice, though slightly more approachable than before, remained icy toward strangers, leaving him with few associates.
In this manner, the Ehrenberg branch ran smoothly. With the world overflowing with trouble and an endless stream of requests, it was a business destined to thrive.
After reporting their progress to Volka, Rickert brought up the tournament and Marie. His friends immediately responded in unison:
"Why aren't you going?"
Just as Boribori had predicted, Rickert was practically shoved out the door.
*
Still in a daze, he packed his gear and boarded a merchant ship. Looking back at Ehrenberg from the deck, the city appeared small but vibrant. But the ship was carrying him toward deeper waters—a place of turbulent currents where a single misstep could mean death.
Though the Imperial Swordsmanship Tournament was scheduled for autumn, Nibelungen was already teeming with travelers from all corners of the empire. Naturally, the vast majority were swordsmen. Consequently, trouble brewed daily. Fistfights were a common sight, and duels over pride—which these men valued more than life itself—frequently erupted outside taverns.
Although the imperial knights patrolled to maintain order, they rarely intervened. After all, it was far simpler to let one party die and resolve the matter cleanly. Breaking up a fight only for them to cause trouble elsewhere was a much bigger headache. Thus, the knights and guards limited their duties to protecting the locals. Outsiders received virtually no protection; they were left to survive on their own.
Only undertakers, priests, and grave robbers enjoyed an unexpected boom. Meanwhile, the influx of travelers showed no signs of slowing, pushing the city far past its capacity.
Rickert disembarked and stepped into this chaotic environment. He carried only his modest belongings, a single meteoric iron sword, and a dagger tucked inside his shirt.
Feeling the river breeze, he surveyed the city. It was remarkably antique and beautiful. A forest stretched across the opposite bank, and the paved roads were exceptionally wide. Lacking city walls, the wind swept through freely. Furthermore, the presence of a sewage system spared the city from the foul stench typical of large urban centers.
The emperor's castle sat atop a hill, looking surprisingly modest. In truth, the imperial family resided in a palace located slightly outside the city. Castles were relics of the past; as living quarters, they were highly impractical, so it was now used primarily as a military barracks.
Rickert began by walking down the main avenue. Being the imperial capital, wealthy residents were plentiful, and carriages rolled by occasionally, leaving horse dung scattered along the streets. A man was busy shoveling the dung into a sack—not a street sweeper, but someone looking to sell it as fertilizer. Thanks to such efforts, the streets remained relatively clean.
After getting his bearings, Rickert set out to find an inn. However, the moment he veered off the main avenue, he felt eyes on him from all directions. These looks differed from those of bandits targeting his coin or gear. They were simply provocative.
In a place like this, there was one sure way to avoid trouble: keeping one's eyes glued to the ground.
But Rickert did no such thing. He simply stared back with a blank expression. What? You want a piece of me?
Fortunately, the locals paid him no mind. It was easy to tell the locals apart from the outsiders by their attire and general demeanor. Rickert approached a man moving oak barrels and spoke up.
"Excuse me. Do you know where I can find a decent inn?"
"An inn? They're probably all packed by now."
"Pardon?"
"The high-end inns near the palace have all been snatched up by famous swordsmen, and the rest were booked long ago, even with people paying double. If you head out of the city that way, you'll find a tent city. But let me warn you, it's dangerous. With blade fights breaking out constantly, you won't get a wink of sleep."
The citizens of Nibelungen were surprisingly hospitable. But hospitality alone could not solve his lodging problem.
"Ah... I see. Thank you."
"Good luck to you. I hope you find success."
Rickert thanked the man and turned away. This was a predicament. Where was he supposed to go? Should he board a ship back home and return only when the tournament officially began?
Since he was already here, he decided he might as well register first. He approached an imperial knight who was shooting the breeze with some soldiers by the roadside. The man wore a white surcoat over mail armor.
"Good day, Sir."
At Rickert's voice, the knight's smirk vanished as he turned to face him.
"I would like to register for the tournament. Where should I go?"
The knight swept his gaze up and down Rickert's frame. Without a word, he jerked his chin toward the castle atop the hill. Just as Rickert offered a polite nod and turned to leave, the knight spoke up.
"What's your name? You look rather young."
"I'm Ricky. An adventurer."
"...Ricky? Don't tell me you're Ricky the Red Cloak?"
"I believe some call me that."
The knight's eyes widened slightly before a broad grin spread across his face. "An honor to meet you in the flesh. Follow me."
He gestured for Rickert to follow and began walking toward the palace.
"We received orders to escort distinguished guests separately. You should have sent word ahead."
"Is that so? I wasn't aware."
"You'd do best to use the palace only for sleeping at night. During the day, you'll just end up harassed by those fucking bastards."
"F-fucking bastards?" Rickert was taken aback by the sudden profanity. A sense of foreboding washed over him.
"You've heard the rumors, haven't you? About our whoring emperor. Even a degenerate like him has a proper wife, and the empress's children are those very bastards."
Rickert could hardly believe his ears. What is this man saying? Are those 'fucking bastards' the princes of the realm?
The knight possessed not a shred of loyalty to the emperor or the crown. It was painfully obvious that he was only in it for the coin. But then, there was a limit to how pathetic a ruler could be. The one who had dragged the imperial authority through the mud was none other than the emperor himself. Who else was there to blame? Having indulged in such pathetic behavior for decades, it was only natural that his subordinates looked upon him as a fool.
"You'd better watch out for the Empress Dowager, too. Just stay out of the imperial family's sight. Nothing good comes from getting tangled up with them. If by some miracle you win, sell off the fief immediately, take the gold, and get the hell out of here. That's the smartest move, if you ask me. Princess or not, what kind of succession rights does a thirty-second child have? If anything, they'll just use your title as an excuse to drag you from one battlefield to another."
It was a deeply cynical piece of advice.
"......"
Rickert was left speechless, unable to find any words to respond. Perhaps because of that, the only person on his mind right now was Marie.
Was the emperor not supposed to be the pinnacle of humanity? What kind of dysfunctional mess was this imperial family?
