Chapter 80
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 80
Rickert loved the wind. He had loved it for as long as he could remember, perhaps even before he was born.
Back when he was herding sheep, he would lose himself watching the gales sweep across the open fields. In Stormherz, he occasionally stood alone to gaze out over the windy plains, and his days at the Academy had been no different.
Because of this, he often thought that one day, he would like to build a small cabin out in a cool, open expanse and just live there. He would tend to a little vegetable garden and raise sheep or maybe some other livestock.
The wind blew, rustling through his hair. A cool field stretched out before him, a tiny cabin resting far in the distance—the peaceful life he had always dreamed of was finally unfolding right in front of his eyes. He didn't know if the breeze was blowing down from the mountains or rolling in from the sea, but it felt wonderful all the same.
And he was not alone. A woman stood in the field with her back to him, her beautiful blonde hair fluttering in the breeze.
Rickert knew instantly who she was. A smile crept onto his lips before he even realized it. If he took just twenty steps, he could reach her.
But then, a shout so deafening it rattled his very skull echoed from behind.
“Steel Reaper Ricky!”
Rickert snapped his head around. The world was suddenly engulfed in a brilliant crimson blaze, the ground littered with countless corpses. Fire and steel, blood and death.
Vesprim, the legendary warrior of the barbarians, clad in heavy steel from head to toe, was crushing, smashing, and trampling everything that dared to draw breath.
And that wasn't all. Every human in the world was locked in a desperate, bloody struggle against one another. Amidst the carnage, he saw his friends: Boribori, Volka, and Ice.
The world had been split in two. One side was heaven, the other hell. And Rickert stood precisely on the dividing line.
Where was he supposed to go? Why couldn't he just let go of his suffering?
Just then, an angel's whisper brushed against his ear.
“Ricky.”
Rickert's eyes snapped open in bed. The morning sunlight filtering through the curtains was gentle, not blinding.
Yet his heart was pounding so hard it felt like it might burst from his chest.
As reality washed over him, the frantic beating slowly subsided. His mind cleared. It had only been a dream.
Rickert pushed himself out of bed and walked over to the washbasin resting on the table. He tilted the pitcher to pour water, washed his face, and dampened a towel to wipe down his neck and chest. The water wasn't cold; it was lukewarm, perfectly heated.
Then, he dressed. He pulled on a silk tunic—a luxury he had never worn in his life—and fastened a calfskin belt around his waist. The soles of his ankle-high boots were crafted from several layers of compressed leather, making them slightly flexible yet incredibly sturdy.
From head to toe, everything he wore was brand new, crafted by master artisans using the absolute finest materials. The texture against his skin and the tailored fit were exceptionally comfortable. All of this had been provided by the Crown Prince.
Rickert drew the sword leaning against the wall to inspect its condition. After checking his dagger as well, he decided to leave them both behind and stepped out of the room. Carrying weapons in the presence of the Crown Prince was generally frowned upon.
He made his way to the dining hall and had a simple breakfast of soft bread, cheese, ham, and milk.
The bread was no ordinary loaf. Made from finely sifted flour and freshly baked at dawn, it was as soft as down. Most commoners ground their grain by hand instead of using a mill, leaving the flour coarse and causing the bread to turn hard as stone just days after baking. They had to soak it in water or saliva just to chew it, and Rickert was intimately accustomed to that kind of rough fare.
Here in the imperial palace, everything was comfortable and convenient. Nothing required effort. Though Rickert wasn't particularly ascetic, even he felt this was a bit much.
It made him feel as though he were growing lazy, his mental fortitude slipping away without him even realizing it. He couldn't help but wonder if this decadent environment was the main reason the Crown Prince and the other princes had turned out the way they did.
After finishing his meal, Rickert walked down the corridor toward the Crown Prince's chambers. Each section of the hallway seemed to boast a different theme, and the corridor leading to the prince's room was quite literally plastered with gold.
Sculptures displaying unbelievable craftsmanship and ancient relics preserved in near-perfect condition were proudly on display. Of course, the gold-plated items weren't solid gold but rather covered in thin gold leaf, so it hadn't cost as much as one might assume, but it still looked dazzlingly brilliant.
Yet even such overwhelming luxury grew tiresome eventually. The imperial knights stationed along the corridor looked utterly bored, leaning crookedly against the walls or slumping lazily in their chairs.
Except for those in the immediate inner circles of key figures like the Emperor or the Empress Dowager, not all imperial knights were highly skilled or well-disciplined. Many were recruited based on their lineage rather than their actual martial ability. Even their horses and equipment were essentially rented, meaning they had to pay for them out of their wages or return them upon retirement. Much like the students at the Academy, they were mostly the second sons of noble families.
Regardless, they acknowledged Rickert with respectful glances as he passed. Having witnessed his duel with Riberio, it was their way of showing deference to a brave and powerful warrior.
“May I enter?”
When Rickert asked the imperial knight guarding the door, the man simply shrugged. His expression clearly said, How should I know?
So, Rickert knocked on the heavy wood.
“It is Rickert.”
“Oh, come in.”
Crown Prince Nivelius's voice drifted out, and Rickert carefully pushed open the massive door.
Inside, a maid wearing a white kerchief over her hair was holding a small jar, actively catching the Crown Prince's urine.
Rickert stood frozen in the doorway, staring at the scene. Since this was clearly a daily routine for both the prince and the maid, neither showed a single ounce of embarrassment, remaining perfectly nonchalant. The sound of a stream hitting the jar echoed clearly through the lavish room.
Afterward, the maid shook him dry, wiped him with a damp towel, brought over a washbasin to clean his face, and even blew his nose for him. Naturally, she dressed him as well. Only after smoothing down the prince's stray hairs did she bow, pick up the chamber pot and the basin, and silently leave the room.
“You're early today.”
“I arrived on time, Your Highness.”
“Is that so? Then did the maid arrive late? Should I punish her? What kind of punishment would be good? How about making her eat a live mantis?”
It was mind-boggling how casually he spoke such cruelties without a hint of actual malice. Fortunately, the prince tended to listen to what Rickert had to say.
“Please do not punish her.”
“Why? Grandmother told me that those who fail to do their jobs properly must be punished.”
By "Grandmother," the prince meant his great-grandmother—the mother of the current Emperor, the Empress Dowager. She was the true power lurking behind the imperial family and the empire itself.
“Unless they have made a grave mistake, you should show leniency. If you point out every minor error and hand out punishments, they will only perform worse out of fear, which will ultimately cause discomfort for Your Highness. She was likely just more tired than usual today.”
“Hmm, I see. She might have been tired. Alright, then. I'll let it slide.”
“A wise decision, Your Highness.”
Rickert sighed inwardly. In truth, his job felt less like teaching swordsmanship and more like raising a spoiled child.
The prince's father had died young, his grandfather was a notorious debauchee, and the Empress Dowager merely viewed the Crown Prince as a convenient tool to maintain her own grip on power. After all, a young child was easy to control.
Perhaps the Empress Dowager was the very root of the imperial family's ruin. She had systematically cast aside any competent members of the bloodline and filled the palace with easily manipulated figures.
In the midst of all this, Hellauman was doing his absolute best to protect the imperial family, but there was no telling how long his desperate efforts would hold out.
If there was one advantage to feudalism, it was that the country could manage to run itself even if the monarch was completely incompetent. This was because the lords ruled their own territories independently. In fact, many lords couldn't care less whether the Emperor was a profligate fool or if he dropped dead. They simply thought, What does that have to do with me?
Even so, a shaky imperial family was deeply dangerous. If the ultimate overseer disappeared, the lords across the empire might start acting entirely as they pleased. No one could predict what would happen then. Even if the imperial family fell, peace might still be maintained without a hitch, or the entire empire could be plunged into a bloody civil war.
Rickert only wanted to get the tournament over with quickly and leave this place with Marie.
“Hey, but you know, Ricky...”
The Crown Prince, holding a practice sword custom-made for his small stature, spoke up hesitantly.
“Yes, Your Highness. Speak.”
“C-Can we take a break today?”
“Yes, of course. I don't mind.”
In truth, Rickert had very little talent for teaching, and the Crown Prince lacked both patience and enthusiasm—regardless of whether he had any hidden talent—making the swordsmanship lessons largely pointless anyway.
“Then I shall take my leave.”
“N-No! Let's do something else during our lesson time.”
“Like what?”
“Hmm... Didn't you say before that you were curious about the Imperial Archives?”
It was something Rickert had casually mentioned while they were discussing Codices.
“I did.”
“I got permission from Grandmother. Do you want to go?”
“Is that really alright?”
A spark of genuine interest lit up Rickert's eyes. Seeing this, the Crown Prince beamed brightly. He wanted to please Rickert by any means necessary.
The prince lifted his chin triumphantly and replied, “Of course. Grandmother grants me whatever I ask.”
“Haha, I am quite envious.”
Though the boy was a bit of a fool, Rickert bore no ill will toward him. However, he couldn't bring himself to completely excuse the prince's behavior just because he was a child. After all, Rickert had left home to survive on his own at the prince's exact age, and his friends had done the same.
At any rate, they skipped the swordsmanship lesson for the day. Rickert accompanied the Crown Prince to the Imperial Archives, which were located slightly away from the main palace grounds. The escort knights followed behind them, looking thoroughly bored. They probably wished the prince had suggested going out into the city instead.
The Imperial Archives were situated in a naturally cool location to preserve the ancient books and scrolls, housed in a grand building that closely resembled a temple.
A handful of librarians guarded the place, and they grew visibly flustered the moment the Crown Prince suddenly appeared. They were absolutely terrified he might do something bizarre to the priceless books—like setting them on fire or tearing out the pages.
Yet they had no authority to stop the prince. They could only plead with Rickert through desperate eye contact, silently begging him to keep a close watch on the boy so he wouldn't do anything reckless.
The Imperial Archives had existed since the reign of the first Emperor, a man who deeply valued knowledge, serving as a vast repository for books collected over hundreds of years. Perhaps because of its rich history, a sacred aura, much like that of a real temple, permeated the quiet air.
The interior was truly grand, and remarkably, it maintained a cool, crisp temperature regardless of the season outside.
To their surprise, Prince Bellator was already there. He had been sitting quietly on the floor reading a book, but upon sensing their presence, he looked up.
“Your Highness.”
Seeing the Crown Prince, he quickly stood up and bowed.
“Uncle? Did you get Grandmother's permission to come here?”
Though they were very close in age, they were uncle and nephew, and the nephew held the far higher status.
“Pardon? Ah, I have been coming here for a long time...”
“Huh? If you enter without permission, you must be punished.”
Annoyed by how the Crown Prince brought up punishment at every single turn, Rickert stepped in to smoothly intervene.
“Reading books is a commendable act. Even if he lacks formal permission, it is hardly something to reprimand him for.”
“Alright. If Ricky says so, then so be it. That's cooler anyway.”
“Indeed. Since we are here, why not read together with the Prince? Since he has been coming here for a long time, he likely knows of many interesting books.”
Since the two boys were of a similar age, Rickert thought it would be good for them to become friends.
“Okay.”
Bellator looked bewildered by the sudden arrangement, but he had no right to refuse the Crown Prince.
“By the way, what were you reading?” Rickert asked Bellator.
“Ah, this. A collection of ancient civil case studies.”
Rickert was momentarily left speechless. He knew absolutely nothing about such dry, complex topics.
Deciding to leave them to it, Rickert began browsing the shelves. The books were all stored lying flat, individually protected. Among them, a spine reading Fables of Telemos caught his eye.
“This seems appropriate. Could you explain this one to the Crown Prince?”
Bellator stared at the book and muttered, “This seems a bit too childish...”
It has to be childish, Rickert thought to himself.
“It will be perfect for reading together. It will be more fun if you ask and answer questions about what you both think.”
“Well, if you say so...”
“Then, Your Highness, please look over this with the Prince. I will go find something to read myself.”
“Okay.”
Pleased with the distraction, Rickert left the two boys together and approached a librarian to ask where the martial Codices were located—specifically those regarding Swordmasters or mana.
They kindly guided him deep into the archives, and Rickert walked to a secluded corner where he found the texts he sought.
< Magnus Family's Basic Fencing Manual >
< Classification of Mana Arts >
< The Effect of Personality on Mana >
< Characteristics of Mana According to Color >
< The Essence of Mana >
< Critique of Mainstream Mana Classification >
Clearly, research on mana had been highly active in ancient times. However, it was hard to decide what to read first.
< The Threshold of the Swordmaster, Volume II – Written by Rustes >
Rickert paused. He had found the sequel to the Codex he had read once before, The Threshold of the Swordmaster. He pulled it from the shelf and flipped it open. It was considerably thicker than the first volume.
As expected, the contents were filled with deeply ominous details, describing highly specific methods to carve away one's own human heart.
It detailed incredibly inhumane methods, such as sacrificing those closest to oneself through dark pagan rituals, torture, murder, and intense brainwashing. It made him frown automatically, and it was genuinely difficult to keep reading the vile text.
Yet, the effects seemed absolutely guaranteed. In exchange for permanently losing all compassion, empathy, and pity, one would awaken as a Swordmaster.
However, it wasn't something just anyone could achieve. The text explicitly stated that this could only be done by those who had already reached the very threshold of a Swordmaster, provided they met the necessary prerequisites and acted entirely of their own free will.
The author stated clearly: a Swordmaster is neither born nor made through training; they can only be forged by destiny. Therefore, he claimed his horrific method was simply an art of manipulating destiny itself.
Art, my foot. Rickert barely suppressed the urge to burn the book right then and there as he slid it back onto the shelf.
Yet, despite his intense disgust, he must have been completely absorbed in the text, for quite some time had passed. The Crown Prince and Prince Bellator had left long ago, and when he finally stepped outside, the sun was already setting.
Realizing the time, Rickert quickly ran all the way to Irmin Castle. Grabbing onto the familiar vines, he climbed up the stone wall and slipped through the window as if it were his own home.
Marie was sitting inside, brushing her long hair. Her back was turned to him, her head tilted gracefully to the side.
“Marie.”
When Rickert called her name softly, Marie turned around.
“Oh?”
“I'm hungry. Feed me.”
“Just a moment. I'll get it ready right away.”
Marie stopped brushing her hair, quickly gathered it up into a loose bun, and set out the food the maids had brought earlier.
Rickert sat on the edge of the bed, placed the tray on his lap, and began to wolf down the meal.
“You haven't eaten yet?”
“Yeah, I went to the Imperial Archives. I lost track of time reading books there.”
“Are you still teaching swordsmanship to the Crown Prince?”
“I am, but it's mostly pointless. He didn't seem to want to do it today either, which is why I went to the archives. I hope Bellator is keeping him company.”
“That smart prince? The Fifth Prince?”
“Yeah. He seems to have his own issues, but he's incredibly smart. What was it? He was reading some heavy book about civil cases.”
“That's unusual. Law is usually studied by subordinates.”
“By the way, has anyone been bothering you?”
“Since that incident, it's been quiet. I just watch the clouds drift by, listen to the birds chirp, and wait for you to come... No, scratch that last part. It's a lie.”
Marie had accidentally blurted out that she spent her days waiting for him and immediately became flustered. Rickert only offered a gentle, knowing smile, refraining from teasing her further.
This had become Rickert's routine lately: spending time with the Crown Prince in the morning, then stopping by Irmin Castle to spend the rest of the day with Marie.
Living like this every single day, everyone in the palace soon realized that Rickert and Marie were in a relationship. They simply assumed the two had fallen for each other during their time at the Academy and didn't gossip too maliciously about it. However, people did find Rickert's choices strange.
They couldn't understand why a rising star would associate with a princess who offered absolutely no political advantage, especially when he had already won the deep favor of the Crown Prince. Marie was merely thirty-second in line to the throne. Comparing her to the Crown Prince, who was first in line, was utterly absurd, and it defied all noble common sense.
But people always invent reasons for things they cannot comprehend, so they simply assumed that Rickert, being young and foolish, had been completely blinded by infatuation.
“I'm late today, aren't I? Sorry. I'll come earlier tomorrow.”
“No, it's fine if you're late. As long as you come...”
It was a bit embarrassing to speak so openly, but it was fine. They had already confirmed each other's feelings.
To keep her from getting bored, Rickert brought up trivial stories from his day. He told her about how people secretly called the princes bastards, and how he firmly thought the Empress Dowager was the real problem plaguing the empire.
They laughed, grew angry, and felt pity over various tales, and before they even knew it, stars had filled the night sky outside the window.
Rickert kissed her softly before climbing back down the window. Marie watched from the sill to ensure he descended safely, keeping her eyes on him until his figure vanished entirely from sight into the night.
A lingering regret of parting coexisted warmly with the bright anticipation of tomorrow. Waking up in the morning filled her with a fluttering excitement. Every single day felt like a beautiful dream.
But good times always fly by, and the day of the tournament drew ever closer.
Though Rickert's skills were well-renowned, anxiety still kept him awake at night. Thus, all they could do was believe.
He would win. He would surely win, and they would leave this place together. Both of them believed this with all their hearts.