Chapter 81
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 81
“If an absolute worst-case scenario arises, you don't need any special techniques. Just stab your opponent in the stomach like this, twist your wrist, and slice upward or to the side. The chest is too difficult for a beginner because of the ribs. Breaking through bone isn't easy.”
Rickert demonstrated by thrusting a sharp dagger into the empty air. The Crown Prince and Bellator sat on the ground, staring up at him blankly.
“Once you do that, most people will lose their strength and collapse. After that, just run away without looking back.”
He wasn't sure if this was entirely appropriate, but Rickert was teaching the Crown Prince and the Fifth Prince assassination techniques rather than proper swordsmanship. Of course, it was meant for self-defense in a life-or-death situation.
As he listened to the explanation, Bellator raised his hand.
“Go ahead.”
“Isn't the neck more lethal?”
“When you're panicked and startled, it's not easy to aim precisely for the neck. Besides, your hands will shake uncontrollably, regardless of your willpower. If you absolutely must go for the neck, it's better to do it after slicing the stomach like I just described. See this soft spot right under the chin? Stab there, then slice sideways. There's cartilage in the middle, so you'll feel some resistance. Slitting the throat guarantees death, but as a beginner, it's best to keep your movements to an absolute minimum.”
Rickert spoke as he audaciously traced a finger across the Fifth Prince's throat. Of course, the prince himself didn't mind.
It was a chilling lesson, to the point where one might wonder if it was okay to teach children such things, but Rickert had already put these very techniques into practice when he was ten years old.
However, the Crown Prince seemed to find it rather boring.
“But this isn't cool like you, Ricky.”
“It might not be cool, but it's effective. Properly mastering a polearm or a longsword isn't something you can do in a year or two of practice. Especially if you want to use it in real combat.”
“I shouldn't test it out, right?” Bellator asked.
“Yes, please don't test it.”
“Not even on animals?”
“Yes, not even on animals.”
“Then how do we verify it works?”
“To be honest, neither Your Highness nor the Prince will likely ever have to use it. Still, knowing it might help if an unforeseen situation arises. When a life-or-death moment comes, a side of you that you never knew existed tends to emerge. In those moments, the most important thing is not to hesitate.”
Even if they weren't royalty, high nobles usually put forward champions; they rarely fought or dueled themselves.
“That will be all for today's lesson.”
“Are you going to see Auntie again?” the Crown Prince asked.
“Yes.”
“I wish Ricky could join our family. You're going to win, right?”
Although he wanted nothing to do with the imperial family, those words made Rickert feel good. A natural smile spread across his face.
“Of course.”
Rickert returned the dagger to its original owner, Bellator, bowed, and took his leave.
As the lesson ended, the imperial knights who had been watching from a distance came to escort the Crown Prince.
Left alone, Bellator stared down at his dagger. It was an extremely sharp weapon, capable of slicing through flesh and skin without any effort.
Bellator stared at the blade for a long time, lost in thought.
*
Meanwhile, for some reason, Rickert did not head straight to Irmin Castle but went toward the city instead. He had ordered a gift for Marie.
Although the imperial palace overflowed with all kinds of treasures, and he could have easily obtained whatever he wanted by asking the Crown Prince, he didn't want to do that.
Rickert headed to the street where the precious metal artisans gathered. It was the jewelers' guild, a place where goldsmiths, silversmiths, and gem cutters collaborated to create a single masterpiece.
When Rickert entered one of the shops, a meticulous-looking artisan smiled and brought out a small wooden box. Inside was a necklace featuring a gentian flower carved from amethyst, with a sapphire embedded in its center.
The craftsmanship was so exquisite that it looked like a real, living flower—but the best part was that it would never wither.
Still, while he liked it, he felt anxious, wondering if Marie would like it too. Nevertheless, he forced a smile for the hard-working artisan and said,
“Thank you. I love it.”
“I'm glad you like it.”
Since he had already paid, Rickert took the necklace and left the shop. But as he was walking down the street, someone suddenly called out to him.
“Young master?”
Turning around, he saw a noblewoman who looked somewhat familiar, though he couldn't quite place her.
“Uh...”
He felt awkward because no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't immediately recall who she was. However, the beautiful noblewoman smiled gently, as if understanding his confusion.
“It's me. Daisy's mother.”
“Oh! Ah, hello. What a surprise to run into you here.”
He was glad to see her, but Rickert felt something was off. She had definitely been a woman who left her hometown with absolutely nothing, yet now, outwardly, she looked no different from a highborn noblewoman.
“I'm relieved to see you doing so well. I've heard about the young hero in the red cloak. But you don't actually wear a cloak, do you?”
“Haha, it depends on the day. I don't wear it all the time. Is Daisy doing well too?”
“Daisy... Yes. She is probably doing well. She has become a Sister of Prophecy for the God of Condemnation. It is a joyous occasion.”
“...Pardon?”
“Did you also come to watch the swordsmanship tournament, young master?”
Daisy's mother seemed to deliberately change the subject.
“No. I came to participate.”
“Pardon? Oh, that...”
She suddenly seemed to hesitate, and her demeanor grew strange. Rickert frowned slightly and tilted his head.
“If possible, it might be best if you didn't participate...”
“I can't do that. I have a reason why I absolutely must win.”
“Is that so... But the promised day...”
What promised day? Rickert was bewildered. However, Daisy's mother couldn't finish her sentence. A middle-aged man had wrapped his arm around her shoulders.
Behind the man stood a bodyguard radiating an extraordinary aura. Rickert instinctively realized: that bodyguard was a Swordmaster.
The middle-aged man was none other than Emperor Claudius. He was the Crown Prince's grandfather, as well as the father of Bellator and Marie.
He hadn't shown his face even once in the imperial palace, yet here he was, openly wandering around the city.
“Is he your son? He's bigger than I expected.”
“No, he's just someone I had a brief connection with in the past.”
“You dated him?”
As if his mind were filled with nothing but such thoughts, the Emperor made an offensive remark.
“Oh, goodness, what are you talking about? He is the one who helped me when I was in trouble.”
“I see. Excuse us, young man.”
Rickert was so dumbfounded that he forgot to show proper etiquette. In the meantime, the Emperor took Daisy's mother, climbed into a carriage, and drove away.
After watching the carriage depart for a moment, Rickert snapped out of it and headed straight for Irmin Castle.
Although the castle had gates, officially no one but the maids was allowed to pass through them. Thus, Rickert always had to climb up by grabbing onto the vines.
When he reached the window, the maids were in the middle of fitting a dress on Marie. She had to wear a dress for the tournament day.
“Oh?”
“Oh?”
Rickert was flustered, not expecting anyone else to be there besides Marie. But hadn't the rumors already spread everywhere anyway?
“That's enough, you all can leave,” Marie said.
Fortunately, the quick-witted maids merely giggled and left the room.
Though embarrassed, Rickert climbed through the window and stepped inside.
By the way, Marie in her white dress was, without exaggeration, like a single blooming flower. The dress had been designed specifically to create that effect.
Combined with her bright blonde hair and fair skin, she was dazzling. He couldn't take his eyes off the blue stars shining in her large eyes.
She was already beautiful, but with light makeup, Rickert found it hard to keep his wits about him. This was Marie, who usually wore clothes that were easy to fight in.
“Don't stare so hard. It's embarrassing...”
“Oh? Ah, sorry.”
“This is a bit suffocating. I can't move freely. But, um... do you like it?”
“Yeah. So much that I might die if I keep looking.”
Marie let out a soft chuckle. But she wasn't annoyed; she felt deeply touched. She thought it was wonderful that he was a man who couldn't lie.
“Ah, right. I came to give you this.”
Rickert pulled out the wooden box. He could have presented it in a more romantic way, but he was afraid he might lose or forget it if he didn't give it to her now.
“What is this?”
“Open it.”
When she opened the box, Marie felt her heart stop for a moment, and she was lost for words. It wasn't just because the necklace was beautiful, but because of the meaning behind the gift. In truth, it wouldn't have mattered what the gift was.
“Do you like it?”
This time, Rickert asked. But Marie's heart was so full that she truly couldn't speak.
“Sit down. I'll put it on you.”
Rickert and Marie sat side by side on the bed. Rickert draped the necklace around her neck, and Marie lifted her hair out of the way.
Once the necklace was on, the length was perfect, and it suited her beautifully. Though, of course, anything would have suited her.
Marie looked at her reflection in a brass mirror, but because it was brass, it couldn't capture all the colors.
“By the way, since the rumors have already spread everywhere, I wonder if the tournament even matters anymore,” Rickert said, making Marie burst into laughter. Only then did the heavy, emotional atmosphere lighten a bit.
“I know, right? Can't we just leave like this?”
In truth, people participated in the tournament for their own honor, the honor of their faction, their land, and social advancement. Rickert was the only one participating for something like love.
“I'd like to do that too, but it's probably better if we're united legitimately.”
“Whew... Right...”
Marie spoke as she took a deep breath in and out. In truth, she cursed her own lineage.
She had never received love from her mother, and she had still never properly met her father. Yet, on the day of the tournament, she had to play the part of a revered imperial princess.
She had lived most of her life as a bastard, and had only been officially registered for a mere two or three years. To her, being part of the imperial family was more repulsive than glorious.
But none of that mattered now. Because he was by her side. Because he liked her. Because she liked him.
She wanted to give him everything right this moment, but she couldn't. There was a belief that if a man knew a woman before reaching adulthood, his combat prowess would decline.
It was a tradition and folk belief passed down from ancient tribal times.
Marie's racing heart showed no signs of calming down. Reality felt like a lie, as if she were breathing inside a fantasy.
She wondered if it was okay to be this happy; she even felt grateful for her past misfortunes.
Humans seek God when they are desperate, but they also seek God when they are overwhelmingly happy. Thank you, God. Thank you for letting me be born into this world, for letting me be alive, and for letting me love.
Then, Marie looked at her sword, Ricky, which was leaning against the wall, and finally began to calm down.
“Ricky.”
“Hmm?”
“If worst comes to worst, let's just kill everyone and run away.”
Rickert chuckled, taking it as a joke.
“I'm not running away.”
*
As the day of the tournament drew closer, some participants withdrew. In the end, only six of the experts staying at the imperial palace remained, including Rickert.
Those who gave up had thoroughly enjoyed a luxurious lifestyle in the meantime and were now simply staying to watch the tournament.
However, hundreds of people had already been fighting in the preliminaries for months, and only two of them had survived to the very end to join the main swordsmanship tournament.
With a total of eight participants, the tournament would proceed in a bracket format. Winning just three times would secure the championship.
But those three victories would not come easily. When people of similar skill clashed, even a single duel could not guarantee survival.
Above all, even if one won, they were highly likely to sustain severe injuries, and if they couldn't continue the match, they would be disqualified.
The day of the tournament arrived. The spacious, rectangular wooden arena, which looked somewhat hastily constructed, was designed so that spectators could sit high up and look down.
Since the stands couldn't accommodate a massive crowd, the seats inside the arena were reserved for nobles and wealthy merchants. However, since both sides of the arena were practically wide open, commoners could still watch to some extent from the outside.
As a result, people gathered around the arena like clouds. The trees were so packed that there wasn't a single empty branch, and some even watched from the hill where the castle stood, making one wonder if they could even see anything from that far away.
The preliminaries themselves had been nothing short of a festival of blood, so the excitement of the city's residents had reached a fever pitch.
In this very arena, hundreds of swordsmen from all over the empire had fought and died. No matter how much they covered the arena with dirt and cleaned it up, they couldn't erase every single bloodstain.
The eight duelists each wore designated red or blue clothing to make them easily distinguishable from a distance. Coincidentally, Rickert was assigned red.
In the center of the spectator stands sat the Emperor, the Empress Dowager, the Crown Prince, the princesses, and even the Emperor's mistresses. Marie, the prize of the championship, sat lonely and isolated on the opposite side.
Amusingly, the seats closest to the Emperor were occupied not by the imperial family, but by his mistresses.
As for the Emperor's Champions, excluding the two who had departed for the battlefield, one of the Emperor's close bodyguards and Hellauman were present.
Hellauman had practically been retired, but since he was still hale and hearty despite being over a hundred years old, his rare public appearance made him a fascinating spectacle in his own right.
He seemed highly amused, laughing heartily as he shook hands and greeted the surrounding nobles.
The reason he was in such a good mood was that he had already half-achieved his underlying goal. That goal was none other than the deaths of hundreds of swordsmen during the preliminaries.
And those swordsmen hadn't just died in the preliminary matches; many had also been assassinated amidst the chaos.
Using the tournament as a pretext to weed out those hostile to the imperial family and nurture useful talents was exactly what he wanted. He couldn't care less about the others who got swept up and died in the process.
Furthermore, since Rickert and Marie got along well, he considered it a good thing. It would have been annoying if they disliked each other.
To the common people, it was simply a festive season full of spectacles, while to the imperial family, it was a show with hidden political motives. Moreover, a successful festival always boosted support for the imperial family.
So what if the Emperor is a debauchee? He hasn't really harmed us, has he? As long as it's fun, that's all that matters. Long live His Majesty the Emperor! The excited atmosphere naturally swayed the people's thoughts.
The leaves had not yet fallen, but they were ripening into vibrant shades of yellow and red.
It was also the harvest season. A time when everything was abundant. Laughter, excitement, and joy easily masked the insidious plot.
However, the Emperor, seemingly shameless, was busy kissing and fondling his mistresses right in front of his mother and children.
Marie was seeing her father for the very first time, and she was so shocked that she sat there dazed. That man is my father? The Emperor?
The Crown Prince and the other princes hung their heads with gloomy expressions. The Crown Prince buried his face in his great-grandmother's lap, trying his best not to look at his father's pathetic behavior.
What an absurd family.
Even Hellauman, who had been laughing heartily, stiffened upon seeing the Emperor's behavior. He really ought to have died of an STD by now, honestly...
“Ahem! Cough! Cough! Ahem!”
He had to clear his throat loudly several times before he finally managed to draw the Emperor's attention.
“Let us begin.”
“Hasn't it started yet? Hurry up and begin.”
As the Emperor waved his hand, several trumpeters blew their horns in unison.
Ba-ba-bam! Bam-bam-bam ba-ba-bam!
Then, as prepared, the duelists dressed in blue and red walked out from the opposite sides of the arena. Rickert was among them, and the duelists lined up horizontally in front of the Emperor.
Standing before the Emperor, Rickert turned his head to look at Marie, who was sitting in the spectator stands directly opposite the Emperor.
Just as a smile began to spread across his lips, the herald standing near the railing unfurled a scroll and bellowed at the top of his lungs.
“Participants, kneel and pay your respects to His Majesty the Emperor, the pinnacle of all humanity!”
At that, the eight participants dropped to one knee before the pathetic Emperor. As the Emperor waved his hand dismissively, the participants stood back up almost as soon as their knees touched the ground.
Watching them, the herald shouted once more. Having been chosen for the role, his voice was incredibly resonant.
“Hear me, citizens! Since ancient times, our ancestors have believed in a single truth! That is victory! The victor takes all, and the loser loses everything! This harsh truth is the only justice ordained by God! Might makes right! Therefore, it is a virtue to revere and hone one's martial skills! His Majesty the Emperor has organized this swordsmanship tournament to encourage this! Citizens, emulate the victors! But to those who are defeated, do not despair! God's mercy awaits the brave! If you do not flee and die with a weapon in hand, heaven is prepared for you!”
Whether this was right or wrong, it was a speech that perfectly reflected the spirit of the age. Perhaps the minor wars, petty disputes, and sword fights all stemmed from such beliefs.
“Hear me, participants! Swords, axes, maces, clubs, spears! All melee weapons are permitted! However! Cowardly bows and crossbows are strictly forbidden! And no one! Absolutely no one may interfere in this sacred match! Anyone who snipes from afar or defiles the match with wicked magic will be hunted down and subjected to the most horrific punishments, and upon death, they shall be cast into hell to suffer eternal torment!”
After finishing the proclamation, the herald rolled up the scroll and shouted.
“Participants, return to your respective waiting areas and prepare for an honorable death!”
With that, Rickert headed to the waiting area along with the others dressed in red.
He briefly glanced at the participants in blue heading toward the opposite side. Neither they nor Rickert seemed to harbor any personal feelings.
The waiting area was a temporary tent. Blocked by the thick fabric, they couldn't watch the other matches.
The wind blew, causing the tent flap to flutter slightly. When the herald called out a participant's name, one man picked up his weapon and stepped out of the waiting area.
A moment later, the herald bellowed.
“Let the match begiiiiiin!”
Immediately, a roar from the crowd erupted, seemingly shaking the heavens and the earth.
The sound was so loud that even Rickert flinched. He could not understand what there was to get so excited about.
Waaaaaaaah!
Before thousands of spectators of every social rank, a fight to the death—no, a show—unfolded.
One person would die and another would live. With bad luck, even the survivor might be left crippled. That was the kind of show it was.
The first match did not take as long as expected. Cries of “Oh!” and “Wow!” rang out, and a moment later, the man who had just left returned.
But he was not alone. Arena staff helped him back inside. His calf was so deeply cut that it hung in tatters, and blood poured from the wound. He would not be fighting again.
That meant someone would advance by default.
The staff poured a potion over the wound and administered first aid, but a day or two would hardly be enough for the muscles to heal completely.
The competitors had all weathered their share of hardship, but none had fought a duel to the death before thousands of people. They kept taking deep breaths, trying to calm their excitement.
Rickert was no different. The fight itself did not bother him, but with these circumstances and Marie on his mind, how could he not be nervous? Please, heart, just stay still.
Then the herald’s booming voice rang out.
“From Stormherz! The third son of House Caldebern! Of the Beringen Guild! Rickert of the Red Cloaaaaak!”
At that call, Rickert felt his body settle as if by magic. He grabbed his weapon, sprang to his feet, threw back the tent flap, and stepped into the arena.
A roar that seemed to press down on his entire body poured over him.
Waaaaaaaah!