Chapter 9
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 9
Even the sharpest sword in the world differed in power depending on who wielded it.
In the hands of a child, it would only hurt the wielder. In the hands of a master, it could slice through an entire era.
It was clear that Ricky, the empire's first Swordmaster from over a hundred years ago, possessed an invincible skill that had never been seen before or since.
However, to focus only on his martial prowess was to know only half of who he was.
Ricky knew how to use his skills as a tool. Whether fighting an individual or a group, he knew how to devise the most suitable plan to bring about a fatal outcome for his opponent, and he had the ability to execute it like a machine.
This was something he had naturally acquired while crossing the line between life and death countless times in devastating wars and in his resentful struggle against the world.
Win or die. His gamble-like tactics and fighting style grew more refined with every battle, until eventually, they were no longer a gamble.
Thus, despite his still-growing body, killing a ragtag bunch of bandits was child's play.
"They'll gather back here," Rickert said, calmly stroking the carriage horses amidst the chaos. "They'll come in ones and twos, so we just have to kill them one by one. There were eight of them in total. There might be a few more blocking the escape routes, but it won't be many."
Did he really have the presence of mind to count heads in a situation like that? Arno stared, completely out of it, as if Rickert's words weren't even registering.
"Pick up a weapon," Rickert continued. "Killing bandits doesn't require any special technique. Don't swing it; calmly stab them in the stomach. Avoid the chest. You might hit a rib."
Arno only gasped for breath, hyperventilating. He couldn't pull himself together. Even as time passed, he showed no signs of calming down.
Daisy was slightly better off, though she was far from normal herself. She clung tightly to Rickert's side, staring intently at his face.
Without a word, Rickert unbuckled the sword from the dead bandit leader’s hip and brought it to Arno.
Arno stared blankly at the sword Rickert held out, flinching a moment later.
"I-I-I... I..."
"Get a grip. Didn't you make some kind of courier's oath?"
It was an oath to abstain from alcohol, refrain from causing trouble, and deliver the package to its recipient without fail—it said nothing about fighting enemies.
It wasn't as if Arno had never seen blood. In this day and age, brutal punishments for criminals were common. Public beheadings in the square were the norm. He wasn't shocked by the sight of blood. He was shocked by Rickert. The boy was chillingly terrifying.
Arno barely managed to pull himself together and took the sword Rickert offered with trembling hands.
Only then did Rickert crouch down and hide beside the carriage, intending to kill the bandits one by one as they returned.
Arno and Daisy crouched down on either side of him. Looking closely, Rickert doubted Arno could even draw his sword in time with how badly his hands were shaking.
"Draw your sword beforehand," Rickert advised. "The first time is always the hardest, but you'll get used to it soon enough."
"...D-D-Did you receive knightly training?" Arno stammered. He desperately needed some kind of explanation to make sense of things, something to rationalize a ten-year-old killing people without batting an eye. Otherwise, the boy could only be seen as a vessel possessed by an evil spirit, or the devil himself.
"Sure, let's go with that," Rickert brushed it off with a vague answer. Then, he spoke to Daisy. "Don't cling so close. It's hard to move."
"Okay, hubby."
"...Unbelievable."
Rickert sighed inwardly at the sheer absurdity of pulling this off while babysitting a child and a grown man.
Even amidst this, intermittent screams and laughter echoed from near and far. Among them was a desperate cry: "My baby! At least save my baby!"
Then, someone began climbing back up the pass. Just as Rickert had anticipated, it was a pair of bandits bringing up a captive. The captive was in a wretched state, her face filled with resignation and despair, while the two bandits were snickering and chatting.
When they reached the area with the carriages, they spotted the two corpses Rickert had left behind. Their snickering ground to a halt.
"Did they fight each other?"
"What do we do?"
They showed no grief whatsoever over their leader's death, simply assuming the two had killed each other in some sort of dispute.
At that moment, Rickert crept up from behind, lunged forward, and deeply slashed the back of one bandit's knee.
"Argh! What the—!"
His knee buckled, and he fell flat on his back. Immediately after, Arno threw himself forward in a desperate, do-or-die tackle. Putting too much force into it, he ended up tangling with the other bandit and crashing to the ground. Still, he seemed to have successfully driven his blade into the man's back.
While Rickert had already slit his target's throat and finished him off, Arno mounted his bandit, held his sword in a reverse grip, and stabbed down repeatedly.
"You fucking bastard! You evil piece of shit!"
He was far too worked up. Because of that, the tip of his blade quickly chipped against bone, and his sloppy angles caused the sword to slip from his grasp. Even then, his adrenaline didn't subside. He grabbed a nearby rock and began bashing the face of the already dead corpse.
Thud! Thwack! Thud!
"Stop. Stop it. He's already dead."
Only when Rickert pulled him back did he snap out of it. Blood was splattered across his face, and his hands were completely drenched in it. With a wildly flushed expression, he panted heavily and stared blankly at Rickert.
Seeing the boy's remarkably calm, unchanging face, Arno felt his pounding heart begin to settle slightly.
"I... I did it. I actually did it."
"Yeah, good job. Now pull yourself together."
Though Rickert had lost count of how many times he'd said it, Arno was likely experiencing the most exhilarating moment of his entire life.
The two captive women who had been dragged up stared with wide, shocked eyes as Rickert and Arno dispatched the bandits.
"Let's quickly hide the bodies so they can't be seen from below, then hide again. Clear the weapons too."
"Of course, young master!" Arno replied vigorously.
In this manner, they continued to deal with the bandits who returned with captives. Since they always came up in pairs, they seemed to be operating in two-man teams.
By the time they had killed six, Arno suddenly wondered if it was supposed to be this easy. Once his fear dissipated, the bandits seemed utterly trivial. I was terrified of guys like this?
He was also finally able to observe Rickert properly. There were no flashy techniques. The boy's movements were short, concise, and unerringly targeted at vital spots—the abdomen, the back of the knee, and the throat. It sounded simple, and it even looked simple, but it was far from easy. If he slipped up or tripped, a child's body could never overpower an adult.
Arno had only ever heard of knightly training, and he could only assume this was what they taught. Nobles really are terrifying. He looks like a completely innocent kid on the outside. I'm glad I didn't mess with him.
Strangely, there were no men among the captives. Whether they had been killed, fallen to their deaths, or managed to escape, there was no way to know. Fortunately, among the rescued captives were Daisy's mother and her family.
The last person dragged up was a merchant, the only male captive. He had likely been spared in hopes of securing a ransom.
"Of course, of course, milords! You can easily get at least ten gold coins for my ransom! My merchant group can't function without me! Hehehe." He was doing absolutely anything to survive. Ten gold coins? What a joke. Excluding royalty or high nobility, even ordinary nobles could rarely command such a ransom. He was utterly pathetic.
"Do you take us for fools? Ten gold coins, my ass. If your merchant group offers anything less than five silver coins, we're just going to kill you."
Unsurprisingly, the bandits weren't completely ignorant of the world. After all, it wasn't their first time capturing and selling people.
"What?! T-That's...!"
"Shut up. Why does it smell so strongly of blood here?"
"The boys must have killed someone unnecessarily again."
"Fuck, we all get chewed out together when they do that. They never fucking listen."
As the two bandits neared the carts, they frowned at the thick scent of blood hanging in the air. They were all in this to make money, but there were always those idiots who lost their heads in the heat of the moment.
When they finally reached the carts, they saw bloodstains scattered across the ground and drag marks. No bodies were in sight—or rather, a foot was sticking out from behind a carriage.
Sensing something was off, they headed toward the carriage, when suddenly, something burst out from the nearby bushes. Startled, one bandit flailed his arms as someone shoved him hard.
"What the fuck!" the bandit cursed as he fell flat on his backside. Only then did he feel a burning sensation in his abdomen. A torrent of blood gushed out, soaking his clothes. "What...?"
"Hieee!"
"W-What is this?!"
The merchant, the injured bandit, and the other bandit's eyes widened like saucers. Then, they spotted the boy standing there with a blood-stained dagger.
While their attention was fixed on Rickert, Arno suddenly lunged from the opposite side and drove his blade into the remaining bandit's flank.
"Argh!"
Just like before, the bandits couldn't offer a shred of resistance against the sudden ambush. Once a fatal wound was dealt, finishing them off was easy.
Neither too fast nor too slow, Rickert casually drove his blade deep into his target's throat, killing him instantly. Arno, now barely trembling, finished off the other bandit.
Warm blood pooled on the ground. The merchant, utterly bewildered, could only collapse to the dirt and shiver in terror.
Only then did the hidden women emerge. The merchant, still unable to comprehend the situation, rolled his wide eyes frantically. Meanwhile, the women grabbed the corpses by their legs and dragged them behind the carriage.
Rickert and Arno stood on either side, looking down at the trembling merchant.
"Can you fight?" Rickert asked.
"...Pardon?"
"I asked if you can fight. Where is your escort? There was one left."
"Uh... right. Right. Where did he go? Ah! He... he f-fled. He ran away. Or did he die? I don't know."
"I see. Then pick up a weapon. Not a spear, but a sword or an axe. We're going to hide and ambush whoever comes up next."
"Uh..."
"Get up. We don't have time. We don't know when they'll come."
Arno grabbed the merchant by the collar and dragged him to his feet. Dazed and clueless, the merchant simply did as he was told. He picked up a weapon and hid behind the carriage with Arno and Rickert. When he turned his head, he saw the bandits' corpses lined up neatly. He gasped in shock once more. How did this happen?
If one analyzed it step-by-step, it wasn't particularly complicated, but people tended to look only at the results. To the merchant, it looked as though Rickert and Arno had wiped them all out by themselves.
"I-I failed to recognize a brave hero and committed a grave discourtesy." The merchant, who had been anxiously reading the room, finally managed to speak, addressing Arno. He couldn't possibly imagine that Rickert was the one orchestrating everything.
"A hero? Me? The hero is the young master here. He's also the one who took down those two leaders over there."
The merchant glanced at Rickert, then at the two corpses Arno pointed to. It was hard to believe, but having witnessed the boy kill a bandit with his own eyes, he couldn't dispute it. By the way, looking closely at the two leaders who lay dead with their eyes rolled back and mouths agape, they seemed familiar. Two of them? If there were two...
"They're the Bilton Brothers. I heard they were on the run, but to think they were hiding here. But... the young master killed them both?"
"I saw it with my own eyes, and even I couldn't believe it for a while. But it's true. You saw it too just now, merchant. He sliced his belly open. Look at this guy. His stomach was split wide open, spilling his guts, and before he could even process it, his throat was slit."
Though Rickert himself remained silent, Arno boasted as if it were his own heroic tale.
The merchant looked back at Rickert. The boy was wiping his dagger with a cloth, the blade gleaming as if brand new. A shiver ran down the merchant's spine as he recalled the image of the boy killing the bandit.
"U-Um, if you don't mind me asking, what is your lineage, young master?"
"Stormherz."
"Stormherz... Ah! Could you be the boy hero who supposedly killed a wild boar with his bare hands?"
Rickert didn't know how far the rumors had spread, but they seemed slightly exaggerated.
"Not with my bare hands. I used a spear."
"Still, that is incredible. I never imagined you would be so young. As expected of a descendant of the House of Stormherz, renowned for its martial prowess. Ah, about twelve years ago, I followed the army as a camp follower during the Battle of Briden. That's how I earned my seed money, supplying prostitutes to the soldiers. Your banner has a white cross on a red background, doesn't it? When the Lord charged on his brown horse like a painting... wow. The enemies were utterly routed."
Perhaps because he had just escaped death, or because he realized his life depended on this young boy, the merchant flattered him as if his tongue were greased.
Rickert, not knowing how to react, gave a half-hearted reply. "I see..."
"I am a pigment merchant. As a token of my gratitude for saving my life, I would like to gift you a cloak once we reach the city. Would you prefer red or blue?"
"Hmm... My family's banner is red, so I'll take red."
"Ah, as expected of a young noble, you have excellent taste. Originally, a red cloak could only be worn by the commander-in-chief of His Majesty the Emperor's army. And not all reds are created equal. There is a reddish mineral called cinnabar. The red pigment made by grinding this mineral is as red as actual blood. They say those who mine this mineral soon go mad or die. That's why prisoners or slaves are forced to mine it, making it more expensive than gold."
What is he even talking about? The merchant was excessively talkative, the type who babbled when nervous.
"...Though these days, the restriction of colors by rank has mostly disappeared, purple is still reserved solely for His Majesty—"
"Hold on."
"Yes?"
"Normally, if we hadn't run into the bandits, how long would it take to cross the pass?"
"Since we set out in the morning, we would have cleared the pass by late afternoon."
"Then let's get moving."
"Pardon?"
"We've killed their leaders, and even if there are remaining bandits, they'll be fewer than us. It should be safe to go now."
It made sense. At most, there were probably only one or two surviving bandits left.
"Before that, shouldn't we take their heads?" Arno suggested.
"Whose heads?"
"The Bilton Brothers were fairly famous wanted men. Rheinfurt isn't far, so we can bring them without even salting them. If we turn them in to the Adventurers' Guild, the bounty should be quite handsome."
Is that so? He hadn't thought of that. Rickert pondered for a moment, then decided to take the heads. Honestly, 'sawing' was a more accurate description than 'cutting.'
When he placed the heads in a cloth sack, the bottom quickly became soaked with blood, which began to drip. He placed the sack inside a basket and loaded it onto the carriage.
The horses and donkeys were fed plenty of carrots. They had worked hard, after all. With everyone working together to push, the carriage finally managed to clear the rocky obstacles.
Left behind at the scene were bloodstains and eight corpses lined up side-by-side, two of which were headless. No one buried them.
As they reached the highest point of the pass and began their descent, the men who had fled or hidden began to reappear one by one and rejoin the group. Even though the men had abandoned their families and fled, the women accepted them back. After all, they themselves had run away, abandoning the children as well, and without the men, surviving in the future would be incredibly difficult. They had no choice. Besides, they were people accustomed to living that way.
Counting the dead and missing, there were about six or seven. Though the victims were a tragedy, the survivors were still alive, and they had to stubbornly carry on with their lives once more.
Daisy looked consistently cheerful, while Arno walked with his chest puffed out excessively, looking immensely proud of himself.
Rickert felt that, so far, the world hadn't changed much from a hundred years ago. Back then, there were bandits, there were powerless people, and living was a struggle for everyone.
By the time they finished descending the pass, the sun had set. The travelers lit a campfire and prepared to camp for the night.
Rickert warmed himself by the fire, with Daisy clinging to him like a leech. As he did, he thought about the things his father had told him. Honor, salvation, family, and the like. He didn't let his father's words bind him too tightly, but he didn't simply dismiss them either.
Rickert lost himself in contemplation, letting various thoughts drift in and out of his mind like wind blowing through open doors.
The glances the people cast at the boy were quite peculiar. They looked at him as if he were a hero, yet also as if he were a chilling demon. While it was true he had saved them, a boy who could casually rip open a man's stomach and slit his throat was a far cry from a prince on a white horse.
As the night deepened and their vision faded into darkness, the croaking of frogs awakened from hibernation, the hooting of scops owls, and the crackling of the campfire grew clearer.
And in the night sky, just as they had a hundred years ago, the stars shone bright.