Chapter 52

Chapter 52: Chapter 52

A headless man was carrying his own head beneath his left arm. Rickart was staring at the man’s back.

The man slowly turned toward Rickart.

It was none other than Steiner.

Though separated from where it belonged, his head opened its mouth as though it were still alive and spoke.

"What difference is there between you and me?"

"You’re far worse than I am. Compared to you, I was nothing more than a lackey of the Demon King. Am I wrong?"

"I simply never had what you have—a happy family and decent friends. God and the world refused to grant me those things. Is that my fault?"

Rickart opened his mouth, wanting to say something, but no words would come out. The frustration was maddening.

Steiner snorted before delivering his final words and walking away into the depths of the abyss.

"Life is suffering, and reality is hell, my friend. I understand what you mean."

Rickart wanted to run after Steiner, seize him, and scream that the two of them were different.

But his arms and legs wouldn’t move, and the words remained trapped in his throat.

He struggled desperately against the suffocating frustration until he jolted upright with a scream and awoke from the nightmare.

The moment he woke, he felt someone’s head resting against his chest.

"Aaagh!"

"Ah! You scared me!"

Rickart moved reflexively before he even realized what he was doing. He grabbed the unknown person by the hair, yanked their head backward, and snatched up the dagger beside his pillow to stab them.

No—the dagger’s point stopped beneath Marie’s chin.

Rickart stared at her with his eyes wide in shock. Marie’s head was tilted backward, and her eyes were equally startled.

Their faces were so close that they could have kissed. Each could feel the other’s startled breath.

Rickart flinched, hurriedly released her hair, and withdrew the dagger.

"S-Sorry."

"I-It’s okay."

Rickart collected himself and looked around.

They were inside a tent. Boribori was fast asleep beneath a blanket in one corner, with thick bandages wrapped around two of his fingers.

A damp towel lay on the ground nearby. It seemed to have been resting on Rickart’s forehead.

"You were groaning, so I thought you might have a fever..."

Marie spoke while smoothing her hair.

"I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. I had a bad dream. I didn’t use to be like this. Sorry."

"It’s okay..."

An awkward silence settled between them.

Rickart needlessly touched his forehead before picking up the damp towel.

"Thank you."

"It’s nothing. We’re supposed to help each other."

"Did you get any sleep?"

"Um..."

"You couldn’t sleep properly because of me."

Rickart was still somewhat dazed when he suddenly realized that the front of his clothes had been loosened.

Wait.

Hadn’t someone been resting her head against his chest just now?

"Y-Your heart! I needed to listen to your heartbeat. That’s what you’re supposed to do with a patient."

Marie spoke in a fluster.

Rickart tilted his head.

Was that really a thing?

"Really? Anyway, thanks. Get some sleep. I think I’m completely awake now."

"I-I’ve slept enough too. I’m fine."

Rickart continued to feel both apologetic and grateful.

Since he was wide awake anyway, he fastened his clothes and left the tent. Dawn was already breaking outside.

Several members of the Widowmakers Clan were standing watch. Volka and Delphy were asleep in each other’s arms inside an open-fronted tent.

Surprisingly, none of their allies had died the previous night. Even the enemies had suffered fewer casualties than expected. A rough survey of the highlands revealed only a little over a dozen corpses.

Most of them had died after being shoved by their allies or mistakenly stabbed and slashed in the confusion. One man had even tumbled down the highlands, struck his head against a rock, and died.

The fires that had burned throughout the night were now releasing cooling smoke.

Unexpectedly, the enemies hadn’t fled very far. They were still sleeping or wandering around the Kaitz region.

It was difficult to understand.

Ordinary soldiers would have fled all the way home, but perhaps because they were adventurers, they didn’t appear particularly shaken by their defeat.

In fact, most of them believed the guild had lost, not that they personally had lost.

That was how lower-ranking adventurers thought.

Only adventurers of at least intermediate rank were sensitive to whether their guild prospered or collapsed, since their own positions were directly affected by it.

As the sky gradually brightened, Rickart turned his head and looked toward the eastern horizon.

The sun had not yet revealed itself, but its bluish presence was already visible from beneath the distant horizon.

Rickart sat down and waited for the sun to rise.

Marie sat beside him and gazed in the same direction.

Then Rickart felt something gently settle against his shoulder.

"If you’re going to lean on me, do it comfortably. You look exhausted."

"H-Huh? Is that okay?"

"You’re already leaning on me. Why ask now?"

Rickart let out a quiet laugh, gently wrapped an arm around Marie’s waist, and pulled her closer.

Marie nearly froze in surprise, but Rickart placed a hand on her head and guided it onto his shoulder.

Marie was terrified that he might hear how loudly her heart was pounding.

Rickart silently watched the sunrise.

Though the sun rose and set every day, the magnificent sight brought an indescribable sense of wonder.

The sun peeked over the horizon, then slowly rose, extending its rays of light across the entire world in an instant.

Who could possibly imitate such a thing?

A natural sense of humility filled Rickart as he watched the sunrise with Marie.

"Ricky."

"Hmm?"

"You... Never mind."

"What is it?"

"I’m just saying that I like being with you."

"I feel the same."

The words exchanged between them were neither light nor heavy.

Their feelings, however, seemed slightly misaligned.

Marie sensed that subtle difference.

And so she decided that things were fine as they were.

As time passed, people began waking one by one.

Reinhardt started his morning by urinating over the rocky cliff. Since he had consumed so much alcohol, the stream continued for an extraordinarily long time.

"Ahh, that feels good."

Volka, Delphy, and Boribori woke as well. The five of them lit a campfire, sat around it, and ate breakfast.

As always, their meal consisted of potatoes, sweet potatoes, smoked ham, and similar provisions.

"Hey, yesterday was really satisfying. Honestly, I was a little scared at first. But they turned out to be nothing special."

Volka spoke while giving Delphy a sweet potato before taking one for himself.

Rickart shook his head.

"I don’t think this is going to work."

"Huh? Why? Didn’t you say this place was defensible?"

"The enemies haven’t retreated as far as I expected. That’s not good in the long run."

"Can’t we just fight like we did yesterday?"

"No. That fight depended entirely on luck. None of it was planned. We can’t keep waiting for something to happen and then improvising each time. It might produce good results once or twice, but if we make even one mistake after doing it repeatedly, we’ll all die."

Since neither side’s forces could be properly controlled, even Rickart couldn’t predict what might happen.

Rickart interpreted and understood the situation through the experience of his previous life, but he wasn’t constrained by it. This was his first time experiencing a guild war, so he continued observing it carefully.

For one thing, no one knew what kind of unexpected situation might arise.

There were no proper commanders, and even if there were, adventurers refused to follow orders. It was truly impossible to know what might happen.

That meant once something occurred, they had to make whatever decisions and take whatever actions would benefit them within that situation.

But if things continued this way, the smaller force would inevitably be at a disadvantage.

"Then what do we do? I don’t think that pig will listen."

Volka pointed toward the defensive tower.

Rickart sighed through his nose before answering.

"There probably won’t be a problem for a while. The enemies took a beating too. But in the long term, headquarters needs to send support. At the very least, we need to know what’s happening on their end."

Rickart wanted to understand the overall situation.

At present, however, he knew nothing about how the war was progressing or whether they truly had no allies at all.

"Who should go?"

"You’re the one who knows where headquarters is, Volka. You and Delphy should go."

"Will you be all right?"

One might think that losing only two people wouldn’t significantly affect their combat strength, but it would.

Their numbers were already extremely limited, and the Viola Clan had only five members. Moreover, Boribori had injured his fingers.

"Bori, are you all right?"

Rickart asked while looking at Boribori’s fingers.

"Yeah."

"Don’t just say that. Are you really all right?"

"I used a Potion. What a waste."

"Even so, don’t move those fingers carelessly for at least three days."

"Okay."

Rickart turned back to Volka.

"Let’s do this. We’ll watch the situation for a few days. If everything seems stable, the two of you will head to headquarters."

"That sounds best."

With that, the Viola Clan established its own course of action.

It would have been ideal if they could coordinate with the Widowmakers as well, but Rickart doubted whether Reinhardt could be reasoned with.

When Rickart approached Reinhardt and asked what he intended to do next, Reinhardt seemed to hesitate instead of speaking in his usual boisterous manner, perhaps because he had witnessed Rickart the previous day.

"I’m just going to defend this place..."

"But you charged out recklessly yesterday."

"Those bastards fought dirty."

"Then who was supposed to defend the tower?"

"We defended it in the end, didn’t we?"

Rickart was left speechless.

Wow.

How did this man’s mind work?

Still, Rickart gained one definite insight.

The very idea of controlling adventurers according to his own wishes was misguided.

Adventurers were not soldiers, and guilds and clans were not armies.

In any case, the Viola Clan established an independent course of action. They had no choice but to coordinate with the Widowmakers as effectively as possible whenever circumstances demanded it.

Rickart observed the enemies from atop the highlands.

They showed no signs of being defeated soldiers. Like Rickart’s side, however, they were all acting independently.

Several groups appeared ready to withdraw from the war entirely, while a few others seemed to be leaving in search of food.

Around forty people separated from the group of roughly eighty and moved elsewhere.

Meanwhile, several people who appeared to be clan leaders or higher-ranking figures gathered for a discussion. Judging by how they waved their hands dismissively and shook their heads, they were having considerable difficulty reaching an agreement as well.

Around noon, one group suddenly began climbing the highlands.

They weren’t following anyone’s orders. They had come of their own accord.

"Hey! Red-Cloaked Ricky! Come fight me!"

An unusually tall, bare-chested man shouted with a two-handed sword resting on his shoulder.

According to the classification of swords, a "two-handed sword" referred to a weapon even larger than a greatsword. Rickart had wielded a greatsword in his previous life.

His opponent’s sword was longer from hilt to tip than Rickart was tall.

It looked extremely intimidating.

But Rickart sprang forward as though he had been waiting for this.

In truth, Rickart was acting on his own as well.

However, his decision was based on the judgment that killing powerful enemies whenever he could reliably do so outside a chaotic melee would benefit his side.

He wasn’t accepting the duel to show off or prove himself.

Unlike the previous day, the members of the Widowmakers and Rickart’s friends descended with him. They carefully surveyed the surroundings, watching for anyone who might attempt another ambush.

The enemies seemed to understand the reason for their actions and chose a relatively level section of the highlands as the dueling ground.

Perhaps seeking to intimidate Rickart, his opponent spread his long arms wide, making his already towering frame appear even larger.

"I am Volk, the Iron Horn of Tanburg!"

Rickart wasn’t someone who would be intimidated by such a display.

He simply drew his sword and tossed the scabbard toward his allies.

"Ricky of the Viola Clan."

And so the duel began.

The man with the two-handed sword swung the enormous weapon in broad circles, making it whistle through the air while carefully measuring the distance between them.

Rickart held his longsword in one hand and rested the flat of its blade against his shoulder. Without adopting any particular stance, he calmly walked around Volk.

Rickart circled along the perimeter while subtly closing the distance.

His opponent was clearly no ordinary fighter. Volk forcefully swung the sword he had been whirling toward Rickart.

Whoosh!

The weapon was so enormous that its wind pressure could be felt. Its reach was astonishing, and its destructive power was tremendous.

But Rickart ducked until his upper body nearly touched the ground and moved closer to his opponent instead.

His sword remained resting against one shoulder while his other hand touched the ground.

Volk knew that his attack had missed.

However, his tremendous reach allowed him to retreat fairly quickly.

When Rickart persistently closed the distance, Volk lashed out with one of his enormous feet.

At that moment, Rickart planted his foot against the ground and swung his sword with tremendous force.

Volk’s body tilted and began falling sideways.

Before his head could strike the ground—before a scream could even escape his mouth—his neck was severed.

Rickart had cut through his opponent’s leg, then immediately swung the sword upward.

His swordsmanship could only be described as supernatural.

Whoosh!

Hack!

Thud!

Volk’s knee was severed.

His eyes squeezed shut.

Thump.

The enormous man collapsed, missing one leg and his head as blood gushed from his body.

Rickart rested his sword against his shoulder again and surveyed the enemies.

His breathing hadn’t even grown labored. Every breath remained calm and steady.

Surprisingly, hardly anyone appeared frightened. Most of them looked as though they had witnessed something entertaining and were ready to applaud.

It was more enjoyable to watch in daylight.

Just as nobles lacked any true concept of dying for their country, adventurers cared little if someone outside their clan lived or died.

They merely watched with genuine admiration and interest.

A small minority, however, observed Rickart intently with gleaming eyes.

Volk’s companions approached and recovered his body.

Rickart walked slowly while looking over the enemies, as though asking whether anyone else wished to challenge him.

When no one stepped forward, he returned to the defensive tower.

It wasn’t until the following day that someone else challenged him to a duel.

Another challenger appeared the day after that.

They seemed to put their heads together and analyze Rickart’s fighting style before challenging him.

But every challenger died.

Rickart had no fixed style for them to counter in the first place.

Most of them fought awkwardly while trying to counter his swordsmanship, only to die without properly demonstrating their own abilities.

As the days passed, something astonishing occurred.

Civilians suddenly began gathering around Kaitz—and then they settled in.

They had come for one reason alone.

They wanted to watch the duels.

In an age when public executions were considered a form of entertainment, life-and-death duels were a rare spectacle.

Rickart couldn’t even begin to guess what was happening anymore.

Was this what a guild war was?