Chapter 77

Chapter 77: Chapter 77

Some time had passed since Rickart completed the special-rank commission and returned to Ernberg.

The withering grass dried out even further, every last leaf fell from the trees, and snow blanketed all the barren remnants.

The wind blew like a whip. During the cruel, merciless winter, every human seemed to become a wretched slave.

Yet the movement of the heavens was not indifferent only to humanity. Slowly but surely, it brought even winter to an end.

Before long, rain fell instead of snow. Spring had arrived. The snow that had accumulated throughout the winter gathered in the rivers like prisoners of war and was driven out to sea.

As the weather grew warmer, people gradually began moving again, like new shoots emerging from the soil. Once more, they summoned their strength and went on living. That was life. That was what it meant to be alive.

But when swordsmen had nothing to do, they sharpened their blades. While others nurtured life, they earned money through death. It was not as though they had spent the entire winter resting.

Of course, they usually cleared snow from rooftops, chopped firewood, or repaired and maintained buildings. In the end, however, they primarily earned their living by wielding their swords.

Even so, the Ernberg Branch of the Beringen Adventurers’ Guild was not an object of fear. If anything, it was regarded with familiarity and trust.

Its reputation throughout the surrounding region was excellent, thanks to its promise of swift, precise, high-quality work: a commission completion rate approaching one hundred percent, with a full refund in the event of failure.

Rickart, Ice, and Boribori in particular were known as the Three Violet Swordsmen, and they had no equal anywhere in the Siegfringer region.

Naturally, specifically requesting those three came at a steep price.

But that did not mean Rickart’s life had changed dramatically. Even though he had completed a special-rank commission and become a swordsman with few worthy opponents, he did not lead an extraordinary daily life.

Like everyone else, he lived according to the seasons. In the greater scheme of things, little had changed. He simply went about his days in silence, enjoying the ordinary pleasures of life with his close friends.

Was that really true?

It did not seem so.

Nothing might have changed on the surface, but deep within his heart lay the seed Armant had planted.

Face yourself, even if doing so tears your heart to pieces.

Ice had begun smiling more often, prompting Volka to tell him that a handsome man was not allowed to have a pleasant personality too and that he should go back to the way he had been.

Rickart, on the other hand, spoke less and smiled less than before. It was not that he was gloomy or in a bad mood.

Even he did not know why. Boribori said that Ricky must be growing into an adult.

Who could say? The answer must ultimately lie within him, but he could not find it. Or perhaps he was unconsciously avoiding it.

In any case, rain always fell when the seasons changed—from winter to spring and from spring to summer.

Though the ears of grain had not yet fully formed, green fields of barley and wheat stretched across the outskirts of Ernberg. Little by little, they were ripening to gold.

Around that time, a packet of documents arrived from the guild headquarters. They assumed it would contain the usual wanted notices, but one unusual document had been included.

It announced that an Imperial Swordsmanship Tournament would be held in the autumn. The winner would receive an enormous monetary prize, land, and the honor of becoming a member of the imperial family.

Becoming part of the imperial family meant none other than being engaged to the Thirty-Second Imperial Princess.

Martellia von Nibelinger.

The moment Rickart saw that name, the seed planted within his heart began to sprout.

"Huuuh? Marie was an imperial princess?"

Boribori’s eyes widened as he rode along the embankment on the clan’s most valuable asset, a donkey.

Rickart, who had grown considerably taller, walked beside him. The two were returning to the branch after completing a commission together.

"You didn’t know? You were there with us."

"When?"

"At graduation."

"Oh, then? But I was too far away to hear what they were saying."

"Well, that’s how it is."

"Then you’re going to enter the tournament, right, Ricky?"

"...I don’t know."

"What do you mean, you don’t know? Marie’s in such a pitiful situation."

An ordinary commoner would have no reason to pity an imperial princess. Boribori, however, had personally witnessed the suffering Marie had endured.

"Maybe this is how it was meant to end."

"What was? Your connection with Marie?"

"Yeah."

"Ricky, you really are ruthless. I know how stubborn you are, but I don’t think this is right. You and Marie will both end up miserable."

"Life is miserable by nature. Every once in a while, you’re happy for a little while. If you struggle too hard to become happy, you only make yourself more miserable."

"No, I don’t agree. Look at me. Do I seem miserable or happy to you?"

Because Boribori had experienced a period of greater misery than almost anyone else, he understood better than most that happiness and unhappiness depended on one’s state of mind.

"You just don’t think about anything."

"W-What? That’s mean, Ricky. I’ll have you know I’ve studied a lot."

Boribori truly had read and studied extensively. In fact, his level of knowledge was greater than Rickart’s.

"So, are you not going?"

"I told you, I don’t know."

"Come ooon. You two suit each other. From what I saw, Marie was like a female Ricky. You’re incredibly alike."

"What? A female Ricky?"

"Yeah. She doesn’t torment the weak, but she stands up to the strong. She seems naive, but she’s actually intelligent. She’s warmhearted, yet she can be cold and rational when she needs to be. Most importantly, you’re brave, but Marie is even braver than you."

"Hmm, I see. Sounds like you need a little push."

"Hahaha! Do I look like someone you can push around?"

"I won’t be doing it alone. If I tell the others, they’ll all say you should go."

"...Was everyone really that interested in Marie and me?"

Was that how the two of them had appeared to others?

Rickart found himself looking back on his relationship with Marie. Her shy smile shimmered before his eyes.

"And isn’t it too much? She’s being offered as a prize for winning. Is Marie an object? You know she doesn’t deserve to be treated like that, Ricky."

In truth, the custom of giving one’s daughter in marriage to a capable wandering warrior and taking him into the family had existed since the ancient tribal era. Doing so protected the family and, by extension, the entire village.

That tradition had survived, and it was not unheard of for the victor of a jousting tournament to marry a princess.

For a knight, it presented an opportunity to rise in status, while the king acquired a powerful warrior. It was not simply about romance. There were practical interests involved. Perhaps it was a characteristic of warrior culture.

Therefore, while it was certainly unconventional for the imperial family to hold a swordsmanship tournament and engage an imperial princess to its winner, it was not entirely implausible.

But people were not fools. They knew the Emperor was a libertine with countless illegitimate children and that he was casually throwing one of his low-ranking daughters to the winner as though granting a generous favor.

She was the thirty-second, after all.

Even so, it was unquestionably an honor. Marie’s maternal lineage presented no problems with her bloodline, and the land included with the prize was attractive.

Rickart, of course, was not interested in any of that. Boribori’s words had simply struck him like a hammer to the head.

Why should Marie be treated that way?

Now that he thought about it, it infuriated him.

"You’re right, Bori. I hadn’t thought that far ahead."

"Hehe, see? I’m not thoughtless!"

Smiling, Rickart needlessly ruffled Boribori’s hair.

"Yeah. You’re better than me now."

Rickart had practically picked Boribori up off the street and raised him. Now, Boribori could think for himself and even offer Rickart advice.

Moreover, he was indisputably a swordsman of great renown throughout the Empire’s central-northern region—though, entirely against his intentions, he had also acquired the notorious title of the Mad Dismemberer.

When they returned to the branch, they found it bustling with adventurers. It was the most successful branch in the Siegfringer region, and its celebrated adventurers—Rickart, Ice, and Boribori—attracted a great many people.

Volka had been given yet another responsibility: separating the wheat from the chaff when accepting new members into the Viola Clan and managing the other clans. By now, he was both the branch manager and the clan master.

Rickart did not mean to be that way, but his relationships were somewhat insular. He was not unfriendly, yet he rarely had deep conversations with anyone outside his circle of friends.

As a result, there were many people in the Viola Clan whose names he did not know, and others he had never seen before. He merely accepted that such people existed and moved on.

Surprisingly, many people looked up to Boribori. He was kind and generously shared his swordsmanship knowledge and combat experience.

Rickart, by contrast, radiated an unapproachable air, making it difficult for others to come near him.

Ice had improved compared to the past, but he was still just as cold toward strangers, so few people gathered around him either.

That was how the Ernberg Branch continued to operate reasonably well. The world overflowed with problems, which meant commissions never stopped coming. It was a business that could hardly fail.

In any case, Rickart reported the results of their commission to Volka and told him and the others about the swordsmanship tournament and Marie.

His friends responded in unison.

"Why wouldn’t you go?"

Just as Boribori had predicted, Rickart was practically driven out and forced to go.

Still bewildered, he packed his equipment and belongings and boarded a merchant vessel. As he sailed away, he looked back at Ernberg. It was small, but full of life.

The ship, however, was heading into larger waters—waters where the waves were so violent that one wrong move could mean death.

The Imperial Swordsmanship Tournament would be held in autumn. Yet even though autumn had not arrived, Nibelungen was already crowded with visitors from every part of the Empire.

Moreover, most of those visitors were swordsmen.

Incidents naturally occurred every day. Drunken brawls were commonplace, while duels over pride—regarded as more valuable than life itself—frequently broke out outside taverns.

The imperial knights attempted to maintain order, but their efforts were largely ineffective.

That was because matters often ended more cleanly if one of the combatants simply died. If the authorities stopped a fight only for the participants to cause trouble elsewhere, it merely created more work.

The knights and soldiers therefore limited themselves to protecting the locals. Visitors from other regions effectively received no protection and had to survive on their own.

Only undertakers, priests, and grave robbers enjoyed an unexpected boom in business.

Even amid all this, more and more outsiders continued to pour into the city, eventually exceeding its capacity.

Rickart disembarked and set foot in that place. All he carried was modest luggage, a single meteoric-iron sword, and a dagger tucked inside his clothes.

He stood in the river breeze and briefly surveyed the city. It was ancient and beautiful. A forest lay across the river, and the paved roads were broad and spacious.

Without city walls, the wind wandered freely through the streets. The city even had water and sewer pipes, so it lacked the distinctive stench found in most cities.

The Emperor’s castle stood atop a hill and was smaller than Rickart had expected. The imperial family actually lived in a palace some distance from the city.

They might have lived in the castle long ago, but it was not a particularly comfortable residential space. These days, it was essentially operated as a military barracks.

Rickart began by walking along the main road. Perhaps because this was the imperial capital, there appeared to be many wealthy people, and carriages occasionally passed him.

Consequently, piles of horse manure lay here and there on the road.

Someone was gathering the manure into a sack. He was not a street cleaner; he intended to sell it as fertilizer.

In any case, that helped keep the city relatively pleasant.

After gaining a rough understanding of the city’s layout, Rickart wandered around in search of lodging. Once he left the main road, however, he felt eyes following him from every direction.

They were different from the gazes of thieves coveting his money and equipment. These gazes were openly provocative.

There was one way to survive safely under such circumstances: walk with your eyes lowered.

Rickart did not do that. He merely stared blankly back at them.

What? What are you going to do about it?

Fortunately, the locals did not appear particularly concerned. It was easy to distinguish outsiders from residents at a glance, whether by their clothing or the subtle air surrounding them.

Rickart approached a man moving an oak barrel.

"Excuse me. Could you tell me where I might find a decent inn?"

"An inn? They’re probably all full."

"Pardon?"

"The expensive inns near the imperial palace have all been taken by famous swordsmen. As for the rest, people have probably already paid extra to secure every available room. If you head that way and leave the city, you’ll find a tent settlement. But let me warn you—it’s dangerous. Knife fights break out constantly. How could anyone sleep properly in a place like that?"

The people of the imperial capital, Nibelungen, seemed quite kind.

Unfortunately, kindness alone could not solve Rickart’s problem.

"Ah... Understood. Thank you."

"May fortune favor you. I hope you achieve a good result."

Rickart thanked the citizen and turned away.

This was troublesome.

Where was he supposed to go? Should he board another ship, return home, and come back closer to the tournament date?

Since he was already here, he decided that he might as well register first.

He approached an imperial knight who was standing beside the road, exchanging jokes with several soldiers. The man wore a white surcoat over chain mail.

"Greetings, sir."

The knight, who had been grinning as he spoke, turned toward Rickart with a suddenly stern expression.

"I would like to register for the tournament. Where should I go?"

The knight looked Rickart up and down, then silently gestured with his chin toward the castle on the hill.

Rickart thanked him and was about to leave when the knight asked,

"What is your name? You look rather young."

"I’m Ricky. I’m an adventurer."

"...Ricky? You cannot mean Ricky of the Red Cloak."

"That does seem to be what people call me."

The knight looked somewhat surprised, then grinned.

"It is an honor to meet you in person. Follow me."

He began leading Rickart toward the imperial palace.

"We received orders to accommodate distinguished guests separately. You should have notified us before arriving."

"Is that so? I wasn’t aware."

"You would be wise to use the imperial palace only as a place to sleep at night. During the day, those fucking bastards might harass you."

"Th-Those fucking bastards?"

Rickart was flustered by the sudden profanity. An ominous feeling came over him.

"You have heard the rumors, haven’t you? About that lecherous Emperor. Even a man like him has a lawful wife. The Empress’s children are those fucking bastards I’m talking about."

Rickart could hardly believe his ears.

W-What was this man saying?

By "those fucking bastards," did he mean the imperial princes?

The knight did not seem to possess even the slightest loyalty toward the Emperor or the imperial family. It was painfully obvious that he was doing his job solely for the money.

There was a limit to how pathetic one could be. None other than the Emperor himself had destroyed the dignity of the imperial throne. Who else could possibly be blamed?

The Emperor had not been behaving disgracefully for merely a year or two. He had spent decades doing nothing but pathetic things, so even his subordinates thought of him as that worthless idiot.

"You would do well to be wary of the Empress Dowager. In fact, avoid attracting the attention of anyone in the imperial family. Nothing good will come from becoming entangled with them. If you happen to win, sell the fief immediately, take the money, and leave. In my opinion, that will bring you the greatest benefit. Imperial princess or not, what claim to the succession could the thirty-second daughter possibly have? They will only use your connection to her as an excuse to drag you from one battlefield to another."

It was extraordinarily cynical advice.

Rickart was speechless. He could not think of any possible response.

Perhaps that was why Marie was the only person on his mind.

Was the Emperor not supposed to stand above all other human beings?

Just what kind of household was the imperial family?

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