Chapter 80

Chapter 80: Chapter 80

Rickart loved the wind. He had loved it since long ago—since before he was even born.

When he tended sheep, he loved watching the wind sweep across the fields. At Stormherz, he would occasionally gaze alone upon the windswept plains. He did the same during his academy days.

And so, he sometimes imagined building a small cabin somewhere in a cool, open field and living there.

He would tend a vegetable garden and raise sheep or some other livestock.

The wind blew, sending his hair streaming behind him.

He saw a refreshing field and, far in the distance, a small cabin—the peaceful scene he had always dreamed of.

He did not know whether the wind came from the mountains or the sea.

Either way, it felt wonderful.

But he was not alone.

A woman stood in the field with her back to him, her beautiful golden hair dancing in the wind.

Rickart immediately knew who she was. A smile unconsciously formed on his lips.

If he walked approximately twenty paces, he could reach her.

But then a deafening shout erupted behind him, loud enough to rattle his skull.

"Ricky the Steel Reaper!"

Rickart turned his head.

The entire world was engulfed in crimson flames, and countless corpses covered the ground.

Fire and steel, blood and death.

Vesprim, the legendary barbarian warrior, was clad from head to toe in steel. He crushed, shattered, and trampled every living thing.

And he was not alone.

Every human being in the world was locked in a desperate struggle against everyone else. Among them, Rickart saw friends such as Boribori, Volka, and Ice.

The world had been divided in half.

One side was heaven.

The other was hell.

Rickart stood precisely between them.

Where should I go?

Why can’t I let go of suffering?

Just then, an angel’s whisper reached his ears.

"Ricky."

Rickart opened his eyes in bed.

The morning sunlight filtering through the curtains was gentle and soothing rather than dazzling.

His heart, however, pounded as though it might burst.

Once he recognized reality, it quickly settled. His mind was calm.

After all, it had only been a dream.

Rickart rose and approached the washbasin on the table. He poured water from a pitcher, washed his face, then dampened a towel and wiped his neck and body.

The water was neither cold nor hot, but pleasantly lukewarm.

Afterward, he dressed.

He wore a silk tunic, something he had never worn in his life, with a belt of calfskin around his waist.

The soles of his ankle-high boots had been made from several layers of leather, giving them a little flexibility while remaining extremely durable.

Everything he wore, from head to toe, was new and had been fashioned from the finest materials by the finest artisans.

The sensation against his skin and the overall comfort were extraordinary.

The Crown Prince had provided all of it.

Rickart drew the sword he had left leaning against the wall and inspected its condition. After checking his dagger as well, he left both weapons behind and departed the room.

Carrying weapons beside the Crown Prince did not seem particularly appropriate.

He went to the dining hall and ate a simple breakfast of soft bread, cheese, ham, and milk.

Even the bread was no ordinary bread. It had been made from finely milled flour and baked fresh at dawn, leaving it as soft as down.

Most commoners ground their own grain by hand rather than using a mill, so the flour was coarse. The bread was often several days old by the time they ate it and had become as hard as stone.

They therefore had to soften it with water or saliva before eating it.

Rickart was accustomed to that kind of bread.

Everything in the imperial palace was comfortable. Everything was convenient. Nothing demanded any effort.

Rickart was not particularly ascetic, but even he thought this was excessive.

He felt himself unconsciously becoming lazy, as though his mental fortitude were weakening.

Perhaps this environment was partly responsible for how the Crown Prince and the imperial princes had turned out.

After finishing his meal, Rickart walked through the corridors toward the Crown Prince’s room.

Each section of the palace appeared to have been decorated according to a different theme. The corridor containing the Crown Prince’s room was quite literally covered in gold.

Intricately crafted sculptures of almost unbelievable quality stood on display beside ancient relics preserved in nearly their original condition.

Of course, not everything that appeared golden was made of solid gold. Most objects had merely been covered with thin gold leaf, so they had not cost quite as much as one might imagine.

Even so, the corridor looked dazzlingly magnificent.

Yet even such splendor apparently became tiresome eventually. The imperial knights stationed throughout the corridor wore bored expressions. Some leaned crookedly against the walls, while others slouched in their chairs.

With the exception of the closest guards serving important figures such as the Emperor and the Empress Dowager, not every imperial knight was extraordinarily skilled or highly disciplined.

They were chosen more for their lineage than for their abilities.

Even their horses and equipment were effectively loans that they had to repay through their salaries or return later.

Like the students at the academy, most were second sons of noble families.

In any case, when they saw Rickart, they acknowledged him with their eyes.

They had witnessed his duel with Liberio, and their gestures conveyed respect for someone courageous and powerful.

"May I enter?"

Rickart asked the imperial knight guarding the door.

The man merely shrugged with an expression that seemed to say, How should I know?

Rickart therefore knocked on the door.

"It’s Rickart."

"Yeah, come in."

The voice of Crown Prince Nibelius came from inside, and Rickart carefully opened the enormous door.

Once he looked into the room, however, he saw a maid wearing a white head covering to conceal her hair. She was holding a small chamber pot and collecting the Crown Prince’s urine.

Rickart stood motionless and watched.

For both the Crown Prince and the maid, this was an ordinary part of daily life, so neither showed the slightest embarrassment.

The sound of urine striking the chamber pot filled the room.

When the Crown Prince finished, the maid shook him dry and wiped him with a damp cloth. She then brought over a washbasin, washed his face, and even helped him blow his nose.

Naturally, she dressed him as well.

Only after smoothing down his unruly hair did she bow her head and leave the room carrying the chamber pot and washbasin.

"You came early today."

"I arrived at the appointed time."

"Really? Then was the maid late? Should I punish her? What punishment would be good? How about making her eat a live praying mantis?"

Rickart was appalled by how casually the Crown Prince spoke without the slightest malice.

Fortunately, the boy generally listened to him.

"Please do not punish her."

"Why? Grandmother said that people who fail to do their jobs properly should be punished."

By "Grandmother," the Crown Prince meant his great-grandmother—the current Emperor’s mother, the Empress Dowager.

She was the true power behind both the imperial family and the Empire.

"If she did not cause a serious problem, you should show her mercy. If you point out and punish every small mistake, she will only perform her duties more poorly, and ultimately, Your Highness will be inconvenienced. She may simply have been more tired than usual today."

"Hmm, I see. She might have been tired. All right. Then I’ll let it go."

"You have made a wise decision."

Rickart sighed inwardly.

Rather than teaching the Crown Prince swordsmanship, he was practically raising the child.

His father had died young, his grandfather was a libertine, and the Empress Dowager viewed even the Crown Prince as nothing more than a tool for maintaining her power.

A young child was easier to control, after all.

Perhaps the Empress Dowager was the true culprit responsible for reducing the imperial family to this sorry state. She had driven away its competent members and filled the palace exclusively with people who were easy to manipulate.

Amid all this, Hellauman was doing his best to protect the imperial family in his own way.

No one knew how long his efforts would remain effective.

One advantage of the feudal system was that the country could continue functioning reasonably well even if its monarch was useless.

After all, every lord governed his own territory independently.

Many lords did not care whether the Emperor was a libertine or even whether he lived or died.

What does that have to do with me?

That was how they saw it.

Even so, it would be dangerous for the imperial family to collapse. Once the minimum degree of oversight disappeared, lords throughout the Empire might begin acting entirely as they pleased.

No one could predict what would happen.

The imperial family could fall apart without disturbing the peace at all—or the entire Empire could be engulfed in war.

Rickart merely wanted the tournament to begin so he could finish it and leave with Marie.

"Um, Ricky?"

The Crown Prince hesitantly spoke while holding a sword made specifically for his small frame.

"Yes, Your Highness?"

"C-Could we take a break today?"

"Certainly. I don’t mind."

Rickart was not particularly talented at teaching. The Crown Prince, regardless of whether he possessed natural ability, lacked both patience and enthusiasm.

Their swordsmanship lessons were therefore largely pointless.

"Then I shall take my leave."

"N-No! Let’s do something else during the lesson."

"What would you like to do?"

"Hmm... Didn’t you say before that you were curious about the imperial archives?"

It had come up while they were discussing the Codex.

"I did."

"I asked Grandmother for permission. Would you like to go?"

"Am I truly allowed?"

Rickart’s eyes immediately lit up. Seeing his reaction, the Crown Prince beamed as well. He desperately wanted Rickart to like him.

The Crown Prince lifted his chin proudly.

"Of course. Grandmother grants every request I make."

"Haha. I’m rather envious."

The Crown Prince might have been somewhat foolish, but Rickart bore him no ill will.

Still, Rickart could not excuse everything merely because the Crown Prince was a child. At his age, Rickart had already left home and supported himself, as had all his friends.

In any case, they skipped the swordsmanship lesson that day and went together to the Imperial Archive, which stood some distance from the palace.

The escort knights accompanied them, though they looked bored. They seemed to wish the Crown Prince had suggested visiting the city instead.

To preserve its books and scrolls, the Imperial Archive had been constructed in a cool location. The building resembled a temple.

A small number of librarians guarded it, and they became visibly alarmed when the Crown Prince unexpectedly appeared.

They feared he might do something strange to the books, such as set them on fire or tear them apart.

However, they had no authority to stop him. All they could do was silently plead with Rickart to watch the child and prevent him from causing trouble.

The Imperial Archive had existed since the reign of the First Emperor, who greatly valued knowledge. Books had been collected and preserved there for centuries.

Perhaps because of its long history, the archive possessed a sacred atmosphere, like a genuine temple.

Its interior was truly magnificent, and strangely, it remained cool regardless of the season.

Unexpectedly, Prince Bellator was already there.

He was sitting on the floor reading a book when he sensed their presence and looked up.

"Your Highness."

He rose and bowed to the Crown Prince.

"Uncle? Did you receive Grandmother’s permission to come here?"

The two were similar in age, but they were uncle and nephew, and the nephew held the higher rank.

"Pardon? Oh, I’ve been coming here for a long time..."

"What? You should be punished for entering without permission."

Why did every other sentence out of his mouth have to involve punishment?

Rickart intervened.

"Reading books is something that should be encouraged. Although he entered without permission, I do not believe it warrants punishment."

"All right. If Ricky says so, then it must be true. That’s what makes it impressive."

"Exactly. Since we’re all here, why don’t you read something with the prince? Since he has been coming here for so long, I imagine he knows many interesting books."

Since they were close in age, Rickart thought it would be good for them to become friends.

"Fine."

Bellator was bewildered, but he had no right to refuse.

"What were you reading?"

Rickart asked him.

"Oh, this? A Collection of Ancient Civil Cases."

Rickart was momentarily speechless because even he knew nothing about such things.

He looked around the shelves. Every book had been stored separately, lying flat.

One title caught his attention.

The Fables of Telemos.

"This seems suitable. Could you read this with His Highness?"

Bellator stared at the book before answering.

"This seems like it’s meant for children..."

It’s supposed to be for children, Rickart thought.

"It should be suitable for reading together. It may be more enjoyable if you ask each other questions and discuss your thoughts."

"Well... All right."

"Then, Your Highness, please read this with the prince. I’ll find something for myself."

Thinking everything had worked out nicely, Rickart left the two together and approached a librarian to ask where he could find codices concerning Sword Masters and mana.

The librarians kindly directed him, and after walking to a secluded corner, Rickart found the relevant books.

Basic Swordsmanship of House Magnus

Classification of Mana-Utilization Methods

The Influence of Personality on Mana

The Characteristics of Mana According to Color

The Essence of Mana

A Critique of Mainstream Mana Classification

Research into mana had clearly flourished in ancient times.

However, Rickart had difficulty deciding where to begin.

The Threshold of the Sword Master, Volume Two — Written by Rustes

Rickart found the continuation of a codex titled The Threshold of the Sword Master, which he had read once before.

He took it from the shelf and opened it. It was considerably thicker than the first volume.

As expected, it was filled with ominous material. It described specific methods for cutting away parts of the human heart.

It detailed utterly inhumane practices such as sacrificing one’s closest companion through heretical rituals, torture, murder, and brainwashing.

"What...?"

Rickart frowned instinctively. The contents were so repulsive that he found it difficult to continue reading.

Yet the methods apparently worked. In exchange for losing compassion, empathy, and mercy, the practitioner seemed able to awaken as a Sword Master.

However, it was not something just anyone could accomplish.

The book stated that only those who had already reached the threshold of becoming a Sword Master could attempt it. They also needed to meet sufficient prerequisites and undergo the process of their own free will.

According to the author, Sword Masters were neither born nor created through training. Only destiny could forge them.

He therefore claimed that his method was an art capable of manipulating destiny.

Art, my ass.

Rickart barely restrained himself from burning the book and returned it to the shelf.

Despite his disgust, he had apparently become absorbed in reading, because a considerable amount of time had passed.

The Crown Prince and Bellator had left long ago, and when Rickart stepped outside, the sun was already setting.

Realizing how late it was, Rickart hurried to Irmin Castle.

He climbed the vines and entered through the window as casually as though it were his own home.

Marie sat with her back to him, her head tilted as she brushed her long hair.

"Marie."

At Rickart’s voice, she turned around.

"I’m hungry. Feed me."

"Just a moment. I’ll prepare it right away."

Marie stopped brushing her hair, hastily twisted it up and tied it, then laid out the food the maids had delivered.

Rickart sat on the bed, placed the tray on his lap, and began munching his way through the assortment of food.

"Didn’t you eat?"

"No. I went to the Imperial Archive. I lost track of time while reading."

"Are you still teaching the Crown Prince swordsmanship?"

"I am, but there isn’t much point. He didn’t seem to want to practice today either, so we went to the archive. It would be nice if Bellator could keep him company."

"That intelligent prince? Was he the Fifth Prince?"

"Yeah. He seems to have his own problems, but he’s incredibly intelligent. What was it called? He was reading some book about civil cases."

"It’s unusual for a prince to study law. That’s normally something subordinates learn."

"Anyway, no one has been tormenting you, have they?"

"It’s been quiet since then. I watch the clouds drift past, listen to the birds singing, and wait for you to come... No, forget that last part. It was a lie."

Marie had unconsciously admitted that she waited for Rickart, then became flustered all by herself.

Rickart merely smiled faintly without teasing her.

This had become Rickart’s daily routine.

He spent time with the Crown Prince, then visited Irmin Castle and remained with Marie for the rest of the day.

Because they lived this way every day, everyone knew that Rickart and Marie were romantically involved.

People merely assumed that they had fallen for each other while attending the same academy. No one criticized them for it.

They did, however, find Rickart strange.

They could not understand why, after winning the Crown Prince’s favor, he insisted on associating with an imperial princess who offered him no political advantage.

Marie was the thirty-second imperial princess.

Comparing her with the Crown Prince, who ranked first in the line of succession, was unthinkable. Their relationship made no sense according to conventional wisdom.

People tended to invent explanations for things they could not understand. They simply concluded that Rickart was young and had lost his senses over a woman.

"You’re late. I’m sorry. I’ll come earlier tomorrow."

"No, you can come late. As long as you come..."

It was slightly embarrassing, but neither of them minded.

They had already confirmed how they felt about each other.

To keep Marie from growing bored, Rickart told her all sorts of trivial stories.

Did you know people call the imperial princes fucking bastards?

I think the Empress Dowager is the real problem.

They laughed at some stories, became angry together over others, and sometimes shared each other’s sorrow.

As the hours passed, stars eventually appeared in the sky.

After kissing her, Rickart climbed back down through the window.

Marie always made sure that he reached the ground safely and watched from the window until he disappeared entirely from sight.

She felt sad to see him leave, yet excited for the following day.

Every morning, she awoke with her heart fluttering.

Each day felt like a dream.

But pleasant days always passed quickly, and the tournament steadily drew closer.

Rickart’s abilities were widely recognized, yet Marie could not sleep well because of the lingering fear that something might go wrong.

All she could do was believe in him.

He would win.

He would win without fail, and they would return home together.

They both believed it.

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