Chapter 83

Chapter 83: Chapter 83

The Emperor was dead.

He had not died of old age, nor had he succumbed to illness or fallen in battle.

He had been assassinated.

The man who stood at the pinnacle of humanity and served as the protector of the Empire had been assassinated—though, despite those grandiose titles, he had actually been a rather unimpressive man.

While Rickart and Marie escaped the storm of history raging around them, the Crown Prince and Bellator were inexplicably running through the alleys of a nearby city.

They were not alone. People throughout the city were running frantically in every direction. Fear had spread so widely that they seemed incapable of rational judgment.

Amid the chaos, some men seized women and committed unspeakable acts, while others devoted themselves to looting.

There were even people unaffiliated with the religious order who revealed long-buried grudges and committed murder.

The chaos did not appear likely to subside anytime soon.

"I told you not to follow me!"

Someone irritably shouted over his shoulder.

It was the Third Prince.

The Crown Prince and Bellator had followed him without understanding what was happening. Yet even the Third Prince himself had no idea where he was fleeing.

Although he had already reached adulthood, neither his mental maturity nor his judgment was that of an adult.

His only thought was to hide. The sight of the assassins charging at him with murder in their eyes had terrified him out of his wits.

Staying beside his guards would probably have been safest, but how could he trust them?

When the final match of the swordsmanship tournament ended, those who suddenly attacked the nobles had been close to their victims for years—or even decades.

A wet nurse who had breastfed them.

A childhood friend.

A butler whose family had served theirs for generations.

A mistress they had regarded as nothing more than a plaything.

When such people suddenly turned on them and began stabbing, their victims had been helpless even with guards nearby.

The Third Prince entered an even more secluded alley and flung open the door of what looked like a shed, hoping to find somewhere to hide.

Inside, several men were committing an unspeakable crime.

"What the hell?!"

A rough-looking man turned and shouted threateningly.

The Third Prince immediately lost his nerve and shut the door again.

After wandering through the alleys, he eventually slipped into another shed without even knowing how he had reached it. The place reeked of animal dung.

The Crown Prince and Bellator followed him inside.

"Ugh, it stinks."

The Crown Prince pinched his nose and grimaced.

"Will you be quiet?"

Perhaps because the situation was so urgent, the Third Prince completely abandoned his usual courtesy and snapped at the Crown Prince.

The Crown Prince was still complaining about the smell even under these circumstances. It was difficult to imagine anyone being more immature.

People continued running outside.

At some point, the assassins ceased to be the greatest problem. Those attempting to exploit the chaos for personal gain had become an even greater threat.

The city had practically fallen under their control.

Screams could be heard outside.

There were pleas for mercy.

There was laughter.

In short, the city had gone completely insane.

The Third Prince was wholly occupied with peering outside through a gap in the shed’s shabby door. The Crown Prince repeatedly fanned the air with his hand, trying to drive away the smell.

Bellator, however, did neither.

He drew a dagger from inside his clothes.

The keen blade flashed in the light entering through a gap in the shed. Its gleam illuminated Bellator’s eyes.

Bellator frowned briefly at the brightness, but neither closed his eyes nor looked away.

As he waited for his eyes to adjust, he silently studied the dagger’s sharp edge.

He remembered Rickart’s words.

"When you’re facing death, a side of yourself you never knew existed tends to emerge. The important thing at such a moment is not to hesitate."

If not now, I may never have another opportunity for the rest of my life.

The words sounded like a demon whispering into Bellator’s ear.

It was merely the voice of his own heart, but demons had always lived within the hearts of men.

Bellator could almost see Rickart’s final duel unfolding before him.

He told us to cut open the stomach, so why did he stab the heart? Did he take that desperate gamble to kill his opponent first within that brief instant, despite the risk? I see.

In truth, Rickart had simply forced his blade through the man’s ribs with brute strength.

Bellator interpreted it differently.

Still, his interpretation was not entirely wrong. A wound to the heart was indeed more lethal than one to the stomach.

Bellator merely concluded that he, too, was willing to take the risk.

"Uncle?"

Still pinching his nose, the Crown Prince turned toward Bellator.

Bellator looked away from the dagger and met the Crown Prince’s gaze.

"Let us do this, Your Highness. I will stab you in the heart. If your ribs stop my blade and I fail, I will immediately take my own life. If they do not, I will become Emperor."

"...Wh-What?"

The Crown Prince was dumbfounded by the sudden, absurd declaration.

Bellator, however, followed Rickart’s teaching and did not hesitate.

He seized the Crown Prince by the shoulder, angled the dagger, and drove it toward his heart, thrusting slightly from right to left.

Astonishingly, the blade passed between the ribs and pierced the Crown Prince’s heart with perfect accuracy.

"Gasp!"

The Crown Prince’s body instantly stiffened when his heart was pierced. Even his throat seized up, preventing him from screaming.

His eyes opened impossibly wide.

Bellator stared at them without emotion.

Then he slowly lowered the Crown Prince onto a pile of rotten straw reeking of dung.

Bellator immediately pulled out the dagger and approached the Third Prince, who was still entirely preoccupied with watching the street outside.

"Brother."

"Hey, I told you to be quiet! Don’t talk to me!"

Ignoring him, Bellator wiped the blood from his hand onto the Third Prince’s clothes and placed the dagger in his hand.

"Huh? What is this?"

The Third Prince asked, but Bellator did not answer.

Instead, he flung open the shed door and shouted at the top of his lungs,

"The Third Prince killed the Crown Prince!"

"What?"

Bellator continued shouting.

The imperial knights frantically searching the area heard his voice and immediately rushed over.

Bellator grabbed them and pointed at his elder brother, the Third Prince, who stood there blankly with the dagger in his hand.

"His Highness the Crown Prince’s body is inside."

Bellator was astonishingly calm—and extraordinarily bold.

Rickart had said that a beginner’s hands would tremble, but Bellator’s hands did not shake at all.

The evidence was clear.

No special technique had been required.

All he had needed was resolve and the ability to act without hesitation.

With this, Bellator rose from fifth to second in the order of succession in a single stroke.

Bellator had four elder brothers.

The eldest had died young after fathering the Crown Prince.

The second had left the Imperial Palace long ago and become a count.

The third had now been framed for a crime from which he could never clear his name.

The fourth had lost his life during the upheaval.

Now, if Bellator killed only his elder brother, the Second Prince, he would become Emperor.

The Second Prince had been away from the Imperial Palace for a long time, giving Bellator the advantage.

At least, that was what he thought.

Bellator was intelligent, but he had yet to acquire the wisdom to understand that the world did not always move according to his wishes.

"The Third Prince killed the Crown Prince!"

Some revealed their ugliest desires amid the chaos.

Some exploited it as an opportunity.

Others attempted to escape from its center.

Marie and Rickart belonged to the last group.

There was only one problem: Rickart was unconscious.

Being poisoned was bad enough, but the stab wound in his abdomen was also a serious problem.

Fortunately, they were still near the arena, so Marie was able to obtain a potion nearby. She poured it liberally over the wound, then held what remained in her mouth and passed it to Rickart from mouth to mouth.

Next, she seized a random carriage, laid Rickart inside, and secured him tightly with leather straps.

Then she climbed into the driver’s seat and cracked the whip.

"Hyah!"

Crack!

The two horses surged forward, and the wheels rolled rapidly along the paved road.

I’m finished with this wretched family.

Nobles, illegitimate children, the imperial family—I’m saying goodbye to this city and all of them.

I’m free now.

No matter what happens, I’ll survive and live with Ricky.

No one will interfere.

Marie’s eyes had almost rolled back in her head. She clearly needed to calm down, but it did not seem as though anyone could stop her now.

Traveling by ship would have been the fastest way back to Ernberg. However, the docks were currently overflowing with people, so it was better to avoid them.

Besides, it would have been difficult to find a merchant ship bound specifically for Ernberg.

With people running wildly in every direction, Marie nearly struck several of them. Yet through remarkable maneuvering, she managed to leave the city without injuring anyone.

Fortunately, as this was the Emperor’s city, paved roads extended far beyond its walls. Marie was able to race onward without obstruction.

They gradually left the city’s pandemonium behind. At the same time, its screams of chaos and suffering grew increasingly distant.

Before long, the sounds of nature drowned out the sickening voices of people. Marie’s carriage alone raced along the road.

As the wind swept across the fields and washed over her, the rage that had surged to the top of Marie’s head gradually began to subside.

The horses were exhausted and frothing white at the mouth.

Marie stopped the carriage in the middle of the road. She climbed down from the driver’s seat, opened the carriage door, and examined Rickart.

She had bound him so tightly that he looked uncomfortable even while unconscious.

"Ugh..."

Judging by his groan, he might regain consciousness if she was lucky.

Marie shook him in an attempt to wake him.

"Ricky. Ricky, wake up."

"Uhh..."

Rickart appeared to open his eyes, but his eyelids slowly closed again, and his head fell limp.

Startled, Marie hurriedly examined his condition.

Unfortunately, she knew nothing about medicine. He was still breathing, which was reassuring. Perhaps the potion was making him drowsy.

Fortunately, the wound in his abdomen had stopped bleeding.

Marie suddenly felt helpless.

She had traveled to Nibelungen by ship, so she did not know the route back by land.

Furthermore, once the paved road ended, this kind of carriage would be unable to continue. Most importantly, she had fled the city in such a hurry that she had brought no food.

When she lifted the cloth covering the carriage roof, she discovered, to her immense relief, a sack filled with carrots.

They would have to survive on those until they found a village.

Marie took out several carrots and fed them to the horses. Then she bit into a raw carrot herself, crunching it loudly between her teeth.

Afterward, she climbed back into the driver’s seat and urged the horses onward at a slower pace.

Fields surrounded her in every direction. The only sounds were the wind, the steady clopping of hooves, and the rumbling of the wheels.

With no one else in sight, Marie felt strangely as though the two of them were alone in the world.

It would be wonderful if we could live forever in an empty place like this, just the two of us.

But the faces of their friends soon came to mind as well.

Marie continued driving, burdened by countless thoughts, worries, and anxieties.

Eventually, the paved road came to an end, and the carriage began jolting violently.

She tried to drive as carefully as possible for Rickart’s sake, but the condition of the road left her no choice. Moreover, this carriage was designed for use in the imperial capital and affluent districts. It was unsuited to ordinary country roads.

Even so, she stubbornly pressed onward.

Time passed, and before she knew it, the sun was beginning to set.

Marie had now accumulated considerable experience as an adventurer, so she began searching for a suitable campsite in advance.

As the sun sank and night approached, she stopped the carriage beside a large tree.

Marie first climbed inside and untied the ropes that had bound Rickart so tightly.

Although she had saved his life, she still felt guilty. She thought she might have tied him up too securely.

In any case, she laid Rickart down properly. Then she removed the horses’ harnesses, tied their reins to a branch, and fed them plenty of carrots.

But they lacked the most important thing of all: water.

Both Marie and the horses were thirsty.

She also had no flint with which to start a fire and no cloak to cover herself. Aside from her sword and the carrots, she truly possessed nothing.

It was already autumn, and the nights were cold. Marie’s dress was woefully inadequate for keeping out the chill.

Worse still, she had torn away its hem, exposing her legs almost to the point that her underwear was visible. Her bare skin felt freezing.

Marie climbed into the carriage and massaged Rickart’s arms, legs, and entire body to improve his circulation.

As she did so, something beyond Rickart’s conscious control rose despite his unconscious state.

Marie was relieved that he was healthy, but she found herself feeling embarrassed for no reason.

She repeatedly had to resist the devilish temptation whispering that she should touch it just a little.

Marie sat Rickart upright again and held him tightly against her chest.

She endured the cold and kept watch alone.

At first, her heart pounded with excitement. But that lasted only an hour or two. As the night deepened, she grew sleepy, and keeping watch became truly exhausting.

She had only just escaped after being driven to her mental limits for so long. Both her body and mind were utterly spent.

Sword Master or not, there was no overcoming sleep, hunger, and thirst.

The night continued to deepen.

At some point, Marie dozed off.

She did not know how much time had passed when a strange feeling caused her to open her eyes.

A filthy, beggar-like man had opened the carriage door and was staring directly at her.

Goosebumps spread across her arms and neck.

The space was narrow and uncomfortable, but Marie instinctively and expertly drew her sword and thrust it into the man’s face like a bolt of lightning.

The tip immediately pierced his skull.

As he collapsed, another man’s voice came from outside.

"Wh-What the hell?!"

"See? I told you someone would be inside!"

"Damn it!"

Marie hurriedly grabbed her sword and climbed out of the carriage.

She saw several people untying the horses and stealing them.

Even as the horse thieves fled, their eyes widened at Marie’s beauty, and they repeatedly looked back.

Perhaps they were checking whether she was following them.

Or perhaps they simply wanted to look at her a little longer.

Marie started to pursue them but stopped herself.

She had to protect Rickart.

The thieves might return with their companions, so Marie quickly hoisted Rickart onto her back and walked in the opposite direction from the one in which they had fled.

She must have slept longer than she had realized, as the sky had already turned a deep blue.

The autumn air was cold.

Now they had lost the horses and even the carrots. All Marie truly had left was a single sword.

Once one left the farms, cities, and other inhabited areas behind, the world was practically wilderness.

There was nowhere to obtain food, and without proper traveling equipment, it was difficult to find a suitable place to sleep.

Having become a Sword Master, Marie’s strength and stamina had reached superhuman levels.

But no human could live without eating or sleeping.

At that moment, Marie had only two thoughts: she had to continue north, and she had to find water.

Carrying Rickart on her back, she returned to the road and continued walking north.

Yet she saw no sign of human habitation.

There were no travelers or merchants either.

Did I take the wrong road? Does no one use this route?

If I could meet someone—anyone—I could ask for their kindness. Or threaten them with my sword if necessary.

Did I leave the city too hastily? Should I turn back now?

No, I’ve already come too far.

Countless thoughts raced through Marie’s mind.

She continued walking without rest.

One hour.

Two hours.

Three hours.

She walked for six hours in total.

The sun was already high overhead.

An entire day had passed since she had eaten a proper meal, and she had slept only briefly and fitfully.

Rickart’s condition was serious, but Marie herself was now in danger of collapsing.

She continued onward with hope, only to encounter an unpleasant source of despair.

The horse thieves had returned with their companions.

Marie had no idea how long they had been following her.

They observed from a distance without approaching carelessly. Yet they made no effort to conceal themselves, staring at her openly.

Several of them were armed, though only with crude equipment.

Two were even mounted.

They also carried bows and crossbows.

Killing them would have been easy, but Marie did not know whether she could fight while protecting Rickart.

So she made a choice.

She ran.

With Rickart on her back, she sprinted straight ahead.

The mounted men immediately pursued her, and the other bandits began running as well.

Their intentions were obvious.

Clop-clop! Clop-clop! Clop-clop! Clop-clop!

Marie heard the pounding of hooves behind her.

She desperately hoped to find a hill or mountain pass—anything she could use to her advantage.

Or somewhere she could hide Ricky.

God, please!

She did not know how long she had been running before her breathing grew ragged.

Then, to her despair, she saw another mounted man charging toward her from the front.

She was trapped between them.

With no other choice, Marie lowered Rickart beside the road and drew her sword.

Purple light flashed along the blade.

But even a Sword Master would die if struck by a charging horse.

Then Marie noticed something strange.

The man approaching from the front looked more like a knight than a bandit. He wore chain mail and carried a shield and lance. His surcoat was red with a white cross emblazoned upon it.

And he was not charging toward Marie.

He rode straight past her.

Clop-clop! Clop-clop! Clop-clop! Clop-clop!

He charged directly toward the mounted bandits.

They hurriedly pulled on their reins and attempted to turn their horses around.

But the knight closed the distance in an instant and impaled one of them with a single thrust of his lance.

He immediately drew his sword, leaned from the saddle, and struck the other bandit’s head from his shoulders.

The ease with which he changed weapons atop the galloping horse looked as natural as a scene from a painting.

Thud!

The bandit impaled by the lance was hurled backward by the impact. The headless man tilted to one side before falling from his horse.

When the bandits approaching on foot saw what had happened, they turned and fled in terror.

The knight did not pursue them.

Instead, he seized the reins of the two riderless horses and approached Marie.

He was a stern-looking knight with a neatly groomed, bushy beard.

"Stay away from me!"

Marie shouted like an enraged wildcat.

The knight ignored her warning and approached at a leisurely pace.

The autumn breeze blew gently around them.

Beneath the midday sun, he silently looked down—not at Marie, but at the boy lying beside the road.

Then he spoke to her.

"I am Abelich, Lord of Stormherz. Who might you be, my lady—and why were you running with my son on your back?"

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