Chapter 120

Translator: Willia

The moon gazed down upon the world with half-closed eyes, as if reading a boring book.

It was late spring. Except for midday, it was cool, and when the night deepened, it turned chilly.

The enemies had surrounded and blocked the entrance to Adelivari in a circle. The mercenaries standing guard there were shivering from the cold and huddled around fires.

From the campgrounds came the sound of raucous laughter as they mingled with prostitutes, along with the sounds of things breaking and incoherent rambling.

All those sounds were soaked with frustration. Frustration born of exhausting field life and get-rich-quick greed.

Mercenary work was one of the oldest professions in the world. As long as they were paid, they didn’t discriminate between saving the world or assassinating innocent people.

The commonality between demons and mercenaries was that they acted according to contract, but mercenaries could not be demons because they didn’t always act strictly according to the agreement.

Employers and mercenaries always doubted each other, and in reality, betrayal was frequent between them.

Just as people act differently entering and leaving the restroom, some employers failed to properly pay mercenaries after the job, while on the other hand, many mercenaries would take only the deposit and disappear.

Thus, employers and mercenaries often became mortal enemies. It was commonplace for a sacred contract to become nothing more than a scrap of paper.

One of the oldest professions in the world. A presence scorned for ages and sometimes feared.

Yet, when you looked inside, mercenaries were somewhat pitiable. They lost comrades they had grown attached to, were used to being abandoned, endured all kinds of filth, yet never made excuses for themselves.

It wasn’t that they were used to being hated; they simply had no time to care. Even though they felt it wouldn't be strange if they died at any moment, their obsession with life was stronger than anyone else's.

Even these cruel hunting dogs had their share of sorrows. Perhaps their frequent company with prostitutes was because they resembled each other.

To such men, a man approached. On a night with a half-moon, like a grim reaper. As if to put an end to their sorrowful lives.

The mercenaries shivering by the fire lifted their heads to look at the stranger. Because it was night, they hadn’t noticed him earlier, and now he was already near.

A young man in a red cloak and chainmail asked them a question. The multicolored firelight dimly illuminated him.

“What mercenary corps are you?”

When Ricardt asked, one mercenary thought quietly before replying.

“Hmm, maybe your mom's mercenary corps?”

The mercenary, hunched from the cold, suddenly spewed foul words. Did he think he was just picking a random fight? The funny thing was that not one of them thought they were about to die.

Ricardt let out a small laugh.

“No personal feelings.”

As the blade slid out of its scabbard, golden flames flared. The mercenaries, unsure whether it was sorcery or magic, stared wide-eyed in shock.

The fully drawn blade instantly sliced through the night’s darkness. In the blink of an eye, three or four mercenaries who had been warming themselves by the fire spurted blood and collapsed with a thud.

One of them fell into the bonfire and began sizzling and roasting. Already dead, he couldn't even feel the infamous agony of burning.

Not out of respect, but because it looked unpleasant, Ricardt kicked the corpse away from the fire.

Another mercenary passing by hunched his upper body and craned his neck to see what was happening.

Then, realizing corpses were sprawled about, he was startled out of his wits. Perhaps he was returning from relieving himself, for he had no weapon and was not properly armored.

“Hey! You there!”

When Ricardt turned to him with burning eyes, the man was struck with fear and ran off in a hurry. As he fled, he shouted.

“An intruder! An intruder!”

Ignoring him, Ricardt walked toward the nearest unit banner. He didn’t run. He walked.

At the shout of an intruder, people all around began to rise with confused expressions, those who were sleeping, making love, rolling dice, or drunk on liquor.

However, they had no idea how many intruders there were or where they had come from. So, they thought carelessly, “Surely it’s not on my side.”

But still feeling uneasy, some stepped out of their tents and looked around.

One such person happened to get unlucky. Ricardt swung his sword and decapitated him, then kicked the corpse back inside the tent.

The mercenary inside was terrified when the headless body collapsed backward.

“Fuck! What the hell is this?!”

Everyone was panicking and scurrying around in confusion, only adding to the chaos themselves.

“Where’s the intruder? Where is he?!”

Finally, the mercenary corps’ leader emerged, having scrambled to put on armor after entangling himself with prostitutes.

“Stop panicking! Assemble by squads, you rotten bastards!”

Then he made eye contact with Ricardt approaching him. His gaze locked onto the burning sword.

Whether it was because the commander had sharp instincts, he quickly hurled himself back into the barracks. Ricardt tried to pursue him but ran into other mercenaries.

“He’s here!”

“The intruder is here!”

Their helmets were crooked, or they were missing one shoe, but they still held their weapons. Unlike the Rubens Clan, they didn’t rashly engage in close combat.

Fwiip-!

An arrow sliced past Ricardt’s face, cutting through the darkness. At that point, Ricardt also moved swiftly, rushing over and tearing down the unit banner next to the commander’s barracks.

Seeing that, the mercenaries shouted.

“That bastard!”

“It’s the prince! The prince is here!”

“Hey, you asshole! Put that flag down!”

The mercenaries, who had been cautiously keeping their distance, lost their minds upon seeing him pull down the unit banner.

Unable to hold back, they rushed him, but Ricardt, holding his sword in one hand, lowered his stance and swept his blade in a wide arc.

The spear shafts were sliced through, and bodies were severed as golden light flashed. Some died, others had their weapons broken and collapsed to the ground.

The mercenaries who had just been gathering around froze in place at the staggering sight. What the hell is this?

As the mercenaries charging at him fell, Ricardt dashed forward through the enemies.

The shocked mercenaries quickly snapped back to their senses.

“Hey, you fucker! Put down the flag!”

Then someone brought a bucket of waste and splashed it toward Ricardt. Not expecting such an attack, Ricardt flinched and dodged abruptly.

He barely avoided it, but the stench brushed past his nose, and Ricardt frowned as he fell to the ground.

In that moment, those wielding spears or billhooks rushed toward the fallen Ricardt. As expected of mercenaries, their coordination was solid.

There was nothing more threatening than a coordinated group attack, even without fancy swordsmanship.

But Ricardt was no ordinary man. While an average Sword Master might have been helpless, Ricardt sprang to his feet and jumped high in place.

Since it was night and dark, and because he leapt so suddenly, many mercenaries thought he had vanished. They didn’t feel the usual resistance when stabbing, only empty ground.

Only a few sharp-eyed ones looked up to see Ricardt descending with his cloak and the flag fluttering.

Flash-!

It truly looked like a lightning bolt tearing through the night. Ricardt split one mercenary vertically and passed through the gap.

As the others faltered in astonishment, the golden, burning sword lit up the night like a dancing star.

Pak! Clang! Whoosh! Whizz!

The ground was already soaked with blood, and chunks of flesh slapped wetly onto it. The mercenaries rushing over finally started thinking, “This isn’t right.”

To their eyes, Ricardt looked like a legendary hero wielding a holy sword. Sword Masters weren’t common, so even witnessing it directly, they couldn’t believe it.

But suddenly, Ricardt changed direction and charged back into the enemy lines. At this point, even though it was their own camp, the mercenaries were so disoriented they lost their sense of direction.

“What the hell, what happened? Where’s the flag? Who was it? Who's the intruder?”

The mercenary leader, who had earlier ducked into a tent after seeing Ricardt, asked his subordinates. But explaining the whole situation was too lengthy.

Instead of an explanation, the flag came flying from a distance. When the leader turned his head, the spearhead at the end of the flag pierced through his face.

Thud!

His head snapped backward as he collapsed to the ground. Ricardt, who had swiftly approached, yanked the spear-flag out and slammed its end into the ground with force, shouting. One hand held the burning sword, the other the flag.

“Come and get it!”

The mercenary leader’s blood dripped from the spearhead, soaking the flag.

With wide, unblinking eyes, Ricardt overpowered the enemies. Then he shouted again.

“If you don't have the courage to take it back, then get out of my way!”

With that, he strode confidently through the chaos of the enemy lines. He stirred things up however he pleased and just walked out.

The mercenaries were stunned and scared, their eyes wide in disbelief at what had just happened. So, they just stood there, watching.

Ricardt climbed the steps leading back to Adelivari. Partway up, he looked back to see a noisy commotion erupting in one sector, like ripples from a pebble tossed into a lake.

The mercenaries in other units could tell something big had happened over there, but didn’t know exactly what, and confusion spread. Many, startled awake, were panicking without knowing why.

Continuing up the stairs, Ricardt returned to Adelivari, where the waiting citizens had lit bonfires and stared at him, blinking.

Covered in blood from head to toe and carrying the enemy’s flag, Ricardt no longer looked human.

“Hang the flag on the wall. Open the gates at any time to anyone who wants to take it back. But tell them this: they must defeat me to reclaim it.”

Ricardt treated the enemy's flag as a trophy. Typically, whoever seized a city or fortress would raise their own banner, but this was more like an exhibition.

The people received the flag from Ricardt. The spear shaft was sticky with the enemy’s blood. When they mounted it on the wall, the wing-shaped banner fluttered under the moonlight.

Ricardt returned to the annex and removed his gear with Roy’s help. His body, heated from battle, was steaming even though the weather wasn’t particularly cold.

Roy, staring at the ground, found the presence of Ricardt, who was shedding the killing intent, strangely unfamiliar. His eyes looked like...

“Master…”

He set aside the heavy chainmail armor and quietly called out. There was an uneasiness, a creeping doubt that perhaps this wasn’t the same person. Ricardt looked back at the boy and gently smiled.

“On the other side of courage is madness. There’s no one in the world without fear. Deciding just how far to go mad is incredibly difficult, but you have to do it. It’s like walking a tightrope.”

“In any case, you did it for the people, right?”

“No.”

“Then what?”

“Because I can win. Easily. I can see it.”

“…Do you think I’ll be able to see it too someday?”

“Of course.”

Ricardt, with hands still stained from battle, patted Roy on the shoulder. Then he went to the bath to wash.

Meanwhile, Roy cleaned Ricardt’s armor, caked with blood and bits of flesh. He meticulously wiped it down, link by link, and oiled it to prevent rust.

Maintaining and repairing combat equipment was labor-intensive. That’s why a knight needed a squire, and Roy had taken that role for Ricardt.

At the bathhouse, Marie poured water over him and scrubbed his back. The warm spring water seemed to wash away even the blood clinging stubbornly to his skin.

Marie checked Ricardt’s body for any wounds. Her fingers trembled, and Ricardt gently took her hand.

No matter how brave a woman she was, even if she didn’t show it, her heart must have been on edge because Ricardt had gone off and done something so reckless all by himself.

“Do you really have to do it alone?”

“I promised. To the people.”

“Feels like three people could’ve handled it.”

“If it turns into a melee, it’s easier alone.”

“How many more times do you have to do this?”

“Until it sets fire in people’s hearts, I guess.”

Ricardt's reckless actions were not simply to show off his strength. Quite literally, they were to inspire courage in people's hearts and instill fear in the hearts of the enemy.

In doing so, he aimed to shape the battle itself to his advantage.

“But hey, let’s say we win the fight, then what happens?”

“What do you mean, what happens?”

“The king, I mean.”

“Well...”

Ricardt trailed off. With wet hair hanging down, he lowered his head and thought deeply before speaking.

“In the past, I used to think about my own salvation, but as time went on, I realized I was creating that salvation myself. Now, maybe it’s about giving others a chance to be saved. I don’t think the idea of a final salvation matters to me anymore.”

“...Is that so? Either way, we’re always in it together.”

“That’s right. But if I were to become king someday, that would mean Marie becomes queen.”

“Hmm, I’m not sure.”

“Why?”

“There’s no law that says I can’t be the empress, is there?”

Ricardt looked back at Marie and laughed. It was because it was an amusing joke. The two people's lips naturally came together.

And so the night deepened, and the next day dawned. The enemy remained in disarray, and rumors seemed to have spread, among the crowd of 50,000, the song with the feeling of prophecy was whispered.

“When the stars twinkle in the lake, the prince will come. When the prince comes, this misfortune will end.”

And before nightfall, another flag was hung from the fortress wall. The next day, another one. One by one, more were added, until five flags fluttered in the wind.

The enemy tried setting traps or forming fire nets to respond, but Ricardt slipped through like a weasel and stole their unit banners regardless. Eventually, they gave up.

Taking the matter seriously now, the enemy began to prepare for real battle, pulling back far to establish a camp, almost a full day's walk away.

They couldn’t see the city from there, but the city could see them clearly, so it seemed they were trying to fix that first. As expected, that man Grantz was no ordinary foe.

As the enemy pulled back, the citizens of Adelivari felt a sudden breath of relief. And so, they began to bring out the food and wealth they had hidden away.

Men and women, elders and children alike, each did what they could to support the battle.

They provided labor to build watchtowers on the peaks, made arrows, spun thread at the wheel, stitched torn fabric, and the children ran errands for the soldiers.

Every single hand carried hope. Hope that they could, somehow, stop that destructive Demon King. As those hopes gathered one by one, they naturally became one.

It was like a flame. Formless and constantly shifting, yet with only one goal. It was to burn oneself.

To ignite the embers of hope in people's hearts and bear that weight. In that sense, Ricardt was worthy of being called a hero. From adventurer to shepherd, and now, a hero.

Beyond all those extreme techniques, and beyond even prophecy, what ultimately mattered were a deep heart and a broad intellect.

Thus, now, he could carry out his mission with joy. And that mission was to boldly move forward and deliver the flame of hope.

Chapter 24 - Hero Quest. The end.