Chapter 125

Translator: Willia

How strong can a person become? What can they accomplish, and how much can they endure?

That was a question fate posed only to special individuals. Only to a very few, so rare they could be counted across the entirety of human history.

Ricardt plunged his body into the valley stream. Thick blood spread into the clear water and drifted away with the current.

After submerging himself fully for quite a while, he resurfaced, completely clean.

Ricardt splashed water on his face and ran his hands through his hair, then rubbed his body roughly with his hands. Finally, he ran his fingers through his hair once more and stepped out of the water.

Several Adeloron soldiers, with swords at their waists and spears in hand, stared at the naked Ricardt with expressionless faces.

His body, trained not through any special regimen but merely through life itself, looked solid and tough. It appeared perfectly suited for combat, not a body cultivated by training, but one adapted to harsh wilderness.

When one soldier brought him a large towel, Ricardt took it and dried himself off. Then he put on a thin white shirt and trousers, fastened a belt, pulled on nobleman’s socks, and put on boots.

His hair, still not fully dry, remained slicked back, making his clean forehead and sharp nose all the more striking.

Sunlight fell on his head, making his blond hair gleam. His eyes at times seemed blue or green, and at others looked brown.

Including Ricardt himself, all the adult men around him, soldiers with strong builds, remained silent. From somewhere far off came only the sound of a woodpecker tapping and birds chirping.

Was he lost in thought, or was he simply enjoying the sunlight? Ricardt looked as if he were gazing beyond the forest.

Just then, a ranger approached Ricardt with steady steps and spoke.

“The villagers of a place called Gespfel request an audience.”

Ricardt did not reply, but merely lowered his head in silent thought, then began walking after the ranger.

A soldier then handed Ricardt his sword, and Ricardt took it, holding it in his left hand as he walked.

The ranger led him to a narrow clearing, where four or five frightened commoners were kneeling on the ground.

They were too busy glancing around at the surrounding soldiers with wide, fearful eyes. They knew that if these armed men so desired, they could easily kill them all.

The people flinched even at the slightest movements of the soldiers. That’s how nervous and afraid they were.

When Ricardt appeared, they recoiled in shock and then quickly bowed their heads low, nearly pressing their faces to the ground.

Ricardt gazed at these ragged and starving people for a moment before speaking. His voice was serious yet clear.

“Raise your heads. And tell me what has happened.”

At that, the people cautiously raised their heads, gauging the mood. One man swallowed dryly several times before speaking.

“M-my lord, mercenaries, and bandits came... they killed people and took our, our belongings. They took our sheep, our cows, our pigs... and... my wife and daughter too...”

The man began to choke up mid-sentence, his expression twisting. He couldn’t continue, overcome with emotion. Ricardt did not rush him, only waited. He offered no shallow comfort.

“I had just gone out to the field for a moment to feed the cows... and when I came back, my wife’s pelvis was completely shattered, and my daughter, she’s only ten years old...”

Horrifying words, unbearable to hear, flowed from the man’s mouth. Not just him, but everyone who had come to see Ricardt shared similar stories.

Having their possessions stolen and homes destroyed was, if anything, the lesser pain. What they truly couldn’t endure was what had been done to their families, and to themselves.

Among those who came to Ricardt, there was a woman who had barely survived a terrible ordeal. Her face was still marked with several unhealed knife wounds.

The mercenaries had been better off when they were still gathered in a force of five thousand. After Ricardt crushed them, the scattered remnants committed brutal acts wherever they went.

It would have been different if they were in land protected by a lord. But there were many in this world who lived without such protection.

There were slash-and-burn farmers, people not listed in official registries, or those who lived in remote areas beyond a lord’s reach.

It was probably because the area was near the border that so many such villages existed. The mercenaries would go to those places, stealing and killing indiscriminately, and sometimes committing even worse atrocities.

Why did they do such things? Because they had acquired a taste for cruel and horrific stimulation. The civil war in Adeloron had been raging for four years. How much pillaging had they done in that time?

Once someone developed a taste for looting to the point that it became their way of life, it was nearly impossible for them to return to normal. That was why Ricardt refused to hire any mercenaries who had served under Grantz.

Of course, it was also because those men were scum. But more importantly, soldiers addicted to looting could not be satisfied with any other form of reward. They only cared about their spoils, which made them less effective in battle.

Not all mercenaries were bad people. Some earned enough money and returned to their hometowns. Others met lovers on the battlefield, built homes, and settled down.

Whether it was tragic or simply sad, the mercenaries under the undefeated Grantz were nothing like that.

Because Grantz allowed pillaging to continue in order to maintain his own power.

There were even types of pillaging. One was a kind of scorched earth strategy: quick massacres, destruction, and looting. The other was more like a festival, a means of venting.

There was no point in asking which was better or worse. It was meaningless. And it was difficult to draw a strict line between the two.

Ricardt knew all of these horrific tragedies far too well. He understood them to his very bones, humanity’s darkest nature.

Now, he was merely lifting his head within that deep darkness, gazing toward the light.

Ricardt quietly listened to everything the people said, then asked this:

“What is it you want from me?”

One man spoke on behalf of the group. His lips quivered, as though swallowing tears, and he said,

“Justice...”

It was an expected answer. These were not the first people to come see Ricardt.

Those who had been pillaged by mercenaries did not ask for money or food. Every single one of them wanted revenge, justice.

“I understand. I promise you. I will catch the culprits and tear them apart. May that bring at least a little peace to you and to the dead.”

Then he issued orders to the ranger.

“Tell Lester to pursue the mercenaries. First identify their numbers, and if there are too many, don’t engage. Come back and inform Harbert. Then carry out a diversionary operation to annihilate them. Capture a few and tear them limb from limb in front of these people.”

“Yes.”

The ranger replied curtly and disappeared back into the forest.

Ricardt looked once at the people steeped in sorrow, pain, hatred, and despair. Then, without saying a word, he turned and walked away.

From behind came the sounds of voices saying, "Thank you, thank you, my lord," like sad flower petals settling on his shoulders.

Sunlight filtered through the tangled branches and fell in straight beams across the forest. Ricardt walked through those shafts of light and arrived at a forest path, where a horse had been tied.

The soldiers guarding the horse looked back at Ricardt. There, Ricardt properly equipped himself for travel. He put on a tunic, a gambeson, and a cloak.

The saddle carried some rations and medical supplies, and a blanket was tied behind it. Ricardt fastened his sword at his waist and mounted the horse.

Then, turning to the soldiers, he said,

“Tell Marie I’ll be back soon.”

“Understood.”

With that, Ricardt spurred his horse and rode off.

Ricardt’s current destination was Beringen, the capital of the border county of Beringen. The location of the Academy, where Karllich served as headmaster.

Because Ricardt believed the previous incident had ended in an incomplete victory. After all, his original goal had been to kill them all.

He believed the horrific chaos now unfolding was the result of failing to completely destroy them.

Therefore, Ricardt needed more money, more food, and more troops. The power to utterly end this war.

As he emerged from the forest, a familiar plain spread out before him. A lake was visible in the distance, and so was a village. A red flag fluttered above it, visible even from far away.

That flag had not been raised by Ricardt, but by the villagers themselves.

Like a talisman to ward off evil spirits, the red flag served as a warning to wicked mercenaries and bandits. A warning that if they committed misdeeds here, justice would be delivered by the Red Prince.

After a day of riding hard and resting in turns along the road, Ricardt arrived at the fork where the path split toward Torveil and Beringen by early evening.

He had been to both places. One path led to the Academy, and the other to the Eastern Frontier.

It was also the road he had passed before, returning to the Academy with his friends after completing a deserter mission.

Naturally, memories of the past surfaced, but there was no time to dwell in sentiment. Because the western sky was turning violet, like a balloon flower in bloom.

Ricardt headed toward the abandoned house where he and his friends had once stayed seven or eight years ago. On his way there, the faces of his old friends flickered before his eyes.

And those memories naturally led to the deserter who had ended his own life in misery. Unlike the deep shock he had felt back then, now he was simply calm.

Was it growth, or was it numbness? He couldn’t tell.

Arriving at the abandoned house, he tied the reins under the eaves and unrolled a blanket. He drew water from the well using a bucket, tested it for smell and taste, and then let the horse drink its fill.

He took out a carrot from the saddlebag, fed it to the horse, and let it graze, all the while gently stroking its mane and neck.

"You’ve done well today."

Ricardt comforted the horse who had worked all day, then took some food and a blanket and entered the abandoned house.

Inside, there was no one. Only pitch-black darkness, cobwebs settled into the corners, a deep silence, and dust-covered memories of the past remained.

He started a fire and soaked hardened travel rations, preserved in honey, salt, and various other methods, in water and ate. Then he sat against the wall, pulled a blanket over himself, and closed his eyes.

Then an old friend called loneliness, long forgotten, came to visit. It asked him: Friend, are you happy now?

Ricardt quietly smiled and simply replied with a question of his own: What do you think? There was no answer.

His consciousness flickered for a moment, then faded. When he opened his eyes, the morning sunlight greeted him. The campfire had long gone cold, and though the area around his mouth was chilly, it didn’t bother him.

Ricardt chewed on some jerky and stepped outside. He gave the horse water again, fed it another carrot, rolled up the blanket, tied it behind the saddle, and mounted.

He twisted the reins to guide the direction and set out onto the road. The cool field, the wind brushing the grass, and the colorful spring flowers Bori liked all came into view.

Departing in the morning, he arrived at Beringen around noon. A familiar landscape unfolded before his eyes. He could see students in dark blue uniforms walking about.

From atop his horse, Ricardt watched them closely from afar. Judging by the bright smiles blossoming on their faces, it didn’t seem like the Academy life was as gloomy as it once was.

It was Ricardt himself who had provided the soil for those smiles to bloom, but he didn’t think of it that way. He didn’t even recognize it. He simply felt relieved. Even the henhouse was now just a memory.

In the end, it was all the same. Whether it was this war he was fighting now or the struggles of the past to make the Academy a better place.

Ricardt first headed to where the Adventurers' Guild headquarters used to be. But now, the Adventurers' Guild was gone, and only a tavern frequented by students remained.

Ricardt asked a group of female students passing nearby. They were dressed similarly to how Marie used to be, swords at their waists, gambesons for dueling, short cloaks, and long boots.

"Hey, student. What happened to the Adventurers' Guild?"

"…Huh? Me? I’m not sure. Was there something like that?"

"…"

It had only been a few years, yet how could they not know?

But with graduates leaving every year and new students arriving, it didn’t take long. Just two years was enough time to forget anything.

Ricardt felt a strange sense of disorientation at something both familiar and changed.

The girls giggled among themselves. At that age, even falling leaves could make them laugh, it didn’t mean much.

"Were you an adventurer?"

One of the girls asked with a smile.

"I was."

"Are you in a clan?"

"Well, I guess I’m still part of the Viola Clan, for now."

Although he hadn’t parted ways with Volka on particularly good terms, Ricardt hadn’t been expelled from the clan or left it either. It was Roy’s family who had been expelled, and Ricardt had simply followed them.

However, at Ricardt’s response, the expressions on the female student and her friends suddenly hardened. And in an instant, they revealed open hostility.

“Hey, mister. Is this how you try to provoke people these days?”

“…What?”

“Hmph, first of all, get off the horse. You must be here for an inspection or something, but don’t think we’ll be intimidated.”

What the hell are they talking about? Ricardt was bewildered and confused. Was there some kind of bad blood between the Academy and the Viola Clan?

“Calm down. I didn’t come here to cause any trouble or stir up anything. I just came to see Karli- Karllich. I heard he’s the head of the school here.”

“We’ll see about that. Sunbae! Sunbae!”

One of the girls in the group shouted toward the tavern. And when she mentioned something about the Viola Clan, students began pouring out from inside. They all had swords at their waists or in one hand. They hadn’t drawn them yet, but they looked ready to at any moment.

Male and female students alike surrounded Ricardt. Ricardt was so dumbfounded he was speechless. He didn’t want to draw his sword against students.

Then, a bit late, a female student emerged from the tavern. She had short brown hair and a cute-looking face.

With a straight posture and composed movements, she looked over the students and then lifted her chin to look up at Ricardt. But the moment her eyes met Ricardt’s, her expression froze.

“Huh?”

Ricardt widened his eyes, recognizing a face he’d seen somewhere before. Then the girl blinked rapidly and, with an awkward smile, said,

"Ahaha, ha... Hello? It's been a long time."

As she smiled, her upper teeth, lined with gold, were visible. She was none other than Regina, the girl who had been slapped by Marie back in Ernburg.

Had she turned over a new leaf? Or was she holding a grudge? Her impression had definitely improved compared to back then.

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