Chapter 133

Translator: Willia

Night fell over the desolate desert, and a campfire blazed beside a sudden rise in the ground.

With no grass, there was no sound of grasshoppers. Only the moon and stars floated in the sky, dark as a black sea. Crackle, crackle, the sound of burning firewood rang out like a lullaby.

“Ricky, may I take a look at your sword?”

Ricardt, who had been sitting on a rock watching the flames, casually extended the sword he had set beside him.

Hashim, with his wrinkled hands like old wood, carefully took the sword and slightly drew it. The blade, as if freshly oiled and tended, gleamed, reflecting the reddish glow of the fire.

“Where did you get such a magic sword?”

“It’s not a magic sword. I’ve just used it for a long time, and it naturally ended up that way. Even without special maintenance, the edge always stays sharp.”

“As if it possesses a will of its own? How long have you used it?”

Ricardt leaned against the stone wall and quietly closed his eyes as if trying to sleep, his thoughts drifting into the past. The crackling fire seemed to urge him to tell his story.

Crackle. Tap. Crackle...

Ricardt spoke of his past life as if it were someone else’s story. It was something he had never told even his closest friends, not even Marie, yet he shared it now with a heretical mage.

Hashim quietly listened to the story, then looked at the vividly gleaming blade and asked,

“...So, did he regret it?”

“No.”

“Then?”

“There was no remorse, no guilt, just emptiness. He simply wanted to become someone who quietly sheds tears. I don't think he wanted to attach any meaning to those tears. Whether it be repentance, or sorrow.”

“A sword forged in the flames of revenge, tempered with tears. It is indeed a magic sword.”

“Isn’t magic supposed to be a more refined sort of spellcraft? There’s nothing like that here.”

“What is magic? Is it not magic that you and I are here, in this moment, talking like this?”

“By that logic, what in the world isn't magic, and what isn't a miracle?”

“Exactly that.”

“Hm?”

Ricardt, who had closed his eyes, opened them and looked at Hashim, but Hashim simply slid the partially drawn sword back into its sheath without saying more. Then he quietly placed the sword beside Ricardt.

A sword that emerged from the crucible of fire, steel, blood, and death, forged by vengeance, and tempered with tears. What does that sword cut?

“Does the sword have a name?”

“No. Naming weapons is something kids do.”

“I may not be a kid, but let me give it one. Lightning Flash. How about it? When you cut through the iron bars on the ship, it looked like a bolt of lightning tearing through the darkness.”

“That’s true, but why are you naming it on your own?”

“Didn’t you also name me ‘Hashim’ as you pleased, as a sign of familiarity?”

“...I have nothing to say to that. So, are we even now?”

“I suppose so.”

Smiles appeared on the lips of the two friends, who looked to be about twenty years apart in age.

The night deepened. The darkness grew thicker, and so the starlight shone even brighter, while the campfire burned away the darkness between the two of them.

At dawn, Ricardt and Hashim stepped on the now blackened, cooled campfire and rubbed it out before setting off again. It was the road to the west.

They snacked on minced lizard meat, bread, and dates, and quenched their thirst with water from time to time.

As the sunlight prickling their skin grew sharper and the day grew warmer, Ricardt and Hashim came across a village.

It had no roofs, just clusters of square-shaped yellow mud houses.

It wasn’t quite an oasis, but the village was formed around a well. The people dug irrigation channels and managed to farm in this barren land in their own way. Though, most of their livelihood came from raising goats.

That said, who protected a village like this? Ricardt had heard that there was a class similar to lords of the Empire called “Amir”, but they usually ruled over large cities and didn’t care whether the surrounding villages lived or died, whether they were destroyed or not.

In terms of public safety, this place was at least as bad, if not worse, than the Empire.

Especially since this was the Lunadan region, known for its many fine horses, it was infamous for bandits. Unless a village was fortified like one of the great cities, it was hard for them to survive.

The castles in the Empire couldn’t compare to the fortresses in Lunadan. The fortresses here were truly grand and massive, solid and meticulous. That’s why occupying such cities had long been considered nearly impossible.

Sure enough, as they drew closer to the village, they saw a group of bandits gathered around the well.

They weren’t outright killing people, but they were laughing crudely as they harassed the village women. They forcefully dragged them, sat them on their knees, groped them, and pressed their filthy lips against them.

They looked like punks, but oddly enough, their gear was top-notch. They wore gleaming scale armor covered with fine fabric, and their belts, shoes, and accessories were all richly adorned.

But what stood out most among them was a horse, red as blood or flames. From head to toe, including its mane, it was completely red.

Its size, build, and muscles were in perfect balance. It was the kind of superb horse one might see only once or twice in a lifetime.

However, things didn’t seem to be going well. A young man dressed in very expensive silk was riding it, but whether it was a wild horse he had captured or simply hadn't broken in yet, he was struggling to control it.

Several people ran in, trying to grab the reins or tie its legs with ropes to forcefully subdue it, but it wasn’t working well.

The red horse thrashed and resisted to the end, and eventually the young man was thrown off.

“F-Fuck!”

Fortunately or unfortunately, he wasn’t seriously injured. But once he fell, those trying to subdue the horse quickly pulled on the ropes and managed to topple it.

The young man leapt up, clearly irritated, and began furiously whipping whoever had been helping him, whether subordinate or servant didn’t matter.

“Didn’t I tell you to hold it tight!? Huh!? Didn't I say hold it right!? You want me to die, is that it!? That’s it, right!?”

The one being whipped was desperately trying to keep the rope taut to hold the horse down, while enduring the lashes, his eyes tightly shut as he held on.

The young man beat both people and horse indiscriminately until he wore himself out. The sound of the whip cracked again and again for quite some time.

Around then, the young man noticed Ricardt and Hashim quietly watching him. To him, it was obvious that these two weren’t villagers.

Blinking as he stared blankly at the two who had suddenly appeared, he suddenly smiled. It didn’t seem to be a friendly smile.

Ricardt quietly said to Hashim,

“Restrain your magic.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t want to be forgotten by you.”

"Then I have no choice. I'll have to use my secret technique."

"Secret technique?"

"I have something like that."

“By the way, Hashim, can you ride a horse?”

“I may not look like it, but I’m an Imperial. What kind of Imperial can’t ride?”

“We are the Empire.”

“Well, I think our side has more legitimacy.”

“Based on what?”

As their conversation started drifting elsewhere, the young man, who had caught his breath, called out to Ricardt.

“Hey, you there, Frankenian.”

Ricardt’s conversation with Hashim, which had been veering toward a debate, was cut off. Ricardt turned to look at the young man. With a pompous air, the man beckoned him over with a flick of his hand.

Ricardt stared at him for a moment, then slung his sword and pack over his shoulder and approached.

The young man asked,

“Are you a pilgrim?”

“Let’s say I am.”

“Barbarian! Do you even know who this man is...!”

Someone standing next to the young man scowled and tried to speak, but the young man raised his hand to stop him.

“Well, you didn’t look like a mercenary. Judging by the way you came, it seems you’ve been to the Holy Land. On your way to another ruin?”

“Something like that.”

“Frankenian, what do you think of this red horse?”

“It looks like a steed you’d be lucky to see twice in your life.”

“Right. It is a fine horse. But did you know? Its body is so red because it eats people. A beast horse from the Yeren Plateau, that’s what this one is.”

It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t exactly the truth either. There were just rumors. What kind of horse eats people?

“So, you’re bragging to me? But you don’t seem to be handling it very well.”

“Then can you do it? That’s why I called you. Try breaking it, Frankenian. If you can tame it, I’ll give it to you. You could buy a city with this horse. What do you say?”

It was a sudden offer. But the young man had no intention of keeping his promise. He simply wanted to see Ricardt fail to tame the horse, get thrown off badly, or maybe even get eaten if the rumors were true.

He clearly came from high status but had grown up twisted. Ricardt could see straight through him, this one would never keep his word.

“What if I lose the bet?”

“Then just leave. Sounds fair, doesn’t it? You won’t find a more generous wager than this.”

“Fine. I accept.”

Ricardt saw through the young man’s intentions but didn’t refuse the bet.

After glancing once at Hashim, he approached the restrained and collapsed horse. As Ricardt neared, the red horse flailed wildly as if in a fit.

An ordinary man would’ve recoiled in fear, but Ricardt stayed calm.

“Shhh, shhh...”

He took his time to soothe the horse, carefully approaching and gently stroking its head and neck.

While the onlookers watched, Ricardt whispered softly, just enough for the horse to hear.

“I promise you. I will never beat you, nor will I bind you. If I break that promise, eat me.”

He meant it, with all his heart. The fallen horse looked into Ricardt’s eyes.

Ricardt placed his foot in the stirrup and mounted, then signaled to those holding the ropes.

As they cautiously began to untie the ropes, the horse suddenly bucked up and rose in one leap, rearing on its hind legs.

Neighhhhhh-!

It let out a thunderous cry, and then, as if to throw Ricardt off, kicked forward violently, almost falling flat.

One unlucky man got hit in the chin and collapsed. His jaw was completely shattered, and whether he lived or died was unclear, but he fell with his limbs sprawled out.

“Whoa, whoa-!”

People panicked and scattered in confusion, while the bodyguards who had been harassing the village women stood up and turned to watch Ricardt and the horse.

Ricardt tensed his legs, braced his waist, and responded flexibly. His grip on the reins was so tight that blood seemed about to seep out.

The horse thrashed wildly, as if ready to take flight, but Ricardt didn’t fall. As time passed, the eyes of the onlookers grew wider.

It wasn’t just Ricardt’s strength. His balance and ability to maintain his center were beyond belief. And as lifelong riders themselves, they knew it better than anyone.

After a long bout of thrashing, the horse suddenly burst forward in frustration. It shot out of the village like a missile. Its propulsion and acceleration were incredible.

People rushed out of the village to watch. In their eyes, the red horse streaked across the desolate land like a painting.

Whether it was the dust or not, a red afterimage seemed to trail behind, like a crimson comet. To think it could run so beautifully, how unjust and stifled it must’ve felt all this time.

From atop the horse, Ricardt felt the wind in his face like a solid wall. He thought if he relaxed his neck, it might snap backward.

The headwind was so strong that the turban on Ricardt's head unraveled and flew off with a whoosh. His slightly overgrown blond hair, uncut for some time, whipped wildly in the wind.

From the perspective of the onlookers, Ricardt and the red horse had already become distant and small in the blink of an eye.

Only then did the young man in expensive clothes snap back to his senses and bark out an order to his subordinates.

“Catch that bastard! Hurry! We can't lose the horse!”

Even though he was the one who suggested the wager. But people like him, promises were as light as feathers, and everything revolved around themselves.

The guards scrambled to mount their horses, but whether fortunately or unfortunately, Ricardt came racing back at that moment.

Clip-clop! Clip-clop! Clip-clop! Clip-clop!

He had been incredibly far away, yet he returned in an instant. When Ricardt sharply pulled the reins, the horse, now seemingly fully broken in, came to a sudden halt.

Turning his head, Ricardt shouted toward Hashim.

“Now! The secret technique!”

The crowd, not understanding what was going on, looked around in confusion, when Hashim suddenly pulled a dagger from his cloak and stabbed one of the guards in the neck, killing him. Even Ricardt was shocked when he saw it. Wait, that was the secret technique?

Honestly, Hashim’s swordsmanship was poor, but since he didn’t hesitate, he had little trouble killing the off-guard guard.

He quickly stole the guard’s horse, mounted it, and took off. Ricardt tried to get the red horse running again, but then, suddenly, the horse lunged at the young man in the silk clothes.

Before anyone could react, the red horse bit down hard on the young man’s face.

“Aaaaaaaaargh!”

Judging by the scream, he didn’t die, but his face was torn up so badly he was unrecognizable.

The red horse, eyes filled with rage, dripped blood from its mouth. Honestly, even Ricardt was startled, his heart sank.

Panicked subordinates rushed over to the fallen young man to check his condition.

“Your Highness!”

So he was of high status. A prince, maybe? A prince dragging along servants and guards to play thug in a village just for amusement? Impressive.

Still, Ricardt didn’t blame him. On the contrary, he was grateful. Though he didn’t get the chance to say thanks for making the wager, he simply turned the horse around and took off in a hurry. The situation had already spiraled.

The red horse, showing no signs of fatigue, dashed forward like a flash of light and caught up with Hashim, who had already gotten far ahead.

Behind Ricardt, the prince’s voice rang out, nearly a scream. But because the red horse was galloping so fast, that scream quickly grew faint in real time.

“Catch thoooooose bastaaaaards!”

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