The Warrior’s Ballad

Translator: Willia

The canvas of the barracks fluttered in the night wind. In the camp, the vulgar drunken laughter and shouting that were characteristic of it could not be heard.

This was because it had spread among the soldiers that instead of countless lives being sacrificed, victory or defeat would be decided through a one on one duel between the commanders.

The soldiers all knew as well. That Ricardt and Vilter were brothers.

There are many tragedies in war, but among them, nothing is sadder than kin drawing blades against each other after their sides are divided.

Inside the dark barracks, Ricardt was sitting on a chair, bending his upper body forward and clutching his own head. Whether he was sleeping just like that, or dead. He remained in that state. He was not sobbing.

Hashim, seeing Ricardt like that, truly had nothing to say to him. Think beyond it? Accept it?

At the very last moment, in the end, he would have to deal with it himself.

But unexpectedly, Ricardt lifted his head and spoke to Hashim first. His expression was calm.

“If something happens to me, Hashim, please convey the news of my death in battle to my family. I will give you my sword, armor, and horse, so if you dispose of those, there will be no great difficulty in making a living.”

"......Is this a last will?"

“In a way.”

“Can you not possibly make up your mind?”

“No.”

“Then?”

“I think I will only know when that moment comes. Until then, no matter how much I try to steel my heart, what does not work simply does not work. I have never hesitated even once when drawing my sword from its scabbard. Whether it was the right thing or the wrong thing. That may be why I have not been defeated until now. So if hesitation settles at the tip of my blade, I do not know what will become of me. Because I have never experienced that.”

“What is it that makes you fight your brother, Ricky?”

“I do not know that either. Foolish, is it not? Hahaha......"

“Then how about thinking of it this way? That if you do not stop your brother, things will become even worse. For your brother himself, and for the innocent people as well. Terrible things will continue to happen, so you have no choice but to fight, for anyone’s sake.”

“Hashim, you always speak the correct answer. However, right now I want to leave it as something I do not know. Because I do not want to justify it with anything. Tomorrow, one of us will become a kinslayer. That alone is the clear fact.”

"Do not push yourself so hard...... No one will condemn you in such a way."

At Hashim’s consolation, Ricardt smiled faintly.

“Thank you. But right now, I want to be alone.”

Hashim nodded. But before leaving the barracks, he asked one thing.

“What did you pray for at the holy land?”

“It is a little embarrassing to say it now.”

"I recall that I told you mine. I prayed that you would definitely meet your brother."

“Then your wish has come true. I have nothing special. At the very end of the very end, I wanted to become a person who quietly sheds tears. I think I hoped to become someone who could do that. Is it not funny?”

“No. Your wish will come true as well.”

"I wonder......"

“Get some rest.”

Hashim left the barracks. Here and there in the camp, the bonfires lit by the soldiers were burning.

Hashim did not really have anything that could be called baggage. Neither food nor clothes. When his shoes wore out, he would simply walk barefoot.

Holding a bottle containing crystal flowers, he left the camp. He climbed a nearby low rocky mountain and sat upright, entering contemplation with his eyes closed.

There was one thing he had not told Ricardt, and that was that memories no longer mattered.

What he wished for now was only that Ricardt would overcome guilt and sorrow and live a healthy life again.

Was there magic that could make that possible? He did not know now, but if he recovered his lost memories, he might know.

He was simply uneasy that if he regained his memories, his present state of mind might waver. Therefore, it was contemplation in order not to waver.

Hashim retraced his past, as if counting grains of grain one by one.

Between the memories that were cut off in the middle, he was unconsciously connecting them with some kind of plausibility. He severed all of that plausibility and looked at each memory simply as it was.

Even so, it was difficult to know the existence called “me”. Therefore, neither the present me nor the past me, what they were, who they were, could be known at all.

Even so, although the physical body was bound by the constraints of time and space, thoughts and the heart could head toward the past, so Hashim immersed himself deeper and deeper into contemplation. As he did, his senses dulled and he began to forget the passage of real time.

The night grew deeper, dawn broke, and the sun lifted its head. When he opened his eyes again, nothing had changed. However, that instead felt fortunate.

However, the reality he faced after contemplation ended was already the moment when the duel was about to begin. The sky was filled with dark clouds.

On the field, nearly ten thousand men from both sides combined filled the plain. Even the murmuring sounds were not very loud, giving the atmosphere of some kind of massive funeral.

The first to reveal himself was Vilter. He was mounted on a gray horse, without wearing a helmet. In duels, it was often the case that helmets were not worn because of vision and sound.

When he appeared, before long Ricardt also came out, riding a red horse and holding a spear. Everyone on the field watched the two of them.

There was no referee and no coordinator. Ricardt and Vilter merely looked at each other from afar.

When Vilter moved forward first, Ricardt also advanced. And when Vilter increased his speed and charged at his younger brother, Ricardt also spurred his horse and dashed forward.

In an instant, the two reached top speed. With neither past nor future, the tips of their spears pierced through time and sought only death.

Would the outcome be decided in a single clash? Hashim and the others watching felt their hearts pound with anxiety.

At the moment of the decisive battle, the two spear tips merely sliced through empty air as they passed. The brothers, who brushed past each other at high speed, hurriedly turned their horses.

Ricardt’s horse was far superior, so its change of direction was quicker, and he surged in again. However, compared to the first charge, it could not help but be slower.

If things went well, it seemed as if Ricardt’s spear might pierce him. But Vilter did not charge straight at him and instead slipped out precariously to the side. Then he released the spear from his hand, drew his sword, and cut through the shaft of Ricardt’s spear.

As if he had expected it, Ricardt did not panic in the slightest, threw away the spear without hesitation, and drew his own sword.

Golden flames rose along the blade. However, flames also surged up from Vilter’s sword.

Their colors were different. One was golden, and Vilter’s was a red filled with vengeance and resentment. The two horses tangled chaotically as the two swords collided.

Then, a sound that no one had ever heard in their lifetime resounded enormously, reaching even the distant Hashim.

Chwaaang-!

A shockwave spread out, pressing the grass of the field flat. From afar, the fight between the two looked small, but all of its ferocity was conveyed.

With things having come to this, the direction of victory or defeat could not be known. So Hashim grew anxious, and without realizing it, he shattered the bottle containing the crystal flower.

He then put the crystal flower into a small bowl and crushed it thoroughly with a stick. It turned into powder, as if ice or glass were shattering. Hashim set fire to it.

Smoke rose, and Hashim brought it to his nose and inhaled deeply. Then a chilling, eerie scent like the coldness of the underworld passed through his nose and directly struck his brain, and something beyond it.

His body convulsed. Lost memories unfolded like a panorama, as if branding themselves onto his eyes.

At some pier, a slave boy was seen. His very thin body, draped in rags, bore clear signs of abuse. His pupils seemed to have died long ago. Hashim approached the boy and asked.

‘What is your name?’

‘Armand.’

'Do you not curse the world?'

‘It is just...... lonely.’

‘Then I will tell you one secret method, so would you like to make a family or friends?’

‘Yes.’

‘In exchange, your soul will no longer be yours.’

‘I already do not have a soul. You see, only by killing the soul can one live.’

‘I understand......’

It was impossible to know how long ago this memory was. Still, judging from the surrounding scenery, it could be inferred that it was an extremely long time ago.

Another memory unfolded, a magnificent mountain range covered in perpetual snow spread out before his eyes. Beside him stood a man with short hair, a very large build, and an honest looking face.

'No, really, I am telling you, if you pull out the horn, it will not be able to use its strength. There is a saying like that too, right? Even a bull’s horn should be pulled out in one breath.'

“That is not a saying to use in the current situation. And besides, the horn you are talking about right now is not that of a cow, is it not, but a dragon’s?”

'A horn is a horn. What difference does it make?'

'Haa......'

'Just trust this great Ilya! If you are really anxious, old man, then hide somewhere! I will take care of everything myself! With the dragon’s magic, we will recover the memories in one go! It is a perfect plan!'

The big man bent both of his arms as if showing off his strength, revealing his biceps. His ignorant yet bright smile was truly like sunlight.

However, that sunlight turned into scorching rays, and Hashim headed toward an even more distant past.

It was weather where one would start sweating profusely even while standing still. From afar, the sound of cicadas could be heard. He was standing in the middle of a wheat field. The yellow ripe wheat reached up to his waist.

'Say it again!'

'Ah, I am telling you it was just a mistake! You are being really picky. I said I am sorry!'

'Is that the attitude of someone who is sorry!? You did it on purpose, did you not!? You deliberately let the sheep loose into my field, did you not!?'

'No! I did not! Why would I do that on purpose!'

As he said that, the boy abruptly turned around and went on his way. In that instant, rage surged up within Hashim. He shoved the boy hard, then mounted the fallen boy, grabbed a nearby stone, and raised it high above his head.

Then he brought it down.

Thwack!

'Ah! What are you doing!'

Thwack!

'S, stop this! I am sorry! I was wrong......!'

Thwack!

'Please forgive me!'

Thwack!

'Cain, please...... forgive......'

Thwack! Thwack! Thwack! Crack!

“Huh!”

Cain snapped his eyes open. His eyes and mouth were wide open. From the enormous shock, his entire body trembled violently. His face was stiff, and tears streamed down his cheeks.

Though it was something from an unfathomably distant past, that horrific sensation was vividly alive in his hands.

Cain was overwhelmed by immense regret and guilt, and by his own unbearable cowardice. In order to escape from that guilt, he had discarded his own memories.

The reason he developed magic was largely for that reason, and after losing his memories, he had repeatedly committed the foolish act of relearning magic from the disciples he himself had taught.

Agony that crushed his heart and soul came rushing in. But at that moment, the shouts of the two brothers brought him back to reality.

“Coward!”

"You are the coward!"

The duel between the brothers had already become a filthy fight. It was heavily emotional, and there was no trace of the beauty of skill.

The two fell from their horses and rolled across the field, grappling with each other. At times Vilter mounted his younger brother, and at other times Ricardt reversed the situation and mounted him instead.

They struck wildly with their fists, ready to smash down with anything they could grab in their hands.

“No!”

Cain shouted. However, the cry was too far away to reach them. Magic, magic!

Cain hurriedly tried to use magic, but now that he had recovered his memories, he could not use the power of magic. This was because the essence of the magic he wielded was oblivion.

At that moment, Ricardt stretched out his hand and grabbed his own sword that had fallen nearby.

As a result, his posture collapsed somewhat, and in that opening, Vilter shook him off and escaped. He too gripped his sword. The two brothers swung at each other the instant they grasped their swords.

It was a hair’s breadth difference. Ricardt’s sword pierced through Vilter’s abdomen.

"Guh-ack!"

Clang.

Vilter let go of his sword. Though ten thousand brave men were gathered on the field, it was silent as if all were dead. Cain stared blankly at the scene.

Blood flowing from the abdomen of the man born from the same womb soaked Ricardt’s hand. The emotions that had been burning fiercely cooled as if it were a lie. What have I done?

Ricardt’s vision spun for a moment. Mother, I have killed your child. What should I do about this?

Vilter’s legs gave out and he collapsed, and Ricardt knelt down and caught him, holding him in his arms. Only now did words of apology fail to come out, and with his head in complete chaos, he could only move his lips wordlessly.

Vilter stretched out his trembling hand and touched Ricardt’s cheek. And only now, he spoke his true feelings.

“I missed you, Ricky......”

From Ricardt’s blank face, only tears fell drop by drop.

“Actually, I really am a coward. Father too, big brother too, I miss them...... I tried to build up a lot of patience...... I am sorry for saying such harsh things...... please forgive me...... haa......”

Vilter let out his final breath and his head drooped limply. His soul left through his open pupils.

The boy from the most beautiful memories, my brother, Billy, had not disappeared after all. Running together laughing in the fields, playing pranks, sleeping together at night, and that frightened look when parting......

What drove the boy to this extent?

Unable to accept reality at all, Ricardt remained dazed for a while, then lowered his head while clutching his dead brother’s body. He clenched his teeth so hard they seemed about to shatter.

He had prayed at the holy land that he wanted to become one who weeps quietly, but that wish seemed unlikely to come true.

Ricardt tilted his head back toward the ash gray sky filled with dark clouds and unleashed sorrow that was too heavy to bear.

"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaah!"

Ricardt’s scream reached the ten thousand people, and even Cain atop the rocky mountain.

Cain closed his eyes. His eyelids trembled, and his eyelashes grew wet. What must happen, happens in the end. Just as he had taught Armand.

However, now there was no longer any need for oblivion. As he vaguely realized the divine providence of God, there was only one earnest wish.

I will no longer run away and will bear eternal suffering, so please place his sin upon me. Let me hold his sorrow and pain......

Then suddenly, as if the prayer had truly reached the heavens, a single hole burst open in the sky filled with dark clouds. And from there, a beam of light shot straight down to where Ricardt was.

It was a golden pillar of light connecting earth and heaven, and that light poured down like a waterfall.

It was as if God was precisely pointing at someone with His finger. The One who observes the beginning and end of the universe, all of time, was precisely pointing at one person, right now, in the present moment.

Everyone present witnessed an event that could only be called a miracle, and their faces were dyed with astonishment.

Ricardt lifted his gaze to the light falling upon him, his hair fluttering. There was no dazzling glare, only pure white filling everything.

Within that pure white light were absolution of sin, forgiveness, compassion, and love in abundance. Sorrow and pain remained as they were, yet beyond them could be seen healing and joy.

His heart that had been torn into a thousand, ten thousand pieces, healed slowly yet quickly.

Then at some point, the beam of light grew thin and disappeared. The hole still gaped open in the sky, and the clouds slowly filled it in.

Ricardt suddenly felt that the arms holding Vilter had grown light. When he looked down, Vilter was nowhere to be seen. Only his own sword lay forlornly on the ground.

On the rocky mountain, only scattered clothes and ashes were blown by the wind.

Since the first murder had occurred, and it was one that happened between brothers, the long cycle of sin had finally come to an end.

All those on the field knelt before the knight chosen by God, ordained by God, removed what they wore on their heads, and made the sign of the cross.

For Ricardt, who kept his head bowed, there was no longer the former grief, nor any sobbing. There were only quiet tears flowing.

This was the way God saved everyone, and no one could understand it.

Chapter 30, Abel’s murder, Cain’s death. End.

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