Chapter 177

Translator: Willia

There was no need to ask anyone whether spring had come. New shoots were sprouting, buds were forming on the trees, and flowers blooming in season swayed gently in the breeze.

Frogs awakened from hibernation swam about the little streams as though they owned them, sometimes perching on leaves to rest. Small yellow butterflies fluttered peacefully through the air.

Amid the chirping of insects in the grass came the creak, creak of a waterwheel turning in a nearby village.

And yet, though the sun stood high overhead, none of the familiar sounds of daily life could be heard. It was far too quiet.

Trampled vegetable plots, empty cattle sheds, farm tools scattered in disarray, and people lying motionless here and there as though asleep. Blood slowly spreading from beneath them.

“Hey, lend me your sword.”

In the village, silent as death, a voice came from a house whose door had been half smashed apart.

“Why?”

“What do you mean, why? Mine’s brand-new.”

“So what?”

“You want me to fucking use a blade I haven’t even broken in yet on this?”

“Keep saving it and it’ll turn to shit, dumbass. Just use it.”

“Come on, just lend me yours.”

“Ugh.”

A moment later, apparently having borrowed his companion’s sword, there came a sound like meat being sliced. It was chilling enough to make anyone afraid to look inside and see what was happening.

Before long, two men emerged from the house. One adjusted his trousers while the other wiped his hands on a cloth.

Both looked to be somewhere in their twenties or thirties, and they were surprisingly neat in appearance.

Their leather vests showed some signs of use, but were hardly worn, and there was no blood spattered across their clothes. Only their hands were stained with it.

There was one strange thing about them, perhaps the most shocking thing of all. Neither looked excited nor exhausted. They simply looked bored.

Had they done it so many times, far too many to count, that ordinary crimes could no longer satisfy them?

They went about all of it with matter-of-fact detachment. Even satisfying their own desires.

The man wiping his hands tossed the cloth onto the ground as he spoke. It was covered in bloodstains, and blotches of blood still remained on his incompletely cleaned hands.

“Did everyone else leave already?”

“We’re the last ones.”

“There’s no such thing as being late. We’re just gonna sit around waiting forever again anyway.”

“True. I’m getting bored of this shit too. Isn’t there anything fun to do?”

“It’s because we’re the ones taking orders. Makes you feel pressured for no reason, so you can’t even enjoy it properly.”

“So what, you want to leave the clan? Then we’d be criminals.”

“Who gives a shit whether we’re criminals or not? The nobles are too busy fighting their wars. Anyway, what did the Viola Clan decide to do?”

“That guy Metzger died. Went there as an envoy and got killed.”

“Oh, figures. Those bastards have some guts after all. Good. That’s what makes it fun. Honestly, it’s better when they put up a bit of a fight, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. I never understood when the veteran adventurers used to say it was better when they fought back, but lately I’m starting to think they were right.”

From their tone and manner of speaking, it sounded like idle small talk about nothing in particular.

The two trudged away from the house as they talked. They followed the direction their companions had gone, strolling along at an unhurried pace.

The village was isolated, so its roads were hardly well maintained. It was just a narrow, rough country lane. Looking only at the scenery around them, they might have been two men leisurely enjoying the spring weather.

But shortly after leaving the village, they saw three men approaching from the opposite direction, swords at their waists. It was an odd-looking group.

One was tall and powerfully built, another short and slight. The last was even a boy, with an axe strapped across his back.

The two criminals, both former adventurers, initially assumed they were fellow clan members. The members of the One-Eye Clan did not all know one another. They were a collection of people scraped together haphazardly from all over the place.

But as the two men drew closer to the three approaching from the other direction, they began to sense something strangely different about them.

Farmers, woodcutters, sailors, people from every trade carried a distinctive air about them, and these three gave off an air unlike their own.

They were swordsmen too, yet they did not have the slack, unfocused eyes peculiar to criminals. All three had clear, steady gazes. Their eyes were fixed straight on the two men.

Meeting on the narrow road, neither side looked away. Yet it was nothing like the provocative staring contests of common thugs. Nor did they show the conspicuous wariness of men moments away from a duel.

All the while, their walking pace remained unchanged, and the distance between them steadily shrank. It was a bright spring day.

In the end, it was the two criminals who stopped first. One raised a hand as though telling the others not to come any closer.

“Stop.”

Rather more readily than expected, the three approaching men stopped as well.

“Never seen you before. Who are you?”

The man who had bought a new sword and had yet to use it was the first to ask.

The powerfully built man answered. He wore a red cloak. It was Ricardt.

“Never seen you two before either.”

“So who are you?”

“Who are you?”

“Hm. All right... Don’t get the wrong idea. We’re not looking for a fight. We’ll step aside first, and you can just pass. How’s that? We don’t make a hobby of pointless sword fights. We’re not some common street trash.”

The two criminals had no desire to pick a fight with armed men. Especially not men whose bearing suggested they would be anything but easy opponents.

Ricardt, Bori, and Roy were not radiating killing intent, but they did not avert their eyes either. They merely stared at the two men directly and calmly, and the criminals sensed something in that.

The two criminals stepped off the road and moved what they considered a safe distance away. But Ricardt was not finished with them.

Ricardt looked toward the nearby village. An unnatural silence hung over it. Truthfully, that alone was enough for him to guess what had happened. No, he was nearly certain.

So he looked at the two men who had stepped aside and spoke.

“You never answered my question.”

“What?”

“I asked who you are.”

“Does it matter?”

“No reason you can’t say it openly. Are you with the One-Eye Clan, by any chance?”

At the mention of the One-Eye Clan, the two men’s expressions changed. They had already yielded this much, yet the fact that he was asking about their affiliation carried a faint hostility they could not miss.

“And if we are?”

“I have something to ask.”

“You looking to join, or...?”

“Your clan master’s location.”

“......”

The wind blew. Fresh spring sunlight poured down, and flowers in the field swayed gently back and forth. There was no need for any more words.

“Guess I’ll have to break it in now.”

One of the two criminals spoke. The man who had asked to borrow a sword earlier silently drew his own. It was unmistakably new, its blade gleaming with a slick sheen and flashing as it reflected the sunlight.

He gave them one final warning.

“We are One-Eye Clan. Don’t do anything you’ll regret.”

“Looks to me like you’re the ones who already did.”

Ricardt stepped forward. On the road, his footsteps had gone thud, thud. Once he stepped onto the grass, the sound softened to rustle, rustle beneath his feet.

As he walked, he drew his sword. Ricardt’s blade likewise flashed as though it were new, though the guard and grip showed signs of use.

Without the slightest hesitation or caution, Ricardt simply walked toward the two men while Bori and Roy watched from behind.

The sight was deeply strange, but one of the criminals abruptly pulled out a throwing knife and hurled it.

It flew with lethal speed, but Ricardt merely turned his body slightly and let it pass. At the exact same moment, the man with the new sword shot forward like an arrow.

He closed the distance in two great strides, his new blade flashing as it swept diagonally toward Ricardt.

Then, in an instant, Ricardt vanished from sight. The criminal could not tell whether Ricardt had disappeared from right in front of him or whether he had lost sight of him an instant earlier. For a fraction of a second, confusion seized him. Then his heel flared with heat, and he suddenly collapsed onto the grass.

“Aaagh!”

Pain surged through him, tearing out a scream. He tried to spring back up and regain his stance, but he could no longer put weight on his foot. The tendon at his heel had already been severed. How? When? The questions flickered through his mind for a moment.

But there was no time to dwell on them. Alarmed, he whipped his head around. His companion was still standing there, already headless.

Ricardt stood a short distance beside him, sword still in hand. The criminal’s eyes bulged wide. Before fear, what he felt first was sheer disbelief.

His companion toppled as blood sprayed from the severed neck. Ricardt calmly sheathed his sword, looked down at the fallen man, then spoke to Bori and Roy.

“Keep an eye on this one. I’m going to take a look around. Don’t kill him.”

“Yeah.”

“Yes.”

Ricardt walked toward the nearby village. There was no real need to search it. A quick look around was enough to tell him what had happened.

Then the heavy reek of blood reached him from somewhere. Ricardt naturally followed it toward its source.

It came from a small house. Ricardt reached it, looked inside, and stood there for a moment. He showed no sign of surprise or agitation. He merely turned his head and called out to Roy.

“Roy! Come here!”

His master and king had summoned him, so Roy ran over. Once Roy arrived, Ricardt gestured toward the inside of the house with his chin.

“Take a look.”

Roy did as Ricardt said and looked inside. His eyes flew wide, and he froze where he stood. Something too horrific to describe lay before him.

There was no human shape left. It was difficult even to tell whether the remains had belonged to men or women. There were only bones, chunks of flesh, blood, and entrails scattered chaotically around the room. There seemed to be some sort of pattern to it, yet at the same time there was none. The only thing that could vaguely be discerned was that there appeared to have been more than one victim.

What in the world had they done? It looked almost like butchery, or perhaps the aftermath of torture. Yet it was neither. These were traces left by desire.

“What do you think when you see this? Are you afraid? Angry? Or disgusted?”

Ricardt asked, but Roy could not answer immediately. The shock had been so great that his mind had gone blank for a moment.

Roy was still young, but he had grown up rough and had seen all manner of things. Yet this was truly a first for him. War crimes were the most horrific of all crimes.

Ricardt gave him a light nudge. Only then did Roy snap back to himself and manage to answer.

“I... I don’t know.”

“There’s nothing shameful about being shocked. If anything, remember that feeling well. Forget it, and you end up like those bastards over there.”

Ricardt pointed toward the man sitting helplessly on the ground with the tendon at his heel severed, unable to flee under Bori’s watch.

His sword had never even gotten the chance to be broken in. Now it was in Bori’s hand, spinning around like a toy.

The contrast between the two scenes was extreme. On one side, spring was in full bloom. On the other was something like a slice of hell.

“Are they demons?”

Roy asked. Ricardt’s answer was so matter-of-fact it was almost cruel.

“No. They’re human.”

“Human, like me?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“You can’t help being disgusted. But calling men like that demons is just an escape, Roy. If you label them demons and treat them as demons, you’ll gradually become a demon yourself without realizing it. Just look at them for what they are.”

“For what they are? What does that mean?”

“That weak human over there. Look at that weakness and see your own reflection in it. Ask yourself whether you’re truly any different. Even if that moment hasn’t come for you yet, when you someday face your own moment of corruption, will you be able to stand firm? It’s darkness too deep for you to confront fully right now, but it exists inside you too. It exists inside me. It doesn’t disappear. You have to stay vigilant against it until the day you die. Don’t waver before it, but don’t deny it either. The more you try to deny that darkness, the more easily it can swallow you.”

“Have you ever asked yourself that, Your Majesty?”

“No. I’ve already been through it.”

“......”

Ricardt walked back toward the surviving criminal. The man panted heavily, his frightened eyes darting from side to side. Ricardt and Bori merely stared at him without pity, sympathy, or hostility.

“Where’s your clan master?”

“......P-please, spare me. Just spare my life.”

“Bori, give me that sword.”

Bori had been idly twirling the enemy’s sword in his hand like a toy. He flicked it through the air. Ricardt caught it lightly and spoke.

“I saw what you did. Considering how much the blood had congealed and how long ago you left, it wasn’t hard to tell. Where’s your clan master?”

“......I-I don’t know that either. There’s only a staging area. W-Weissfeld. It’s Weissfeld. I’ll answer every question you ask. S-so, so please......”

The criminal trembled violently as his eyes moved constantly between Ricardt, Bori, and Roy.

The boy looked somewhat tense, but Ricardt and Bori neither sneered nor grew angry. They were simply chillingly indifferent, so much so that he wondered how people could possibly react that way.

The criminal sensed something in that indifference. They were not his kind, yet there was something similar about them. That similarity was a tolerance for cruelty.

And so he steeled himself as best he could, swallowed hard, and made one final decision.

“......Then please kill me as cleanly as possible. Without pain.”

At the nameless criminal’s words, an expression finally appeared on Ricardt’s face. The corners of his mouth curled upward, and he chuckled, heh heh heh. Bori did the same. What was so funny?

The criminal’s already terrified eyes widened even further. Why? Why were they laughing?

Suddenly, his vision flashed white. Then it went pitch black.

“Aaagh!”

Ricardt had swung the sword like lightning, the tip slicing precisely across both of the man’s eyes and the space between his brows.

“You’re a funny bastard. Who said we were going to kill you? Don’t get the wrong idea. We’re not heroes of justice, and we’re not avenging the villagers. We just need information, and we’re going to get it from you. Every time your answers disappoint me, I’ll treat you to a new kind of pain.”

The criminal’s jaw trembled uncontrollably. Tears mixed with blood streamed from his blinded eyes.

He had run into the wrong people. That was what the criminal thought. He had known that perhaps someday he would be punished, and he had occasionally thought he might die and fall into hell, but he had never imagined an ending like this.

The sunlight was clear and warm, and the spring breeze was cool. Insects chirped in the grass, and the waterwheel creaked as it turned. Butterflies fluttered among the flowers, while torture took place in the meadow.

There was no justice. There was only the carrying out of the Council of Six’s resolution.

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