Chapter 100

Chapter 100

***

Harboring the heart of a god within a human vessel was akin to suffering an illness. It was feeling a profound, overwhelming sorrow for the world.

Therefore, in order to recover, Rickart withdrew from the mundane world and spent his days tending sheep alongside Marie. At night, he drifted off to sleep looking at Marie, and in the morning, Marie was the first thing he saw.

In reality, however, their life was closer to simply killing time. They did their daily chores, strolled through the meadows hand in hand, watched the sunsets, and that was it.

Without a grand purpose, without a shred of regret, they simply lived, thoroughly savoring each passing moment.

Occasionally, they offered food and their barn to passing travelers. If someone wasn't a kind traveler but a scumbag, they killed them. That was their only interaction with the wider world.

Until uninvited guests arrived.

"I asked you to keep this a secret..."

Rickart spoke to Bremen as he herded the sheep into the barn.

There were only a few of them—four or five adult sheep and three or four lambs. The lambs and ewes were separated into different pens.

This was because sheep surprisingly possessed very little maternal instinct. It was best to keep them separated except when nursing.

After securing the flock, Rickart turned back to Bremen. Having turned eighteen, his appearance was undeniably that of a fully matured adult.

He stood over 180 centimeters tall, his skeletal structure properly developed, making his shoulders broad. Though his forearms, exposed by his rolled-up sleeves, weren't monstrously thick, they radiated raw, explosive power.

"I apologize. But we couldn't just stand there and be slaughtered by bandits."

"That is true."

Rickart glanced toward the barn. Inside, there were a few injured people along with others tending to them, while the rest sat outside under pitched tents. From the looks of it, they wouldn't be leaving after just a day or two. Not if they had to wait for the injured to heal.

Marie stepped out of the barn after administering first aid to the wounded. She wore a highly practical blue dress, her hair covered by a white cloth. Covering one's hair signified that she was a married woman.

She wiped her hands on her perpetually stained apron as she approached. Even after washing her hands, the bloodstains hadn't completely faded.

Standing before Rickart, she too had grown taller, making her only slightly shorter than him.

"How are they?"

"Fifty-fifty."

Rickart asked, and Marie answered. It was a remarkably dry exchange. 'Fifty-fifty' meant their chances of survival were equal to their chances of dying.

Leaning lazily against the barn fence with one elbow propped up, Marie abruptly questioned Bremen. Her demeanor had acquired a certain ruggedness compared to the past.

"It's been about half a year, hasn't it? What happened to the people you were traveling with last time?"

"They all died."

"Attacked by bandits?"

"No."

"Then what?"

"They killed each other. Discord tends to visit equally, regardless of whether one possesses power or not."

"......"

Though both Rickart and Marie knew full well how brutal the world was, hearing it directly still left a sour taste in their mouths.

"Where did you say you were guiding those people back then?"

Rickart asked.

"The Eastern Frontier."

"...Expeditionary Land? You don't mean the Eastern Expeditionary Land?"

Failing to grasp the meaning immediately, Rickart tilted his head and asked again.

Because they had barely spoken during their first encounter, Rickart was only just now learning where Bremen was guiding these people.

"The campaign took place a century ago. It's an Expeditionary Land now. A sanctuary for the exhausted and weary, a place of salvation, and the ultimate final hope."

"That place is? I honestly find that hard to believe."

In Rickart's memory, the Eastern Expeditionary Land was a hellscape so horrific it shouldn't exist in this world. Yet, it was considered salvation and final hope?

It was hard to swallow readily. Part of him felt intrigued, while another part wondered how such a thing could possibly be true.

"Whether you believe it or not, more and more people are flocking there. And the vast majority die along the way."

"...Have you been there yourself, old man?"

"No."

"Then isn't it a scam?"

While he had always been somewhat straightforward, Rickart spoke with exceptional bluntness now.

"Because they all died before reaching Torveil. Have you heard of the Giant's Gateway? You must pass through it to reach the Expeditionary Land. Only if a group manages to stay together until that point will I finally proceed to the Eastern Frontier myself."

Rickart was well acquainted with Torveil. Back when he was a student at the academy, it was the city they reached after passing through Greifswald. It was the location of the branch manager of the Beringen Guild... Alta, was it?

That was where he undertook the deserting soldier pursuit mission—an experience that left his heart heavy upon finally confronting the deserter.

A massive mountain range cut north to south, acting as a boundary separating the Empire from the uncharted lands. Even in summer, the winds blowing down from those peaks were freezing cold.

"Anyway, I'd like to impose on you for a bit. I'll speak with the group to see if we can at least acquire a calf for you."

Because they lacked immediate funds, he seemed determined to pay them back in whatever way possible. Naturally, Rickart wasn't the kind of person to demand payment for something like this.

"That's fine. It's not a difficult or inconvenient thing anyway. Right? Marie."

Marie nodded silently.

Watching the couple, Bremen felt a peculiar sensation. How to describe it... they felt almost like beings residing outside the realm of humanity.

This couple helped others with a serene apathy, and killed with that exact same apathetic detachment. They were far from ordinary.

Above all, Rickart's overwhelming skill was absolutely abnormal. Decapitating a man with a mere wooden stick?

Setting aside whether one's skills were good or bad, one had to question if such a feat was physically possible.

Therefore, he was curious. He wanted to know the story of the young man standing before him.

"May I ask? What did you do before becoming a shepherd?"

At his question, the young couple smiled simultaneously. It was a smile laden with profound meaning. Now, they could substitute all their past hardships and heartaches with just one smile.

Of course, their past wasn't entirely defined by hardship. If it had been, they probably wouldn't have made it this far.

"Who knows? Many heroes since ancient times have hailed from a shepherding background. People don't know this, but this job is much rougher than it looks. Your stamina and fighting skills naturally improve."

That was technically true. Because sheep would consume even the roots of the grass and devastate the land if left in one spot, they had to constantly move.

Shepherds walked the mountains and fields all day, and if they encountered wolves or bandits, they had to possess enough martial prowess to survive, even if they couldn't defeat them outright.

They either had to break through the enemy and run swiftly to the village to raise the alarm, or handle it themselves. Because Rickart's past life was situated far from any village, he often dealt with such threats on his own. Armed only with a wooden crook.

Perhaps his familiarity with fighting alone traced back to those days.

Above all else, being a shepherd demanded a strong sense of responsibility. After all, if one set their mind to it, embezzling a few lambs was painfully easy.

When Rickart answered vaguely, Bremen let out an awkward laugh.

"Haha... Is that right? Of course. I've heard as much myself."

"Anyway, we won't accept any money, so please stay as long as you need. Just help out with a few chores while you're here, and that will be payment enough."

Whether it was repairing the barn or fetching water, there were plenty of tasks they could assist with.

Having spent the last few days roaming the fields, Rickart finally headed inside the cabin to rest.

In a way, they were incredibly lucky. To encounter Rickart in these vast plains at exactly the right time, exactly when they desperately needed him. If you really thought about it, this world was full of miracles.

As Rickart and Marie crunched toward the cabin, the refugees stared. Conscious of being uninvited guests with nothing to offer in return, they practically radiated awkwardness and discomfort.

Rickart reassured them with a simple, warm smile.

Near the cabin, he took off his shirt and began washing himself using a gourd to scoop water from a rain barrel. His firm muscles glistened under the sun.

Afterward, as he stepped straight into the cabin, Marie was in the process of taking off her headscarf. She turned back to look at him while fixing her slightly messy hair; though she had been living the life of a rural peasant's wife, her beauty remained blindingly radiant.

If there was one eternal truth in Rickart's world, it was that Marie was the most beautiful woman alive. Rickart took her face in his hands and kissed her.

Having finished their duties, Rickart began reflecting on the present with his uniquely objective perspective. Specifically, the words 'Eastern Frontier' occupied his thoughts.

Naturally, the hellish days spent there surfaced in his mind, but his heart didn't ache. Rather, he merely felt a lingering sense of melancholy for his first friend, Caldebert.

If he had one regret now, it was that he wished he had stayed by his side just a little bit longer.

Regardless, he pondered if human beings were truly incapable of permanently separating themselves from the world, no matter how desperately they sought to escape the mundane.

It wasn't as if they had isolated themselves due to disgust or disillusionment with the world in the first place. Perhaps he had just been exhausted from running relentlessly forward without ever looking back.

The heart of a god. Well, Rickart didn't particularly want to tie himself down to such a grandiose concept now.

Four years. It was more than enough time to cure whatever 'illness' he might have had. Though, looking back now, he felt somewhat perplexed, wondering if he was truly ever ill to begin with.

Leisurely tending the sheep and feeling the warmth of Marie's skin were excellent panaceas. Nothing calmed the mind and body quite like it.

But right now, his mind was persistently drifting far away toward the east.

That place, once blanketed in fire, steel, blood, and death—how exactly had it transformed to become people's final beacon of hope...?

After indulging in a long morning sleep rather than a midday nap, he finally emerged in the afternoon.

Stepping out of the cabin, the blue sky, warm sunlight, and a cool breeze greeted him. But such scenery only felt special the first few times; seeing it every day inevitably robbed it of its novelty.

The two cows grazed lazily in the field, while the young calves kept close.

Children played, either climbing on the cows' backs or petting the calves. The slightly older children took turns looking after the injured, or helped Marie carry things.

Hearing rhythmic cracking sounds, Rickart turned to see the man holding the axe furiously chopping firewood. He seemed to be trying to pay for their lodgings through labor alone.

They didn't seem like bad people. They merely appeared to be simple, honest folk. Granted, considering they were trying to flee to such a distant land, the stories buried in their hearts were likely quite dark.

For context, Bremen's group had originally included three young thugs who got captured by the bandits, leaving only three adult men. One of them was currently critically injured and hovering between life and death.

Furthermore, between Bremen and Hartmann, Bremen was practically an ancient man. Realistically, Hartmann was the only man capable of fulfilling a man's role in the party.

Rickart didn't need to hear their life stories to understand exactly how vulnerable this group was. All he could see were women and children.

Sensing someone behind him, he turned around to find a young boy, roughly eight or nine years old, standing hesitantly with both hands hidden behind his back.

"Do you need something?"

"A-Ah, no, it's not that, this..."

The boy shyly revealed what he was holding behind his back. It was a flower crown decorated with an assortment of red, yellow, and white spring wildflowers.

Rickart abruptly thought of Bori-bori, who loved flowers, and a smile naturally spread across his face. Was he still fond of them, he wondered?

"I'm sorry. I don't really have anything else to give you..."

"Nonsense. It's a wonderful gift."

Rickart accepted the flower crown and carefully placed it on his head. Surprisingly, it fit perfectly; the boy must have observed his head size from a distance.

Seeing Rickart seemingly delighted with the gift, the boy's tension visibly melted into relief.

"What is your name?"

"Roy."

"I'm Ricky. It's nice to meet you. You can stay here as comfortably as you like, so there's no need to tiptoe around me."

"Thank you!"

Roy, seemingly embarrassed again, scurried away toward his father. Hartmann, who had been chopping firewood while keeping an eye on them, tucked his son against his side and offered Rickart a subtle nod of respect.

Rickart nodded back, then headed to the barn to let the sheep out. He firmly grasped his wooden crook and began walking out into the meadow.

When he returned near dusk, the injured man had passed away. He left behind three daughters and one son. However, his children didn't cry before their father's grave.

It wasn't because they weren't sad. It was because they lived in an era where death was a constant, and they had long since accepted it as a part of life. The children of this era knew intimately that death was never far away. Moreover, considering his severe injuries, it wasn't exactly an unexpected outcome.

Most importantly, the suffocating anxiety and mounting dread regarding their sheer survival completely crushed whatever sorrow they might have felt.

The next day, Bremen's group dismantled their tents and prepared to depart. They didn't beg Rickart for any further favors; they simply expressed profound gratitude for the kindness he had already shown before setting off once more.

Rickart stood side-by-side with Marie, calmly watching them leave. They would probably die. They would likely be slaughtered by sudden, brutal violence before discord even had a chance to breed among them.

Marie spoke.

"Wanna follow them?"

"...Yeah. Let's do that."

It didn't require some earth-shattering resolve. Not to end a four-year stint as a shepherd.

Just as he had suddenly abandoned the secular world, he would simply plunge right back into it just as suddenly.

Rickart and Marie entered the cabin, pried up the wooden floorboards, and retrieved the gear they had buried there long ago.

The Holy Sword, or perhaps the Demon Sword. Rickart's blade was wrapped in cloth. Because he hadn't spared it a single glance since last wielding it, the hilt and guard were severely rusted and practically unusable. It looked like he'd need to visit a blacksmith to get them replaced entirely.

However, the blade itself—as if enchanted by magic—gleamed incredibly sharp, despite having not seen a whetstone in years.

While Marie dressed nicely in her proper travel attire, Rickart's body had grown considerably, meaning his old clothes no longer fit. The only things he could bring were his sword and red cape.

A shabby shepherd's outfit paired with a flowing red cape. It was a horribly mismatched combination, but he had no other choice.

The young couple gathered their essentials, headed to the barn, and simply released the sheep back into the fields. They could have easily taken them to a nearby village or city to sell, but they didn't bother.

Rickart silently watched the sheep wander off into the grass. Looking at him, Marie remarked.

"Ricky, standing like that, you look exactly like a wizard."

It was an absurd comment, but understandable; a young man clad in a ragged outfit, draped in a red cape, holding a sword in one hand and a wooden staff in the other—it was a rather comical sight.

Furthermore, Marie had secretly grabbed the flower crown at some point and placed it right back on his head. The sight becoming even more ridiculous sent Marie into fits of laughter.

Rickart laughed along and replied.

"Let's go."

And so, leaning on his wooden crook, Rickart walked alongside Marie, tracing the steps of those embarking on an impossibly long journey. The red cape billowed wildly in the wind.