Chapter 101

Chapter 101

***

Bremen and his group were suddenly terrified when Rickart and Marie began following them.

Even though they knew he was a decent person, having someone tag along who possessed the skill to decapitate a man with a mere walking stick was undeniably frightening.

Why is he following us? What does he intend to do? Did we do something wrong? Is he coming after our cows now that it's over? All sorts of anxious thoughts swirled through their minds.

Everyone looked to Bremen, silently asking what they should do. If they were going to run, they needed to run fast.

Bremen, who had been at the front of the procession, moved to the back and called out. His voice trembled slightly as well.

"Wh-What is the matter?!"

From a distance, Rickart simply raised his walking stick in a gesture implying everything was fine. Marie waved her hand as if in greeting.

Their intention of meaning no harm was clearly conveyed, but the group remained terrified. It was because Rickart was now carrying a sword they hadn't seen earlier.

Eventually, as Rickart drew closer, he spoke to Bremen. He was holding a cloth-wrapped sword in his left hand.

"I plan on heading to the Eastern Expeditionary Land... no, the Eastern Frontier too. Would you mind if we tagged along?"

"...Hmm? Why? No, no, I mean, we'd appreciate it, but why exactly..."

Having someone as strong as Rickart join them was an incredible godsend. However, it was impossible not to wonder WHY.

The rest of the group was heading there out of sheer desperation, but Rickart was the exact opposite. He was choosing to venture into the dangerous, harsh world when he could easily live in peace.

"I want to see with my own two eyes if there's truly a final beacon of hope to be found there. I can't find that out if I just keep tending sheep, can I?"

"......"

Since he had already decided, there was nothing to argue about, but his reasoning was utterly incomprehensible. Honestly, decapitating a man with a wooden stick was even more incomprehensible.

Regardless of whether they understood it or not, if Rickart wanted to tag along, they neither had the right nor the power to refuse. Not that Rickart was threatening them, of course.

The group, caught between bewilderment and fear, simply stayed silent. Thus, there was neither a warm welcome nor a cold rejection.

No, wait. There was at least one person who welcomed him. It was Roy. Roy approached Rickart with a bright, welcoming smile.

"Mister."

Rickart pointed to the flower crown resting on his head and smiled back. At that, Roy's smile grew even wider.

"Th-Then, shall we set off again? Or perhaps, introduce ourselves?"

Bremen asked, looking back at the group. But still, no one could find their voice.

Only Hartmann spoke up confidently.

"I'm Hartmann. I always intended to express my gratitude someday, so I'm glad the opportunity presented itself."

Rickart looked at him. His disposition seemed inherently steady, straightforward, and deeply gentle.

Rickart grasped the hand Hartmann extended and returned the handshake.

"I'm Ricky. There's no need for gratitude. I wasn't the owner of that land anyway. Please take care of us on our journey."

Seeing the two young men exchange greetings peacefully without any hostility, the rest of the group finally felt a sense of relief wash over them.

"I'm his wife, Elia."

"I'm Becca."

"And you're Roy, right?"

Since he already knew, Rickart affectionately quickly rubbed the boy's head as he spoke. Roy let out a soft "Hehehe" laugh.

"I'm Ricky's wife, Marie."

As Marie stepped forward to introduce herself as Rickart's wife, the people seemed somewhat awkward.

Because unlike Rickart, whose mismatched attire made his background ambiguous, Marie blatantly looked like an active sword-wielder.

She wore a dark blue gambeson over tight trousers, long boots, a cape, and above all, a sword at her waist...

While they couldn't possibly know this young couple's past, it was obvious they were far from ordinary.

The group consisted of Bremen the guide, the Hartmann family, the four siblings who had lost both parents after their father died yesterday, the unmarried mother Dalia and her baby, and the newly joined couple, Rickart and Marie.

"If the introductions are done, let's get moving again. We're heading to Wertheim. It would be appreciated if you two could cover the rear."

"Understood."

Rickart nodded.

The rear of a procession was always the most vulnerable and dangerous. Currently, since Rickart and Marie had no children and were in the prime of their combative age, they were the best fit for the rear guard. It was similar to a wolf pack's formation.

In the center was Dalia, alongside the four siblings and their oxen, while the Hartmann family took the lead.

The position analogous to an army's point man or scout naturally fell to their guide, Bremen.

They didn't just clump together and blindly trudge forward; they formed a proper formation of sorts as they marched.

Rickart followed at the very back, leaning on his walking stick with his right hand and holding his wrapped sword in his left.

As the fields gradually gave way to a well-trodden road frequented by travelers, a wave of profound emotion washed over him. He had truly re-entered the real world.

Around that time, Marie unexpectedly demanded a piggyback ride.

"My legs hurt."

Every now and then, Marie would act petty and childish with Rickart for no real reason, and today was one of those days. Without a word, Rickart simply hoisted her onto his back and walked.

For an ordinary person, it would be grueling work. But Rickart, even without invoking the 'wind', was more than capable of carrying her on his back all day long—no, for several days straight—without resting.

Perched on his back, Marie mischievously blew air on the back of his neck or gave him playful little nips. Rickart merely chuckled good-naturedly in response.

Perhaps this was due to her growing up starved of affection. Maybe she was satisfying that deep-seated emotional deficit by being pampered by Rickart.

Rickart never found it annoying and accepted everything. In fact, he felt grateful. It meant that while she usually wore a stoic suit of armor of independence, she was willing to completely disarm herself just for him.

At some point, the road transitioned from grass to a rocky path. Following the trail—which looked like a thoroughly dried-up riverbed—led them straight into a gorge.

There were mountains on either side, though they weren't particularly high. The real problem was the people peering down at them from high up on the right ridge.

Were they ordinary people or bandits? It was impossible to tell just by looking, and practically speaking, distinguishing between the two was meaningless. Out on the road, anyone could turn into a bandit if their target looked easy enough and the opportunity arose.

The group constantly threw anxious glances toward the mountaintop, while Rickart merely stared back calmly. Even from a distance, it was obvious those men had their eyes locked onto the oxen.

They didn't charge down blindly. Instead, they were carefully gauging the group's fighting strength—how many men there were, and what kind of weapons they carried.

"Marie, wait a second."

Rickart set Marie down. He picked up a reasonably sized pebble from the countless ones scattered across the path. Then, he hurled it with all his might directly at one of the men looking down from above.

The pebble shot in a perfectly straight line over a tremendous distance. It struck the head of a man wearing a mismatched, ill-fitting helmet with pinpoint accuracy.

CLANG!

A crisp, clear metallic ring echoed through the gorge. The man struck didn't die instantly, but the sheer force behind the stone snapped his head sideways, sending him sprawling to the ground. He was temporarily knocked unconscious.

The group flinched in shock and looked back at Rickart.

Rickart picked up another pebble and hurled it just as fiercely. The stone, flying at an unbelievably rapid speed, completely shattered someone's jaw this time.

The man could have easily dodged, but he was struck right in the brief second he hesitated with a confused, 'Huh?'.

CRACK!

Broken teeth scattered violently into the air. Only then did the spectators widen their eyes in sheer astonishment.

Regardless of their reaction, when Rickart picked up a third pebble and prepared to throw it, the men atop the gorge scrambled wildly like startled monkeys, dragging their fallen comrades with them as they disappeared behind the ridge.

Rickart casually tossed the stone back onto the ground and dusted off his hands. Then, he spoke to Lena, the eldest of the four siblings. Lena looked to be around fourteen or fifteen years old.

"If you're going to travel a long distance, it would be best to sell the oxen, aside from the one carrying your baggage. Your calves won't survive the journey anyway."

While livestock possessed great strength, their endurance was surprisingly inferior to human stamina. Furthermore, they struggled to adapt to sudden environmental changes.

Coupled with the fact that they consumed massive amounts of food and water, they simply weren't suited for long-distance travel. Oxen were best utilized for hauling heavy loads within a village, or moving goods between neighboring towns.

Perhaps because she had just witnessed Rickart's near-divine rock-throwing skills, Lena simply blinked her eyes in stunned silence.

"Ah, wh-what I mean is, um..."

While ordinarily she might have listened to Rickart's advice, she seemed extremely reluctant.

"Is there a reason?"

"I-It's just that, those oxen are the price of my mother's life... My father explicitly told us never to sell them no matter what..."

The price of her mother's life. It sounded like they harbored a profoundly heartbreaking story. However, Rickart didn't pry into their painful past and simply stated the facts.

"If you end up joining your mother because of those oxen, she would only be deeply saddened. If you survive and safely reach the Eastern Frontier, she would be overjoyed. The choice is yours. But if you insist on dragging them along, I can't guarantee our overall safety either."

Rickart spoke rather coldly. But it was the harsh reality; what else could he do?

No matter how strong Rickart was, he couldn't completely swat away every single fly and mosquito that swarmed them.

In the ensuing chaos, one or two people might realistically get killed. And if that happened, those young children had the highest probability of dying. It was impossible to control every single variable.

"......"

Lena and her younger siblings looked gloomy and deeply troubled, seemingly lost in thought. Lena was only fourteen or fifteen but had to take responsibility for three younger siblings. Their future was bleak.

Regardless, if it hadn't been for Rickart, they might have met their untimely end right there in that gorge. And it would likely have been entirely because of the oxen.

In a way, it wasn't just a problem for these four siblings; it was potentially creating a massive nuisance for the entire group.

Factually speaking, banditry was a dangerous and difficult profession. They only raided when there was actually something worth raiding. Unless they were starving out of their minds, they didn't just casually attack random poor travelers.

However, oxen were undeniably massive, lucrative prizes. To use a simple analogy, parading those cattle was like walking naked among a pack of starving wolves. Practically screaming for them to take a bite.

In this era, to possess much, one had to be equally strong. No one automatically guaranteed your right to property.

Regardless, thanks to Rickart, the group was able to continue traveling without interruption. As they emerged from the gorge, they could see Wertheim in the distance. The sunset was currently blazing a fiery crimson in the west.

However, an unbelievable number of outsiders had flocked there. The number of people unable to enter the city and stuck outside outnumbered the locals several times over.

Like a swarm of insects, they crowded outside the city walls, pitching tents and carving out a crude existence.

Where people gathered, necessities inevitably arose. Consequently, some people started doing business catering to them. Those with deft hands made and sold handicrafts, while others simply built crude shelters and settled down permanently.

Half of the crowd looked like outright beggars. The other half was slightly better off. Amidst this chaos, a select few were amassing wealth. And those amassing wealth were almost exclusively affiliated with criminal syndicates.

Of course, in a situation like this, distinguishing between what was a crime and what was maintaining order was incredibly difficult.

Ultimately, Rickart's group couldn't enter the city. It was too late in the day anyway.

But where could they possibly set up camp? In places like this, territories were almost always staked out. Invading someone else's space, even unknowingly, could trigger severe consequences.

Fortunately, Bremen's title as a guide wasn't for nothing; it seemed he had a few useful connections here.

After meeting someone and exchanging a few words, he secured a spot for their group to settle in. They unpacked their belongings and started a fire. Finally able to sit down or lie back, their battered bodies felt like they were melting. It almost felt as comfortable as a real home.

There was a reason travelers often said they made the sky their roof. When exhaustion seeped into your bones, simply sitting anywhere felt like pure bliss.

Rickart hung his flower crown on his sword hilt and rested near the campfire. But then, he noticed the four siblings were missing. Specifically, Lena the eldest, and her younger sister.

The third and youngest siblings were busy hauling heavy pots and pans with their tiny hands, preparing a meal for their older sisters.

The sun had completely set by the time Lena and her sister returned. Hartmann, who had just finished eating, stared at them quietly before asking:

"Did you sell them?"

"Huh? Ah, yes. The shepherd—no, the Hero's words felt right. We plan to offer half the money to God and we're thinking about how to spend the rest."

The money 'offered to God' would likely go towards soothing their guilty conscience. Understandably, Rickart didn't say a word about it. However, Marie was a different story.

"How much did you get?"

"Huh?"

"How many cows and calves did you sell, and how much money did you receive?"

"W-Well, um... we got two silver coins for one cow, and six copper coins for all three calves combined."

That meant they had sold everything except the one ox carrying their luggage. But clearly, they had received far too little.

Marie turned to Rickart and spoke.

"This ain't right, is it?"

"Hmm... That is pretty severe."

Deciding to sell the oxen was a good call, but they had received an absurdly low price.

A single cow should fetch at least ten silver coins. The calves also seemed completely healthy, so they should logically get a couple of silvers per head.

While market prices inevitably fluctuated wildly depending on the region, timing, and the cattle's condition... two silvers for a cow? This wasn't a bargain; it was straight-up highway robbery.

If she had just told me, I would have gone with her. What a shame. Regardless, it needed to be rectified right now.

"Who did you sell them to? Take me to him."

"Yes?"

Rickart stood up, taking only his walking stick while leaving his sword behind.

"Back in the day, before I became a shepherd, my specialty was collecting unpaid debts. Two silvers and six coppers is crossing the line. Lead the way. Let's go. Marie, keep an eye on things here."

"Okay."

Rickart purposefully strode directly toward the densely packed area.

From a distance, the numerous campfires and bonfires illuminated the darkness, making it look like a sea of stars.

Lena, not knowing what to do, stood frozen before frantically chasing after Rickart as he disappeared into that sea of stars. More precisely, she sprinted toward the brightest star of them all.