Chapter 102

Chapter 102

***

Around every flickering flame, people were gathered. Beneath the light, they did little else besides rolling dice or playing cards.

Rather than doing it out of enjoyment, gambling and drinking were simply a part of their existence.

Was it to soothe the boredom of sleepless nights, or was there another reason they couldn't sleep?

The latter was closer to the truth. Even though it wasn't a battlefield, they had to stand watch through the night to protect their families and property. Thievery was a common occurrence here.

Of course, if caught, having your hands chopped off was the standard punishment, or worse, being strung up immediately by an angry mob.

Broken wooden planks were scattered across the muddy ground like irregular stepping stones. Rickart held Lena's hand as his boots clomped steadily over the wooden planks.

A thick stench of dung wafted from afar and assaulted Rickart's nose. Unfortunately, the direction Lena was pointing in happened to be the source of that smell.

The source of the stench was a roughly fenced-in area partitioned into sections containing livestock. Goats, sheep, cattle, packhorses, and donkeys. In one corner, there were even domestic rabbits, chickens, and geese.

It looked as though every animal a human being could raise was gathered there. In reality, this was where merchants congregated to buy livestock cheaply from migrants and sell them at a massive premium.

Flickering bonfires provided some light, but they couldn't chase away all the darkness, leaving the surroundings relatively dim. Lena looked around, unable to find the merchant she had sold her oxen to.

Rickart waited patiently for a moment before approaching a group enthusiastically rolling dice.

"Where might I find the cattle merchants?"

A man with his arms crossed, watching the game, turned to Rickart. He gave Rickart a cursory up-and-down glance before pointing toward another gambling circle.

"Go over there."

Looking up, Rickart saw a place illuminated by several bonfires where a rather large gambling game was taking place.

Rickart and Lena walked toward it. Despite her anxiety, leaning her fate on Rickart brought her a strange sense of anticipation and comfort.

The large gambling table even had a dedicated dealer. Cards were placed face down, and the gamblers placed their bets. The minimum bet was silver coins, and there were even a few gold coins visible.

Rickart asked Lena.

"Is he here?"

Lena carefully scrutinized the faces illuminated by the firelight before pointing to one of the men placing a bet.

"That man..."

As soon as Lena pointed him out, Rickart walked right up and tapped the man's back. A man with a dirty beard wearing a coif turned around.

Unsure if Rickart had bumped him intentionally or accidentally, he stared blankly. Rickart spoke.

"You know her, right?"

Rickart nodded toward Lena. The cattle merchant immediately recognized her without needing a closer look. And he easily guessed why Rickart was here.

"The deal is already done."

"That wasn't a deal. It's an outright scam."

"If I scanned you, the crowd would have pulled my tongue out by now. But I'm intact, ain't I?"

"So, you're saying you won't pay a fair price?"

"Heh, look at this guy. Know your place before you start actin' all big and bad."

Acting all big and bad? Rickart didn't know the exact meaning, but he figured it was local slang for making an empty threat and causing a scene.

True to form, the large men surrounding the gambling table shot provocative glares at Rickart. It was a silent warning that spoutin' nonsense wouldn't end well for him.

However, Rickart responded with actions, not words. Out of nowhere, he violently kicked the gambling table.

CRASH!

Cards scattered everywhere, and coins clattered as they hit the ground. The people nearby were shocked and startled.

But some weren't, and the atmosphere instantly turned murderous. Rickart stared intently at the seated cattle merchant and spoke.

"I asked you a question. Are you going to pay the fair price right now? Answer me."

Sensing a violent brawl was imminent, unrelated bystanders hastily scrambled to pick up their money and quickly vacated the area. Conversely, some came over from a distance to watch the impending fight.

Throughout all this, the cattle merchant remained seated, looking Rickart up and down. A worn but cleanly washed outfit and a red cape. No weapons, just a single walking stick. What kind of getup was this?

As a cattle merchant, it was difficult to discern Rickart's background from his appearance. Was he just a hot-blooded, cocky youth, or was someone this bold truly capable of backing it up?

Fortunately—or unfortunately—an opportunity to gauge Rickart's true worth immediately presented itself.

"Hey, punk."

Unable to watch any longer, a burly man reached out to grab Rickart. However, Rickart swiftly snatched the man's wrist, and an uncanny sound echoed around them.

CRACK.

Rather than pain, the burly man felt a terrifying chill down his spine as his hand powerlessly flopped down against his will.

In the moment he let out a confused "Huh?", Rickart grabbed him by the waist and the scruff of his neck, hurling him straight into the livestock pen. It was a display of monstrous strength.

Ultimately, the man face-planted into mud thick with dung. And wallowed in it helplessly.

Silence blanketed the area momentarily. Then, realizing their comrade had been taken down, the thugs yelled out.

"You little fucker!"

"You wanna go?!"

However, as Rickart's walking stick danced like lightning, accompanied by sharp THWACK! THWACK! sounds, the thugs collapsed to the ground in an absurdly easy manner.

The other thugs, having no idea what had happened to their friends or comrades, scrambled frantically to draw their weapons.

But Rickart, unyielding and focused, pointed the tip of his stick directly at them and stated:

"Draw your swords, and you die."

In the world of swordsmen, there was an unwritten, ironclad rule. It essentially meant that if an opponent drew a blade on you, you were fully justified in killing them. Therefore, those who lived by the sword were actually the most cautious about drawing their weapons.

No matter how close they were, pointing a blade at someone was crossing a line. This was exactly why Bori-bori had been so deeply shocked four years ago when Ice aimed his sword at his friends.

This was one of the few rules Rickart actually followed. Unarmed opponents would only get a beating, but those who brandished weapons were, more often than not, killed outright.

Faced with Rickart's ghostly skills, disciplined movements, and unwavering gaze, the thugs froze motionless, their hands hovering over their weapons.

Only then did they realize they were dealing with a fighter on an entirely different level.

His unhesitant, commanding attitude overpowered the crowd in an instant. Rickart planted his stick on the ground once more and looked at the cattle merchant. Pinned by Rickart's gaze, the man wore a blank expression.

"Answer."

"...Yes?"

"I said answer me. Will you pay a fair price?"

"Uh... Y-Yes. Of course. One must do business with a conscience. Obviously."

Trembling violently, the cattle merchant pulled out his coin pouch. He offered it to Rickart with both hands.

Rickart took only twenty silver coins from it before casually tossing the rest back. Then, he firmly pressed the twenty silver coins into the deeply troubled girl's hand.

"Let's go. Start doing business properly."

Leaving the merchant with one final remark, Rickart took Lena back to their campsite.

The cattle merchant stared blankly down at his returned coin pouch. Why do I still have this? For a moment, he was thoroughly confused as he tried to comprehend the situation.

When Rickart returned to the campsite, everyone looked at him with worried eyes.

He had apparently succeeded in either beating someone up or somehow getting their money back, but they feared the inevitable retaliation.

Of course, Marie didn't care at all, acting as if nothing had happened, while Roy simply looked at him with sheer admiration.

Even his own father would sometimes remain passive in the face of unjust threats or pressure, yet Rickart had confidently walked in and retrieved the money.

However, Bremen, the guide responsible for the group, felt differently.

"Listen here, was that really necessary..."

"What is it?"

"The merchants here are protected by the Lyken Brotherhood. They won't just let this slide."

"Even so, they can't simply be scammed in broad daylight."

"But they weren't completely robbed. A few silver coins would have eventually bought those kids enough food and water to reach Torveil."

Rickart felt a stark difference in mentality, regardless of right or wrong. While he disliked evaluating or lecturing people on their beliefs, wrong was simply wrong.

"Well, if you let them walk all over you once, they'll do it again next time. It's like taking constant steps backward. If you keep giving in to the threats and intimidation of bad men, you'll eventually find yourself backed into a corner as a slave. Do you really believe there's any salvation or hope if you arrive at the Eastern Frontier with a slave's mentality?"

Be it a big issue or a small one, giving things up piece by piece inevitably leads to losing everything. That was Rickart's philosophy. Surrendering your very soul to others just to keep your body breathing.

He deeply respected those who struggled fiercely to survive. However, at the same time, he vehemently despised acts of subservience.

Pursing independence demanded facing your destiny, rather than simply having a warrior's resolve.

Salvation extended its hand to those intent on self-reliance. Just like how Marie and his friends became Sword Masters. Thus, Rickart remained absolutely convinced in this regard.

Perhaps because of his inherent disposition, Hartmann nodded heavily, agreeing with Rickart's words. Meanwhile, Roy, listening as if entirely mesmerized, unconsciously carved those words into his heart.

However, Bremen and the others still looked deeply worried.

"We aren't as strong as you..."

Perhaps realizing he was far too old to exert any kind of resisting force, Bremen muttered to himself softly.

"I don't consider traveling an incredibly long distance together to be a trivial connection. I will help you, so please don't worry too much. Perhaps acting this way will actually increase our chances of success, won't it?"

Ironically, embracing danger might be the only way to pierce through it and achieve one's goals. Perhaps dodging and running away were the true causes of their past failures.

Regardless, Lena clutched the recovered money tightly in her hands. It felt exceptionally precious to her. Because it was the price of her mother's life, and a hero-like brother had reclaimed it for her.

The night deepened.

The next morning, as if following a predetermined script, a member of the Lyken Brotherhood paid them a visit. He wore flamboyant silk clothing and a thick fur cloak. His already massive frame looked even larger draped in fur.

He wore rings embedded with thick jewels on all ten fingers, and a heavy gold necklace dangled from his neck.

He arrived with his lackeys and the cattle merchant in tow. The merchant pointed to Rickart, who was eating breakfast by the fire.

While everyone watched nervously, Rickart swallowed his food, silently picked up his walking stick, and walked toward him.

"Good morning."

The opposition flashed a grin and greeted him first.

"What is your business?"

"I heard you can fight."

"And?"

"Care to show me?"

Rickart watched him quietly for a moment, then began flicking his walking stick back and forth right in front of the man's face using solely his wrist. The man flinched slightly, thinking he was about to be hit, but quickly pretended he was unfazed.

When Rickart firmly planted the stick back on the ground with a soft THUD, the man's fur cloak tumbled to the dirt, the cord holding it having been sliced clean through.

But that wasn't all. His heavy gold necklace was also severed, clattering to the floor, followed closely by his trousers, which fell to his ankles as his belt cleanly snapped.

The eyes of everyone watching nervously went as wide as saucers. A magician. He must be a magician.

No one assumed Rickart was a swordsman. They truly believed him to be a wizard.

The man who had arrived leading his lackeys stared down at his hairy bare legs for a long while.

He quietly hitched up his trousers and spoke.

"I apologize for interrupting your meal."

Holding his pants up, he turned around and retreated back the way he came. His lackeys hurriedly scooped up the fallen cloak and necklace before chasing after him.

By lunchtime, another person arrived with his own lackeys. Unlike the man from that morning, this was a young swordsman simply dressed in a plain gambeson and a cape, a sword belted to his waist.

His presence was formidable, but to Rickart and Marie's eyes, he was nothing special.

To the others, however, their hearts pounded with anxiety, certain an actual sword fight was about to erupt. Hartmann quietly reached for his ax nearby.

Beside the swordsman stood the man whose pants had been cut that morning. This time, he pointed at Rickart, who was eating again. So much for his apologies about interrupting their meals.

The newly arrived swordsman stared intently at Rickart and tilted his head. A look of surprise crossed his face, his eyes widening in alarm.

"Huh?"

Rickart didn't recognize him at first either, but soon realized he looked familiar, and his eyes widened too.

"Huh?"

Concrete memories didn't surface instantly, but it came back to him soon enough. He was the adventurer Rickart had seen in Rheinfurt after leaving home at the age of ten. The captain of the clan to which Sandy belonged. Blatt, was it?

Meeting someone so unexpectedly in such an unlikely place left both of them staring at each other with dumbfounded expressions. Why are you here?