Chapter 110

Chapter 110

***

Driven out from the sweet dream of heaven they had briefly tasted, they came out again into a world of cold, hunger, uncomfortable beds, and crawling with robbers.

The steadfast father said nothing, and the mother and sister merely embraced Roy. Not a single word of resentment was spoken.

Looking at Hartmann's family, Rickart thought of his own family. Unconditional support, consideration, and love.

He had thought of this at some point. That he already had it all. Roy seemed to as well, but reality was not easy.

Guilt was crushing the boy's chest. It was because his family was suffering due to his own actions.

If I had just said it wasn't me, that I had done nothing wrong and Les had done it, would everything have been fine? I would live, but what about Les?

Perhaps rather than friendship or such things, it was because of his aversion to being a snitch. He didn't want to be an informer. Friend or not, he didn't want to save himself by selling out someone else.

Yet despite that, he didn't know if his choice was right. His revered father didn't know, nor did his loving mother.

That was why children needed teachers. Someone who could shape and nurture them in ways parents and family couldn't.

Children needed someone who could shape them into jewels and stars that would someday shine brilliantly.

Regrettably, however, the problem was that Rickart didn't have much talent for teaching anyone.

It was a cool spring day. No matter how dangerous the world was said to be, most of the time was simply boring before cruel violence suddenly struck.

Being bored before suddenly encountering unbearable misery was the daily routine of this era.

Fortunately, it was a peaceful time right now.

Rickart stood in the knee-high grass, glaring at Roy with a scrunched-up expression. Roy was diligently swinging a wooden stick, but it was exceedingly clumsy.

He had corrected his posture a few times, but there was no major change. Unable to hold back, Rickart finally spoke up.

"Hey, you have arms and legs, and I have arms and legs too, so why can't you do it?"

Roy stopped swinging the stick, thought quietly about his master's scolding, and answered.

"Um... Master, you're used to it because you've done it many times, and I'm just starting out?"

At the unexpected backtalk, Rickart was momentarily left speechless before regaining his senses.

"I could do it from the beginning. No one even taught me."

"I see."

"Y-You see?"

"If I work hard, won't I eventually be able to cut off a person's head with a wooden stick like you, Master?"

"Do you think anyone can do this? To reach my level, you'd have to be a hundred years old."

It was hard to tell if he was teaching or trying to instill despair, but fortunately, Roy wasn't intimidated.

In fact, Roy wasn't completely devoid of talent. He wasn't exceptionally outstanding either. He was just at the level of kids his age.

But Rickart was frustrated by that ordinary level. He fundamentally couldn't understand that mastering a single movement required repeated practice, let alone repeating it for days, weeks, and months.

There were truly important things to focus on. These things should be accomplished quickly. His head was full of such thoughts.

Furthermore, having never experienced the difficulties or roadblocks of an ordinary person, he couldn't understand them at all and merely nagged about why it wasn't working.

"Watch closely. Shifting your center of gravity and putting your weight into it is important. You can't cut flesh and bone just by swinging your arm. Focus on your footing. Your arm merely guides the path of the sword. Though you shouldn't be too relaxed either. Ah geez, this is frustrating."

Trying to put into words the bodily movements that naturally came to him without needing to think felt like his insides were tying up in knots.

"Please wait a little bit. I will practice hard and try to get used to it as fast as possible."

"......You're really good with words. If you're so good with words, you should have defended yourself well back then."

Among all the people who had briefly received teachings from Rickart, this was the first time someone had answered back like this. However, since he wasn't being disrespectful, Rickart didn't mind it either.

"I'm not good at lying. That doesn't mean speaking the truth as it is was easy either. But I do wonder if I could have handled it a bit more wisely."

As if reminiscing, Roy spoke with his head bowed and a sullen expression. Seeing his downcast appearance, Rickart didn't feel comfortable either.

"......You kid."

Rickart stroked the head of Roy, who was about the same age he was when he left home. Roy was currently nine years old, and would soon be ten once his birthday passed.

He also had blonde hair, and his sturdy build inherited from his father made him look somewhat similar to Rickart in some ways. If someone saw them, they might even think of them as a younger brother or a son born early.

Rickart didn't bother telling his disciple what he should or shouldn't have done. Why? Because he himself didn't know either.

He merely watched over him, hoping he would deeply ponder things himself and grow through those contemplations.

Since his innate disposition itself was strong and beautiful, he believed he would turn out well. Truth be told, he had taken him as a disciple purely because of that, so it was fine even if he was a bit poor with a sword.

"Ricky! Roy!"

It was Marie's voice. Turning his head, he saw her calling the two from under the shade of a tree a short distance away. It was mealtime.

"Yeah, well, let's take it slowly. I'm just worried you might die of old age doing this."

Rickart took Roy and walked together towards the tree.

Sitting next to Marie, Roy, acting as a disciple, took exactly meant to say before eating, handing Rickart this and that first. Seeing the little kid act so admirably made everyone smile as they watched.

Gathering together under the tree to eat, they truly felt like a family. Bremen the grandfather, Hartmann and Rickart as brothers each with their own wives, something like that.

Under the shade of the tree, the sound of branches swaying in the wind tickled the people's ears.

Roy blankly watched his mother, who had first taken care of the others and was merely scraping the leftovers to eat. She had been so abundantly provided with food there. And her dazzlingly beautiful appearance.

"Mom......"

"Hmm?"

"I'm sorry......"

At her son's apology, Elia smiled more gently than anything in the world.

"No, Mom is sorry. Us being together is what's happiest, but I briefly forgot that. Not even knowing you were going through such things."

The family knew Roy was innocent. And they had belatedly heard about the five days of harassment and knew of it.

"......I'm full. Mom, you eat this."

Roy stopped eating his white porridge halfway and handed it to his mother. Then Elia also only ate a little before speaking like this.

"I'm full now too. You eat it."

They were offering the little amount of white porridge back and forth to each other. At that, Bremen interjected.

"Having not many days left to live, I have no appetite. You take this."

He set down his half-eaten bowl, got up from his seat, and went off somewhere. It was a very heartwarming sight, but parts of it tugged at the heartstrings.

The mealtime suddenly grew quiet. Only the sound of the wind brushing against the grass could be heard.

Then Marie, who was chewing on hard bread swollen with water in her mouth, looked at Rickart and said.

"You're not teaching him as roughly as I expected?"

"Do I look like someone who enjoys tormenting people?"

"Really? From what I heard, Bolka learned while getting beaten terribly, Bori got scolded a lot too, and Ice and I were taught through sparring to the point it seemed cruel. Recently who was it? Caspar? Anyway, they said they almost died?"

"You guys are my friends, not my disciples. Caspar and Yulia are Bori's disciples. Roy is my disciple."

"Oh... You had such a sense of discernment?"

"What? Why are you picking a fight with me suddenly?"

"No, I'm just saying it because you're admirable?"

Marie smiled brightly, finding it amusing to tease Rickart. On the other hand, she also knew that her husband was feeling frustrated.

"Still, Ricky, you trained three Sword Masters. That makes you successful enough. Roy will do well too."

"Marie and the kids did it themselves; I didn't do anything for them."

"Oh... So you're being modest?"

"Hey! Seriously! What's with you today."

When Rickart suddenly lashed out, Marie burst out laughing and nudged Rickart with her shoulder.

"I'll try teaching him in the afternoon. Since he's my husband's disciple, he becomes my disciple too."

"Does it work like that?"

"Since husband and wife are one body."

Rickart wasn't sure if this was right, but after the meal, Marie took Roy aside and taught him.

Rickart watched lackadaisically from afar, wondering if there would be much difference, but after a short while, Roy had improved much more than when he had taught him. Huh?

Marie's swordsmanship was based on the Kelbron family's swordsmanship, so it had been refined over a long time, having a solid foundation and being systematic.

Moreover, because Marie had trained harder and more rigorously than anyone since childhood, she knew the stages of development well, allowing her to instantly grasp Roy's learning ability, talent, and current level, and instruct him accordingly.

Watching that, Rickart found it somewhat difficult to accept internally. This couldn't be happening!

"How about I teach in the morning and Ricky helps out in the afternoon?"

Marie said when they were about to set off again after briefly teaching Roy.

"......"

"Why? Are you sulking because I seem better at it?"

"No?"

"You are sulking though?"

"No? Because I teach better anyway, I don't feel anything at all?"

Having lived together isolated from the world for four years, Marie could see through Rickart's heart better than anyone. So she also knew how to handle him.

"Since Ricky's help will only be effective up to a certain level anyway, I'll build the foundation. That way, Ricky won't need to be frustrated, and Roy will be able to accept your teachings better. Isn't that fine?"

Hearing that, it made sense. Rickart felt his narrowed mind loosen up a bit.

"If you really want to......"

Marie couldn't hold it in and burst into laughter. She knew her husband's only weakness was his desire to teach well, but his ambition outpaced reality, leading to his constant frustration.

She had recognized it since they were writing the swordsmanship manual. Since it was Marie herself who had helped him from the side back then.

And he wasn't entirely wrong either. The things Rickart said could only be somewhat understood if one had reached the level of an ultimate master.

Anyway, it was a good thing for Roy. To have one of the few Sword Masters in the world teach him the basics, and to have someone who surpassed even Sword Masters guide his path, was a luxury that even kings could hardly enjoy.

And since they were teaching anyway, they included Roy's sister Becca too, and evaluating purely on talent, Becca seemed better.

Teaching the siblings together, their skills grew quickly as they sparred with each other, though it wasn't like any visibly dramatic changes occurred.

The group was merely walking silently toward the Eastern Frontier. Now, it was even difficult to know what they were heading there for. Salvation? A new home? Because of Hartmann's murder of a priest? It was unknown.

However, walking the path of life was akin to constantly facing endless questions. At some point one sought answers, and those answers brought forth other questions.

Some settled halfway and found rest, but others kept walking.

And within that, a flower called belief bloomed. Slowly, but surely. The people who were initially wary and awkwardly distant from each other were now protecting each other.

"Mr. Bremen, what will you do when you arrive at the Eastern Frontier?"

Rickart asked as they climbed the mountain pass. The southeastern part of the Empire notably had many low mountain ranges and basins.

"I'll probably return to the crossroads and act as a guide again."

"Why? Won't you settle down there?"

"Well, it feels like I'm addicted to the gazes of people who harbor their last hope. I live on watching that."

"I don't quite understand."

"My family all died. The people I knew too. Nothing particularly dramatic. Suffering from illness, growing old, they left one by one like that. Left all alone in my house, I wanted to die. Then, seeing people heading to the Eastern Frontier, I guided them indiscriminately. I know the geography quite well since I used to be a mercenary."

Because he had never experienced it, having nothing to say to that, Rickart remained silent.

"Is it funny?"

"No. I just thought it's like a butterfly."

"A butterfly? Me?"

"A butterfly flying to the flower called the last hope. A butterfly that dies if it cannot drink the flower's nectar."

"......I see. Perhaps so. You are quite like a poet."

At the mention of being like a poet, a slight smile crept onto Rickart's face.

"How about this time? Do you think we can make it to the end?"

"Haha, I don't know either. However, they are a wonderful family. Hartmann's family. And you are a wonderful teacher."

"And Mr. Bremen is a wonderful guide."

"No. When the nectar of hope dries up, I will run away. Am I not a butterfly."

"That's fine too."

Bremen, whose white mustache was impressive, smiled gently at Rickart with a face soaked deep in time. It was a smile like a wildflower that could rarely be seen.

Rickart walked up the uphill path overgrown with sharp stones. Looking back, he saw Hartmann silently following with heavy luggage. His family members were all carrying luggage, large or small, as well.

Carrying that heavy burden towards a hope that seemed as hazy as an unclear mirage.

Come to think of it, hope was merely something one held tightly in their hand as they walked. Even if they encountered something different from their thoughts at their destination, even if they were disappointed, it meant never letting go of it.

What happens if one lets go of it. Rickart knew that best of all. They turn into a demon, a monster. He had been like that, and the Cult had been like that too.

What lies beyond that dream; life and hope. Rickart wanted to protect those who possessed it. There was no longer fire and steel.

Was it really so?

As they got closer to the mountain ridge, they saw people up ahead. Travelers, or bandits?

Rickart briefly raised his hand to stop his companions and went up alone. They were men armed simply with swords at their waists, but considering their neat attire and complexions, they didn't seem like common bandits.

They didn't seem particularly wary upon seeing Rickart approaching from below, nor did they pull their weapons to threaten him.

When they were somewhat close, Rickart spoke.

"I'd like to pass."

"Pass then."

"Do you not need a toll?"

Because thieves and robbers usually extorted money under the pretext of tolls, he asked. At that, the three swordsmen chuckled softly.

"We are not thieves. We are simply merely looking for someone. It is fine, so please just pass. Ah, before that, perhaps you haven't seen a swordsman riding a donkey?"

Rickart shook his head.

"I haven't seen him."

"He has yellowish-brown bowl-cut hair, and is on the shorter side. However, if you get caught up with his black sword, miserable things end up happening. The one called the Black Sword. Do you happen to know him?"

"......"

Because he didn't expect to hear news about Bori here out of all places, Rickart was momentarily at a loss for words.

However, when Rickart's complexion changed, the three swordsmen sensed that Rickart knew about him.

"You know him, don't you? The Black Sword, Bori."

"Why are you looking for him?"

"Because he stole our clan's secret arts and ran away. We will definitely recover the secret arts and hold him accountable for his thievery. No matter how strong he is, by any means necessary. So please nicely tell us. Let's not make things bothersome for either of us."

One of them spoke while drawing his sword.

These people couldn't definitely know whether Rickart actually knew Bori or not, but they thought they could easily find out by cutting off a few of his fingers.

And amidst this, the three swordsmen eyed the gold bracelet Rickart was wearing on his wrist. Though they supposedly weren't thieves, opportunity makes a thief.

Anyway, expelled from the clan headquarters regarding theft, and now theft again. He supposedly went looking for the Codex, so had he gone to steal another clan's secret arts? Bori, you rascal.

Thinking it was truly bizarre, Rickart also drew his sword.

"I don't know what clan you're from, but you should look at your opponent before drawing your sword."

"Hmph, it's exactly because you don't know our clan that you dare to draw your sword in front of us."

"What clan is it?"

"Rubens......"

Rubens used to be an Adventurer's Guild in the past, but now it had solidified into a clan like Viola.

It was the clan that ambushed Rickart during the Imperial Sword Tournament, poisoned him, and was almost destroyed by Rickart before surrendering and offering treasures.

To think they would coincidentally meet again here as time passed. Honestly, Rickart felt a sort of gladness as well. So he sneered and spoke.

"Being uselessly tenacious now as you were before remains the same. But unlike then, there's no one to stop me now. You idiots."