Chapter 242

Chapter 242

***

There was no one in the world who was perfectly free. Even emperors or kings were the same. Freedom itself was a shackle, and the punishment called responsibility follows it.

He had never wished to be free. However, the weight of the shackle and the whipping of the punishment were familiar. Since it was something that cannot be cut off as long as one was alive, he just silently endures and moves forward.

It was a purely personal matter. So there was no such thing as a grand cause or justice. There were no lingering attachments or regrets. Then what was this. Was it something like a sense of debt?

Though not bound, as if bound, like magnets pulling each other, or as if the past and present were touching, Rickart headed to the port to go to the island called Hellskald.

That island was the base of the Shadow of the King, or the executing family Bespraon. Whether the intention to go find and kill them all was still valid now was unknown, but it was true that there was an unknown sense of debt.

I mean that sense of debt that because I spared him, because I forgave him, I must reap his legacy with my own hands.

Rain fell steadily. Raindrops fell on the sea and caused numerous ripples. That didn't mean the waves were rough.

Rickart put on the hood attached to his cloak and looked at the raining sea. The sound of the rain continuously striking the hood was heard loudly in his ears. Splat, splat.

Looking at the creaking boats anchored at the port, Rickart murmured.

"I didn't know there would be a time in my life to ride a boat again."

Because he had almost died helplessly when he once took a boat supposedly going to Sinatria, Rickart was one of those who hated boats.

Especially thinking about below that unhygienic deck where rats and excrement floated around, it was to the extent of making him dry heave automatically.

"It's truly fascinating. This thing called the sea, you see. To think the world is filled with water. Especially riding on this thing made of shabby wood and heading out there is even harder to imagine."

Roy said. There were many land-dwelling people who think going out to sea means dying, and Roy was one of them.

"Don't be like that too much since it's not your business."

The party had split up with Bori earlier, and this time Roy and Maters were also set to split up. Rickart was going to the island called Hellskald alone.

"How about going when the weather clears up a bit?"

"There's one thing I realized, going out to sea is just a matter of luck. Whether it rains or typhoons blow, or the weather is clear, dying by sinking seems to just be luck. Unlike before, they say Hellskald is close so there's no need to drag time."

"It's not luck like that. Because the boats here only move along the coast. Only those on the level of Norsemen advance into the deep sea risking death. We don't. Because Hellskald is visible even from here when the weather is clear."

Malcolm said. Having received Anustella family's help for everything including providing room and board and looking into boat passages, he was out at the port as if to see him off.

But it was easier said than done, looking at the sea one couldn't help but be overwhelmed by the magnificent and rough nature.

By the way, there was a sea at the western end, and a sea at the southern end, so if there was a sea at the north too, how the hell was the world shaped? Rickart briefly had such a question.

Everyone wasn't particularly worried, and it was just a calm atmosphere, but it seemed the thought that it subtly might be the last time was thinly laid out. Maybe they were just trying hard not to show their worry.

"Please have a safe trip."

But Maters ended up tearing off that thinly laid wrapper. Rickart looked back at him and asked.

"What you stopped talking about last time, didn't you say you found salvation?"

"Rather than finding salvation, it was just a miracle. I mean that thing we met in the forest back then. Since then, wouldn't every moment have been salvation? This place seems like a good place to start anew. I plan to drop by the frontier at the end and live there."

The frontier Maters spoke of meant the settlement built by vagabonds, I mean people who came from the West.

If Tel Urano was the place where the expeditionary force's forward base was 100 years ago, the place they briefly lost and Rickart fled to was the current frontier.

"Right......"

Rickart just nodded calmly, and at the captain's words that they were ready, he boarded the boat. It wasn't that big a boat, just slightly bigger than a fishing boat.

Though it rained, the wind didn't particularly blow, but the boat tilted back and forth. There were five sailors, and including Rickart, it was six people.

Taking a seat at the bow of the boat, the captain said.

"Then we will depart."

Then the four sailors rowed the oars. Since the boat wasn't that big it gathered speed quickly, and while it shook when standing still, it was a bit less so when it began to move.

Since Rickart sat at the bow in a posture looking back behind, the people standing at the port entered his eyes.

Though Rickart was someone who initially didn't look back when leaving for somewhere, this time he genuinely had no choice but to forcefully look at the people seeing him off.

There was no one waving, just standing silently in the rain and watching. Only when they were quite far away it was actually Rickart who raised his hand to show it.

Then Roy, Maters, and Malcolm also raised their hands high.

With a creak creak creaking sound, the boat moved forward faster and faster, and surprisingly soon the port couldn't be seen. Rickart lowered his hand.

Since the port couldn't be seen, because he was now fully depending only on this small boat on the boundless ocean, anxiety crept over him. But this wasn't the deep sea, it was the coast.

Trusting the sailors he saw for the first time today, Rickart advanced toward Hellskald. He heard it took about 30 minutes to arrive, but that time felt exceptionally long.

Wanting to see if it would enter his view just in case, Rickart turned his head and looked at the far off horizon. But no matter how much time passed, the island didn't reveal itself.

Then suddenly the rain thickened, and as the wind began to grow rougher, the waves got higher. As the boat bobbed like it was truly about to sink any moment every once in a while, Rickart tightly gripped both railings of the boat.

But as if familiar with it, the sailors had almost no change in expression, and continued advancing skillfully handling the angry waves.

"This level isn't a big wave."

The captain said, as if reading Rickart's anxiety. But really?

The rain continued to thicken, the wind got stronger, and even thunder and lightning struck, it was on a different level from the rain and wind encountered on land.

Though it was far more hygienic compared to the boat he rode to go to Sinatria in the past, encountering a storm head-on made the thought of truly dying suddenly pop up.

A suddenly blowing wind swoosh blew off Rickart's hood. Then Rickart ended up seeing a waterspout rising far away.

When lightning flashed, for a brief moment in the waterspout, a very huge shadow was briefly reflected. It was something that had wings spread. Thinking what the hell did I just see, Rickart's eyes widened.

"You're lucky. It seems a dragon is controlling the storm. The boat won't overturn."

What? What were you saying? Rickart wondered if what he was seeing and hearing was indeed reality. He couldn't take his eyes off the waterspout.

However as the captain said, truly before long the waterspout subsided and disappeared, and nothing was seen inside it, and the storm also subsided.

At the same time, the dark clouds scattered, and sunlight poured down towards the sea rip through the parted clouds, and an unbelievably beautiful, magnificent, and holy spectacle unfolded.

"I pride myself on having traveled the world quite widely, but this kind of sight is a first."

"This is a story passed down among Norsemen, but they say dragons transform into humans once in a while and travel the world. And they tell God what they saw and heard in the human world. Saying it was beautiful, or, that it must be destroyed."

Normally Rickart would have dismissed it listening with the back of his ears considering it as total nonsense, but perhaps because he had just witnessed the mysterious and immense harmony of nature, he somehow believed it.

In the end, whether a belief was true or not might not be that important. The important thing isn't whether it's truth or fiction, but what that belief creates, right? Whether it's courage, or hope......

"The island is visible."

The captain said. Rickart turned his head. The island was visible closer than expected. Looking back, the island was close enough to wonder why he was so anxious.

The boat approached the island more and more, and the coast wasn't a Sandy beach but was full of crushed gravel.

And bizarre-looking rocks stood tall on the beach, it seemed ambiguous whether to say a human made those, or nature sculpted them.

The boat passed straight along the coast, and reaching the cape, a citadel surrounded by solid city walls appeared. Birds flew over the castle and white bird droppings were painted all over the castle walls.

Passing the cape and going straight into the bay, a port appeared. Unlike Tel Urano, there were almost no ships at the port. There weren't any guards or personnel keeping watch in particular either.

Slowly, quietly bringing the boat to the dock, they got off there. After getting off, water dripped down sliding as if his whole body had been completely soaked.

Rickart took off his cloak and wrung it out from the end. Doing so he looked at the captain and sailors and said.

"Thank you. But is the citadel we saw earlier probably the place where the Shadow of the King stays?"

"Yes, it is. In the past it served as an invasion base for the Norsemen. Was it called 'Jarl Borg', anyway that's right."

Rickart roughly shook off the water and wrapped his cloak again as he said.

"Mm, I'll be going."

"We wish for your luck in battle."

The captain and sailors didn't know what business Rickart had with the Shadow of the King. Just, whether they weren't particularly afraid of the Shadow of the King, they got off the boat for a rest.

Rickart walked towards where the citadel was, and they headed for the village past that hill.

While the grass after the rain emanated vitality, the island somehow seemed dead in a way.

Walking the thin path, Rickart looked around here and there, and before long he could arrive at the citadel. The castle gate was open. As if waiting.

Entering inside, a somewhat messy courtyard was revealed, and an empty barn was seen. But as if they had been ambushing and revealed themselves, people wearing cloaks on top of the castle walls were looking down at Rickart.

Like the people he saw before, their whole faces were covered in tattoos, and far from hostility, they looked down at Rickart without any emotion.

The wind blew. Even after the storm passed the sea breeze was quite strong. However there was no flag to flutter in the citadel. The only thing fluttering was the hem of Rickart's red cloak.

Dangerously enough standing right in the middle of the courtyard, Rickart looked back at the people and said.

"Is there a person in charge? Depending on the answer I can either kill you all, or end it here."

Whether it was a past connection or a legacy or whatever, trying to kill the water carrier and suddenly attacking was an unchanging fact. Rickart wanted to question them about that first.

However no one answered. Only, the door to the inner keep quietly opened.

Though it might be a trap if it was one, it was too openly revealed to be near that.

It seemed they did have something to say, but because they were intrinsically unapproachable people, things like etiquette or courtesy seemed to have been largely skipped.

Anyway Rickart entered the inner keep. The interior wasn't cleanly organized, nor was it completely neglected, just full of a lonely atmosphere.

A breathing sound like breathing with difficulty was heard from somewhere. Without any guidance, Rickart followed that breathing sound and walked.

Passing through a merely simple hallway devoid of any decorations, Rickart entered a place like a large Nordic style banquet hall.

There, a man with a very huge build was half-lying on a large chair that seemed specially made. Even though it didn't look uncomfortable, he was covered in iron armor all over.

Through the gaps in his helmet, that breathing sound that guided Rickart here was heard. And a huge and crude-looking axe was leaning against the wall.

Rickart recognized the giant wearing iron armor at once. He wasn't a descendant or anything like that, but Besprim himself. He could tell looking at the blue eyes. He was still alive after 100 years.

"Come closer......"

With a very thick and rough voice the giant said. Rickart approached him. The sound of his step, step steps echoed in the banquet hall.

He slowly leaned his body forward to look at Rickart, and took off his helmet. Long blonde hair hung down to his shoulders.

The wrinkled and scarred face seemed to prove how great of a warrior this person was, yet his eyes were the same.

From top to bottom, he looked down at Rickart for a long time, and suddenly smiled deeply and said.

"It's been a long time, Steel Reaper...... Passing a long time, is this the first time seeing your face directly?"

Surprisingly, Besprim recognized Rickart right away. Even though he died once and was born again.

"Were all these happenings, to guide me here?"

"All these happenings? From where to where? From the start, that was the intention from the start. Not me, but Caldebert."

"What do you mean?"

"They massacred people, and later even massacred soldiers. Because they kept killing and killing, neither the Empire nor barbarism remained. Death is truly the most powerful magic. It resolves all problems, Steel Reaper......"

"......What on earth does that mean?"

"I have no way of knowing what that pathetic girl-like bastard was thinking. What I know is that he was trying to summon you back to this world. Looking now, he succeeded."

"Why? Why me? By what method?"

"Go seek him out and ask yourself. Before that, shouldn't you finish something with me?"

Besprim slowly raised his huge body. And he held the hideous and huge axe leaning against the wall in one hand. The opposite hand had been cut off by Rickart 100 years ago and was missing.

"Forgiveness is unnecessary for a great warrior. You and me, we end the fight we couldn't finish a long time ago here."

Rickart lowered his head. He didn't draw his sword.

"It wasn't an intention to insult. Just, back then I felt you were no different from me."

"What?"

"If not for that war, I meant whether you or me wouldn't have lived purely and peacefully somewhere......"

"Are you not two friends, spouting unlucky words is exactly the same too."

"You too, aren't you?"

"What?"

"You also regard me as your only friend. So wasn't that why you waited for me for such a long time? Don't call it a desire for revenge or a grudge. Because I can see it all in your eyes."

"......Hmph, draw your weapon."

Rickart slowly drew his sword. It wasn't to put an end to the fight they couldn't finish a long time ago, but because it was the only means of conversation.

As a warrior of warriors, Besprim only had battles in his life. So he couldn't help but know only how to express love, friendship, and everything else through fighting.

Rickart raised his head and looked at Besprim. He was smiling as if he was truly enjoying himself.

Living as a barbarian warrior, forgiven by Rickart, and helping Caldebert build a new city.

However his use was now complete. Even so, there wasn't a hint of regret. He was purely happy rather than anything else.

So, it was an extremely personal matter.

Rickart murmured as if talking to himself, or as if only for Besprim to hear.

"Let's meet as friends in the next life......"