Chapter 53

Chapter 53

***

It was a spring festival late in the season or something, and the vicinity of the Kaitz Highlands was bustling with people under the warm sunlight.

An inn with a waterwheel turning by valley water power stood by the road, but unable to accommodate all the personnel, many people pitched tents outside and lived there.

If one asked why so many people gathered, it was exactly because of watching the fights.

In an era where beheading criminals was also made into a spectacle, a duel of skilled people was a rare spectacle one couldn't miss.

Since people gathered naturally, money-smelling merchants twisted in, and really like a snowball rolling bigger and bigger, a number of people flocked there.

Somewhere reminiscent of a festival scene, there was a place skinning a goat caught somewhere and roasting it whole for barbecue. Many people gathered in a circle there listening to someone's story.

The smell of roasting meat made mouths water automatically, but the story of the person chattering loudly alone was no less than that.

"I saw it! I saw it! Really! I was at the scene that day! As Red Cloak slaughtered dozens alone, a devil appeared!"

The storyteller said appealingly. The appeal was thick enough to look better converting to this side rather than being an adventurer.

But while some listened concentrating on his words, others filtered half and just giggled. Devil, what devil.

"How did the devil look?"

Someone asked.

"Red Cloak is not that tall, but his shadow really, th-that! That grew big as a mountain really! If that's not a devil, what is!?"

Depending on the angle and intensity of the light source, a shadow could stretch long and grow big; amidst a scared and surprised state, one could feel so looking at it.

Especially to the eyes of people without scientific knowledge and not educated, it was bound to look so more.

"By the way, how did Oeberstein die? The 2nd Sword of the Three Swords Clan, I mean. Tell that in detail a bit."

Another person asked. He seemed not interested in the devil or whatever story.

But the storyteller couldn't see properly due to the dark day back then, so he didn't have a specific story to tell this and that.

However, he felt a useless sense of duty or something at the curious eyes of people and babbled as it came.

"Originally I thought two were dueling, but in the middle, another person intruded. And it seemed he hit an ally throwing something wrong. So what, Red Cloak killed both. Those Three Swords or Shovel Swords were perfectly cowardly bastards. Momentarily I was also flustered you know? Huh? What is this? Is this okay? doing so confused. In that confusing gap, he pushed and burned supplies wholly. So losing that day was all because of those Shovel Sword bastards."

There was one wrong point in the storyteller's words. It was not hitting an ally by throwing wrong, but Rickart snatching one throwing dagger and throwing it at Oeberstein immediately.

But since he was some distance away at the time, and the day was dark, he could see it so. He was not a person lying on purpose. Just exaggerated somewhat, and interpreting as he pleased.

The problem was that these people didn't care whether the guild lost or not. Because "I am not losing." Amazingly, they actually thought that way.

The storyteller was just a low-rank adventurer who didn't gain if the guild went well, and didn't lose particularly if it was ruined.

So he had no will to fight risking his life from the start, and just fled if it seemed they were losing.

Conversely, those to whom whether the guild rises or falls was important were at least middle-rank adventurers or above.

Moreover, people whose reputation and fame were exactly their livelihood also existed clearly, and for a famous clan, if a rumor spreads as cowardly guys, skilled guys with terrible skill in this way could be fatal.

Not only the problem occurring in earning rice, sometimes pride more important than earning rice didn't tolerate it.

"That can't be."

Someone denied the storyteller's words sharply. Although one couldn't know his appearance exactly wearing a cloak, judging by the protruding part of his waist, he seemed to be wearing a sword anyhow.

"U, uh? You were also at the spot that day?"

"No. I just know. And a warning. I don't care whatever you babble, but about the clan, you better watch your mouth. If you don't want your tongue cut."

A murderous gaze glistened in the shaded place under the hood. The storyteller got scared suddenly and shut his mouth.

People's gazes naturally headed to the person wearing the cloak, but he avoided the seat. And disappeared into the crowd quickly.

When the smell of roasting goat was covered by other smells, and getting far away becoming faint, the man reached the path going up to the highland.

However, that place was blocked by a temporarily made fence, and people were standing in a long line.

"Next duel will be before the sun hangs on the ridge! If entering, enter now!"

There was a person shouting putting a funnel to his mouth like a town crier.

To enter was naturally not free; one had to pay money. And the admission fee was getting expensive day by day.

People without money climbed the mountain on the opposite side and watched even from far away. Even now people climbing the mountain in advance snooped from up there.

Looking at this, the guild was also quite absurd guys. Whether intending to wage war, or not.

But there was an inevitable aspect to filter out riffraff like the storyteller earlier and for site control. While doing so making money was also good.

The man wearing a cloak and hood ignored the long line and walked to the fence. Naturally people's gazes gathered, but due to the unusual atmosphere, no one restrained him.

The person blocking the fence looked at that man and asked.

"Clan?"

"Three Swords. 1st Sword Gramschwitz."

"Hmm, but the duel also has an order. First just watch."

The adventurer opened the fence without receiving an admission fee. Proven middle, high-rank adventurers, especially those having a grudge against Red Cloak were just passed.

Passing the fence walking straight, at some moment the head part of the defense tower high up the highland was seen. And near the place standing currently traces of burning still remained much.

Adventurers gathered among acquaintances scattered here and there, and rich people entering paying the admission fee spread mats early on good spots and were sitting. Friends, or lovers.

As Gramschwitz looked around here and there, there were people coming alone like him occasionally. Emitting an emotionless serious atmosphere fully, they felt dangerous even looking from afar.

People seemed divided into three categories largely. A person just came to see the spectacle, a person came to make fame killing Red Cloak, and, a person whose purpose was killing Red Cloak itself leaving fame.

The common point of all these was that the guild war was secondary, and interest all gathered at Red Cloak.

The rumor that Red Cloak killed one of the Empire's 9 Swords already spread widely.

At first, opinions were divided. Whether that rumor was true or fake, if true simply luck, or exaggerated.

But as time passed beyond killing one of the Empire's 9 Swords, now words like 'isn't it worth taking one seat among the Empire's 9 Swords' came out.

Red Cloak Ricky. Weight was being added to that name more and more. Moreover, the modifier of unprecedented genius was attached. A genius who killed one of the Empire's 9 Swords at 12, and took that seat.

Listening casually, the words were unbelievable. However, he was proving it. Not once but several times, for days. Today was the 7th day since the first battle occurred.

"Hawk Claw Gramschwitz? Right?"

Someone spoke from behind. As Gramschwitz turned around, a middle-aged man with a brown beard and short hair accompanying three or four people was seen.

"Right. I am Hagen Guild's Clan Master, Wolfgen. Came to revenge?"

Clan Master meant a person governing several clans under the Guild Master. Was the same rank as Lorenzo whom Rickart killed before.

The Three Swords Clan had only three clan members, three people were brothers. 1st Sword Hawk Claw Gramschwitz, 2nd Sword Hawk Wing Oeberstein, 3rd Sword Flying Sword Erich.

Actually, the first and second attracted attention, and the youngest finishing the opponent by throwing daggers was like their own secret technique.

That method was very ingenious and artistic so no one survived suffering this. So that method was almost not known, and if they took a request, they succeeded without fail so they were famous.

However, two brothers died overnight so now only the first remained. With this, the clan was practically the same as disbanded.

"......"

"If revenge is the purpose, join us. You won't have a chance of winning with a duel. Red Cloak is the real deal. Look later and think."

Wolfgen moved leaving only those words. Gramschwitz kept silence.

Time passed and the sun reached its peak then tilted gradually, getting close to the mountain ridge.

A group of people came down from atop the highland. Especially among them, a boy wearing a red cloak entered Gramschwitz's eyes. Appearance full of childishness with blonde hair.

Compared to his age, his height was tall and his physique on the good side. However, not skeletal structure fully matured growing finished.

As Rickart revealed his appearance, chatting sounds here and there stopped abruptly. Since today's main event would happen soon.

Once a day, at most twice a day a duel occurred. Now the 7th day, the 12th duel.

Dead people were all sixteen. Because Rickart engaged in duel regardless of opponent number.

The result spoke. No matter how young his age, this was enough to occupy one seat of the Empire's 9 Swords.

The more surprising thing was holding the duel publicly. Most lest their own secret technique be exposed, or swordsmanship broken, prepared minimum witnesses and held the duel privately.

Arrogant or bold. Looking will know.

Rickart took off his cloak to hand it to a girl swordsman nearby. Stepping onto the duel ground holding only one sword, the opponent was one taking off his shirt holding a round shield and sword.

The Beringen Guild side and Alliance side people prepared the duel ground space and blocked people from approaching.

Amidst the warm sunlight shining down, the man taking off his shirt put breath in and out largely, intentionally rotating his shoulder. And burst out a spirit shout.

"Hook! Hook! Aja! Aja! Ajaja!"

He seemed trying to relieve tension as much as possible since it was a match risking life; Rickart had no particular agitation nor overflowing confidence, he just drew his sword normally.

Rickart's opponent shouted loudly, spreading his arms holding the sword and shield wide.

"I am 'Heart Carver' Richelieu of Moorheim! Today I defeat you and become one of the Empire's 9 Swords!"

He shouted loudly with a gruff voice, but it was evident to all showing he was still being tense. Rickart drew his sword throwing the scabbard to where an ally was whish and answered.

"Viola Clan, Ricky."

As the mutual introduction ended, the duel began. People watched holding their breath.

Those who already saw the duel several times actually had no expectation on victory or defeat. Just, expected what move Rickart would show this time.

The person named Richelieu put up his shield, approached very carefully like a hunting beast. With hesitant steps, he almost didn't take his sole off the ground to react anytime.

Rickart stayed still hanging his sword down, Richelieu startled alone widened distance urgently then approached hesitantly again. Repeated this five times.

"Huff! Huff! Huff!"

Although not exchanging offense and defense even once, Richelieu sweated asking rough tense breath.

Around the time Rickart's head tilted feeling boredom, as if not missing the gap of that one moment, Richelieu put up his shield and rushed fiercely.

But Rickart dodged to the side whish, and Richelieu coped very flexibly for being tense. He struck the shield toward the direction Rickart dodged, and swung his sword.

Hung! Whish!

Rickart just widened the distance and dodged leaning his body back slightly. Richelieu retreated urgently again putting up his shield.

But Richelieu suddenly had his consciousness cut off with shock applied to his head. Rickart kicked his head.

Richelieu's vision was blocked because of his own shield, and in that gap, Rickart fed a high kick from a blind spot.

With a sound of crack, Richelieu collapsed futilely, vainly planting his head on the ground. As if he completely lost consciousness in one blow he drooped as is not moving.

Rickart looked down at him for a while, turned around, and just walked away. He didn't even swing his sword once. And went up to the defense tower together with the Beringen Guild people.

As today's duel ended with this, people who came to watch paying money burst out complaints.

"This is the end?"

"Put up some proper opponent!"

"Receiving three silver coins as admission fee heavily for this garbage?"

"Since it became like this behead the loser or hang his neck!"

But the Guild Alliance adventurers didn't care about people's complaints at all, and chased them out.

"Hey, mister, talk to me."

"N-no, not that. Honestly too much, this."

"Misters! Misses! Duel ended! Get out! Out!"

Adventurers drove civilians out of the highland as if herding sheep. People feeling bad complained while going out. Scammed, Hagen or other guilds terrible.

Fallen Richelieu barely regained consciousness but couldn't control his body, colleagues supported him.

Gramschwitz watched all this silently, Wolfgen approached again.

"How is it?"

"......Too early to conclude, but no habit or quirk. No binding either. No trace learned from someone. Honestly, hard to believe. That state at that age."

Great eye for detail. A perspective piercing the core quite well even seeing the duel close to a poor battle vainly.

"Hmm......"

Wolfgen nodded with a gloomy expression affirming.

"Among the people who stepped up for duel, usable people all died three days ago. Now only guys like that are left. Remaining usable people don't care about the duel or such. What will you do? If you want a duel, I will make you able to do it right tomorrow."

In short, it meant now the remaining skilled people remained only people trying to kill Rickart for revenge rather than fame. Regardless of means and methods.

By doing so recovering tarnished honor, or repaying personal grudge, or leading war advantageously, each purpose converged to one finally.

Gramschwitz asked in a tone of half agreeing after thinking for a while.

"What is the plan?"

"Follow me."

Gramschwitz moved to a gloomy place following Hagen Guild's Clan Master, Wolfgen.

Rickart was looking down at them intently from above. The place where the defense tower was itself was kind of an observation post, so the surrounding area was just all visible.

Although it was hard to recognize who is who as people flocked like cloud, Rickart's ghost-like eye for detail distinguished guys like riffraff and guys emitting incompatibility easily.

Rickart also knew. Skilled people worth killing by duel all died about three days ago, and remaining skilled people were plotting something.

Have to roll head what plotting, but this one was certain.

Real deals prepared to die trying to commit work properly.

Rickart knew instinctively he could protect the defense tower till the end only if blocking those bastards.

And Rickart also knew people with extraordinary resolve were trickier to deal with than sword state or such.

To deal with such a person, I also had to have such resolve.

But what does Rickart hold in hand now. Burning resentment and anger toward the world like his past life, and terrible self-loathing weren't there.

Loyalty to the guild? Just as others don't have such, Rickart also didn't have such. Just, words Bolka said resided in a corner of his heart.

'Will cultivate empty land and make our own manor. Try to live there with Delphi. Until dying old.'

Right, I also someday.

Although vague, Rickart also had a simple dream. Smiling faces of aged friends were drawn in Rickart's head. Could risk life for that.

Grudge and dream. They crossed in Kaitz Highlands. Even if it was just a spectacle to someone.

Who is right and wrong. Who is just and who is wrong. No need to think such a thing.

Because there is no one without a story in the world, especially a swordsman's death had no room for excuse to intervene.

So no need to get soaked in sentiment daringly. Even if defeated and dying, let's not have resentment nor lingering attachment. That was the resolve if resolve of Rickart.