Chapter 88

Chapter 88

***

The scenes of people's lives that Rickart witnessed while traveling by boat were difficult to describe.

Under the cool autumn sun, some places were no different from a living hell, while others continued to live their daily lives in peace.

Of course, even those who seemed to lead normal lives on the surface clearly had the shadow of anxiety looming over them.

As a result, they kept their city gates firmly locked and strictly enforced curfews. They armed themselves with swords and spears, watching outsiders with suspicion.

Most commercial transactions had frozen. However, the demand for adventurers had spiked.

Weapon merchants were making fortunes, the demand for iron increased, and robber barons prowled the roads like wolves, looking for a chance to strike it rich.

No profound insight was needed to understand the times. Even the most ignorant person instinctively knew the situation they were in.

'Every man for himself.'

In cities and rural areas alike, local communities banded together, and even smaller groups formed within clans. Increasingly, one could only trust oneself.

The world was becoming such a place. In Ehrenberg as well, the townspeople grew more united and became increasingly exclusive toward other regions.

Fortunately, at a glance, there didn't seem to be any major issues for now.

"Is Count Reinhold alright? Has he said anything?"

Rickart asked Bolka, who was busily rolling wooden barrels and arranging them against the wall.

Count Reinhold was the lord of the region to which Ehrenberg belonged. Depending on the path the lord took, the merchants and other interest groups under him had to either follow suit or leave.

In other words, how much he would suppress the Cult of Retribution depended on his hand.

"The Count doesn't seem to care much, but the problem is the headquarters," Bolka said.

"What's wrong with the headquarters?"

"They say they're offering bounties for every cultist captured and turned in."

"Is it mandatory? We don't have to do it, right?"

As Rickart kept asking pointed questions, Bolka leaned his elbow on a barrel and looked at him.

"Ricky, I'm the one in charge of this branch. Our clan alone has ten members now. You don't even know the new kids, do you? But besides our clan, there are five other clans under me. That's nearly fifty people in total. And some of those adventurers have families. In times like this, when making money is so rare, do you think I can tell them not to do it?"

Everything was different now. It was no longer the time when they simply enjoyed seeing each other's faces, joked around, and completed requests while watching each other's backs. There were many dependents now. They had to be responsible for them.

"...I'm sorry. I didn't think of that."

"I won't report anyone. I won't abandon Ice, either. Even if we suffer losses because of it, I'll endure it. But I wanted to tell you that if I have to make a choice, my decision is already made."

"I understand."

"Thanks. And congratulations."

"For what?"

"I heard you're engaged to Marie."

"Ah..." Rickart let out a small laugh. "It was a bit of a tragic engagement ceremony."

Given what had happened during the final match, it hadn't exactly been a blessed occasion.

Bolka tore open the lid of the barrel he had been moving and scooped out a cupful with a grimy wooden mug. From beyond the wall, the voices of adventurers chatting inside the branch building could be heard.

"But are you sure it's Rubens?"

"Marie said she heard it clearly. Something about Lorentz..."

"Then it's war."

While the world was in an uproar over the Emperor's death and the Cult of Retribution, adventurers had their own matters to attend to.

The attempt on Rickart's life was not something that could be overlooked—as a branch manager, as a clan leader, or as a friend.

For those who made a living with a blade, settling debts and grudges was more important than life itself. If a grudge went unavenged, one would be dismissed as a nobody.

In a world where reputation was everything, if one acted like a coward, those following would surely leave.

"You must be busy enough as it is, so we should find another way."

But it was a loud and busy time. Paradoxically, the more chaotic the world became, the more prosperous life was for adventurers.

Yet that wasn't necessarily a good thing. A surplus of work meant a surplus of sword fights, which inevitably led to a higher mortality rate.

Rickart didn't intend to let the Rubens Guild off if he crossed paths with them, but he thought it would be a stretch to actively seek them out and cause trouble.

Ehrenberg was just a branch, after all, while the opponent was a guild—not just a single clan. The scale was different.

"No. They attacked you, so the answer is already decided. The question is how to do it, not whether to do it," Bolka said firmly, without hesitation.

The Viola Clan was already known as a legendary force in the central and northern regions. Furthermore, Ehrenberg was the largest power among the branches.

Perhaps because he was now a leader of such a group, Bolka's judgment and decisiveness were sharp.

He had always had such a temperament, but he felt like he had grown up significantly. He had the air of an organization's boss.

Rickart was currently thirteen years old. Bolka was eighteen. The prime of a swordsman was from his late teens to his mid-twenties. After that, they usually retired or died.

Living into one's thirties or forties and continuing as an adventurer was a truly extraordinary feat. Dunkel was one such person, and the former branch manager of Torveil was another.

Anyway, Rickart felt both proud and burdened by Bolka's words. It was because he felt that as much as he had cared for his friends, they were now caring for him.

The vow of revenge he had made at Griffithswald flickered in his memory. Molti and Lara had retired early; he wondered if the others were doing well.

Bolka took a large gulp of lukewarm beer and said, "Let's do this. I think it would be better to send Ice out for some field assignments. Your revenge, Ricky, will be carried out by Ice. So, make sure you talk to him well."

"I'll go too."

"You said your lungs are in bad shape."

"The doctor said the manufacturer would have the exact antidote."

"..."

Bolka stared at Rickart silently.

"What?"

"I used to think you were just brave, but now it seems you're more of the type who doesn't care if you die."

Bolka could never forget the sight of Rickart's back as he went out to fight alone during their academy days, when Molti had been wounded and collapsed.

Back then, he had been so shocked he thought Rickart had gone mad, but after seeing him return having defeated the enemies, his sense of common sense had been shattered.

Of course, Rickart possessed incredible skill, but his nonchalant attitude in the face of cold steel was still somewhat unusual.

"Is that so?" Rickart didn't care much for others' opinions, but sometimes others could see parts of him that he himself didn't know. Hearing such words from a friend made him think it might be true.

But he didn't dwell on it.

"Think of Marie and take care of yourself. We aren't knights. We can run away if necessary."

"I know."

"Stay and rest for as long as you need. When you leave, Marie will follow, and this time Bori-bori will join you as well. With the four of you including Ice, honestly, I don't think it'll be that difficult to tear a guild apart."

Rickart, Bori-bori, Ice, and Marie were swordsmen on a different level from other adventurers.

They were already widely renowned, and Marie's reputation in particular had soared recently. Perhaps she had left a deep impression on people during the Emperor's assassination, as she was being called the "Blade Witch" in some circles.

She was also the first female Sword Master. Consequently, Marie was an idol for many female adventurers.

Bolka didn't command these four as if they were in a hierarchy; unlike other adventurers, he managed them loosely.

And when you thought about it, they were a far more terrifying quartet than the original Ehrenberg five-man team.

Perhaps it was because they were so powerful that they had been able to remain friends until now.

"But don't we need permission from the headquarters?"

"Why would we need permission for revenge? We just need to notify them."

"...Is that right?"

"It's not just about Ice; if necessary, I'll even split from the headquarters."

"Uh... why?"

"It's hard to explain. In the end, I feel like you can't go far if you're always under someone else's thumb."

It seemed Bolka had his own share of difficulties. Though he didn't enter battle as often as before, his life as a manager didn't seem easy at all.

Would it have been easier when they simply took the jobs they were given without a second thought? The shoulders of a man responsible for so many people and families looked heavy.

He had his own path. Looking at Bolka, Rickart suddenly thought of when he was ten.

Just as the brothers had parted ways at a turning point in their lives at ten, it seemed that friends were also embarking on different paths at their current age.

It didn't mean they were ending their relationship because of ill feelings; it was simply that things were naturally turning out that way.

In the end, would he be the only one left on the path of life? No, he had Marie. Was it time to take care of himself, as Bolka said? He didn't know. Life was difficult.

Rickart sat beside Bolka, who had his head bowed, and spoke.

"Give me a drink too."

"Hmm?"

"I learned to drink from my brother when I stopped by home. It didn't taste very good, but it was tolerable."

"Really? Don't tell me you drank wine."

"How did you know?"

"Nobles always insist on drinking wine, for some reason. Even though it's not even good. Since ancient times, they've said the north is for beer and the south is for wine. I'll teach you properly."

A childlike spark returned to Bolka's dull eyes after a long time. Teaching a friend who didn't know how to drink was fun, after all.

"How are things with Delphi? When are you two getting married?"

"Marriage is just a vow before a priest; we can do it anytime."

"Do you still love her?"

"What love!? Hey! It's about loyalty now!"

"Delphi will be disappointed to hear that."

"You really don't know much besides how to use a sword. I've got my chance today. I'm going to teach you properly—about alcohol and women."

Bolka spoke as if he were frustrated, while Rickart simply offered a silly grin.

One cup, two cups—the sour-smelling beer went down his throat. The more they drank, the more trivial talk flowed out. They burst into loud laughter at even the smallest things.

This seemed to be why it was good to have friends—because even a conversation with no substance could fill the heart.

Ignoring reality wasn't good, but sometimes there was a need to look away and clear the head. That seemed to be where the flavor of alcohol lay. Sharing a cup with a friend made it twice as delicious.

The further an estate was from the capital of Nibelungen, the more lukewarm the reaction to the Emperor's death tended to be. To put it simply, they wondered what the Emperor's death had to do with them.

However, they could not be free from the aftermath of the event. Just as an earthquake spreads from its epicenter, peasant uprisings occurred in various places as people followed the trend.

In truth, peasant uprisings had been occurring for a long time—both small and large. But what was special this time was that it seemed as though some force was leading them.

Anyway, it was dangerous to leave populated areas even in normal times, but it was far more so now.

A bandit didn't go around with "bandit" written on his forehead. It wasn't something you were born as, either.

It was an era where anyone could become a bandit if the opportunity and timing were right. Knights, soldiers, veterans, mercenaries, adventurers, merchants—even simple peasants and woodcutters were the same.

When you met someone on the road, you could never allow yourself to look weak. Bandits only robbed those who were worth robbing; they didn't rob just anyone.

In such a situation, the powerless and weak gathered around noble castles or adventurer guilds.

They were mostly the elderly who had lost their breadwinners, women, and children, as they believed those places were the safest.

The Rubens Guild was making money off such people. They collected "protection fees," forced women into prostitution, dragged the elderly into hard labor and stole their wages, and even sold off the children.

In a way, it might have been seen as making a profit by utilizing "useless" people, but with the Emperor dead, they had lost their restraint just as much as anyone else.

Adventurers were supposed to have a policy of not committing illegal acts, but now they didn't care and acted as they pleased.

In truth, the Rubens Guild had been pushed aside by the Beringen Guild, and having been bested by Rickart several times, they were frantic to make up for their losses.

Consequently, they were even more relentless, merciless, and mad. Strangely, even those who hadn't been that way could become addicted to committing cruel acts.

To the southwest of Beringen, west of Griffithswald, and north of Reinfurt, there was a small city notable for its reed fields.

It was a small town named Zelle, where there was no real trade other than buying and selling surplus crops from nearby farms.

But now, refugees who weren't quite refugees had gathered and were living in a cluster of huts and tents around the city.

Only about one in ten were adult men; the rest were all women, the elderly, or children.

Rural women tried to put on makeup and solicit customers outside their tents, but as there were so few men, business was poor.

So instead of soliciting, they simply sat slumped with dejected expressions. Even after resorting to selling their bodies as a last measure, there were no buyers—a tragedy was unfolding.

But then, among the lonely autumn leaves, four outsiders appeared. Three were tall, and one was short.

They all wore long cloaks with hoods pulled deep over their heads, so their faces weren't visible, but from their builds, they were clearly men—except for two who seemed different upon closer inspection.

One in particular, wearing a red cloak, stood out.

"Uh... hello, brothers? No, princes? Want to take a look here?"

"I-I'll show you a good time! T-truly..."

"Please, just one look. My child is starving. Please."

Since they weren't professional prostitutes, their solicitation was clumsy; for some, it was closer to begging than soliciting.

But the four outsiders seemed uninterested in the women, raising their heads slightly to sweep their gaze over the surroundings. Their attention was fixed not on the women, but on the five or six adventurers standing near the red-light district.

They, too, were watching the outsiders carefully, intending to rob them of their money if the opportunity arose.

Anyone could tell it was dangerous, but the four walked steadily toward them without hesitation.

Sensing something unusual, the Rubens adventurers moved their hands to the hilts of their swords and held up their palms.

"Hey, stop right there. Don't come any closer."

The person in the lead, wearing the red cloak, stopped at a moderate distance.

"Who are you? What's your business?"

"Don't you know who we are? We're the Rubens Guild. We have a hundred swordsmen behind us. You'd better not try anything foolish."

The person in the red cloak silently lowered his hood. His blond hair shimmered under the autumn sun. It was Rickart.

Rickart scanned the Rubens adventurers with a nonchalant, composed gaze and spoke.

"My lungs are in bad shape because of you guys, so I can't talk for long. I'll let only one of you live, so you decide. Who wants to live and who wants to die?"

There was no answer; a strange silence fell over the place. Only the sound of the wind rustling through the nearby reed field could be heard.

The reeds, which grew taller than a man, never grew alone. They grew in massive clusters along riverbanks or in marshes.

The white tassels at the ends were softly bent, as if they were bowing their heads. When the wind swept past, they simply bent in its direction.

Though they might have lacked resolve, they maintained their characteristic calm even in the face of harsh currents. One could even sense a touch of nobility in them.

At times, they represented the human heart; at other times, they resembled those who had become accustomed to misery and lived their lives helplessly, being swept this way and that.

Such were the people living beside the reed fields. They were powerless in the face of ruthless violence, yet they lived on.

But there were those who did not belong with them or with the reeds. It was as if a predator that had been hiding in the reed field had revealed itself.

"So, who's going to do it?" Bori-bori asked.

"Since it's the first time, we need to make an impact. Bori-bori, you do it," Rickart said.

"...I understand the need for an impact, but why me?"

"Marie, block that side. Ice, take the other."

Rickart ignored Bori-bori's question and issued instructions openly in front of his opponents.

There were six adventurers, but they chose to move separately, though they were fewer in number—to prevent the others from escaping.

The Rubens adventurers guarding the makeshift brothel felt flabbergasted and anxious.

Some tried to intimidate them by scowling, some tried to hide their fear by hardening their expressions, and some simply felt that Rickart's group was arrogant. Each of the six felt differently.

"What do you think you're doing? What are you planning to do with us?"

"Which group do you belong to!? Do you dare to touch our guild!?"

"I tried to be reasonable, but I see it won't work!"

Just as a frightened dog barks, the adventurers raised their voices. But they couldn't enter the range of a sword.

Bori-bori drew his sword with a pouty expression. The ghost sword, which seemed to have a matte finish, did not reflect the sunlight and appeared somewhat blurry.

"You'd better hold onto your limbs tightly. If you're lucky enough to block even one strike, you'll only lose your head."

It was a terrifying and difficult set of words to understand. But Bori-bori was giving a sincere warning, not mocking them. Though he didn't know who would believe it, he himself didn't want to cut people into pieces.

Bori-bori stepped forward and swung his sword with one hand. Though he wasn't a Sword Master, his innate mana pool was so vast that vivid black lines were drawn through the air.

Whoosh! Thump! Whoosh!

In an instant, 'characters' were engraved in the air, and everything in their path was severed. Limbs, heads, and torsos fell with a thud. An immense amount of blood sprayed across the ground.

The surrounding adventurers froze, their hair standing on end. Some simply collapsed to their knees.

It was such a cruel and shocking sight that even the women watching nearby felt their breath seize. Their neck muscles tensed as they let out a strangled groan.

After lightly avoiding the spray of blood, Bori-bori 'wrote' a large character toward the frozen adventurers.

The ghost sword moved broadly once to the left and once to the right, drew a diagonal line, made several more strokes, and finished with a final dot.

Then, the mangled bodies of the men fell in a heap.

"Wow..."

Marie, who had reached the level of a Sword Master, let out an exclamation of awe. Although she was well aware of Bori-bori's swordsmanship, it was always unique and terrifying to behold.

Strangely, one person who had collapsed to the ground and wet himself remained alive. It wasn't a mistake; Bori-bori had intentionally spared him because of Rickart's instructions.

Bori-bori wiped the blood from his blade with the edge of his cloak and sheathed it. Then Rickart, who had been watching silently from behind, walked over to the survivor.

"I understand you're in a daze, but I hope you remember my words clearly. Go to your guild master and tell him that Ricky has come. He has three choices. One: the guild master dies as a representative. Two: the entire guild suffers catastrophic damage. Three: hand over the antidote. Now, go."

Rickart announced his unilateral negotiation terms, then took the collection box and scattered its contents across the street. The sound of clinking coins was cheerful, but no one dared to pick them up.

With that, Rickart and his friends left. Unlike when they had arrived, there were no more calls for solicitation.

Once again, only the sound of the wind rustling through the reed field could be heard.