Chapter 10

It was around noon when they reached Rheinfurt. Mornings and evenings were still cold, but once the sun was fully up, the air was pleasantly cool—perfect spring weather.

A line of people stretched from the city gate. Those who had been denied entry for one reason or another were living in tents near the walls. Others made a trade of selling them daily necessities and assorted goods. Outside the walls was a community in its own right. Was this how cities expanded, as people settled down for good and began putting up buildings?

In any case, the line moved faster than expected, and at last it was their turn. Arno and the merchant identified themselves. That was when Ricard learned that the merchant's name was Kaufmann. Apparently he ran a small trading business dealing in dyes and pigments, though he could not have been especially shrewd if he had taken his carriage up the pass knowing there were bandits in the mountains.

"You killed the Bilton brothers? Who are they?"

"Bandit chiefs. Chiefs, I tell you. Wanted men. This is Master Ricard, the famous Boar Slayer of Stormhertz. He slit their bellies open and cut their throats in a flash. I saw it. With my own eyes."

Arno seemed to know the gate guard, and they talked for a while. Somehow, though, the rumors kept growing more extravagant and Ricard kept acquiring nicknames regardless of his wishes. The Boar Slayer, really.

The guard stared at Ricard. Blond hair, hazel eyes, and a rather grubby appearance after several days without washing. No matter how he looked at him, he saw nothing but a child. He suspected Arno was spinning a tale, but Kaufmann nodded silently to confirm it.

"He hasn't been training as a knight for long, but he's a born talent."

Ricard himself said nothing, while Arno puffed up as though the achievement were his own.

"What's knightly training got to do with it? Isn't that just running errands for some knight and maintaining his equipment?"

"What would you know?"

"Well, I wouldn't. But all either of us knows is what we've heard. Anyway, welcome to Rheinfurt, Master Ricard."

The guard was not particularly deferential, but he observed the proper courtesies.

"Come by Handel's later and I'll tell you the whole story. I killed four bandits myself."

Handel's was a tavern Arno frequented. The guard raised his eyebrows incredulously.

"You did? All right, fine. Move along. I've got work to do. Next!"

He waved his arm broadly to beckon the next person forward.

Once they emerged from the shadow of the gate, sunlight fell upon Ricard again, illuminating the city's neat buildings. Their roofs were tiled in gray, dark blue, or red, their plastered walls neatly finished by skilled plasterers. Nearly all were at least two stories tall, packed tightly together.

Frankly, judging by appearances alone, the city's buildings looked better than the manor in Stormhertz where Ricard had grown up. That was because the manor was a sort of ancient castle. In truth, it was too small to be called a castle and too large to be an ordinary house, so they simply called it a manor.

The people in the streets looked busy, and they were certainly better dressed than the country folk of Stormhertz.

Kaufmann asked Ricard to follow him a little farther so he could give him the cloak, then led the way along the city wall. They seemed to be heading for a district of merchants and craftsmen. Hammers rang briskly against iron, tanners could be seen working hides, and the smell of chemicals stung the nose.

Kaufmann stopped his carriage in front of a cloth shop, greeted a few acquaintances, and went inside. He emerged carrying a neatly folded red cloak and held it out to Ricard.

"I'm afraid this is where we must say goodbye, Master Ricard. Thanks to you, we reached the city safely. Please accept this. The material was expensive, so I had it made rather small. Perhaps the god of fate arranged it for your sake. Ha ha ha."

The cloak was truly as red as blood. Made entirely using a material worth its weight in gold, it was an enormously expensive gift.

Ricard took off his old cloak and put on Kaufmann's red one then and there. It had a hood, and its hem trailed past his feet, but once he gathered it up a little and fastened the clasp, it fit well enough.

"Nothing for me?"

Arno, who had been watching from beside them, posed the question to Kaufmann. The merchant looked at him with displeasure, as though wondering who he thought he was.

"I heard you ran away at first, too. The one who takes the risk and makes the first move gets everything. That's true in business, and it's true of men who win distinction on the battlefield. If you want your share, ask the young master for it."

At first hearing, it seemed both reasonable and not quite right. Told to demand his reward from Ricard, Arno fell silent.

"We'll split the money once we've dealt with the heads."

"It's all right, Master Ricard. I was only asking."

"No. You did help me. But what's going to happen to those people?"

Ricard turned to the people unloading their belongings from the cart as he asked.

"I've decided to hire them. I was planning to expand my business anyway, so I needed workers. We've been through a matter of life and death together, after all. Surely that's better than hiring complete strangers? They'll need somewhere to stay in the city for the time being, too. It suits both parties."

They would probably be put to work dyeing cloth.

From what Ricard had heard along the way, the people had left their domain because of excessive taxes. Even after cutting back on their own meals to hand over grain, they had fallen far short. In the end, they had borrowed grain, only for the interest to snowball.

The absurd part was that their lender was also their lord. The lord collected the taxes and lent grain at usurious rates. More absurd still, leaving the domain without his permission was a crime.

Did that make them criminals, or victims of injustice? All Ricard felt was a certain kinship with them. Still, there was nothing more he could do. Their paths parted here.

Just then, someone tugged at his clothes. He was not surprised; he had a good idea who it was. He turned, and sure enough, there stood Daisy.

"I'll feed you and give you a place to sleep and everything. Come live with me. We're married, aren't we?"

Her voice trembled on the verge of tears. Ricard was at a loss for words, but Arno rounded on her, eyes blazing.

"The young master's been nice to you, and now you think you can get away with anything, you little bitch. You filthy girl. At least wash yourself before saying something like that. Have you no shame?"

"There's no need to go that far..."

Ricard's protest was feeble. Arno's tongue seemed sharper than the sword he wielded.

"There is, Master Ricard. What did I tell you? Treat them kindly and they forget their place. Know your station, you little bitch. Stop clinging to the young master and get lost."

Daisy's face crumpled as though she were about to burst into tears. Yet she did not cry. She seemed a fairly strong-willed child. She merely clutched Ricard's new cloak, unable to let go.

Her mother abandoned the luggage she was sorting and hurried over, quickly pulling her daughter away.

"I'm sorry, my lord. She's too young to understand..."

"It's all right. I'm not offended."

At Ricard's gentle smile, an indescribable expression crossed Daisy's mother's face. She looked moved, yet unable to believe what she was hearing.

"... You have a truly kind heart... And thank you. O God of Judgment, please close your eyes to this young master."

She spread her hand and covered her eyes with its back. The God of Judgment? What was that? A god the peasants worshipped? At least, Ricard had never heard of it in Stormhertz.

In any event, receiving someone's heartfelt thanks was a strange feeling indeed. It was as though something softened inside his heart.

"Take care. You too, Daisy, and you, Mr. Kaufmann. If we're still alive, perhaps we'll meet again someday."

Leaving those brief acquaintances behind, Ricard followed Arno toward the Beringen Adventurers' Guild. Only then did Daisy bury her face in her mother's arms and sob.

Where there was sunlight, there was bound to be shadow. Rheinfurt was no exception. Just inside the gate, the neat buildings and paved roads had impressed him. But when they turned down the alleys and entered the slums, he marveled that such a miserable place could exist.

The clogged sewers reeked of every kind of filth. It was hell for humans and paradise for rats. Interestingly, though, the district was not entirely gloomy.

People drunk in broad daylight shouted and sang at the tops of their voices, and cheap whores cackled with laughter. In that sense, it was lively enough, though none of it made the place any less wretched.

"There's an adventurers' guild in a place like this...? Are you sure this is the way?"

Suspecting they had taken a wrong turn, Ricard questioned Arno, who was walking ahead. But Arno tilted his head, looking equally uncertain.

"I've only heard about it. This is my first time coming here myself... All I was told was that it was near the ghost tree. Hold on. We're here."

Around the corner stood a tree that looked long dead. Its thick trunk was so grotesquely twisted that it resembled a person screaming. The surrounding clearing was heaped with rubbish, and nearby stood a shabby building with people going in and out. Surely that could not be it.

Arno had been brimming with confidence after killing the bandits, but now he felt himself shrinking again, like a balloon losing air. This was a dangerous neighborhood. People were often murdered and their bodies dumped in the gutters here. No one mourned them, and such deaths were scarcely ever treated as crimes worth investigating.

"Let's go and ask, at least."

Reasoning that surely nothing would happen in broad daylight, Arno approached the people at the entrance.

Whether they were guarding the door or simply killing time nearby was unclear. They sat on what looked like a heap of broken timber, rolling dice on a small table.

"Excuse me, could I ask you something? Is this the Beringen Adventurers' Guild branch?"

The men, who had been watching the two rolling dice with grave concentration, all turned to look at Arno—and at Ricard behind him.

"Who the hell are you?"

Rather than answer the question, a man with a scar over his eye spoke in a faintly belligerent tone.

"I'm a courier with the Imperial Guild Bureau. I've come on business."

"Imperial? Guild Bureau? What's that?"

"Pardon?"

"I said, what the fuck is that, you bastard?"

The man suddenly snarled like a rabid dog. Arno had only asked a question. Being cursed at left him bewildered, indignant, and frightened enough that he could only blink. Words failed him. The man had never heard of the Empire? What was that supposed to mean?

"Arno, stand back."

Ricard spoke from behind him. His expression had barely changed, but his eyes were cold.

While Arno stood at a loss, Ricard slipped the basket's strap off his shoulder. Then he carried it toward the men. They stared at the approaching child in the red cloak as if to ask what this was about now.

Ricard looked at the man with the scarred eye for a moment, then tipped the contents of his basket onto the table, which was strewn with dice, copper coins, and gambling tiles.

THUD. CLUNK.

The objects were evidently quite heavy. Coins jingled as the tabletop was thrown into disarray. Until then, the men had begun to scowl, looking ready to pounce. But when Ricard whipped away the wrapping cloth, everything changed.

"Eek!"

"Fuck! Scared the shit out of me!"

CRASH!

The men, including the one with the scarred eye, sprang to their feet or toppled backward, scrambling to get away from the severed heads as fast as they could.

"Boys! Get out here!"

Someone shouted. Men poured out of the building as if they had been waiting for the call, naturally forming a circle around Arno and Ricard.

"What? What's going on?"

"What's all this?"

"What the fuck is that?"

The newcomers' eyes widened at the heads rolling on the table. Arno had no idea what to do, his eyes darting about like those of a frightened rabbit.

Amid everyone's fear and confusion, only Ricard spoke calmly, as though he commanded the situation itself.

"The Bilton brothers' heads. I've come to collect the bounty."