Chapter 12

Ricard decided to spend the night at an inn Sandy recommended. He could hear rats scurrying through the ceiling and walls, but it had been much the same in Stormhertz, so he hardly minded.

After washing in cold water and laundering his clothes, he slipped beneath the fresh bedding. The fatigue from all that walking and sleeping outdoors seemed to descend on him at once. He was at an age for running, eating, and sleeping plenty, and growing all the while. Without any tossing or turning, he fell asleep in an instant.

He felt as though he had merely blinked, but when someone woke him, dawn light was spilling through the window.

"Riki. Riki."

He sat up and looked around. It was Sandy, already dressed and ready.

"Do we have to leave already?"

"No. We have time. Take your time getting ready."

"Just a moment."

Ricard rubbed his puffy eyes, then climbed out of bed in his underwear. He rummaged through his bag for his money. He had to pay her for guiding him, after all.

"You don't have to pay me."

"Why not?"

"How could I take money from an adorable young master who's going to be my junior?"

"Still."

"I had business at headquarters anyway, so let's just say we're traveling together. How's that? Now, arms up."

Sandy brought over the clothes that had dried by the fire overnight and began helping him dress. They had even been ironed. He wondered why she was going to such lengths.

"I had a younger sibling about your age."

As though she had read his mind, she explained why she was being so kind. But she offered no long, elaborate explanation. That was all.

With his shirt on, Ricard gazed up at her, then smiled gently.

"Thank you, Sandy. Your heart is as beautiful as your face."

Her eyes widened a little in surprise before returning to normal. A smile spread across her lips too.

"You're going to break a lot of hearts when you grow up."

She helped him put his shoes on as well. Perhaps because they had dried thoroughly by the fire overnight, they had no smell at all. They felt pleasantly warm as he slipped his feet inside.

"Check that you haven't left anything behind. We'll leave right after breakfast."

"All right."

Ricard slung his bag over his shoulder and took his dagger. All the bag contained was his admission letter, traveling provisions, spare underwear, and travel money.

They left the room and went downstairs into a dim, quiet hall. At this early hour, no one was there. Stew bubbled in a large cast-iron pot over the hearth. Unidentifiable chunks floated in the bright red broth. It was what they called perpetual stew.

They kept adding whatever ingredients were at hand and pouring in water or liquor, serving it as needed. Since it never ran out, it had earned the name perpetual stew.

Sandy ladled out two bowls and brought them to the table. There were no utensils; they would have to drink it or eat with their hands. Ricard took a sip. It was sour, perhaps subtly revolting, perhaps still palatable—a flavor that defied all explanation.

One thing was certain: it was strangely addictive, as though someone had added some magical powder.

Holding the bowl and blowing on it between sips, Ricard suddenly thought of a question.

"About the chicken coop. Do the girls live with everyone else?"

"No, the girls have separate quarters. There are about eighty. Why? Interested?"

"That's not what I meant. Things like sword fighting are a bit difficult for women, aren't they? Since they're physically weaker."

"Oh, that? Mana Drive takes care of that. Women can learn it too, and it practically eliminates the difference in strength."

"Mana Drive?"

"It comes from something called a codex. I suppose you could call it a way of using the mana inside our bodies to strengthen our physical abilities or weapons? Anyway, it's different from the magic mages use. More physical... Sorry. I don't really understand it myself. They don't explain it to us in detail either."

"So you've learned it too?"

"Yes. But not everyone can. First you have to sense mana. Some kids start sensing it naturally after going through hell in the chicken coop. Others have a natural talent and pick it up right away. And some couldn't sense it in a million years. But sensing mana isn't the end of it. Increasing the amount you have and purifying it are another matter altogether."

"I've never heard of that before. It sounds like some kind of magic."

Ricard could hardly understand what she meant. They claimed to be emulating him from a hundred years ago, yet they were doing something he had never done. What was going on?

"Think of it this way: mages work their brains, and we work our bodies."

"Then what do you mainly do in the chicken coop to learn it?"

"Oh, just flexibility exercises, fitness training, swordsmanship lessons, unarmed combat, and meditation. Oh, right. You have to make a separate donation for each class."

"A donation?"

"You're free to choose your classes. You don't even have to take any. But if you don't, you can't compete. Donations are optional too, but they make you miserable if you don't pay. So the kids try to earn money however they can in their spare time. Some end up pursuing that instead, and others can't stand it and leave. That's how it goes."

In fact, donations were not unique to adventurer academies. Ordinary academic institutions operated much the same way. There was no fixed tuition; students voluntarily paid the professors whose lectures they attended. Nor were students divided into school years. They simply had tasks to complete as their years of attendance accumulated.

Ricard listened closely, forming a rough picture of how the academy worked. While Sandy talked, his stew cooled enough to eat, and he could finally get on with his breakfast. By the time he was halfway through, she had already finished. She spoke again.

"I don't know. I'd rather die than go through it again, but like Blatter said, I don't think those years were meaningless."

"I know what you mean. When you overcome hardship and adversity together, you can feel closer than brothers who share the same blood."

"... What kind of life have you lived, exactly?"

"Haha. It's just something I heard."

Ricard thought of the fellow soldiers he had watched die in his previous life. He could not remember every one of them, but the bond between comrades was certainly something special.

They were willing to lay down their lives for him, and trusted that he would do the same. There had been moments when they laughed and promised not to thank one another for saving their lives, or mourn if any of them died.

Riki had lost more people with whom he shared that bond than anyone. As each one died, it felt as though something inside him died as well.

Those old memories left Ricard feeling melancholy. He gulped down the stew without properly chewing the pieces, as though swallowing tears.

"You're a strange one."

"Hm?"

"You look like a young master who's never suffered a day in his life, but you cut off the Bilton brothers' heads. And now, somehow, you look pitiful. You're really going to break a lot of hearts."

"Will I break yours too, Sandy?"

She burst out laughing at his joke. Ricard smiled back.

"You're still a little boy, you know? Give it about ten years, and this older woman will consider it."

"You might have to get in line by then."

Sandy laughed even louder. What an odd young master. He had none of a noble's habitual arrogance, nor the timidity typical of his age. He was entirely at ease.

"Finished? Shall we go?"

"Yes."

They rose. Outside, the world was steeped in deep blue. The dawn air was somewhat chilly, but refreshing.

Unlike the back roads he had taken to Rheinfurt, the route to Beringen followed a main road. They occasionally passed travelers, migrants, and merchants. Most were either armed themselves or employed armed escorts, but the sheer number of people using the road seemed to make it relatively safe.

Perhaps four or five hours had passed since they left the city. The world, once entirely dark blue, was gradually recovering its colors: green shoots, pink flowers, blue sky, white clouds.

Unlike Arno, Sandy was attentive in all sorts of small ways. Though there was no real need, she stopped often to rest for Ricard's sake. She frequently smoothed his hair, teased him more and more, and sat increasingly close beside him. Ricard thought this sort of company wasn't bad at all. No, he liked it.

He was curious about her younger sibling, but did not ask. He did not want to spoil her mood.

They came to a fork. A heavy, knee-high milestone stood beside the right-hand road, inscribed with the name Beringen.

"From here, it's three days to Beringen if we take our time, or less than two if we hurry. We have four days until the fourteenth. What would you like to do?"

"Let's take our time."

Sandy smiled happily at that. Their steps were slow, but light.

Eventually the paving ended. A simple dirt road stretched into the woods, and they followed it beneath the trees. Around noon, they came upon a solitary cottage with a turning waterwheel.

"That's Waltz's tavern. It's been in the family for three generations. Most upstarts wouldn't dare cause trouble here. He has all sorts of connections, and he's a good fighter himself."

"Shall we have a meal here, then?"

"Sure."

"I'll pay. For the lady."

"Very funny. Will you stop that already?"

Ricard had displayed textbook noble etiquette, but only as a joke, knowing she disliked such things. Sandy had little fondness for aristocratic manners. She liked him because, despite being a noble, he did not act like one.

They entered Waltz's tavern. Several patrons were already inside, all lightly armed and with the air of adventurers. But being adventurers did not mean they all knew one another. Even members of the same guild were strangers if they belonged to different branches or clans. Worse, members of different guilds sometimes tried to kill one another on sight, so meeting fellow adventurers was hardly always a happy occasion.

Waltz's tavern was a special place, serving as a sort of neutral ground.

With familiar ease, Sandy walked to the bar and ordered food from Waltz. There was no menu to choose from; he cooked whatever ingredients he had on hand. Fortunately, it was nothing like perpetual stew. Just corn soup and smoked meat.

They sat at a table, enjoying pleasant, inconsequential conversation. Sandy recounted absurd and amusing memories from her academy days, and Ricard responded enthusiastically.

Before their food arrived, two more men entered the tavern. Looking around, they spotted Sandy. She saw them too, and started in surprise before whipping her head away and hurriedly pulling up her hood.

Ricard did not know why, but she clearly did not want to show her face. It seemed too late, however. The two men approached, and one spoke with a leer.

"Well, look who it is. Sandy, the whore of Beringen. You saw her too, right?"

"Yeah. Didn't know she liked little kids, though. How'd she manage to spread her legs for those old bastards?"

"..."

Sandy could not say a word. Ricard was too dumbfounded to speak either.

"Let's go."

Sandy abruptly rose and left the tavern without eating the food she had ordered. Ricard followed.

Outside, she was already walking briskly away. He jogged to catch up, but whenever he tried to walk again, she quickened her pace as though trying to leave him behind. He alternated between running and walking until she suddenly stopped. Still hooded, she spoke without turning to look at him.

"It's true."

"What is?"

"What they said. I wasn't good enough to make upper grade. Not all my memories were happy ones."

Ricard gazed at her back for a moment, then spoke.

"So what?"

"Huh?"

"Did you think I'd find you dirty?"

"..."

"You don't know what truly dirty is."

Sandy turned toward him. Tears of shame and humiliation brimmed in her eyes.

"Come on. I'll share the food my sister-in-law made. It's good."

This time, Ricard set off first. Sandy stood there in a daze for a moment, then followed the boy.

The trees shaded the forest, but it was still midday and not dark. They walked along the woodland path, sunlight falling in shafts between the branches.

After they had walked in silence for some time, they saw someone ahead, leaning against a tree. It was the man who had called Sandy a whore. As though by some magic, he had gotten ahead of them and was waiting. When they looked back, his companion was standing behind them.

"What are you doing?"

Sandy's question was openly hostile. He answered with the same leer as before.

"We went to the same academy. Do me a little service."

"You lunatic."

"Those old bastards were good enough, but a young guy like me isn't? Or are little kids more your taste?"

"It's nothing like that. He's a new academy student."

"Oh, is he? You're not spreading your legs again to lure him into that chicken coop? Do they give you a prize for recruiting clueless kids?"

"I told you, that's not it. Move. My clan won't let this slide."

"What's a bunch of fucking weaklings going to do about it?"

This clearly went beyond a cruel prank. Sandy drew the sword and whip hanging at either hip, then spoke quietly to Ricard.

"Run, no matter what. Get back to that tavern somehow, and send word to my friends in Rheinfurt."

"..."

"I'll protect you, whatever happens. Don't panic. Just run."

The two adventurers closed in from either side, drawing their weapons as well.

"What the fuck are you whispering about? Think we'll let him get away?"

The man in front approached slowly, then swept his sword sideways with one hand. The brush fell away in a perfectly clean, straight cut. At the same instant, he surged toward them as fast as the wind, too quickly for an ordinary person's eyes to follow.

Sandy swiftly lashed out with her whip, but in that brief instant he ducked beneath it and rushed in faster still. She swung the sword in her other hand. Surprisingly, he retreated with little resistance.

His retreat was merely a distraction. The real threat was the hand reaching for Ricard from behind. They apparently intended to take him hostage and threaten her. Hurting Sandy had never been their objective.

The man behind Ricard reached out to grab him. Ricard twisted aside, and at that same moment, the man felt a sting in his wrist. Blood poured from it.

"Gah! Fuck!"

He recoiled in surprise. Ricard already had his dagger drawn.

The man approaching Sandy was startled too. This time, he swung his sword straight at Ricard with lightning speed. Sensing the gap in their abilities, Sandy had stepped slightly aside, only to recoil in horror at the sight.

"No!"

Her scream echoed through the forest. But what followed was nothing like the tragedy she had imagined.

Holding his dagger in a reverse grip, Ricard struck down at the sword sweeping toward him.

CLANG!

Metal rang out, and the man's sword broke. The loss of the blade threw him off balance, making him sway.

As the broken blade brushed past Ricard's hair and spun into the air, he seized that brief instant to throw his full weight into a kick to the man's calf, swinging his leg like a club.

THUD!

The man's knee buckled sideways, and he fell flat on the ground.

Perhaps his training accounted for it: even with his left leg tingling and numb and his mind completely blank, he reflexively tried to rise. But he could not. The sharp point of a dagger was beneath his chin.

"Don't move."

The cold warning fell over his face. With only his upper body slightly raised, he looked up at Ricard. The boy's expression was so blank it seemed to radiate a chill.

His companion stood helplessly by, blood flowing from his wrist. His face was stunned, unable to comprehend what had happened. In the midst of that grave silence, Ricard spoke coldly again.

"Isn't this what you wanted?"

"W-what?"

"You just didn't expect to be the one getting his ass kicked. But this is what you wanted, isn't it?"

He meant that the man had started the confrontation, drawn a weapon, and attacked. Hadn't he brought this entire situation upon himself?

"... W-what are you..."

"Since you're trying to be like me, here's some advice. All the speed in the world is useless if you don't understand where to apply force. Mana, or whatever you call it, means nothing. Understand?"

"..."

"And from now on, you'll watch your mouth whether you want to or not."

With that, Ricard thrust the dagger through the flesh beneath the man's chin, piercing his tongue before pulling it out again.

"Aagh! Gah! Khh! Guh!"

His scream turned to spluttering coughs as blood ran down his throat.

Ricard wiped his dagger on the front of the man's clothes, then stood and returned it to his belt.

"Let's go."

Sandy remained frozen in shock. Ricard took her wrist and led her away.

Perhaps the sun had slipped behind a cloud for a moment. The shadows in the forest seemed a little deeper.

End of Part 3: The Shadow of a Hundred Years Ago.