Chapter 17

White clouds in a blue sky, a cool breeze, and warm sunshine. It was the kind of day when those things alone could lift your spirits.

Ricard gathered his money and dagger, draped his red cloak around himself, and followed Volka out of the dormitory.

Something must have happened, because Volka seemed to be in a good mood. Boribori's broad smile was like spring sunshine, and Ricard found his own spirits rising along with theirs.

He hadn't noticed it on the way up, but descending the sheer rocky mountain felt a little frightening. There were no safety railings, and the narrow steps were uneven enough that a careless foot could easily miss its footing. At this height, the wind was strong, constantly ruffling his hair and whipping his cloak.

"Someone's going to have an accident here," Ricard said.

"Some kids jump on purpose."

Walking ahead, Volka said it as though it were nothing. He meant they took their own lives.

"Huh?"

"Heaven's Cliff. It used to happen now and then. Kids jumping on purpose."

"... What about lately?"

"Don't think I've seen one recently. Three months or so?"

"..."

Ricard had nothing to say. His heart ached. He wanted to mourn the children who had died, but he knew neither their faces nor their names.

Yet children jumping off the cliff apparently wasn't anything unusual to Volka, who simply asked, without a care, "It's a six-hour walk. What's the plan? Stay overnight in town, or look around for a bit and come back? If you're coming back today, I can't come with you. I've got things to do."

That meant a twelve-hour round trip. It was morning now, so returning to the academy dormitory that same day would leave them very little time in town.

As Ricard considered what to do, he remembered something his eldest brother Graut had told him when he was little.

["You don't make plans on a day like this."]

Ricard looked up at the white clouds drifting across the blue sky. Letting the breeze carry away the heaviness that had briefly settled over him, he said, "I'll decide when we get there."

"All right. You said you had some money, didn't you?"

"Yeah."

"In town, money is king and emperor. If you've got money, you've got nothing to worry about."

"It can sow the seeds of trouble, too."

"Ha! True enough, but who's going to mess with you?"

Volka knew what Ricard could do, so he wasn't worried about his safety. In fact, if Ricard had been just some ordinary brat, Volka wouldn't have been taking him into town like this at all—not unless he was finding him work.

The view of the endless fields as they descended the rocky mountain was magnificent. They had come at just the right time: spring flowers embroidered the green fields with vivid colors. Spring had settled gently over the land in all its fullness, and the stairs seemed to descend into heaven.

Knowing children had once ended their lives here made it impossible to see the view as simply beautiful. Or did that make it more beautiful? No. It meant it had to be beautiful.

At last they reached the bottom, where a single road stretched all the way to town. Unpaved and formed by human footsteps alone, it seemed all the more evocative for it.

Boribori ran excitedly ahead, pointing around him and shouting, "Milkwort! Daffodils! Lily of the valley! Venus's looking-glass!"

He called out the names of every plant and flower in the fields. On and on he went, without end. Listening, Ricard realized that all those plants he'd seen back home had names of their own.

"You actually memorize that crap?"

Volka frowned, apparently tired of listening.

"But they're so pretty. It's sad if no one notices them."

"Yeah? Still pretty if I do this? Take that!"

Volka trampled a yellow daffodil. Boribori flinched and fell silent, while Ricard only smiled. Still, he went over to the crestfallen Boribori and touched his shoulder.

"It'll grow back. A flower fading doesn't mean its life is over."

"Yeah..."

"Riki's one thing, but you need to get your act together. You think you can coast along just because you got lucky and made the right friend? What are you going to do after your two years are up?"

Volka's criticism was scathing. Still, the fact that he bothered saying it when he didn't have to might have been a sign that he was starting to care a little.

"We've got six hours of walking ahead of us. Hearing a few flower names isn't so bad."

Ricard did his best to defend Boribori, though honestly, he didn't understand why anyone would memorize this stuff either.

Volka merely snorted in disapproval. Of the three of them, Boribori was the one whose childish innocence shone through most clearly, even though he was two years older than Ricard.

"What flower is that?" Ricard asked, hoping to cheer him up.

"A violet."

"And that tiny one?"

"A cucumber herb."

"Wow, you really know them all. I've heard flowers have meanings, too. Can you tell me some?"

Boribori's eyes began to light up at the question.

"Violets are also called swallow flowers because they bloom around the time the swallows come back after spending winter far away. They mean eternal friendship."

"Really?"

Ricard picked three purple violets and offered one to Boribori.

"Does this make us friends forever?"

"... Hehehe."

Grinning, Boribori took the flower and tucked it behind his ear.

"You take one too, Volka."

"You're doing this on purpose, aren't you?"

"Doing what?"

"Trying to torment me."

"What are you talking about? Didn't you hear? They mean eternal friendship."

"This is the sort of crap girls do."

"So you're not taking it?"

"I don't believe in this shit."

Despite his words, Volka all but snatched a flower from him. Ricard laughed. His spirits restored, Boribori told them the stories behind the flowers: the heartbreaking tale of an innocent maiden, flowers blooming where a brave knight had shed his blood, flowers delivered by an angel who descended from heaven, and more.

True or not, believable or not, they kept the journey into town from being boring.

A breeze blew. The flowers and grasses rustling across the fields sounded like waves.

SHHHHH...

Beringen had no distinct city boundary—not below the hill, at least. At some point, the fields gave way to farmland, and grazing cattle came into view. Far in the distance stood the castle on the hill. The closer they came to it, the more densely settled the land became.

Volka pointed this way and that as he explained.

"This is the eastern quarter. There are lots of guild people and academy graduates here, so it's better than most places. But you'd do well to stay away from the north and west. Nord settlers live in the north, see? They've got their own customs. Run your mouth there and you'll get an axe through your skull, so keep that in mind. The west is where the old locals live. They don't like us much."

"What about the south?" Ricard asked.

"A bit of everything. People come up from the Empire's interior. Some of them are nasty bastards. Point is, you're relatively safe if you stay in the eastern quarter and keep your head down. Let's go to headquarters first."

Ricard and Boribori followed Volka. It was afternoon, with a few hours still left before sunset.

Headquarters was a large, oddly shaped building. Its second floor was larger than its first, and an overhead walkway linked it to another building. There was a separate area for parking carriages, with five standing there. Freed from their heavy harnesses after the hard journey, the horses were eating fodder and drinking water in the stable.

Having previously visited a branch that wasn't really a branch, Ricard thought that at least headquarters had a building of its own.

"The real headquarters is inside the castle. Strictly speaking, this isn't headquarters, but everyone calls it that anyway."

In practice, this was where much of the work was done. The so-called higher-ups occupied the real headquarters inside the castle, and this place simply passed along any orders they issued.

"I don't think you two are allowed in yet, but I know someone, so maybe I can get you in. And once you're inside, watch your mouths. The mood's fucking awful more often than not."

"Why?"

"What do you mean, why? Because people die."

"Oh."

The real ordeal began after the two years at the academy. That was when the most people died. And from there, they were divided into upper, middle, and lower grades.

Of the two hundred male and female students, fewer than fifty attempted to become adventurers. That was how difficult and dangerous the work was. A few ran away; most simply looked for other work.

Volka went inside, while Ricard and Boribori stood together and looked around. People with weapons at their waists passed by. Their shadowed faces and eyes seemed to tell the stories of their lives.

If they were adventurers, or training to become adventurers, that meant they were all academy graduates. They were their seniors, in other words, but Ricard sensed nothing cheerful about them. So at odds with the bright weather, they looked miserable and worn down.

There were even more merchants moving about than adventurers. Anyone could commission the guild, but merchants naturally made up most of its clientele.

Snatches of conversation drifted over on the breeze: goods received or still missing, a local lord who had started charging tolls, some gang causing trouble lately, where goods were cheap and where they were expensive.

Then Volka came back outside.

"They said you can have a quick look around. Behave yourselves. Don't wander off for no reason."

"Okay."

At last, Ricard stepped inside the guild headquarters. The interior was much like any tavern, except for the wanted posters on the walls. There were so many that some had been pasted in overlapping layers rather than arranged neatly.

But when Boribori entered and spotted someone seated at the bar, he started and trembled. It was the very person who had beaten him and poured water over him on his first day.

The man wore a sword at his waist and was talking to the bartender. Seeing the two boys Volka had brought, the bartender greeted them.

"Ah, these the kids? You two need to eat plenty and grow some more. Make yourselves comfortable. No drinking, though. Get a taste for alcohol before you're old enough and it'll ruin you."

That seemed like reasonably well-meant advice. Or was it? In any case, when the bartender spoke to Volka's group, the man he'd been talking to naturally looked their way as well. The moment his eyes met Ricard's, however, he started in flustered surprise.

"Huh? Oh, uh..."

"Hello," Ricard greeted him.

"Ah, ah, yes. Er, are you finding the dormitory comfortable?"

"Yes. It's quite nice."

"Ah... I see..."

Seeing this academy graduate, a capable adventurer in his own right, so utterly at a loss made Volka, Boribori, and even the bartender stare wide-eyed. Volka and Boribori were so bewildered they were almost stupefied.

The reason the senior adventurer was flustered by Ricard was simply that Ricard was a noble. Like Boribori, Ricard had encountered him on his first day. As soon as Ricard showed his admission letter, the man had become visibly uncomfortable.

That reaction had convinced Ricard that if he wanted a comfortable life at the academy, he shouldn't reveal his noble birth. So he had been using his nickname as though it were his given name.

From the senior adventurer's perspective, treating Ricard as a noble was awkward, but he couldn't treat him roughly either. It was only natural that he found Ricard difficult to deal with.

Ricard might not be the eldest son, but he was a legitimate one—a full-fledged noble. Bastards were inherently uneasy around legitimate children, and this man was himself a bastard.

"I-I'd better get back to work. I'll take my leave, sir."

Abandoning even his unfinished drink, he hurried away. His final, particularly respectful farewell was directed at Ricard.

Volka and Boribori turned to Ricard, their eyes all but demanding an explanation. He shrugged and offered an evasive answer.

"I didn't hit him."

However good a fighter he was, could he really have beaten up a senior? In this line of work, strength was everything, and a weaker man lost regardless of seniority. Still, becoming an adventurer meant possessing an entirely different level of skill.

The bartender's astonishment, however, soon gave way to understanding. He had heard that a noble was coming to the academy, and realized that this must be the boy.

Unlike the man who had left, the bartender was fairly relaxed. Dealing with all sorts of people for a living had apparently made him perceptive. Perhaps he had also noticed that Ricard didn't want his nobility revealed, because he quickly changed the subject.

"Seems Hunt's had enough to drink to muddle his head. See? Drink doesn't do you much good. Anyway, Volka, have you heard the rumor?"

"Sorry? Which one?"

"You know Rotch, don't you?"

"Ah... yes."

Rotch had a poor reputation among adventurers. His skills were useful enough, but there were rumors that he committed crimes on the sly. Besides, he was such a thug that few people liked him.

Adventurers might not be as honorable as knights, but neither were they as utterly immoral as bandits. They had lines they wouldn't cross, and Rotch was notorious in their circles for treading dangerously close to those lines.

"I hear someone put a hole through his chin. Went right through his tongue, too. He can't even eat properly."

The bartender mimed piercing the skin beneath his chin with a finger.

"Why? What happened? Wasn't he supposed to be pretty good?"

"Seems he got that way after messing with a woman from Blatter's clan. That's why you've got to stay humble in this business. Skill isn't everything. Mark my words, that bastard'll be dead before long. He's made far too many enemies. Idiot."

The bartender must have thoroughly disliked him to all but curse him despite belonging to the same guild. Or perhaps it wasn't a curse so much as insight.

"What's a clan?" Ricard asked.

He had been wondering for a while, but hadn't had a chance to hear an explanation. The bartender replied as he wiped a cup with a towel.

"A clan is a group of like-minded people within a guild. It's good if they're skilled, but trust has to come first. That's why life at the academy matters. Kids who stick together there tend to stick together afterward. They know each other best—who's good, and who can be trusted."

So a guild seemed to be a collection of clans. The two terms didn't inherently describe a hierarchy, but in practice that seemed to be how it worked. A guild supplied clans with jobs, gave them orders, and, most importantly, granted them legitimacy through its connection to the Emperor. That mattered more than anything.

"Did you go to the academy too, mister?"

Rather than sitting on a stool, Ricard leaned against the bar with his arms resting on it. It came up to his chest.

"Mister? Me? Hahaha. Sorry, but I'm not an academy graduate. I was just an adventurer. A fixer working for the guild, you might say. I've retired from fixing things and do this now, but I'm still with the guild. I provide weary adventurers with a warm place to sleep. And sometimes I pass on guild orders."

"What's a fixer?"

"A fixer fixes things. Someone who 'takes care of business.'"

"But what does that mean?"

"In this line of work, 'taking care of business' means getting the client the result they want, by whatever means necessary."

"Uh... is that meant to sound a little scary?"

"Maybe. Maybe not."

"I see. By the way, do you have a room where three people could stay together for a night?"

Ricard pulled out his coin purse as he asked, but the bartender shook his head.

"It's your first visit, so I'll let you have a night for free. I've got that much discretion. Head upstairs and take the last room on the right."

"Thank you. What's your name, mister? I'm Riki."

"... Anything's better than being called mister, I suppose. I'm Dunkel."

"Is that your real name?"

Dunkel smiled faintly and set down the cup he had been polishing. Leaning toward Ricard, he spoke too softly for anyone else to hear.

"Is yours, Master?"

The bartender who called himself Dunkel had neatly trimmed brown hair and a beard, giving him a tidy appearance. Beneath his unassuming gaze lay a presence as keen as a dagger. Ricard could see it.

Ricard merely smiled in silence. Then he turned to his two friends.

"Let's put our things away first, then look around. What do you say?"

But Volka and Boribori were staring blankly at him, looking utterly dumbfounded.

"What's wrong?"

"... Huh? Oh, nothing. Sure, let's do that."

Volka snapped out of his daze as he answered. Strange. This wasn't the sort of place that treated you kindly just because it was your first visit. In fact, kindness had nothing to do with this place at all.

Boribori, meanwhile, was speechless at the ease with which Ricard dealt with such frightening people. Still bewildered, the two followed him up the stairs.

Silence settled over the hall. At the scattered tables, adventurers either slept with their heads down or sipped their drinks in gloomy silence.

Then a woman approached Dunkel.

"Well?"

"Seems like a pleasant enough boy."

"No. Not that."

"I couldn't sense any mana."

"Then is Rotch just a dumbass, or has the kid learned some secret swordsmanship passed down in his family?"

In fact, everyone with their ear to the ground knew that Ricard had defeated Rotch. The guild had been quietly keeping an eye on him since around the time he arrived at the academy.

"Probably both."

"Hmm... So, are you going to test him?"

Dunkel brought out a bottle, poured a drink into the cup he had been polishing, and slid it toward the woman, shaking his head.

"No. That's not our job. It's the academy's."