Chapter 22

There were a few essentials for strenuous work outdoors, such as war or hunting. Gloves were one, and sturdy footwear another. Handling heavy loads or rough objects barehanded all too often meant scraped hands or torn fingernails.

Sturdy footwear mattered because few things were more troublesome in the field than a hole in your shoe. It wasn't as though you could simply go somewhere and get a new pair. Shoes made of tough leather, with strong soles that could withstand rough terrain, were therefore essential.

Coats and cloaks were also important in case you had to sleep outdoors. As for provisions, well, they weren't actually going off to war, so surely everyone could just bring a little of whatever they needed.

Volka explained all this at considerable length to the gathered students. But they already knew it all and looked unimpressed, leaving him visibly deflated.

"... Oh, and a dagger's essential too. You'll need it for all sorts of things. Riki, you've already got one, so you're set... Anything else I should mention?"

A dagger wasn't merely a weapon, but a frequently used everyday tool. Having one made a tremendous difference.

Listening quietly in his newly purchased gloves and boots, Ricard reflected that the necessary equipment hadn't changed much in a hundred years. He knew at least as much about these things as Volka did. When it came down to it, Volka was still inexperienced.

Still, Volka was their leader. Close friends or not, Ricard believed his position and authority deserved respect in public, so he refrained from interrupting, adding comments, or interfering.

Fourteen students in total were taking part in the commission: Ricard, Volka, Molty, four girls and two boys Ricard didn't know, and the five members of Ice's gang.

Just as an adventurers' guild consisted of multiple clans, they had naturally split into three groups. Ricard, Volka, and Molty formed one; the four girls and two boys another; and Ice's gang the third. On the surface, however, they were a single support team from the academy.

"So what's the commission?"

One of the unfamiliar boys addressed Volka with a sullen expression. He had once collected tribute, but these days he kept quiet. The students generally accepted the outcomes of their fights, so there had been no particular trouble or resistance. No one needed lessons to know their own life was precious.

"Like I said before, we're just cutting off some deserters' heads. Apparently quite a few of them deserted. But we're only providing support, so we have to join up with the Jagd clan first. The meeting point is our guild's hideout outside Griffinswald. Anyone know where Griffinswald is?"

Two or three students raised their hands. Volka hadn't asked because he didn't know himself; he explained for those who didn't.

"It's not that far from here. About two days southeast. We could make it in a day on a forced march, but we've still got a week until we're due to meet them, so there's some leeway. I'd like to leave tomorrow or the day after. Anyone have other ideas?"

Volka certainly had leadership ability. Leadership came in many forms, and his approach seemed to involve actively listening to the group's opinions. He gathered their views, established a goal everyone could accept, and encouraged them to follow willingly. It was a good way to lead. Shouting people down and forcing them to obey was another kind of leadership, after all.

No one offered any particular opinions, though. They still felt a little awkward around one another.

Then Volka looked at Ice.

"Ice, anything you want to say?"

Ice merely shook his head. The girls watching him looked as though they were dreaming. His good looks really were that unreal. The four boys who accompanied him were also extraordinarily beautiful.

Ice remained silent as usual, until Ricard asked him a question.

"There's something I've been wondering. How did you become number one?"

Coming from the current number one, that question made the mood rather strange, though Ricard hadn't meant it that way. The two of them had never actually fought.

Ice looked at Ricard for a moment before answering.

"Just did."

"Anyway, you're really good-looking. Are you descended from elves or something?"

"Don't know."

He kept giving the shortest possible answers.

"Do you not want to talk to me?"

"..."

Ice turned his head and closed his mouth, as though he wanted no more of this conversation.

What could Ricard do if he didn't want to talk? He wasn't particularly offended, but something else bothered him. He had made the effort to speak because they were undertaking something akin to a military operation, and he felt they needed some sort of bond.

Their profession involved weapons, after all, and lives were at stake. They had to be able to trust each other in any emergency.

When that happened, there would be no time to think everything through and make a decision. They needed enough trust to charge straight ahead—or to flee together if they had to run.

But being fellow academy students was his only connection to Ice's gang. He had no way of knowing whether they could be trusted. If he knew they were untrustworthy, at least he could keep his guard up. With them, he simply couldn't tell.

As though he understood why Ricard had tried to start a conversation, Volka regarded Ice and his gang for a moment before speaking.

"They'll manage. Let's leave tomorrow, then."

Once that was settled, Ice and his gang left without a backward glance. The other students dispersed as well.

Ricard, Volka, and Molty were left alone. The three went around town buying supplies: potions, medicinal herbs, bandages, and travel rations. They had to pay for these themselves, and Ricard covered most of the cost. By the time they finished, he had very little money left.

The next day, Ricard left the academy for Griffinswald.

Molty carried their supplies in a pack large enough to cover his broad back. He fought with a one-handed axe and a shield; his helmet and round shield were secured to the pack.

All the students wore cloaks in case they needed to camp outdoors, concealing their bodies so that no one else could see what equipment they had.

All five members of Ice's gang wore pitch-black cloaks. They looked like some order of death knights out of a fairy tale. The other students also wore dark brown or similarly somber colors. Ricard alone stood out in bright red.

Despite the fairly warm weather, the students wore thick coats, which served as substitutes for armor.

There was virtually no upper limit to the price of weapons, armor, and horses. Metal armor was still beyond their wildest dreams, and a helmet cost as much as armor. Though a helmet used less iron, it required highly advanced metalworking techniques.

That was why the cotton-padded coat known as a gambeson was so widely used, both for everyday wear and for combat. Unless you were a knight or a wealthy mercenary, you generally wore one.

Molty was the only one with a helmet. He hadn't bought it because he could afford one; the smiths at his forge had given it to him, wishing him fortune in battle.

In any case, the academy students set out to support the adventurers, as thoroughly prepared as they could manage. Volka led the way as leader of the reinforcements, the other students walked in the middle, and Ice's gang brought up the rear. No one had assigned positions. They had simply fallen into that order.

Rather than retracing the road he had traveled with Sandy, Ricard took the road leading southeast. The road he and Sandy had used was a main thoroughfare and relatively safe. This southeastern route looked ominous from the outset.

Old bones lay in the grass beside the road. Not animal bones, either—one seemed to be a human shinbone. He had returned to a world where death was close at hand.

Perhaps because they had been selected from the higher ranks, none of the students seemed frightened by the sight. They simply walked on in silence.

They had set out that morning, and around noon the road led into a forest. The party entered a peaceful place filled with birdsong. Peaceful on the surface, at least.

Beringen was frontier territory to begin with. If they were unlucky, monsters could appear, so the forest was by no means entirely safe. Everyone kept an eye on their surroundings as they walked. Fortunately, nothing happened before sundown.

That night, they lit fires at a suitable campsite that seemed well used by travelers. Three fires, to be precise, with the three groups of students sitting a little apart.

They were traveling together, yet somehow they weren't.

Using the dagger with which he had repeatedly broken enemy swords and killed people, Ricard sliced ham and cheese to eat. Then he called to the girls.

"Hey. You there."

They looked around at him but didn't answer.

"Do you girls have rankings too?"

"No," one girl answered.

"Then what?"

"We have classes. It's a little complicated, but roughly speaking, there are maids, attendants, ladies, and princesses. Attendants and below just wait on the others. They don't train. Only the ladies and princesses do."

It was utterly childish. What business did mere bastards and commoners have calling themselves ladies and princesses? Not that Ricard particularly cared about that.

"So are you princesses or ladies?"

"None of us are princesses."

"Did they stay at the academy?"

"No. They died. On a commission like this one. If we make it back alive, we'll probably become princesses."

The girls had it brutal too. That meant they'd had no princesses for a while. Among the boys, the next rank automatically moved up whenever a higher spot opened, but it didn't work that way for the girls.

"What do you get for becoming a princess?"

"You get to feel amazing, I suppose? Unlike yours, our dormitory's divided into five rooms. Think of a princess as the top girl in each room. You can do whatever you like in the dorm. You're the only nice girl, the prettiest, the strongest—that sort of thing."

"... Unbelievable."

Volka muttered as he cut up a roasted potato with his knife. Having once dated a girl from the academy, he already knew how it worked, but hearing it again still left him incredulous.

"So the maids and attendants just wait on people until they graduate?"

"If they're lucky, they can keep doing it after graduation."

"... Lucky? You call that lucky?"

"Yes. What else could they do for a living? They're ugly, they have no skills, and their families have all thrown them away. They've got nowhere to go back to."

"Right... Well, that's true."

It was a bitter reality. Ricard felt sorry for them, but he didn't think there was anything he could do. Teaching them swordsmanship wouldn't necessarily make them good at it. Nor was he going to marry all of them and provide for them, was he?

"Anyway, aren't you interested in girls? Or are you still too young? How old are you?" the girl asked.

"Eleven."

"Then you're about old enough to start knowing about that."

"Sorry, but I don't believe in things like love."

The girls' eyes widened at Ricard's words, then they burst into laughter.

"Neither do we!"

Ricard laughed sheepishly.

"Ha ha ha..."

"Don't talk to bitches like them. They're vicious. Riki, you might be a great fighter, but they'll eat you alive before you know it."

"Right... I'll be careful."

Ricard gave another awkward smile at Volka's warning. He wasn't offended. Still, hadn't Volka himself dated one of the girls before?

They certainly did seem rather forceful, though. Girls who practiced swordplay and combat weren't likely to be ordinary. Indeed, the boys accompanying them looked distinctly cowed.

As far as looks went, the girls were exceptionally pretty. There was a popular belief that bastards tended to be handsome or beautiful. After all, people had affairs with attractive men and beautiful women, not just anyone.

There seemed to be some truth to it. The mothers of noble bastards were often high-class prostitutes.

"Shouldn't we decide on a night watch?" Molty asked.

"There are plenty of us. How about choosing six? Two from each group," Ricard suggested.

Volka nodded readily, and no one else, including Ice's gang, objected. They agreed to have two from each group take watch.

Standing watch meant protecting others; entrusting the watch to them meant trusting them. Even if only in small ways like this, they seemed to be growing closer.

They passed the night and set off early the next morning for the meeting point. Perhaps making it through the first day safely had helped everyone relax a little. Ricard followed Volka, carrying his oversized sword on one shoulder.

Yet even after walking all the previous day and into the afternoon, they had not emerged from the forest. Griffinswald itself was a village in the woods.

Just as Ricard was thinking it was about time they encountered some locals—herb gatherers or hunters, perhaps—something caught his eye. At first glance, it was merely a bush swaying in the breeze, but something about it struck him as unnatural.

"Volka."

"Yeah?"

Ricard called to him and pointed with his chin at the suspicious spot. Volka looked over, and the other students soon followed his gaze. There was nothing obviously wrong with it, but perhaps because Ricard had singled it out, it seemed strangely dangerous.

The column had stopped, and everyone scanned their surroundings warily. Then someone sprang up from the very spot Ricard had suspected and hurled a spear.

WHOOSH!

At the same time, hidden figures emerged from the other side of the road.

RUSTLE! RUSTLE! RUSTLE!

The sound of grass brushing against them alone made it clear there were far more than one or two. An ambush. The one small mercy was that they weren't monsters, but monster or human, their intent to kill was unmistakable.

"Who the hell are you?!"

The startled students scrambled in confusion. Even students who ranked high at the academy couldn't draw their weapons quickly when faced with real combat—especially an ambush. They were simply too shocked and bewildered to know what to do.

"Aah!"

A girl's scream rang out. From that moment on, they fought desperately against their unknown attackers. They had forgotten all their training and were practically brawling, but not running away was commendable enough.

Of course, commendable or not, surviving came first.

One attacker rushed Ricard, attempting to thrust his sword into him. Ricard instinctively twisted aside, took the sword off his shoulder, and drove its pommel up into the man's jaw.

CRUNCH!

The man's head jerked upward before he collapsed face-first. With no time even to look back at him, Ricard drew his sword and flung the scabbard aside.

He ran toward the girl he had spoken with the previous night. She had managed to fend off an attack, but had fallen on her backside and was in danger. Someone raised a sword high to strike. All she could do was hold hers up like a bar to block it. That wouldn't stop the force of the descending blow. It would split her skull.

WHOOSH!

CLANG!

Ricard leaped in just in time and knocked the sword aside. Gripping the ricasso at the base of his blade, he used the sword like a short spear and instantly drove it through the enemy's belly.

Blood gushed from the wound as he pulled it out. The enemy dropped to his knees, eyes wide.

"Fuuuck..."

His blade was drenched in blood. Ricard shouted at the girl as though angry.

"Get up!"

This was no time for gentle words. The frenzied clash of blades rang out all around them. He swept his gaze over the battlefield and counted the enemy in an instant. More than thirty. Far too many.

"Volka!"

There were too many enemies, bodies tangled together everywhere, and he couldn't get a clear view of Volka. But an answering shout told him his friend was alive.

"Riki!"

Ricard ran straight toward him.

In the chaotic melee, the enemy's coordination had broken down as well. Even amid the confusion, Ricard could see that these men were no mere bandits.

Whatever they were, his own group needed to regroup first. They couldn't keep fighting like this. If they did, sheer numbers would overwhelm and kill them all.

Rather than focusing on killing, Ricard thrust and slashed wherever he could to open a path. Screams erupted all around him, along with cries of names he didn't recognize.

In moments he reached Volka, whose face was flushed bright red. He held a sword that wasn't his own—and even that blade was bent.

Molty had no weapon. Clutching his shield in both hands, he was using his bulk to ram the enemy and shove them back. But blood was streaming down his side. The spear thrown at the start of the ambush had struck him.

"This way!" Ricard shouted.

Instinctively, he sought to break through the enemy's weakest point. Men moved to block him, of course, but he stopped short, seized a single opening, and swept his sword out in a wide horizontal arc.

WHOOSH!

CLANG! CLATTER!

With the whistle of the blade through the air, three men's weapons shattered like brittle stalks.

The enemies froze in astonishment, wondering what had happened. Ricard pressed his advantage and charged, sending them stumbling back. He used that opening to break a path through and get Volka and Molty out.

"Over here!"

Volka and Molty were so overwhelmed by the desperate fighting that they simply followed the sound of his voice. The other students hurried after them.

Ricard, however, stayed behind to face their pursuers. Only after driving them off did he follow the students. Racing madly into the forest off the road, he could barely tell where he was, but fortunately he reached the place where Volka and Molty were hiding.

Other students who had already escaped were there too. The girls' hair was disheveled, and the boys looked dazed.

Two of Ice's five were missing. Altogether, there were only nine of them now, out of the original fourteen.

Unlike his usual self, Ice was disheveled and panting, his pupils dilated.

Molty leaned against a wall, gasping for breath. He struggled out of his pack and spoke.

"T-take it. Go."

Ignoring him, Ricard sat down and drew his dagger. He sliced open Molty's clothes to expose the wound. The spearhead was gone; someone must have pulled it out in the chaos. But its backward-facing barbs had left a large wound, and blood was pumping out.

Ricard pressed his hands against it. They were covered in blood in an instant.

"A potion. Get a potion out."

He addressed the students around him. But one student's hands were shaking so badly that he couldn't even get the potion out of the bag.

"Get it out now, you little shit!"

Ricard whipped around and snarled like a wild beast. A habit from his previous life had resurfaced. In an emergency, his nerves inevitably sharpened.

Volka was shaking just as badly, but he couldn't bear to watch any longer. He snatched the bag away, took out a potion, and handed it over.

Ricard first poured water from a canteen over the wound to clean it, then opened the potion and liberally doused the injury. He had Molty drink the rest. It cost a gold coin a bottle, but he used it all without hesitation.

Then he took out a needle, stitched up the wound, and slathered it with enough ointment to nearly empty the jar. Finally, he wrapped it as best he could in bandages.

While everyone else could barely look after themselves, Ricard had broken a path out, held off the pursuit, and now treated the wounded, all on his own.

With the first aid finished, he caught his breath and looked at Molty. He had already lost so much blood that further fighting seemed impossible. A potion was only a first-aid measure, not something that instantly healed everything.

"Hah, hah, hah, hah..."

"Molty, you're all right. You're going to live now. Lucky, eh? Stay with me."

"Hah, hah, ha ha, ha ha ha..."

Pale-faced, Molty managed a feeble laugh. He would survive if he could simply rest and recover. The problem was the enemy.

Before they could even worry about whether the other five were alive or dead, the enemy was approaching. Suddenly, Ice made to leave.

Ricard's eyes widened.

"Where are you going?"

"To finish the commission."

"Are you out of your mind?"

Ricard scowled as he spoke, his expression asking what kind of bastard Ice was. For the first time, he showed open hostility toward him.

"..."

Ice looked at Ricard for a moment, then simply walked away. The other students hesitated in confusion before following him.

"Sorry."

The girl Ricard had saved spoke as she left. Was he supposed to be glad she'd at least apologized?

Glad, his ass. He hadn't saved her to receive thanks, but he certainly hadn't done it to receive an apology.

The maddening part was that he couldn't demand they risk their lives fighting for a wounded companion. Ricard stared dumbfounded as the students left.

Volka watched in equal disbelief as the students abandoned them and fled.

"Those fucking bastards..."