Chapter 35

No one knew his past. Nor did he seem to live with any thought of tomorrow. A man with neither past nor future. And so he had no name.

People called him the Nameless. When he signed a contract, he wrote nothing but an X, and so he was simply X.

Now he was like a tiger roaming a snowy wilderness alone. Where was he headed, pushing through the savage blizzard into that darkness without a speck of light? Yet two boys followed the Nameless, like little birds flitting fearlessly around a tiger.

Driving snow lashed their faces. They had to hold their hoods in place with one hand, and the tips of their noses quickly went numb. Boribori walked ahead of Ricard, carrying the lantern as it swung and creaked incessantly in the wind.

Ricard never took his eyes off the Nameless, whose faint outline threatened to vanish into the darkness and snow. The man must have known they were following him, yet he never once looked back.

An hour passed, then two, as they trudged through the midnight blizzard. It was an almost unbearable ordeal. Ricard was having a harder time than Boribori, who had become fairly adept at using Mana Drive.

They had walked for over two hours, making even a return to the tavern difficult. There was no guarantee of shelter ahead. Even if there was, how much farther would they have to walk? Should they press on or turn back while they still could? They really might end up stranded, unable to go either way, and die.

Then the Nameless, walking ahead of them, crumpled helplessly into the snow.

"Huh?"

Ricard and Boribori approached him. In those few moments, a thin layer of snow had already settled on his back. Left there, he would soon be buried and die.

Ricard took him by the shoulder and tried to lift him, but the man was enormous and heavily armed. He was far too heavy to raise.

"I'll carry him," Boribori said, handing Ricard the lantern.

Once Ricard had taken it, Boribori squeezed his eyes shut and strained with a groan, barely managing to haul the Nameless halfway upright. With Ricard's help, he got the man onto his back.

The tremendous weight bore down on him, forcing him to put his Mana Drive to serious use. Trying to forget the strain and concentrate as hard as he could, he asked,

"Where do we go now?"

Who knew? Ricard raised the lantern to illuminate their surroundings. Darkness and swirling snow filled his vision; he could barely see a few meters ahead.

WHOOOOOSH...!

Even Ricard, with all his powers of deduction, could only trust to luck now. Or perhaps pray to God.

Had it been a mistake to follow him without any solid reason? No. Without us, he would have died. Whether fate was playing tricks or guiding us, there was nothing to do but go forward.

Lantern in hand, Ricard trudged through the snow. I don't even know where I'm walking, or where I'm headed. My own will is the only light I have to guide me.

So exhausted that every minute felt like ten years, they walked for another hour. At first, the sheer misery filled his mind with all manner of stray thoughts. Eventually, there was nothing at all; only his legs kept moving. Then he suddenly realized the blizzard had weakened.

More precisely, they had entered a forest, and the trees were shielding them from the storm. Ricard passed a relieved hand over his chest and shone the lantern this way and that. Surrendering himself to some instinctive sense, he searched for somewhere to rest.

Then, as if by a miracle, they reached an overhang where the earth jutted out, almost as though to enfold them.

"Let's put him down first," Ricard said.

Only then did Boribori finally lower the Nameless to the ground. All this time, he had silently followed with that heavy, fully armed grown man on his back.

Grunting with effort, Ricard held the Nameless steady so that he would not topple or fall face-first, easing him back against the wall. The moment Boribori set him down, he flopped onto the ground, spread-eagled. He squeezed his eyes shut and panted for breath.

Ricard hung the lantern from something protruding through the ceiling, either a root or a branch. The wind around them sounded like a howling beast.

"You did well."

"Yeah..."

"Stay there. I'll get a fire going."

Ricard rummaged through his pack, took out the dry tinder and flint he had prepared beforehand, and started a fire. He gathered whatever stones he could find nearby to make a makeshift hearth, then collected relatively dry twigs and branches to build up the flames.

The frail flame kept fluttering as though about to go out. But when he shielded it with cupped hands and blew gently, it rallied. Once it had grown a little, it blazed brightly on its own, like an adult who had finally learned to stand on his own feet.

By then, Boribori had sat up to warm himself. He took off his boots and gloves to dry the sweat and began pulling food from his pack.

Once they had settled in somewhat, Ricard turned to the Nameless. His helmet, his armor, every piece of his equipment seemed etched with all the hardships he had endured.

"What should we do?" Boribori asked.

In winter, it was always best to remove gloves and boots and dry them whenever one rested. The difference from the outside temperature caused moisture to build up; left that way, hands and feet would swell and develop frostbite.

"Let's take off his gear first and cover him with a cloak."

"Okay."

The two boys set about removing the Nameless's equipment, like little birds clinging to a large beast to pick off insects and parasites. They started with his gloves and boots, then removed his helmet. Boribori recoiled.

"Eek!"

His face was covered in horrific burns. The flesh had melted, and that seemed to be what made breathing so difficult for him. So that was why he wheezed like that.

It was almost impossible to believe he could fight so savagely in this condition. Not only fight, but overwhelm multiple opponents.

Carefully removing his armor revealed a body covered in scars from burns, scratches, stabs, and cuts. There were also words tattooed across him like messy scrawls. Strangely, the sentences were upside down.

After a moment's thought, the reason became apparent. These tattoos seemed intended not for other people to see, but for him to read himself.

The largest of the crooked inscriptions ran across his chest. They read it slowly, since it was upside down.

<Your wife was raped to death, and your little son was torn limb from limb. Find your enemies and kill them all. This alone is why you live. Never forget, not even for a moment.>

Ricard and Boribori were momentarily overwhelmed, struck speechless. Looking again, those crooked words seemed to blaze like fire.

When they recovered enough to examine the other inscriptions, they found names, clues, descriptions, places where people operated, and other such details. Many names had an X carved through them with a blade. It seemed to mean he had taken his revenge. His body was a death list steeped in bitter hatred.

One name marked by a relatively fresh wound read, "Lily – Traitor." Was that the woman in the carriage?

A few names remained against which he had yet to take revenge. One caught Ricard's eye.

<Steiner the Mad Dog>

Ricard knew instinctively that this was the same Steiner who led the Ehrenberg Five and numbered among the Nine Swords of the Empire.

Meanwhile, Boribori's mouth had formed a little circle, and his wide eyes blinked rapidly. Never in his life had he seen a body so horrifying, so gruesome, and so pitiful.

The more revenge he took, the more wounds he accumulated. In doing so, he seemed to be wearing away what remained of his life ever faster. His body laid every trace of that bare, concealing nothing.

Without thinking, Boribori took a towel from his pack, pressed it into the snow piled around the hollow, and melted the snow by the fire. Once the towel was warm enough, he used it to wipe down the Nameless's body.

Over each name knotted with hatred, each phrase steeped in vengeance...

Meanwhile, Ricard roasted potatoes and sweet potatoes over the fire and took out some jerky, preparing a meal, however simple.

After wiping the Nameless clean, Boribori thoroughly chewed some herbs he had brought and dabbed them over the wounds on the man's forearms.

Then he happened to look up. The Nameless had opened his eyes and was silently looking down at him. They were pale blue, like the sky.

"Eek!"

Startled, Boribori flung the towel away and fell onto his backside. Ricard, who had been poking a potato with a skewer to see whether it was done, flinched as well. He turned to see what had happened and found the Nameless awake.

"Uh... hello? You collapsed on the road, so..."

He tried to greet the man politely, but the situation was decidedly awkward. Leaning against the wall, the Nameless moved only his eyes as he regarded the two boys.

An awkward silence followed, until Ricard spoke calmly.

"Well, you see, we're trying to kill two members of the Ehrenberg Five, Reto and Erze. If you're going after Steiner, sir, how about joining forces with us for a while?"

Ricard indicated the man's tattoo with his eyes. Their business overlapped, so perhaps they could help each other.

But the Nameless turned his head away and simply shut his eyes. He seemed to be trying to sleep. The whole situation was rather peculiar. Or perhaps just very strange.

Was he sleeping so defenselessly because he thought nothing of them, or because he trusted them? There was no telling. Young as they looked, they were still armed.

"M-maybe he can't talk," Boribori said.

That was possible, if the burns had damaged his vocal cords.

"He looks a bit gross and scary, but I don't think he's a bad man."

"Bori, even if he can't talk, he might still be able to hear."

"Huh? Y-you think so?"

Realizing his blunder, Boribori looked at the Nameless. But the man merely sat motionless with his head turned away.

"What do I do? Sh-should I apologize?"

"Never mind. Just put your cloak over him. You can share mine."

"Oh, okay."

Boribori removed his cloak, approached carefully, and draped it over the Nameless, arranging it as neatly as he could. The man simply remained still.

Boribori sat down beside Ricard beneath the same cloak. They ate together, each making sure the other had what he needed.

"He must be hungry..." Boribori said, casting a fretful glance at the Nameless.

Still, the man gave no response.

After eating, Ricard and Boribori agreed to take turns keeping watch through the night. Right now, keeping the fire alive mattered more than guarding against attackers or wild animals.

And so that strange, awkward, somewhat frightening night deepened. The blizzard raged until morning.

WHOOOOO...!

At dawn the next day, the two boys were asleep, nestled close beneath a single cloak. The Nameless quietly rose and put on his equipment. Had he even slept properly?

He left the cloak he had borrowed without asking where it lay and was about to leave when Ricard, whom he had thought asleep, spoke.

"What happens if you die before you've finished taking revenge?"

"..."

"Take a good look at yourself. Are you really doing this for revenge, or are you just punishing yourself? You look so unsteady you could collapse at any moment."

Wearing his distinctive helmet that concealed his entire face, the Nameless glanced back at Ricard, then simply left.

"Bori. Bori, wake up."

"... Huh? Uh..."

"He just left. Let's follow him."

"Huh? Oh, right. Huh? He really did leave! Let's go, let's go."

Ricard and Boribori hastily packed their things, ground out the cold remnants of the fire with their feet, and set off.

The blizzard that had wailed all night like a mournful beast had ceased. But it was still early dawn, and the world lay shrouded in darkness.

Leaving the forest, Ricard and Boribori followed the faint black silhouette ahead.

As time passed, the sky gradually lightened, and the day's sun began to rise over the distant horizon. Its magnificent light spread dazzlingly across the snowfields.

The two boys walked along the trail the Nameless had broken, occasionally teasing each other. They were like two heedless tiger cubs following their father.

The sun climbed ever higher.