Chapter 39

They had acquired the name of heroes without intending to, but the three travelers’ goals remained revenge and the destruction of the Ehrenberg Five. In any case, Ricard, Boribori, and the Nameless roamed together as though they were a single body, vanquishing villains wherever they went.

A beast of a man who could neither communicate with them nor be identified as a Nord or an imperial, and two boys. An odd combination indeed, yet the three worked together beautifully. Like a family.

They grew closer by the day, and the bond between Boribori and the Nameless was particularly strong. The Nameless looked after Boribori with an air of indifference, while Boribori charmed him without even trying.

Once, a rural lord entertained the three of them out of gratitude, giving them their first opportunity in a long time to bathe in heated water. They scrubbed one another’s backs, laughed despite being unable to communicate, then put on fresh clothes and lay down in clean beds to sleep.

Ricard was no fervent believer, but as he drifted off, he prayed. May the weary and burdened find rest, and may those he was grateful to be blessed.

He understood the agony of punishing oneself by never sleeping soundly for a single night until death. He did not know whether the Nameless would have nightmares or sweet dreams, but he prayed with all his heart.

'God, grant this poor beast rest.'

Perhaps that prayer reached its destination, for the Nameless slept deeply for the first time in ages. Who could say how long it had been? His nerves were always so taut that he remained half awake.

Their journey continued, and the three went on killing the villains against whom the Nameless bore personal grudges.

Then one day, they were hunting his last remaining enemy apart from Steiner.

The wooden wall of a secluded building suddenly splintered with a crash. A hulking figure burst through it, brutally shoving another person against a wall.

THUD!

"Gah!"

The large man clamped one hand around his victim’s throat. His thick forearm was covered with scars, like a log hacked at with a blade. In his other hand he held a battle-axe, thick blood dripping from its edge.

"Ghk. Gah. Kgh."

The captive grimaced in agony. Before his eyes stood a man wearing a helmet that concealed his entire face. Slashes scarred the helmet, making it intimidating enough on its own.

More terrifying still were the blue eyes gleaming like a beast’s behind it. Then there was that distinctive wheezing breath. It was X the Nameless.

Yet the Nameless did not immediately finish his sworn enemy. He simply stared at him for a long time, hesitating over an emotion he had never felt before.

Emptiness? Futility? Now, of all times? Why? Had he forgotten the brand he had seared into himself?

<Your wife was raped to death, and your little son was torn limb from limb. Find your enemies and kill them all. That alone is why you live. Do not forget, even for a moment.>

Had he forgotten those words, carved into his mind, his heart, his bones, his soul? What was he doing? Tear him apart already.

The Nameless scourged himself inwardly. His emotions churned, and the hand gripping his enemy’s throat trembled.

Then a youthful voice called from behind him.

"Mister! You have to kill him now! More enemies are coming!"

It was Ricard.

They had ambushed a thieves’ guild masquerading as a merchant company. Its members pretended to trade in legitimate goods while buying and selling people behind the scenes.

All thieves’ guilds were secretive, but this one was especially so, and its disguise had made tracking it down difficult.

"Mister! Hurry!"

Ricard shouted urgently. The Nameless twisted his enemy’s neck with one hand, killing him. Despite his failing body, his grip was immensely powerful. It was horrifying to imagine what he must have been like in his prime.

CRACK.

The man, strangled and then killed by a broken neck, collapsed with his mouth gaping open. His entire face was blue, and foam filled his mouth.

The Nameless slowly raised a foot, then stomped down hard on his head. It burst like a watermelon under that single blow.

CRUNCH!

"Is he dead? Is he dead?"

Keeping watch outside with a sword in one hand, Boribori repeatedly looked back to ask Ricard. Ricard looked at the enemy’s head, smashed beyond recognition, and answered.

"Yeah, he’s dead. Let’s go. Come on, mister."

Ricard slipped out through the back door he had noted beforehand. These enemies were no pushovers, so they had decided to eliminate only their target and withdraw rather than fight them all.

Outside the back door lay a wharf on a broad river, where smugglers appeared busy moving cargo. Ricard rounded an alley, reached the square, and blended into the crowd.

If they simply walked away now, it would be a flawless assassination. But when he looked back, the Nameless was nowhere to be seen.

"Where is he?"

"Huh? Didn’t he follow us?"

"I definitely saw the target die..."

"What do we do? Go back?"

Ricard thought briefly and made a quick decision.

"Let’s circle around to the wharf first."

"O-okay..."

Rather than retrace their steps, Ricard and Boribori took a roundabout route to the wharf. They hid among the reeds along the riverbank and watched the site of their attack from a distance.

The thieves’ guild members were looking around. It did not appear that the Nameless had been caught or that a fight had broken out.

Which meant he had escaped. Where had he gone, then?

"... Looks like he went off alone," Ricard said.

He was quick to assess a situation, and just as quick to understand.

"W-where?"

"To kill the Five."

"Why?"

"One of two reasons. Either we’re a nuisance, or..."

"Th-that can’t be it."

Boribori, who agreed with almost everything Ricard said, shook his head in denial.

Despite what he had said, Ricard honestly had an idea. There were things he could understand precisely because he was who he was.

Perhaps the Nameless felt he was growing weak because of them. Or perhaps he intended to kill Steiner somehow on his own because he feared they would get hurt.

"Let’s go to the emergency meeting point and wait."

"... Okay..."

Boribori answered dejectedly. Hurt and disappointment seemed to make his voice catch a little.

They emerged from the reeds and left the city. In a secluded clearing off the road, they waited for the Nameless. The cold seemed particularly bitter.

Unsure how long they would have to wait, they lit a fire to try to ward it off. Time crept by. Neither boy spoke.

Day faded, and stars blossomed in the cold winter sky. On their exhausting journey, the moon and stars had sometimes offered comfort, but they could not fill the emptiness in their hearts now.

In the end, though the city was right before them, Ricard and Boribori spent that frigid winter night outdoors. Waiting for one man. But he never came. He truly had left.

Dawn broke, and Ricard hauled his tired body upright. He was terribly reluctant to wake Boribori. After all, the Nameless would still be gone when his friend opened his eyes.

But they could not wait here forever. There was no helping the sadness and disappointment, but they had work to do and somewhere to return to.

Every journey offered special experiences, but this one seemed more special than most. Thinking back, what a strange connection it had been.

A nameless man who could not speak, a beast punishing himself as he sought revenge for his family. They had traveled the north with him, vanquishing villains.

How much time had passed? A month? A month and a half? What month was it now? Were the academy students doing all right?

Whenever he had the chance, Ricard had sent money to the academy through the Imperial Guild Bureau, but grain prices were so exorbitant that he worried.

All those worries and lingering regrets seemed to weigh down his own spirits as well. If only that damned snow would fall thick and fast, at least.

Ricard shook Boribori awake. His friend lay curled into a tight ball, his cloak pulled snugly around him.

"Bori. Bori. Wake up."

"Mm... What about him? Did he come?"

"No."

"I see..."

"What do you want to do?"

"About what?"

"If we track down the Five, we might find him. I think he went alone."

"Then let’s go."

"We could die."

"Wasn’t that a risk we accepted when we left the academy?"

"... It was."

Boribori slowly got up. He smoothed the stray tufts of his bowl-cut hair with a few casual strokes, tied his bag tightly, and slung it over his back. Then he stood and looked around.

"Which way?"

"It’s dangerous here. Siegfringer would be better, at least. An adventurers’ guild would have the most information... Should we try a thieves’ guild...?"

Tracking someone required information. But Ricard had stirred up trouble all over the place and made enemies of the thieves’ guilds. Never mind obtaining information—he would be lucky not to get attacked.

"Let’s get moving first."

"Okay."

Three had moved as one, but now they were back to the original two. The great emptiness left behind weighed on their steps.

Ricard and Boribori followed the road east. After perhaps an hour, they met someone coming the other way, leaning on a staff with a hood pulled low.

The traveler did not appear to be armed and carried a lute on his back. A bard?

They were about to pass him when a familiar voice spoke.

"Master Ricard?"

Ricard turned. They said every parting brought a new meeting, and here was a welcome face: the Imperial Guild Bureau courier who had taken him from home to Rheinfurt.

"Huh? Arno?"

"It is you! What are you doing here? Didn’t you enroll at the academy?"

"I’m still a student. I’m just away on a job for a little while."

"Really? Is life at the academy tolerable?"

"Yeah. It’s been good. I’ve made some good friends, too. Let me introduce you. This is Boribori, my friend."

Ricard introduced Boribori, who stood beside him looking bewildered.

"A pleasure. I’m Arno."

"Uh... Hello? But who are you calling ‘Master’?"

"The young master, of course. This gentleman here. Master Ricard, the Boar Slayer of Stormhertz."

"... What?"

Boribori stared at Ricard in disbelief. Ricard merely smiled awkwardly.

"Well, I just thought it might make everyone uncomfortable. My real name is Ricard. Riki is the pet name my family used."

"... What are you talking about?"

"That’s all there is to it. It isn’t important."

"You mean you’re a noble?"

"Yeah, well, that’s right..."

"Whaaat?!"

Boribori, who had never known Ricard was a noble, opened his eyes impossibly wide. Arno blinked, confused.

Ricard hurriedly tried to change the subject.

"Have you been well, Arno? What was it you said? You were going west to become a monk?"

"Ah, hahaha. My goal has changed. I’m hoping to become a bard now. That’s why I’m traveling around collecting stories."

"So you quit the delivery work?"

"Yes, that’s how it turned out."

"Hmm... I don’t really understand, but I’m rooting for you anyway."

"Thank you. You’re as kindhearted as ever. You haven’t changed a bit."

Ricard gave a small smile.

"I wonder. Oh, have you heard of the Ehrenberg Five?"

Arno’s expression abruptly stiffened at the question.

"... Why do you ask?"

"Just something to do with work. Have you seen them anywhere lately, or heard any rumors?"

"You’re better off not getting involved with them, Master Ricard. They’re terrifying. They once massacred an entire village. Killed everyone. There are even ghastly rumors that they skinned all the children with lovely skin."

"I know they’re evil. I’m asking whether you’ve heard what they’ve been doing lately."

"..."

Arno studied Ricard silently for a moment. People said children changed by the day, yet apart from growing a little taller, Ricard seemed completely unchanged.

That composure no matter what happened, and the vaguely chilling air about him.

"I don’t know about all five, but I’ve heard that a man called Reto the Experimenter has a laboratory in the Sidria Marshes."

"Really? Where’s that?"

"You have to go farther north from here to reach Sidria. Not many people live there. They say necromancers have occasionally appeared there since ancient times, but if you actually visit, it’s just endless stretches of spongy ground covered in moss."

"So we follow this road, then turn north?"

"... Master Ricard. I don’t know your reasons, but this is a mistake. They’re madmen. Do you know the most chilling thing about them?"

"What? They eat people?"

"No. Despite all the horrors they’ve committed, they aren’t wanted. Isn’t that strange?"

"... Huh? You’re right."

The villains he had killed while traveling with the Nameless had been the scum of the earth. Yet even worse monsters were not wanted. That was strange.

Ricard was carrying out a ‘commission’ to kill Reto and Erze, not hunting fugitives.

"Rumor has it the Emperor secretly gives them orders when he wants to punish a vassal who displeases him. Of course, it’s a treasonous rumor, so people keep quiet about it."

Even an emperor’s direct authority extended only to his personal domain. Relations with his vassals were thus always fraught with tension and conflict, and he used every means available to keep them in check or win them over.

In that context, the Emperor’s champion was more a political asset than a direct instrument of force. A champion was therefore virtually never dispatched to some obscure, distant region simply to maintain order.

Perhaps it was a limitation of feudalism. The Emperor was not alone in thinking this way; most lords of the age had much the same outlook. He merely stood at the top.

A rural lord in trouble had no guarantee of help even if he appealed to his overlord. That was especially true when mobilizing an army was involved. Helping someone else at the expense of one’s own strength could sometimes prove fatal.

Criminal organizations were shrewd enough to operate within certain limits. Killing a noble or otherwise going too far might enrage a great lord enough to mobilize an army.

Wasn’t protecting one’s own land the whole point of having counts, dukes, and other lords? Why should I clean up your mistakes, spending my precious money and sacrificing my own people? That was the prevailing mindset of the age.

The concept of a nation existed, but only faintly. People might die for their personal honor or their house, but dying for a nation they scarcely understood was difficult to imagine.

It was characteristic of feudalism that people banded together only in the face of foreign invasion or great upheaval. Society ran not on a strict system of laws, but on a ruler’s individual leadership, ability, and charisma.

As a result, everything from socioeconomic conditions to military affairs, diplomacy, and even the arts fluctuated depending on who happened to be emperor, king, or lord.

Of course, that did not mean rulers simply left their vassals to fend for themselves in every instance.

Politics was complicated, with many factors to consider. Had it been so simple, the world would not have been quite so tragic. In the end, it was always the powerless who suffered most.

That was why this age needed heroes.

"The Emperor is backing them?"

"It’s only a rumor, of course."

"..."

"In any case, it’s good to see you after so long. Winter has made people terribly harsh these days, but I hear things are a little better in Siegfringer. Some heroes appeared out of nowhere one day and vanquished the villains. With those scoundrels no longer bleeding the people dry, they must be getting through this winter safely—even though the Emperor himself can do nothing about it."

"That’s good to hear."

It was something Ricard, Boribori, and the Nameless had achieved together, but Ricard gave no sign of it. They had not done it for praise or acclaim. He meant exactly what he said. He was glad the people were doing well.

"Indeed. Very good. How else could a weakling like me travel these roads alone? Hahaha."

Ricard smiled faintly at Arno, who seemed to have changed somehow. The change did not look like a bad one.

"It was good seeing you too, Arno. Sing me something next time we meet."

"I will. I’ll compose a masterpiece for you, I promise."

"May fortune favor you. I’ll be going."

"And may it favor the road ahead of you, Master Ricard."

The last time they had parted, they had never managed a proper farewell. Meeting again after all this time, they were finally able to say goodbye properly.

Sending each other off with a smile made the parting less painful.

Ricard was about to resume walking when he glanced at Boribori and found him blinking in disbelief.

"What?"

"You know..."

"Yeah?"

"I feel betrayed, Riki."

"What? Why?"

"You’re a noble."

"Do you feel betrayed because I’m a noble, or because I hid it?"

"Both."

Ricard let out an incredulous laugh.

"So all the hardships we went through together and all the times we laughed were fake?"

"That’s not what I mean..."

"Come on. We have to find him."

Ricard started walking, and Boribori followed.

After a while in silence, Boribori asked from behind him,

"Why did you come to the academy?"

"No particular reason. Being a noble doesn’t make me any more special than you."

"That can’t be true."

"Think what you like."

"Then where in the north are you from?"

"Not the north. The south-central region. Stormhertz. Ricard, third son of House Kaldebern."

"Ugh. It sounds like you’re speaking a foreign language."

"Hahaha."

"Anyway, you’re still Riki, right?"

"Yeah."

"Come to think of it, Volka was right."

"About what?"

"He said he’d never met a lunatic like you. A noble coming to the academy? I don’t get it."

Walking ahead, Ricard turned and shot Boribori a glare.

"Hey."

"It’s okay. Even if you are a lunatic."

"No, that’s not the point."

Boribori merely grinned, apparently pleased that he had managed to tease Ricard for the first time in a while. Ricard gave a small chuckle too.

They said every meeting ended in parting, but some people stayed together all the way. The emptiness the Nameless had left in the boys’ hearts remained, yet for a little while, at least, they could soothe it with something else.

Tiny buds had begun to sprout on the roadside trees. Little by little, that ferocious winter was losing its strength.