Chapter 42

Perhaps life meant walking on while carrying pain too great to bear and sorrow too deep to endure.

You had to carry them. Not throw them away or turn your back on them, but keep them within you. Ricard and Boribori held that pain and sorrow close.

And they would grow stronger in proportion to its weight, to the ache that tore at their hearts.

But it would take time for it to take root within them and stand tall. Time to accept it.

Ricard and Boribori buried the Nameless beneath the temple floor, lest wild animals come and feed on him. As for the Five, the animals were welcome to them.

But the enormous corpse of the man called Hanett gave off a prodigious stench as it rotted. There was no need to endure that as well.

After several days in the ruined village, their food was nearly gone, too. It was time to leave.

It was a bright day, the sky blue and its white clouds as clean as pristine cotton. The wind was somewhat cold, but not enough to make anyone huddle up if they dressed warmly.

On that day, Boribori sat with his knees together on the temple floor, like a young animal unable to leave its dead father's side.

His expression was neither gloomy nor sorrowful. Nor was it vacant. He merely gazed ahead, seemingly lost in thought.

Someone tapped his shoulder. He turned to find Ricard ready to leave, his sword over his shoulder, beckoning with a nod.

Without a word, Boribori shouldered his pack and quietly stood.

Outside the temple stretched a fresh green field glistening with moisture. A few white and yellow flowers had already bloomed, a little ahead of their season.

A clear rivulet of melted snow trickled by. Sunlight shattered on its burbling surface as it flowed toward lower ground.

The two boys, Ricard and Boribori, walked along the stream.

"Hmm..."

A man with a distinctive, neatly trimmed beard was examining a sword closely, his brow deeply furrowed. His expression was quite grave.

The blade was about a meter long and perfectly balanced. Its edge was pristine, without a single nick.

The workmanship was superb, but that was not what made the man frown.

It was the faint blue luster revealed when he tilted the blade. There was something so mysterious about that sheen that it was like looking at moonlight.

The man raised his head and spoke. Two boys in red and dark brown cloaks were watching him steadily.

"Where did you get this?"

"..."

Neither boy answered. Had he spoken too softly? Surely not. Were they unable to speak?

He turned his attention back to the sword. Just then, the blond boy picked up the scabbard and held out his hand. Apparently he wanted his sword back.

The man returned it reluctantly, and the boy sheathed it with surprising deftness.

SHING. CLICK.

They turned to leave the shop, but the man called them back.

"W-wait a moment."

When the boys looked back, he asked,

"How much were you hoping to get?"

"..."

Still no answer. They really must be unable to speak. Two armed boys who could not talk. How peculiar.

But that was not what mattered now. The weapons merchant deliberated for a moment. Should he offer a pittance, a reasonable sum, or simply tell them the truth?

The blond boy stared at him as though looking beyond his eyes to see which way his heart would turn in that inner struggle.

In the end, the merchant chose his conscience. He could not help feeling regretful, however, and let out a deep sigh.

"That sword looks to me as though it was forged with a metal called true silver. Even the tiniest amount makes a blade worth whatever its owner asks. What's more, there aren't many smiths in the entire Empire who can work it. They say it's mostly used by people who've become Sword Masters. Something about how well it works with mana. In other words, I can't afford to pay you what it's worth. If you want a proper price, you'll have to take it to a large city and put it up for auction."

The sword in Ricard's hand was none other than Steiner's. The Phantom Sword's blade hung at Boribori's waist.

Ricard smiled at the weapons merchant's honesty, then placed a silver coin on the counter to pay for the appraisal and bowed. Boribori awkwardly bowed as well, following his example.

They left the weapons shop. For now, Ricard secured Steiner's sword firmly to his pack.

Though it was also a longsword, it was smaller than his meteoric-iron sword, so he doubted he would ever use it. The finest sword was the one that felt familiar in your hand.

Ricard and Boribori made their way around the city, buying supplies: staple crops such as potatoes and sweet potatoes, dried rations made from assorted grains that had been ground, steamed, and pressed together, smoked ham, firewood, and the like.

Neither spoke a word while they shopped. If they needed to convey something, they would tap the other and give a meaningful glance, or make a simple gesture.

Was their grief at losing the Nameless simply too great? No. It was more that they were imitating him.

It was the boys' own way of mourning, and half a game as well. Like a wager in which the first to speak lost, though they had never explicitly agreed to one.

And so, even without speaking, they sometimes found themselves smiling for no particular reason when their eyes met. In the process, the two boys learned the value of silence. There were things they could only hear and see once they fell quiet.

Besides, not talking was hardly an inconvenience. Surprisingly, they could communicate everything they needed to, and if a fight came their way, they simply had to face it instead of avoiding it.

Thus Ricard and Boribori left the city and followed the road south, toward the academy.

Looking at the mountains, streams, and greenery, they seemed to be standing on the boundary between winter and spring. It was both the end of one season and the beginning of another. They disliked winter, yet thoughts of the Nameless kept that feeling from being entirely simple.

Regret at its passing mingled with joy at welcoming spring. It was not indecision. Rather, the two feelings seemed to blend into a third, subtle color that spread through them.

Come to think of it, two of the Nine Swords of the Empire had died in a single incident. And Ricard had personally finished off one of them.

It was a truly staggering feat, but Ricard himself had little interest in such things. Whether anyone recognized it or not made no difference.

Fame was merely fame, without substance and as light as a feather. He knew that, given time, it would scatter like sand before the wind.

The world had plenty of powerful people. Someone else would probably fill those places. And those people, too, would fall at someone else's hands. That was the fate of those who walked the path of the sword.

What mattered, then? A loving family had given Ricard peace of mind, and the Nameless had instilled in him faith in human will and an indomitable spirit.

That was what mattered. And Ricard had not lost sight of it.

He had mastered the business of running about with a sword long ago. What he sought now was something deeper and broader than mere fame.

SPLASH! SPLASH!

As Ricard crossed a bridge, walking deep in thought, he heard frantic splashing.

He stopped and looked down. A short distance away, a knight in armor was floundering in the water.

No, first of all, this did not seem to be a knight. The figure was far too small. And perhaps they had lost their sword, for the scabbard at their waist was empty.

Second, the river was too shallow for anyone to be in danger of drowning.

In short, someone in armor was flailing about in the water all by themselves.

Ricard and Boribori stood watching, wondering what on earth this person was doing. Then, deciding they seemed to need some help, the boys went around the bridge and down to the bank.

As they approached, they saw that the armored figure's great helm, commonly called a bucket helmet, had twisted sideways, apparently blocking their vision.

The boys considered helping, but the figure had reached shore while they were coming down from the bridge. Though unsteady, the person seemed to be finding their balance and gathering their wits, so the boys merely watched.

Then the figure flailed at empty air again and landed backside-first on the gravel. Remaining seated, the person laboriously twisted the helmet back into place and paused to catch their breath.

Then, noticing the two boys staring down, the figure gave such a start that their backside bounced off the ground.

"Eek!"

They scrambled backward along the ground.

"C-come no closer!"

Anyone could tell it was a girl trying to imitate a grown man's voice. Since neither boy had intended to come closer in the first place, they simply stood and watched.

"Hmm."

Unable to make any sense of what she was doing, Boribori let out a hum. Ricard immediately pointed at him.

"Oh! You lost."

"I did? Why?"

"You just said 'hmm.'"

"That's not a word."

"You still lost."

"Dad said 'hmm' once, too."

"Did he? Anyway, you lost, Bori."

"... What happens if I lose?"

"Good question. I don't know."

Still seated and unable to get up, the armored girl merely blinked, dumbfounded and speechless, apparently unable to understand what the boys were talking about.

In short, neither side understood the other. Why was the girl floundering around by the water in armor, and why were the boys arguing about winning or losing over such nonsense?

In any case, the girl found their appearance rather unusual. They were better armed than she would have expected, and their neat appearance suggested they were neither thieves nor robbers.

Quite a few children took to banditry at a young age, but bandits were generally filthy, unable to wash properly while hiding in mountains and forests.

After days without speaking a word, Ricard and Boribori turned to the girl who had finally broken their silence.

Ricard spoke.

"Shouldn't you dry your clothes and warm up first? It's still cold out. You could die."

Once you left home for the wilderness, there were countless ways to die without ever facing a blade. Hunger was one of the most common; hypothermia was another.

A single night outdoors without travel supplies was enough to teach anyone how miserable it could be. Especially now, when winter had yet to loosen its grip entirely.

As far as Ricard could see, the girl had nothing but her armor.

"Uh... um..."

But genuine kindness was rare in this world. She could not simply accept an offer of help without hesitation.

"If you don't want to, that's up to you. Take care. Let's go."

When she hesitated, Ricard turned to leave with an indifference that verged on coldness. She hurriedly called him back. After all, she really could die.

"W-wait."

Ricard and Boribori had only just begun to turn away when they looked back at her.

"I-I thank you for your kindness, noble sirs. H-however, I possess nothing at present. I-if you should desire my body as payment, I cannot consent. Pray swear in the name of God and the Empire that you shall not demand it."

She sounded like a knight from their grandfathers' day.

"Sure. I promise."

Since Ricard had never entertained any such thought, he readily agreed. It was hardly difficult.

He held out a hand. After a moment's hesitation, the girl took it and stood.

Standing, she was about as tall as Ricard, who was roughly 160 centimeters in height. Girls generally grew faster, but since she was about the same height as the naturally well-grown Ricard, she seemed to be around his age as well.

"It's a little early, but let's find somewhere to camp."

"Okay."

The two boys and the girl set off together. Her chain mail jingled with every step. The soaked surcoat over it was plain purple, without a coat of arms.

They needed to light a fire and get her dry as soon as possible, so they could not go far. They settled on a suitable spot in the woods near the stream.

A broad, massive rock jutted out like a roof. Beneath it, they unpacked and immediately built a fire.

The problem was that drying off required her to remove her armor and clothes.

The girl was awkward even as she sat down, and once seated, she did not know what to do with herself.

She kept glancing at the boys, but Ricard and Boribori were staring at her so intently that she felt uncomfortable. It took her quite some time just to remove her helmet.

When she finally did, she revealed a face of truly astonishing beauty.

Her blond hair, pulled up and tied tightly back, was somewhat disheveled. Damp wisps clung to her face, but they did nothing to diminish her beauty.

Her eyes were jewel-blue, her skin as white as snow without a single blemish, and her features clear and striking.

Given the circumstances, however, the way she shrank into herself in the firelight made her look rather forlorn.

The boys' remarks were something else entirely.

"Erze would've skinned you on sight."

"I was thinking the same thing."

"... Huh?"

"It's fine. Don't worry. We killed her."

"... Huh? What?"

She had no idea what they meant, but it sounded terrifying. Boribori took a towel and a change of clothes from the pack and handed them to her.

"Want help getting your armor off?"

Ricard asked. The girl lowered her head shyly.

"Y-yes..."

With surprising expertise, Ricard undid the armor's fastenings and removed it in moments. Beneath it she wore a gambeson, which was stuffed with cotton and grew quite heavy when wet.

He hung the armor on a nearby branch and sat down beside Boribori. Together, they turned their backs to her.

The girl had never experienced anything like this in her life. She was flustered, embarrassed, and confused. Her heart pounded as though it might burst, and she kept wondering whether this was really all right.

Quite apart from anything else, it had never occurred to her that she might change clothes outdoors.

But Ricard and Boribori did not ask about her circumstances. They did not even ask her name.

In any case, she undressed and dried herself with the towel, watching the boys' backs. Then she changed into Ricard's clothes. Since they were about the same height, they fit reasonably well.

"I-I am dressed."

Perhaps because she was so flustered, her manner of speaking kept shifting. Having remained resolutely turned away like proper gentlemen, Ricard and Boribori finally turned back around.

"Feel a little better now?"

At Ricard's question, the girl simply nodded, sitting with her knees together. Having overcome what was, for her, a considerable ordeal, she seemed somewhat calmer. Her wet blond hair now hung loose down her back.

"If we're going the same way, we can take you along. Where are you headed?"

The girl gazed into the fire, an inexplicable sadness in her eyes.

"Beringen Adventurer Academy."