Chapter 6

“Well, I have documents to prepare, so I should be on my way. The order will probably send someone. As for an adventurer training school, well, I’m not sure whether it would be better to go through the imperial household or contact one directly. But I’ll do my utmost to find a good place—somewhere that will take special care of our brave Young Master Ricard. Ho ho ho.”

There were several adventurer training schools within the Empire. Most were sponsored by the emperor, a king, or a great noble, and operated by guilds. The system for training professional adventurers had not been established all that long, so each school was run differently, and few were yet firmly established.

In any case, the two boys had made their decisions. All that remained was the paperwork. In times like these, everything had to be handled in person.

“Travel safely. Give the count my regards.”

“I shall never forget your generous hospitality. And I wish both young masters well. Ah, there is one piece of advice I would like to leave you with. Never believe anything merchants tell you, and have nothing whatsoever to do with spell-mongers.”

“... Why?” Bilter asked.

“Merchants would sell their souls to the devil for money, and spell-mongers are selfish wretches who look down on others and have no sense of guilt. Their very way of thinking is different. You’re better off having nothing to do with them.”

With that final piece of advice, he put on a fur hat to keep his exposed scalp warm and left the manor.

Without anyone telling them to, Bilter and Ricard climbed the watchtower to watch Doctor Reno leave. The cold winter wind blew hard, but it could not daunt the boys. When he was nearly at the horizon, barely visible anymore, he waved broadly in their direction. They waved back just as vigorously.

If his visit had changed anything, it was that Bilter’s anxiety and irritation had become excitement, anticipation, and a little fear. Ricard, for his part, was curious to see how the world had changed after a hundred years. He was not nearly as excited as his brother.

About a month passed, and the ground, frozen all winter, began to thaw. As the villagers spread manure over the fields, the smell of dung filled the estate.

An unfamiliar knight rode through that stench. He wore chain mail and a white surcoat bearing a flame as its emblem. A helmet, shield, spear, axe, and other equipment hung from his saddle, their scratches and wear making it clear they were no mere ornaments.

It was said that a single knight of the Order of Flame could hold his own against at least forty Salaman people. The look in this man’s eyes and the air about him certainly bore that out. An aura seemed to spill from his shoulders.

As he entered the courtyard and swept his gaze over those gathered there, something in his eyes alone was enough to cow them. Everyone in the Stormhertz household averted their gaze.

He remained mounted until Abelich, who was unmistakably the lord, emerged from the manor. Only then did he dismount and introduce himself in a manner that could have been called either rather insolent or self-assured.

“Edmund, senior knight of the Order of Flame.”

“I am Abelich, lord of Stormhertz. Does the Order of Flame ordinarily turn up without sending word?”

“Your house submitted a request to volunteer, and we accepted. What further formalities are needed? I have not come as a guest. Nor do I expect hospitality.”

“...”

“Who is the volunteer? I will take him with me at once.”

To barge in without warning and abruptly announce that he was taking Bilter away was rather bewildering, even absurd.

Everyone instinctively looked toward Bilter. Looking stunned, he stared blankly up at the knight of the Order of Flame. His excitement and anticipation seemed to crumble in an instant as fear swelled in their place.

Then, quite unexpectedly, a young voice spoke up.

“Who said we were going to treat you as a guest? This is Stormhertz, not your order. When you enter someone else’s domain, show its master the proper courtesy.”

Everyone turned in surprise. It was Ricard. The knight named Edmund studied the boy glaring at him, then gave a short chuckle.

“Are you the volunteer? You have a promising look in your eyes. But don’t get cocky. The order won’t treat you as a young master.”

“Hmph. Take a look at yourself. Aren’t you the one being insolent in someone else’s home?”

“...”

Everyone else was too intimidated by the unfamiliar knight to say a word, yet Ricard, the smallest person present, was fiercely talking back. But with his cute face and childish voice, his grown-up words carried little weight.

Still, strictly speaking, nothing Ricard said was wrong. He had spoken up because of the man’s apparent contempt for his father, his brothers, and the people of his home.

“Riki, enough. I apologize for my son’s rudeness. You have done nothing wrong, Edmund. As you say, we volunteered, and the order merely accepted. But the volunteer is not Riki here. It is my second son, Bilter. There is something I must give my son. Wait a moment.”

Having stopped Ricard, Abelich went inside the manor.

Edmund looked a little surprised to hear that Ricard was not the volunteer. He had taken a liking to him. Whether one called it grit or a confrontational streak, children with that temperament tended to endure.

Life in a knightly order was hard, and the Order of Flame was among the hardest. No—it was unquestionably the hardest, and for that very reason it brought together the finest fighting men in the Empire.

Intense training, strict discipline, and countless battles with their lives at stake. Ordinary resolve or temperament was not enough even to endure such a place. And failing to endure usually meant death. Once a man joined, he could neither give up nor flee. Desertion was a grave offense under military law.

Even after Abelich went inside, Ricard kept glaring angrily at Edmund, his lips pressed shut. A ten-year-old’s glare could hardly frighten a battle-hardened knight, but Edmund sensed something strangely unsettling in those hazel eyes.

It was an instinctive warning of danger, honed in battle, but he dismissed it himself as impossible.

Meanwhile, Bilter, standing beside Ricard, looked as frightened as any ordinary boy. The interest Ricard had briefly stirred in Edmund quickly cooled.

“Have you ever served as a squire?” Edmund asked Bilter.

“...”

Bilter seemed too dazed to have heard the question. Without taking his glaring eyes off Edmund, Ricard poked his brother in the side.

“Ah! What, huh?”

“That man asked if you’ve ever served as a squire,” Ricard told him in a near whisper.

“A-a squire? W-well, I know how to maintain armor and weapons somewhat...”

“Any battle experience?”

An unlucky noble might well find himself in battle as young as fourteen. Great heroes often distinguished themselves in combat at an early age. Fortunately or unfortunately, Bilter had no experience of battle.

“N-no...”

“If you volunteered for the glamour, you had best abandon your expectations. If your family decided this regardless of your wishes, accepting it will make things easier. There is no turning back now. There is only service and devotion to the Empire. Do not think too much. It will only eat away at your resolve. Simply endure in silence.”

“...”

It sounded less like advice than a chilling warning. Of course, life in the order really was a grim affair.

Just then, Abelich emerged from the manor again. In his hands was a heater shield bearing the family’s coat of arms: a red field quartered by white lines, a design bestowed by the emperor.

“Take this with you. May this shield keep you safe.”

With a heavy heart, Bilter silently accepted the shield. Edmund watched without a word, then mounted his horse without further comment.

“Follow me. I take my leave, Lord Abelich.”

He turned his horse and rode out of the courtyard.

Bilter stammered helplessly, looking back and forth between his family and Edmund. Once he left, there was no telling when he might return. He might never return at all. He felt he ought to say something, but the words would not come. What should he say? Shouldn’t he at least say goodbye?

All the while, Edmund kept moving farther away, leaving Bilter no choice but to follow. It was customary for the knight to ride and the squire to walk. The hardship began from the outset: the Order of Flame’s headquarters was at least a month’s journey away on foot.

Ricard watched Bilter until he was out of sight. His brother kept running to catch up with Edmund, then walking again. And all the while, he looked back more times than Ricard could count. Then he vanished beyond the horizon.

Nothing changed in Stormhertz after Bilter left. The fields were plowed, seeds sown, weeds pulled...

The older village boys who had played with him as children tried hard not to show how much they missed him. Whenever Bilter came up in conversation, they would say, “It’s not as though he went off to die.”

That was true. He had not gone off to die. And he had chosen this himself. All they could do was trust that he would make it through. Perhaps, when they met him again someday, he would be a fine, gallant knight.

Ricard kept that loneliness and sense of loss inside. Now it was his turn.

He passed the time roaming the estate with a young, untrained hunting dog. Sitting in fields where fresh shoots were emerging, he watched it romp about happily on its own. When it came over and lay beside him, he stroked its head and back.

Simply racing across a field no longer made him laugh as it once had. At sunset, he returned home with the dog, ate with his family, washed, and went to bed. That was his daily routine.

Perhaps a week had passed since Bilter’s departure. Ricard had spent another day wandering outdoors with the dog, and when he came home toward evening, Graut was pacing the courtyard in his outdoor clothes.

“Riki, good timing. I was just about to look for you. Hurry along to Father’s study.”

Rather than thinking the moment had finally come, Ricard simply accepted that what would happen would happen. He was as calm as ever.

Someone was sitting on the sofa in the study. He was slender and looked exceedingly quick on his feet, with a leather satchel slung across his body.

He was nothing like Edmund, the senior knight. Sitting there staring blankly at Ricard, he had no imposing presence whatsoever. He was simply an ordinary man. He did not look very old, either—about the same age as Ricard’s eldest brother, Graut.

He had been discussing something with Abelich, but turned to Ricard when he appeared.

“Ah, I’m a courier with the Imperial Guild Bureau. I have something to deliver. You are Master Ricard, correct?”

“Yes.”

The Imperial Guild Bureau? Was there such a thing? In any case, the man took a stiff leather cylinder out of his satchel. He opened its lid, drew out a wax-sealed scroll, and handed it to Ricard.

Ricard broke the seal and unrolled it. It was an academy admission letter. An academy? Admission?

Written in flowing script, the letter mostly consisted of praise for the academy itself. The academy upheld a venerable tradition; students learned ancient writing, survival skills, and various martial arts, developed a spirit of cooperation, and through competition, so on and so forth...

<... We welcome Ricard’s admission and wish House Kaldebern fortune in battle. Long live His Majesty the Emperor. May the Empire endure forever. - Beringen Academy ->

Elaborate gilt patterns adorned the borders, and it bore a combined imprint of the imperial household’s and the academy’s coats of arms.

Ricard handed the admission letter to his father to read, then addressed the courier.

“I was told it was supposed to train professional adventurers.”

“Well, Master Ricard, I’m only a courier, so I don’t know much about it. But plenty of people don’t think very highly of the word ‘adventurer,’ do they? Calling it an academy sounds rather more impressive... I haven’t seen many places that openly use the word ‘adventurer.’”

“... Anyway, this is an academy sponsored by the imperial household?”

“That’s right. As I understand it, a guild runs it.”

“An adventurers’ guild?”

“Ha ha... Probably?”

“Which adventurers’ guild?”

“If it’s Beringen Academy, wouldn’t that be the Beringen Adventurers’ Guild?”

Beringen was a place name. It lay in the northeastern Empire, though not as far north as Heiden. In fact, most adventurer academies were in the eastern Empire, because it was close to Fernland.

The ultimate aim of adventurer academies was to send people to Fernland in search of ancient artifacts and codices. Fernland was a sort of base city, and the surrounding lands remained unknown territory.

Abelich read the admission letter in silence, then asked the courier, “It says he must enroll by March fourteenth. Are you to escort him?”

“No, my lord. I’m only a courier. I can show him the way as far as Rheinfurt, but Beringen is beyond me. I have work of my own...”

The Order of Flame had sent Senior Knight Edmund to collect its volunteer. The academy apparently did things differently. It seemed students had to find their own way there by the appointed date.

“The fourteenth leaves rather little time...”

Abelich pondered the problem. As lord, he could not leave his estate lightly, and the same was true of Graut, his heir. He might send someone else, but this was the busy farming season, when they needed all the hands they could get. The estate was not prosperous enough to spare even one person without feeling the loss.

In fact, the main house had paid all the costs of both entry into the order and admission to the academy. Nor could he send just anyone. It had to be someone capable of protecting Ricard to some extent, and those men were at their busiest right now.

“There’s a branch of the Beringen Guild in Rheinfurt. Or he could travel with another courier heading that way. Though, since it is a long journey, the fee would be a little...” the courier said.

He would not take Ricard there himself, but he was offering to arrange it for a little money. Abelich did not quite trust the commoner before him. On the other hand, his affiliation with the Imperial Guild Bureau did lend him some credibility.

“I’ll be all right, Father. I’ll go with this courier tomorrow. Billy and I are both leaving home, after all. All we can do is pray for fortune in battle.”

Ricard spoke resolutely. Abelich had nothing to say. Whatever reasons they gave, in the end they were cutting off every son but the legitimate firstborn to secure the succession.

The main house had taken an interest and even paid the costs, and Father had done what he could. It would hardly be fair to keep asking for more. It was time for both Abelich and Ricard to steel themselves.

Abelich opened a drawer in his desk. He took out something wrapped in cloth and handed it to Ricard.

“I had this specially made, not at our smithy here, but at the main house’s weapons forge. Take it.”

Just as he had given Bilter a shield, he evidently had a gift for Ricard as well. Ricard accepted it and unwrapped the cloth. Inside was a dagger.

“It was forged by melting down the spearhead you used to kill the boar. Fortune favors those who act, not those who merely talk. May the good luck you had then stay with you always.”

Ricard drew the dagger. Its blade was somewhat broader and longer than an ordinary dagger’s. He sheathed it again and wrapped it in the cloth, a smile spreading across his lips as he spoke.

“It wasn’t luck, Father.”

“Hm?”

“Thank you. I’ll put it to good use.”

Without elaborating, Ricard tucked the dagger inside his clothes.

Early the next morning, Ricard ate his fill and left home with the courier. The others had not yet woken. His father watched his departing son through the window.

It would have been a lie to say he felt no regret, but Ricard tried to keep the things he cherished and would miss within his heart alone. Unlike Bilter, he did not look back even once.

On the road he himself traveled, there was no horizon beyond which to disappear.