Chapter 68

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Whenever something drew to an end, people inevitably looked back, retracing their steps one by one. In doing so, they sometimes discovered new meaning in things they had failed to understand at the time, felt embarrassed by their shortcomings, or smiled over something that had made them proud.

Arno, Sandy, Boribori and his friends, the enemies they had met in Griffinswald, the senior adventurers, people from other clans, the Nameless, the Ehrenberg Five, and the war.

So many days and nights had passed. They had said farewell to spring and summer, autumn and a bitter winter, while snow and rain, sorrow and joy swept past like the wind.

But they had not merely passed him by. Those moments would never return, yet they had undoubtedly left something in his heart. If there had been a hollow somewhere inside him, it felt as though those experiences had filled it, little by little. To Ricard, the academy was both a precious place and a cherished memory.

Before he knew it, the wind had brought autumn. It was neither hot nor cold. Leaves fell one by one, and the grass in the fields ripened to gold.

Ricard finished writing The Fundamentals of Swordsmanship. He felt there was nothing left to add or remove.

But when he looked at Boribori's book beside him, it was nothing like his own. For a start, the sheer difference in length was striking. Boribori's book was enormously thick, and its explanatory version filled three even thicker volumes.

By contrast, Ricard's own book was very thin, at roughly forty pages. Its explanatory version was fairly substantial, of course, but even that was no match for Boribori's.

Ricard stared at the hefty stack of books before speaking.

"Does writing that much really help? The longer you make something, the further your words stray from its essence."

"That again? We agreed to respect each other's approach. I just want readers to find it easy to understand. Besides, I still have a lot to learn. I intend to keep revising it whenever I get the chance."

Boribori had changed his book's title from Bori Swordsmanship to The Principles of Swordsmanship. It left out his own distinctive style and explained the very basics in detail, then progressed step by step to increasingly advanced material.

Looking at it made Ricard privately uncomfortable, for the simple reason that Boribori's approach seemed right. Yet writing that much was too much trouble, and he did not think his own ideas were wrong either, so he was left feeling vaguely uneasy.

Just because his book was shorter did not mean he had given it insufficient thought. Nor had he spent less time on it.

"Anyway, is Marie not coming today either?"

Unbothered by Ricard's occasional grumbling, Boribori asked the question as he continued writing.

"I heard she went into town this morning."

Ricard answered with his chin propped on his hand, looking out the window. There was something forlorn about the autumn fields turning yellow.

"Maybe she's upset because we're leaving?"

Boribori knew that Marie had been deliberately avoiding Ricard lately. He and Ricard were about to graduate, but Marie still had another year left. It was hard to guess exactly how she felt, though he imagined she must be unsettled.

"I don't think that's all it is."

"What else, then?"

"I don't want to pry into something she wants to hide. So in the end, I don't know either."

"Hmm... And you still feel the same way, Riki? Marie's really pretty, you know."

"Being pretty has nothing to do with it."

"With what?"

"I don't know."

Ricard would not say. Apparently, even someone all the students looked up to as an idol had things he did not want to talk about.

Perhaps Ricard himself bore deeper wounds than any of them. He simply went on living with them.

"What if we don't even get to see her before we graduate? I'd at least like to say goodbye. It'd be a shame not to."

Boribori only wanted everyone in the clan to get along, just as he had when he had once tried to mediate between Ricard and Marie during an awkward patch. But as he grew older and matured, he was beginning to realize how complicated and difficult people's feelings could be.

If one listened closely, even his conversations with Ricard were no longer as childish as they once had been.

Then, perhaps to change the subject, Ricard abruptly spoke.

"I think I'll hide the original after all."

"Huh? Why? After all that work?"

"It's written in ancient script anyway. Hardly anyone can read it. It'll just be a sort of treasure hunt."

"You're embarrassed, aren't you?"

"Why, you!"

Grinning, Ricard pretended he was going to cuff Boribori, who ducked with a laugh. They had spent so much time together that Boribori could easily spot the feelings Ricard wanted to hide.

In any case, Ricard hid the finally completed original of The Fundamentals of Swordsmanship somewhere in the defensive tower. He scraped the earth out from between the bricks with a dagger, removed a brick, tucked the book behind it, and put the brick back.

What was the point of going to all that trouble to write it, only to do this? Still, he had only started it to pass the time—or so he told himself.

He laid the explanatory version flat on a shelf at the back of the second-floor writing classroom. The shelves had originally been used to store scrolls rather than books. This place had once been a fortress, after all.

In an age when printing had yet to develop and books had to be written out by hand, Ricard's was the first to occupy those shelves.

As he stood gazing at the book he had put there, it finally sank in that everything he had come to do at the academy was finished. The feeling was bittersweet: anticipation for what lay ahead mingled with reluctance to leave.

Ricard and Boribori packed their things and remained at the academy, waiting for the day they would leave. In the meantime, he passed the hours joking around with the other children or helping them with their swordsmanship.

Then one day...

"Rock, paper, scissors! Next!"

"Whoa!"

Ricard called out. Scissors against paper—he had won. Grinning, he called for the next challenger as though victory were only natural.

But this was clearly no ordinary game of rock, paper, scissors, judging by the students crowding around him. He had just won fifty-six rounds in a row.

"He won again!"

"How is that even possible?"

The students were as delighted as they were amazed.

Then Boribori, who had been watching from an upper bunk, spoke up.

"Isn't that cheating?"

"What is?"

"Watching what they throw. I think you ought to close your eyes."

Boribori knew Ricard was picking up on the tiniest movements of his opponents' hands and always throwing the winning sign.

"I wouldn't exactly call that cheating."

"Wouldn't it be fairer with your eyes closed?"

"What? You've been watching our hands, Riki?"

"Aw, that's no fun. That's cheap."

Boribori's intervention took the excitement out of it, and many of the students wandered off. Even if Ricard had been watching their hands, his ability to do it was still remarkable, but that did not interest them much. They already knew what he was capable of, so the winning streak had lost its significance.

Suddenly branded a cheat, Ricard felt wronged, but merely laughed it off.

Still, how bored must he have been to resort to something like this? He climbed onto the bunk and lay down beside Boribori, who was reading an ancient book he had acquired somewhere.

"What are you reading?"

"The epic of Ilya the Dragon Slayer."

"Don't you already know that story?"

Ilya the Dragon Slayer was a hero whose tale had spread far and wide since ancient times, before the Empire. It was the sort of legend whose hero might never actually have existed.

"It's different when you read it in a book. There are things I didn't know."

"Like what?"

"Ilya was born into a poor farming family, and they say he couldn't walk from birth until he was thirty. Then one day, his family welcomed a pilgrim, who left them some oil. When Ilya drank it, he sprang to his feet and gained tremendous strength. After that, he swore to become a warrior for God and set off on his adventures. You know the rest, Riki. Defeating giants, killing witches, slaying a dragon."

"So it was a typical missionary tale. I didn't know it started that way."

"Maybe. But you never know. It even names his birthplace and the place where he died. We could visit them someday if we get the chance. Soak up some of his power."

Ricard chuckled. Boribori still had an innocent streak. He really was still a child.

At any rate, Ricard teased him and interrupted his reading, and they ended up trading silly jokes. After they had been at it for some time, a student called from outside.

"Riki."

"Yeah?"

"An adventurer's here for you and Bori. Says to bring your things and come out."

Ricard and Boribori both had the same thought: the time had finally come.

They folded their uniforms neatly on their beds to be passed on, gathered their equipment and belongings, and went outside. To their surprise, the adventurer waiting for them was none other than Delphi.

"Huh?"

"Surprised?"

"What about the branch?"

"We've hired some staff now. Looking after the building is fairly easy."

That was a relief. Ricard and Boribori could not help smiling. Having a friend come all this way to see them was reason enough to be happy. Much of the sadness seemed to drain from their bittersweet mood.

They were walking across the courtyard with light steps when Karlich came running after them, calling urgently.

"Riki! Riki!"

Ricard turned to see what he wanted and spotted a document in his hand.

"Take this with you, Riki."

"What is it?"

"A diploma. I made it. Starting with you, I want to give one to everyone who graduates. It means something, doesn't it? It's to remind people to be proud of coming from Beringen."

Ricard looked at the document. There was not much to it: it simply stated that he was graduating from Beringen Academy. Karlich had tried to decorate it with gold leaf, but it looked rather crude.

"Where's mine?" Boribori asked.

"Unfortunately, Riki's the first."

"Then if I'm the second, shouldn't there be one for me too?"

"Let's say you graduated before he did."

"...?"

It was ridiculous, but not particularly important. The document carried no real authority. Not yet.

Ricard smiled faintly and rolled it up. As he tied it with string and tucked it into his bag, he spoke.

"Take care."

"Don't forget us, Riki."

"Not even death could make me forget. I'm off."

Ricard said goodbye with a smile. Karlich did not follow, but stood rooted to the spot, watching. Other students watched Ricard leave from windows or from a distance.

Delphi, however, went toward the girls' dormitory and stopped a female student passing nearby. Apparently, she meant to say hello to Marie before they left.

"Is Marie inside?"

"Pardon? Oh, no. She went into town this morning and hasn't come back yet."

"Did she? All right, then."

Watching from behind, Ricard was troubled by a tangle of feelings. They belonged to the same clan, so they would see each other again someday, wouldn't they? Or perhaps not. He did not know. Depending on how she chose to settle her feelings, they might never meet again. That was how love could be.

His reluctance to leave the academy had begun to fade, but now it seemed to deepen once more.

They passed through the gate and descended the steps along the cliff. There was a railing now, so a missed step would no longer send someone plummeting over the edge.

At the foot of the cliff, autumn fields turning yellow spread out before them. Purple gentians bloomed in particular abundance beside the road. The breeze was cool, at times almost chilly, as the three walked on.

Then they spotted a girl standing in the road with her back to them, a sword in one hand. It was Marie. Her bright blond hair streamed in the lonely autumn wind.

"Marie," Delphi called.

Marie turned slowly, showing no surprise.

"Could you leave Riki and me alone to talk for a moment?"

Knowing how things stood between them, Delphi and Boribori did not ask why. They walked past Marie and watched the pair from a distance.

With his sword slung over one shoulder, Ricard stopped some way from her and faced her.

"We'll see each other again, Marie. Don't take it so hard."

"No. That's not it. There's something I need to tell you."

"..."

"My name is Martellia. I'm the thirty-second daughter of His Majesty Emperor Claudis."

"... I see. I'm Ricard, third son of House Kaldebern of Stormhertz. I wasn't trying to deceive you."

"Neither was I."

"Is that what's been troubling you? The difference in our standing?"

"No."

"Then what?"

"I can only truly be free if I defeat you, or seduce you into marrying me. Otherwise, I'll have to live as the imperial household's puppet until I die. But I love you. What am I supposed to do?"

Marie had not wanted anyone in the world to know her secret. Above all, she had never wanted Ricard to find out. And yet he was the only person she had told.

For her, this was effectively a surrender. She had made herself utterly defenseless and vulnerable. Her heart trembled. A single word from Ricard might as well decide whether she lived or died.

But his answer was despair itself.

"... I'm sorry."

Marie's heart sank. But she had not failed to consider this possibility. So she did what she had planned to do next.

She drew her fine sword, Riki.

"I'm sorry too. For being selfish. Draw your sword, Riki."

Ricard gazed into her blue eyes before speaking.

"You'll regret this."

"Even if I do, I have no choice."

"All right..."

Ricard set down his bag and drew the sword from his shoulder. He took his stance opposite her.

Delphi and Boribori did not intervene. They simply watched from a distance. Yet somehow, it felt as though one of the two was going to die. What were they to do? Boribori shut his eyes, leaving only Delphi watching calmly.

An autumn wind blew, sending a long, swishing rustle through the grass.

Then, all at once, killing intent filled Ricard's eyes. Marie lunged reflexively, as though throwing herself to her death.

But Ricard did not swing his sword. He merely stood still, his eyes open. Marie's blade stopped at his arm. In the end, she could not cut him. The tip shook violently.

Ricard did not stop there. Suddenly, he seized her blade with his bare hand and brought its point to his heart.

"Not there. Here."

Then he pulled, trying to drive it into his own heart. Startled, Marie tried to draw the sword back, but Ricard gripped the blade tightly and would not let go. Blood ran from his hand. Meanwhile, the point pierced his coat, edging closer and closer to his heart.

In an instant, Marie lost all composure. She did not know what to do. If she used mana to wrench the sword free, she might sever his fingers. But if she let him pull her along, he seemed ready to pierce his own heart for real.

Through it all, Ricard's hazel eyes never wavered. He was cruelly calm.

On the verge of tears, Marie looked back and forth between her sword and Ricard. The boy had once told her he could die for her. It had not been a lie.

At last, Marie begged him.

"S-stop. Please stop. I'm begging you."

Only then did Ricard release the sword. Blood dripped from his hand. With all the strength gone from her body, Marie sank to the ground, staring numbly at the earth.

As gently as though laying a flower on her head, Ricard spoke.

"I told you you'd regret it..."

Then he sheathed his sword, gathered his belongings, and walked past her. It might have seemed heartless, but this was the best he could do.

Boribori hurried over, took Ricard's hand, and gave him first aid. The wound was not serious. Marie was far more worrying than Ricard's injury just then, but he could not approach her.

Marie remained on the ground, as motionless as a woman turned to stone waiting for her husband. Ricard's heart was breaking too, but now was the time to leave. So he walked on without looking back.

The lonely autumn wind blowing across the fields sounded like waves.

End of Part 13 — Graduation.