Chapter 10

Chapter 10: Chapter 10

It was around noon when they arrived in the city of Rheinfort. The mornings and evenings were still cold, but once the sun rose fully, the air became pleasantly cool—perfect spring weather.

A long line of people stretched from the city gate. For some reason, those who had not been permitted to enter had pitched tents near the walls and were living there.

People sold them daily necessities and various other goods, creating a small marketplace. The area outside the walls had effectively become a living space of its own. If people eventually settled there permanently and began constructing buildings, was that how cities expanded?

In any case, the line moved faster than expected, and Rickart’s group soon reached the gate. Arno and the merchant presented their identification.

That was when Rickart learned that the merchant’s name was Kaufmann.

Apparently, he operated a small trading company dealing in dyes and pigments. Considering that he had knowingly driven his carriage onto a mountain pass inhabited by bandits, however, he did not seem particularly intelligent.

"You killed the Bilton brothers? Who are they?"

"The bandit leaders. You know, the wanted men. This is the famous Boar Slayer of Stormherz, young Master Rickart. He split one man’s belly open and slit his throat in an instant. I saw it. I saw it myself."

Arno exchanged a few words with one of the gate guards, apparently an acquaintance of his.

Somehow, without any input from Rickart, the story continued to grow more exaggerated, and he had even acquired a title.

The Boar Slayer?

The guard stared intently at Rickart.

Blond hair and hazel eyes. Having gone several days without properly washing, he looked rather grimy. No matter how the guard looked at him, Rickart appeared to be nothing more than a child.

He suspected Arno might be exaggerating, but Kaufmann silently nodded, confirming the story.

"He has only recently begun training as a knight, but he was born with extraordinary talent."

Rickart himself said nothing, yet Arno puffed himself up and spoke as though he were the one being praised.

"What does knightly training have to do with it? Don’t you just run errands for a knight and maintain his equipment?"

"What would you know?"

"Well, I wouldn’t. But neither of us has done anything more than hear stories about it. In any case, welcome to Rheinfort, young master."

The guard was not excessively deferential, but he showed Rickart the proper courtesy.

"I’ll tell everyone the story at the Händel later, so come by," Arno said. "I killed four bandits myself."

The Händel was the name of the tavern Arno frequently visited.

The guard’s eyebrows twitched in disbelief.

"You did? All right, I’ll come. Now move aside. I have work to do. Next!"

The guard waved his arm broadly and called the next person forward.

When they finally passed through the shadowed gateway, sunlight fell over Rickart once again, brightly illuminating the city’s neat buildings.

The buildings had gray, dark blue, or red-tiled roofs. Their walls were coated in plaster and neatly finished by professional plasterers. Most were at least two stories tall and packed tightly together.

Truthfully, judging solely by their appearance, the city buildings looked better than the Stormherz estate where Rickart had grown up.

That was because the Stormherz residence was an ancient fortified manor built long ago. It was too small to truly be called a castle and too large to be considered an ordinary house, so everyone simply called it a manor.

The people walking through the streets looked busy, and they were certainly better dressed than the inhabitants of rural Stormherz.

Promising Rickart a cloak, Kaufmann asked him to follow for a while and led them along the city walls.

They appeared to have entered a district occupied by craftsmen and merchants. The rhythmic sound of hammers striking iron rang through the air, while tanners could be seen treating hides. The sharp smell of chemicals stung their noses.

Kaufmann stopped his carriage in front of a cloth shop, greeted several acquaintances, and went inside. He soon emerged holding a neatly folded red cloak and presented it to Rickart.

"I believe this is where we must part ways, young master. Thanks to you, I reached the city safely. Please accept this. The materials were expensive, so it was made somewhat small, but perhaps the god of fate arranged matters so that it would be perfect for you. Hahaha."

The cloak truly was as red as blood.

It had been made entirely from material worth its weight in gold, so it was tremendously expensive.

Rickart removed his old cloak and immediately put on the red one Kaufmann had given him. It had a hood, and its hem reached past his feet, but once he wrapped it closely around himself and fastened the clasp, it fit well enough.

"Don’t I get anything?"

Arno, who had been watching from the side, asked Kaufmann.

Kaufmann gave him a displeased look that seemed to ask, And who are you supposed to be?

"I heard you ran away at first. The person who takes the risk and acts first is the one who claims everything. That applies to business, and it applies to those who earn glory on the battlefield. If you wish to settle accounts, ask the young master for your share."

At first glance, the argument sounded correct, though perhaps it was not.

When told to demand compensation from Rickart, Arno closed his mouth.

"We’ll divide the money after we turn in the heads," Rickart said.

"That’s all right, young master. I was merely asking."

"No. You did help me. But what will happen to those people?"

Rickart looked toward the people unloading baggage from the carts.

"I have decided to employ them," Kaufmann replied. "I was already planning to expand my business, so I needed more workers. We survived a matter of life and death together, so wouldn’t it be better to hire them than complete strangers? They need somewhere to stay in the city for the time being, so our needs happen to align."

They would probably be put to work dyeing cloth.

During the journey, Rickart had heard that the people had abandoned their territory because of excessive taxes.

Even after surrendering so much grain that they had reduced the amount left for themselves to eat, it had not been enough. They had eventually borrowed grain, but the interest had grown like a rolling snowball.

The ridiculous part was that the person who had lent them the grain was also their lord.

The lord collected their taxes, and the lord lent them grain at usurious interest. Even more absurdly, leaving the territory without the lord’s permission was a crime.

Did that make these people criminals, or were they victims of injustice?

Rickart simply felt a sense of kinship with them.

There was nothing more he could do for them, however. Their connection ended here.

At that moment, someone tugged on Rickart’s clothes.

Rickart was not startled. He thought he knew who it was.

When he turned, he found Daisy standing there, just as he had expected.

"I’ll feed you and give you somewhere to sleep, so come live with me. We’re married, remember?"

Her voice trembled slightly as though she were on the verge of tears.

Rickart did not know how to respond, but Arno’s eyes flared as he spoke.

"The young master treated you kindly, and now you’ve lost all sense of your place. Hey, you filthy little brat. At least wash yourself before saying something like that. Have you no shame?"

"You don’t have to go that far..." Rickart said weakly.

Arno’s tongue seemed sharper than any sword he could wield.

"No, young master. What did I tell you? Treat people too kindly, and they’ll start climbing all over you. Know your place, you little wretch. Stop clinging to the young master and get lost."

Daisy’s face twisted as though she were about to burst into tears.

But she did not cry in the end. She seemed to be a strong-willed child in her own way. Nevertheless, she tightly gripped the hem of Rickart’s new cloak and could not bring herself to release it.

Daisy’s mother stopped sorting their belongings and hurried over to pull her daughter away.

"Forgive us, my lord. She is still too young to understand..."

"It’s all right. I’m not upset either."

When Rickart answered with a gentle smile, Daisy’s mother made an expression that was difficult to describe. She looked moved, yet at the same time unable to believe what she was seeing.

"...You truly have a kind heart. And thank you. O God of Judgment, please avert your gaze from this young master."

Daisy’s mother spread one hand and covered her eyes with its back.

The God of Judgment? What is that? Is it a god worshiped by peasants?

At least, Rickart had never heard of such a deity in Stormherz.

In any case, receiving someone’s heartfelt gratitude gave him a strangely pleasant sensation.

It was as though something inside him had softened.

"Take care of yourselves. You too, Daisy, and you, Mr. Kaufmann. If we remain alive, perhaps we’ll meet again someday."

Leaving those brief acquaintances behind, Rickart followed Arno toward the Beringen Adventurers’ Guild.

Only then did Daisy bury her face in her mother’s arms and burst into tears.

Just as every sunlit place inevitably cast a shadow, Rheinfort had its darker side.

Immediately after passing through the city gates, Rickart had been impressed by the clean buildings and paved streets. But once they entered the alleyways and reached the slums, he found himself wondering whether anywhere in the world could be more miserable.

The clogged sewers reeked of every imaginable kind of filth mixed together.

It was hell for humans and paradise for rats.

One interesting thing, however, was that the district was not entirely gloomy.

Drunken people shouted and sang in the streets from the middle of the day, while cheap prostitutes laughed loudly. In its own way, one might have called the area lively.

That did nothing to lessen its misery, however.

"Is the Adventurers’ Guild really in a place like this...? Are you sure we’re going the right way?"

Suspecting that they had taken a wrong turn, Rickart questioned Arno, who was walking ahead.

Arno also tilted his head with an expression that suggested he was wondering the same thing.

"I’ve only heard about it. This is my first time visiting it myself... I was told it was near the Ghost Tree. Wait—here we are."

When they turned the corner, they saw a tree that appeared to have died long ago. Its thick trunk was grotesquely twisted, resembling a person screaming in agony.

The surrounding area was an open lot piled with garbage. Nearby stood a dilapidated building with people coming and going.

Surely that can’t be it.

Arno’s confidence had soared after killing the bandits, but now he felt himself shrinking again like air escaping from a balloon.

They were in a crime-ridden district.

People were often murdered and dumped into the gutters here. No one mourned them, and their deaths were seldom even investigated.

"Let’s ask them first."

Reassuring himself that nothing could happen in broad daylight, Arno approached the people near the entrance.

It was unclear whether they were guarding the doorway or merely passing the time there. They sat on what looked like a pile of broken wooden debris, rolling dice across a small table.

"Excuse me, may I ask you something? Is this the Rheinfort branch of the Beringen Adventurers’ Guild?"

The men, who had been watching two dice roll with grave expressions, all turned to look at Arno.

Then they looked at Rickart standing behind him.

"Who the hell are you?"

A man with a scar across his eye responded to the question with one of his own, his tone openly confrontational.

"I am a courier affiliated with the Imperial Guild Administration. I have business here."

"The Empire? Guild Administration? What the hell is that?"

"Pardon?"

"I asked you what the fuck that is, you bastard."

The man snarled without warning, like a rabid dog.

Arno had merely asked a question, yet he was suddenly being cursed at. Bewildered, offended, and somewhat frightened, he could only blink.

He was left speechless.

He doesn’t know the Empire? What is that supposed to mean?

"Arno, step back."

Rickart spoke from behind him.

His expression had barely changed, but his eyes were cold.

While Arno hesitated, uncertain what to do, Rickart loosened the cord securing the basket slung over his shoulder. Carrying it in his hands, he approached the men.

As the child in the red cloak drew near, they stared at him as if wondering what this was about now.

Rickart studied the scarred man for a moment.

Then he upended the basket over the table, which was littered with dice, copper coins, and gambling tiles.

Thud. Clunk.

The objects inside were fairly heavy, and the copper coins jingled as they scattered across the tabletop.

Until that moment, the men had been scowling as though they might attack him at any second.

Then Rickart swept away the cloth wrapped around the objects.

The situation changed completely.

"Gah!"

"Fuck! You scared the hell out of me!"

Crash!

The scarred man and the others sprang to their feet or toppled backward, each trying to get away from the severed heads as quickly as possible.

"Boys! Get out here!"

Someone shouted.

As though they had been waiting inside, a crowd of men rushed from the building. They naturally formed a circle around Rickart and Arno.

"What is it? What happened?"

"What’s going on?"

"What the fuck is that?"

The men who had emerged from the building spotted the heads rolling across the table and opened their eyes wide.

Arno had no idea how to handle the situation. His frightened eyes darted around like those of a cornered rabbit.

Everyone was alarmed or bewildered.

Only Rickart remained completely unruffled, as though the situation itself were under his control.

"These are the heads of the Bilton brothers," he said. "I’ve come to collect the bounty."