Chapter 102

Chapter 102: Chapter 102

People gathered around every flickering flame. Beneath the firelight, all they seemed to do was roll dice or play cards.

It wasn’t necessarily because they found it entertaining. Gambling and alcohol were simply part of their lives.

Were they passing the time because they couldn’t sleep, or was there a reason they dared not fall asleep?

It was closer to the latter.

Though this wasn’t a battlefield, they had to stand night watch to protect their families and possessions. Theft was a daily occurrence here.

Of course, anyone caught stealing could expect to lose a hand at the very least. An angry mob might even hang the thief on the spot.

Broken wooden planks had been laid here and there across the muddy ground. People walked over them like an irregular series of stepping stones.

Rickart held Lena’s hand as they clomped along the planks.

A powerful stench of manure assaulted his nose from a distance. Unfortunately, Lena was pointing directly toward its source.

A crude fence enclosed a wide area divided into pens containing livestock—goats, sheep, cattle, packhorses, and donkeys. Rabbits, chickens, and geese occupied one corner.

It looked as though every kind of domestic animal humans could raise had been gathered there.

This was where merchants bought livestock cheaply from migrants and resold it at a higher price, profiting from the difference.

Bonfires flickered around them, yet they couldn’t fully drive away the darkness. Lena looked around, unable to find the merchant who had bought her cattle.

Rickart waited for a while before approaching a particularly enthusiastic dice game.

"Where can I find the merchants who buy and sell cattle?"

A man watching the game with his arms folded turned toward him. He casually looked Rickart up and down, then pointed toward another gambling table.

"Try over there."

Rickart looked up and saw a sizable gambling game surrounded by several blazing bonfires.

He headed that way with Lena.

She was anxious, but there was nothing she could do except entrust her fate to Rickart. At the same time, she felt a strange sense of anticipation and security.

The larger game even had a dedicated dealer. Cards were dealt facedown, and the gamblers placed their wagers. The minimum bet was a silver coin, and Rickart could see a few gold coins on the table.

Rickart asked Lena,

"Is he here?"

Lena carefully examined the faces illuminated by the firelight. Then she pointed at one of the men placing a bet.

"That man..."

The moment Lena pointed him out, Rickart walked over and tapped him on the back.

A man with a filthy beard and a coif turned around.

Unsure whether Rickart had deliberately touched him or merely bumped into him, he stared up in confusion.

Rickart spoke.

"You recognize this girl, don’t you?"

He gestured toward Lena with his chin.

The cattle merchant recognized her immediately without needing a closer look. He also guessed why Rickart had come.

"Our transaction is already complete."

"That wasn’t a transaction. It was fraud."

"If I were a swindler, the people here would have torn out my tongue already. Yet as you can see, it’s still intact."

"So you’re saying you refuse to pay a fair price?"

"Good grief. If you want to throw a tantrum, you should at least consider where you’re doing it."

Rickart wasn’t familiar with the expression the man used, but it seemed to be local slang. It probably referred to making threats and causing trouble.

Sure enough, several large men around the gambling table stared provocatively at Rickart.

It was a silent warning that things would become unpleasant if he kept spouting nonsense.

Rickart responded with actions instead of words.

Without warning, he kicked over the gambling table.

Crash!

The cards scattered across the ground, and coins clattered everywhere. The surrounding people jumped in surprise and confusion.

Some, however, remained calm.

The atmosphere turned hostile in an instant.

Rickart stared at the cattle merchant, who was still sitting down.

"I asked you a question. Are you still unwilling to pay a fair price? Answer me."

Realizing that violence was about to break out, those who had nothing to do with the dispute hurriedly scooped up their money and fled.

Others approached from a safe distance to watch the impending fight.

The cattle merchant remained seated and looked Rickart up and down.

He wore worn but freshly washed clothes and a red cloak. He had no weapon, only a staff.

What kind of outfit was that?

The merchant found it difficult to judge Rickart’s background from his appearance. Was he merely a hot-blooded young fool, or did his confidence come from genuine skill?

Fortunately—or unfortunately—an opportunity to glimpse Rickart’s true ability soon presented itself.

"Hey, brat."

One of the larger men apparently couldn’t tolerate him any longer and reached out to grab him.

Rickart abruptly seized the man’s wrist.

A disturbing sound reached the people nearby.

Crack.

More than the pain, the sensation of his hand going limp and dropping beyond his control sent a chill down the large man’s spine.

Before he could even register what had happened, Rickart grabbed him by the waist and the back of his neck, then hurled him into the livestock enclosure.

His strength was astonishing.

The man landed face-first in mud filled with manure and began floundering around in it.

The entire area fell silent for a moment.

Once the thugs realized what had happened to their companion, they began shouting.

"You fucking bastard!"

"You want a fight?"

Rickart’s staff danced like lightning.

Crack! Crack!

The thugs collapsed one after another, unable even to comprehend what had struck them.

The remaining men hurriedly reached for their weapons, without understanding how their friends and companions had been defeated.

Rickart showed not the slightest hint of agitation. He pointed the end of his staff at them.

"Draw your blades and you die."

There was an unwritten law among swordsmen that was practically sacred: if someone pointed a blade at you, you were entitled to kill them.

That was why people who made their living by the sword were often more cautious about drawing their weapons than anyone else.

No matter how close two people were, they never pointed the tips of their swords at each other.

That was why Boribori had been so profoundly shocked four years ago when Ice aimed his sword at his friends.

It was one of the few rules Rickart followed.

If his opponents were unarmed, he would simply beat them and leave it at that. But if they took up weapons, he generally killed them all.

Faced with Rickart’s supernatural skill, disciplined movements, and unwavering gaze, the thugs froze with their hands still reaching for their weapons.

Only then did they realize that he was a fighter on an entirely different level.

His fearless confidence subdued everyone present in an instant.

Rickart planted his staff on the ground again and looked at the cattle merchant, whose expression had gone blank.

"Answer me."

"...Pardon?"

"I said answer me. Are you going to pay a fair price?"

"Uh... O-Of course. A merchant should always do honest business. Absolutely."

The cattle merchant pulled out his coin pouch with trembling hands and offered it to Rickart with both hands.

Rickart took only twenty silver coins from it and casually tossed the rest back.

Then he firmly placed those twenty silver coins in the hands of the long-suffering girl.

"Let’s go. And you—conduct your business properly."

After leaving the merchant with that warning, Rickart took Lena back toward their campsite.

The cattle merchant stared blankly at the coin pouch that had somehow been returned to him.

Why was it back in his hands?

For a moment, he was confused as he tried to understand and interpret what had just happened.

When Rickart returned to the campsite, everyone looked at him anxiously.

He had clearly succeeded in retrieving the money, presumably by beating someone or using some other violent means. What worried them was the retaliation that might follow.

Marie , of course, showed no concern at all, as though nothing had happened. Roy merely gazed at Rickart with admiration.

There were times when even Roy’s father had remained silent in the face of unjust threats or coercion. Rickart, on the other hand, had marched over with his head held high and recovered the money.

Bremen, as the guide responsible for the group, saw things differently.

"Did you truly have to do that...?"

"Do what?"

"The merchants here are protected by the Reichen Brotherhood. They won’t let this go."

"That doesn’t mean we should stand there and allow ourselves to be cheated."

"But they didn’t take all her money. A few silver coins would have been enough to somehow feed those children until we reached Torvail."

Setting aside who was right or wrong, Rickart sensed a fundamental difference in how they thought.

He had no desire to judge or criticize other people’s way of thinking, but wrong was still wrong.

"I don’t know. If you let them take advantage of you once, they’ll do it again. It’s like retreating one step at a time. If you continue yielding to the threats and intimidation of wicked men, you’ll eventually find yourself cornered and enslaved. Even if you reach the eastern frontier with the mentality of a slave, do you truly believe you’ll find salvation or hope there?"

Whether the matter was large or small, surrendering one thing after another would ultimately cost a person everything.

That was what Rickart believed.

People handed over their souls to others simply to preserve their lives.

Rickart respected those who fought tenaciously to survive by any means available. At the same time, he despised servility.

It wasn’t so much a warrior’s mentality as it was an unavoidable necessity for anyone who wished to stand on their own feet.

Salvation extended a hand to those who sought independence.

Marie and Rickart’s friends had become Sword Masters in the same way. That was why he was so certain about this.

Perhaps because he was naturally steadfast himself, Hartmann considered Rickart’s words correct and nodded along.

Roy listened as though entranced, unconsciously engraving Rickart’s words upon his heart.

Bremen and the others, however, still appeared worried.

"We aren’t as strong as you..."

Perhaps he had grown too old to summon the strength to resist. Bremen muttered the words almost to himself.

"Traveling a long road together creates a bond that should never be taken lightly. I’ll help all of you, so don’t worry too much. Perhaps doing things this way will actually give us a better chance of succeeding."

Ironically, perhaps one could only overcome danger and achieve one’s goal by accepting risk.

Maybe their past failures had resulted from doing nothing but avoiding trouble and running away.

In any case, Lena held the recovered money tightly in her hand.

It felt more precious than ever.

It was the price of her mother’s life, and a heroic older brother had recovered it for her.

The night deepened.

The following morning, as though following a predetermined course of events, a member of the Reichen Brotherhood came to visit.

He wore extravagant silk clothing and a thick fur cloak. He was already a large man, and the cloak made him appear even bigger.

All ten of his fingers bore rings set with large jewels, and several gold necklaces dangled around his neck.

He arrived with his subordinates and the cattle merchant. The merchant pointed toward Rickart, who was sitting beside the fire eating breakfast.

While the others watched anxiously, Rickart swallowed the food in his mouth, silently picked up his staff, and walked over.

"Good morning."

The other man greeted him first with a broad grin.

"What do you want?"

"I hear you’re quite skilled."

"And?"

"Can you show me?"

Rickart stared at him for a moment.

Then he flicked his wrist and swept his staff back and forth in front of the man.

Believing Rickart was about to hit him, the man flinched slightly before quickly pretending nothing had happened.

Rickart planted his staff back on the ground with a sharp tap.

The cord fastening the man’s cloak had been severed, and the fur cloak fluttered to the ground.

That wasn’t all.

His dangling gold necklaces had also been cut, falling with a series of metallic chimes.

Even the cord holding up his trousers had been severed, causing them to slip down around his legs.

The eyes of everyone watching anxiously grew as wide as lanterns.

A mage.

He had to be a mage.

Not one of them thought Rickart was a swordsman. They genuinely believed he was using magic.

The man who had arrived with all those subordinates spent a long moment staring down at his thickly haired bare legs.

Then he quietly pulled up his trousers.

"My apologies for interrupting your meal."

Holding his trousers up with one hand, he turned around and went back the way he had come.

His subordinates hurriedly picked up the fallen cloak and necklaces before following him.

Around noon, another man arrived with a group of subordinates.

Unlike the visitor from that morning, this one was a young swordsman dressed in a simple gambeson and cloak, with a sword hanging from his waist.

His presence was impressive, but to Rickart and Marie , he was nothing remarkable.

To everyone else, however, it seemed that bloodshed was imminent.

Their hearts pounded anxiously.

Hartmann quietly reached toward the place where he had left his axe.

The man whose trouser cord had been severed that morning stood beside the swordsman. This time, he raised his hand and pointed at Rickart, who was once again in the middle of a meal.

So much for being sorry about interrupting him.

However, after staring at Rickart for a moment, the newly arrived swordsman tilted his head.

Then his eyes widened slightly in surprise.

"Huh?"

Rickart hadn’t recognized him at first, but the vaguely familiar face made his own eyes widen.

"Huh?"

The exact memory didn’t immediately come to him, but he soon remembered.

Rickart had met this adventurer in Rheinfort, the city he reached after leaving home at the age of ten.

He had been the leader of Sandy’s clan.

Was his name Bellator?

Having unexpectedly encountered each other in the most unlikely of places, Rickart and the swordsman stared at one another in bewilderment.

What are you doing here?

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