Chapter 11

Chapter 11: Chapter 11

It looked like an ordinary tavern. Though old, none of its supporting beams appeared rotten, nor did any part of the structure seem badly warped.

There was a bar on the ground floor, along with several tables. A staircase led to an upper level whose railing offered an unobstructed view of the floor below.

The wooden walls were covered in a chaotic mess of blade marks, almost like beasts marking their territory. They silently demonstrated that this was not a place to be taken lightly.

One thing distinguished it from the usual slum tavern: it was not particularly noisy.

People conversed quietly, played cards, sipped their drinks, threw daggers rather than darts at the walls, or burned something resembling mugwort and inhaled the smoke.

A short distance from them, in a secluded corner, several lightly armed people either sat at a table or leaned against the wall.

The seated man looked somewhat menacing, although a closer look revealed that he was not particularly old. He appeared to be somewhere between eighteen and twenty.

His face was tightly contorted, as though he had seen something he desperately wished he had not. His head was turned halfway aside, and he was forcing himself to keep his eyes on the objects lying on the table.

They were the severed heads of the Bilton brothers.

"Yeah, that’s them. Now get those fucking things out of here."

At the fierce-looking man’s command, one of the people nearby grabbed the heads by their hair, one in each hand, and carried them away.

Looking nauseated, the man spat sharply onto the floor and took a mouthful of strong liquor from a wooden cup. Then he looked at the two people seated across from him.

Arno and Rickart.

One was obviously an inexperienced novice, while the other was far too young. They made for a pair that was wholly out of place here, and the idea that they had brought in the Bilton brothers’ heads was even more incongruous.

Nevertheless, the man did not ask about their reasons or circumstances.

"They were such despicable bastards that the reward is quite generous considering how easy the job was. Thirty silver coins for each of them. Here, look."

He placed a document on the table.

It contained sketches of the Bilton brothers, along with descriptions of their distinguishing features and criminal records. Rickart skimmed it and caught words such as women, human trafficking, and others like them.

At the bottom were the seals of the Imperial Court and the magistrate. The notice stated that capturing either brother alive would earn one gold coin, while bringing in his head would earn thirty silver coins.

The man then dropped a small purse onto the table.

"Sixty in total. Count them and sign."

Without a word, Rickart pulled the purse toward himself and loosened its drawstring. He stirred the contents with his fingers three or four times, then immediately spoke.

"Two are missing."

"What?"

"I said two are missing."

He had counted them in that brief moment?

He had not even taken the coins out and counted them individually. He had merely sifted through them and still determined the exact amount.

"Huh... You have sharp eyes. The two coins are our fee. Satisfied?"

"Fine."

Rickart accepted the explanation immediately and removed twenty-nine silver coins from the purse.

"These are yours, Arno. Arno. Arno!"

"H-Huh? Yes?!"

Arno had been nervously surveying his surroundings with an obviously terrified expression. Only when Rickart called him did he finally regain his senses.

"These are yours. Twenty-nine coins. It’s thirty for each head, but they took two as their fee."

"Ah, yes..."

The courage Arno had gained from killing a few bandits had apparently shriveled away already. He looked so intimidated that he seemed half-dazed.

He did not even offer a polite refusal, nor did he appear capable of feeling pleased despite having just received the considerable sum of twenty-nine silver coins.

That was understandable.

Arno felt as though he had entered a tiger’s den and wanted to leave this place immediately.

After the brief commotion outside, they had been told to follow and had done so. Now he felt that entering this building had been a grave mistake.

"By the way, is this really the Rheinfort branch of the Beringen Adventurers’ Guild?"

Rickart asked the menacing-looking man while signing the document. He merely had to write his name, and his handwriting, inherited from his mother, flowed as elegantly as willow branches.

"No. This building belongs to the Arisen Brotherhood. To put it simply, it’s a thieves’ guild."

The man spoke casually as he put away the document.

Arno’s eyes widened at the words thieves’ guild.

"Huh?"

A thieves’ guild was a criminal organization that could not even be compared to an ordinary band of highwaymen.

It possessed structure, professionalism, restraint, secrecy, and an unwavering commitment to retaliation.

Although Arno traveled from place to place for work, his home was in Rheinfort. He had heard rumors about the Arisen Brotherhood, which was why the revelation shocked him so badly.

In truth, it was impossible not to know of them. Anyone living in Rheinfort who knew nothing about the Arisen Brotherhood might as well have already forfeited half his life.

Rickart glanced at Arno as though asking what was going on, then turned back to the man across the table.

"Aren’t you an adventurer?"

"I am. But professions are just whatever people choose to call them, aren’t they? The Nords engage in both raiding and trade."

"Then where is the branch? The Beringen Adventurers’ Guild branch."

"This one, that one, the other one over there, and me—we’re all adventurers affiliated with the Beringen Guild. The others are currently away. As for why we’re here, you could say that we owe the Brotherhood a favor. Though that arrangement has lasted quite a long time. Whether it’s for work or money, if you want to succeed as an adventurer, it’s best to maintain a good relationship with the thieves’ guild."

Rickart was not sure whether they could call this a guild branch when they were effectively squatting inside a thieves’ guild building. Arno apparently had not known much about it either, and the whole operation seemed somewhat disorganized.

Rickart could not immediately understand why an adventurers’ guild would associate with a thieves’ guild.

"Why?"

"What do you mean, why? You need information if you want to get anything done."

"Is that how it works?"

"That’s how it works. Now let me ask you something. How did you kill them? The Bilton brothers."

"I just hid and ambushed them."

"Was it really that simple? No matter how I think about it, I don’t remember being capable of that when I was your age."

"Everyone is different."

"You seem a little too different. Anyway, do you have any other business with me?"

"I’m looking for a guide who can take me to the Beringen Academy."

"Why would you want to go to that henhouse?"

"Henhouse?"

"A henhouse is a henhouse. I’m asking what business you have there."

Rather than offer a lengthy explanation, Rickart took his letter of admission from his bag and showed it to the man.

This time, not only the fierce-looking man but also his companions nearby reacted with surprise.

"Whoa! What the hell is this? Those vicious bastards are making things like this now?"

"What is it? Wow, why does it look so convincing?"

"Huh? Wait, you’re a noble?"

The man looked surprised once more when he read the line wishing fortune in war upon House Kaldevern.

"Yes. Why?"

"Something’s wrong here."

"What?"

"That isn’t the kind of place someone like you goes."

"What do you mean? Explain."

"More than half of the students there are illegitimate children. The rest are commoners. I doubt there’s a single proper noble like you among them."

It was a somewhat startling revelation.

Or perhaps it would be more accurate to say that it was unexpected.

Rickart had unconsciously assumed that the academy would be filled with children whose circumstances resembled his own.

But an illegitimate child was still an illegitimate child.

Neither a noble nor a commoner—simply a bastard. Someone born from an unblessed union and condemned to live beneath an unfortunate fate.

Nobles openly looked down upon them, while commoners cursed them behind their backs. Illegitimate children received respect from neither class.

Of course, some were formally acknowledged by the heads of their families, while others forged their own paths despite being born illegitimate. Such cases, however, were exceedingly rare.

But did it matter?

Perhaps because of the environment in which he had grown up, Rickart cared little about social status.

In his previous life, he had killed people from every class without discrimination.

"That doesn’t matter. I decided for myself that I would become an adventurer."

"What? Why?"

"I want to know whether the war was worth fighting."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"I’m talking about the Eastern Expedition. There was a war there a hundred years ago. So many people suffered and died in agony. Isn’t it natural to wonder whether it was worth that price?"

The man seemed completely unable to comprehend what Rickart was saying. His expression looked as though he had bitten into an insect.

What the hell is this kid talking about? Why would he care about that?

"You could join a knightly order and gain honor, or become an officer in a mercenary company and earn money. But you specifically want to become an adventurer?"

"Then I’ll become an adventurer and obtain both—honor and money."

The man stared sideways at Rickart, his face twisted strangely.

This kid must be insane.

"Hahaha! He’s right. He can just take both. To think I’d meet a junior in a place like this. Let’s go somewhere else. It’s far too gloomy in here."

The person leaning against the wall spoke.

Rickart had not realized it because of the hood, but the voice belonged to a woman.

The fierce-looking man blinked several times, then nodded.

"Fine. Let’s move somewhere else. I’ve been sitting in the shadows so long I’m about to grow mold on my face. Follow me, young junior. Hurst, watch things here for a while."

"Sure."

The menacing-looking man rose from his seat. Beckoning for Rickart to follow, he headed deeper into the building.

Rickart was about to follow him without hesitation when he suddenly looked back at Arno.

Arno was lingering uncertainly.

"Thank you, Arno."

With that, Rickart left him behind and followed the menacing-looking man. Whether intentional or not, the farewell seemed rather cold.

Arno merely blinked.

We’re parting just like that?

The thieves’ guild building was larger and more spacious than expected. It connected to an underground passageway with sewage flowing through the center and walkways along both sides.

The tunnels were complex, with countless branches like a maze. They appeared extremely old, yet remained remarkably sturdy.

When were these built? Did humans really make all this?

After following the fierce-looking man and his two companions through the tunnels, Rickart emerged on a sunlit riverbank.

Smuggling vessels traveled up and down the river, and a loading dock stood nearby.

Smuggling was supposed to mean bringing goods in secretly, yet no one here appeared to be making the slightest effort to act discreetly.

A breeze blew in from the river, sweeping away the city’s stench and relieving the oppressive feeling in Rickart’s chest.

"Now I can finally breathe."

When they reached an area surrounded by wooden crates, the woman sat down comfortably. She removed her hood, revealing a face that was prettier than Rickart had expected.

Her brown hair had been pulled tightly back and tied behind her head. The style suited her well, thanks to the elegant shape of her head.

She watched the sunlight sparkling across the river for a moment, then turned to Rickart.

"Nice to meet you. I’m Sandy. The ugly one here is Bletter, and this one is Boden."

The fierce-looking man was Bletter, while Boden was the one who had remained silent throughout the entire encounter.

Their names seemed almost carelessly chosen, but that was characteristic of illegitimate children. Their names were often taken from ordinary things such as leaves, rivers, or sand.

Noble names such as Rickart, Abelich, or Vilter carried meanings like mighty warrior, glorious wrath, or guardian.

Even the origins of their names were different.

"So, you need someone to accompany you to the academy?" Sandy asked.

"Yes."

"Would you like to go with your big sister?"

"Sure."

Rickart readily agreed.

Sandy apparently found him adorable, as a smile remained on her lips.

"Hey, shouldn’t we at least explain the henhouse to him first?" Bletter said as he pried open a crate and pulled out a bottle of liquor. "We should tell him what life there will be like."

"Isn’t Boden good at explaining things? You’re our information specialist."

"...Do you really need an information specialist to explain the henhouse?"

"Why do you keep calling it a henhouse?"

As they began bickering, Rickart interrupted with a question.

Boden answered him.

"The beds are packed closely together. Bunk beds. The only remaining space is a passage barely wide enough for one person, and a hundred and twenty people live there together for two years."

Merely remembering it appeared to make both Sandy and Bletter sick. They grimaced and shook their heads.

Boden spoke with a composed expression.

"It isn’t too late to turn back, young master. You should go home. I don’t know what you heard that made you want to go there, but it isn’t nearly as romantic as you imagine. Not in the slightest."

He was not trying to frighten or test Rickart.

It was sincere advice born from personal experience.

Rickart’s answer, however, was unexpected.

"If there’s a roof to keep out the rain and I don’t have to sleep on cold, bare ground, isn’t that luxurious enough?"

"What?"

"Living itself is painful anyway, isn’t it?"

Those were not words that should have come from a child.

Although the statement sounded cynical at first, there was neither resignation nor despair on Rickart’s face.

People unfamiliar with Rickart were often startled by this side of him, and Boden was no exception.

"...Just what kind of life have you lived?"

Unlike Boden, Bletter took a swig of liquor and exhaled hotly before readily agreeing.

"Phew. He has a point."

"It feels strange hearing that from our young junior," Sandy said with a soft smile. "I knew there was a reason I liked him."

As illegitimate children, they understood sorrow and heartbreak better than most.

"By the way, I heard on the way here that most academy students either end up crippled or die. Is that true?" Rickart asked.

"Yes, it is."

"Why? What kind of academy does that? If it’s sponsored by the Imperial Family, shouldn’t attending it be a tremendous honor? Or does the academy have them do dishonorable work?"

"Honor? Hahaha! So you even know how to use an old-fashioned word like that. I suppose you really are a noble. But Imperial funding is precisely the problem. It makes everyone fight one another until the blood flows. If another guild disappears, there’s more money left for us."

Sandy threw back her head and laughed at Rickart’s use of the word honor, then explained.

"I don’t understand."

"The Imperial Family provides a fixed amount of money. But because there are several guilds, that money is divided among them. If another guild disappears, the remaining guilds receive a larger share. Understand? I hear the places sponsored by royal families are even more vicious, perhaps because their territories are smaller. It’s best not to provoke them. They’re always angry."

Even Rickart, who was rarely disturbed by anything, found the situation absurd.

They kill one another over money?

Then again, people went to war for much the same reason.

"After being worked half to death in the henhouse for two years, the survivors are sent into combat and put through another three years of hardship," Sandy continued. "During that time, they’re divided into upper, middle, and lower ranks. Afterward, they can take the final examination or sign a contract and become adventurers like us. The work mainly involves... You’re the clever one, so explain it."

Sandy looked at Boden.

Boden answered as though none of it were particularly remarkable.

"Hunting down and beating the hell out of villains. Killing wild beasts or monsters. Transporting cargo. Escorting merchant caravans. Doing whatever our superiors order, whatever commissions we receive, official work, and unofficial work. The unofficial work includes things like assassination."

"So you do whatever comes your way."

"Correct."

"Don’t you go to the Eastern Expeditionary Territory—to Fernland?"

"I believe that’s where the final examination takes place. Only the special-rank students go there, and they rank above the upper class. Their skill and courage are monstrous. As you can see, none of us reached special rank, so we don’t know much about it. They say anyone who passes the final examination becomes one of the Emperor’s Champions."

A champion was a warrior who fought on another person’s behalf.

According to an ancient tradition, when someone was obliged to defend their honor but was too old or insufficiently skilled to fight, another person could represent them in a duel.

A close relative or friend usually served as the champion, and representing someone of high status was regarded as a particularly honorable distinction. Many heroic poems had been written about such people—the so-called Ballads of the Champions.

Realistically, however, kings and emperors had little reason to participate in duels.

Therefore, Emperor’s Champion was both an honorable title and, in practical terms, referred to a personal agent who carried out the Emperor’s commands. It was distinct from the Imperial Guard, whose responsibility was to protect him.

"By the way, what did you say your name was?" Sandy asked, smoothing back her already immaculate hair.

"Rickart."

"That immediately puts some distance between us. Don’t you have a nickname?"

Anyone who heard the name Rickart would immediately assume that it belonged to a noble.

"Ricky."

"Wow. That’s a bold one."

"What is? Isn’t it a common nickname?"

"Still, it’s the same name as Ricky the Immortal."

Every time Rickart began to forget, someone brought up his previous life again. The reminder left him feeling bitter.

"A curious coincidence. But was he really immortal?"

"No one ever managed to kill him, and no one witnessed his death. Some people supposedly worship him as a god. I believe they call themselves the Order of Judgment. He’s special to us as well. Everything we endured in the henhouse was meant to make us more like him."

"...What do you mean, more like him?"

"He was the legendary Sword Master. He could project light from his blade and cleave even boulders. With his superhuman strength and stamina, he possessed enough fighting power to rival an entire army by himself. So many children die there in the hope of getting even a little closer to what he was."

What is she talking about?

Rickart was dumbfounded.

It felt as though the dark shadow of his previous life had fallen over him.

Or perhaps it was the shadow cast by his present self—a shadow that could never be shaken off, no matter how far he ran.

"It wasn’t entirely like that," Bletter said while Rickart remained shaken.

"Becoming a Sword Master sounds too much like a fantasy, but at least for me, those years were worthwhile."

"I never knew you had such masochistic tendencies."

"That isn’t what I mean. We went through a great deal together, didn’t we? I think of us as family. If it hadn’t been for that henhouse, would we ever have met and ended up together like this? I don’t think so. If I’d never become an adventurer and had simply continued living as a bastard... what would I have become?"

Slightly intoxicated, Bletter voiced his honest feelings.

His friends fell silent.

They merely turned and gazed at the river, whose flowing waters seemed to resemble the passage of time.

"Yes. We went through a great deal..."

Boden murmured the words to himself.

They seemed laden with countless events, years, and meanings that Rickart could not yet fully understand.

Still, these people did not look up to Rickart merely because he was a noble, nor did they underestimate him because he was young.

They tried to see Rickart exactly as he was.

The individuals themselves were open-minded, though their world was somewhat insular.

They did not pursue money alone like mercenaries, nor did they seek only honor like knights. Neither did they live solely in the shadows like the thieves’ guild.

They were simply people who trusted and relied upon one another while living with a small fragment of hope in their hearts.

That was Rickart’s first impression of adventurers.