Chapter 13

Chapter 13: Chapter 13

The walls were so thin that the sounds of a man and woman going at it in the next room came through completely unfiltered. Embarrassing moans continued to drift through the wall as well.

Yet Rickart and Sandy, who were listening from their room at the inn, looked utterly unbothered.

After what had happened earlier that day, mere indecent noises could not stir the emotions that had hardened and grown as heavy as stone.

Sandy leaned against the windowsill and gazed up at the night sky. Countless stars might have been shining, but it was darkness that filled the heavens.

Eventually, the rhythmic thumping ceased. Silence lingered between them for some time.

"What are you?"

After six hours without a single word following the incident, Sandy finally spoke.

"What do you mean?"

"Roach earned his upper-rank status through his own ability. You might have been able to kill the Bilton brothers somehow by taking them by surprise, but not Roach."

Being extraordinary had its limits. The idea that a ten-year-old had defeated an adventurer who had trained in Mana Drive and ranked near the top in the Academy’s competitions was simply too absurd.

Rickart considered the question carefully before answering.

"Every movement has a single point where its force is concentrated. That point changes from moment to moment, but if you redirect it in the right direction at precisely the right instant, your opponent ends up injuring himself. It’s like pointing a spear at the crown of a charging boar’s head. I don’t even have to thrust. I wasn’t the one who broke the sword. That man Roach broke it himself."

It was not a perfect analogy, but the principle resembled a counter in unarmed combat. Rickart merely applied it to weapons.

"That’s what I’m asking about... You make it sound easy, but how do you even do that?"

"You improve with practice. Eventually, you can do it as naturally as breathing. On a battlefield, you don’t have time to swing your weapon at the same person several times. You have to kill each enemy in a single strike. Otherwise, some stray spear or sword might kill you instead."

Every martial art was born and developed according to its intended purpose. Battlefield swordsmanship had no choice but to be concise, efficient, and lethal. It was not simply because its practitioners wanted to kill as many people as possible. It was because that was the only way to survive.

Sandy turned and stared at Rickart. He looked exactly like an adorable young nobleman.

Surely he could not have fought in a war at his age. Even if he had, there was no possible way he could have accumulated much experience.

"You said you came from a family of knights, right? Did your father teach you? Ever since you were little?"

"Yeah. Something like that."

Rickart gave a vague answer. Sandy sank into thought for a while before speaking again.

"I’ve seen plenty of talented kids. Every now and then, I’ve even seen monstrous geniuses who made those talented kids look ordinary. But I’ve never seen anyone as exceptional as you, Riki."

"That’s a compliment, right?"

"A compliment? Hmm... Let’s call it one. But honestly... you scared me."

"What about now?"

Sandy silently studied Rickart for some time. She seemed to be reconsidering everything she had seen of him that day.

For reasons she could not explain, the words Rickart had spoken earlier kept echoing in her ears.

So what?

His voice, his tone, and the sincerity behind those words.

Sandy playfully raised an eyebrow and smiled.

"I guess you’re not as much of a child as I thought."

"Hahaha..."

Rickart merely laughed. At last, the tension in the room seemed to ease somewhat.

It was late at night, and the two of them fell asleep in the same bed, dressed only in their undergarments. Other than his mother, Sandy was the first woman Rickart had ever shared a bed with.

He had not exactly lied to Sandy, but there were some things he had left unsaid.

He pitied her.

And he was relieved that she had companions who were like brothers and sisters to her.

He knew that clumsy sympathy could be the worst kind of insult, so he kept the things that ought to remain buried to himself.

Tomorrow, they would finally reach the Academy. The four-day journey since he had left home was at last coming to an end.

Where there were meetings, there would inevitably be partings.

Nestled in Sandy’s arms, Rickart thought of all the people who had passed through his life.

Arno, Daisy, Kaufman, Sandy’s companions, his family—and before them, each and every person who had fallen on the battlefield...

The night deepened.

Beringen, the capital of the Beringen territory, was a fortified military city. That was because the territory was responsible for defending the border.

A low mountain range lay to the east, and beyond it stretched a forest inhabited by monsters—a place where no human dared set foot.

Goblins, orcs, undead, man-eating spiders, werewolves, trolls, and countless others...

Humans might be able to deal with them individually, but once the monsters gathered into hordes, they became utterly impossible to withstand.

The wise choice, therefore, was simply to establish a boundary and never cross it.

Historical records occasionally mentioned massive orc invasions, and humanity had never once managed to repel them.

The records merely stated that the orcs had freely ravaged the region and eaten their fill before splintering into factions and eventually withdrawing of their own accord.

In other words, when monsters launched a large-scale invasion in earnest, people of this era regarded it as a natural disaster, no different from an earthquake, tsunami, or typhoon.

All they could do was pray that it passed quickly.

Far to the north lay the sea, a region frequently raided by Norsemen who sailed down in their ships.

They were merchants as well as raiders. When circumstances were favorable, they merely traded. When things displeased them, however, they did not hesitate to wage war.

Thus, Beringen existed for one purpose: to hold back foreign invasions.

Or else become their prey.

Preventing outside invaders from advancing into the Empire’s interior by any means necessary was Beringen’s duty—and its inescapable fate.

Beringen Fortress stood on a hill whose summit had been leveled, placing it somewhat higher than the surrounding land.

Sturdy walls encircled the entire hill. Around two hundred people lived inside, though the margrave himself did not reside there. Instead, an administrator dispatched by him remained in charge.

Far more people lived below the hill.

Like the spreading mark left by a drop of water striking the ground, roughly ten thousand people lived scattered across the land surrounding it.

They farmed, hunted, grazed livestock, practiced trades, and conducted business, all without the protection of the fortress walls.

Yet Beringen Academy stood neither atop the hill nor below it.

Half a day’s journey from the city, there was another small fortress resembling an outpost, perched atop a sheer, rocky mountain.

That was Beringen Academy.

An ancient fortress had simply been repurposed as the Academy’s building.

At the end of a narrow staircase climbing along the cliffside, a phrase had been carved above the castle gate, radiating a grave and ominous air.

Discipline Shall Set You Free.

A boy stood beneath it, gazing up at the inscription with a somewhat dazed expression. Beads of sweat dotted his forehead, apparently from the strain of the climb.

"What the hell? Who are you?"

The sudden, rather confrontational question snapped the boy back to his senses.

Someone slightly older than him—perhaps sixteen to eighteen years old—stood slouched before him with a sword at his waist, staring in his direction.

"Ah... M-my name is Boribori. I came from a place called Duchen. Mr. Hartmann introduced me, and he said I’d be given food and a place to sleep, so..."

"Bori-what? What did you say your name was?"

"Boribori."

"Are you messing with me?"

"No, Boribori really is my name..."

The boy with the sword at his waist glared at Boribori with a deep frown.

He had tawny bowl-cut hair, slightly sorrowful eyes, a dainty nose, and a rather large mouth. His exact age was difficult to tell, but he looked somewhere between ten and twelve, and he was about the average height for a child of that age.

The problem was that Boribori looked like a beggar.

"Wash yourself first. You’re fucking filthy."

"S-sorry."

"Hey."

"Yes?"

"Ask me to repeat myself one more time and I’ll beat the shit out of you."

"S-sorry..."

"You little bastard!"

"There’s no such thing as ’sorry’ here. Got it?"

"What?"

Without warning, the boy wearing the sword kicked him in the stomach. Boribori doubled over, collapsed to his knees, and struggled to breathe.

"What the fuck do you take my words for, you little shit? Don’t make me say something twice if you don’t want to die. Filthy bastard."

He grabbed Boribori by the hair and dragged him to the well in the courtyard. Several students glanced over as they passed, but they merely snickered or showed no interest at all.

The boy with the sword hauled up a bucket of water and unceremoniously dumped it over Boribori.

Splash!

Already reeling from the heavy blow, Boribori shuddered uncontrollably when the icy water struck him.

"Take off your clothes."

Boribori almost reflexively answered, "What?" but hurriedly clamped his mouth shut and did as he was told. In broad daylight, in a place open on every side, he stripped naked.

He might ordinarily have felt humiliated, but as an illegitimate child, he had spent his entire life being persecuted and tormented. He could endure this much without complaint.

The boy with the sword doused him with several more buckets of water before pointing his thumb toward a building.

"Throw your clothes away, wash yourself properly, and go in there."

Then he simply walked off.

Boribori stood there naked and trembling as though he were a prisoner of war. He was freezing, and his stomach still throbbed.

Unable to stop shaking, he drew water from the well and washed himself.

Some of the students watching from a distance snickered at him. There were even girls among them.

Boribori scrubbed himself until no more grime came off. Then, covering his private parts with his hands, he headed toward the building the sword-wearing boy had indicated.

He cautiously opened the door and stepped inside. Apart from a narrow aisle, sixty bunk beds stretched in rows far into the distance.

"What are you?"

Another unfriendly question flew at him. The people here seemed to greet strangers with hostility rather than curiosity.

"I-I’m Boribori. I’ve only just arrived..."

"So what?"

"What? No, sorry—no..."

He could neither ask anyone to repeat themselves nor apologize, leaving Boribori with nothing he could say.

"Quit displaying your ugly fucking body and crawl into some corner where no one has to look at you."

"He says his name’s Boribori. What kind of name is that? Hehehe."

"Hey, if you’re going to die, do it somewhere far away. If you make us clean up your corpse, you’re fucking dead. Seriously."

Remarks came from every direction, yet there was not a single kind word among them. There was nothing but contempt and disgust.

They told him to hide in a corner, but the beds were packed so tightly together that there was nowhere to hide.

Still dripping wet and completely naked, Boribori wandered about aimlessly before cautiously settling on a bed that appeared to be vacant.

The children nearby snickered.

A short while later, several children entered through a door at the far end of the room. One of them approached Boribori.

He was larger than the average grown man, and his face made him look as though he were already in his forties.

"Hey."

"...Yes?"

"Th-thank you."

"Don’t say ’thank you’ here. Don’t say ’sorry,’ either. Whenever you’re walking through the aisle, always step aside for someone else first."

"Okay."

"Rank comes before everything here. It isn’t an absolute rule, but the ones who use the top bunks are generally higher in the hierarchy. And among them, the farther toward the back they sleep, the stronger they are. If you want a particular bed or don’t want to step aside in the aisle, you have to fight and win."

"You want to die?"

Boribori stared blankly up at him, feeling the terror of death, while the snickering around them grew louder.

The huge boy glared at the ones laughing.

"Hey, you fucking bitches. You assholes who just stood there and watched are even worse. Do you seriously want to die?"

"S-sorry, Molty. Hey, come over here."

One of the children standing a short distance away called Boribori over. Boribori hurriedly rose and went to him.

"This is the empty bed. Clean it up a little and stay here."

For an empty bed, it was hardly clean. All kinds of rubbish were strewn across it.

"Use this to dry yourself, and wear these clothes. They belonged to the kid who used this bed before you."

They were not new clothes. They had not even been washed. Boribori was in no position to be particular, however.

He swallowed the words of gratitude rising in his throat and silently made himself presentable.

"But, um... What happened to the kid who used this bed before me?"

"He died."

"What?"

"I said he died. You have to earn your own living here. Apparently, a knife fight broke out while he was working in the city, and he got caught up in it."

"You don’t have to worry too much. There are safe jobs too. That kid pushed himself because he needed extra money."

Boribori had no idea what to say.

He was overwhelmed by the feeling that he had come to the wrong place. But where could he go if he left? His family treated him like an unwanted burden, and that place was every bit as cruel as this one.

The other children had nowhere else to go either.

A few occasionally left, but far more remained here than one might expect.

That was because this place offered them a faint sense of belonging—something even their own families had failed to provide.

Boribori was no different.

He had been born as the son of a maid and had grown up watching the legitimate children torment his mother. Sometimes they had even forced Boribori to join in the abuse.

I’m sorry, Mother. I can’t live like this anymore.

Those were the words he had left behind when he ran away.

There was not a single child here without a miserable past. If anything, their stories were worse than Boribori’s. None of them had lived an easy life.

That night, however, the children forcibly threw a blanket over Boribori and gleefully beat him.

"Welcome to the chicken coop, newbie!"

They beat him until he lost consciousness.

When he opened his eyes, it was morning. Aside from a handful of children resting inside, most had either gone to lessons or headed into the city.

Their ages ranged from twelve to sixteen, and because they were at different stages of growth, there were enormous differences in their sizes.

Boribori gradually learned to adapt by watching those around him. He explored the area surrounding the dormitory and even became acquainted with a few children he could talk to, though he could hardly call them friends.

A month passed before he knew it. During that time, he repeatedly watched other newcomers like himself being tormented.

Then one day, a new student arrived wearing a red cloak.

He had blond hair and hazel eyes. Unlike Boribori when he had first arrived, he did not look like a beggar. His appearance was quite neat.

"Hey, what are you?"

A child near the newcomer asked the question provocatively. Boribori merely watched from some distance away.

The new arrival was none other than Rickart.

"Someone like you? That’s quite a grand name."

"What’s your name?"

"What?"

"I asked what your name was."

"What are you going to do with my name? You want to die?"

"If you don’t mean that, you should watch what you say."

"Wh-what did you say?"

"So, where’s my bed? It’s my first time here."

Boribori’s eyes widened.

He had not been here for very long, but none of the newcomers he had seen had ever been so audacious. Every one of them had cowered and taken a beating.

Apparently, Boribori was not the only one who noticed. Everyone’s attention naturally converged on the entrance.

"Wh-what the fuck are you? Do you seriously want to die?"

"Sorry, but you’re not frightening at all. It doesn’t suit you, either."

"Wh-what?"

The boy who had picked the fight could only blink, dumbfounded by the absurdity of Rickart’s response.

"It’s been a while since we got an interesting one."

Someone spoke, and several children climbed out of their beds and approached the newcomer, apparently intending to teach him some manners.

One of them picked up a blanket and crept toward Rickart from behind.

"This won’t do. You need a beating."

At that moment, the boy behind Rickart flung the blanket over him. The other children immediately rushed forward to stomp on him—

And a flash burst before the eyes of the boy standing opposite Rickart.

Thud!

A chaotic scuffle erupted, followed by a rapid succession of heavy impacts.

Wham! Thump! Bam! Crack!

Boribori’s eyes grew as wide as saucers.

Even though he had witnessed it, he had no idea what had happened.

The only thing he could understand was the result.

Rickart alone remained standing, while everyone else lay sprawled around him, groaning in pain.

"..."

"Ah... Fuck..."

Rickart grabbed one of the children by the hair and smashed his face against the leg of a nearby bed.

Crack!

Blood poured from the boy’s nose as he crumpled to the floor.

At some point, the blanket had ended up in Rickart’s hands. Rickart looked back and forth between it and the children lying on the ground.

Then he said something unbelievable.

"Oh, was this an initiation? Sorry. Want to try again?"