Chapter 17

Chapter 17: Chapter 17

White clouds drifted across the blue sky, the breeze was cool, and the sunlight was warm. It was the kind of day that lifted one’s spirits for no other reason than that.

Rickart gathered his money and dagger, draped his red cloak around his shoulders, and followed Volka out of the dormitory.

"I don’t think I’ve seen you lately. Has it been about three months?"

Volka seemed to be in a good mood, though Rickart didn’t know why. When Boribori smiled brightly, he truly looked like spring sunshine, and Rickart’s mood lifted along with his.

Now that he thought about it, he hadn’t noticed while climbing up, but descending the sheer rocky mountain was a little frightening.

There were no safety railings, and the narrow steps varied in height, so one wrong move could easily send someone stumbling.

Since they were so high up, the wind was strong as well, constantly whipping Rickart’s hair and cloak about.

"Someone’s going to get into an accident here," Rickart said.

"Some kids jump on purpose."

Volka, who was walking ahead, said it as though it were nothing. He meant that they ended their own lives.

"What?"

"Paradise Cliff. It used to happen from time to time. Kids would deliberately jump off."

"...What about these days?"

Rickart had nothing to say. His heart ached. He wanted to mourn the children who had died, but he knew neither their faces nor their names.

Volka, however, seemed to regard children jumping from the cliff as nothing particularly unusual. He casually asked,

"It takes six hours to get there. What do you want to do? Stay overnight in the city, or spend a little time there and come straight back? If you’re returning today, though, I can’t come back with you. I have business of my own."

That meant the round trip would take twelve hours. It was still morning, but if Rickart wanted to return to the academy dormitory that same day, he would barely have any time in the city.

Rickart pondered what to do, then remembered something his eldest brother, Grout, had told him when he was young.

On a day like this, you don’t make plans.

Rickart looked up at the blue sky dotted with white clouds. Letting the breeze carry away the heaviness that had briefly settled over him, he said,

"I’ll decide once we get there."

"Sure. You said you had some money, right?"

"Yeah."

"In the city, money is both king and emperor. If you have money, you’ve got nothing to worry about."

"It can also be the root of misfortune."

"Ha! True, but who’d dare mess with you?"

Volka knew what Rickart was capable of, so he wasn’t worried about his safety. In truth, if Rickart had been just another mediocre brat, Volka wouldn’t have brought him to the city like this unless he intended to introduce him to a job.

In any case, the view of the endless plains as they descended the rocky mountain was truly spectacular.

The timing was perfect. Colorful spring flowers had bloomed across the green fields, decorating them with vivid splashes of color. Spring had settled gently over the plains, and the staircase seemed like a stairway descending from heaven.

Knowing that children had once taken their own lives here meant Rickart could no longer see it as wholly beautiful.

Or did that make it even more beautiful?

No. It meant that it had to be beautiful.

When they finally reached the bottom, a single road stretched toward the city. It wasn’t paved; it had been formed solely by countless human footsteps, which somehow made it feel even more evocative.

Boribori excitedly ran ahead on his own, pointing all around him and shouting,

"Baby blue-eyes! Daffodils! Lilies of the valley! Balloon flowers!"

Boribori called out the name of every plant and flower in the field. He kept shouting, seemingly without end.

As Rickart listened, he realized that all the plants he had seen back home had names of their own.

"You actually memorized all that nonsense?"

Apparently tired of listening, Volka frowned as he spoke.

"But they’re so pretty. They’d be sad if no one admired them."

"Really? Is it still pretty now? Take that!"

Volka stomped on a yellow daffodil.

Boribori flinched and fell silent, while Rickart merely laughed.

Still, Rickart approached the dejected Boribori, placed a hand on his shoulder, and said,

"It’ll grow again. A flower’s life doesn’t end just because its blossom falls."

"Okay..."

"I don’t know about Ricky, but you need to get your act together," Volka said. "Are you planning to coast through life just because you got lucky and made a good friend? What are you going to do two years from now?"

Volka criticized Boribori mercilessly. Still, the fact that he went out of his way to say all that when there was no real need might have been proof that he was beginning to care about him.

"We still have to walk for six hours. Listening to the names of flowers isn’t so bad."

Rickart did his best to defend Boribori, even though he honestly couldn’t understand why anyone would bother memorizing such things.

Volka merely clicked his tongue in displeasure.

Of the three of them, Boribori was the most childlike, despite being two years older than Rickart.

"What kind of flower is that?"

Rickart asked in hopes of cheering up the dejected Boribori.

"A violet."

"What about that tiny one?"

"A forget-me-not."

"Wow, you really do know everything. I heard flowers have meanings too. Can you tell me about them?"

At the question, Boribori’s eyes began to regain their sparkle.

"They’re called violets because they bloom around the time the swallows that left for the winter return. Their meaning is eternal friendship."

"Really?"

Rickart picked three purple violets. He handed one to Boribori and said,

"Does this mean we’ll be friends forever?"

"...Hehehe."

Boribori grinned as he accepted the flower and tucked it behind his ear.

"You take one too, Volka."

"You’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you?"

"Doing what?"

"Trying to torment me."

"What are you talking about? Weren’t you listening? He said it means eternal friendship."

"This is the kind of stupid thing little girls do."

"So you don’t want it?"

"I don’t believe in this nonsense."

Despite his words, Volka snatched one from Rickart’s hand.

Rickart laughed. Now fully cheered up, Boribori began telling them the stories associated with various flowers.

There were heartbreaking tales of innocent maidens, stories of flowers blooming where brave knights had shed their blood, and flowers said to have been brought down by angels.

Whether the stories were true or false, and whether they believed them or not, they kept the journey to the city from becoming dull.

The wind blew. The sound of flowers and grass rippling across the field was like the murmur of waves.

Whoooosh...

Beringen had no clear boundary marking where the city began—at least, not below the hill. At some point, the open fields gave way to farmland, and cows grazing on grass came into view.

In the distance, they could see a castle perched atop a hill. The closer they drew to it, the denser the population became.

Volka pointed here and there as he explained,

"This is the eastern district. It’s better than the others since a lot of guild members and academy graduates live here. But you should avoid the northern and western districts. Nord immigrants live in the north, and they have their own customs. Watch your mouth there unless you want an axe splitting your skull. As for the west, that’s where the people who’ve lived here since long ago reside. They don’t think very highly of us."

"What about the south?" Rickart asked.

"It’s just a mixed bag. People from the imperial heartland settle there, and some of them are real scum. The point is, you’ll be relatively safe as long as you keep quiet and stay in the eastern district. Let’s head to headquarters first."

Rickart and Boribori followed Volka. It was afternoon, with several hours still remaining before sunset.

The headquarters was a large, unusually shaped building. Its second floor was wider than the first, and a skybridge connected it to another building.

There was a separate parking area for carriages, with five of them standing there. The horses, having worked hard to bring them there, had been relieved of their heavy tack and were eating fodder and drinking water in the stable.

Rickart had previously visited a branch that barely qualified as one, so he found himself thinking that at least the headquarters had a proper building of its own.

"The real headquarters is inside the castle," Volka said. "Strictly speaking, this isn’t headquarters, but everyone calls it that anyway."

In other words, this was where most of the actual work was done. The true headquarters inside the castle was occupied by the so-called higher-ups, who merely passed down whatever orders they had.

"I doubt you two are normally allowed inside yet, but I know someone, so they might make an exception. And once we’re in, don’t run your mouths. The mood in there is usually fucking awful."

"Why do you think? Because people die."

"Oh."

The real challenge began after spending two years at the academy. That was when the greatest number of people died. Even then, they were divided into upper, middle, and lower ranks.

Of the two hundred students, boys and girls combined, fewer than fifty attempted to become adventurers. That was how difficult and dangerous the profession was. Some ran away, while most simply sought other work.

Volka entered the building, while Rickart and Boribori stood together and looked around.

People with weapons at their waists came and went. Their somber expressions and eyes seemed to reveal what kind of lives they led.

If those people were adventurers—or aspiring adventurers—then they must all have graduated from the academy.

That made them seniors, but Rickart sensed nothing positive from them. In stark contrast to the bright weather, they looked gloomy and exhausted.

The only people passing through in greater numbers were merchants. Anyone could commission the guild, but merchants were naturally its largest clientele.

Fragments of conversation occasionally drifted past on the wind: whether certain goods had arrived or not, how some regional lord had begun charging tolls, which gang had recently been causing trouble, and where certain goods were cheap or expensive.

Before long, Volka emerged from the building.

"They said you can have a quick look around. Behave yourselves, and don’t wander off for no reason."

"Okay."

Rickart finally entered the guild headquarters.

The interior looked no different from an ordinary tavern, except for the wanted posters covering the walls.

There were so many that they had not even been posted neatly. In places, several sheets had been pasted messily on top of one another.

As soon as Boribori entered, however, he spotted someone seated at the bar and trembled in alarm. It was none other than the man who had beaten him and dumped water over him on his first day.

A sword hung from the man’s waist as he spoke with the bartender. When the bartender noticed Rickart and Boribori accompanying Volka, he greeted them.

"Oh, are these the kids? You two need to eat plenty and grow big. Make yourselves comfortable. No alcohol, though. Learning to drink before you’re old enough will ruin you."

It sounded like decent advice. Or perhaps it wasn’t exactly advice. In any case, when the bartender addressed Volka’s group, the man speaking with him naturally turned to look their way.

The moment his eyes met Rickart’s, however, he flinched in surprise and became visibly flustered.

"Huh? Oh..."

"Hello," Rickart greeted him.

"Ah, yes. Um... Is the dormitory to your satisfaction?"

"Yes. It’s been fine."

"Ah... I see..."

The man was an academy graduate and a capable adventurer, yet he seemed completely at a loss. Volka, Boribori, and even the bartender stared at him with wide eyes.

Volka and Boribori were so bewildered by the exchange that they were practically dumbstruck.

The senior adventurer was flustered by Rickart for one simple reason: Rickart was a noble.

Like Boribori, Rickart had met the man on his first day. The moment Rickart showed him his letter of admission, the man had become noticeably uncomfortable.

Seeing his reaction, Rickart had decided that if he wanted a peaceful life at the academy, it would be better not to reveal that he was a noble. That was why he had been introducing himself by his nickname as though it were his real name.

From the senior’s perspective, it was awkward to treat Rickart like a noble, yet he could not treat him roughly either. Inevitably, he found Rickart intimidating and difficult to deal with.

Rickart was not the eldest son, but he was legitimate—a pure-blooded noble. Bastards instinctively found legitimate children intimidating, and the senior was himself illegitimate.

"I-I should get back to work. Please excuse me."

He hastily left without even finishing his drink, bowing particularly politely to Rickart before departing.

Volka and Boribori turned to stare at Rickart, their gazes demanding an explanation.

Rickart merely shrugged and offered a vague excuse.

"I didn’t hit him."

No matter how skilled Rickart was, had he really beaten up a senior? In this line of work, where strength was everything, a senior who was weak enough would naturally lose regardless of seniority. Still, becoming an adventurer meant possessing skill on an entirely different level.

The bartender watched with surprise for a moment before his expression relaxed in understanding. He had heard that a noble would be attending the academy and realized that the boy before him must be that noble.

Unlike the man who had left, the bartender remained fairly composed. Perhaps dealing with so many people had made him perceptive.

He also seemed to realize that Rickart did not want his noble status exposed, because he quickly changed the subject.

"Hunt must be a little muddled from the alcohol. You saw that, didn’t you? Drinking isn’t all that great. Anyway, Volka, have you heard the rumor?"

"Huh? What rumor?"

"You know Roach, right?"

"Ah... Yes."

Roach did not have a particularly good reputation among adventurers. His skills were decent, but there were rumors that he secretly committed crimes.

He also acted like a thug, so very few people liked him.

Adventurers were not as honorable as knights, but neither were they completely devoid of morals like bandits. They had certain lines they would not cross, and Roach was infamous in the profession for constantly skirting those boundaries.

"I heard there’s a hole in his jaw. It went straight through his tongue, so he can’t even eat properly."

The bartender mimed stabbing a finger through the skin beneath his chin.

"Why? What happened? I thought he was supposed to be pretty skilled."

"Apparently, he messed with a woman from the Blater Clan and ended up like that. That’s why you need to be humble in this profession. Skill isn’t everything. Just watch—that bastard will be dead before long. He’s made far too many enemies. What an idiot."

Despite belonging to the same guild, the bartender apparently despised Roach enough to practically curse him.

Or perhaps it was not a curse, but insight.

"What’s a clan?" Rickart asked.

He had been curious about it for some time but had never had the opportunity to hear an explanation.

The bartender polished a cup with a towel as he answered.

"A clan is a group of like-minded people within the guild. Being skilled is good, but trust comes first. That’s why your time at the academy matters. The kids who stick together there usually continue working together afterward. The students know each other best—who’s skilled and who can be trusted."

In that sense, the guild seemed to be a collection of clans. The two terms did not technically describe higher and lower levels of the same hierarchy, but in practice, that was essentially how they worked.

The guild gave clans work, issued orders, and—most importantly—provided legitimacy through its connection to the emperor.

That was the most important part.

"Did you attend the academy too, mister?"

Rickart leaned against the bar rather than taking a seat, resting his arms on top. The counter came up to his chest.

"Mister? Me? Hahaha! Sorry, but I didn’t attend the academy. I was simply an adventurer. You could say I was a fixer affiliated with the guild. I’ve retired from that line of work and do this now, but I’m still a member of the guild. I provide weary adventurers with a warm place to sleep and occasionally pass on the guild’s instructions."

"What’s a fixer?"

"A fixer is exactly what it sounds like—someone who ’takes care of things.’"

"And what does that mean?"

"In this profession, ’taking care of things’ means getting the client the result they want, by any means necessary."

"Uh... Is that supposed to sound frightening?"

"It can be. Or it might not be."

"I see. By the way, do you have a room where the three of us could stay for a night?"

Rickart took out his coin pouch as he asked, but the bartender shook his head.

"It’s your first visit, so I’ll let you stay one night free of charge. I have enough discretion for that. Go upstairs and use the last room on the right."

"Thank you. What’s your name, mister? I’m Ricky."

"...Anything is better than being called ’mister.’ I’m Dunkel."

"Is that your real name?"

Dunkel smiled faintly and set down the cup he had been polishing. Leaning toward Rickart, he spoke softly enough that no one else could hear.

"Is yours your real name, young master?"

The bartender calling himself Dunkel had neatly groomed brown hair and a well-trimmed beard, giving him a tidy appearance. Yet beneath his placid gaze lurked a presence as sharp as a dagger.

Rickart could see it.

He merely smiled in silence. Then he turned to his two friends and asked,

"Let’s put our things down first, then look around. What do you think?"

Volka and Boribori, however, were staring blankly at Rickart, utterly dumbfounded.

"What’s wrong?"

"...Huh? Oh, nothing. Yeah, let’s do that."

Volka abruptly came to his senses.

Something was strange. This was not the sort of place that offered special treatment merely because it was someone’s first visit. In fact, consideration for others was completely out of character for this place.

Boribori, meanwhile, had been rendered speechless by how casually Rickart dealt with such frightening people.

Still dazed, the two followed Rickart upstairs.

Silence descended over the hall. The only adventurers remaining were those sleeping facedown across the tables or gloomily sipping their drinks.

"So, is Roach simply incompetent, or has the boy learned some secret swordsmanship passed down through his family?"

In truth, everyone in the know was aware that Rickart had defeated Roach. The guild had therefore been discreetly watching him ever since he arrived at the academy.

"Probably both."

"...So? Are you going to test him?"

Dunkel took out a bottle, poured some liquor into the cup he had been polishing, and slid it toward the woman who had spoken.

"No. That isn’t our job. It’s the academy’s."