Chapter 18

Chapter 18: Chapter 18

Boribori placed the three violets in a wooden cup filled with water and smiled proudly.

"They’ll stay fresh for about two days like this."

"What happens after two days?"

"Hmm... They’ll wilt."

The moment Volka heard that, his face twisted into a deep scowl. Without warning, he grabbed the cup and flung the water and flowers out the window.

"Ah! No!"

Startled, Boribori panicked, not knowing what to do.

"I told you to stop doing this girly crap!"

Volka shouted as though it were something worth getting that angry over. Rickart took off his bag and placed it on the bedside table, sighing inwardly.

I guess these two just don’t get along.

Boribori’s face crumpled as he began to tear up. His eyes already looked sorrowful by nature, and with tears welling in them, he looked truly pitiful.

But after repeatedly swallowing back his tears and working his lips, he managed a timid reply.

"E-even so, there are plenty more out in the fields. They’ll bloom again next year when the swallows return. And the year after that too."

It was a meek act of defiance.

Rickart shook his head, gathered his coin pouch, cloak, and dagger, then headed outside.

Volka had a sword at his waist, while Boribori possessed nothing but the worn clothes that had once belonged to a dead academy student.

As they passed through the hall, Dunkel, the bartender, raised one hand slightly in farewell while sipping his drink.

It was still midday outside. They had arrived somewhat sooner than the full six hours, so there was still time before sunset.

Rickart said,

"If we pass a clothier, let’s stop for a moment. I need to buy some clothes and shoes."

"Then let’s move quickly. I have a lot to take care of."

"Okay."

Volka first led his two friends to an apiary a short distance outside the city.

As they approached, bees began buzzing all around them, proving exceedingly irritating.

Volka grumbled that this place was fucking awful every time he visited. Rickart waved his hands through the air and dodged from side to side, but surprisingly, Boribori walked along without the slightest concern.

He even let a bee land on the tip of his finger and beamed at it in delight.

They climbed a hillside along a path cutting through dense brush and found several beehives in a clearing. Nearby stood academy students wearing thick clothes that covered their entire bodies.

Perhaps they had grown accustomed to the bees—or perhaps they were simply too hot—because they had taken off half of their protective outerwear despite the insects flying everywhere.

"Volka."

They recognized Volka and greeted him. Constantly swatting away the bees, Volka asked,

"Everything all right?"

"Yeah. This time they didn’t delay it and paid us on schedule. It’s thanks to you."

The student then looked at Rickart and Boribori. Having witnessed Rickart’s abilities firsthand, he seemed somewhat awkward around him.

"Hello," Rickart greeted him first.

"Huh? Oh... Hey."

"I swear, some bastards only listen when you talk to them like fucking scum. That asshole kept spewing bullshit about knowing someone at headquarters, but it was all a lie. If anyone has connections, it’s us. Who the hell does he think he—Ow! That hurts! Fuck!"

Volka was busy hurling abuse at someone who was not present when a bee finally stung him.

Ignoring him, Rickart asked the student working at the apiary,

"How’s the work?"

"Huh? Oh, it’s all right. Spring has begun, so the bees are entering their main honey-producing season. We need to keep a close watch for things like hornets and other bees trying to rob the hives. Other than that, there isn’t much to do."

"Hey, hurry up and give me the money. This hurts like hell."

Volka seemed to be making an excessive fuss over a single bee sting. He had kept charging at Rickart after taking far worse beatings.

"Stop talking about pointless crap and give me the money already," Volka urged.

"Sure. Just a moment."

The students at the apiary appeared to have collected the money in advance. They handed Volka three copper coins—probably one per person.

It was both a job-placement fee and a form of protection money.

Rickart did not know the exact details, but apparently there had recently been another problem involving unpaid wages.

In an age when honey and beeswax were valuable commodities, beekeeping was generally a business monopolized by the local lord. The problem lay with the overseers in the middle.

They skimmed money for themselves, so when disputes arose, someone had to apply pressure. Volka was the one who handled that.

In truth, however, receiving the full agreed wage was impossible. No matter how firmly they confronted the overseer, they could not actually beat him. All they could do was negotiate over how much he would take—half, or perhaps ten percent.

That was reality.

Such problems arose because the overseers were usually the lord’s retainers or servants and were expected to work for him without receiving wages themselves.

A somewhat considerate lord might account for the inevitable skimming when setting the wages, but there were no concrete rules governing how much the overseer had to share with the laborers actually doing the work.

Worse still was when there were several layers of overseers. If the lord assigned work to a retainer, who then delegated it to another retainer or servant, almost nothing would remain for the people performing the actual labor.

Fortunately, such arrangements were uncommon in Beringen, so conditions here were comparatively better.

"Hey! I’m leaving! Let me know if anything happens!"

The moment Volka received the money, he turned and practically fled down the hill, flailing his arms even as he ran.

Caught off guard, Rickart and Boribori hurried after him. They looked back and waved as they went.

"It was nice seeing you! See you again!"

The boy they had spoken to and the other two guarding the hives raised their hands in an awkward farewell.

Volka continued running until they had left the bees’ territory. Then he stopped, panting heavily.

"Huff... Huff... You’re supposed to get the most fucking unpleasant job over with first."

"Where are we going next?"

"The smithy. It’s close to the northern district, so be careful. There’s no need to be too frightened, though. The Nords are fucking good at working iron. Once you have enough money, Ricky, you should buy a sword there too."

Volka tapped the sword at his waist. It lacked ornate decorations, but its craftsmanship and finish appeared excellent.

Of course, one could not truly judge a sword without drawing it.

Rickart and Boribori followed Volka to the riverside. The wind was strong there, and a smithy stood beside a vigorously turning waterwheel.

Clang! Clang-clang! Clang! Clang-clang...!

The rhythmic pounding of iron rang out. A familiar scent drifted past Rickart’s nose on the wind—the smell of fire and iron.

But instead of blood and death, this scent was mingled with sweat and birth.

Unlike at the apiary, Volka did not confidently enter. He merely lingered around the smithy until someone carrying and pouring molten metal noticed them and approached.

He was a student named Molti, the most prematurely aged student at the academy. He was far taller than Volka, and his build would not have seemed lacking even beside a Nord.

In fact, perhaps he had Nord blood himself.

Judging solely by his appearance, it was impossible to believe that he was still a teenager. His hairline was already receding, leaving so much of his forehead exposed that he looked as though he were in his forties.

His face was flushed from work and covered in black soot. He wiped away his sweat with a filthy rag.

Then he approached Volka and silently handed him money. For some reason, it was not a full copper coin but only three small copper pieces.

"Sorry. I don’t have much to spare either."

"It’s fine. I’ll be going. Take care."

"Mm."

The exchange seemed about to end with nothing more than the transfer of money, but Rickart spoke up. Boribori hid behind Rickart, peering out with only his eyes visible.

"How’s the work?"

Molti looked silently down at Rickart and answered in a deep voice.

"I earn according to how much I sweat. It’s honest work. I’m satisfied with that."

"There’s something I’m curious about. How old are you?"

"Sixteen."

"You’re lying."

Molti merely gave a quiet chuckle before turning around and returning to work.

"Hey, Ricky. Stop saying pointless things and let’s go."

Despite claiming there was no need to be frightened, Volka clearly remained wary of the Nords and wanted to leave as quickly as possible.

The Nords’ thick beards curled in the intense heat. They did not seem to pay any attention to the group.

Water streamed over the tip of a blade fresh from the quench. It was a masterpiece born from the flames through nothing but strength and sweat.

"Let’s go, Ricky. I’m scared too."

Volka had already moved away, and Boribori tugged on the hem of Rickart’s cloak.

Rickart wanted to watch a little longer, but he had no choice but to leave.

Volka led Rickart and Boribori all around the city—to a tannery, a slaughterhouse, places where people simply carried cargo, and even a brothel.

At each place, he collected either a referral fee or protection money. Yet as Volka counted the coins, his expression somehow grew increasingly grim.

Before long, the sun began to set, staining the sky crimson. The laborers also started leaving their workplaces and returning to their lodgings.

Fortunately, they managed to visit a clothier before it closed. There, Rickart purchased clothes and shoes as a gift for Boribori.

Boribori had assumed Rickart was shopping for himself. When Rickart handed the clothes to him instead, his eyes widened in shock, and he stammered incoherently, unable even to express his gratitude.

As if understanding how he felt, Rickart said,

"It’s all right. We agreed that we wouldn’t thank each other, remember?"

"Th-then what am I supposed to do? Should I apologize?"

"Haha! That doesn’t seem right either. Hmm... Just make good use of them. I think that would make me happy."

"Ricky..."

Boribori’s eyes filled with tears. Such kindness overwhelmed him, and he could no longer hold back his crying.

"Waaaaaaah!"

"Hey! Have you lost your mind?!"

Rickart jumped in alarm when Boribori burst into tears in the middle of the street. Trying to calm him proved useless, and Boribori eventually began sobbing as though releasing years of pent-up sorrow.

"Uwaaaaaah!"

"This won’t do. Let’s hurry back to the inn."

Rickart grabbed Boribori and forcibly dragged him back toward the guild headquarters. The whole time, Boribori clutched his new clothes and shoes against his chest as though they were the greatest treasures in the world.

At that rate, he would wrinkle them all.

Fortunately, Boribori’s sobbing subsided by the time they reached the guild headquarters.

Volka, however, had remained silent with a stiff expression the entire time. Now he hesitantly addressed Rickart.

"Um... You know, Ricky..."

"Huh? What is it?"

"Back at the clothier, it looked like you had quite a lot of money..."

"Well, I was lucky enough to earn some on my way to the academy."

"That’s why I’m asking... Could you lend me a little?"

"How much?"

"Five... silver coins."

Five silver coins was no small sum. Of course, whether an amount was large or small was relative, but by ordinary standards, five silver coins was a fortune—especially to young boys.

"Can you tell me what you need it for?"

Too embarrassed to meet Rickart’s eyes, Volka scratched the bridge of his nose and muttered in a voice as quiet as a mosquito.

"I’m short on the tribute payment..."

Tribute? What does he mean?

"Do you need it immediately?"

"Yeah. It’s due today, and I have my own work to do tomorrow."

Rickart took out his coin pouch and removed five silver coins. As he handed them over, he said,

"I can come with you, right?"

"Huh? Uh..."

"Do we need to go now?"

"Yeah..."

"Then let’s go."

Despite having no idea where they were headed, Rickart set off first.

Boribori blinked his tearful eyes, wiped them, and silently followed.

The sunset deepened, and as the sun vanished from sight, dusk began to descend.

Around that time, Rickart’s group arrived at a secluded field where farmhouses stood sparsely scattered across the landscape.

A bonfire burned there, and several groups of people sat around it, exchanging jokes among themselves.

There were three groups in total and roughly twenty people altogether. They were academy students. The ratio of boys to girls was fairly even, and several male and female students sat close together, apparently in relationships.

The group known as Ice—the students ranked first through fifth—sat a short distance away. They remained completely silent, simply sitting there without speaking to one another.

It was impossible to tell what that group was thinking.

The other students occasionally snickered or conversed with serious expressions.

Then Volka approached, his footsteps rustling through the grass, and all conversation abruptly ceased.

Volka went to each group and handed over money. Hardly a word was exchanged during the transactions.

Once he had finished paying them all, he turned to leave. Rickart and Boribori, who had been watching from a distance, followed him.

"Why do you have to give them money?" Rickart asked.

"No particular reason. Isn’t that just how the world works? The academy is the same."

Just as farmers cultivated crops and paid taxes to their lord, the academy operated under a system in which lower-ranked students pooled their money and paid tribute to those above them.

Volka had defeated the student ranked fifteenth in class that day, reducing the number of people to whom he owed tribute. But having fewer people to pay did not mean the total amount he owed had decreased.

"In the past, they just beat us and took it. Even when kids couldn’t find work in the city, they were still beaten and ordered to bring back money. It only kept getting worse, and that’s why so many jumped from the cliff. I thought everyone should at least have a job. And if we pooled our money, maybe things would be a little better..."

Volka had not been finding jobs for students and protecting them solely for his own profit.

If anything, those efforts left him unable to take care of himself. He had even been forced to pay the tribute out of his own pocket.

"Sorry. I promise I’ll repay you."

Volka bowed his head in shame. Given his independent nature, asking Rickart for help must have been truly humiliating.

Then Rickart abruptly stopped walking.

He turned around and strode back toward the bonfire. Confused, Volka and Boribori hurried after him.

When they reached the bonfire, the three groups of students were still there. They all turned to stare at Rickart, who had appeared without warning.

Rickart stood before them and said,

"Hey, you lot. Give the money back."

Silence fell.

For a while, only the crackling of the bonfire could be heard. Sparks rose from the tips of the roaring flames and vanished into the air.

Then someone let out an incredulous scoff.

"Are you the new kid who supposedly beat Volka?"

"I told you to give the money back."

"You know, we don’t play childish games like pankration."

One of the students slowly reached for the sword at his waist.

Rickart paid it no heed and stared straight through him.

The flames were reflected in the boy’s hazel eyes, but they were not as hot as the quiet fury burning beyond them.

Rickart spoke softly, yet clearly enough for everyone to hear.

"You’re going to die..."