Chapter 24

Chapter 24: Chapter 24

"What do we do?"

Someone spoke.

Night had already fallen, and the forest made the darkness even deeper.

Then Rickart suddenly began striding alone toward the moonlit cabin.

"R-Ricky."

Volka called after him, but Rickart paid no attention.

Without showing any particular caution, Rickart opened the cabin door. The interior had been ransacked, but it didn’t look as though anything had been taken.

Apparently, the attackers had come solely to kill the people here.

Rickart picked up a lantern lying on the floor and lit it, then swept his gaze across the cabin. Aside from the disorder, there were no bodies inside, and it seemed suitable enough for spending one night.

He went back outside and examined the corpses scattered around the cabin. All their equipment had been stripped away, and their limbs were bent or splayed at unnatural angles.

There were twelve bodies in total.

Rickart brought the lantern close to each corpse and examined it carefully, attempting to estimate the cause and time of death, even if he couldn’t determine them precisely.

They hadn’t been killed by a single stab or slash to a vital area. Their bodies had been hacked apart.

That meant there had been a real fight.

Flies buzzed around the corpses. There were eggs, but no maggots yet. Birds and beasts hadn’t pecked out their eyes or eaten their lips, either.

They had probably been dead for only a day or two.

Judging roughly from the circumstances, the incident here appeared to have occurred before Rickart’s group was attacked—perhaps one or two days earlier.

The attackers had probably learned that reinforcements were coming from the academy while killing the adventurers here. Then they had concealed themselves along the road and launched an ambush.

After all, there was only one obvious route the students could have taken.

Rickart tentatively reached that conclusion. Consequently, he assumed that the enemies must also be considerably exhausted.

The other students merely watched Rickart’s actions with anxious eyes, too afraid to approach him.

Rickart turned toward them.

"Judging from the state of things, this ended several days ago, so there’s no need to be that frightened. We should be able to spend one night here."

Was that true?

Even if it was, how could he remain so calm?

Nevertheless, the students gradually began to recognize and accept reality.

They were definitely screwed, but they couldn’t remain standing there forever.

"Lay Molti on a bed, and let’s at least gather the bodies together. After that, we’ll arrange a watch... and I suppose we’ll have to hold a meeting. Go inside and check your equipment."

Rickart calmly issued his instructions.

The students obeyed without complaint.

They gathered the bodies in one place, laid them out neatly, and covered them with cloth. They didn’t have enough strength left to dig graves and bury them. At the moment, their remaining stamina was effectively their lifeline.

After tidying up the area around the cabin as best he could, Rickart went inside.

A single lantern on the table illuminated the cabin’s dark interior.

Since the cabin was a guild safe house, it was spacious enough to comfortably accommodate all nine of them.

Rickart found a place among the students and drew his sword. Relying on the faint light, he carefully examined the blade for any damage.

Then he thoroughly wiped it with a cloth, took some camellia oil from his bag, and cleaned the blade again while applying the oil.

As he wiped the sword, he suddenly sensed people staring at him.

He looked up.

Everyone was watching him intently.

"Why? What is it?"

"...Nothing. I was just wondering if you had anything else to say."

Volka answered him.

"Get some sleep, even if it’s only for a little while. We don’t know what might happen tomorrow. We need to rest while we can."

"Are you sure it’s safe to stay here?"

"You saw the bodies outside, didn’t you? They’re not crawling with maggots yet. Their eyes and lips are still intact, so they’ve probably been dead for only a day or two. Do you really think the people who killed them were different from the ones who attacked us? I don’t. If they’re the same people, they must be exhausted too. They won’t have enough strength to move around separately. Besides, I killed the man who looked like their commander, so they probably won’t have anyone to give orders until a new commander arrives. That means staying here for one night should be safe. Of course, we don’t know what might happen, so let’s make sure we keep a proper watch."

The explanation poured smoothly from Rickart’s mouth.

The students listened with bewildered expressions.

How did he know all of that?

His ability to assess the situation was absurd.

Volka blinked several times before speaking.

"...Ricky, have you experienced something like this before?"

"Let’s just say I have."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

Rickart sighed inwardly and changed the subject.

"Has everyone checked their equipment? Maintain it while you have the chance. If dried blood gets caked onto your weapon, you might not be able to draw it properly from its scabbard. Make sure you inspect everything carefully beforehand."

At that, everyone hurriedly took out their weapons and began examining them.

Watching them, Rickart was reminded that they were still children.

On the other hand, the fact that they had fought back instead of immediately fleeing when they were ambushed deserved praise. They hadn’t completely fallen apart mentally, either.

There was clearly a reason these students ranked near the top of the academy.

"So, what do we do now?"

Volka asked while inspecting the sword he had picked up to replace his own.

Rickart considered the matter briefly before offering his opinion.

"We have two choices. The first is to return directly to the academy tomorrow. The second is to visit the village first. We can find out what’s happening, decide whether to fight the enemy, and then determine whether to continue with the commission."

Plans always went awry.

Even so, plans were always necessary, because without one, there was no way to decide which direction to take.

If a plan collapsed once they entered real combat, they simply had to formulate a new one on the spot.

Rickart’s proposal was reasonable.

Ultimately, they had to choose between two options.

Retreat or advance.

Volka looked around at the students and asked for their opinions.

"Raise your hands if you want to go back."

Excluding Molti, three of the eight students raised their hands—two girls and one boy.

"Raise your hands if you want to go to the village."

This time, Ice and his two friends raised their hands.

The vote was tied three to three.

Neither Rickart nor Volka had raised a hand.

"Ricky, what about you?"

Once again, everyone’s attention turned toward Rickart.

In their present situation, they trusted him almost absolutely.

Soldiers always knew best whether their commander was someone worth following.

Right now, the students wanted Rickart to lead them.

"Tracking deserters isn’t something that can be finished quickly. That means the commission probably has a fairly generous deadline, so we have time. Also, there are nine of us. From where I’m standing, that isn’t a small number at all. Other than Molti, none of us are seriously injured. If we aren’t caught by surprise like we were today—if we seize the initiative and attack first—we’re more than capable of defeating the enemy. Molti should be able to move around reasonably well after resting for two days, and he’ll probably be able to fight again on the third. So, to sum it up, don’t be afraid. You all fought well today."

As they listened to Rickart, the fog seemed to lift from the students’ eyes.

They had been confused, overwhelmed, and frightened before they even understood what was happening. But once they examined the situation carefully, one detail at a time, they began to wonder whether they were actually in a fairly decent position.

"The road back will probably be more dangerous. It would be easy for the enemy to focus their attention in that direction. They won’t start a sword fight in the middle of the village, so let’s head there as soon as the sun rises tomorrow. If we encounter them there, that would actually be fortunate. We’d be able to find out who they are. Once we do, we’ll avenge our people—no matter how long it takes."

"Avenge them?"

"Our dead friends."

"Ah..."

"I know we aren’t particularly close. It would be difficult for us to entrust our lives to one another and fight together, and I won’t ask that much of you. But let’s promise this: if any of us dies at the enemy’s hands, the rest of us will avenge them."

The word vengeance filled the students with a strange feeling.

There was something inherently desperate about the word itself.

It wasn’t positive, but it wasn’t entirely negative either.

Vengeance possessed a strange power that forcibly bound people’s trust together.

It also offered an inexplicable sense of security.

Moreover, vengeance was both the right and duty of the nobility. If a noble house suffered an insult or an unjust loss, its members were expected to exact revenge, regardless of how many years it took or what means they had to employ.

That was how the nobility obtained and preserved its privileges. It was also one reason feudal society found unity so difficult.

There was hardly a single noble house that wasn’t bound to another through some debt of gratitude or grudge.

Vengeance wasn’t limited to the nobility, either. Criminal organizations also used it as a means of maintaining unity among their members.

In short, Rickart had suggested it because he believed the nine of them needed something to bind them together if they were going to accomplish anything.

If they remained strangers who would each run off to save themselves, what was the point of traveling together?

"I’ll go first."

Rickart picked up a wooden bowl lying on the floor. He drew his dagger, slashed his palm, and squeezed some blood into the bowl.

It wasn’t a great deal.

Without anyone needing to explain, every student inside the cabin understood the meaning of his actions.

It was a somewhat pagan and barbaric method, but such folk traditions had been passed down since ancient times.

Rickart handed the dagger to Volka.

Volka confidently cut his own palm and squeezed his blood into the bowl.

Hadn’t he cut a little too deeply?

In any case, they passed the same dagger around, each person adding their blood to the bowl.

When Ice’s turn came, he stood motionless for a moment, holding the dagger and bowl.

Then, without saying anything, he cut his palm.

Once all eight of them had added their blood, a considerable amount had collected in the bowl.

Rickart dipped a finger into the blood and touched it to his forehead and over his heart. Then he drew a line across his throat.

"Huh? Aren’t we supposed to drink it?"

Volka asked.

"Why would we drink something so foul? Isn’t this how people do it in the north?"

"Ricky, are you from the north? Didn’t you say you came from the south?"

"Where I’m from, we draw a cross on our faces."

Apparently, the method of swearing an oath differed from region to region. Rickart, Volka, and the other students all looked slightly puzzled.

Nevertheless, everyone followed Rickart’s method, marking their foreheads and hearts with blood before drawing a line across their throats.

"From this moment until the commission is complete, should anyone here suffer an unjust death, be wrongfully sacrificed, or lose their life to an enemy’s weapon, each of us swears to kill the one responsible. Whoever breaks this oath shall suffer divine punishment and fall into hell after death."

In a way, the ritual was childish.

But when real blood was displayed before their eyes and they performed a proper ceremony, it naturally felt serious and solemn.

The darkness surrounding them only deepened that atmosphere.

When Rickart recited the oath on their behalf, the students finally felt a sense of unity.

It might not have been particularly strong yet, but it was as red as blood.

The night deepened.

The students couldn’t sleep properly, but even restless sleep was better than staying awake until morning.

By dawn, Molti had regained consciousness. With someone supporting him, he could walk reasonably well.

"What happened to all of you?"

Molti asked in confusion when he saw that everyone had a bandage wrapped around one hand.

"We swore an oath—a vow of vengeance. Even if we can’t protect one another, we promised that we’ll always avenge each other. And now we have to avenge the students who already died, whoever the enemy might be."

At Rickart’s words, Molti looked around at the other students.

They didn’t seem particularly different from usual, yet there was an indefinable seriousness in the atmosphere.

It felt as though they had all made some private resolution.

"Then I can’t be the only one left out."

Despite having already collapsed from excessive blood loss, Molti cut his palm and joined the oath.

Once all nine of them had completed the ritual, the reinforcements from Beringen Academy departed for Griffinswald.

They did not run away.

Come what may, they had resolved to fight to the very end.

In the early morning, Rickart walked at the head of the group, and the other students naturally followed the youngest among them.

Violets adorned his chest. A red cloak was wrapped around his body, and a longsword rested over his shoulder.

That boy was the leader guiding the students.

He was like the leader of a pack of wild dogs.