Chapter 33

Chapter 33: Chapter 33

Time passed. The flowers that had bloomed throughout the summer had all fallen, and the fresh green leaves were beginning to dry and turn brown.

One by one, many of the students began leaving with adventurers sent by the guilds. There was no graduation ceremony. Leaving like that was graduation. It was an age in which the very concept of holding an event to commemorate graduation did not exist.

Volka, Molti, Lara, and Delphy left first. When the snow began to fall, Ice, Jerome, Melson, and Fallen departed as well.

Their farewells were subdued. No one embraced and wept. They did not go out of their way to show their regret either.

They merely smiled, wished one another good fortune, and promised they would meet again.

Molti had said that he would quit adventuring and continue working at the smithy, so they would be able to see him often whenever they went into the city. That was fortunate.

The places left vacant by those who had departed were not immediately filled. New students continued to trickle in, but the main influx would not begin until spring.

Those who remained now had to endure the winter. Winter was a season of rest, but it was also a season that had to be survived.

The cold, hunger, and loneliness.

Since many students lived together at Beringen Academy, loneliness was not a problem. But there was no escaping or avoiding the cold and hunger.

Their firewood quickly ran out, making it difficult even to keep a fire burning, and the hard bread they had once received for free had also run out.

They had to feed themselves, but food was scarce everywhere at this time of year. Even going into the city did not make it easy to find provisions.

Work was difficult to find as well. The few jobs they managed to secure paid no wages, offering only rotten potatoes or a handful of grain instead.

The students who had stored food during the summer and autumn were relatively well-off. The problem was those who had no reserves at all.

Those students filled their stomachs with ice-cold water, dug up roots to eat, or ventured into the fields in hopes of catching field mice or rabbits. That was how they barely scraped by.

Rickart and Boribori could survive on the salted meat, wheels of cheese, and grain they had stored. But pretending not to see others starving and falling ill right beside them was a difficult thing to do.

They could not simply pool everyone’s food and distribute it equally. What possible justification could there be for taking food that other students had earned and saved through their own hard work?

Yet Rickart’s own supplies were nowhere near enough to share with everyone, and he could not very well starve himself for the sake of helping others.

The winter food shortage was something even the Count of Gungbaek could do nothing about. The people of his own territory were starving as well.

Even so, Rickart had to do whatever he could.

He put on a thick gambeson and wrapped himself in a cloak, preparing to leave.

He fastened a dagger at his waist and slung a longsword over one shoulder. As though setting out with a firm purpose, he also packed spare provisions before leaving with Boribori.

Before stepping outside, he looked back. All the students had gathered in a single room and were huddled beneath blankets, shivering beside the fireplace. They had no choice but to stay together so they could conserve firewood.

The sick students had been gathered in another room. They lay beneath their covers, sweating coldly and coughing. These days, the first thing the students did every morning was check whether anyone had died during the night.

"Let’s go."

Boribori pulled up his hood and followed in silence. Winter seemed capable of freezing even that innocent boy’s smile.

At Boribori’s waist hung a one-handed weapon known as a sidesword, resting quietly in its sheath.

They left the academy and descended the cliff. Beneath the gray sky, white snow fell across the entire world, and the fields blanketed in pure white were a truly magnificent sight.

It was so beautiful that Rickart almost wanted to ask whether the world had any right to look like this when they were suffering so much.

Once they reached the bottom of the cliff, a trail of snow-covered footprints stretched westward. Listening to the soft whisper of accumulating snow, Rickart and Boribori crossed the vast snowfield.

Crunch. Crunch....

After walking for six hours, they arrived in Beringen. They brushed the snow from their hair and shoulders in front of the guild headquarters and stepped inside.

The moment the door opened, warm air rushed over them. As the muscles of Rickart’s numb, frozen face began to thaw, the sensation was almost dizzying.

The adventurers inside turned toward whoever had suddenly opened the door. They recognized Rickart more by his build and red cloak than by his face, then promptly lost interest.

Rickart had become something of a celebrity in Beringen and the surrounding area. He was known as the young swordsman in the red cloak—or as Ricky the Severer—because every sword raised against him ended up broken.

Dunkel had been leaning against the bar with his chin propped on one hand. When he saw Rickart, he subtly looked away, as though Rickart would somehow fail to notice.

Rickart closed the door with a clunk, strode over to him, and said,

"I’m not here to borrow food again."

He had come to borrow food not once but several times before. Knowing how uncomfortable it made Dunkel each time, Rickart made it clear from the outset that this was not his intention today.

Only then did Dunkel slowly turn his head toward him.

"Then what brings you here?"

"I was wondering if there was any work. A large commission that pays enough to keep the academy students warm and fed through the winter."

Dunkel stared at him and wondered why Rickart cared so much about other people’s circumstances. What did any of it have to do with him?

Rather than thinking Rickart was kind or possessed some noble character, Dunkel simply could not understand him at all. Dunkel himself had always lived entirely for his own sake.

"There’s always work...."

"Really? What kind?"

"But.... Haa. The old man is one thing, but the guild has its own position to consider, Ricky."

There seemed to be something Dunkel found difficult to discuss. Since he knew who Rickart’s patron was, he appeared even more conflicted.

"What’s wrong? Is it because you don’t trust me? Or have I ever caused trouble?"

"That’s not it. I know how capable you are. Everyone here does. But there are some jobs we can’t simply hand out without a second thought. There was an accident during that deserter commission, but the job itself wasn’t especially difficult, was it?"

"No."

"But some jobs... Well, leaving the difficulty aside, there are jobs where failure is absolutely unacceptable. To put it plainly, if you fail, the guild will deny having anything to do with it. To be even more specific, failure means you’ll die like a dog. Do you understand what I’m saying?"

"...Is it an assassination?"

The moment Rickart said the word assassination, Dunkel beckoned for him to follow. He then walked behind the bar and through a door restricted to guild personnel.

Rickart and Boribori exchanged a glance before following him inside. There was little of note in the room. The only unusual feature was the vast array of liquor bottles displayed along the walls.

There was a backless stool, and Dunkel perched on it before continuing. A cold wind slipped through the cracks around a door leading outside, producing a mournful whistle.

"Have you heard of the Ernberg Five? Their leader, Steiner, is one of the Nine Swords of the Empire."

"I’ve heard of them."

"The commission is to kill two members of the Five: Reto the Experimenter and Erze the Skin Collector. You’re welcome to kill the others too. No, forget that. That would be impossible."

Since they traveled as a group of five, selecting and killing only two of them would be extraordinarily difficult. In practical terms, Rickart would have to contend with all five. Even with his current abilities, success was far from certain.

But an ordinary assassination commission would never pay enough to feed nearly a hundred students through the winter. To earn that much money, he had no choice but to undertake a commission of nearly the highest possible difficulty.

"The Five have operated throughout the Ernberg region and made enemies everywhere they went. In other words, plenty of people have wanted them dead for a very long time. But every person and organization that tried to eliminate them either died or was destroyed."

In short, they were people who could not be touched. No one could mobilize an army merely to capture five people, and even if they did, the Five could simply flee.

"What exactly have they done?"

"You can’t really divide this line of work into good people and bad people, but those bastards are villains by their very nature. If they want something, they take it. They kill people, handle nobles’ dirty work in exchange for protection, then stab those same nobles in the back and flee. They live however they please. Reto the Experimenter enjoys torturing people, and Erze the Skin Collector supposedly flays people and wears their skins. Oh, and they call themselves adventurers too, though they belong to no guild. Their very existence drags the reputation of adventurers through the mud."

Dunkel spoke as though he harbored a personal grudge against the Five.

"Hmm. So they’re people I can kill without worrying about the consequences. Good enough."

"No, no. Were you even listening? The issue isn’t whether you’re allowed to kill them. It’s whether you’re capable of killing them. If you fail and they discover that our guild arranged the job, we’ll be in serious trouble too. We already have our hands full dealing with rival guilds, and you want us to earn the enmity of one of the Nine Swords?"

"If I complete the job, you can guarantee enough food and firewood for the academy to survive the winter, right?"

This bastard definitely isn’t listening to a word I’m saying, Dunkel thought.

But he could neither scold Rickart nor do anything to stop him, because he knew Rickart’s true identity.

He began to regret mentioning the commission at all. Still, Rickart had pestered him so relentlessly for food that Dunkel had blurted it out almost despite himself.

"That much is guaranteed. Several organizations have secretly gathered an enormous fund for it. Some have even offered to pay in provisions rather than money."

"I’ll begin immediately, so lend us some food in advance as a down payment. You don’t need to give it to me personally. Send it directly to the academy."

"...Do you really have to go this far? I guarantee you, there has never been another student like you in the academy’s entire history."

Rickart smiled faintly.

"I don’t act because something is necessary. If I want to do something, and I’m capable of doing it, then I do it."

"...Is that so?"

Dunkel did not look particularly convinced.

"Anyway, I’m glad there was work available."

"No. There is always someone who wants another person dead. It doesn’t matter what season it is. Spring or winter, rain or snow."

"...I suppose so."

It was a bitter reality—there was always someone wishing for another person’s death. Yet that was something that would never disappear as long as humanity continued to exist.

"How do I get to Ernberg?"

"First, follow the road southwest. You’ll eventually find a tavern beside the road called Anna’s Loss. You have a clasp holding your cloak in place, don’t you? Show it to them and tell them I sent you. They’ll give you the information you need for the job."

"So it isn’t a guild branch?"

"No. It belongs to the thieves’ guild—the Arisen Brotherhood. Given the nature of the job, we can’t act openly. Let me make this perfectly clear: we know absolutely nothing about any of this."

Rickart turned toward Boribori. Boribori merely stood there, staring blankly at Dunkel.

Dunkel assumed Boribori was not part of Rickart’s fighting force and was merely accompanying him to provide support and run errands.

"Are you all right with this?" Rickart asked.

"I’m fine. I’ll be with you, Ricky. I don’t mind if I die."

To Boribori, Rickart was like a ray of light. He had pulled Boribori out of the swamp that was his unbearably bleak life.

He could afford to lose his life, but he could not afford to lose that light. Boribori knew all too well that there was nothing more miserable than living simply because one had no choice.

"No, that’s...."

"To be honest, having a student handle this is a good option for our guild," Dunkel said. "The faces of all our capable active adventurers are already known. You really are perfect for the job, Ricky. But under no circumstances should you confront them head-on. You’ll die like a dog. The Nine Swords are no joke. They’re infamous throughout the entire Empire."

Though Rickart was famous, that fame extended only throughout Beringen and its surrounding region. The difference between him and one of the Nine Swords of the Empire was the difference between local and nationwide fame.

Moreover, Rickart was still merely a rising newcomer. He had yet to firmly establish himself as the strongest person in the region.

"I’ll decide how to handle it."

"...Are you seriously not listening to anything I say?"

"I’m listening to everything important."

"..."

Dunkel wondered what kind of person Rickart was. Yet it was also true that his talent was every bit as exceptional as his eccentricity.

"It takes a full day to get there, so stay here tonight. Leave in the morning. As for the advance payment... I’ll have it sent to the academy."

Rickart nodded and left the room. He and Boribori went upstairs, removed their equipment, and lay down on the beds to rest.

Rickart gazed at the snow falling beyond the window. But the white snow did nothing to fill the emptiness his friends’ departure had left in his heart. If anything, it seemed to make that emptiness even greater.

His gaze wandered toward Boribori. Several months had passed since the boy began training by sparring with him.

Boribori’s distinctive swordsmanship seemed sufficiently practical to Rickart, but whether it would truly prove effective in actual combat remained uncertain.

In a real battle, what mattered more than skill itself was not panicking, not succumbing to fear, and not allowing one’s body to freeze.

Could such an innocent boy truly kill another person?

Boribori did not seem well suited to a weapon like the sword, an object that possessed a peculiar, chilling allure.

"Aren’t you nervous?"

"No. I don’t mind dying."

"Why?"

"I already considered myself dead when I abandoned my mother and left. Now, I only want to be of help to you, Ricky. That’s all I’m thinking about. I won’t get in your way."

"...Don’t say that."

"All right. Sorry. I just wish winter would hurry up and end."

Rickart looked out at the falling snow once more and agreed.

"So do I."

Boribori understood why they were doing this—why it had to be done.

Watching students starve, slowly weaken, and die right beside them was truly unbearable. What had those boys and girls possibly done wrong to deserve death?

Yet the academy students were hardly the only ones suffering. Across the Empire, countless people died from cold and hunger.

That was the kind of season winter was.

Cruel.

The silently falling snow was not merely beautiful.

If the spirit of death had a color, it would surely be white.