Chapter 39

Chapter 39: Chapter 39

Although they had unintentionally acquired the nickname "heroes," the three companions’ goals remained revenge and the elimination of the Ernberg Five.

In any case, Rickart, Boribori, and the Nameless Man traveled together as though they were a single body, defeating villains wherever they went.

Two boys and a beastlike man whose nationality—Nord or Imperial—was impossible to determine and who could not even speak their language. It was truly a peculiar combination, yet the three worked together with astonishing harmony.

Almost like a family.

They grew closer with each passing day, and the bond between Boribori and the Nameless Man became especially strong. The Nameless Man looked after Boribori with seeming indifference, while Boribori performed his own peculiar acts of affection.

On one occasion, a rural lord hosted the three of them out of gratitude, allowing them to bathe in warm water for the first time in ages.

They scrubbed one another’s backs and laughed despite their inability to communicate. Then they changed into fresh new clothes and lay down to sleep in clean beds.

Rickart was not particularly devout, but as he drifted off, he prayed.

May those who are weary and exhausted find rest, and may those who inspire gratitude be blessed.

Rickart understood how agonizing it was to punish oneself by denying oneself even a single proper night’s sleep until the day one died.

He did not know whether the Nameless Man would have nightmares or pleasant dreams, but he prayed with all his heart.

God, grant this pitiful beast some rest.

Perhaps his prayer was answered, because the Nameless Man slept soundly for the first time in ages.

He could no longer remember how long it had been. His nerves had always been so taut that he remained half-awake even while sleeping.

Their journey continued, and the three went about punishing wicked men who were also targets of the Nameless Man’s personal vengeance.

Then, one day, they pursued the last of his enemies apart from Steiner.

Inside a secluded building, a wooden wall abruptly shattered with a tremendous crash. A large figure burst through it, violently driving another man against the wall.

"Ghk!"

The large man pinned his victim to the wall with one hand clamped tightly around his throat. His thick forearm was covered in scars, resembling a log that had been hacked repeatedly with a blade.

He held a battle-axe in his other hand, and viscous blood dripped from its edge.

"Ghk... Ghhk... Kgh..."

The man being strangled grimaced in agony.

Before him stood someone wearing a helmet that completely concealed his face. The helmet was covered in blade marks resembling scars, making it terrifying in its own right.

More frightening still were the blue eyes gleaming like a wild beast’s from behind the helmet—and the man’s distinctive, rasping breaths.

It was the Nameless Man X.

Yet the Nameless Man did not immediately finish off his bitter enemy. He merely glared at him for a long while.

He hesitated because of an emotion he had never felt before.

Emptiness? Futility?

Now, of all times?

Why?

Had he forgotten the brand he had burned into himself?

Had he forgotten the words he had carved into his mind, his heart, his bones, and his soul?

What was he doing?

Tear him apart. Kill him.

The Nameless Man lashed himself with those thoughts. His emotions churned, and the hand gripping his enemy’s throat trembled violently.

Then a youthful voice called from behind him.

"Sir! You need to kill him quickly! More enemies are coming!"

The youthful voice belonged to Rickart.

They were currently attacking a Thieves’ Guild disguised as a merchant company. On the surface, the organization pretended to trade in ordinary goods, while behind the scenes, its members bought and sold human beings.

All Thieves’ Guilds operated secretly, but this one had been especially covert and had maintained a convincing disguise, making it extremely difficult to track.

"Sir! Hurry!"

Rickart shouted again.

The Nameless Man twisted his enemy’s neck with one hand, killing him. Even with his damaged body, his grip strength was extraordinary. It was terrifying to imagine how powerful he must have been in his prime.

Crunch.

The man’s strangled neck snapped, and he collapsed with his mouth hanging open. His entire face had turned bluish, and foam filled his mouth.

The Nameless Man slowly raised his foot and brought it down with all his strength upon the man’s head.

It burst like a watermelon beneath a single stomp.

Crunch!

"Is he dead? Did he kill him?"

Boribori, who was holding a sword in one hand and watching the outside, repeatedly glanced back as he questioned Rickart.

Rickart looked at the enemy whose shattered head was no longer recognizable.

"Yeah, he’s dead. Let’s go. Sir, come on."

Rickart escaped through the back door he had located beforehand. Their enemies were formidable this time, so they had decided to eliminate only their target and withdraw rather than fight everyone.

Beyond the back door was a riverside wharf where a broad river flowed past. Smugglers appeared busy moving cargo.

Rickart slipped around an alleyway, reached the public square, and disappeared into the crowd.

Had they strolled away like this, it would have been the perfect assassination.

But when he looked back, the Nameless Man was nowhere to be seen.

"Where’s Sir?"

"Huh? He didn’t follow us?"

"I definitely saw that man die..."

"What do we do? Should we go back?"

Rickart considered it briefly, then made a quick decision.

"Let’s circle around to the wharf first."

"Y-yeah..."

Rather than retracing their steps, Rickart and Boribori took a roundabout route toward the wharf. They concealed themselves among the reeds along the riverbank and observed the scene of their attack from a distance.

The Thieves’ Guild members were looking around the area. It did not appear that the Nameless Man had been captured or become involved in another fight.

In other words, he had escaped.

Then where had he gone?

"...He must have left on his own," Rickart said.

His judgment was swift, so it did not take him long to understand.

"W-where did he go?"

"To kill the Five."

"Why?"

"It must be one of two things. Either he grew tired of us, or..."

"Th-that can’t be true."

Boribori, who agreed with nearly everything Rickart said, shook his head in denial.

Although Rickart had raised the possibility, he honestly had a fairly good idea of the truth. It was something he could understand precisely because he was Rickart.

The Nameless Man might have felt that being with them was making him weak.

Or perhaps he intended to kill Steiner alone by any means necessary.

Because he was afraid they might get hurt.

"Let’s go to our emergency rendezvous point and wait for him."

"...Okay..."

Boribori answered dejectedly. His throat seemed to tighten slightly with hurt and disappointment.

Rickart and Boribori emerged from the reeds and left the city. At a secluded clearing away from the road, they waited for the Nameless Man.

The cold seemed especially bitter.

Because they did not know how long they would have to wait, they lit a fire to ward off the chill.

Time gradually passed.

Neither Rickart nor Boribori said a word.

The sun set, and stars blossomed across the cold winter sky. During their arduous travels, the moon and stars had occasionally offered comfort, but they could not fill the emptiness in their hearts tonight.

Despite having a city directly before them, Rickart and Boribori ultimately spent the freezing winter night outdoors.

They were waiting for one person.

But that person never came.

He had truly left them.

When dawn broke, Rickart raised his exhausted body. Yet he was reluctant to wake the sleeping Boribori.

Because even if Boribori opened his eyes, the Nameless Man would not be there.

But they could not wait forever.

They could not help feeling disappointed and sad, but they had their own task to complete and somewhere they needed to return to.

Every journey offered a unique experience, but this one had been more extraordinary than most.

When he thought about it, theirs had been a truly bizarre connection.

A nameless man who could not speak—a beast who punished himself for the sake of avenging his family.

And they had wandered throughout the northern regions with such a man, defeating villains together.

How much time had passed?

A month? A month and a half?

What month was it now?

Were the academy students doing well?

Whenever the opportunity arose, Rickart had sent money back to the academy through the Imperial Guild Office. Even so, the price of grain was so exorbitant that he could not help worrying.

Rickart’s many concerns and lingering regrets left him feeling deeply dispirited.

He almost wished that the accursed snow would at least begin pouring down.

Rickart pulled his cloak tightly around himself, then shook Boribori awake. The boy had curled himself into a ball as he slept.

"Bori. Bori, wake up."

"Mm... What about Sir? Did he come back?"

"No."

"I see..."

"What do you want to do?"

"What?"

"If we track the Five, we might find him. I think he went after them alone."

"Then let’s go."

"We could die."

"Didn’t we leave the academy knowing that from the beginning?"

"...That’s true."

Boribori slowly wriggled to his feet. He roughly smoothed down his mussed bowl-cut hair with his hands, tightly fastened his bag, and slung it over his back.

Then he stood and looked around.

"Where do we go?"

"It’s dangerous here. Siegfringer would be somewhat safer, and the Adventurers’ Guild would probably have plenty of information, but... perhaps we should try finding a Thieves’ Guild..."

They needed information to track someone.

However, Rickart had spent his time stirring up trouble and making enemies of the Thieves’ Guilds throughout the region. Forget obtaining information from them—they would be fortunate if the guilds did not attack them on sight.

"Let’s start moving for now."

"Okay."

The three of them had once moved as a single body.

Now they had returned to being two.

The emptiness left by the missing third companion weighed heavily upon their steps.

Rickart and Boribori followed the road leading east.

They had been walking for about an hour when they spotted someone approaching from the opposite direction, leaning on a staff with a hood pulled low over their face.

The traveler did not appear to be carrying a weapon, but he had a lute strapped to his back.

A bard, perhaps?

Rickart was about to walk past him when he heard a familiar voice.

"Young master?"

Rickart turned toward him.

They said every parting eventually led to another meeting, and this was indeed a welcome face—the courier from the Imperial Guild Office who had escorted Rickart from his hometown to Rheinfort.

"Huh? Arno?"

"So it is you, young master. What are you doing here? I thought you had enrolled at the academy."

"I’m still an academy student. I just came out for a while because of some work."

"Is that so? How are you finding academy life?"

"It’s all right. I’ve made some good friends too. Let me introduce you. This is Boribori, my friend."

Rickart introduced Boribori, who stood beside him with a puzzled expression.

"Pleased to meet you. I’m Arno."

"Uh... hello? But who’s the ’young master’?"

"The young master is the young master. This gentleman here—the Boar Slayer of Stormherz, Young Master Rickart."

"...What?"

Boribori turned an incredulous stare on Rickart.

Rickart merely smiled awkwardly.

"Well, I thought it might make everyone uncomfortable. My real name is Rickart. Ricky is the nickname my family used for me."

"...What are you talking about?"

"That’s just how it is. It isn’t important."

"You’re a noble?"

"Well... yes, I suppose..."

"Whaaat?!"

Boribori’s eyes opened so wide they looked ready to split. He had never known that Rickart was a noble.

Arno blinked, unable to understand the cause of his reaction.

Rickart hurriedly tried to change the subject.

"Have you been well, Arno? What was it you said before? That you were going west to become a monk?"

"Ah, hahaha. My goal has changed. I’m trying to become a bard now, so I’ve been traveling from place to place collecting stories."

"Then you quit working as a courier?"

"Yes, that’s what happened."

"Hmm... I don’t really understand, but I’m rooting for you."

"Thank you. You are as kindhearted as ever. You haven’t changed at all."

Rickart smiled faintly.

"I’m not so sure about that. Oh, by the way, have you heard of the Ernberg Five?"

Arno’s expression abruptly stiffened at the question.

"...Why do you ask?"

"Because of some work, I suppose. Have you seen them recently or heard any rumors about them?"

"You should stay away from those people, young master. They are terrifying. They once slaughtered an entire village. They killed everyone. There are even gruesome rumors that they flayed the fair-skinned children and carried off their hides."

"I already know they’re evil. I’m asking whether you know anything about their recent movements."

"..."

Arno silently studied Rickart for a moment.

People said children changed from one day to the next, yet apart from growing somewhat taller, Rickart did not appear to have changed at all.

He remained calm no matter what happened, and there was still something vaguely chilling about him.

"I don’t know where all five of them are, but I heard that an experimenter named Reto has a laboratory in the Sidria Marshes."

"Really? Where are they?"

"You’ll have to travel farther north from here to reach Sidria. Not many people live there. They say necromancers have appeared there from time to time since ancient days, but when you actually visit, it’s simply an endless expanse of soft, moss-covered ground."

"So we follow this road and turn north?"

"...Young master, I don’t know your reasons, but you should not do this. Those people are insane. Do you know the most horrifying fact about them?"

"What? Do they eat people?"

"No. Despite all the terrible things they have done, there are no warrants for their arrest. Don’t you find that strange?"

"...Huh? You’re right."

Even the villains Rickart and the Nameless Man had eliminated so far had been the lowest of the low.

It was certainly strange that people even more vicious than them were not wanted criminals.

Rickart was currently carrying out a "commission" to kill Reto and Erze. He was not hunting fugitives with official bounties.

"Rumor has it that when the emperor wishes to punish a vassal who has displeased him, he secretly gives them orders. Of course, it’s a dangerous rumor, so everyone avoids speaking openly about it."

Even the emperor exercised direct control only over the lands under his personal rule.

In other words, tension and conflict always existed between him and his vassals. Consequently, he sought to restrain or placate them through any means available.

In that context, the Emperor’s Champion was less a direct military weapon and more a political asset. The Champion would almost never be dispatched to some distant and obscure province merely to preserve public order.

Perhaps it was a limitation of feudalism. It was not only the emperor; most lords of the age thought in much the same way. The emperor merely stood at the very summit.

When a rural lord faced hardship, there was no guarantee that his liege would help even if assistance was requested. This was especially true when mobilizing an army was required.

Helping someone else at one’s own expense could sometimes have fatal consequences.

That was why criminal organizations were so cunning. They operated while carefully avoiding certain boundaries.

If they murdered nobles or committed some other outrage that went too far, a genuinely enraged high noble might mobilize an army against them.

Was that not why counts, dukes, and other lords existed—to protect their own lands themselves?

Why should I have to clean up your mistake? Why should I spend my hard-earned money and sacrifice my own people to do it?

That was the prevailing attitude of the era.

The concept of a nation was not entirely absent, but it remained faint and abstract. People might die for their own honor or their family, but it was difficult to imagine dying for something called a "nation" when they barely understood what that meant.

Only when foreign enemies invaded or a great calamity struck did the separate lords finally unite.

That was the defining characteristic of feudalism.

Society did not operate through a strict legal system. Instead, everything depended upon the personal leadership, abilities, and charisma of the ruler.

Consequently, the identity of the emperor, king, or local lord caused enormous fluctuations in every field—society, the economy, the military, diplomacy, and even the arts.

Of course, that did not mean rulers simply abandoned their vassals entirely.

Politics was complex, and there were many considerations involved. Had politics truly been so simple, the world would not have been nearly so tragic.

After all, those without power always suffered the most.

That was why this age needed heroes.

"The emperor is behind them?"

"It is only a rumor, of course."

"..."

"In any case, I’m glad to see you again after so long. People have grown especially cruel this winter, but I heard conditions in Siegfringer are somewhat better because heroes appeared one day and defeated the villains there. Now that those wicked men are no longer draining the people’s lifeblood, perhaps they’ll survive this winter that even the emperor can do nothing about."

"That’s good."

It was something Rickart, Boribori, and the Nameless Man had accomplished together, but Rickart did not reveal it.

They had not done it to receive praise or adoration.

He meant exactly what he said. He was simply glad to hear that the people were doing well.

"It truly is fortunate. That’s why even a scrawny fellow like me can travel the roads alone, isn’t it? Hahaha."

Rickart smiled faintly as he looked at Arno, who seemed to have changed somehow.

The change did not appear to be a bad one.

"I’m glad I met you again too, Arno. Play me a song the next time we meet."

"Certainly. I’ll compose a masterpiece and perform it for you."

"Good luck. I’ll be going now."

"May fortune accompany you on your journey as well, young master."

When they had parted before, they had not been able to say a proper farewell.

Now, after meeting again with time having passed between them, they could finally bid each other a true goodbye.

Sending each other off with smiles made the parting less painful.

Rickart was about to resume walking when he glanced at Boribori and saw him blinking with an incredulous expression.

"What?"

"You know..."

"Yeah?"

"I feel betrayed by you, Ricky."

"What? Why?"

"You’re a noble."

"Do you feel betrayed because I’m a noble, or because I hid it from you?"

"Both."

Rickart let out an incredulous laugh.

"So does that mean all the difficult times we endured together and all the moments we shared laughing were fake?"

"No, but..."

"Let’s go. We need to find Sir."

Rickart started walking, and Boribori followed.

They continued in silence for a while before Boribori asked from behind him.

"Why did you come to the academy?"

"No particular reason. Being a noble doesn’t make me any more special than you."

"That can’t be true."

"Think whatever you want."

"Then where in the north are you from?"

"I’m not from the north. I’m from the south-central region. Stormherz. I’m Rickart, the third son of House Kaldevern."

"Ugh. That sounds like some foreign language."

"Hahaha."

"You’re still Ricky either way, right?"

"Yes."

"Come to think of it, Volka was right."

"About what?"

"He said you were the craziest bastard he’d ever met. A noble coming to the academy—I don’t understand it at all."

Rickart, who was walking ahead, turned and glared sideways at Boribori.

"Hey."

"It’s fine. Even if you are crazy."

"That isn’t the point."

Apparently pleased to have teased Rickart for the first time in a while, Boribori merely grinned.

Rickart gave a quiet chuckle as well.

People said that every meeting eventually ended in a farewell, but some people still remained together.

The emptiness left by the Nameless Man had not been filled, but for a short while, the two boys managed to soothe it with something else.

Tiny new buds had begun appearing on the trees along the road.

At long last, the ferocious winter was beginning to wither away.