Chapter 42

Chapter 42: Chapter 42

Perhaps life was nothing more than walking onward while carrying pain too difficult to endure and sorrow too unbearable to withstand.

They had to carry them.

They could neither cast them away nor turn their backs on them. They had to hold on to them.

Rickart and Boribori treasured that pain and sorrow.

And in proportion to their enormity—to how deeply they tore and ached—the boys would grow into stronger people.

But time was needed before those feelings could take root within them and stand tall.

They needed time to accept them.

Rickart and Boribori buried the Nameless Man beneath the temple so that wild animals would not dig him up and devour him.

As for the members of the Ernberg Five, it did not matter whether they were eaten or not.

However, Hanett’s enormous corpse was so large that it gave off a tremendous stench as it decomposed. There was no need for the boys to endure that as well.

After spending several days in the ruined village, they had nearly run out of food.

It was time to leave.

On one clear day, the sky was blue, and the white clouds were as pure and clean as cotton. The wind was somewhat cold, but with thick enough clothing, it was not enough to make one hunch over.

On such a day, Boribori sat on the temple floor with his knees drawn together, like a young animal unable to leave its dead father’s side.

Judging by his expression, he did not seem depressed or sorrowful.

Neither did he look dazed.

He simply stared blankly ahead, as though lost in thought.

Someone tapped Boribori on the shoulder.

When he turned around, he saw Rickart standing there, ready to depart with his sword resting over one shoulder. Rickart jerked his chin, telling him it was time to go.

Without saying anything, Boribori put on his bag and quietly rose.

Once they left the temple, a verdant field damp with moisture unfolded before them. Though it was still a little early, white and yellow flowers had already begun to bloom.

A clear stream created by melting snow flowed nearby. Sunlight shattered into glittering fragments across its murmuring surface as it ran toward the lowlands.

Rickart and Boribori walked along the stream.

"Hmm..."

The blade was approximately one meter long and perfectly balanced. It was spotless, without a single damaged section along its edge.

Its craftsmanship was outstanding, but that was not why the man was frowning.

It was because of the subtle blue sheen revealed whenever he tilted the blade slightly.

The luster was so mysterious that it resembled moonlight.

The man raised his head.

Two boys wearing red and dark-brown cloaks were staring silently at him.

"Where did you get this?"

The two boys did not answer.

Had he spoken too quietly?

That could not be it.

Were they unable to speak?

The man looked back down at the sword.

At that moment, the blond boy abruptly grabbed its scabbard and held out his hand.

He appeared to be asking for the sword back.

The man reluctantly returned it, and the boy slid the blade into its scabbard with unexpectedly practiced movements.

Slide. Click.

The boys turned to leave the shop, but the man called after them.

"W-wait."

When they turned around again, he asked,

"How much were you hoping to get for it?"

Still no answer.

It seemed that they truly could not speak.

Two mute, armed boys.

How peculiar.

But that was not what mattered at the moment.

The arms dealer hesitated.

Should he name a ridiculously low price?

Should he offer something reasonable?

Or should he simply tell them the truth?

The blond boy stared intently into the merchant’s eyes, as if examining the direction of the thoughts struggling within him.

In the end, the merchant chose his conscience.

Unable to suppress his disappointment, however, he let out a deep sigh.

"That sword was made with an alloy containing a metal called True Silver, if my eyes are correct. Even the smallest amount makes such a weapon virtually priceless. What’s more, there aren’t many blacksmiths in the entire Empire capable of working with True Silver. According to some accounts, it’s primarily used by those who have reached the level of Swordmaster. They say it has an excellent affinity with mana. In other words, it isn’t something I can afford to pay a fair price for. If you want its proper value, you’ll have to take it to a large city and put it up for auction."

The sword Rickart held was none other than the one Steiner had wielded.

Ghostblade hung at Boribori’s waist.

Rickart smiled at the arms dealer’s honesty. He placed a silver coin on the counter as payment for the appraisal, then bowed his head.

Boribori followed his example, bowing somewhat awkwardly.

The boys then left the arms shop.

For the time being, Rickart tied Steiner’s sword firmly to his backpack.

Although both were longswords, it was smaller than Rickart’s meteorite-iron sword, so he was unlikely to use it in actual combat.

After all, the finest sword was the one that best fit its wielder’s hand.

Rickart and Boribori wandered around the city, purchasing the supplies they needed.

They bought emergency crops such as potatoes and sweet potatoes, preserved food made by grinding, steaming, compressing, and drying various grains, as well as smoked ham and firewood.

Yet the two did not exchange a single word while shopping.

Whenever they needed to express something, they tapped each other, communicated with their eyes, or used simple gestures.

Was it because they had suffered such tremendous grief after losing the Nameless Man?

Not exactly.

They were simply imitating him.

It was the boys’ own form of mourning, but it was also half a game—like a contest in which the first one to speak would lose.

Neither of them had explicitly suggested it.

Even without speaking, their eyes would occasionally meet, and they would find themselves smiling for no particular reason.

Through it, the two boys learned the value of silence.

There were things they could hear and see only once they stopped speaking.

Besides, remaining silent was not particularly inconvenient. They were unexpectedly capable of communicating everything they needed.

And if they ran into someone who wanted to fight, all they had to do was fight instead of backing down.

Thus, Rickart and Boribori left the city and followed the road leading south.

It was the road to the academy.

Looking at the mountains, rivers, plants, and trees surrounding them, they seemed to be standing on the boundary between winter and spring.

It was the end of one season and the beginning of another.

Rickart disliked winter, but when he thought of the Nameless Man, he could no longer hate it entirely.

Reluctance to see winter go mingled with joy at the coming of spring.

It was not that he could not decide how he felt. Rather, the two emotions seemed to blend and spread into a mysterious third color.

Come to think of it, two of the Nine Swords of the Empire had died at once.

And Rickart had personally finished off one of them.

It was an utterly absurd accomplishment, yet Rickart himself had little interest in it.

It did not matter whether anyone knew.

Fame was merely fame.

It had no substance and weighed no more than a feather.

Rickart knew that, with time, it would scatter like sand before the wind.

There were many powerful people in the world. Someone else would likely take their places.

Then that person, too, would eventually fall to someone else.

Such was the fate of those who walked the path of the sword.

Then what truly mattered?

A harmonious family had granted Rickart a tranquil heart.

The Nameless Man had instilled in him faith in the human will and an indomitable spirit.

Those things mattered.

And Rickart did not lose sight of what was important.

He had long since mastered the business of swinging a sword and causing trouble.

Now he pursued something deeper and broader than mere fame.

Splash! Splash!

While Rickart walked, lost in thought, the boys began crossing a bridge and heard the sound of someone thrashing violently in the water.

Rickart stopped and looked beneath the bridge.

A short distance away, an armored knight was floundering in the river.

No, it did not seem to be a knight.

The person was far too small.

Moreover, perhaps they had lost their sword, because the scabbard at their waist was empty.

Secondly, it should have been impossible to drown there because the river was not particularly deep.

In other words, someone wearing armor was flailing around in shallow water all alone.

Rickart and Boribori stood there, watching in silence and wondering what the person was doing.

When it began to seem as though they might need help, the boys went around the bridge and climbed down.

As they approached the armored figure, they saw that the great helm—commonly called a bucket helm—had twisted sideways, apparently blocking the wearer’s vision.

The boys considered helping, but the armored figure had managed to reach dry land while they were climbing down.

Though staggering, the person seemed to regain their balance and composure somehow, so the boys merely watched.

Then the armored figure began flailing at empty air again and fell backward onto the gravel.

Still seated, the person laboriously twisted the helmet back into place before pausing to catch their breath.

When the armored figure finally noticed the two boys staring down at them, they recoiled in fright, their rear lifting from the ground.

"Eek!"

The figure dragged themselves backward across the ground.

"D-do not come any closer!"

It was obviously a young girl trying to imitate the voice of an adult man.

The two boys had never intended to approach her in the first place, so they simply stood there and stared.

Boribori could not understand what she was doing at all and let out a thoughtful hum.

Rickart immediately pointed at him.

"Oh? You lost."

"Me? Why?"

"You just said, ’Hmm.’"

"That wasn’t a word."

"You still lost."

"Dad used to say ’Hmm’ too."

"Did he? Anyway, you lost, Bori."

"...What happens if I lose?"

"Who knows? We never decided."

Unable to understand what the two boys were talking about, the armored girl remained seated on the ground, speechless and bewildered, merely blinking at them.

In other words, neither side could understand the other.

Why had the girl been floundering near the river in full armor?

And why were the two boys arguing about winning and losing over something so nonsensical?

The girl found their appearance somewhat unusual.

They were better armed than she had expected, and their clothes were clean, so they did not appear to be bandits or robbers.

There were quite a few children who turned to banditry at a young age, but bandits usually lived hidden in mountains or forests and had few opportunities to wash. As a result, they tended to be filthy.

Rickart and Boribori had not spoken a single word for several days.

Now they turned back toward the girl who had finally broken their silence.

Rickart spoke.

"Shouldn’t you dry your clothes and warm yourself up first? It’s still cold. You could die."

Once someone left home and ventured into the wilderness, there were countless ways to die that had nothing to do with blades.

Starvation was one of the most common.

Hypothermia was another.

One only had to spend a single night outdoors without proper traveling supplies to understand how painful it could be.

Especially now, when winter had not yet fully receded.

As far as Rickart could tell, the girl possessed nothing other than her armor.

"Uh... Um..."

But genuine kindness was rare in the world.

She could not simply accept their offer of help without question.

"If you don’t want to, that’s fine. Take care. Let’s go."

When the girl hesitated, Rickart turned to leave with a coolness that bordered on coldheartedness.

The girl hurriedly called after him.

After all, she truly might die.

"W-wait."

Rickart and Boribori had just begun to turn away, but they looked back at her.

"I-I am grateful for your kindness, good sirs. H-however, I presently possess nothing of value. I-if you intend to demand my body as compensation, that cannot be permitted. Please swear in the names of the gods and the Empire that you shall do no such thing."

She spoke like a knight from their grandfathers’ generation.

"Sure. I promise."

Since Rickart had never entertained such a thought, he readily agreed.

It was hardly a difficult promise to make.

He held out his hand.

After a brief hesitation, the girl took it and rose to her feet.

Standing upright, she was approximately the same height as Rickart, around 160 centimeters.

Girls tended to grow earlier, but Rickart was naturally well developed for his age. Since their heights were similar, she was probably around his age as well.

"It’s a little early, but let’s find somewhere to camp."

"Okay."

And so, the two boys and one girl began traveling together.

The girl’s chainmail jingled with every step.

The wet surcoat she wore over her armor was plain purple, bearing no coat of arms.

It would be best to start a fire and dry her clothes as soon as possible, so they could not travel far. Instead, they stopped at a suitable place in the woods near the stream.

A large, flat boulder jutted outward like a roof.

They unloaded their belongings beneath it and immediately started a campfire.

The problem was that the girl would have to remove her armor and clothing if she wanted to dry herself.

Even sitting down seemed awkward for her. After taking a seat, she had no idea what to do with herself.

She kept nervously watching the two boys, while Rickart and Boribori stared at her so intently that it became uncomfortable.

It took her quite some time merely to remove her helmet.

But once she did, a face of truly astonishing beauty was revealed.

Her blond hair, pulled tightly back and tied up, was somewhat disheveled. Damp strands clung to her face, but none of it diminished her beauty.

Her eyes were as blue as gemstones. Her skin was as flawless and white as snow, and her features were strikingly defined.

Given her circumstances, however, the timid girl illuminated by the campfire looked rather pitiful.

Then the two boys made the most outrageous remarks.

"If Erze had seen you, she would’ve skinned you on the spot."

"I was thinking the same thing."

"...What?"

"Don’t worry. You’re safe. We killed her."

"...What?"

The girl did not understand what they meant, but it sounded terrifying.

Boribori took a towel and spare clothes from his bag and handed them to her.

"Want me to help you take off your armor?" Rickart asked.

The girl lowered her head bashfully.

"Y-yes..."

To her surprise, Rickart expertly undid the armor’s fastenings and removed it in moments.

Beneath it, she wore a gambeson. Since the garment was thickly padded with cotton, it became extremely heavy when soaked.

Rickart hung the armor from a nearby branch, then sat beside Boribori.

Together, the two boys turned their backs to her.

The girl had never experienced anything like this in her life.

She was flustered, embarrassed, and confused. Her heart pounded as though it might burst, and she repeatedly wondered whether this was truly all right.

More than anything else, she had never even imagined changing clothes outdoors.

Yet Rickart and Boribori asked nothing about her circumstances.

They did not even ask her name.

In any event, the girl removed her clothes and dried herself with the towel while looking at the boys’ backs.

Then she changed into Rickart’s clothes.

Since they were of similar height, they fit reasonably well.

"I-I am fully dressed."

Perhaps because she was still flustered, her manner of speech kept shifting.

Like proper gentlemen, Rickart and Boribori had not looked back even once. Only after hearing her confirmation did they turn around and sit facing her again.

"Feeling a little better now?" Rickart asked.

Sitting with her knees pressed together, the girl merely nodded.

Having survived what felt like a significant ordeal, she appeared somewhat calmer. Her damp blond hair now hung loose down her back.

"If we’re headed in the same direction, we could take you there. Where are you going?"

For some reason, the girl gazed at the campfire with sorrowful eyes before answering.

"The Beringen Adventurer Academy."

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