Chapter 47

Chapter 47: Chapter 47

When winter passed and spring reached its height, it meant the days of huddling against the cold were over and the season for work had arrived.

However, a season well suited for work was also well suited for fighting.

There was no way to know whether a full-scale guild war had broken out. Perhaps skirmishes were already taking place, or perhaps the opposing sides were merely watching one another.

The Academy, isolated from the rest of the world, had little access to outside news.

Yet perhaps it was precisely because it was so removed from the world that it could provide abandoned children with a final refuge.

"Welcome to the Academy, rookie!"

Karlich shouted loudly inside the boys’ dormitory in the inner castle. Anyone could hear the excitement in his voice.

He threw a blanket over the newly arrived student and gleefully beat him along with the others.

After they had beaten him just enough, they removed the blanket, grabbed the rookie by the arms, and forcibly pulled him to his feet. The student looked half dazed, his face contorted in pain from the beating.

"With this, you are now a proud member of Beringen Academy! Everyone, give him a round of applause!"

Clap, clap, clap, clap, clap!

As though presenting the winner of a competition, Karlich raised the rookie’s arm high before the assembled students.

Then he looked at Rickart with an expression that seemed to ask, I did well, didn’t I?

Rickart had been watching Karlich’s antics from the upper bunk. He did not know whether he should be dumbfounded or simply admit that he had nothing to say.

That was because, unlike when they had first met, Karlich was now more enthusiastic about Academy life than anyone else.

In truth, aside from the degree of mistreatment involved, the children of noble families who stood little chance of inheriting were not in circumstances much different from illegitimate children.

What family would be insane enough to send its heir to an Academy?

To be sent to an Adventurers’ Academy meant, harshly speaking, that one had been cast aside. Viewed more generously, it meant the family was offering one final bit of support so the child could carve out a path for himself.

In the past, the poor reputation of adventurers had made people reluctant to become one. That stigma had faded somewhat in recent years.

That was because nobles had begun commissioning the Adventurers’ Guild for various tasks and realized how useful adventurers could be.

They also believed there was little difference between dying in a knight order, dying in a mercenary company, and dying as an adventurer.

The possibility of rising through the ranks and becoming useful to one’s family was the same as well. In fact, an adventurer could potentially provide more practical assistance.

A knight had to obey the orders of his knight commander, while mercenary companies were prohibitively expensive. That made an adventurer far more versatile.

"You can use this bed. Stop making such a fuss. Are those all the clothes you have? Do you have food? Tell me whenever you’re hungry. Ask that boy over there about the chores. If you want work in the city, speak to me. You need money to attend classes, you know? You can borrow it, but if you want to do that, you’ll first need to find work in the city..."

Karlich led the rookie to an empty bed while explaining one thing after another.

There was nothing inherently wrong with that, but if anything could be called a problem, this was it.

Karlich was almost excessively enthusiastic.

The beating Rickart had given him on his first day had not exactly knocked sense into him. Rather, he had realized, Ah, so this place has rules too, and begun behaving in accordance with them.

He adapted extremely quickly, was highly perceptive, and brimmed with enthusiasm.

His dedication was so intense that one could not help but feel burdened by it.

Although Karlich was a noble, he was not a landed noble.

More precisely, he came from a merchant-noble family.

Landed nobles possessed their own territory, no matter how small, along with a title, and fulfilled the duties expected of knights.

Merchant nobles possessed no titles and had only their family businesses. They might own private property, but that was fundamentally different from a domain attached to a noble title.

For that reason, many landed nobles did not even regard merchant nobles as members of the same nobility.

There were even frequent cases in which merchant nobles arrived on the battlefield fully armed, only for landed nobles to refuse to fight alongside "people like them."

However, some landed nobles lived in poverty in the countryside, while wealthy merchant nobles resided in magnificent urban mansions.

That was the reality. Yet in an age when pedigrees, bloodlines, and honor carried tremendous importance, even the richest urban nobles inevitably had to defer to landed nobles.

Even the seating arrangements at a ruler’s official functions distinguished between them.

Naturally, they looked down on one another in private.

The merchant nobles thought the landed nobles were country bumpkins who acted arrogantly because of their bloodlines, while the landed nobles wondered how mere merchants dared call themselves nobles.

"Ricky, Ricky."

Karlich approached Rickart with a sheet of paper in his hand.

"...What?"

"You said you were going to buy clothes for everyone. I took all the students’ measurements and organized them here."

Rickart accepted the paper.

It contained a complete list of the Academy students, along with their heights, arm lengths, leg lengths, waist measurements, and other details.

It was the first time Rickart had seen information organized so clearly and systematically in the haphazardly run Academy.

"I think dark blue would be the best color. Most other dyes are extracted from plants, so their supply can be unreliable depending on the season. Lapis lazuli is expensive, but there’s a source nearby, so we should be able to obtain it more cheaply than elsewhere. According to my calculations, it should fit within the budget. Since we’re making the clothes anyway, shouldn’t we make them stylish and raise the pride of Beringen Academy? If you’re willing to leave it to me, I’ll take care of everything. I promise I won’t disappoint you."

Karlich stared at Rickart with his sanpaku eyes, his expression filled with anticipation.

Rickart glimpsed madness within those clear eyes and felt a kind of fear he had never experienced before.

"Uh... Sure..."

"Yes!"

Karlich clenched his fist in delight.

"But seriously, why are you working so hard? Are you afraid I’ll scold you if you don’t?"

At Rickart’s question, Karlich grinned, his sanpaku eyes still wide.

He’s even scarier when he smiles.

"No one interferes with me here. There are no reprimands from my father and no contempt from my brothers. For the first time, I finally feel like I’m useful. I’d rather have no social status at all. I’m sick of all this nonsense about landed nobles and merchant nobles. Here, everyone is a brother. And I looked through the laws of the empire and found a clause that says, ’In the name of Emperor Martellus, Academies under the protection of the empire shall abide by the laws, rules, and traditions of their respective Academies.’ That means we can create our own laws, rules, and traditions, doesn’t it? Isn’t that exciting?"

It was the first Rickart had heard of such an imperial law.

In practice, most regions followed their own customary laws, while the empire’s written laws were often little more than empty formalities.

If the emperor attempted to impose imperial law by force, he risked provoking resistance from the regional nobles. Strict enforcement was therefore difficult.

That was why even the emperor rarely invoked imperial law recklessly.

Truthfully, the emperor himself did not know much about it. Whenever necessary, he simply consulted his legal officials.

Nevertheless, everyone followed several important provisions: men held priority in the inheritance of titles and domains; local lords possessed independent judicial, executive, and military authority but could not negotiate with foreign nations; and justice had to be administered impartially before God when determining and punishing crimes.

Rickart had learned only the most basic subjects at home, such as reading, writing, and simple arithmetic. He had never received an advanced education, so he could only find the whole matter fascinating.

Karlich’s eyes shone like stars as he spoke about his personal ambition.

Admittedly, there was still a trace of madness mixed in.

Watching him, Rickart realized that a properly educated noble really was different.

Even so, remaining around Karlich felt burdensome and uncomfortable, so Rickart quietly slipped away.

He left the room and went upstairs, intending to study ancient writing in an empty classroom, only to find Boribori already there.

He was reading something.

"Oh, Ricky."

"What are you reading?"

"The Sex Lives of the Ancients."

"...Why are you reading something like that?"

"There aren’t many ancient books, and there are even fewer surviving copies. I’m not in a position to be selective. Besides, it’s surprisingly interesting."

"That book?"

Rickart had no idea what to say.

He sat beside Boribori, propped his chin on one hand, and looked out the window instead.

The blue sky and the fields spreading refreshingly into the distance were reflected in Rickart’s hazel eyes. A gentle breeze drifted inside, making his gleaming golden hair sway softly.

"Are you bored?"

Boribori asked.

"Hm? No."

"You look bored. Want to make a bet with me?"

"What kind of bet?"

"I can’t beat you, so we’ll each train someone and have our students compete against each other. Whoever’s student wins is the winner."

"No. None of them understand what I tell them anyway."

Rickart occasionally taught the other students, but they often failed to understand his instructions, leaving him frustrated by himself.

For that reason, aside from sparring with the friends who had formed the group commonly called the Legendary Nine before their graduation, he rarely taught anyone properly.

"Then write a book. Someone capable of understanding you might appear someday."

"Hmm. But simply writing it would be boring. Why don’t I write it in ancient script? I can study while I’m at it."

The suggestion caught Rickart’s interest.

It did not seem like a bad way to pass the time.

In truth, Rickart had recently begun to feel as though the Academy were gradually leaving his hands.

It was not as though he had ever actively managed it, but the students were now working hard and improving on their own.

Watching them made him proud and happy, but he also felt as though there were no longer anything left for him to do.

All Rickart had done for the Academy was lay the foundation: do not bully or exploit anyone unnecessarily, make sure no one starved to death, maintain order, and obey the rules.

If the Academy continued functioning well on its own, then Rickart had nothing left to do.

Moreover, he had no need to practice swordsmanship or combat techniques, so he was merely wasting his time with nothing to occupy him.

"That doesn’t sound bad."

"Hehe. Right?"

Rickart immediately spread out a sheet of paper and brought over ink and a pen.

However, he encountered a problem from the very beginning.

"What should I call it?"

"Ricky-Style Swordsmanship! Swordsmanship styles are usually named after their creators."

"But that sounds terrible."

"What? You told me to call mine Bori Swordsmanship."

"Anyway, I don’t like it. Using my own name is too cliché. I’ll just call it The Fundamentals of Swordsmanship."

"Huh? That’s too boring."

"It’s better this way. It doesn’t matter if it isn’t written well. Those capable of understanding it will understand."

"You’re surprisingly shy, Ricky."

Rickart did not deny it and merely smiled.

He then wrote the title in large letters.

The Fundamentals of Swordsmanship.

His handwriting contained the love his mother had instilled in him and flowed as gracefully as willow branches.

Boribori’s handwriting, by contrast, was forceful and energetic.

Rickart organized his thoughts and began by writing a rough outline.

Whenever he encountered something he did not understand about ancient writing, he asked Boribori or referred to sentences from the book.

Unfortunately, that book was The Sex Lives of the Ancients, so he occasionally saw things he should not have and tightly shut his eyes.

Reflecting on his swordsmanship was interesting in its own way, but remembering the frustration he had experienced while teaching the other students left him uncertain about what to write.

Should he omit certain details?

Was that difficult?

Why was it difficult?

What did "difficult" even mean?

Hmm.

He did not know.

His motivation for writing was essentially that only those capable of understanding it needed to understand, so Rickart continued without thinking too deeply.

Boribori, who was watching from beside him, offered an observation.

"It feels more like you’re writing prose than explaining anything."

"Does it? But language is imperfect anyway. It can’t be helped. I’m merely expressing things exactly as they are. This is the most accurate way."

"I don’t know. Wouldn’t it still be better to explain everything as thoroughly as possible?"

"Then you write one too, Bori."

"I think I will. I’ll call mine Bori Swordsmanship. Hehehe."

Boribori set aside the book he had been reading, took a blank sheet of paper, and began writing various things.

His handwriting was neat and powerful.

The writings of the two boys were still unpolished, but the contrast between them was already unmistakable.

Rickart seemed to be composing an epic with neither beginning nor end, while Boribori divided his work into proper Chapters and built it up carefully, one step at a time.

After writing for a while, they examined each other’s work.

Their opinions differed as well.

"Hey, why are you wasting expensive paper writing things like this? Anyone can do all of this."

Rickart frowned as he read Boribori’s work, openly expressing his dissatisfaction.

Paper was by no means inexpensive. Its price varied according to quality, but paper suitable for making books was among the most costly varieties.

"The reader might be a complete beginner. They need to start with simple things, absorb and understand them, and then gradually move on to more difficult concepts. If you suddenly write things like, ’If you think before striking, you are already too late,’ ’Focus on precision rather than speed,’ and ’A powerful attack is meaningless if you do not understand how force works,’ like you did, who’s going to understand any of it?"

After thinking quietly, Rickart realized that Boribori was right.

However, if he wrote detailed explanations for every single point, the work would become far too long, and he no longer felt like writing it.

Besides, would an excessively wordy explanation not stray even further from the essence?

Rickart felt an irrational urge to resist.

"...That’s why I’m writing it so only those capable of understanding it will understand."

"Hmm... Then let’s do this. I’ll write a separate commentary, and you can review and approve it. What do you think?"

"It won’t look impressive if there’s a commentary."

"No, it’ll be fine. It’ll still look impressive. You really are shy."

Rickart laughed in disbelief.

He reached out and vigorously tousled Boribori’s tawny bowl-cut hair.

Boribori laughed as well.

"Hehehe."

He truly seemed to have grown so much.

In a good way.

Rickart felt proud of him.

Boribori was Rickart’s most precious friend and disciple—and now, perhaps, his teacher as well.

When someone taught and guided another person, then watched that person grow, perhaps the teacher was also being guided and growing alongside them.

Spring had reached its height.

The weather was perfect for working and perfect for fighting.

And it was perfect for deepening friendships as well.