Chapter 7

Chapter 7: Chapter 7

A linen tunic, a belt, leather shoes, a woolen coat, a traveling cloak, a dagger, and a shoulder bag—these were all Rickart possessed now.

He no longer had a home to return to, nor did he know when he would see his family again.

Looked at positively, a new future and an entire new world were opening before him. Looked at negatively, he was embarking on a path of hardships unlike anything he had experienced before.

At times like this, having a previous life was useful.

No matter what he did, he was not afraid.

Rickart crossed the borders of Stormherz, the land he had never once left since his rebirth, and walked throughout the day, stopping only twice for brief rests.

The sun set early while they were crossing the mountain pass. When the cool breeze began to feel chilly, the courier headed toward a suitable campsite.

It appeared to be a place commonly used by passing travelers. It offered good shelter from the wind, and a mound of black ashes remained inside a makeshift firepit assembled from large stones.

The courier expertly struck his flint over the dry twigs and straw he had prepared in advance, setting them alight. He blew gently on the flames until they grew, then placed some of the firewood scattered nearby on top.

Soon, the fire gained strength and began to crackle.

Rickart settled down in a suitable spot and took some travel rations wrapped in cloth from his bag.

They had been prepared by his sister-in-law. Various grains had been mixed with honey, salt, and other ingredients, then steamed and dried.

They were so hard that he had to gnaw at them with his front teeth or crunch them into pieces before softening them with saliva in his mouth.

They tasted savory, salty, and sweet all at once.

The ingredients had been blended in such perfect proportions that the rations were not merely edible but genuinely delicious. He could feel his sister-in-law’s affection in them.

"Have you ever traveled before?"

The courier suddenly asked.

"No."

"You may speak casually to me. Your politeness makes me uncomfortable."

"Really? All right."

"How peculiar. These days, there are plenty of wealthy men who aren’t even nobles yet swagger around as if they were. Meanwhile, a genuine noble of proper lineage is courteous."

"I’m only doing what my mother taught me. She told me to speak politely to my elders."

"But is this truly your first journey?"

"It is. Why?"

"Well... you don’t look worried or anxious at all."

This was an age in which someone could encounter robbers on the road, be killed, and leave behind no means of identifying the culprit. The slave trade was also thriving in the shadows, and nobles were sometimes abducted for ransom.

Therefore, it was strange for a ten-year-old setting out on a long journey away from home for the first time to show no sign of worry or anxiety, just as the courier had said.

Did the boy simply know nothing about the world?

Rickart merely smiled faintly and continued eating. After a while, he asked a question of his own.

"Do you like working as a courier?"

"Whether I like it or not, simply having work is a blessing. It means I don’t have to worry about putting food on the table. I’ve also met plenty of people through this job, and even if I quit, there are several places I could find work through those connections. I may not look like much, but I work for the Empire. Ha ha ha."

"That’s good."

"By the way, are you planning to become an adventurer?"

"For now."

"I don’t know what to make of it. We live in an age when even nobles become adventurers. Did you know that delivering letters, like I do, used to be an adventurer’s job? So technically, I suppose that makes me an adventurer too."

"I don’t care whether they call me an adventurer or something else. What interests me is whether the war was worth fighting. The Eastern Expeditionary Territory, I mean. Or is it called Fernland now? Whatever."

"...What? That’s what interests you?"

"It’s personal. I understand if you don’t understand."

The courier clearly did not understand.

But if that was Rickart’s reason, what could he say?

"The academy doesn’t have a very good reputation, though. I’m not sure whether I should be telling you this."

"Why? Is there something wrong with it?"

"You could say there is, or you could say there isn’t. I don’t know exactly what happens inside. But I’ve heard that academy students are frequently killed or permanently crippled. I’ve even seen some of them myself. The academies seem to have some sort of feud between them, and they don’t hesitate to draw blood. They fight one another viciously, reconcile, and then begin fighting all over again. You’re still young, so you probably won’t be thrown into such conflicts immediately. But once you get older, who knows? Personally, I suspect the guilds are manipulating everything from behind the scenes."

"You’re saying academy students are used in conflicts between guilds?"

"That is what I believe. Ultimately, adventurers remain rather unsavory, just as they were in the past. The only difference is that people used to look down on them, while now they are somewhat afraid of them."

Despite not being particularly old himself, the courier kept talking about "the past" and "the old days."

Perhaps he was showing off his seniority because Rickart was so young.

Rickart did not take his words too seriously. On the other hand, he did not completely disregard them either. He simply treated them as information about how the world worked.

"There must be a reason for it, whether that reason is absurd or important."

"Aren’t you frightened, Young Master?"

"Why? Do you want me to be frightened?"

"Not at all. But if I were you, I would return home right now, cling to your father’s trouser leg, and beg him to send me to a monastery instead. Life as a monk is better than you might think. On weekends, you can go into the village and fool around with innocent country girls. Even if you get one of them pregnant, you don’t have to take responsibility. You can drink, pay no taxes, and live without worrying about the local lord."

"The monk I met wasn’t like that."

"Forgive me for saying so, but Stormherz is rather provincial. People in the central regions also tend to be stubborn and conservative. People in the west are passionate and open-minded. So you simply need to join a monastery in the western region."

"Really? Is Stormherz in the central region?"

"South-central, more or less."

"Do I seem stubborn and conservative to you?"

"Ha ha ha! Not at all. You are still young, after all. In any case, once I save enough money, I plan to move west and open a winery."

In truth, the courier had never even visited the western region. All he had ever done was deliver letters back and forth across the central wheatlands.

It seemed that stories he had heard from someone had inspired him to develop an idealized dream of the place.

Open-minded beauties, delicious wine, pleasant weather, fertile land—things of that sort.

It was not a bad dream, Rickart thought.

Whether it was grand, humble, or worldly did not matter, as long as it gave the man a reason to keep living.

"What’s your name? I can’t keep calling you ’Courier.’"

"Arno. When I was young, people called me Rabbit’s Foot. Running away is the one thing I’m good at, so this job suits me perfectly. Did you know that couriers take an oath just like knights do?"

"What sort of oath?"

When Rickart asked, Arno abruptly straightened his posture and spoke solemnly.

"In the names of God and the Emperor, I swear that I shall not drink while performing my duties, that I shall not abuse the people, that I shall deliver the mail regardless of what may happen, that I shall not open its contents, and that I shall carry out my work honestly and diligently. Should I violate this oath, I shall become a criminal of the Empire and be cast into Hell after death."

It seemed excessive to demand such an oath from a mere courier, but the work admittedly could not be performed without trust.

That was why nobles usually entrusted their letters to vassals or other reliable people rather than specifically employing someone from the Imperial Guild Bureau.

One clear difference from a knight’s oath was the absence of anything about fighting.

It contained none of the grim declarations about never retreating in battle or risking one’s life to defend one’s honor.

Still, couriers apparently possessed a sense of professional duty in their own way.

Though they would only be traveling together briefly, they had spent the entire day walking side by side and were now warming themselves around the same campfire. It was inevitable that they would become somewhat closer.

As a courier, Arno had traveled to many different places and heard many stories. Consequently, he had plenty to talk about.

He, too, seemed pleased to have someone to speak with.

For the first time in a long while, the night deepened without loneliness.

Early the following morning, the two ground their boots over the remains of the already extinguished campfire to ensure it was completely out, then resumed their journey.

They crossed the mountain pass and headed northeast.

Rickart was young enough that walking continuously should have exhausted him, yet he followed without a word of complaint. Although he had never undergone formal physical training, he had spent his childhood running through forests and fields.

There was not much entertainment in the countryside, so the local children often held races. Since all of Rickart’s opponents were older boys, he had constantly been forced to push himself to the limits of his stamina.

Yet no matter how exhausted he became, a night’s sleep left him fully recovered the next morning.

Then he would start running around again.

Physical endurance aside, however, every journey was bound to encounter unforeseen difficulties.

Because of his courier work, Arno often used shortcuts known only to experienced travelers. At the beginning of another mountain road, they encountered a group of people.

Carriages and carts had been stopped beside the road, while the people had erected tents around them and appeared to be living there.

There was a couple who looked newly married, a large family consisting of a grandmother, grandchildren, cousins, and other relatives, as well as a man who appeared to be a merchant and two armed guards escorting him.

Altogether, there were around twenty people.

Even Arno, who encountered all sorts of people while delivering letters, found it strange to see such an ill-matched group gathered in one place.

This was hardly a suitable location for establishing a settlement.

The people stared blankly at Arno and Rickart as they traveled along the isolated road.

"Good day. I am a courier employed by the Imperial Guild Bureau. Are you holding a spring festival out here?"

Arno approached them with an affable smile, greeted them, and asked what they were doing there.

Despite his question, no one answered.

An awkward silence descended, and Arno’s easygoing smile was beginning to falter when the merchant, who was warming himself beside a fire some distance away, finally spoke.

"We are waiting for people."

"Is that so? They must be very important. May I ask whom you are waiting for?"

"No one in particular. We’re simply trying to increase our numbers. But after waiting for three full days, all we’ve seen is a young man and a little boy. It seems we have wasted our time."

Arno turned his head and exchanged a glance with Rickart standing beside him, then looked back at the merchant.

"Increase your numbers? Why?"

"If there are enough of us, the bandits will be too frightened to approach."

"Bandits? There are bandits here?"

"Why else would I be sitting here and wasting money with every passing day?"

The merchant gestured toward something with his chin.

There were several mounds of earth nearby, each marked with a crudely fashioned wooden cross.

They were freshly dug graves.

Bandits had settled along this road during the time Arno had not traveled through the region.

Robbers and bandits were not particularly rare. In an age when earning a living was difficult and punishments were brutal, many people chose to become outlaws instead.

"Should we turn back?"

Rickart asked.

"As you saw on our way here, this is the only road, Young Master. If we turn back, we may not reach the academy by the deadline."

Rickart was required to arrive at the academy by the fourteenth.

The schedule had already been somewhat tight when they departed. If they took a lengthy detour, they might indeed fail to arrive on time, just as Arno had said.

Moreover, Arno would not be escorting him all the way to his destination. Rickart would need to find another guide in Rheinfort.

"The fact that they’ve already killed people means they’ve gone as far as bandits can go..."

Arno muttered with a troubled expression.

Rheinfort was just beyond this mountain pass.

"Spring has only just begun, so merchant caravans must still be rare. Otherwise, several groups of merchants could have joined together before passing through. I don’t think waiting any longer will help."

Rickart spoke matter-of-factly.

No one knew how a child could understand such matters, but his conclusion was correct.

The merchant seemed to have reached the same conclusion. He had waited several days in case someone else appeared, but with only Arno and Rickart arriving, he could no longer afford to delay.

Waiting here would only exhaust their food supplies. In trade, time and distance were money. The faster goods could be transported over a long distance, the greater the profit. Conversely, taking too long to cover even a short distance resulted in losses.

Still, the merchant was understandably reluctant to face the risk alone. He looked around at the other people and spoke.

"All of you will be caught and killed by your lord even if you turn back. If that is the case, wouldn’t it be better to risk your lives on the path that at least offers a chance of survival?"

Rickart did not know what had happened, but the people who appeared to be ordinary civilians were evidently fugitives.

"Even the people gathered here are not an insignificant number. If we continue waiting, you will merely run out of food as well. It is time to make a decision. I will lead the way."

It was obvious that the merchant intended to spread the danger among the others and then find some way to escape by himself.

However, everyone else was thinking the same way, so there was little reason to condemn the merchant as a coward.

True to his profession, the merchant proposed something that was not quite a negotiation. The word "food" spurred the others into action.

They dismantled their tents and began preparing to move.

Even so, there were only two armed men, and only five or six adult men in total, including Arno.

"Whether this is good luck or bad, it seems we have no other choice, Young Master Ricky."

"Luck isn’t something you can judge only by the outcome. It’s something you create for yourself."

"Is that so? I certainly hope luck can be created. If I could make enough of it and gamble with dice, I would become filthy rich. Stay close beside me. I’ll see if I can create some luck for us."

"All right. Thank you."

The mention of dice gambling was so absurd that Rickart replied with a laugh.

Then the two of them joined the others and began climbing the mountain road.