Chapter 8

Chapter 8: Chapter 8

Old

Tiny buds hung like dewdrops among the bare branches. Before long, they would sprout and bloom.

Someone once said that a traveler was fortunate so long as he encountered neither rain nor snow on the road.

That was not entirely wrong. Few things were more grueling or dangerous to one’s health than being caught in the rain while traveling.

Only two days had passed since Rickart set out, and fortunately, he had not encountered any rain.

He was merely traveling along a mountain road occupied by bandits.

The mornings and evenings were still cold, yet beads of sweat formed on Rickart’s temples as he climbed the pass.

The carts pulled by donkeys rattled constantly, while the people occasionally had to push the carriage from behind.

They should have been trying to pass through unnoticed, yet they were making enough noise to announce their arrival to every bandit in the mountains. Their slow pace also meant that if they encountered the bandits, they could not guarantee their lives unless they abandoned their possessions.

Exhaustion caused people’s heads to droop naturally. The women had bundles strapped to their backs while carrying infants in their arms.

The older children were at least able to ride in the backs of the rattling carts and carriage.

Despite his fatigue, Rickart did not lower his head. He continued surveying the surrounding terrain as they traveled.

Danger had to be discovered before it arrived.

Then the girl sitting in the back of a nearby cart—whom he had not even noticed until then—suddenly held something out to him.

When Rickart looked more closely, he saw that it was a flower ring woven from plant stems.

"Is that for me?"

Rickart asked.

The girl silently nodded.

Rickart was somewhat dirty after going two days without washing properly, but the girl was almost indistinguishable from a beggar. Her hair was disheveled, and her face was streaked with grime.

Yet the whites of her large eyes were as clear as boiled egg whites, while her green irises gleamed like emeralds.

They stood out all the more vividly in contrast to her filthy appearance.

Boldly, the girl seized Rickart’s hand and slipped the flower ring onto his finger.

"You and I are married now."

Rickart laughed at the absurdity of her declaration.

"We don’t even know each other’s names."

"Then we can learn them now. What’s your name?"

Just as Rickart was about to introduce himself, Arno, who was walking beside him, abruptly intervened.

"You filthy little wench! Do you have any idea who this is before spouting such nonsense?"

"I don’t mind, Arno."

"No, Young Master. I’m a commoner myself, but you mustn’t treat commoners too kindly. They’ll start climbing all over you. Do you think a noble lord’s marriage is some stray dog’s business? Come to your senses, girl."

At the word "noble," the people walking nearby turned to stare in surprise.

Startled by Arno’s rebuke, the girl shrank back.

Rickart was somewhat dirty, but his clothes were relatively neat. His teeth were even, his face was well formed, and he lacked the tension and gloom characteristic of commoners who had endured difficult lives.

Now that they looked at him closely, he truly did resemble the young master of a noble family.

But why would such a young master be here?

The people felt both confused and frightened. Becoming entangled with a noble could result in being flayed alive.

The reaction was particularly severe among the people currently traveling with them.

Having grown up in the countryside, Rickart did not know how commoners generally regarded nobles.

In his previous life, the only nobles he had met had been military commanders or enemies.

Back in Stormherz, nobles and commoners had all played together without distinction.

However, the atmosphere of a territory could differ drastically depending on its region and lord. There were perverts, lunatics, and every other variety of madman imaginable among the nobility.

"I’m sorry, my lord."

One of the women carrying an infant hurriedly grabbed the girl and yanked her away.

The movement nearly caused the girl to tumble from the back of the cart.

Rickart reflexively caught her.

"It’s all right. I’m not sure why Arno is making such a fuss."

When Rickart addressed her politely, the woman looked dumbfounded.

The lord of the place she had lived must have ruled through considerable fear.

"I’m telling you, they’ll start climbing all over you..."

Arno grumbled in dissatisfaction.

Ignoring him, Rickart spoke to the girl.

"Thank you for the ring."

Unfortunately, the girl who had been so bold before could no longer bring herself to answer.

Whether because of Rickart or Arno, an uneasy atmosphere settled over the procession.

Then the carriage at the front once again failed to pass over a protruding rock, bringing the procession to a halt.

The carriage carried the merchant’s goods, yet for some reason, the ordinary men were the ones pushing it from behind.

The two armed guards merely stood by with their weight shifted onto one leg, watching.

Since the procession had been delayed, Arno and Rickart stopped to rest.

That was when Rickart noticed several people standing on the mountainside above them.

At first glance, they looked no different from the ordinary commoners traveling in the procession. They made no attempt to hide and merely stood there, blankly staring down at the people below.

"Those people are bandits, aren’t they?"

"What?"

"Up there."

"Uh..."

At Rickart’s words, Arno looked up the mountainside.

He, too, saw two or three people standing there and staring in their direction.

No, there were more than two or three. There appeared to be four or five.

Wait.

Their numbers were continuing to grow.

Hold on—shit.

They certainly appeared to be bandits.

Not all of them, but several wore ill-fitting gambesons or had simply perched helmets on their heads without properly securing the chin straps.

They were quite obviously armed.

"Huh?"

The others soon noticed the bandits on the mountainside as well.

At first, no one looked particularly frightened. It merely resembled two groups of strangers happening upon one another.

Then one of the people on the slope casually raised a bow, nocked an arrow, drew the string, and aimed down at them as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

"What...?"

Thwing!

Thud!

An arrow was finally released and embedded itself in a nearby tree.

Astonishingly, that single arrow destroyed the ordinary men’s will to resist.

No one had even been injured, let alone killed.

"Aaagh!"

Some collapsed where they stood. Others hid beside the carriage, while still others abandoned their families and fled back down the road they had come from.

"Don’t run that way!"

Rickart shouted after the fleeing people.

The fact that the bandits had revealed themselves so openly meant that they must have already blocked the route behind them.

"Damn it!"

"Let’s just go!"

"What are you talking about? We can’t leave the goods behind!"

The merchant’s party at the front was not faring much better.

The two guards had drawn their swords, but neither appeared willing to risk his life in battle.

Meanwhile, several of the bandits watching from the slope descended with spears in their hands.

Two of them approached one of the armed guards.

The guard made a pathetic display, sticking his backside out as he wildly swung his sword through empty air in an attempt to threaten them.

"D-don’t come any closer, you bastards!"

The two bandits approaching him said nothing.

They merely exchanged glances before thrusting their spears from opposite sides at the same time.

Their equipment was crude, but this was clearly not their first time doing such a thing.

Absurdly, the guard failed either to block or evade the attacks.

One spear plunged into his abdomen.

Clang.

"F-fuck...! You damned..."

His sword fell limply to the ground.

All he could do was clutch the shaft protruding from his abdomen and force curses through lips that had clenched shut without his realizing it.

One of the bandits quickly picked up the fallen sword and used it to stab its former owner through the throat, killing him.

When a man died so pathetically—especially an armed man upon whom the others had relied for reassurance—the remaining travelers descended into utter panic.

"Aaaaaaaaaah!"

A woman’s piercing scream rang out.

From that moment onward, everyone fled without regard for direction.

In the face of death, possessions, merchandise, and even children were forgotten.

The carriage horse panicked and thrashed wildly, but it could not escape because it was trapped in its harness and the wheel was stuck.

In an instant, the entire scene descended into chaos.

Yet whether because he was fearless or simply dazed, Rickart stood still and watched what the bandits were doing.

Two of them remained on the slope, looking down without descending.

Those two were probably their leaders.

The other bandits began attacking the travelers.

Stealing merchandise was worthwhile, but in this age, people were the most valuable plunder of all.

The goods could be collected later.

The bandits went after the women first.

Suddenly, someone seized Rickart by the arm.

It was Arno.

Instead of running forward or backward, he dashed toward the roadless wilderness beside them.

"Big brother!"

They had taken only a few steps when the girl’s young voice pierced Rickart’s ears.

The unwilted flower ring was still wrapped around his finger.

Rickart violently shook off Arno’s hand.

Startled, Arno turned around and shouted,

"Young Master!"

All the adults were fleeing, while the girl had no idea what to do. She merely crouched beside the cart with her arms wrapped around her head.

Rickart quickly ran toward her.

"Can you stand?"

The girl was so shocked and frightened that she could only tremble. She could neither answer nor move.

Rickart smiled gently to help her relax and made a joke.

"I’m Ricky. What’s your name? If we’re married, shouldn’t we at least know each other’s names?"

Even in her extreme terror, the girl stared at Rickart as though mesmerized before barely managing to answer.

"...Daisy."

"Like the flower?"

"Yes."

Strangely, the girl’s trembling subsided, and everything else in the world seemed to recede into the distance.

The only thing her eyes could see was the boy’s face.

The only thing her ears could hear was his voice.

At that moment, the two men who appeared to be the bandits’ leaders finally descended the mountainside and approached them.

They had clearly heard the girl’s voice from somewhere nearby.

The two were better equipped than the other bandits.

They wore leather breastplates made from several overlapping layers, sturdy enough to withstand most ordinary blades.

Perhaps because of that protection, they approached the rear of the cart without taking any defensive precautions.

Then a child suddenly sprang out and collided with one of them.

The bandit reached out to seize the child who had bumped into him.

But the boy swiftly moved away and evaded his grasp.

At that moment, the bandit felt a burning sensation across his lower abdomen.

When he looked down, he saw his intestines spilling out through a gap in his armor.

"Huh...?"

He could not immediately comprehend what had happened.

By the time he realized that the intestines pouring onto the ground belonged to him, he felt an emptiness in his abdomen unlike hunger.

The strength left his legs, and he collapsed.

"What’s wrong? What happened?"

The bandit walking behind him asked in confusion.

His companion had seemed to collide with a child who had suddenly jumped out, only to crumple weakly to the ground.

Then he noticed that his companion’s intestines were spilling from his abdomen, and his eyes widened.

The wounded man was staring vacantly as he attempted to stuff his intestines back inside himself.

The horrifying sight captured the second bandit’s full attention.

It was a fatal mistake.

Just as he raised his head to see who had done this to his companion, Rickart’s dagger swept through a gap in his armor and cut deeply into the inside of his thigh.

"Aaaaaagh!"

Without even understanding what had happened, the bandit squeezed his eyes shut and collapsed.

Ridiculously, the pain and shock prevented him from drawing the sword at his waist. He merely flailed his arms through the air.

Meanwhile, Rickart moved behind the bandit who was attempting to gather up his intestines, grabbed him by the hair, pulled his head back, and slit his throat.

The dagger was so sharp that it passed smoothly even through the cartilage.

Rickart indifferently shoved the bandit’s head forward.

Blood poured from the man’s throat as he fell face-first to the ground and began drowning in his own blood.

"Gurk... Cough... Grrrk..."

The man whose thigh had been cut writhed on the ground.

He stared in horrified disbelief as he watched his companion die.

He tried to rise, but the muscles in one thigh had been severed, so his body could not possibly move properly.

He repeatedly managed to lift himself slightly, only to collapse again.

Rickart kicked him hard in the chest.

Then he gripped the dagger in reverse, raised it high over his head, and drove it into the bandit’s eye with nearly his entire body weight behind the strike.

The blade sank all the way to the hilt.

Thud!

When the blade pierced through the eye and reached the brain, the bandit thrashed like a fish pulled from the water.

Rickart wrenched the dagger free, wiped the blood and grease from the blade on the bandit’s clothes, then rose and surveyed his surroundings.

Everyone had either fled or gone chasing after those who had, leaving the immediate area deserted.

Only Arno remained.

He had stopped running and collapsed onto the ground. Now he sat there opening and closing his mouth soundlessly as he stared at Rickart.

To Arno, Rickart appeared inhumanly calm.

He was not merely pretending to be unafraid.

It looked as though he lacked something essential to being human.

Either that, or he was possessed by an evil spirit and needed to be exorcised.

There was no possible way he could be an ordinary ten-year-old boy.

Even more unbelievable was the sight of Rickart calmly searching the dead bandits’ clothes before cutting off a finger to take the gold ring worn upon it.

A mountain breeze blew past and cooled Arno’s sweat, but he felt none of its refreshing chill.

Terror cold enough to seep into his bones swept through him, covering his entire body in goosebumps.

Rickart wiped several droplets of blood from his face with his sleeve.

Then he smiled at Arno as naturally as ever and said,

"I didn’t expect them to just walk up to me like idiots. I got lucky."

Before they entered the mountain road, hadn’t Rickart said that luck was something one created?

Encountering bandits on the road might have been misfortune.

Yet perhaps reaching the girl in time to save her had been good fortune.

Fortune and misfortune, happiness and unhappiness, were like roads that intersected as they passed one another.

Or perhaps they were joined together like opposite sides of the same coin.

Ultimately, which path one followed at the crossroads—and which side of the coin one chose to see—was a matter of personal choice.

Therefore, there was no reason to despair merely because misfortune had arrived.

It simply meant that the moment to make a choice had come.

And that choice could be made through one’s own will.

That was what Rickart believed.

Perhaps that was why, in his previous life, his comrades had once given him that nickname.

Chapter 2: Lucky Ricky — End