The Warrior’s Ballad

Translator: Willia

It was a night in the forest so silent that even the scops owl didn’t cry. The loudest sound came from the fierce footsteps of men carrying torches. 'Turn over there', 'no, to the left', 'that fucking son of a bitch, I’ll definitely kill him', such voices could be heard.

Ricardt, hiding behind a tree, estimated the number of enemies by the disordered sounds of their footsteps. Four? No, five.

His ability to gauge the enemy count just by listening was almost superhuman, yet Ricardt could tell that these foes were no ordinary opponents.

They were pursuing Ice, forming a makeshift encirclement while maintaining distance from each other—not an easy feat, especially at night.

He thought, 'These people are definitely from the same clan, and they’re skilled, too.'

However, Only he knew of the enemies’ presence while they were unaware of his, there was no position more advantageous than this.

Ricardt not only had a high level of swordsmanship but also knew how to fight. It wasn’t about swordsmanship but about combat techniques.

A hundred years ago, what had truly made Ricardt the strongest was not his swordsmanship but this aspect. Surprisingly, most people didn’t understand this.

And so, in their obsession to become Sword Masters, they couldn’t even come close to imitating him.

The enemies moved cautiously through the forest filled with tall, straight trees, checking behind each one as they closed the distance. However, they couldn’t afford to be slow, as they risked losing Ice, the ermine if they were. (TL: It seems Ice's nickname is 'Ermine', which is an animal. )

Ricardt saw the torchlight getting closer. Hiding in the darkness, he focused on the approaching footsteps. Without conscious thought, he could picture their spacing, weight, and posture in his mind.

Then, he heard footsteps entering the precise range he’d calculated.

Step.

Whoosh!

Thwack!

Rather than looking at his target, Ricardt sprang out and swung his sword first, slicing cleanly through the enemy’s neck.

The enemy’s head flew off before he could even react. The other pursuers, who had been keeping their distance, were startled and quickly realized what had happened.

“Over here…!”

The man closest to his fallen comrade shouted, shining his torch on Ricardt, but his cry was cut short.

This was because Ricardt, darting back and forth between light and shadow, had rapidly closed the distance.

The man, holding a torch in one hand and a sword in the other, hastily retreated and assumed a defensive stance. However, such a clumsy posture was no match for Ricardt’s sword.

As befitting his old nickname, 'Ricky the Server', which he’d earned in the Beringen area, Ricardt shattered the man’s poorly held sword and swiftly severed his neck as well.

Clang! Thwack!

After felling his second opponent, Ricardt immediately leapt back into the darkness. The remaining three, chasing after him, quickly turned their torches in his direction, but a sword tip suddenly appeared before their eyes.

Whoosh! Thwack!

“Ugh!”

A sword pierced through one man’s chest. He collapsed backward. Another comrade nearby, shocked, looked at his falling companion, then turned his head back, only to see a boy wielding a dagger rushing at him.

In a flash, Ricardt’s dagger sliced through the inner thigh and armpit of his enemy like a gust of wind.

“Aaaaargh!”

A scream echoed through the quiet forest. With his major tendons severed, the man dropped his torch and slumped powerlessly to the ground.

The last remaining man instinctively focused on his screaming comrade.

As his torch flickered wildly, Ricardt appeared from behind, seized him by the forehead, tilted his head back, and slit his throat.

"Kugh! Kuluk!"

Blood gushed, clogging his windpipe. He collapsed and convulsed right in front of his comrade, who lay with his tendons severed.

Thud.

The enemy with the cut thigh and armpit tendons lay paralyzed on the ground, so shocked and terrified that he gasped sharply, filling his lungs. His body froze in place.

Trembling, he raised his head. He was so consumed with fear that thoughts echoed through his mind: I’m dead, I’m dead, I’m dead, just kill me already.

Ricardt stabbed the neck of the man who had completely lost the will to fight, slicing through the cartilage and finishing him off. His gaze was calm and indifferent, with not a trace of pity or compassion.

The man slumped to the ground, his torso falling forward and collapsing over the body of his comrade. Blood spread out in a trickling pool.

After killing all the enemies, Ricardt looked around the scene. Torches lay scattered here and there. Their light only partially illuminated the corpses, casting a deeply ominous atmosphere.

However, just because he had killed them all in an instant didn’t mean these were low-level enemies.

While the enemies had relied solely on the light from their torches, Ricardt had been able to picture the entire battlefield situation almost like foresight, relying on sound alone. That difference made all the difference.

On top of that, he’d launched a surprise attack, so no matter how skilled they were, the enemies stood no chance.

When he fought ten swordsmen on the highlands of Kaitz, it was a night with a full moon as bright as morning, and there was no place to hide or take advantage of the terrain.

Because of that, he had to face them with pure swordsmanship alone, and Ricardt had no choice but to struggle.

Even so, the fact that he’d defeated them all was remarkable, and it was something people often spoke of.

Ricardt knew how to assess the battlefield environment and the enemy’s psychology, using their weaknesses to his advantage. This wasn’t an ability that could be developed just by practicing swordsmanship.

It was a skill that required innate intuition, real combat experience, and the luck to survive.

Ice had an innate talent for swordsmanship, but here lay the stark difference between him and Ricardt.

Of course, Ice had accomplished impressive feats so far, but the reason he couldn’t produce monstrous results like Ricardt was due to this very aspect.

“Ricky?”

It was Marie’s voice. Ricardt looked over at her while wiping his sword and rummaging through the spoils of battle. It was obvious she had rushed over to help.

However, seeing that it was already over, Marie wore a dumbfounded expression.

“Huh?”

"Ah, no. I came to help."

“What about the others?”

“They took Ice to the campsite.”

“Is he okay?”

“He doesn’t have any external injuries, but he fainted. Seems like he was exhausted. He must’ve been chased for quite a while.”

"That's somewhat fortunate. Can you help me?"

“With what?”

"Need to collect equipment. And money if there is any."

"Huh? Oh, r-right."

Marie seemed a bit flustered, as if she’d never looted a corpse before, even though she had killed people. She felt like this wasn’t quite right, but seeing Ricardt rummaging through the bodies nonchalantly, she followed suit.

“Uh, how far do I need to search?”

"Huh?"

“I mean, I’m not putting my hand inside their pants or anything.”

“Hahaha, you don’t have to go that far. Just pat them down a bit, and if there’s a money pouch or something, take it. Focus on the weapons. Just take as much as we can carry. If we take too much, it’ll weigh us down and could affect our combat strength later. Don’t get greedy, Marie.”

To strip everything down to their underwear would be ideal for a thorough looting, but as Ricardt said, it wasn’t necessary to go that far.

“I wasn’t really being greedy…”

“I was joking. Let’s go.”

“Yeah.”

Ricardt gathered two swords and a money pouch. Then he headed back to the campsite with Marie.

Ice was lying down covered with a blanket. There were traces of pale tears on his face. Boribori had placed some unknown herbs beneath his nose.

"He'll have an appetite when he wakes up."

It was one of Boribori’s usual, baseless folk remedies, but sometimes they worked.

However, Volka, who was looking down at Ice, had a complex expression. Lost in thought, he only belatedly noticed Ricardt’s return.

“Did you kill them all?”

“Yeah.”

“Can we talk for a moment?”

“Why? Just say it here. Honestly, everyone already knows.”

Ricardt, with his almost supernatural intuition, could already guess what Volka was about to say.

Perhaps because of what he’d heard from Dunkel, it seemed Volka wanted to discuss with Ricardt about how to handle Ice.

Boribori and Delphi, who had spent time with Ice at the Academy, knew he was involved with the heretical sect. However, they didn’t know the full extent of it, so they looked confused and bewildered.

“Isn’t it better to discuss this together? We’re in the same clan, after all.”

Ricardt said once more. Although Marie wasn’t an official member of the Viola Clan, she was practically halfway in. The others treated her that way too.

Volka figured that this was the right approach and began to speak openly.

"You probably know Ice is from the Order of Judgment. But it’s not just a matter of simple belief, he seems to hold an official position within the Order. If he’s that deeply entangled, it could be a problem. If he ends up judged as a heretic, it could drag us down with him.”

For those who didn’t know, this was shocking news. Having an official position in the Order marked someone as a confirmed heretic, and if it were exposed, there’d be no trial, just a direct sentence to the stake.

“So... um, my opinion is that we should treat him and send him on his way. Besides, we’re already busy with branch matters.”

Volka carefully voiced his opinion. The atmosphere was heavy, but at some point, the scops owls and night insects had begun to chirp.

The crackling of the campfire could also be heard. But those who were awake late into the night remained silent.

Boribori squatted beside the sleeping Ice, looking down at him and then spoke.

“I’m not really sure. Ice is someone I’m grateful to. But... the clan isn’t just about me alone…”

He shared a similar view to Volka’s. Although he wasn’t entirely comfortable with it, he thought it might be best to part ways for the group’s sake.

But despite his words, Boribori’s expression betrayed his sympathy and concern. His heart seemed to have softened due to feelings of debt and compassion.

As for Delphi, who was practically married to Volka, she was likely to follow his opinion, leaving only Ricardt’s opinion left to hear.

But, surprisingly, Marie spoke up.

“There’s no need to worry about a heresy inquisition. The ones cracking down on the Order of Judgement are the royal families of each nation, not the Holy See.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s a bit complicated, but from what I’ve heard, that’s the case. People have been leaving their lands, and it’s said the Order is the reason. The Imperial Family is just standing by. When the power of the kingdoms weakens, it benefits the Imperial Family.”

The relationship between kings and the Emperor was somewhat complex and unique. The Emperor was considered the supreme ruler of the world, ranking above kings, but he couldn’t treat them recklessly either.

The kingdoms held their own military authority and autonomy, wielding significant influence within the Empire.

In simple terms, if the kingdoms grew too powerful, the Emperor would feel threatened; if the Emperor’s authority grew stronger, the kingdoms would be restrained.

While this was rarely spoken aloud, in reality, the relationship between the Emperor and the kings was not far from that of mortal enemies.

However, as a disrupted balance of power would be detrimental to both sides, they were effectively on the same boat. Though they hated each other intensely, they didn’t wish for the other’s ruin.

At critical times, they’d support each other, and at other times, they’d hinder each other, that was the kind of relationship between the Emperor and the kings.

Adding to this complexity, the royal families of various nations and the Imperial Family were connected by blood through marriage alliances, making the situation even more tangled.

In any case, it was a time when population equaled national power. Without people, there was no one to farm, and there was no labor force to utilize.

In other words, when peasants moved elsewhere, it signified a weakening of the land’s strength. Moreover, relocating freely was illegal.

But what if the destination of the migration was outside the kingdom? No matter how powerful a king was, once the emigrants entered the territory of the Empire, he could no longer interfere.

Ricardt suddenly recalled Dunkel’s comparison of the Ernburg Five to prostitutes.

As his sharp mind processed this information, combining various pieces, and reaching one conclusion that made him frown.

“Could it be... were the kings the ones behind the scenes, instigating the Ernburg Five?”

The Ernburg Five had caused a lot of trouble all over, but the reason for their particular infamy was the massacres they committed on a village-wide scale.

Most of their targets were settlements established by migrants who believed in the God of Judgement.

From the perspective of the kings, it was necessary to kill these insolent migrants as an example. If left unchecked, their influence would only spread.

Though not as powerful as the Emperor, kings could at least exert enough influence to prevent the Five from becoming wanted fugitives. It was even easier if it involved not just one but two or more of them.

“Well, I’m not entirely sure myself. But I think you’re right, Ricky.”

It was unclear whether the Imperial Family was knowingly turning a blind eye to what the kings were doing or if they were simply uninterested. However, it was becoming clear that the Ernburg Five were starting to be a nuisance.

“But how do you know all this?”

Volka looked at Marie as he asked.

"Uh, huh? W-well, couldn't I have heard it from s-somewhere?"

Marie avoided his gaze, clearly evasive. Anyone could tell she looked suspicious. Volka, having recently discovered that Ricardt was a noble, thought, Maybe she is, too?

While he wouldn’t have guessed she was a princess, Ricardt and Boribori had noticed something peculiar about her from the very beginning.

Ricardt stroked his chin, deep in thought. Everyone seemed to be waiting for him to speak.

The clan comes first. That was clear. If he were to explain why he’d risked his life fighting all this time, it wasn’t just for personal honor or pride, most of it was for the sake of the clan, to create a home they could call their own.

But if accepting Ice put the clan in danger, should they really take him in?

And yet, it was unclear if he would actually pose a threat. Should they reject him based on uncertainty alone?

If they were to accept him, then for what reason? Because he was a friend? How far should they go for a friend? And, before that—what even is a friend?

The more he thought about it, the harder it became to find an easy answer. If it were just him, he would definitely accept Ice, but with the entire clan involved, he couldn’t force his personal opinion on everyone.

Yet, these weren’t questions meant to find a 'right answer'. In the end, it was about defining his own stance and clarifying his thoughts.

Ricardt could have spent an entire day contemplating this issue, or even debating it for hours, but instead, he set aside all the words and focused on the core of the matter, speaking from his heart, without reservation.

“For now, let’s protect him. Right now, we desperately need support, and he’ll be a valuable ally. I’m sure he’s gathered plenty of information while fighting the enemies. And…”

Ricardt trailed off. The clan members listened carefully to his words, each considering them in their own way, with calm expressions.

“Right now, it doesn’t seem like he has anywhere else to go. And if even we turn him away, isn’t that too pitiful?”

“……”

No one spoke. It was hard to tell whether they were for or against the idea. But his words about having nowhere else to go struck a chord in them.

Because they, too, had each experienced being abandoned at some point. The sense of helplessness, the desperation - those who hadn’t been through it couldn’t understand. Maybe someone who knew that feeling should be the one to offer a hand.

Although no one voiced explicit agreement, they all leaned toward accepting Ice into the clan.

And thinking about it, Volka owed Ice his life once. Wasn't it Ice who saved him from Lorenz at Griffinswald?

Boribori also had a debt to Ice; without him, he might never have properly learned to use Mana Drive. If he had mishandled mana, it could have led to an accident that might have left him crippled.

Aside from Ricardt and Marie, they all owed Ice in one way or another.

It was a sleepless night. To be more accurate, it was a night in which they had woken up in the middle and couldn’t return to sleep.

About an hour later, a deep blue color began to peel away the darkness from the edges of the world.

With nothing else to do, Ricardt and his friends began preparing breakfast from the early hours of dawn.

Whip! Whack! Slash! Whack!

"Ugh! Heuuk! Huk! Uk!"

The sounds of whipping, and someone groaning through a gag, echoed through the air. This was no ordinary whipping—there was clear intent to kill in each strike.

Young Ice stood facing the wall, listening to the sounds. He wasn’t alone; a dozen or so children were lined up against the wall, facing it.

This was the time for punishment and training to empty their hearts. Joy, sorrow, fear—all of it had to be offered to the God of Judgement. Even their parents and families had to be sacrificed.

Whip! Whack! Slash! Whack!

At some point, the groaning stopped. Perhaps... they were dead.

Ice’s gaze slowly traced the cracks in the cold brick wall.

Imagine this as a path through a valley. As you follow the path, even if there’s no exit, you can just keep walking. No need to wander, just walk. The path is already set.

Doing this makes all thoughts disappear. No feelings arise. The sound of whipping, the groans, the final sounds of death—all of it fades from hearing.

When the priest ordered them to turn around, Ice turned to see a boy slumped over, his back flayed to the ribs, barely recognizable in a mess of blood. The boy’s crime had been laughing during training.

The priest who had carried out the punishment was panting as if he might pass out. Another priest, with an extremely dry and emotionless expression, spoke to the children.

"Brothers, the day of prophecy is near. We must push ourselves even harder. Let’s not lose focus. Let’s remain unwavering. Let us offer everything to the God of Judgement and return to the heavenly realm. Oh, God of Judgement, close your eyes upon us."

“Oh, God of Judgement, close your eyes upon us.”

As the priest spoke, Ice and the other children echoed his words in a mechanical, puppet-like tone.

At the priest’s gesture, the children stepped forward one by one to spit on the dead boy’s body.

“Ptui.”

And then the next child, and the next, and the next…

It was Ice’s turn. He approached the boy who had died such a brutal death.

For the briefest moment, whether it was a loud tremor or a tiny shiver, his heart stirred.

Because the boy lying dead on the ground was his own younger brother.

All eyes were on Ice. He couldn’t show the slightest change in expression or any hint of inner turmoil. Ice spat.

“Ptui.”

In that moment, Ice’s heart died. He continued to live, but it was an empty existence; he was no longer truly human. He was merely a puppet that moved solely for the god.

At least, that’s how it should have been.

Ice’s eyes slowly opened.

The clinking of dishes and the soft murmur of conversation reached his ears. It was a comforting sound, gently tickling his senses.

He could hear birds chirping in the early morning, and he could smell the delicious aroma of food.

He saw Ricardt and the familiar faces around him. His heart, which had been pounding from the nightmare, gradually calmed down as a sense of relief washed over him.

Ice was somewhat half-asleep from waking up in the middle of sleep. For a brief moment, he wondered if this place was heaven.

Ricardt, who was preparing food with Marie, looked over at Ice and spoke.

“Oh? You’re awake.”

Looking at the blonde boy, Ice unconsciously recalled a verse from the bible.

<Come to me, all who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.> (TL: Matthew 11:28)

Chapter 11 - Sanctuary. The End.