Chapter 105

Chapter 105: Chapter 105

When spring comes, the swallows return, and around that time, violets begin to bloom. Now was that very season. The breeze sweeping across the fields was cool, while the sunlight was pleasantly warm.

But the young man and woman with swallows embroidered across their chests had no leisure to enjoy the spring. They stood on the boundary between life and death. With trembling hearts, the two drew their swords.

Do we really have to fight? We might die. This is insane.

Those thoughts seemed to tug at the backs of their heads, urging them to run.

No matter how often they looked back at Rickart, he merely watched impassively, leaning on his cane.

"You’re clan brats, are you? Where are you from?"

The man who appeared to be the leader of those guarding the road spoke. Prematurely aged, he had an unkempt, scraggly beard and eyes that showed white on all sides—the distinctive gaze of a criminal.

Perhaps he had been resting, because the front of his gambeson hung open. If anything, that slovenly appearance seemed to testify to his wealth of practical experience.

At the question of where they were from, Kaspar and Yulia turned their attention forward again. For some reason, they couldn’t get the words out. Their minds were filled only with the futile hope that they might still be able to turn back.

A pack of wolves instinctively knew whether its prey was frightened. The members of the Ringwald Sword Brotherhood realized that these two young people were afraid.

And they also knew that when prey was frightened, it was time to go for the throat.

"W-we are..."

"You little brat!"

Just as Kaspar was about to identify his clan, the other man suddenly roared. Kaspar flinched and stiffened—and at that moment, the enemies rushed them en masse.

The men themselves disappeared from sight. All Kaspar and Yulia could see were more than a dozen flashing blades. Terrified, they stumbled backward without managing to swing their swords even once.

They had trained and practiced in their own way, yet none of it came out. They might have known what to do against one person or perhaps two or three, but they had no idea how to fight more than ten at once.

If they blocked one side, an attack would come from the other. They couldn’t simply curl up and evade everything. In the end, their only answer was to flee, but it was already too late for that.

Then, all of a sudden, they heard a sound like a flag snapping in the wind.

With a rapid fluttering noise, something swift shot past Kaspar and Yulia, breaking straight through the enemy ranks as well.

The next thing they saw was the opposing leader standing there without a head. Blood spurted from the severed stump of his neck, and only belatedly did his body collapse as though crumbling in on itself.

Everyone froze.

Rather than shocked, they looked dumbfounded, unable to comprehend what had just happened.

Rickart, who had passed straight through the enemies, spoke.

"I’ll handle this side. You two take care of that side."

He abruptly swung the cane in his hand, and the head of another enemy who had been standing there blankly went flying.

They weren’t ordinary swordsmen—the fact that they were called the Sword Brotherhood attested to that. Even so, the instant they let their attention lapse, their heads invariably went flying.

By now, the enemies’ hair was standing on end.

Rickart couldn’t have cared less. He launched a high kick, then jabbed the tip of his cane directly into another man’s Adam’s apple. Three or four men fell every time he caused a commotion.

Only moments ago, Kaspar and Yulia had been retreating in fear. In the blink of an eye, the situation reversed, and now the enemies were terrified. The moment they met Rickart’s eyes, they could bear it no longer and fled in a mob.

"Move!"

Rickart turned toward Kaspar and Yulia and shouted fiercely.

Only then did the two snap back to their senses and chase after the fleeing men.

The sight of them grabbing whoever they could and killing them indiscriminately was hardly graceful, but this was still a matter of life and death.

Kaspar seized a fallen opponent by the hair and stabbed him through the neck. Yulia cut the back of a fleeing man’s thigh, brought him down, then reversed her grip on her sword and stabbed him repeatedly in the chest.

They then ran frantically after the others, trying to catch them.

Some of the enemies did resist, tearing their cloaks and cutting into their gambesons. Fortunately, neither of them suffered a serious injury.

But there was no swordsmanship involved in any of this. They merely grabbed, yanked, shoved, and stabbed through brute force.

As a result, they failed to kill all of them. Four or five men continued running into the distance, and the gap grew too wide for them to pursue.

"Huff, huff, huff, huff..."

His clothes and hair disheveled, Kaspar stood holding his bloodstained sword and stared down at a dead man as he gasped for breath.

"What did you even do to be panting like that?"

Rickart’s voice pierced his ears. Kaspar flinched, then turned to look at him.

"I told you to handle that side, but you let five of them escape. If those bastards report what happened here to their main force, are you confident you can deal with the consequences?"

Rickart reprimanded them, but neither could properly process what anyone was saying. Perhaps because this was their first time fighting so many opponents, Kaspar and Yulia still hadn’t regained their senses.

"Search the bodies and the guard post. Take everything worth taking. You have one minute."

Rickart issued the order. Yet when the two continued standing there in a daze, he quietly began to speak.

"One, two, three, four..."

When he started counting, they finally came to their senses again and hurriedly moved. Kaspar ran to the guard post and searched the interior, while Yulia searched the bodies.

Rummaging through the clothes of people lying dead and bleeding was not particularly pleasant. Rings, in particular, were difficult to remove.

When Yulia wasted too much time trying to pull off a single ring, Rickart snatched away her sword and brought it down sharply on the dead man’s fingers. The fingers scattered across the ground.

He casually tossed the sword back to the startled Yulia and spoke coldly.

"One minute is up."

At that moment, Kaspar came running from the guard post with an armful of miscellaneous objects. Judging by his expression, every trace of his usual youthful arrogance and stubbornness had vanished. He looked half out of his mind.

"Throw away everything except money and valuables. It’ll slow you down. You only take the rest when you have time to spare."

At Rickart’s instruction, Kaspar dumped metal tableware, candlesticks, and similar objects onto the ground.

Afterward, the two merely stood there, unsure what they were supposed to do next. Rickart asked them a question.

"What will you do now?"

"Pardon?"

"I asked what you’re going to do. You said you wanted to save innocent people."

"W-well, perhaps we should contact the clan and ask for reinforcements..."

"And when exactly would you undergo your warrior’s training, then? Are kids like Volka and Bori supposed to take care of the real work while you go back to sparring against people your age with practice swords? Is that your plan? Feel good when you win, then swing your sword at empty air a little harder whenever you lose? And use that to brag or feel discouraged over whether you have talent?"

"...I don’t know. Please show us the way, Master."

When Rickart finally managed to make Kaspar call him Master, he grinned.

"Who says I’m your master? Isn’t Bori your master? Never mind. If the ones who escaped report to their main force, they’ll prepare for us. That leaves us with two choices. We can take the people here and get out as quickly as possible, or we can strike at the enemy’s heart before they’re ready."

The kind of battlefield judgment Rickart made as naturally as breathing was difficult for ordinary people—especially those without experience.

Perhaps that ability was even more important than handling a sword when it came to surviving real combat and achieving results.

Rickart repeated his original question.

"We’re out of time. What will you do?"

Kaspar and Yulia looked at each other. Though they were different genders, it was almost as if they were looking into a mirror. They felt the same confusion and fear, unable to decide what to do amid this sudden turn of events.

They had been recognized as talented among the clan’s disciples and chosen as the direct pupils of a Sword Master. They had even taken pride in believing that no one around their age could match them.

Even after setting out on their warrior’s journey, they had assumed that taking care of themselves wouldn’t be difficult and that they would avoid danger as long as they chose their opponents carefully.

But now that a true life-or-death "challenge" stood before them, they felt a strange competitive spirit alongside their fear.

Had they ever truly tested their own limits?

When they were thrust into that dangerous and difficult battle moments ago, none of their usual swordsmanship had emerged. Their minds had gone blank, leaving behind nothing but crude slashes.

In the end, to surpass their limits, they first had to experience those limits.

Now was the moment of choice.

Kaspar and Yulia exchanged a silent conversation through their eyes.

Should we do it?

Let’s do it.

I want to.

Each understood the other perfectly.

Kaspar steeled his gaze and looked at Rickart again.

This time, I can do better.

"We will attack the enemy."

"Good. But if anyone asks, answer them proudly."

"Answer what?"

"They asked who you were, and you were too scared to even give them your clan’s name."

"...I’m sorry. Next time, I’ll make sure to state our name proudly."

Kaspar lowered his head in embarrassment as he answered.

"Let’s go."

Leaning on his cane, Rickart began walking in the direction the enemies had fled. Their destination appeared to be the castle once used by the former lord.

After walking for several hours, they arrived after sunset. Since this was a rural region, the castle wasn’t large, and it was surrounded by a wooden palisade rather than brick walls.

There was one problem, however.

There were far too many enemies.

The castle was too small to hold all of them, so the grounds outside teemed with thugs and swordsmen who had been gathered together haphazardly. There appeared to be dozens of them at the very least.

Campfires flickered here and there. The vulgar laughter of prostitutes and the drunken shouting of revelers carried all the way to where Rickart stood.

Kaspar, who had confidently declared that they should attack the enemy, saw their numbers and began to think that this was a terrible idea.

A person’s resolve had a way of changing depending on the circumstances.

"Where do you think this Ringwald fellow is?"

"...Most likely inside the castle, wouldn’t you say? But I don’t think this is possible."

"Large numbers only make people more likely to lower their guard. They don’t seem to have any discipline, either. Hold your heads high and walk in confidently. Then no one will realize anything."

"How are we supposed to get back out?"

Yulia asked with wide eyes.

"Don’t let their numbers frighten you. Look at what kind of people they are. Do they seem like the sort who would risk their lives to avenge their leader after he dies? Shout confidently that I’ve executed Ringwald and tell them to clear the way. Of course, depending on the situation, we can always slip quietly through a rear gate if there is one."

Rickart did not appear to have much of a plan, either. On top of that, he had told them to look at what kind of men they were, but it was night and too dark to see their faces clearly.

Even so, he wasn’t entirely wrong. There was practically no discipline among them. They seemed interested only in drinking, carousing, and sleeping.

"It was the same during the day. If you’re frightened, your opponents will sense it like ghosts. Then even something that should work will fail. On the other hand, if you act shamelessly confident, you can make the impossible work. Understand?"

Kaspar and Yulia couldn’t answer.

But one could never transcend common sense while remaining bound by it.

Leaning on his cane, Rickart walked toward the castle. He passed through the loud, boisterous crowd and reached the castle, where even the gates had been left open.

Unless an army attacked, closing them would only make coming and going inconvenient, so they had left them that way.

When the three reached the narrow courtyard, the men guarding it spotted them and ordered them to stop.

"I’ve never seen you before. Who the hell are you?"

Rickart turned toward Kaspar and Yulia.

"Fill your stomachs with air and shout as loudly as you can."

"Pardon? Shout what?"

"You said you’d proudly identify yourselves if anyone asked who you were."

"Y-you want us to say it now?"

"When else are you going to say it? Are you going to keep disappointing me?"

Even so, this was too much. Announcing themselves in the middle of the enemy stronghold was insane. Kaspar looked ready to cry.

Surprisingly, Yulia decided to throw caution to the wind and shouted sharply.

"We’re from the Viola Clan!"

The man who had been eyeing the three suspiciously frowned and stared at them.

"What is it?"

"What’s going on?"

More enemies continued gathering around them. Perhaps because of the Viola Clan’s reputation, uneasy murmurs began spreading through the crowd.

Just then, a man emerged from the inner castle. He was tall and had short hair. Perhaps because he hadn’t slept properly in some time, his eyes were sunken and his cheeks hollow.

Yet his gaze was perfectly lucid—so lucid that it almost seemed filled with madness. No one needed to tell them that this man was Ringwald.

"Why has the Viola Clan come here?"

"W-well..."

Now that the leader had appeared before her, Yulia wilted beneath his presence. Kaspar was too busy glancing around to focus. They were completely surrounded.

How did I end up all the way in here?

Kaspar and Yulia looked like tiny birds encircled by a pack of wolves. As Rickart watched them, he decided it couldn’t be helped.

He wasn’t satisfied, but at the same time, he thought they had done well simply to make it this far. It seemed they were not yet ready to spread their wings and soar through the sky.

This was as far as he could push them.

And so, Rickart stepped forward himself.

"I’m Ricky of the Viola Clan. I heard that you killed the lord’s family who lived here and have been oppressing the people."

"Ricky? Ricky... Ah, I know you. The Red Cloak. Are you the man who was once famous as a genius swordsman? This isn’t the north, so what are you doing here?"

"North or not, do you admit that you committed serious crimes?"

"Well, why does your clan think it has any right to interfere in another family’s affairs?"

"Family affairs?"

"That’s right. I may be illegitimate, but my father’s blood still runs through my veins. Nobles have always killed their siblings and nephews to seize titles, haven’t they? Why shouldn’t I do the same?"

"There’s no reason you can’t. But you’re also the one who has to deal with the consequences."

"Consequences? It seems to me that you’re the one who’ll have to deal with them. Did you think I’d cower just because you’re from the Viola Clan?"

Ringwald spoke with a sinister smile.

Even more swordsmen had gathered around Rickart, Kaspar, and Yulia than before. All of them deliberately twisted their faces into vicious scowls and glared as though they intended to devour the intruders.

Rickart snorted.

"You gathered a horde of useless bastards around yourself and thought that made you safe. Even if I hadn’t come, it looks like your death was only a matter of time."

"Hahaha... Everyone dies eventually. So before that happens, you settle your grudges and fulfill your dreams. That’s all there is to it. Have you fulfilled your dream, Ricky?"

Ringwald spoke as though he had comprehended the meaning of life.

In reality, however, he was the most anxious person there. The long, dark circles beneath his eyes from sleepless nights were proof of that.

Rickart released his cane.

Then he slowly drew the sword at his waist.

Flames sprang forth as the blade emerged from its sheath. Golden fire burned brilliantly in the dark night, illuminating Rickart’s face from below.

Rickart stared at Ringwald with gleaming eyes.

"What you call a dream—I see beyond it."

A flash of golden lightning tore through the darkness of the night.

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