The Warrior’s Ballad

In winter, horrific tales too gruesome to put into words crawled across the snowy plains. Stories like a mother eating her baby because she couldn’t bear the hunger or people digging up graves to eat the corpses.

There was no real need to worry about wild beasts during winter journeys, because it was the season when people turned into beasts.

The snow-covered plains had messy tracks of wheels and footprints scattered along the path. The ground, frozen solid, had become jagged and sharp.

And there, by the roadside, was a half-broken carriage leaning to one side. Around it were corpses strewn across the ground. One body in the distance was missing its head.

The snow had stopped for a while, and the cold sunlight shone down in the morning. Ricardt and Boribori stood still, quietly staring at the scene left in the aftermath of something terrible. The vast snowy plains sparkled under the sunlight, and with every breath the two boys took, white mist puffed from their mouths.

In weather where one could freeze to death after spending just one night outside, there was no chance of survivors. Here and there in the snow field, holes could be seen where blood had melted through.

One bit of relief, if it could be called that, was that the flesh of the corpses hadn’t been cut off and taken. It was uncertain whether to be thankful that things hadn’t degenerated to that level yet.

What was puzzling, though, was that if food or money had been the target, the equipment would have been stripped from the bodies. But the corpses were still armed. Even as scrap metal, the gear would have fetched a decent price.

But there was something more surprising than the puzzling details.

“This is quite amazing.”

Ricardt, who had been examining the scene, spoke up.

“Huh?”

“There was only one person. The one who attacked. Looking at the cuts and footprints, you can tell.”

Ricardt said this while touching a deep, sharp gash on the carriage.

Ricardt originally had an uncanny eye for detail, and thanks to his experiences from his past life, he had a remarkably sharp ability to deduce an enemy’s strength by just looking at a scene.

It was this ability that had allowed him to gain a tactical advantage, even when faced with an unexpected ambush in a previous mission.

In this case, it was clear from the scene how that one person had killed all the people.

It was as if the chaotic sounds of the battlefield still echoed in his ears. The clash of blades, the desperate screams, the terror, the wails of agony.

People who had been killed before they could even take a few steps, others who had been dragged back while trying to flee, people with their heads split in two…

There were almost no other injuries on the corpses. This meant each person had been killed in one strike. And most of them had their heads split open. It seemed like the attacker had used a battle axe, not a sword.

“Well… but there are more than ten bodies here. And most of them are armed.”

“Exactly, that’s what’s so amazing.”

“Then isn’t this place dangerous?”

“No, it’s not. This is like a predator’s hunt. Once it’s caught its prey, it won’t come back.”

Ricardt said this while looking at the headless body in the distance. It seemed the attacker hadn’t come for money but specifically for that head.

If the attacker had come for money, they wouldn’t have come alone, and they wouldn’t have left valuable items behind. It might have been a revenge killing. But Ricardt couldn’t be sure about that.

Ricardt inspected the interior of the broken, tilted carriage. Inside was the body of an unknown noblewoman, but her clothes hadn’t been stripped off. There were no signs of sexual assault.

And unlike the other corpses, a dagger was stuck in her chest. She had been killed by a stab to the heart. This method was not easy to pull off, as it required avoiding the ribs and hitting the heart in one clean strike.

It felt as if the killer had respected her honor even in death. Or perhaps there was some other special meaning behind it.

Who could have done this, and for what reason? As Ricardt thought about it, he felt an odd sense of déjà vu for some reason.

In any case, they couldn’t stay long. They had a destination, and lingering here wasn’t an option. Ricardt and Boribori rummaged through the bodies and the carriage.

They managed to scavenge a few coins, some hard bread, and pieces of jerky. Was that luck?

After wrapping those items in paper and putting them into their bag, they left the grim scene of the attack behind and continued their journey. If they didn’t reach their destination before sunset, it would be quite a difficult situation.

They had departed from Beringen in the dark hours of dawn, and if they kept a steady pace, they could reach the place called “Anna’s Loss” by early evening. Fortunately, there was no snow, so they could walk at a quicker pace.

Boribori kept up better than expected. Considering that he had once made a long journey alone to reach the academy, it was clear that despite being a bit naive, he had quite a tenacious side to him.

As for his lack of strength, that was relative. With the advancement of his Mana Drive techniques, Boribori was actually becoming stronger, almost like a powerhouse.

The two boys in dark brown and red cloaks walked across the snowy field along the southwest road.

By the time the sun began to set, a blizzard started to blow again. Fortunately, they managed to reach a large building on the side of the road.

It was a two-story building well-equipped enough to have a separate stable attached, though it was empty, and white smoke was rising from the chimney.

There was a conspicuous, sword-like gash on the wall, as if someone had carved graffiti into it, spelling out the name “Anna’s Loss”.

Ricardt, with a sword slung over one shoulder, opened the door and entered the tavern. A wave of warmth greeted him, but so did an awful stench.

Inside the tavern, it was filled with people who, at a glance, looked like the worst kind of scum. It seemed like the place had gathered all the criminals from the northeastern region.

One man had a cloudy eye like cataracts, another with a few yellow teeth remaining, some with unkempt beards, missing fingers, and faces covered in scars and grime.

All expressed the worst possible states a human could reach, each in their own unique way.

As Ricardt and Boribori opened the door, the people inside turned to look at them. Not everyone, though—some were already passed out drunk, lying haphazardly on the dirty tavern floor.

“Close the door, it’s cold.”

Someone grumbled. The smell of their breath reached Ricardt, making him squeeze his eyes shut for a moment. But he had a job to do, so he closed the door and stepped into the unpleasant space.

The crowd seemed curious about why young boys like Ricardt and Boribori were here, but they didn’t pay much attention. The boys were armed, and no one could cause trouble in this place.

This was because the tavern was under the control of the Arisen Brotherhood, a thieves’ guild, and served as a neutral zone. Causing trouble here meant turning the entire thieves’ guild against you. Even the roughest criminals knew when to pick their fights—they would settle disputes outside if they had any.

Ricardt walked up to the bar. The bartender, however, was more focused on drinking than serving the patrons. He drank straight from the bottle, laughing and flirting with a cheap prostitute.

Ricardt placed a golden cloak pin on the bar and said,

“Dunkel sent me.”

At that, the bartender, who had been ignoring them and carrying on, glanced down at the golden pin lying on the bar.

The pin, crafted with meticulous craftsmanship, was not something that could be easily forged. Only then did the bartender properly look at Ricardt.

After looking back and forth between the cloak pin and Ricardt’s face a few times, he snapped at the prostitute who kept talking without reading the atmosphere.

“Hey, shut up and get lost.”

“Tch! Asshole.”

The prostitute pouted and glared at the bartender before walking away. The bartender, however, paid her no mind and looked back at Ricardt.

“What’s this about?”

“It’s about the Ernburg Five…”

“Shut the fuck up.”

The bartender cut Ricardt off as soon as he mentioned it. He slammed the bottle down, shook his head violently, and slapped both of his cheeks.

Then, as if calming his panicked heart, he took a few deep breaths, exhaling loudly before speaking again.

“So where’s the person who’s ‘doing the job’?”

The bartender seemed to think Ricardt was just an errand boy.

“I’m the person ‘doing the job’.”

“…What? Don’t fuck with me. Do I look like a complete idiot to you?”

“Well, you look more like dog shit.”

As the bartender’s words became harsher, Ricardt responded in kind. The bartender was infuriated, but seeing Ricardt’s nonchalant gaze, he sensed something was off.

Suddenly, something clicked in his mind.

“Are you… Ricky the Severer?”

“That’s right.”

The bartender took another close look at Ricardt’s appearance. His blond hair barely covered his ears, and his hazel eyes glimmered beneath it. He wore a winter gambeson with a red cloak draped over his shoulders, and a longsword casually slung over one shoulder.

His not-yet fully grown frame was what bothered the bartender.

“No way… even if you are, Dunkel, that bastard. Really… Look, I’ve heard you’re a rare genius with the sword, but this isn’t the job for you. Go back.”

Ricardt blinked in surprise. This wasn’t how he expected things to go. He had assumed that since Dunkel had given his approval, the task was his to complete, but it seemed that wasn’t the case. Had Dunkel sent him here without the real intention of entrusting him with the job? Was it all just a trick?

That was unknowable. Unless he went back and confronted Dunkel about it. But they had walked all day to get here.

Unsure of what to do, Ricardt looked back at Boribori, who only shrugged. It wasn’t like Boribori had any better ideas.

“They said skilled adventurers are too well-known, so it’d be better if a student took on the task.”

“I understand what you’re saying, but no means no. It’s nighttime now, so just get some rest and…”

The bartender, who was also a member of the thieves’ guild, didn’t get to finish his sentence. The door to the tavern suddenly swung open with a crash.

Bang!

Ricardt and the others inside turned to see what had caused the commotion. A large man stood in the doorway, while the blizzard from outside rushed in behind him, swirling violently into the room.

Whoooooosh…!

The man was wearing a Nordic-style nasal helmet, with a black cloth covering the lower half of his face, obscuring his features.

(TL: Nasal Helmet)

He was dressed in scale armor and wore a thick apron-like garment over it. His hands were gloved in tough leather, and a leather belt crossed his waist and chest. A rope was tied to his left hip, while a one-handed battle axe hung on his right. He also carried a heavy, blood-stained sack.

The scale armor only extended to his elbows, revealing his thick, log-like forearms, which were covered in scars.

He was breathing heavily, almost as if he had difficulty breathing, and he swept his gaze across the tavern. Through the slits of his helmet, his blue eyes gleamed with a predatory glint.

“Close the door, it’s cold,” someone muttered. But the man ignored the comment, walking steadily into the tavern.

In his hand, he held a crumpled piece of paper. He seemed to compare someone in the room to the paper for a moment, then casually tossed it aside. The paper turned out to be a wanted poster.

Suddenly, one of the rough-looking patrons inside the tavern, who had been trembling with fear, let out a shout. That was the trigger.

“…Fuck!”

Swish! Crack!

The man immediately drew his axe and swung it, splitting someone’s head in an instant. The person whose head had been cleaved collapsed to the floor, his body convulsing before going still.

People leapt up in shock, scrambling to their feet. The drunks lying haphazardly on the tavern floor were trampled, and more than a few people tripped over them as they tried to escape.

Tables and chairs flipped over, while dice, coins, and cups used for gambling clattered to the ground. The tavern descended into chaos in the blink of an eye.

“You bastard!”

There were quite a few people in the tavern who could handle themselves in a fight. They drew their weapons and charged at the man. And the man fought like a true beast.

Whoosh! Thwack! Whizz! Clang! Crack! Swoosh!

He didn’t even bother with minor cuts, letting his armor absorb them. His fists, like iron, crushed faces, and each swing of his heavy axe split heads without fail. He kicked, stomped, and kneed his way through the crowd.

Bones shattered, broke, and splintered as flesh was torn apart, chunks of torn flesh hitting the floor with sickening splats.

In an instant, the chaos was over. The floor was soaked in blood, and twisted bodies lay strewn about.

The man stood in the middle of it all, his shoulders heaving as he took deep, raspy breaths.

“Ugh…”

Whoosh! Thud!

The man swung his axe down on the neck of someone who had been groaning on the floor. Grabbing the severed head by the hair, he began walking towards Ricardt. With every step, bloody footprints marked the floor, and blood dripped steadily from the severed neck in his hand.

Standing near Ricardt was the cheap prostitute, trembling uncontrollably, too scared to even scream. Urine trickled down her legs and pooled on the floor beneath her.

The bartender, who had been talking with Ricardt, collapsed to the floor in fear as the man approached. He trembled, overwhelmed by terror.

Causing a scene in this tavern meant going against the thieves’ guild, didn’t it? But the man seemed completely unconcerned with such rules or codes.

Ricardt simply stood there, silently watching the man. The man glanced at Ricardt briefly before immediately turning his attention elsewhere, not giving him a second thought. As the man drew closer, his raspy breathing grew even louder.

He grabbed a bottle of alcohol from the bar and poured it over the cuts and scratches on his forearms. Then, with a careless toss, he discarded the bottle onto the floor.

Clang!

The man stuffed the severed head into the empty sack he carried and walked out of the tavern, his footsteps heavy. Most of the people inside had huddled into corners, watching him with trembling fear.

“Na, Nameless, Nameless X…”

The bartender, still sitting on the floor, mumbled under his breath. Nameless X was a notorious bounty hunter and one of the Empire’s Nine Swords. But why was he here?

“It must be freezing outside…”

Boribori muttered to himself.

Ricardt was now certain that this man had been the one who attacked the carriage they had seen earlier in the day. There was something about him that reminded Ricardt of his past life, something that made him feel a strange pull, like a magnet.

“Let’s follow him.”

“Huh?”

“I said, let’s follow him. It doesn’t seem like they’ll give us any information if we stay here anyway.”

“But it’s freezing outside.”

“We have no choice.”

“Alright, let’s go.”

“Grab a lantern before we leave.”

“Okay.”

Boribori grabbed a lantern from the tavern without asking for permission.

The two boys then walked towards the entrance, where the blizzard was still raging. As they left, they made sure to close the door behind them.

Clunk.

The inside of the tavern fell silent again, though it was now in utter disarray.

No one dared to make a sound, and the only noise that echoed through the room was the soft drip, drip of blood falling from the edge of a table.