The Warrior’s Ballad

Chapter 51

Some were filled with encouragement, some with anticipation, some with boundless curiosity, and some…

In Marie’s eyes, she saw Ricardt’s back. The boy who had stepped up for the duel was not trembling. Rather than courage, he seemed to have no lingering attachment to life. Strangely, that was the impression he gave.

The opponents had climbed to higher ground to watch the duel more closely. They were scattered here and there, but they were so close that it was almost concerning to see them approach without hesitation.

Despite this, the boy was completely unfazed, as if it didn’t matter whether a hundred or a thousand people came at him.

Between Ricardt and his opponent, Eberstein, was the red sun, slowly sinking over the distant ridge.

Because of this, Ricardt and his opponent each had one side of their bodies dyed red, while the other side was cast in shadow.

Who would make the first move? In a life-or-death duel, that was always the most crucial thing.

Just because one was skilled didn’t mean the fight would last long. In fact, most often, it was over in an instant.

In many cases, it ended with the first strike. Even if one side won, they might still get severely injured. Such was the nature of swordsmanship.

Therefore, those who engaged in life-or-death duels had to put all their skills, their entire lives, at the tip of their sword. Sometimes, even their very death.

The red sun sank lower and lower. The onlookers were starting to worry that it might get too dark before anything happened.

As the world slowly, gradually dimmed, there was a fleeting moment when it grew noticeably darker than before.

At that instant, Eberstein took a swift step forward. It was light and agile.

But his sword wouldn’t be swung until after that step. That was how all swordsmanship was. Otherwise, the power of the sword would be diminished.

So, Ricardt watched his opponent’s eyes, and simultaneously, he observed everything as a whole, shifting slightly to his right even before the opponent’s foot fully touched the ground.

But in that extremely brief moment, Ricardt felt something was off about the distance. In other words, the opponent’s attack lacked sincerity.

As the opponent’s foot touched the ground again, someone suddenly leapt out from behind a rock to the right. So that’s what they were aiming for.

The opponent’s foot hit the ground. Then, instead of clashing with each other, the two swords sliced through empty air.

Whoosh! Swish!

“Ricky!”

“The, there!”

People were taken aback. Pretending it was a one-on-one duel, only to aim for an ambush.

The person who suddenly appeared lunged at Ricardt. Ricardt quickly turned to face him. But the attack itself was a ruse.

The ambusher didn’t approach Ricardt completely; instead, he quickly circled around, flinging throwing knives with both hands in rapid succession—whoosh, whoosh, whoosh.

The knives were infused with mana. They looked as if they could pierce even an iron plate. Surely, with such tactics, he must have earned quite a reputation in the region.

The more terrifying part, however, was that the first knife was intended to force Ricardt to dodge, the second to block his escape route, and the third was the real threat. Such precision!

Indeed, Ricardt managed to avoid the first two knives but couldn’t evade the third.

Ricardt’s upper body twisted sharply, bending backward. From a distance, anyone watching would think he’d been struck by the knife.

“Ricky!”

His friends’ cries filled the air. However, the one closest to Ricardt at that moment was Eberstein. He quickly approached Ricardt to finish him off.

But what was this? Suddenly, a dagger’s tip appeared before his eyes. Ricardt had caught the third knife and thrown it back at him. Wait, is this even possible? No way!

Eberstein felt as if time had slowed down for a moment. But because he knew better than anyone that there was no way to dodge, all he could do was experience the prolonged agony of fear and despair in the face of death.

Thunk!

The dagger pierced directly into the center of Eberstein’s forehead. The blade sank in completely, leaving only the handle visible, reaching deep into his brain. The force behind the dagger caused his head to snap backward.

At that moment, the one who had been holding a dagger and was about to join in to kill Ricardt hesitated, thrown off by the unexpected turn of events. In his vision, Ricardt’s cloak spun like a top due to his swift movement.

The red cloak flared open roughly, and from beyond it, the tip of a sword thrust out toward him.

“Urgh!”

In a situation he hadn’t anticipated even in his dreams, his steps stumbled, and he staggered as if he were about to fall backward. In the end, all he could do was throw his hands forward in a futile attempt to block.

Ricardt’s sword pierced through his palm and continued forward, stabbing precisely through his throat.

“Guh!”

Without bothering to confirm the man’s death, Ricardt immediately pulled his sword out, swinging it in the air to shake off the blood.

Then, with one hand, he flicked his slightly disheveled cloak back, glancing left and right as if to check if anyone else would dare to attack.

On the ground lay two corpses sprawled out, and despite the unexpected ambush, Ricardt had killed both skilled opponents without a hint of hesitation. He didn’t even bother to flaunt his victory.

Both enemies and allies alike couldn’t help but admire him. Not even a well-rehearsed stunt could look this flawless. It was truly the pinnacle of skill.

“Wow…”

Even Ricardt’s friends, who had been rushing to help him, stopped in their tracks, staring blankly. What just happened?

But there was another problem, and that was Reinhardt, the leader of the Widowmakers Clan.

“Those cowardly fucking bastards!”

Outraged by the cowardly ambush attempted during what was supposed to be a sacred duel, he dragged his massive club along the ground as he descended the slope.

Although the ground didn’t actually shake, his enormous stature and the way he stomped down made it feel as if it did.

“Hey, you dirty bastards! You call yourselves men!? Don’t you feel any shame!? Huh!? What are you looking at, you sons of bitches!”

The sun had already set, and the surroundings were dim, but his voice was so loud that his presence was impossible to ignore. And as their leader stepped forward, his subordinates followed him down in a group.

Ricardt was momentarily taken aback. Wait, this isn’t right. Who’s going to guard the watchtower?

Just then, several people started charging toward Ricardt. They were ones who harbored the foolish dream that if they killed him, they could take the vacant position among the Empire’s Nine Swords for themselves.

But because each of them had that thought, they weren’t allies—they were competitors.

“Get out of my way! Move!”

“I’m first!”

Ricardt quickly scanned his surroundings once more, then rushed forward to meet them instead. He moved along the outskirts, swinging his sword under the faint light of dusk.

Whoosh!

The sound of cutting through air was heard as Ricardt’s sword clashed with an opponent’s weapon. His opponent’s weapon sliced through empty space, while Ricardt’s sword cut through the tendons under his opponent’s armpit.

The opponent’s arm didn’t come off completely but dangled loosely.

“Aaargh!”

At this point, the enemies, in a desperate frenzy, started charging recklessly, and soon got tangled up with each other.

At that moment, Reinhardt, who had been thundering down the hill, swung his massive club and crushed one of the enemies to pieces.

“You shameless bastards!”

Wham!

With an overwhelming weight, he crushed through the enemy’s armor and weapons alike. After killing one enemy, he swung his club left and right with booming force.

To an outsider, it looked like he was just swinging wildly, but his strikes were so powerful that none of the enemies dared to come close.

At that moment, Reinhardt’s subordinates charged at the retreating enemies.

“You fucking bastards!”

“Get lost if you don’t want your wives to become widows!”

“Long live the Widowmakers!”

The members of the Beringen Guild were vastly outnumbered compared to their enemies, but with the chaotic situation and the dim evening light, it was impossible to tell what was going on.

Among the hundred or so enemies, some were attacking Ricardt, some were fleeing from the Widowmakers Clan, and others were standing back, merely watching from a distance.

The most outrageous sight was those who were looting gear off their fallen allies’ corpses. Perhaps they didn’t care who won or lost this guild war and just wanted to make some quick cash.

It was complete mayhem, with everyone doing whatever they pleased. It wasn’t so much a battle as a brawl between people wielding blades.

In the midst of it, a few sharp-witted enemies tried to take advantage of the chaos to capture the watchtower.

Despite the difficulty of discerning anything in the confusion, Ricardt accurately picked up on their movements.

The enemies charging at him were so tangled up with each other that they couldn’t properly attack him, so he didn’t have to worry about them.

However, the enemies rushing up the slope toward the watchtower were a clear threat.

“I’m fine! Defend the watchtower!”

Honestly, Ricardt didn’t even know where his friends were. The sun had set before he realized it, and darkness quickly enveloped the surroundings.

Amid the confusion, Ricardt quickly assessed the battlefield. It was too late to hold Reinhardt back, and trying to defend the watchtower by going back was also out of the question.

So, he simply charged toward the enemies. With darkness surrounding him, he swung his sword in all directions, cutting wherever he could. Arms were severed, sides were slashed, and necks were sliced.

The enemies couldn’t tell friend from foe, nor did they know who was cutting them down.

“Fuck!”

“Aaaaaah!”

“Who is it! Get out of the way!”

In the midst of this, Ricardt broke through the enemies and dashed down toward the lower slopes.

Meanwhile, even amidst the noise, Boribori distinctly picked up Ricardt’s voice. So he stood firmly blocking the narrow path leading to the defense tower to protect it.

Boribori’s weakness was that since his swordsmanship was based on writing characters, his steps weren’t agile and thus he had to be conservative in utilizing space.

But in a stationary fight, he was truly formidable.

Sure enough, as the enemies charged toward him, he swung his sword at high speed. His mana-infused blade left dark trails, even blacker than the night.

With rapid whips and thuds, the sound was like that of a butcher chopping and slicing meat.

Heads and limbs dropped in front of Boribori, one after another.

He calmly stepped back, swinging his sword, and the enemies, oblivious to the dismembered bodies at his feet, tripped over the severed limbs and tumbled to the ground.

“Boribori! Boribori the ‘Five Body Part Slicer’!”

Someone shouted, and while he hated how people came up with nicknames like this, there was nothing he could do about it—it was a name others had given him.

However, there was a problem. He could handle enemies charging directly at him, but those keeping their distance and throwing iron balls or nets were a different story.

Despite appearances, these were people who each had a certain reputation in their own regions, so their skills with various weapons were far from amateur.

One of the iron balls struck Boribori’s fingers, which was gripping his sword.

Crack!

“Ugh!”

His right index and middle fingers broke simultaneously. Boribori clenched his teeth, gripping his sword tightly with the remaining fingers on his other hand to avoid dropping it. But in this state, he couldn’t wield his full strength.

“Bori!”

It was Marie’s voice. He couldn’t see her because of the enemies obstructing his view. She was probably beyond them.

“I’m fine!”

He shouted that he was fine, even though he wasn’t. Letting his allies know he was still alive was necessary to prevent them from losing morale. Besides, it wasn’t a fatal wound—if he clenched his teeth and kept fighting, he could somehow hold out.

Clang! Clang! Clash!

The sound of clashing blades rang out, both nearby and in the distance. Occasionally, the screams of those dying could be heard.

His breathing became labored, and all around in the darkened night, lights flickered like fireflies.

Those lights were the traces left by people skilled enough to wield mana in combat. Though they might not be Sword Masters, they were at least capable of infusing their weapons with mana.

Around these skilled fighters, the chaos seemed to be settling somewhat, and among them was Marie.

As she struck the defenseless backs of the enemies attempting to climb the watchtower, they began to scatter to the sides.

Without a solid strategy in place and lacking strong resolve, the enemies, realizing they were losing, dispersed in all directions and scrambled down the slope.

In the narrow path, dismembered corpses were piled up to the knees, and Marie barely managed to join up with Boribori.

“Are you okay?”

“My, my fingers are a bit… What about Ricky?”

“I don’t know…”

“He’ll be fine.”

Boribori spoke with conviction. Marie found it remarkable how he could be so confident, but there were more urgent matters to deal with right now.

“Let’s do some first aid first.”

“Alright.”

The two of them started walking toward the watchtower. But at that moment, flames suddenly flared up from below the high ground. Both of them instinctively whipped their heads in that direction.

It was Ricardt who had set the fire. In the midst of the chaotic battle, he took what he considered the best course of action in that situation.

Since friend and foe were indistinguishable anyway, Ricardt had charged into the enemy camp and set their supplies on fire.

He ambushed those enemies who had stayed far from the fight, thinking they’d be safe in their makeshift base, killed them, and then set everything ablaze using nearby campfires and torches.

The fire quickly grew, illuminating the Kaitz high ground in place of the sun. The eerie, reddish glow reached halfway up the slope, casting light on the chaotic battlefield that had been hidden in darkness.

The enemies fighting on the high ground were hit hard psychologically by the sudden flames. Regardless of how many of them there were, the thought flashed through their minds that they now had no way to retreat.

Moreover, the majority of the corpses strewn around were, by all appearances, their own allies. If it had been darker, they might not have noticed, but seeing it so clearly made them suddenly fearful. Are we losing?

And there, Ricardt was making his way back up the high ground, sword in hand. He didn’t run; he was climbing slowly.

What was astounding was that he wasn’t retreating into the shadows after his surprise attack, but instead, he was boldly advancing upward, in full view of the numerous enemies.

His crimson cloak billowed behind him, making him look even larger. The shadow beneath his feet expanded like a giant’s and wavered with each step.

Ricardt’s breaths were rough and heavy. He was calculating, like a machine, how many more enemies he could kill with the strength he had left. Dozens of strategies flashed through his mind in response.

That guy is clumsy, that one has some skill, that one’s nearly out of stamina, if I maneuver to the right, I can take advantage of the flank… Thoughts like these spun rapidly in his head.

Moreover, the enemies’ weapons, their condition, all these things entered his mind and were processed even without conscious effort.

Ricardt looked at his enemies with eyes that weren’t filled with fear, courage, or madness, but rather with a deep, calculating focus.

To the eyes of those standing in stunned silence, watching Ricardt, he no longer looked human. There was an inexplicable aura emanating from him. This bastard… he’s not human.

Then, one person broke and ran. With that as the trigger, the others followed suit, fleeing without a second thought.

As Ricardt continued climbing the high ground, he stopped and looked around as the enemies in front of him scattered. He seemed to be surveying the scene, turning his head to take it all in.

Corpses lay scattered around him, and the terrifying blaze below illuminated Ricardt.

As if it were a staged scene, it was incredibly frightening to those watching from afar. His giant shadow dancing as if in joy.

There were the dead lying on the ground, the ones who had fled, and Ricardt, standing there alone. The contrast was stark.

From a distance, Reinhardt also watched Ricardt. He too was nearly drenched in the blood of his enemies, yet seeing Ricardt’s figure reminded him of the first time he’d laid eyes on Steiner.

In this world, there are beings who walk among us that are not human. A human cannot kill a monster. Only another monster can kill a monster. That was Reinhardt’s belief.

In the end, the boy with the crimson cloak wasn’t human either.

But in Ricardt’s eyes, the scenery around him felt familiar. No, it was a landscape he’d known well, one he’d almost forgotten.

Fire and steel, blood, and death. All of it was vivid before his eyes, and he could smell it, too. Past and present overlapped in his vision.

Perhaps because of his exhaustion, Ricardt’s hearing felt muffled. He could barely make out other sounds; all he could hear was the loud beat of his heart and his heavy breathing.

It felt as if a hand had suddenly reached out from the abyss, grabbing his ankle and pulling him down. Down into deep waters, or perhaps… back into the past.

*****

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