The Warrior’s Ballad

Chapter 52

As he slowly turned around to face Ricardt, it was none other than Steiner.

The head, separated from where it should be, opened its mouth and spoke as if still alive.

“What difference is there between you and me?”

“……”

“You’re far worse than I am. Compared to you, I’m nothing more than a mere minion of the devil King. Isn’t that right?”

“……”

“I simply never had them. A happy family, decent friends. The gods, the world didn’t allow it, so is that my fault?”

“……”

Ricardt wanted to open his mouth and say something, but no words would come out. The frustration was enough to drive him mad.

Steiner scoffed with a ‘Hmph’, then spoke one last time before walking off into some unknown depth of the abyss.

“Life is suffering, and reality is hell, my friend. I understand that much.”

Ricardt wanted to run after Steiner, grab him, and yell that they were different. But his arms and legs wouldn’t move, and his words were stuck in his throat.

Overwhelmed by the frustration, he struggled desperately, and with a scream, he jolted awake from the nightmare, sitting up abruptly.

But as soon as he woke, he felt someone’s head resting on his chest.

“Aagh!”

“Ah! You scared me!”

Instinctively, Ricardt reacted. He grabbed the unknown person’s hair, yanked it back, and reached for the dagger by his bedside, preparing to strike.

The tip of the dagger stopped just under Marie’s chin.

Ricardt, his eyes wide with shock, stared at Marie. Marie, her head pulled back, also looked back at him in surprise.

Their faces were close enough that they might as well have kissed. They could feel each other’s startled breaths.

Ricardt shuddered, quickly released her hair, and withdrew the dagger.

“S-Sorry.”

“N-No, it’s fine.”

Gathering his composure, Ricardt looked around. They were in a tent, and Boribori was asleep in the corner under a blanket, snoring soundly. Two of his fingers were wrapped tightly in bandages.

A damp towel lay on the floor nearby, likely one that had been placed on his forehead.

“You were groaning in your sleep, and I thought you might have a fever…”

Marie said, smoothing down her hair.

“Sorry. Really sorry. I had a bad dream. I’m usually not like this, I’m sorry.”

“……”

An awkward silence filled the air. Ricardt, feeling embarrassed, touched his forehead and picked up the damp towel.

“Thanks.”

“It’s nothing, we’re just helping each other.”

“Did you get some sleep?”

“Yeah…”

“You probably couldn’t sleep well because of me.”

“No, it’s okay…”

Ricardt was still feeling a bit out of it, when he suddenly noticed that his shirt was open in the front. Wait a second, wasn’t someone’s head resting on my chest just now?

“Well, um, it’s just… because I needed to listen to your heartbeat. It’s standard procedure for patients.”

Marie stammered, flustered.

Ricardt tilted his head, doubtful. Was there really such a thing?

“Is that so? Anyway, thank you. Try to get some rest. I feel wide awake now.”

“I-I’ve slept enough too. I’m fine.”

Ricardt couldn’t shake off his feelings of guilt and gratitude. Since he was fully awake anyway, he fixed his clothing and stepped outside the tent. The sky was already beginning to brighten.

He could see some members of the Widowmakers Clan keeping watch, while Volka and Delphi were sleeping in each other’s arms in a tent with closed entrance.

Surprisingly, there had been no casualties among their allies last night. Even the enemies had suffered less damage than expected. A quick look around the high ground revealed only about a dozen bodies.

Most of them had either pushed each other, mistakenly stabbed or slashed one another, or rolled down the slope and fatally hit their heads on the rocks.

The flames that had blazed throughout the night were now smoldering, releasing faint trails of smoke. Strangely, however, the enemies hadn’t fled far; they were still lingering around the Kaitz area, either sleeping or wandering about.

It was hard to understand. If they had been regular soldiers, they would have fled all the way back to their hometowns. But since they were adventurers, they didn’t seem all that shaken by defeat.

In fact, most of them didn’t even consider it a personal loss if the guild was the one that lost. That mindset was typical among lower-rank adventurers.

Only intermediate-level adventurers or above, those whose positions were closely tied to the guild’s success or failure, were truly affected by the guild’s fortune.

As the day began to brighten, Ricardt suddenly turned his head to look at the eastern horizon.

Though the sun hadn’t appeared yet, it was already making its presence felt, casting a faint blue glow from below the distant horizon.

Ricardt sat down and waited for the sun to rise. And beside him, Marie sat down too, gazing at the same spot.

Then, Ricardt felt something gently resting on his shoulder.

“If you’re going to lean, do it comfortably. You look exhausted.”

“Huh? Wh-what? Is it really okay?”

“You’re already leaning, so why ask?”

Ricardt let out a soft chuckle and gently wrapped his arm around Marie’s waist, pulling her closer.

Marie, surprised, nearly froze, but Ricardt held her head, guiding it to rest on his shoulder. Marie was terrified he might hear her heart racing.

Ricardt quietly watched the sunrise. Although the sun rose and set every day, the grand spectacle was somehow always deeply moving.

The sun peeked over the horizon, then slowly climbed up, stretching beams of light across the whole world in an instant. Who could ever hope to imitate such a sight?

With a humbled heart, Ricardt watched the dawn alongside Marie.

“Ricky.”

“Hmm?”

“You’re… never mind.”

“What?”

“Just saying, it’s nice being together.”

“Me too.”

The words exchanged were neither light nor heavy. But there seemed to be a slight disconnect in their hearts. Marie sensed this delicate difference. And so, she thought, This is enough as it is.

As time passed, people began to wake up one by one. Reinhardt, up early, went to relieve himself at the base of a rocky cliff. He had drunk so much alcohol that his stream went on for an impressively long time.

“Ahh, that’s refreshing.”

Volka, Delphi, and even Boribori woke up, and the five of them gathered around a campfire, having breakfast. As usual, it was potatoes, sweet potatoes, and smoked ham.

“Hey, last night was awesome. Honestly, I was a little scared, but it turned out to be nothing much.”

Volka said, handing a sweet potato to Delphi first. But Ricardt shook his head.

“This isn’t going to work.”

“Huh? Why? Didn’t you say it was doable?”

“The enemies aren’t retreating as much as I’d thought. In the long run, this isn’t good.”

“Can’t we just fight like we did yesterday?”

“No, we can’t. That was just a gamble, not a planned fight. When incidents happen, we can’t just act according to the situation each time. We might win once or twice, but if we keep relying on luck, eventually a single mistake could cost us everything.”

Since it was a chaotic battle between unorganized groups, even Ricardt couldn’t predict what might happen.

Though he analyzed and adapted to the situation based on his experiences from the past life, he wasn’t fixated on that knowledge alone. Guild wars were new to him as well, so he kept observing.

First of all, no one knew what kind of unexpected situations might occur. Without a proper commander, and even if there was one, adventurers rarely followed orders, anything could happen at any time.

Therefore, when a situation arises, the right judgment and actions must be taken to gain an advantage within that situation. However, with things progressing this way, the side with fewer people would inevitably be at a disadvantage.

“So what are we supposed to do? That pig doesn’t seem like the type to listen.”

Volka said, gesturing toward the defensive tower. Ricardt sighed through his nose before replying.

“For now, there shouldn’t be any immediate issues. The enemies took a heavy hit too. But in the long term, we’ll need support from headquarters. At the very least, headquarters should be informed about the situation here.”

Ricardt wanted to understand the overall dynamics of the battlefield. But for now, he couldn’t know for certain. He didn’t even know how the battle was progressing or if they truly had no allies.

“Who’s going to go?”

“You’re the only one who knows where headquarters is, Volka. Go with Delphi.”

“Will that be alright?”

Losing two people might not seem like a big deal, but it would actually make a significant difference in their combat strength. They had very few members to begin with, the Viola Clan only had five people. Plus, Boribori had injured fingers.

“Bori, are you okay?”

Ricardt asked, glancing at Boribori’s fingers.

“Yeah.”

“Don’t just say it, are you really okay?”

“I used a potion on them. It feels like a waste though.”

“Still, don’t move your fingers recklessly for at least three days.”

“Got it.”

Ricardt turned back to Volka and continued.

“Let’s do it this way. We’ll monitor the situation for a few days, and if it seems manageable, then you two can head to headquarters.”

“That sounds good.”

With this, the Viola Clan set their own course of action. It would be great if they could coordinate with the Widowmakers Clan, but Ricardt was concerned about whether they could actually communicate effectively.

When Ricardt approached Reinhardt to ask what he planned to do next, it seemed that Reinhardt, after seeing Ricardt in action the previous day, wasn’t his usual boisterous self. Instead, he mumbled awkwardly.

“I just… plan to keep holding this position…”

“But you attacked recklessly yesterday.”

“Well, that’s because those bastards were acting dishonorably.”

“So who’s going to guard the defensive tower?”

“Well, we defended it anyway, didn’t we?”

Ricardt was at a loss for words. Wow, what kind of logic was that?

But he had a clear realization. The very idea of trying to command adventurers according to his own will was flawed. Adventurers were not soldiers, and guilds and clans were not armies.

In any case, the Viola Clan decided on their independent course of action, and as for the Widowmakers, they would try to coordinate with them as best as possible on a case-by-case basis.

Ricardt observed the enemy from the high ground. They didn’t look anything like defeated stragglers. And it seemed they, too, were acting independently.

Some groups appeared to be moving with the intent of staying out of the conflict, while others seemed to be off gathering supplies.

Out of the roughly 80 people in the enemy force, about 40 had dispersed and were heading elsewhere.

A few individuals who seemed to be at the level of clan leaders or higher were gathered and conversing. Judging by the hand-waving and head-shaking, it appeared that they, too, were struggling to reach a consensus.

Around noon, a group of people suddenly began climbing up the high ground. It wasn’t as if they were following orders, they were just doing as they pleased.

“Hey! Red Cloak Ricky! Let’s have a duel!”

A towering, bare-chested man with a massive two-handed sword resting on his shoulder shouted out.

In terms of weapon classification, a ‘two-handed sword’ was even larger than a greatsword. In his previous life, Ricardt had used a greatsword.

The opponent’s sword was longer than Ricardt’s height, from the hilt to the tip. It looked quite intimidating at a glance.

But Ricardt dashed forward as if he had been waiting for this moment. In truth, Ricardt was just as prone to acting on his own whims.

Ricardt’s decision to step forward wasn’t about showing off or proving himself, it was based on a calculated judgment that killing a skilled enemy during a chaotic situation could be beneficial. This was not an act of bravado.

As Ricardt stepped up, unlike the previous day, the members of the Widowmakers Clan and his friends also came down. They scanned the surroundings thoroughly, keeping an eye out for any potential ambushes.

The enemies, seemingly understanding the intent behind this, designated a flat area on the high ground as the dueling site.

Ricardt’s opponent, perhaps attempting to intimidate him, spread his long arms wide, making his already towering figure appear even larger.

“I am Falk, the ‘Iron Horn’ of Tanburk!”

But Ricardt wasn’t one to be cowed by such antics. He simply drew his sword and tossed the scabbard towards his comrades.

“Viola Clan, Ricky.”

And so, the duel began. The man wielding the massive sword swung it in wide arcs, creating a large circle with each sweep, all the while cautiously measuring the distance.

Ricardt held his longsword in one hand, resting the flat of the blade on his shoulder. He didn’t take any specific stance; instead, he calmly walked around Falk, circling him.

As he subtly closed the distance, Falk, no novice himself, suddenly swung his enormous sword powerfully towards Ricardt.

Whoosh!

The sword was so massive that Ricardt could feel the wind pressure from its swing. The reach was beyond imagination, and the destructive power was formidable.

But Ricardt ducked low, almost grazing the ground with his upper body, and pressed forward towards his opponent. His sword rested on one shoulder, and his other hand braced against the ground.

Falk realized his attack had missed. However, due to his long reach, he managed to retreat quickly. But as Ricardt relentlessly closed the gap, Falk swung his massive leg in a kick.

At that moment, Ricardt planted his foot on the ground and swung his sword with full force.

Whoosh!

Thunk!

Falk’s knee was severed. He clenched his eyes shut in pain.

His body tipped to the side, and before his head even touched the ground, before he could even let out a scream, his neck was sliced through.

As soon as Ricardt had cut Falk’s leg, he’d immediately brought his sword up and struck. His skill with the blade was almost supernatural.

Whish!

Thud!

Thump.

The large man collapsed, blood spurting out as he lay there, missing one leg and his head. Ricardt rested his sword on his shoulder and scanned the enemies. His breathing remained steady, his inhale and exhale calm and controlled.

What was surprising, however, was that no one seemed particularly frightened. Most of them looked like they had just watched an impressive performance, some even looking as if they were about to applaud. To them, it was an entertaining show.

Just as nobles didn’t see it as their duty to die for their country, adventurers didn’t care much about others’ deaths unless they were in the same clan. They simply watched in admiration and curiosity.

However, a few individuals in the crowd observed Ricardt with a sharp, intense gaze.

Falk’s comrades approached and retrieved his body.

Ricardt, as if to ask if anyone else wanted to challenge him, walked slowly around, looking at the enemies. Seeing that no one else was stepping forward, he returned to the defensive tower.

The next day, another challenger requested a duel, and the day after that, yet another. It seemed that they were putting their heads together, analyzing Ricardt’s fighting style, and trying to find a way to counter it.

But every challenger met the same fate, they all died. Ricardt’s fighting style had no set pattern that could be easily broken down.

In fact, those who attempted to counter his swordsmanship in an awkward way often ended up unable to use their full strength and died without a proper fight.

But as the days passed, something astonishing happened. Civilians began gathering around Kaitz, and soon they settled down as if intending to stay.

The reason they came was simple: they wanted to watch the duels.

In an era where public executions were a form of entertainment, duels fought to the death became a rare spectacle for the people.

Ricardt had no idea what to make of this situation. Was this what guild wars were supposed to be like?

*****

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