The Warrior’s Ballad
Chapter 88.2

Translator: Willia

Their reputations were already widespread, and recently, Marie’s name had soared in renown. Ever since the Emperor’s assassination, she had left a deep impression on people. Rumors had even begun calling her the 'Witch of the Sword'.

She was also the first female Sword Master among women swordsmen. This made Marie an idol for many female adventurers.

Even Volka didn’t treat these four in a hierarchical manner, unlike ordinary adventurers, he managed them loosely.

And when it came down to it, this four-man team was far more terrifying than Ernburg five of the past.

Perhaps they were able to stay friends precisely because they were so overwhelmingly strong.

"But do you need headquarters’ permission for this?"

"Why would I ask permission for revenge? I’ll inform them, though."

"…Is that really the right move?"

"If it’s necessary, I’ll even break away from headquarters."

"Huh… why?"

"It’s hard to explain, but… I feel like you don’t last long under someone else’s command."

It seemed that Volka had his own struggles as well. Though he no longer rushed into battle as before, managing an organization was no easy task either.

Perhaps it had been simpler back when he could just take on whatever jobs were given to him without thinking too much. Now, as a man responsible for many people and their families, his burdens were evident.

He had his own path to follow. Watching Volka, Ricardt suddenly recalled when he was ten years old.

At ten, his life had reached a turning point, and he had parted ways with his brother. Now, at this age, it felt like friends were beginning to take different paths as well.

But it wasn’t because of any falling out. It just happened naturally.

Would he eventually find himself walking the path of life alone? No, there was Marie. Maybe Volka was right, it was time to start being more cautious? He wasn’t sure. Life was difficult to figure out.

Ricardt sat down beside Volka, who had his head lowered, and spoke.

"Give me a drink too."

"Hmm?"

"I learned to drink from my brother when I visited home. It didn’t taste great, but it was bearable."

"Yeah? Don’t tell me you drank wine?"

"How did you know?"

"Because nobles always insist on drinking wine, no matter what. Even though it tastes awful. There’s a saying, ‘The north drinks beer, the south drinks wine.’ Let me teach you properly."

For the first time in a while, a boyish glimmer returned to Volka’s deadened eyes. Teaching a clueless friend about alcohol, it was fun.

"How about Delphi? When’s the wedding?"

"Marriage? All we have to do is swear an oath before a priest, so we could do it anytime."

"Do you still love her?"

"Love? What love?! Hey! This is all about loyalty!"

"Delphi would be disappointed if she heard that."

"You really don’t know much except for swinging a sword, huh? Alright, I’ve decided. Today, I’m going to properly educate you. About alcohol and women."

Volka spoke with exasperation, while Ricardt just grinned.

One drink, then another. The sour-smelling beer went down their throats. The more they drank, the easier the conversation flowed. They burst into laughter over the most trivial things.

This was the best part of having friends. Even meaningless chatter felt fulfilling.

Ignoring reality wasn’t good, but sometimes, it was necessary to look away and clear one’s mind. That was the essence of alcohol. Drinking with friends made it taste twice as good.

The further a noble was from Nibelungen, the more indifferent they were about the Emperor’s death. Simply put, they thought, What does the Emperor’s death have to do with me?

However, they couldn’t completely escape the aftermath of the event. Like an earthquake spreading from its epicenter, the chaos rippled outward, triggering peasant uprisings everywhere.

Peasant revolts had existed for a long time, sometimes small-scale, sometimes massive. But what made this time different was that it seemed to be led by an organized force.

In any case, even in ordinary times, stepping outside of populated areas was dangerous. Now, it was even more so.

Bandits didn’t go around with ‘bandit’ written on their foreheads. They weren’t born that way.

It was simply a matter of timing and opportunity, anyone could become a bandit in these times.

Knights, soldiers, retired veterans, mercenaries, adventurers, merchants, even simple farmers and woodcutters.

When encountering people on the road, one had to be careful not to appear weak. Bandits only targeted those who seemed easy to rob, they didn’t just attack anyone.

Because of this, the weak and defenseless flocked to the safety of a lord’s castle or the Adventurers’ Guild, even in the midst of all the turmoil.

Most of them were women, children, and the elderly who had lost their providers, believing those places to be their safest refuge.

The Rubens Guild was profiting off these people. They charged them for shelter, forced women into prostitution, dragged the elderly into hard labor to steal their wages, and even sold children.

In a way, one could argue they were "making good use" of these otherwise "useless" people. But with the Emperor dead, they too had lost all restraint.

Adventurers used to take pride in at least maintaining a façade of lawfulness. But now, they no longer cared. They did whatever they pleased without fear of consequences.

In truth, the Rubens Guild had been desperate to recover their losses after being outcompeted by the Beringen Guild and suffering multiple setbacks at Ricardt’s hands.

As a result, they had become even more ruthless, merciless, and frenzied. Strangely enough, even those who hadn’t been cruel before often became addicted to brutality once they started committing such acts.

Southwest of Beringen City, west of Griffinswald, and north of Reinfurt, there was a small town known for its vast reed fields.

The town, called Zell, had no significant trade. It was merely a place where surplus crops from nearby rural areas were bought and sold.

But now, it had become overrun with refugees, or rather, people who had nowhere else to go. They clustered around the city, building makeshift huts and pitching tents.

Among them, only about one in ten was an adult man. The rest were women, the elderly, or children.

Rural women, their faces hastily powdered, stood outside their tents trying to lure in customers, but with so few men around, business was slow.

In the end, they had given up on enticing customers, sitting slumped with dejected expressions. Even after resorting to selling their bodies as a last means of survival, there was no one left to buy. A tragedy in its purest form.

And then, on that desolate autumn day, four outsiders appeared. Three were tall, and one was short.

They were all draped in long cloaks with their hoods pulled deep over their faces, concealing their features. But judging by their builds, they were men.

Among them, one stood out in particular, he was wearing a red cloak.

"Uh... Excuse me, brothers? No, princes? How about taking a look over here?"

"H-Hey! I-I'll make sure you have a great time! Really..."

"Please, just a moment. My child is starving. I beg you."

They weren’t professional prostitutes, so their attempts to solicit customers were clumsy. Some weren’t even trying to sell themselves, it was closer to begging.

However, the four men showed no interest in the women. Instead, they glanced up briefly and scanned their surroundings. Their attention wasn’t on the desperate women but on a group of six adventurers near the brothel district.

Those adventurers, too, were watching the newcomers closely, considering whether they might be worth robbing.

Anyone could tell this was a dangerous situation, yet the four men strode toward them without hesitation.

Sensing something unusual, the Rubens Guild adventurers instinctively placed their hands on their sword hilts and raised their palms forward in a warning gesture.

"Hey, stop. Don’t come any closer."

At that, the man in the red cloak halted at a reasonable distance.

"Who are you? What business do you have here?"

"You don’t know who we are? We’re from the Rubens Guild. We have a hundred swordsmen behind us. You’d better not do anything foolish."

Then, the man in the red cloak, who had been silent until now, reached up and pulled back his hood.

Under the autumn sunlight, golden hair gleamed.

It was Ricardt.

With an indifferent gaze, he leisurely took in the surroundings before speaking to the Rubens Guild adventurers.

"My lungs aren’t in great shape because of you lot, so I can’t waste my breath talking too much. I’ll spare one of you. You decide who lives and who dies."

No response.

A heavy silence settled over them. The only sound was the rustling of the nearby reeds as the wind swept through them.

Reeds, taller than a person, never grew alone. They clustered together in great numbers, flourishing along riversides and wetlands.

The feathery white plumes at their tips bent gently, as if bowing their heads. When the wind blew, they swayed in whichever direction it carried them.

They had no unyielding spirit, yet they remained composed through even the harshest storms. There was a certain dignity in that.

At times, they seemed to embody the human heart. Or perhaps they resembled those who had grown so accustomed to misery that they simply drifted along, powerless to resist.

The people living by the reed fields were like that. Helpless in the face of relentless violence, yet they endured.

But among them, among the reeds, stood those who did not belong.

It was as if a predator had emerged from its hiding place within the reeds.

"So, who’s going to do it?"

Boribori spoke.

"It’s the first time, so we need to make an impression. Bori, you do it."

"...I get that we need to make an impression, but why me?"

"Marie, cover that side. Ice, take the other."

Ricardt ignored Boribori’s question and issued orders openly in front of their opponents.

There were six adventurers from Rubens Guild, while Ricardt’s group had fewer numbers. Yet, they spread out, ensuring their enemies had no chance to escape.

The adventurers guarding this brothel-that-wasn’t-really-a-brothel were both baffled and uneasy.

Some scowled, trying to look as intimidating as possible. Others forced a hardened expression to hide their fear. A few simply found Ricardt’s group insolent. Each of the six reacted differently.

"What the hell is this? What do you think you’re doing?"

"Where are you from?! Are you seriously planning to go against a guild?!"

"Tch. Tried to settle this peacefully, but I guess that’s not an option!"

Like frightened dogs barking, the adventurers raised their voices. But none dared step within sword range.

Boribori, looking displeased, drew his sword.

His Phantom Sword, almost matte in appearance, did not reflect the sunlight. It seemed faint and insubstantial, as if it barely existed.

"You’d better hold on your limbs tightly. If you’re lucky enough to block even one strike, only your head will go flying."

It was an ominous and cryptic statement, difficult to understand.

But Boribori wasn’t mocking them, he was genuinely warning them. Whether they believed him or not, he had no real desire to cut people into pieces.

With a step forward, he swung the sword in one hand. He wasn’t a Sword Master, but he possessed an immense natural reserve of mana, causing vivid black streaks to carve through the air.

Swish! Swish! Crack! Swish!

In an instant, letters seemed to be inscribed in the air.

Everything in their path was severed, arms, legs, heads, torsos. Flesh fell in chunks, and an overwhelming amount of blood pooled onto the ground.

The surrounding adventurers felt their hair stand on end. Some collapsed to the ground in shock.

The scene was so brutally surreal that even the nearby women, who had been watching uneasily, gasped for breath. Their throats tightened, and a strangled khhk sound escaped.

Boribori stepped lightly aside to avoid the splattering blood. Then, he turned to the remaining adventurers, who stood frozen in terror, and carved large letters into the air.

His Phantom Sword swept left, then right, slashed diagonally, and traced multiple sharp strokes before finishing with a final dot.

And with that, the shredded remains of the bodies collapsed in a heap.

"Wow…"

Marie, now a Sword Master, let out a breath of admiration. She was well aware of Boribori’s swordsmanship, yet every time she saw it, it struck her as something unique and terrifying.

But one person who had been sitting on the ground, wetting himself, survived. It wasn't a mistake; he was deliberately spared as Ricardt had instructed.

Boribori wiped his sword clean with the edge of his cloak and slid it back into its sheath.

Then, Ricardt, who had been silently observing from behind, stepped forward toward the survivor.

"I understand that you're in shock, but I'd like you to remember my words clearly. Go to your Guild Master and tell him that Ricky has come. He can choose one of three options. One is for your Guild Master in place of everyone else, another is for the entire guild to suffer devastating losses, and the last is to hand over the antidote. Go."

After announcing these one-sided negotiation terms, Ricardt seized the collection box and scattered it widely across the street. The jingling sound of coins was cheerful, but no one dared to come and pick them up.

And so, Ricardt and his friends left. Unlike when they had arrived, there were no voices trying to call them over.

All that could be heard was still the sound of the reed field rustling in the wind.

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