The Warrior’s Ballad

Even the sharpest sword in the world varies in power depending on who wields it.

In the hands of a child, it would only cause self-injury, but in the hands of a master, it might cleave through an era.

About 100 years ago, the Empire’s first Sword Master, Ricky, undoubtedly possessed invincible skills that had never been seen before or since.

However, the fact that people only focused on his martial prowess meant they knew only half of him.

Ricky knew how to utilize his skills as a tool. Whether fighting an individual or a group, he could devise the most appropriate plan to inflict devastating consequences on the opponent and execute it with machine-like precision.

This was something he naturally acquired while crossing the line between life and death countless times in gruesome wars and struggles against the world’s injustices.

Win, or die. The more he engaged in these gambling-like tactics and combat methods, the more refined they became, until at some point, they were no longer gambles.

Thus, even though his body was not fully grown, killing lowlife ragtag bandits was not a difficult task for him.

“They’ll gather back here. They’ll come one or two at a time, so we just need to kill them in order. There were eight in total. If there are men blocking the escape routes, there might be a few more. But not too many.”

Did he even have the presence of mind to count heads in that situation? Anyway, Ricardt, calming the horse by the carriage in the chaotic scene, said.

However, judging by his appearance, Arno seemed completely dazed and unable to hear Ricardt’s words.

“Pick up a weapon. Killing bandits doesn’t require any special skills. Don’t swing wildly, just calmly stab the abdomen. Not the chest. It might get stuck on the ribs.”

Arno was only panting heavily, as if he was hyperventilating. He couldn’t seem to come to his senses. Even as time passed, he struggled to calm down.

Daisy was slightly better, but not by much. She was sticking close to Ricardt, staring intently at his face.

Without a word, Ricardt untied the sword the bandit leader was wearing and brought it to Arno.

Arno stared blankly at the sword Ricardt handed him, then belatedly flinched in surprise.

“I, I, I, I.”

“Get a grip already. Didn’t you take the oath of the courier or whatever?”

The oath was to not drink, not cause trouble, and always deliver the package to the intended recipient, not about fighting enemies.

In any case, Arno hadn’t lived without seeing blood. In this world, it was common to punish criminals brutally. Beheadings in the square were standard.

So he wasn’t shocked by the sight of blood. He was terrified of Ricardt, who was frightening to the bone.

Arno finally gathered his senses and took the sword Ricardt handed him with trembling hands.

Only then did Ricardt crouch down beside the carriage and hide. He planned to kill the bandits as they came one by one.

Arno and Daisy crouched down next to Ricardt. As Ricardt observed, Arno’s hands were shaking so much that he wouldn’t be able to draw his sword in time.

“Draw your sword in advance. The first time is hard, but you’ll get used to it quickly.”

“……D, did, did you take knight training?”

It seemed Arno needed something to believe in. He needed an explanation for why a ten year old could kill people so nonchalantly. Otherwise, he would have no choice but to see Ricardt as either a being possessed by an evil spirit or the devil himself.

“Yeah, let’s just say that.”

Ricardt replied casually and then spoke to Daisy as well.

“Don’t stick so close. It’s hard to move.”

“Yes, got it. Honey.”

“……Unbelievable.”

Having to look after both a child and an adult while doing this, Ricardt inwardly sighed.

However, amidst all this, intermittent screams and laughter could be heard from both near and far. Among them were cries like “The baby! At least spare the baby!”

Then someone came back up the mountain pass again. As Ricardt had predicted, it was a bandit bringing a prisoner.

The prisoner’s condition was terrible, with an expression full of resignation and despair. The two bandits were snickering.

When they came to where the carriage and carts were, they discovered the two corpses Ricardt had killed. Their snickering stopped abruptly.

“Did they fight each other?”

“What should we do?”

Despite their leader’s death, they showed no sadness or anything of the sort. They simply thought that the two had killed each other after some quarrel.

At that moment, Ricardt stealthily approached from behind and then swiftly lunged, deeply slashing one of the bandit’s hamstrings.

“Ugh! What the…!”

The bandit’s knee buckled involuntarily, and he fell backward. Then, Arno threw himself at the remaining bandit in a desperate move.

In his excessive force, he entangled with the bandit and fell to the ground. Still, it seemed he had succeeded in stabbing the bandit from behind.

Ricardt had already slit one bandit’s throat, finishing him off, while Arno mounted the remaining bandit and began stabbing him repeatedly with the sword held in reverse grip.

“You fucking! Bastard! You filthy! Fucking! Bastard!”

He was in a state of extreme agitated. Because of this, the sword’s tip quickly dulled against the bones, and his stabbing angles went awry, causing him to lose his grip on the sword.

Even then, not calming down, he picked up a nearby rock and smashed it repeatedly into the already dead bandit’s face.

Thud! Thwack! Thud!

“Stop. That’s enough. He’s already dead.”

Only when Ricardt intervened did Arno stop, flinching. His face and hands were covered in blood.

He looked at Ricardt with a highly exhilarated expression, panting heavily.

Seeing Ricardt’s incredibly calm face, which barely changed, Arno felt his wildly beating heart begin to calm down slightly.

“I, I did it. I really did it.”

“Yeah, you did well. Now pull yourself together.”

Ricardt didn’t know how many times he had to say it, but perhaps Arno was experiencing the most thrilling moment of his life.

The two women who had been dragged along widened their eyes in shock as Ricardt and Arno killed the bandits.

“Let’s hide the bodies roughly so they can’t be seen from below and hide again. Also, take their weapons.”

“Of course! Young Master!”

Arno replied vigorously.

They continued dealing with the bandits who came up bringing prisoners. Seeing that they always came in pairs, it seemed they operated in teams of two.

By the time they had killed six bandits, Arno started to wonder if it should really be this easy. As his fear subsided, the bandits seemed like insignificant beings. Was I really scared of these guys?

And he could observe Ricardt a bit more clearly. There were no flashy skills or anything like that. His movements were short, concise, , and he stabbed and slashed vital points without error. Places like the abdomen, the back of the knee, the neck.

It sounded easy, and it looked easy to do, but it wasn’t. If he missed or tangled his movements, he wouldn’t be able to handle an adult’s strength with his child’s body.

Arno had only heard about knight training, but now he thought, I guess they teach stuff like this. Nobles really are scary. On the surface, he looks like an innocent kid. Glad I didn’t mess with him.

Among the prisoners, there were no men. They were either killed, accidentally died, or successfully escaped. There was no way to know.

Fortunately, among the rescued prisoners were Daisy’s mother and family.

The last person brought up as a captive was the only male prisoner, a merchant. They had likely captured him hoping for a ransom.

“That’s right! That’s right! My lords! You can get at least ten gold coins for my ransom! Without me, the trading company can’t operate! Hehehe.”

He seemed to be doing everything he could to survive. Ten gold coins, what nonsense. Even nobles, except for royalty or high-ranking nobles, would find it hard to fetch such a ransom. He was utterly shameless.

“Do you think we’re idiots? Talking about ten gold coins. If your trading company offers less than five silver coins, we’ll just kill you.”

Sure enough, the bandit wasn’t completely ignorant of the world. After all, they must have captured and sold a few people before.

“What!? Th-That’s…!”

“Shut up. Why is there so much blood smell here?”

“Looks like the guys killed needlessly again.”

“Fuck, we all get scolded together. They just don’t listen, do they?”

The two bandits wrinkled their noses at the smell of blood lingering in the air as they approached the spot with the carts and carriage. They were in it for the money, but some would lose their heads and get carried away sometimes.

When they finally reached the cart, they saw bloodstains scattered around and traces of something being dragged. There were no bodies in sight. However, behind the carriage, feet were sticking out.

Sensing something was off, they moved toward the carriage when suddenly something sprang out from the nearby bushes. Startled, they flailed their arms, and someone shoved them hard.

“What the hell, fuck!”

One of the bandits cursed as he fell on his butt. At that moment, he felt a burning sensation in his stomach. Blood gushed out, soaking his clothes.

“What…?”

“Eek!”

“What’s going on?”

The merchant, the injured person, and the other bandit’s eyes widened in shock. They saw a boy standing with a bloodied dagger.

While their attention was on Ricardt, Arno suddenly rushed from the opposite side and stabbed the remaining bandit in the side.

“Ugh!”

Just like before, the bandits couldn’t put up any resistance to the sudden attack. After inflicting fatal wounds, finishing them off was easy.

Ricardt, moving neither too fast nor too slow, almost leisurely placed his blade on one’s neck before deeply stabbing it, killing him. Arno, now much steadier, finished off the other bandit.

Warm blood gushed out, soaking the ground. The merchant, not understanding what was happening, sat trembling on the ground.

Only then did the hiding women come out, their eyes darting around frantically as they dragged the bodies behind the carriage to hide them.

Ricardt and Arno stood on either side, looking down at the crouching merchant.

“Can you fight?”

Ricardt asked.

“…What?”

“I asked if you can fight. Where is your guard? There was one left, right?”

“Uh… Right. Where did he go? Ah! H-He ran, ran away. Or did he? Maybe he died? I don’t know.”

“Alright. Then pick up a weapon. Not a spear, but a sword or axe. We’ll ambush them when they come up.”

“Uh…”

“Get up. We don’t have time. They could come up any moment.”

Arno grabbed the merchant by the collar and forced him to his feet. The merchant, dazed and unsure of what he was doing, just followed orders.

He picked up a weapon and hid behind the cart with Arno and Ricardt. Turning his head, he saw the bodies of the bandits lined up. He was shocked once more. How did this happen?

If analyzed step by step, it wasn’t that difficult, but people usually only see the results. To the merchant’s eyes, it seemed like Ricardt and Arno had dealt with all the bandits simultaneously.

“I, I apologize for my rudeness earlier, not recognizing the Hero.”

The merchant finally spoke to Arno after much hesitation. He couldn’t imagine that Ricardt was the one leading all this.

“Hero? You mean me? The Hero is the young master here. He’s the one who took down those two leaders over there.”

The merchant glanced at Ricardt, then at the two corpses Arno had pointed to. It was hard to believe, but having seen the boy kill the bandits with his own eyes, he had nothing to say.

Upon closer inspection of the two bandit leaders, with their eyes wide open and mouths agape in death, he realized they looked familiar. Two men? If it’s two men…

“It’s the Vilton brothers. I heard they were on the run, but I never thought they’d be hiding here. And you’re telling me the young master killed these two?”

“I saw it with my own eyes too, but I couldn’t believe it at first. But it’s true. You saw it yourself earlier, didn’t you? He sliced his belly open. Look at this one. His stomach is slit open, spilling his guts, then before he could come to his senses, his throat was slit.”

Although Ricardt said nothing, Arno boasted as if it were his own feat.

The merchant looked back at Ricardt again. He was wiping the dagger with a cloth, and the blade gleamed as if it were new. A shiver ran down the merchant’s spine as he recalled the image of the boy killing the bandits.

“If, if it’s not too rude to ask, if it’s not too much trouble, may I ask about your background, young master?”

“Stormhertz.”

“Stormhertz… Ah! Are you the young hero who supposedly took down a wild boar with his bare hands?”

It wasn’t clear how far the rumors had spread, but they seemed a bit exaggerated.

“It wasn’t bare hands, I used a spear.”

“Still, that’s remarkable. I never imagined you’d be so young. As expected of a young master from the renowned martial family of Stormhertz. Ah, about 12 years ago, I accompanied the army as a war merchant in the Battle of Briden. At that time, I made money by providing prostitutes to the soldiers. Wasn’t the flag a red background with a white cross? The lord charged gallantly on a brown horse. The enemies were thrown into chaos.”

Whether it was because he had narrowly escaped death or because he thought his life depended on this young boy, the merchant was flattering Ricardt as if his tongue had been greased.

Ricardt, not knowing what to do, answered vaguely.

“I see…”

“I’m a pigment merchant, and as a token of gratitude for saving my life, I’ll present you with a cloak when we get to the city. Would you prefer red or blue?”

“Hmm… My family’s colors are red, so suppose red would be nice.”

“Ah, as expected from a noble young master, you have good taste. Originally, only the supreme commander of the Emperor’s army could wear a red cloak. And not all reds are the same. There’s a mineral called cinnabar that makes a red color like blood when ground. The people who mine it go mad or die soon after, so they use convicts or slaves to do it. It’s more expensive than gold.”

What is he talking about? The merchant was talking excessively. It seemed he was one of those people who talk a lot when nervous.

“…Although the practice of using different colors according to rank has fallen out of use these days, purple is still reserved for His Majesty the Emperor…”

“Just a moment.”

“Yes?”

“How long would it have taken to cross the pass if we hadn’t met these bandits?”

“We started in the morning, so we would’ve crossed the pass by late afternoon.”

“Then we should start moving now.”

“Yes?”

“We’ve killed the leaders, and even if there are some bandits left, they’re fewer in number than us. It should be safe to go now.”

Hearing this, it made sense. There might be only one or two bandits left alive, if any.

“Before that, shouldn’t we take their heads?”

“Take their heads?”

“The Vilton brothers were quite notorious wanted men. We’re not far from Reinfurt, so we could take the heads without salting them. Bringing them to the Adventurer’s Guild would earn us a substantial sum.”

Really? Ricardt hadn’t thought of that. Deciding to take their heads, he went ahead with the beheading. Actually, it was more accurate to say he sawed them off rather than cleanly cut them.

The heads were placed in a cloth sack, which quickly became soaked with blood, dripping onto the bottom. This was then placed in a basket and loaded onto the carriage.

They fed the horses and donkeys plenty of carrots. They deserved it after all they’d been through. With people working together to push the carriage, they barely managed to get over the rocky obstacles.

At the scene, there were bloodstains and eight corpses lying in a row, two of which were headless. No one buried them.

As they reached the highest point of the mountain path and started descending, some of the men who had been hiding or had run away began to reappear one by one and rejoin the group.

Despite abandoning their families, the women accepted them back. After all, they too had left the children behind and fled, and not accepting the men would make their future survival difficult. They had no choice. And they were people accustomed to living this way.

Counting the dead and missing, it seemed there were about seven or eight. Though the victims were unfortunate, the survivors had to continue living resolutely.

Daisy seemed to be in a constantly good mood, and Arno walked with his chest puffed out, overly proud.

Ricardt felt that the world hadn’t changed much in 100 years. There were bandits then, there were powerless people, and living was a struggle for everyone.

By the time they had finished descended the mountain path, the sun had set. The people lit a campfire and prepared to camp for the night.

Ricardt, with Daisy clinging to him like a leech, sat by the campfire. He pondered over the things his father had said about honor, salvation, family name, and such.

He didn’t hold his father’s words too strictly, but he didn’t dismiss them either.

Ricardt let various thoughts breeze through his mind like an open door, lost in contemplation.

The looks from the people glancing at the boy were quite peculiar. It was as if they were seeing a hero and a chilling demon at the same time.

It was true that he had saved them, but casually slicing open people’s stomachs and slitting throats was far from the image of a prince on a white horse.

As the night deepened, the sight was replaced by the sounds of frogs croaking as if awakening from hibernation, small owls hooting, and the crackling of the campfire becoming clearer.

And in the night sky, just like 100 years ago, the stars shone brightly.