The Warrior’s Ballad

Nameless walked. Towards Lindveil, his hometown. The place where he was born, raised, and where he had once loved.

With every step, horrifying memories resurfaced. Memories he wasn’t sure if he wanted to forget, or could never forget. Memories of which he had branded his body to ensure he would never forget.

He looked out through the cracks of the burning temple where he was trapped along with the villagers. His wife had already been brutally murdered, and his young son was being dragged away by the hands of the villains.

‘Dad!’

That voice, crying out desperately like a lamb. He had pounded the walls with fists until they were broken, screamed like a beast until his throat was raw, but in the end, his son died miserably.

The temple had burned until one side of the wall collapsed, allowing Nameless to barely escaped, but the tragedy had already taken place.

The burns that covered his entire face felt insignificant compared to the pain of holding his son’s corpse. He had cried until his voice broke, until he had forgotten how to speak altogether.

Nameless squeezed his eyes shut. When he opened them again, his gaze was seething with vengeance.

In the distance, under the dreary gray sky, lay the ruins of an isolated village. A village nestled beside the towering mountains of eternal snow to the north. Once, it had been more peaceful than anywhere else.

Nameless’s body was already in shambles, and his equipment had been torn to tatters after fighting the necromancer. His body bore countless scratches and gouges from the undead.

Yet for some reason, the images of two boys flickered before his eyes. Nameless shook his head violently, trying to force the thoughts away.

How many years had he lived clinging only to burning vengeance? Finally, the time had come. He would kill them, and then die himself.

Whether it was to strengthen his resolve or to whip himself, the nameless man walked towards the temple. To burn the last flame.

The brick-built temple had one side collapsed, and the charred remnants of the fire were unmistakable.

Standing at the doorway, which no longer had a door, he saw three people inside, sitting or standing and conversing. Three of the five members of the Ernburg Five: ‘Iron Wall’ Hanet, ‘Phantom Sword’ Ghost, and the ‘Mad Dog’ Steiner.

“Who? How did you get here?”

Steiner asked. Did any answer matter at this point? Nameless responded not with words but by drawing a throwing axe.

His body was already in no shape to live much longer, his equipment nearly destroyed, and his opponents were three, each one a renowned fighter throughout the Empire.

But what of it? He had lived for years with nothing but the burning flame of vengeance keeping him alive. He had lived for this moment. How could he possibly back down now?

It wasn’t courage or madness. It was only vengeance. Nothing else.

Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh, whoosh, whoosh, clang!

Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh, whoosh, whoosh, clang!

Nameless threw his axes in rapid succession, but Steiner effortlessly dodged each one, sidestepping them with ease. Then, he picked up a fallen throwing axe and hurled it back.

Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh, whoosh, whoosh! Clang!

Nameless bent slightly to avoid it, but suddenly, he heard a voice from behind him.

“Where do you think you’re looking?”

Nameless quickly twisted his body, but a searing pain flared up from his side. However, Steiner shouted urgently, his voice laced with instinctual warning not to approach carelessly.

“Ghost! Don’t!”

Nameless was already in a state of self-immolation, and a mere stab to his side couldn’t extinguish the flames within him. Pain? What of it?

With his side stabbed, Nameless spun around and grabbed Ghost, sinking his teeth into his throat.

There was a cloth attached to the helmet that covered Ghost’s face, but the bite was so forceful that it didn’t matter. A chunk of flesh tore free.

“Aaaaargh!”

But it wasn’t over. Nameless, still wearing his helmet, threw his head back and then slammed it forward with all his might.

Thwack!

Ghost’s face was crushed. Of course, that alone wasn’t what killed him. The cause of death was his broken neck.

Ghost’s face had been smashed, his neck bent awkwardly, and he died instantly.

As Nameless pulled the sword from his side, blood began to pour out. Even so, he stood firm without wavering, the flame of vengeance burning brightly. In one hand, a sword. In the other, an axe.

“You… you…”

Hanet was struck with shock, his eyes wide with disbelief, as Ghost met a pitiful and tragic death.

Losing his composure, Hanet charged at Nameless, not even bothering to lift his shield that was like a wall. His massive frame made the ground quake with every step.

Nameless quickly moved outside, trying to take advantage of the narrow entrance for the fight. In that brief moment, Steiner hurried over to check on Ghost.

If there was even a glimmer of life left, Steiner intended to use a potion to revive him. But Ghost was already dead.

Meanwhile, Hanet was now chasing Nameless , swinging his enormous fists.

Thud! Smack! Boom!

Whoosh! Smack!

Nameless barely dodged, striking and slashing at Hanet’s arm, but due to his massive body, it wasn’t fatal.

“You bastard!”

Hanet roared, raising both of his fists high into the air. Steiner, meanwhile, had drawn his sword and was preparing to join the fight, when suddenly a youthful voice rang out.

“Uncle!”

“Uncle!!”

Ricardt and Boribori were running toward them from a distance. At that moment, Nameless’s eyes wavered, and he hesitated. The flame of vengeance inside him felt like it was starting to die out. No, no…

In that instant, Steiner quickly snapped his head back and forth, glancing between Nameless and the two boys running toward them. A vile and cunning thought crossed his mind, and he dashed toward the boys.

In the midst of this urgency, Ricardt, running as fast as he could, realized that the man charging at them was Steiner.

“I’ll take care of him. You go to the uncle, quickly.”

“Okay!”

Ricardt drew his sword, while Boribori veered off to the side, running around to avoid Steiner.

But then Steiner drew a longsword from his waist, and a blood-red light began to emanate from the blade. A Sword Master.

In that moment, Ricardt instinctively knew- if his sword clashed with that blade, his weapon would be cut down.

The two of them charged toward each other, neither slowing down as they passed, exchanging blows.

Whoosh! Swish!

Their swords cut through the air. Though it was just a single exchange, Steiner realized instinctively- this wasn’t just some ordinary kid. A chill ran down his spine.

But Steiner was in a hurry. Ghost was already dead, and if he didn’t join the fight soon, even Hanet could be in danger. So, he ignored the unsettling feeling that crept over him.

With his sword of light leading the way, Steiner took bold steps forward. It was a technique only a Sword Master could use- a move that could cut through anything. The perfect unity of offense and defense.

The blade of light descended diagonally, and in that brief instant, Steiner noticed that Ricardt’s hands were empty. He had let go of his sword.

Something’s wrong, the thought flashed through Steiner’s mind. But it was too late to stop.

At the exact moment when Steiner’s sword reached its highest speed and power, Ricardt grabbed the flat side of the blade with both palms as if catching lightning and twisted it sideways.

Steiner’s strength, which had been focused on attacking Ricardt, was now fully reversed. If things continued like this, Steiner’s wrist would surely snap. So, he simply let go of the sword.

It was an impressive reflex, but it was meaningless now that his sword had been taken.

Ricardt caught the hilt of the dimmed blade as it spun through the air, then pointed it at Steiner.

Seeing this, Steiner felt a jolt of fear strike his heart.

“…You bastard, you’re a wizard.”

Having been bested by a method he had never heard of, Steiner could only conclude as much.

Humans naturally fear what they do not understand, and now that his sword had been taken from him, Steiner simply turned around and fled on his own, abandoning his long-time comrades who had been like family to him.

How he had become a Sword Master was a mystery, but he was a truly cowardly and vile man.

No matter how high his mastery of the sword might have been, Ricardt had no reason to lose to someone who had forgotten the essence of being a swordsman.

Ricardt raised the sword high above his head until the blade was behind his back, tightened his core, and threw it with all his might. Every motion was perfect.

The sword shot forward in a straight line, swiftly and accurately, piercing through Steiner’s back.

Thud!

“Urk!”

Ricardt quickly grabbed his own sword and chased after the falling Steiner, swinging his blade toward him as he collapsed. Steiner frantically turned his head and screamed.

“Wait!”

But without a moment’s hesitation, Ricardt struck his neck.

Whoosh! Thud!

Steiner’s headless body crumpled to the ground, lifeless. A man who had once so desperately sought divine retribution, had abandoned that wish midway and ultimately rejected it in his final moments.

For someone who had been one of the Empire’s Nine Swords and notorious for his cruelty, his death was absurdly anticlimactic. Whether it was arrogance or simply a difference in skill, nothing made the outcome of a life-or-death battle clearer than the division between the living and the dead.

Perhaps Steiner’s defeat was because he had lived in a cowardly, despicable way and continued to act dishonorably until the very end. Even when he could have faced Nameless, he had run toward the two boys instead. And in the end, he tried to escape to save his own skin.

He had lived a shitty life, so it was only fitting that he died a shitty death. That was the sum total of his life and death.

Meanwhile, Nameless, with the flame of his vengeance flickering, found himself in a dire situation. Not knowing what to do, his feet tangled, and he was struck in the head by Hanet’s massive fist.

Crunch!

The sound echoed as his helmet was knocked off, revealing the burn-scarred face beneath.

Nameless, dazed from the blow to his head, collapsed to the ground. But then, he heard the youthful voice once again, snapping him back to his senses.

“Dad!”

Dad. Dad. Dad…

Boribori had always called him that half-jokingly, out of affection. But in this moment, the word was genuine. Boribori, who had never received the love and care of a father, truly saw Nameless as no different from one.

That affectionate hand that had always looked out for him, even without words. It didn’t matter if Nameless couldn’t speak; Boribori could feel everything through that touch.

Seeing Boribori, Hanet thought it was a stroke of luck. Cruel thoughts immediately filled his mind, and he abandoned Nameless to go after the approaching Boribori.

Watching this, something began to boil deep within Nameless’s chest. Words that had been lost to him for so long finally burst forth.

“Baby! Stay back!”

But Boribori, drawing up all the mana he could muster, punched forward with incredible force, and the enormous hand reaching for him was violently knocked aside.

Smack!

Hanet was so stunned by the unexpected strength that he hesitated for a moment. In that brief opening, Nameless used Ghost’s sharp sword to slice through the tendons of Hanet’s heel.

“Aaaaaaaargh!”

A critical weakness had been exposed, and Boribori was ready to finish Hanet off with Nameless’s help. But suddenly, Nameless grabbed Boribori and, without any clear direction, began running.

He abandoned his vengeance, abandoning everything, just to save Boribori. He could have killed Hanet, but at this moment, Nameless could only act this way.

No- he had to act this way. No matter what. No matter what it took. Even if his body was torn apart or burned alive…

Perhaps this act, which seemed pointless, carried a deeper meaning precisely because of its apparent futility.

Blood poured from his side, and it seemed that blood was flowing into his throat, choking him. His breath came in ragged gasps, making only gurgling noises.

Even then, he kept muttering the words buried deep beneath the flame of his vengeful heart.

“Forgive me. Forgive me. Forgive me…”

Boribori, overwhelmed with his father’s long-pent-up affection, received it with all his soul, tears streaming down his face.

“D-Dad…”

“Forgive me. Forgive me. Forgive me…”

Nameless did not use the last flicker of his life’s flame for the vengeance he had longed for, but instead, he burned it all to save Boribori. As a result, he didn’t get far before his knees buckled, and he collapsed to the ground.

Startled, Boribori quickly took off his bag, trembling as he pulled out a potion. He hurriedly removed Nameless’s torn and battered gear to treat him, but his body was already in a terrible state. No potion could fix this.

“I-I’ll forgive you, I will. So, so, please, please don’t die……”

Boribori’s tears kept falling, his throat choked, making it hard to speak. His hands trembled uncontrollably as he poured the potion over the wounds.

His hands wouldn’t stop shaking. So, Boribori clenched his mouth shut, forcing himself to swallow the sobs. Yet, despite his efforts, the tears continued to pour.

Watching from where he lay, Nameless, in his final moments, reached out and wiped away Boribori’s tears, speaking with a gentle smile.

“Don’t cry… baby…”

And with a long exhale, his arm fell limp. His unfocused blue eyes gazed toward the gloomy sky above.

By then, Ricardt, who had just finished off Hanet, stood nearby, watching the entire scene, sword still stained with blood. His eyes trembled with emotion.

Even though Nameless was clearly dead, Boribori didn’t stop trying to treat him. He kept calling out, “Dad, Dad,” over and over.

His jaw trembled from crying so hard that he couldn’t properly chew the herbs. Forcing his jaw shut with his hand, he kept chewing.

The uncontrollable grief and unbearable pain made it feel like his heart was being ripped apart.

Ricardt’s own eyes fluttered as he closed them, his eyelashes trembling. Tears trickled down, wetting his cheeks, as if the bitterness he once harbored toward the world was melting away.

Ricardt thought to himself: He must have found salvation. He had to. I’m sure of it…

The cruel burden of fate placed upon humans is that they are wounded by others, and in the end, only humans can offer salvation.

All tragedies and comedies begin with humanity and end with humanity. Thus, humans are the saddest creatures, trapped in the snare of fate.

But in his final moment, Nameless cast aside the burning vengeance that had consumed him and transcended his fate.

In doing so, he became a father to Boribori and a mentor to Ricardt. He became the person both boys so desperately needed.

A truly noble and magnificent human being.

The wind is cold. But the winter, which had seemed like it would never end, was finally drawing to a close.

Chapter 8 – Ballad of the Nameless Beast. The End.

*****