Chapter 57

Becoming a branch leader was no simple matter. It was a complicated process.

First, one had to enter into a contract with the guild, which was similar to a vassalage contract.

Since transportation and communication were underdeveloped in this era, a branch leader enjoyed nearly autonomous authority over their branch. However, they were obligated to provide supplies and armed forces whenever joint action was required to address guild-wide issues.

In return, the guild was obligated to provide the branch leader with an initial settlement fund and protect the branch. In other words, it was a reciprocal, bilateral contract.

Second, the branch leader had to establish themselves within the local area. That was the difficult part.

They first had to offer gifts and tribute to the local lord and secure what amounted to business rights. Afterward, they had to put down roots in the region by cooperating with existing local powers—or fighting them, if necessary.

The Beringen Guild had already entered into a foundational agreement with Duke Siegfringer, so the broader framework was in place. However, because this was a feudal society, each branch still had to negotiate separate contracts with the duke’s vassals.

Once they had obtained the right to operate, defeated competing organizations, and successfully established themselves, they needed to manage their people.

The branch leader’s clan that signed the branch contract with the Guild Master was commonly called the “Core Clan,” but the Core Clan alone was not enough to operate a branch.

They had to gather adventurers and manage them so that they carried out commissions properly without causing trouble.

Simply gathering capable and trustworthy people was difficult enough, and managing them well was even harder. In fact, this was where all the complicated problems tended to erupt.

That was why they sometimes had to expel people, coax and placate them, intimidate them, or even eliminate them.

Responsibility for all of this rested on Volka’s shoulders. Rickart and his friends were supposed to help him stabilize the branch and keep it running properly.

“Simple, right? First, go to Count Reinhold and present him with a gift. We’ve already signed a contract with the duke, so he’ll accept you without much trouble.”

It was not simple at all, yet Sally spoke as though it were. They had not known it before, but she was the Beringen Guild’s Deputy Master.

Rickart and his companions sat across the table from her. They were staring at her with somewhat dazed expressions because plates were piled into a mountain in front of Sally.

“What? Never seen someone eat before?”

Sally spoke as she accepted yet another plate from a server. A whole boiled chicken sat on it. The server’s expression was not much different from those of Rickart and his companions.

“...No. You eat a lot, yet you maintain your figure remarkably well,” Delphy said.

“That’s because I move around so much. That bastard Dunkel hasn’t moved a muscle since becoming Guild Master. He’s completely lost his edge.”

She grumbled as she began tearing the chicken apart with her bare hands and eating it. Was this her third whole chicken? Was that even possible?

Rickart stared at her in stunned disbelief for a moment before gesturing to Volka that they should leave.

“Uh, then we’ll be going now.”

“All right, all right. Work is important, but hostile guilds are still prowling around that area, so be careful.”

“We will. You take care too, Sally.”

Rickart and Volka each picked up a chest and left the inn. The chests were not particularly large, but they were filled with silver coins and therefore quite heavy. This was the initial settlement fund provided by the guild.

They went to the stable attached to the inn, draped a cloth over a donkey’s back, loaded one chest on either side, and secured them tightly with rope.

Boribori stroked the donkey’s head and gave it a carrot.

“Magnoli, let’s go.”

Magnoli was the donkey’s name, a variation of “magnolia.”

Of course, Boribori had named it on his own. Since it was the clan’s first asset and the first item on its property register, it was special to the others as well.

Boribori took the reins and gently led the donkey forward. Magnoli followed with a steady clop, clop.

The Viola Clan left the small town and headed for none other than Ernberg.

Ernberg had been the base and primary area of operation of the Ernberg Five.

There was something symbolic about it. Since Rickart had been the one to eliminate them, the place almost felt like a spoil of war.

At the same time, however, it was also the area closest to the hostile guild known as Lucerat. That meant it was a border region of sorts—and the current front line.

The Viola Clan’s assignment and duty was to establish itself there. It was also a dream that five young people, none of whom had even turned twenty, would have to build with their own hands.

“Ah, so you must be the young hero known as the Red Cloak. Then are you Boribori the Dismemberer?”

A man with an impressive mustache curled upward at both ends spoke as he pressed his signet ring into red sealing wax. This was Count Reinhold, the lord of a place called Nordrhein, which included Ernberg.

“No, Boribori the Dismemberer is him.”

The count had been looking at Volka, so Volka corrected him by pointing at Boribori.

“What? That innocent-looking boy? That somehow makes it even more chilling. To think he enjoys cutting people into pieces with that innocent face.”

“I don’t enjoy it...”

“In any case, I have accepted your gift. You have my permission to conduct business in Ernberg. However, I will not protect you. What I mean is that I have also taken money from other guilds and granted them permits. You may draw blades against one another if you wish, but do not harm innocent people. I will overlook matters to a certain extent, but... No, you all know well enough already, so I need not elaborate.”

A chest filled with silver coins rested on the count’s desk. Half of their initial settlement fund had been spent on the gift for him.

The concept of bribery did not exist in this era. Presenting a gift or tribute when seeking permission to conduct business was considered perfectly natural.

However, there was no fixed amount, and if the lord disliked someone, even an astronomical sum would do them no good. Fortunately, Count Reinhold was fairly easygoing.

To be honest, it was free money, and having a trustworthy adventurers’ guild in the region was convenient in many ways.

The guild could help maintain public order, and the count could commission it to handle troublesome matters. Mobilizing an army or hiring a mercenary company was difficult for even a count to afford.

It was not cost-effective either. One could hardly deploy fully armed soldiers on warhorses just to kill a single fly.

Moreover, adventurers’ guilds required little direct oversight, so their relationship with noble lords resembled the symbiosis between crocodiles and crocodile birds.

“Still, eliminating the Ernberg Five was no different from pulling out a rotten tooth. For the Red Cloak’s sake, I will personally ask the mayor to find you a good building. Is there anything else you wish to discuss?”

Volka looked around at his friends once before answering the count.

“No, there isn’t.”

“Good. I wish you fortune in battle. You may go.”

With the all-important business permit in hand, Rickart and his companions left Count Reinhold’s castle.

The castle had originally been built in ancient times, then expanded and repaired over many years until it had become quite imposing. The castle in Rickart’s hometown of Stormherz could not even compare.

Yet even a lord who lived in such a castle could not mobilize an army easily. It was an era when lords often had to arm themselves and personally take the field.

With its burden considerably lightened, Magnoli the donkey walked toward Ernberg.

It was a full day’s journey from the count’s castle to Ernberg, so the group had to camp along the way. Having a donkey made an enormous difference.

Since they could carry more travel equipment, they were able to erect a fairly decent shelter. They could also bring pots, ladles, dishes, and similar utensils, allowing them to prepare a wider variety of food.

Moreover, spring was nearing its end, so the weather was pleasant. The nights were still chilly, but compared to winter, they were exceedingly mild.

The grass grew short in the north, but the trees were thick, straight, and tall. Most of them were varieties of fir.

Their shelter could hardly be called a proper tent, but it was still enough to keep out the wind and rain. They draped sturdy canvas over a branch, pulled it taut, and staked it to the ground. It was spacious enough to accommodate all five of them.

They lit a fire in front of the shelter and fed the donkey dried beans, grass, and similar fodder. Some went to a nearby river to wash the pot and fetch water, while others sliced fruit and vegetables and prepared the ingredients.

The five of them truly looked like a family. Rickart and Marie stayed close together as they prepared their own little feast, looking almost like a young married couple.

“Did I cut these too thick?”

Rickart spoke while slicing a turnip. He usually ate whatever was available without much thought, but now that he was actually cooking, he had no idea whether he was doing it properly.

“Give it here. I’ll do it.”

Marie took the turnip from Rickart, then sliced it deftly with a sharp dagger without even placing it on a cutting board. She tossed the pieces into the pot one after another.

Watching from beside her, Rickart suspected that she did not really know what she was doing either. However, her bangs kept falling over her eyes and obstructing her vision, so he reached out and tucked them behind her ear.

Rickart had no idea that such thoughtless, casual gestures made Marie’s heart flutter.

Despite coming from a noble family, Marie never shied away from hard work. She also seemed completely unconcerned about looking less than perfect.

Even when her hair became disheveled, her clothes slipped enough for a bit of flesh to peek out at her side, or her face and clothes became dirty and stained, her beauty did not fade. If anything, she seemed to shine even more brightly.

To be honest, however, the group’s cooking was little more than a complete mishmash. They simply threw whatever they had into one pot and boiled it all together. Perhaps its only merit was that it provided a balanced range of nutrients.

In any case, they made something strange that was neither soup nor porridge, divided it among themselves, and ate. It tasted decent enough.

“So, what do we do now?”

Delphy blew on the mishmash and took a sip before speaking.

“We meet the mayor and establish the branch first, obviously,” Volka replied as though wondering why she would ask something so self-evident.

“No, that’s not what I mean. That part will proceed according to the established procedures. Do you think our enemies will simply leave us alone?”

“...You’re right. That is quite a headache.”

In the Kaitz Highlands, their enemies had been obvious. Their great numbers had been a problem, but because they were plainly visible, it had also been clear whom they needed to fight.

That was not the case here. They had no way of knowing when their enemies would come, where they would strike, or how many of them there would be.

“There’s a way to handle situations like this.”

To everyone’s surprise, Boribori spoke confidently. When they all looked at him, he smiled and shouted,

“Ricky-Ricky, help us!”

Rickart burst out laughing in disbelief. And what was “Ricky-Ricky” supposed to mean?

“I don’t have any particular solution either. The surest method would be to raze the enemy’s headquarters to the ground. Whether it’s Brabant or Lucerat, we could storm their headquarters and kill everyone. That would settle the matter neatly. But since that would be difficult, shouldn’t we start by gathering information and figuring out who our enemies are and how they operate?”

“Should we visit the Thieves’ Guild?”

“That’ll probably be difficult,” Boribori said.

“We smashed them all last winter.”

“Hmm...”

In truth, traveling all over the region and wiping out every criminal organization they encountered had been an absurd achievement, but much of it had been thanks to the Nameless Man’s help.

He had been an exceptional vanguard. As long as they guarded his back, they could indiscriminately sweep away most organizations. Volka was also the vanguard type, but he could not compare to the Nameless Man.

“We need to build up our influence first, with the help of the locals. I heard Ernberg’s Masons’ Guild is famous. Why don’t we approach them first?”

There were all kinds of guilds in the world. A guild was essentially an association formed by people in the same profession to protect their mutual interests.

Naturally, such organizations were locally based and operated within their own regions, where they inevitably wielded tremendous influence.

In this era, merchants and craftsmen needed enough military strength to protect themselves regardless of what business they conducted, so commercial and artisan guilds could not be underestimated.

That was especially true of Blacksmiths’ Guilds and Masons’ Guilds. Their work was so grueling and physically demanding that individual members were often as fearsome as professional fighters.

“But no matter how many times you wipe out a Thieves’ Guild, doesn’t another one eventually sprout up like a poisonous mushroom?” Delphy asked.

“That’s true. But would they think favorably of us?”

Considering what they had done last winter, Rickart was skeptical. He had no particular objection to joining hands with the Thieves’ Guild if necessary, but they were still the sort of people one was better off avoiding.

“I’ll handle that. I think I know roughly what to do,” Volka said.

Although he was not as good as Rickart at devising clever plans, he was better at dealing with people. He knew how to coax and appease them, win them over, bluff, and threaten them.

Show strength to those who needed to see strength, soothe those who needed soothing, and give money to those who loved money. Knowing how to use the appropriate method for each person was a skill in itself.

Problems inevitably arose when one got it wrong, but Volka had been good at this ever since their Academy days. He had introduced students to jobs and personally stepped in to resolve their difficulties, so he had accumulated considerable experience.

“Once we secure a building for the branch, let’s split into two teams. One team will guard the branch while the other goes out. Volka and Delphy will form one team, while Boribori, Marie, and I form the other.”

“Sounds good. But five people really is cutting it close.”

Having finished his meal at some point, Volka spoke while sucking his fingers clean.

Every member of the Viola Clan possessed formidable martial prowess, but any undertaking required manpower.

One of a branch’s most important functions was gathering and commanding capable, trustworthy adventurers.

By bringing several clans under the leadership of the Core Clan, a branch could become the dominant power in a region and sometimes even surpass the guild headquarters.

But starting with only five people was, as Volka had said, a tight squeeze.

Fortunately, Rickart and Boribori’s fame gave them a considerable head start. They had felt that when meeting Count Reinhold earlier.

If they had tried to establish a branch entirely from scratch, they would have encountered countless situations maddening enough to drive anyone insane, because nothing would go smoothly from beginning to end.

Perhaps Ernberg would become their second home. They had been born elsewhere, but they needed to approach this with the resolve to be buried here when they died.

That was because the most important part of establishing a branch was integrating with the locals and sharing both their hardships and joys.

If they failed to become part of the local community, they would remain outsiders, and there were limits to what outsiders could accomplish.

The local community might seem insignificant, but at decisive moments, it could either trip them up or lend them strength.

Rickart wondered whether it might be humanity’s destiny to leave the land of one’s birth and choose the land where one would be buried.

There was nothing wrong with living and dying in the land of one’s birth. However, he believed there was meaning in extending to someone new the familial affection and local concern that had nourished him like fertile soil back home.

In one way or another, they were all abandoned children. Such children had existed in the past and continued to exist even now. What could be more meaningful than people like them coming together, lending one another strength, and supporting one another?

Human bonds sometimes brought unbearable pain, but as he had learned from the Nameless Man, only another person could ultimately save someone.

Rickart looked at the stars shining in the night sky beyond the tangled branches of the forest. The stars were the same as they had always been, but the feelings with which he gazed upon them had changed.

Suddenly, he imagined himself years later, older and plowing a field alongside his friends. And beside him, Marie was smiling.

Could he truly possess such happiness?

Anxiety covered the vision like a shadow. In the end, Marie was the brave one, and he was the coward.

He felt sorry, but he had decided not to say that he was sorry. So Rickart remained silent, sitting pressed against Marie as they gazed up at the stars together.

Rickart habitually said that there was no need to become sentimental all the time, but perhaps he himself was the person most prone to sentimentality.

Kaldevert, his first friend, had once told him that he had the soul of a poet. Ironically, the only person who knew of Rickart’s sentimental side was a friend from a hundred years ago.

A man born with the soul of a poet, yet walking the path of the sword. Perhaps he kept happiness at a distance because he feared becoming unhappy.

I’m a coward, Marie. I’m sorry. Please forgive me.

Feeling the gentle weight that came to rest upon his shoulder, Rickart spoke silently in his heart.

The night deepened. The darker it became, the more brightly the stars shone.

Then, at the hour when the tranquil night lulled everything to sleep, Rickart—who had been sleeping beside his friends—suddenly awoke at a strange sound in the distance.

Volka, who was keeping watch, sat beside the campfire with his head turned toward the source of the sound.

“You heard it too?” Rickart asked.

Only then realizing that Rickart had awakened, Volka answered,

“It was the sound of blades clashing.”

Clang...

No sooner had Volka finished speaking than another metallic sound rang out in the distance.

“Wake the others. I’ll go take a look.”

Rickart rose, taking his sword with him.

“All right. Be careful.”

Volka did not try to stop him by warning him of the danger. After everything he had witnessed, it was difficult for him to even imagine that Rickart might encounter a worthy opponent.

Without putting on his cloak or fastening a belt around his waist, Rickart walked toward the sound with only a sword in one hand. Since it was a fir forest, there was little undergrowth or shrubbery to impede him, but visibility was poor.

The farther he walked through the dark forest, the clearer the sounds of people became. He heard several people running and shouting, along with the final screams of the dying.

Rickart intended to keep his distance and merely assess the situation, but someone suddenly came charging toward him.

He was about to draw his sword like a bolt of lightning when he caught sight of the other person’s face beneath the faint moonlight and stopped short.

To his astonishment, it was Ice.

Rickart and Ice collided as though they had sideswiped each other. They crashed to the ground with a thud and rolled once or twice. Rickart immediately sprang to his feet and grabbed him.

From within Rickart’s arms, Ice stared up at him with violently trembling eyes. His face twisted so badly that it looked as though he might burst into tears without even uttering a word of recognition.

Rickart was so shocked that he could not speak either. Ice looked dreadful, making it clear just how much hardship he had endured.

He was gaunt to the point of emaciation, and his once-beautiful silver hair had become dry and lifeless. He resembled an injured roe deer being pursued by hunters.

Rickart had only heard reports that Ice was performing feats every bit as remarkable as his own. He had never dreamed that Ice would be in such a state.

So this was what it meant to be overwhelmed by conflicting emotions. In that brief moment, Rickart experienced countless feelings.

The truth was that Ice had ended up this way because the guild had worked him so mercilessly that it bordered on abuse.

Dunkel had already made his judgment concerning Ice. He assigned Ice nothing but dangerous missions, driving him until he either left of his own accord or died. Despite his outstanding skill, Ice was little more than a discarded pawn to the guild.

Dunkel’s earlier words flashed through Rickart’s mind.

‘It would be better not to get too close to him. Someday, his path will diverge from both the guild’s and yours. That bastard has gone mad with the desire to become a Sword Master for the Order.’

So what?

If words like that could sway him, he would never have made friends in the first place. And Rickart had not forgotten the promise he had made.

“Even if you abandon me, I will never abandon you, Ice.”

Rickart spoke as though making a solemn vow. Then he drew his sword and rose to his feet.

Seeing the boy act with the same unwavering resolve as before, Ice finally began shedding tears of sorrow.