Chapter 62

Having a river beside a town or city made it easier to secure a water supply, but more than anything, the cool breeze blowing off the river was pleasant.

Compared with other inland cities, Ernberg had surprisingly little stench, and its people were neatly dressed.

It was truly a pleasant place to live. But even this pleasant place had its share of problems.

Problems naturally arose whenever people gathered together. If there were a society without a single problem, it would probably be a seriously diseased one.

There was no need to become disillusioned with humanity itself merely because society had problems.

Wherever you went, there were good people, and there were also rotten bastards. That was all.

“I told you last time, didn’t I? The boy who killed Mad Dog Steiner is my friend. Ta-da! I brought him with me! This is Ricky, the one I told you about. Amazing, isn’t it? Hard to believe, right? But it’s true. I was there with him. If you underestimate him, you might lose your head. I’ve seen dozens of people like that already. Hehehe.”

Boribori spoke to a sturdy adult man wearing a bandanna around his head. He was Mason, the guild master and leader of the Stonemasons’ Guild.

At Boribori’s frivolous introduction, Mason folded his arms and stared at the boy in the red cloak.

If all he had to go on was Boribori’s story, it would have been difficult to believe. However, he already knew that the famous Red Cloak had come to the city.

Rickart’s gaze, however, was directed beyond Mason toward the dock.

Several ships that had been unable to depart for days remained moored there. Around fifty members of the Stonemasons’ Guild and their families had spread blankets across the dock and were practically living there.

The women struggled to carry several large cauldrons over, built fires on the spot, and cooked meals for their families. Their livelihoods had recently become difficult, so they had begun preparing communal meals.

Whole fish caught from the river floated in thin, watery porridge inside the cauldrons. The smell of the food carried on the wind was not particularly appetizing.

“So what exactly are you suggesting?”

Mason asked Boribori. His blunt manner of speaking had a peculiar way of intimidating people.

Boribori was completely unfazed. Whether he was being confident, cheerful, or simply thoughtless, he merely continued speaking in his usual manner.

With the Ghost Sword at his waist, his eyes wide, and one finger raised, he seemed to believe he was doing an excellent job of promoting their services.

“We’re adventurers, you know? Handling other people’s problems for them is our job. Of course, we require a small fee in return. So we can collect that unpaid money for you. What do you think? Don’t we look dependable?”

In truth, they looked anything but dependable. Boribori was barely 160 centimeters tall, and although Rickart was as tall as an adult, his face was still unmistakably youthful.

No matter how great someone’s reputation became, it might not mean much to those who lived in a different world.

But this was Ernberg. Although they had wandered across various regions and had not always remained here, this had nominally been the base of the Ernberg Five.

The people here knew better than anyone how terrifying those five had been. And this boy had killed them.

They had already heard the rumors.

The boy in the red cloak. Boribori the Five-Way Dismemberer. X the Nameless Man.

The heroes of Siegfringer had executed the Ernberg Five.

The stonemason in the bandanna stared at Rickart. Rickart, however, was watching the people eat.

Following his gaze, Mason turned his head. More than ten people crowded around each of the three large cauldrons, scraping them clean. The fish porridge vanished in an instant.

Mason turned back to Rickart.

“As you can see, this is our situation. We don’t have enough money to submit a request to an Adventurers’ Guild.”

Rickart’s red cloak fluttered in the wind. It was difficult to tell what he was thinking as he continued watching the people eat their porridge.

A woman fed the babies first. A small child squeezed between his siblings and barely managed to pick out a single piece of fish. An elderly man claimed that he had no appetite and yielded his share to the children.

Rickart took in all those sights before turning to Mason.

“You can add interest to the unpaid amount and let us keep that as our fee. But first, may I ask what happened? A man named Marconis claimed that he had already paid the construction costs.”

Mason led Rickart and Boribori somewhere else. It was an area near the dock where wooden crates had been stacked. There, he took out a contract and showed it to them.

He pointed to one of its clauses.

<Should additional construction materials be required, the Guild shall procure those materials at its own expense, complete the construction, and receive reimbursement for the additional material costs from the Merchants’ Association.>

The term Stonemasons’ Guild did not simply refer to people who carved and worked with stone.

A stonemason was indeed someone who cut and shaped stone, but a stonemasons’ “guild” meant something different. It referred to people responsible for overseeing and completing every aspect of construction.

Design, surveying, procurement of materials, transportation, and construction—they handled literally everything related to building. That included hiring local laborers to secure the necessary workforce.

The Ernberg Stonemasons’ Guild was famous because it built everything, from ordinary houses to lords’ castles, defensive walls, and temples.

It was an astonishingly skilled organization, yet it received surprisingly little respect from society.

Even when it accepted and completed an enormous project costing an astronomical sum, little money remained for the Guild itself after wages and material costs were deducted.

Its skills were passed down and refined from one generation to the next. They were not something a person could learn at a school or other educational institution.

That meant once a group like this collapsed, its techniques could not be recovered.

“Hmm. So you received the main construction payment, but the additional costs are the problem. The terms are clearly written in the contract, so why are they refusing to pay?”

Rickart asked in puzzlement.

In truth, there was nothing puzzling about it. At a glance, it was obvious that the Merchants’ Association was refusing to pay because it was acting like a gang of crooks. Still, he asked the question.

“They said there was no way to know whether additional materials had truly been used now that construction was already complete.”

They were quibbling over technicalities.

No matter how meticulously a contract was written, mutual trust was necessary whenever people conducted business. It was impossible to tell whether the Merchants’ Association simply lacked such trust or was deliberately acting in bad faith.

“But there’s something I’m curious about. Even if you need additional materials, couldn’t you simply build as much as the original payment covered and stop when the materials ran out?”

Or they could have halted construction and signed a new contract first. Rickart wondered why they had felt compelled to complete the building with their own money.

Mason, the leader of the stonemasons, stared silently at Rickart before abruptly asking a question.

“Why do you swing your sword?”

“Pardon?”

“Do you swing it merely because you’re intoxicated by your own strength, like the Ernberg Five did?”

“No.”

“We have traditions and principles. ‘When you construct a building, build it with the intention that it will endure forever.’ Those words have been passed down among us from generation to generation since ancient times. We built homes, raised castles, and constructed cities. Their owners may all have been different, but every one of those things was created by our hands. Look at this city. Look at this dock. Look at those walls. Our fathers, grandfathers, and ancestors built them all.”

His words rang with honest pride.

As Mason had said, Rickart looked over the nearby dock, the distant houses of the city, and then the walls. They suddenly appeared different to him. That was right. All of them had been built by human hands.

Buildings that were several years, several decades, or even several centuries old still stood firm. These people had probably built their home as well.

“You probably kill people easily and earn money just as easily. That must make us look foolish to you. But there are values more important to us than making a living. We are willing to endure hunger to uphold them.”

“You don’t look foolish.”

“I think it’s admirable. If my question was rude, I apologize. I only asked because I was curious.”

Rickart smiled and apologized as freely and refreshingly as the river breeze. Apologizing to a man like Mason was neither shameful nor humiliating.

Mason looked at Rickart in surprise, apparently finding his behavior unexpected. He had assumed the boy would be arrogant, but he was not.

In truth, Rickart treated different people in different ways. He could certainly be arrogant when the occasion called for it, but Mason was an admirable man, and Rickart wanted to show him respect.

“We can draw up the contract later. For now, do you agree to let us collect the unpaid money?”

“If you can actually collect it... we would be grateful.”

“Good. Let’s go, Bori.”

“H-Huh? Where?”

“Where do you think? We’re going to collect the money.”

With his sword resting across one shoulder, Rickart walked away from the dock. His destination was the mansion he had visited the previous day to attend the banquet.

Boribori hurried after him and asked,

“Can we really do this immediately without even signing a contract?”

“You can tell at a glance whether someone is decent or a worthless thug. The people from the Merchants’ Association made me uneasy. If we’re going to establish ourselves in this city, shouldn’t we think about the long term? In that case, I think it’s better to judge people by their character instead of their money.”

“No, I asked whether it was all right not to sign a contract.”

“A noble stakes his life on keeping his word. Some people even consider being asked to sign a contract an insult.”

“Huh...? Since when have you ever acted like a noble, Ricky?”

“You little brat.”

Rickart roughly tousled Boribori’s hair. Boribori was already fourteen and would become an adult the following year, yet Rickart, who was two years younger, was bigger than he was.

“Anyway, how are you planning to get the money back?”

“How else? By force.”

It was not an age without trials, but disputes were resolved through force overwhelmingly more often than through a court.

Trials took a long time, and unless the local lord personally presided over one, their rulings carried little authority. Moreover, even if a person won a trial, there was little that could be done if the loser simply refused to comply.

Of course, there were various forms of trial. If the dispute was settled through a trial by combat, the matter could be resolved cleanly. Every noble of legitimate birth possessed the right to demand one.

Rickart took some confidence from the fact that he was a noble of legitimate birth. If necessary, he could simply demand a trial by combat.

More importantly, there were few methods besides force for collecting an unpaid debt.

Rickart reached the front gate of the mansion he had visited the previous day and spoke to the gatekeeper.

“You saw me yesterday, didn’t you? Please open the gate.”

The gatekeeper peered at Rickart through the gap in the beautifully carved gate, then obediently opened it. He remembered Rickart because the boy had arrived wearing such shabby clothes.

“What brings you here, young master?”

“I’ve come to collect an unpaid debt.”

“...Pardon?”

The gatekeeper looked bewildered, unable to understand what he meant.

Rickart ignored him, pushed the gate wide open, and entered the courtyard. He wandered around the mansion, looking here and there, before heading toward the stable.

“Bori, you take one of the reins too.”

“Wh-What are you planning?”

“We’ll sell the horses and use the money to cover the debt.”

“Huh?”

Horses were extremely expensive. Unless it was a mere packhorse, even the cheapest horse could fetch several gold coins. The prices of exceptional horses could climb beyond imagination.

The stable was spacious and well constructed. When they entered, they found five large horses inside.

Rickart selected the horse with the glossiest coat and the finest physique. It was clearly an animal that had been meticulously cared for.

“Wh-Who are you?”

The stable hand, who had been sweeping the floor, asked in alarm when he saw the strangers enter.

Ignoring his confusion, Rickart brought over a set of tack and fitted it onto a horse with a brown coat and distinctive white spots.

“Wh-Who are you? Don’t touch that horse.”

“Don’t come any closer. I might kill you.”

Rickart drew his dagger and threatened him. It was practically robbery, but as far as Rickart was concerned, this was the compulsory enforcement of a contract.

When the sharp dagger gleamed dangerously, the startled stable hand fled in terror to inform his master.

In the meantime, Rickart finished saddling the horse, led it outside, and mounted it. He had learned horseback riding at home and was fairly skilled.

Boribori did not know how to ride, so he merely seized another horse’s reins and hurried outside.

Rickart rode into the courtyard and waited for Boribori.

Clop. Clop. Clop.

He repeatedly changed direction, trampling across the lawn as though it belonged to him.

A mounted man naturally possessed an extraordinary presence that overwhelmed those around him. The servants working in the mansion all stared in astonishment.

“Open the gate! If you don’t, I’ll run you down!”

Rickart drew his sword, pointed it at the gatekeeper, and shouted.

Faced with the enormous horse, the cold gleam of the sword, the commanding shout, and Rickart’s wide, fierce eyes, the gatekeeper panicked and threw the gate wide open without even realizing what he was doing.

Boribori hurried out through the open gate. Meanwhile, Marconis emerged from the mansion and shouted with an expression of stunned disbelief.

“Wh-What do you think you’re doing?”

Rickart looked down at him from horseback and sneered.

“I’m collecting an unpaid debt. You should have paid what you owed on time. If the horses aren’t enough to cover it, I’ll come back and collect more later. Farewell. Hyah!”

He shamelessly spurred the horse forward and galloped out of the mansion. Its pounding hooves kicked up a cloud of pale dust.

Clatter! Clatter! Clatter! Clatter!

His blond hair streamed in the wind, and his red cloak fluttered behind him.

The mansion’s servants could not tear their eyes away from the picturesque boy. It seemed that what proved a noble bloodline was not appearance, but bold actions and a confident bearing.

Marconis, the owner of the horse, could only stare blankly at Rickart as he disappeared into the distance.

That was because the horse Rickart had just taken was worth far more than the unpaid debt.