Chapter 63

A horse market happened to be open at the southwestern entrance of Ernberg. The place was bustling with people.

A broad field stretched along the gentle curve of a hill. Beside it stood temporary stables and enclosures containing various kinds of horses, from ponies and packhorses to general-purpose horses and riding horses for nobles and wealthy people.

Every so often, horse traders led their animals around the wide field by their reins. This served not only to advertise their horses but also to demonstrate their skill in handling them.

Caring for horses required considerable knowledge and skill. In particular, the training and breeding methods employed by the masters of horse of emperors, kings, and great nobles were treated almost as state secrets. Anyone who disclosed them carelessly could face a horrific execution.

Most of the horses at the market were packhorses or general-purpose horses. There were very few well-kept riding horses. As for warhorses, one would be lucky to find even one or two after searching the entire market.

Horse traders and prospective buyers haggled throughout the grounds. Some genuinely needed a horse, while others were seeking animals for breeding bloodlines.

There were also people who, for reasons unknown, had come to sell horses that were part of their family’s property. Their animals were not particularly fine breeds, but they had clearly been properly washed and brushed for the first time in ages in an attempt to keep them as presentable as possible and sell them for a slightly higher price.

Then someone suddenly came galloping toward the field. His fluttering red cloak was especially striking.

Clatter! Clatter! Clatter! Clatter!

“Whoa!”

“H-Hey, you!”

The people leading horses around the field panicked and scrambled out of the way. Horses had to be handled carefully. If they were involved in an accident, their value would plummet.

“Sorry. I’m in a hurry.”

The rider was none other than Rickart. Still mounted, he rode back and forth across the field.

He looked remarkably imposing. At first, the horse traders merely stared at him in disbelief, but their gazes were soon captured by the horse beneath him. They looked as though they had fallen in love at first sight.

Rickart’s horse had a balanced, sturdy build, with sleek yet bulging muscles that stood out clearly. One glance was enough to identify it as a warhorse.

Warhorses existed in an entirely different class from ordinary horses, and their prices rose astronomically. There were only a few suitable breeds, and they had to undergo specialized training from a young age.

Warhorses could no longer be regarded as mere herbivores. They needed to possess fierce courage, the endurance to keep moving even after being pierced by blades and spears, and unwavering obedience and loyalty to their masters.

If they also possessed exceptional acceleration, stamina, maneuverability, and reaction speed, they could reach a point where no amount of money could buy them.

Of course, it was difficult for a single horse to possess every one of those qualities. A horse that did would be treasured even by an emperor.

A horse was both the beginning and the end for a knight. It was the knight’s honor itself, as well as his life. There was even a story of an ancient king who had sold a castle to purchase a famous steed.

Of course, only one horse in a thousand warhorses would ever reach such heights. If it was born in the right era, it might write itself into legend alongside a hero.

Rickart’s horse was not quite at that level, but it was undoubtedly the finest horse in the market that day.

“Urgent sale! Anyone interested? Must sell immediately!”

Rickart shouted while riding wherever he pleased across the field. In truth, sellers were supposed to follow a strict order and walk their horses slowly in turn, but Rickart paid no attention to such rules.

No one pointed it out, either. They had all been captivated by the magnificent horse.

Among them was a man in silk robes surrounded by a group of attendants. He had a beard that reached his chest and an impressive physique.

After watching Rickart ride around as he pleased for some time, the man fearlessly approached and called out to him.

“Excuse me, young man.”

Rickart turned toward the voice. Just then, Boribori arrived panting heavily while leading the second horse. Rickart took its reins and approached the man.

“There are actually two horses for sale. If possible, I’d like you to buy both of them together.”

The abrupt manner in which he said it made it obvious to anyone that he was no merchant. The man in silk let out an incredulous laugh.

He calmly stroked the neck and head of Rickart’s horse, examining its condition.

It was exceptional. He could practically feel the handler’s meticulous care. An experienced eye could immediately tell whether a horse had been treated carelessly or raised with love and affection.

The horse Boribori had brought was somewhat inferior to the one Rickart was riding, but it was by no means a poor animal.

After inspecting both horses, the man in silk looked up at Rickart and asked,

“Do you understand what kind of horse this is before rushing to sell it?”

“It’s a fairly good horse.”

“This is a warhorse—a horse ridden by knights. Warhorses are divided into coursers and destriers. Even a courser commands a far higher price than an ordinary horse. A destrier, however, is considerably more expensive even than a courser. I’m asking whether you understand that.”

Even among destriers, there were many different grades, ranging from the legendary steeds of heroes to the horses ridden by ordinary knights.

Judging solely by its physique, Rickart’s horse ranked quite highly even among destriers. Its courage and endurance would still have to be tested, of course.

“I know that much. My father rode a destrier.”

“...Hmm.”

If his father was a knight, that meant Rickart was the son of a knightly family. Even so, the man in silk was neither intimidated nor particularly concerned.

“I’ll give you one hundred and eighty gold coins for both.”

“Four hundred.”

“Hahaha! Boldness is admirable, but that price is absurd, young man. I distinctly heard you say this was an urgent sale.”

“I see. Since it’s an urgent sale, let’s see... Just give me three hundred and ninety.”

“Thank you for showing me such fine horses. I hope you find them another good owner.”

When Rickart named such a ludicrous price, the man in silk patted the horse’s neck, turned around, and walked away.

Rickart hurried after him.

“All right. Two hundred.”

“One hundred and eighty. I have no desire to haggle any further.”

“Understood. Give me one hundred and eighty.”

Rickart spoke as he dismounted.

The man beckoned to someone with a flick of his hand, and an attendant promptly brought over the money. He handed Rickart two fairly large pouches and one small one.

Rickart opened the pouches and checked the money. Merely stirring the coins a few times with his fingers was enough for him to count them precisely.

There were indeed one hundred and eighty gold coins.

“R-Ricky, what do we do? We’re rich!”

Seeing an unimaginable amount of money right beside him, Boribori’s eyes widened. He grabbed Rickart and shook him excitedly. Perhaps because he had grown up in poverty, Boribori was rather fond of money.

At that moment, the sound of rapidly approaching hoofbeats rang out.

Clatter! Clatter! Clatter! Clatter!

It was Marconis. He was not wearing his usual hat, leaving his half-bald head exposed.

“Hey! Stop! Those horses aren’t for sale!”

He galloped over and stopped in front of Rickart and the man in silk before hurriedly dismounting.

Then he noticed the money pouches in Rickart’s hands.

The transaction had already been completed.

“Sir, those horses were not for sale.”

Marconis addressed the man in silk.

The man looked back and forth between Marconis and Rickart, then snorted.

Without answering, he gave a sharp whistle and snapped his fingers toward the people gathered behind him.

At once, the men climbed onto the horses inside the enclosure and rode over. Although they were only lightly armed, they carried spears and swords like a band of mounted raiders.

Moreover, their features marked them as foreigners.

Rickart had only heard about them in stories, but with their narrow eyes and low nose bridges, they appeared to be members of one of the nomadic tribes said to inhabit some distant region within the lands of the Salaman people.

Seeing nomads for the first time in their lives, Rickart and Boribori’s eyes widened like saucers.

Were they mercenaries? What were they?

Regardless, the mounted men held their weapons and stared coldly at Marconis. There were few things more frightening than people with whom one could not communicate.

Moreover, there were dreadful rumors about nomads. They were said to ride like demons and devour human flesh.

When those men glared at him, Marconis swallowed nervously despite the urgency of the situation.

“One thousand.”

The man in silk spoke curtly. He meant that Marconis would have to pay one thousand gold coins if he wanted to buy the horses back.

He had clearly named an absurd price on purpose. Intimidated by the man’s presence, Marconis could not respond.

“If you don’t have the money, get lost.”

The man in silk spoke firmly.

Marconis merely moved his lips as though he wanted to say something, but no words came out. He had the feeling that saying the wrong thing might get him killed.

As a merchant, he naturally lacked the courage to risk his life. In the end, he truly said nothing and retreated.

He seemed unable to let go, however, as he repeatedly looked back while leaving the horse market.

Rickart watched Marconis leave, then asked the man in silk,

“What? Was this horse actually worth a thousand gold coins?”

The man in silk smirked.

“Regardless of price, one cannot encounter a fine horse unless fate brings the two together. Placing a price on such a creature is therefore foolish.”

“But you’re a horse trader, so you must know its proper value, don’t you?”

The man in silk looked at Rickart and smiled faintly.

“How did you acquire them?”

“I simply barged in, took the horses, and sold them.”

“Do I look like a merchant to you?”

“...Pardon?”

“Whether you stole the horses or not, each of us obtained what we needed. Was our transaction not satisfactory to both parties?”

With that, the man strode away. At his command, the nomads also dismounted.

Rickart thought that the man was certainly no ordinary horse trader.

Was he actually the leader of a band of mounted raiders?

In any case, the horses had been sold, so Rickart ran back to the dock with Boribori. There, he met Mason, the master of the Stonemasons’ Guild, and asked,

“How much money are you owed?”

In truth, Rickart had stormed into the mansion, seized the horses, and sold them without even knowing how much the unpaid debt was.

“One hundred and twenty gold coins, including transportation costs.”

Rickart immediately handed him one hundred and twenty gold coins. Mason had clearly not expected much, because his eyes widened when he actually received the money.

“H-How did you...?”

“When you collect an unpaid debt, you have to use force. Merely occupying the dock wasn’t enough.”

Whether he was bold or shameless, Rickart spoke as though it were only natural.

But that was reality. It was difficult to collect an unpaid debt without resorting to force.

Rickart looked at the people who were still camped out on the dock. He thought that they would no longer have to live outside.

That alone made what he had done worthwhile.

“By the way, didn’t we do all this without ever signing a contract?”

Boribori asked.

Come to think of it, that was true. Still, a verbal agreement was also a valid contract.

The only problem with a verbal agreement was that disputes were difficult to settle if something went wrong. As long as both sides fulfilled their obligations without incident, it did not matter.

“We have money left over.”

No fewer than sixty gold coins remained. Technically, they had completed a request and earned sixty gold coins in less than an hour.

Rickart stared down at the pouch filled with gold coins, then asked Boribori,

“How much interest should we charge?”

“Hmm... From what I heard yesterday, he had already gone three days without paying. That makes today the fourth day.”

Interest rates could be negotiated, but the customary rate was ten percent per day.

It was an age of extremely harsh interest rates. Therefore, it was best to avoid borrowing money whenever possible. If one had to borrow, the debt had to be repaid on time, no matter what.

Compared with the rates charged by vicious moneylenders, however, ten percent was quite reasonable.

“Ten percent of one hundred and twenty is twelve. Multiplied by four days, that’s forty-eight gold coins. Let’s return the rest.”

“Huh? Why?”

“We need principles of our own. We should take only what we’ve earned. Otherwise, how would we be any different from bandits?”

“Hmm... I think you’re right.”

Boribori clearly looked disappointed, but he followed Rickart’s decision.

After hearing Mason speak about preserving traditions and principles, Rickart had concluded that the man was right.

There was nothing wrong with keeping all the spoils taken in battle, but compensation for a request had to be calculated precisely.

Therefore, Rickart immediately headed back to the mansion with Boribori.

When they arrived, the entire place was in chaos because of what Rickart had done. When the person responsible for all that chaos appeared again, the people in the mansion were so dumbfounded that they could only blink at him.

Rickart stopped a random servant and asked,

“Where is Merchant Master Marconis?”

“P-Pardon? Wh-Why do you ask?”

“I came to return the money left over.”

“...He is in his office on the second floor, but...”

Rickart entered the mansion as casually as though it were his own home. He went to the office on the second floor and threw the door open.

Marconis had been sitting at his desk with his head in his hands. He shouted furiously,

“I said not to let anyone in—!”

But when he realized that the person entering his office was Rickart, he flinched and could not finish shouting.

Marconis seemed to be gradually losing his reason. Even a cold and cunning man like him apparently treasured that horse, despite not being a knight who rode into battle.

Still, even men who were not knights often harbored romantic aspirations. Swords and horses were the most common examples. That was why Marconis had ridden a destrier despite it being beyond his station.

Rickart stared blankly at Marconis, who was breathing heavily as though he could not comprehend what had happened.

“So what if you’re part of the Merchants’ Association? What exactly will you do if you refuse to let this go? You say I have no common sense? If I were Mad Dog Steiner, do you think your head would still be attached to your shoulders? Would you like me to show you what truly having no common sense looks like? This is ridiculous.”

At the mention of Mad Dog Steiner, Marconis flinched.

Only then did he seem to regain some of his senses and remember what kind of person the boy before him was.

Rickart stared coldly at Marconis and unleashed his killing intent.

Marconis’s heart began pounding, and cold sweat flowed down his body. Before he knew it, his mind had become filled with the conviction that he was about to die.

Those were not human eyes.

“Listen carefully, Marconis. If you’re a merchant, then conduct business. Rich people always start thinking they’re something special and cross the line. That’s how they get killed. There’s no deeper reason behind it. Are you a knight? Are you going to ride onto a battlefield and fight? Is that horse truly as important as your life? No, it isn’t. If you don’t want to die, learn your place. Understood?”

Rickart delivered the warning as though he genuinely intended to kill him, then left the office with Boribori.

Before leaving, Boribori bowed his head politely.

“We received one hundred and eighty gold coins for the horses. We gave one hundred and twenty of them to the Stonemasons’ Guild, and we agreed to keep the interest. You failed to repay the money for four days, so at a daily interest rate of ten percent, we’re keeping forty-eight gold coins. We’re returning the remaining twelve.”

Rickart spread twelve gold coins across the desk.

Marconis stared blankly at Rickart, then exhaled in disbelief.

“...Ha!”

“Why? Do you think this is unfair?”

“...Do you have any idea what kind of horse that was?”

“No.”

“What did you say?”

“Do I need to know? What I know is that you failed to pay the money you owed, and we accepted a request to collect it on behalf of the Stonemasons’ Guild. Isn’t force normally used to collect unpaid debts? As a merchant, you should know that better than anyone.”

“Haah... Fine. Let us say that you’re right. But who do you think I am? I am both a member and the chairman of the Ernberg Merchants’ Association. Do you think you can do something like this and simply get away with it? There is such a thing as common sense. What in the world is this? Twelve gold coins? Ha! Are you mocking me?!”

After Rickart left, Marconis finally felt as though his constricted airway had opened again.

The pressure had been immense. Only now did he truly grasp the fact that the boy had executed the Ernberg Five.

However, in Marconis’s opinion, Rickart was not sane either.

Looking at the twelve gold coins spread across his desk, Marconis decided that Rickart was a different kind of madman from Mad Dog Steiner.

If he intended to take the money, why not take all of it? What was the meaning of returning twelve coins?

From beating Marconis’s daughter to stealing his horses and then returning the surplus money, everything Rickart did was incomprehensible.

Marconis suddenly realized that he had been mistaken to believe he could placate or tame the beast that had killed the Ernberg Five.

Ferocious beasts such as lions and tigers were undeniably captivating. Their leisurely strides and the sight of them reclining at ease were elegant, beautiful, and majestic.

But if someone approached and tried to touch them merely because they were captivating, a gruesome tragedy could occur.

They would reveal their powerful claws and fangs and tear that person apart.

Blood everywhere. Entrails spilling out. Limbs crushed and torn away.

When the tiger disappeared from the mountains, foxes and wolves naturally rose to prominence.

Marconis realized that he had been one of those foxes or wolves.

Even the most intelligent person could lose his instincts after enjoying success for too long.

That was what had happened to him.

There were people in the world who were true beasts.

Provoking them was an exceedingly foolish act.

Marconis had always repeated the same advice: before taking any action, one must first weigh the potential profit against the loss.

But before considering profits and losses, one first had to remember that one might die.

Chapter 12 — The Tiger in the Mountains. End.