Chapter 64

Accepting the Stonemasons’ Guild’s request and collecting its unpaid money from the Merchants’ Association engraved Rickart’s presence into the minds of everyone in Ernberg. It also served as excellent publicity for the Beringen Guild branch.

People naturally came to recognize that if they entrusted a request to the Beringen Guild branch, it would be handled properly. As a result, the branch secured its position within the city almost immediately.

Although it had not been intentional, Rickart had also mediated the conflict between the Stonemasons’ Guild and the Merchants’ Association, the city’s two major powers. The Guild branch had performed admirably as the point of balance between them.

Moreover, thanks to the efforts of Volka and his friends, they quickly formed good relationships with the nearby merchants.

They could now obtain a steady supply of food, assorted travel necessities, and combat equipment. The merchants also gained a reliable customer, making the arrangement beneficial to both sides.

Only one thing remained before they could truly establish themselves here.

Time.

As the children grew older, lovers became married couples, had and raised children, and eventually grew old, the Viola Clan would naturally become part of this place.

If Volka and Delphy married and had a child, that child might one day grow up hearing a story like this:

Long ago, there were five very wicked villains here, and my friend defeated them.

It resembled a single large complex.

At the summit of Mount Ern stood a very small castle built long ago. It was barely grand enough to be called a castle, but several buildings had been constructed around it.

From the summit, one could look down over the entire area surrounding the Main River. The members of the Stonemasons’ Guild and their families had returned to their livelihoods, while the Merchants’ Association’s ships were finally sailing along the Main River again.

The merchant ships initially traveled by oar, but once the wind became favorable and they unfurled their sails, they receded into the distance with astonishing speed.

At one corner of Mount Ern’s summit, Rickart stood without his cloak, wearing only a dagger at his waist, and watched the ships moving both slowly and swiftly below.

At one point along the river, the sunlight shattered into countless glittering fragments. Rickart’s hair fluttered in the cool breeze blowing off the water.

“Huh? Big Brother Ricky is slacking off.”

A young voice came from behind Rickart as he admired the peaceful river scenery. He turned around and saw Bennibenny, the daughter of Benny, the grocery store owner.

A paved uphill road ran straight through the center of Ernberg, with smaller roads branching out to either side at intervals.

The low slopes of Mount Ern had been artificially cut into terraces, and buildings had been constructed upon them. The entire mountain was—

Children were usually given repetitive names when they inherited a parent’s name unchanged. Once the parent died, one part would be removed, and the child would use the shortened name.

The girl, who was only six or seven years old, often wandered around the Adventurers’ Guild building and bothered everyone by insisting that she was helping them work. Everyone found her adorable.

But it was obvious to anyone that she really came to see Ice.

“I’m not slacking off. I’m taking a short break.”

“My mother says that the hours while the sun is up are golden hours. So if you slack off, you’re throwing away gold.”

“I told you, I’m not slacking off.”

“But everyone else is working. Mister Volka was looking for you.”

“Oh, come on.”

As usual, Rickart escaped from the bothersome Bennibenny by heading down the rear trail of the mountain.

Although it was called a trail, there had originally been no path there. One had formed simply because people frequently walked through the area.

It was steep and somewhat dangerous, but it was certainly a faster way down.

“Don’t follow me. You’ll get hurt.”

“Big Brother Ricky is running away! Big Sister Marie!”

Bennibenny shouted from farther up the mountain.

Ignoring her, Rickart quickly concealed himself among the dense trees and continued walking along the riverbank.

A waterwheel attached to the side of a smithy creaked as it turned, accompanied by the sound of the bellows. He could also hear the ringing of hammers striking iron.

After passing the smithy and rounding the foot of the mountain, Rickart reached the Stonemasons’ Guild’s workshop.

It was difficult to call it an indoor space. It had a roof overhead but no walls.

The workshop primarily contained stone. Sculptures of various sizes stood scattered throughout the area. Most appeared unfinished or abandoned partway through their creation.

Mason stood on a platform, sculpting a piece of marble as tall as a person. He placed a chisel against it and carefully carved away the stone with light taps of his hammer.

The work was still far from complete, but a shape had begun to emerge. Rickart silently watched as life was breathed into what had once been a meaningless block of stone.

It was quite some time before Mason noticed Rickart’s presence. Although he had barely broken a sweat, he wiped his forehead and spoke.

“What is it? You should’ve said something if you were here.”

“I was just watching. What are you making?”

At Rickart’s question, Mason merely clicked his tongue and laughed.

“Who knows?”

Rickart left him alone, not wanting to interrupt his work.

The workshop was fairly large, so Rickart wandered around slowly and examined the unfinished pieces as though they were exhibits.

Then an old, shabby book in one corner caught his eye. He assumed it was some sort of blueprint and glanced at it without much thought, only to discover that its title was written in ancient script.

Calling it a book was something of a stretch. It consisted of a very long sheet of parchment folded into equal sections, stacked together, and bound with string.

It was meant to be read by untying the cord and unfolding each section one at a time. Without hesitation, Rickart loosened the string.

<Mages and martial artists use Mana of the same origin. However, just as a child in its mother’s womb becomes either male or female, Mana acquires entirely different properties depending on how one first approaches it upon sensing it. This cannot be changed.

Therefore, only those who walk the path of a martial artist can become Sword Masters. The blades of light wielded by Sword Masters are fundamentally different in both quality and nature from the enchantment magic used by mages.

Broadly speaking, Sword Masters are those who infuse their weapons with Mana and draw the weapons’ inherent properties to their absolute limits.

The sharpness and durability of their weapons increase dramatically, allowing them to cut through even the hardest armor with a single stroke. Consequently, those who reach the level of Sword Master find few worthy opponents.

Yet although the definition of a Sword Master is clear, the path to becoming one is obscure, complex, and difficult to comprehend or define.

Research is difficult because many prestigious swordsmanship families carefully conceal their secret techniques. Furthermore, Sword Masters occasionally emerge from among unaffiliated martial artists, making it difficult to establish a single unified theory.

Many martial artists meet with frustration at the threshold of Sword Mastery. Some therefore claim that the potential to become a Sword Master is determined at birth, while others claim that one becomes a Sword Master when talent and effort reach their limits and finally blossom. Neither assertion, however, is certain.

I would therefore like to make one proposal. Speaking about what we do not know is meaningless, so let us begin by clarifying what is certain.

First, there is undoubtedly a threshold that must be crossed to become a Sword Master.

We do not know whether crossing that threshold requires innate qualities, talent, or effort. But what if we focused solely on the act of crossing it?

Beginning from that idea, I discovered a clue: the training method practiced by the Order of Nothingness.

To cross the threshold, one must therefore pay a price. One must offer a sacrifice.

That price—that sacrifice—is a part of one’s humanity.

Much research remains to be done, but I am confident in this conclusion.>

Partway through, Rickart began skimming the book.

There was something unsettling and chilling about it. He could feel the madness and obsession within its words.

Even so, it did not clearly explain how someone was supposed to cross the threshold and become a Sword Master.

The author was convinced that something inside a person had to be carved away through a kind of religious ritual.

Was becoming a Sword Master truly worth going that far?

Rickart could not understand it.

Still, the book taught him one thing. There was an orthodox path to becoming a Sword Master, and there was another path for people like the author, who did not care about the proper method as long as they achieved the result.

“Ricky, can you read that?”

Mason asked as he passed behind him.

“Yes. I learned ancient script.”

“Really? Then you can have it.”

“Pardon? Are you sure?”

“This isn’t the first time someone has failed to pay us. It’s happened more times than I can count. The amount was simply larger this time. I took that book after building a chapel for a baron’s family because they were a little short on payment. But I haven’t been able to sell it. Who would buy a book they can’t even read?”

Rickart looked down at the book after folding it again.

The title, , now seemed different to him.

Technically, this was also a Codex. Every book written in ancient times was called a Codex.

What he had just read did not contain any particularly profound knowledge, but it undeniably conveyed information that was both dangerous and intriguing.

It probably would not be useful, but since Mason was giving it to him for free, Rickart decided to keep it.

“Thank you.”

He left the workshop and walked around the outskirts of Ernberg. It was not until late afternoon that he finally made his way up the central road.

When he reached the Guild branch building, a fair number of adventurers were already coming and going. Merchants could also be seen delivering food and other necessities.

Some people had come to submit requests, while local residents had spread blankets outside the building and were sitting there simply chatting.

When Rickart appeared, people greeted him from all around.

“Hey.”

“Volka was looking for you, Ricky.”

Rickart behaved casually outside of battle, so everyone felt comfortable around him.

He merely waved or acknowledged them with his eyes as he entered the building. Inside, adventurers rested at tables or sat in front of the fireplace.

“Ricky.”

Someone called him as soon as he stepped inside. It was Delphy, who was carrying food.

“I told you to hire an employee.”

“Hey, labor costs more than anything else.”

“Can’t we just hire Bennibenny?”

“She’s too young. Severed heads come through here sometimes. So do wounded people.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

“You’ve gotten good at making empty offers lately.”

Delphy smiled as she turned away.

Honestly, Rickart had a habit of slacking off. He had rarely attended his classes at the Academy either.

Rickart merely laughed and headed toward Volka’s private room, which also served as his office.

Volka had been looking for him, after all.

“Volka, were you looking for me?”

Volka sat behind his desk examining documents and calculating money. Silver and copper coins were stacked before him, along with several gold coins.

Boribori and Marie were beside him, helping organize documents and handle various other tasks.

“Damn it, I told you to help me. At this rate, I’m going to spend the rest of my life doing this until I die.”

Counting money itself was not difficult. However, paying and receiving the correct amounts in multiple places and continually reconciling the accounts required constant attention.

“The more you handle money, the better you’ll get at it. You’re just slow at calculating.”

Rickart possessed almost inhuman skill with numbers and an exceptional eye for detail. Whenever he helped, he honestly made an enormous difference.

But he rarely helped.

Work like this was tedious.

“Forget that. We received word from Mister Dunkel. They’re beginning negotiations soon.”

“What negotiations?”

“Negotiations to end the war.”

When Rickart heard that this was the front line, he had expected battles to occur frequently, but that had not happened.

Perhaps the enemy had stayed away from the beginning because they feared Rickart. Or perhaps they simply lacked the strength to attack.

It was also difficult for a single Adventurers’ Guild to deploy enough personnel across the whole of Siegfringer.

Rather than continuing to spend money while people died, holding negotiations was not a bad idea.

However, negotiations could not be concluded in a day or two. Negotiation itself was simply another form of war.

In that war, however, there was nothing for Rickart to do.

It did feel somewhat anticlimactic, but it was still fortunate. The greatest reward that could be given to exhausted soldiers was the end of the war.

“That’s why I wanted to ask: shouldn’t you, Bori, and Marie return to the Academy?”

“Do we really need to?”

“You need to graduate. Only then can you formally begin walking the path of an adventurer. You could call it the minimum required procedure, even if the whole system is rather haphazard.”

“Really?”

“Really. We might come back for you as early as the beginning of autumn. You should return ahead of time. You’ve worked hard. Thank you.”

Rickart responded to those words of gratitude with a smile.

He then turned toward Boribori and Marie, who were sitting on the bed while busily working.

“What about you two?”

“Us? What about us? We already finished packing.”

Marie answered.

Perhaps because she had been so busy working, she did not seem to have had time to feel reluctant about leaving, even though they had only just begun establishing this place.

Still, graduation was not far away. They would be able to return here soon, so perhaps Rickart was the only one becoming unnecessarily sentimental.

“What’s that?”

Boribori asked while looking at the Codex in Rickart’s hand.

“Oh, this? Mister Mason gave it to me. He said I could keep it.”

“Really? Can I read it?”

“...You can, but it’s a rather disturbing book.”

“What does it say?”

“It babbles about how you have to abandon your humanity to become a Sword Master.”

“Then I don’t want to read it.”

Boribori answered immediately without even looking back.

Except for Ice, none of them aspired to become Sword Masters. Boribori therefore seemed to have no lingering interest in it.

For the time being, Rickart returned to his room and packed his belongings. As he placed the Codex in his bag, he paused and stared at the old, faded book.

He remembered the goal he had set when entering the Academy.

He had wanted to discover whether the war fought more than a century ago had truly been worthwhile, whether it had genuinely been fought over objects called Codices, and, if so, what a Codex actually was.

That was why he had learned ancient script.

He had not seen every Codex, but if this was the sort of content they contained, he found them somewhat disappointing.

Even so, it was difficult to answer whether the ancient war had been worthwhile.

Without the war—without the Codices—the Adventurer Academy would never have been founded.

Rickart felt sorry for the children who had suffered in that chicken coop of a place for so many years. But viewed differently, if that chicken coop had never existed, he would never have met the friends he had now.

Therefore, the question of whether the war had been worth fighting was not one he could answer hastily.

In any case, Rickart finished packing.

He remained at the branch for several more days, helping Volka with his work and giving him some room to breathe.

Once Volka had gained a little relief from his excessive workload, Rickart departed eastward with Boribori and Marie.

They were returning to the Academy.

As though the cool river breeze were filling their sails, their footsteps on the journey back were light.