The Warrior’s Ballad - Chapter 50

Chapter 50

Translator: Willia

One shouldn’t judge people solely by their appearance, but sometimes, it was hard to think otherwise.

Reinhardt, the leader of the Widowmakers Clan, looked like a bandit, no matter who looked at him. The way he spoke and acted also matched that of a bandit.

“Hey! We could be dead tomorrow, so just drink up!”

A burly man with a thick beard sat sprawled on the floor inside the defense tower, speaking in a rough tone. He looked to be around two meters tall, and his exposed belly looked like a small hill pushing through his clothes.

A massive wooden club, about the height of a person, leaned against the wall, leaving a strong impression. Given its weight, one couldn’t help but wonder if it could even be used as a weapon.

Yet, the club was covered with dried blood, bits of flesh, and strands of hair.

“No, forget the drinking! I’m telling you, there are about a hundred enemies gathered down below right now!”

Volka shouted, clearly frustrated.

“We know, you idiot! So what? You suggesting we abandon this place and run? But the orders I received were to defend this place, weren’t they? So whether a hundred or a thousand come, we defend it, what do I care!”

With that, Reinhardt gulped down another bowl of liquor. He drank it all in one go, letting out a massive burp afterward. It was strong enough to stir a breeze.

“Buuuuurp! Hic!”

“Ugh, gross!”

Delphi turned her head, grimacing. Ricardt, Boribori, Marie, and Volka all did the same.

They fanned their hands continuously, but it was no use. The foul stench, emanating from deep within his stomach, was overwhelming.

Volka cursed inwardly. No, the curse slipped out before he could contain it.

“Damn it.”

Even so, Reinhardt didn’t seem to care. Instead, he grinned with his mouth big enough to swallow a person whole. He seemed satisfied seeing the young ones suffering from his burp.

“Hehehe, you little cuties, go if you want. I won’t force you to stay. But my brothers and I, unless we get other orders, we’re prepared to die here.”

Was it a sense of responsibility? Loyalty? Even noble chivalry wasn’t this extreme. Anyone could see that retreating was the right choice when faced with obvious defeat.

But the reason he was so stubborn seemed to align with Delphi’s assessment. He was just… dense.

Reinhardt didn’t consider anything else. Orders had come from above, he’d agreed to carry them out, and so he would. That was all.

Unlike Volka, Ricardt thought the guild leadership had made an excellent decision in placing Reinhardt here.

In the military, every commander had a distinct temperament and personality. Some were suited for offense, while others were better at defense.

Of course, there were those who excelled at both, but setting talent aside, such characteristics truly existed.

Among them, commanders who were good at holding positions tended to be exceptionally stubborn, fierce, and resilient.

It seemed that the leadership of the Beringen Guild had taken these traits into account when they stationed Reinhardt here.

However, this wasn’t a typical war fought with regular military forces. While similar, there were certainly different aspects to it.

At that moment, Reinhardt turned his gaze to Ricardt, who was standing beside Volka, his eyes lighting up.

“Hey, Red Cloak. Is it you? The genius swordsman they say killed the Mad Dog?”

“That’s right.”

Ricardt nodded in confirmation.

Volka, Delphi, and Marie, unaware of this fact, looked at Ricardt with wide eyes. The Mad Dog? Surely not… could he be referring to that man, one of the Empire’s Nine Swords?

Initially, the fact that Ricardt and Boribori, along with Nameless, had taken down the Ernburg Five was highly classified, so the rumor hadn’t spread far.

However, high-ranking individuals, including clan masters, were all aware of it. Ironically, Volka and Delphi, who were close to Ricardt, hadn’t known.

Reinhardt wasn’t a clan master in charge of overseeing multiple clans, but he held a stature within the guild almost equivalent to one, so he had picked up on the story along the way.

“He’s not someone you could kill by luck alone. Even with the help of Nameless, it wouldn’t have been easy. I know that well. I’ve seen that mad, terrifying bastard with my own eyes.”

The slightly tipsy Reinhardt was naturally reminded of a particularly intense memory.

Steiner, standing against the backdrop of a burning village, with a blood-red sword in hand. His eyes gleamed with a crazed light, like a rabid dog, and just the sight of him made Reinhardt’s knees go weak, as if Steiner might lunge at him at any moment.

It had only been a chance encounter while he was passing by on a mission, and he was incredibly relieved that they hadn’t met as enemies.

A Sword Master was someone who had transcended human limits. From that day on, Reinhardt believed it was impossible for an ordinary human to kill a Sword Master.

Yet, Steiner had been killed—by the hand of this young genius swordsman. Of course, it was only possible because of the powerful ally, Nameless, but still, it was an incredible feat. After all, Reinhardt himself wouldn’t have been capable of such a thing at that age.

“To catch a tiger, you need the guts to enter its den. Whatever else people say, you’ve certainly done something remarkable. But remember this. fame is a double-edged sword. It may seem like it’ll lead you to glory, but in reality, it’s a rope stretched over a cliff. You could fall at any time. And there will be plenty of people trying to kill you to steal that fame for themselves.”

Listening to Reinhardt’s words, Ricardt thought that this man wasn’t just a simple brute. With a faint smile, he replied.

“I didn’t kill him for fame. I just took down a rabid dog that needed to be put down. And I’m already used to people coming after me for my reputation.”

Ten years as a shepherd, ten years on the battlefield, and ten years as a notorious killer. In his past life, he had spent a decade killing those who came for his fame.

During those years, Ricardt had encountered all sorts of people, experienced every kind of trick, and survived every sort of crisis.

“What are you, someone who’s lived two lives? You’re not cute at all, kid.”

Reinhardt looked at him with an expression that seemed to say, “What kind of kid is this?” Ricardt just smiled at his words that unexpectedly hit close to the truth.

With that, he stepped out of the defense tower. Outside, the sun was just beginning to set, casting the sky in a warm glow.

“That ‘Mad Dog’… that’s not THE Mad Dog Steiner of the Empire’s Nine Swords, is it?”

Volka, still looking bewildered, hurried over to ask.

“Ask Bori about it.”

Ricardt answered nonchalantly and began inspecting the area around the defense tower.

The cylindrical defense tower was built of brick, but its top had crumbled, leaving large stones scattered around. Overgrown vegetation covered the stone debris, as if to remind them of the passage of time.

In short, the defense tower had lost its defensive function and was only suitable as a temporary shelter.

Around the tower, members of the Widowmakers Clan had set up tents to live in. There were only about a dozen of them. Combined with Ricardt’s Viola Clan members, they numbered around twenty in total.

Ricardt walked steadily to survey the southern side of the defense tower. Below was a sheer cliff, making it seemingly impossible for enemies to approach from this direction.

At the base of the cliff, a stream flowed from east to west, with a path running alongside it. If one headed west along this path, it split into two, leading north and south.

This path was crucial for the enemy. To reach the central northern region of the Empire, specifically the area around Siegfringer, they had to pass through here.

Walking a bit west from the defense tower, there was a suspension bridge extending to the mountain on the opposite side. The old ropes still looked sturdy, but the footboards were half-rotted and appeared unstable.

In other words, the likely points of enemy attack were the gentle slopes to the north and east. Even there, the path near the defense tower was narrow.

They could hold their ground if they tried, but if a large number of enemies swarmed in and blocked the entrance, they would be at risk of starving to death.

Ricardt came to a conclusion in his mind. Although the defense tower had become practically useless, its location was undoubtedly a strategic stronghold. The terrain offered a good view in all directions, and there was even an escape route if needed.

“What are you going to do?”

Marie, who had been following Ricardt around, asked him.

“Hm?”

“I mean, staying here doesn’t seem like a great idea, just like Volka-ssi said.”

“Why do you keep calling him ‘Volka-ssi’? Just call him Volka.”

“No, really, what are you going to do?”

“From what I see, it’s defendable. Even if it weren’t, we shouldn’t just hand this place over. If we give up everything whenever the enemy comes flooding in, what will we have left? We need to inflict some damage, at least. What do you think, Marie?”

“What about requesting reinforcements?”

Ricardt shook his head. The guild was probably using almost all their manpower just to secure newly acquired territories. They were likely just as overwhelmed there as here, if not more so.

Not that Volka’s reaction or Marie’s suggestion were wrong. They were reasonable and perfectly sensible.

“Aren’t you afraid of dying, Ricky? Is it confidence in your own skill?”

“Well, I’m not sure myself. What do you think it looks like to you?”

“I don’t think it’s just because you’re brave.”

Ricardt didn’t respond and merely gave a faint smile. Honestly, he himself didn’t fully understand that part about him.

If one looked at Ricardt’s actions so far, he seemed recklessly willing to put his life on the line. But even he wasn’t sure if it was simply because he was courageous.

Ricardt moved on, heading to scout the enemy forces positioned below the eastern high ground. From here, a hundred or so didn’t look like too many, but it was certainly a large number.

However, to Ricardt’s eyes, the enemy seemed poorly organized, as if they were simply a crowd of people gathered together. They hadn’t dug trenches or planted stakes to establish any fortifications.

It looked like a random assortment of people, grouped together to make up the number. They had merely formed a loose alliance of individuals from different clans to reach a hundred in total.

Most importantly, they didn’t have a separate supply unit. There was no system or organization in place to ensure a steady provision of food. They were just relying on whatever they had brought with them, so it seemed likely their supplies would run out soon.

It was easy to tell that they had a complacent attitude, thinking, “As long as there’s a large group of us, we’ll manage somehow.” They looked like a group of beggars camping out in tents. Although, of course, their appearance wasn’t quite that shabby.

Perhaps they didn’t even have a commander. If they did, they wouldn’t just be idling around down there. They’d be spread out, trying to form a proper encirclement.

Of course, even if there was a commander, it wouldn’t matter if no one listened to them. Adventurers, with their strong individualistic streaks, were difficult to manage like regular soldiers.

Their combat skills were exceptional, but they varied greatly, making it hard for them to fight effectively as a cohesive unit.

As the sun set further, casting a deeper red glow over everything, a few groups began to separate from the larger crowd of enemies. They started walking up towards the defense tower.

Judging by their weapons, they were coming to fight. But if they intended to attack, why weren’t they coming as a whole group? Why were they coming up in small numbers?

Ricardt soon found the answer to his question.

A man with a longsword at his waist walked halfway up alone and shouted towards them.

“Hey! Red Cloak! Red Cloak Ricky! Come out here! Let’s duel!”

This was precisely what distinguished this from a typical war. Individual ambition was more important than the overall objective. It was about earning fame.

Ricardt watched the man who had come forward and, gripping his sword in one hand, began walking down towards him.

“R-Ricky…”

“Ricky!”

Marie, flustered, called out to Ricardt, and Volka, who had been talking with Boribori, also shouted in surprise. It wasn’t a fight he needed to respond to.

But Ricardt didn’t look back, continuing his steady descent down the gentle slope covered in short grass. The rocks jutting out here and there were tinged red by the sunset.

Ricardt held his sword in his left hand and casually walked down, stopping a short distance away to face his opponent. The spot where Ricardt stood was on slightly higher ground.

“I am Eberstein, the Second Sword of the ‘Three Swords’ Clan.”

It was a clan Ricardt had never heard of before. It might be famous elsewhere, but this was his first time hearing the name.

The man, with a beard covering his lower jaw that left a strong impression, observed Ricardt quietly before speaking again.

“You’re younger than I expected, Red Cloak. I hold no personal grudge against you.”

With that, Eberstein stopped wasting words and drew his sword. He took up a stable stance, pointing the tip of his blade at Ricardt. Judging by the look in his eyes, there was no room for carelessness.

To be honest, most of Ricardt’s victories so far had come from exploiting his opponents’ moments of overconfidence, taking them down in a single strike. The Vilton brothers who had approached carelessly, the powerful foes who underestimated him due to his young age and rushed in recklessly.

If there was a reason Ricardt had been able to rise so rapidly, it was because he seized those brief lapses in judgment with precision, never missing an opportunity.

However, now his reputation had spread far and wide, and people no longer underestimated him. No one thought less of him just because he was young.

Beyond mere mastery of the sword, he was now facing increasingly difficult battles.

But while Ricardt had often won by exploiting carelessness, that wasn’t all there was to him. Nor did he rely on that alone.

Scattered across the high field, members of the Beringen Guild looked down from above, while the enemies watched from below.

Not only Ricardt’s friends but even Reinhardt had come out, putting his drink down to watch. Every gaze was fixed on Ricardt and his opponent.

All those of great renown in the world were expected to prove whether they were truly worthy of their fame.

Moreover, the closer one walked toward becoming the strongest, or even if they had already achieved it, or were aiming for something beyond that, a swordsman’s fate was to prove themselves until the day they died.

Without introducing himself, and without a single word, Ricardt drew his sword. While he didn’t care about proving himself, proof wasn’t done with words anyway.

His cloak fluttered gently in the breeze, and the blade, stained by the sunset, glowed a deep, blood-red.

*****