The Warrior’s Ballad

Translator: Willia

It was an open field, away from the city. Around them, dry grass grew, and the chirping of crickets echoed in the air.

The moon in the night sky, as if the sole witness, silently looked down upon the spot where Ricardt and his group were gathered.

A blazing campfire flickered, and next to it, a man bound tightly all over his body was sobbing and begging, tears and snot dripping down his face.

“I-I have a family. They took them hostage. I had no choice, no choice. Please...”

The pleading man was none other than the one who had betrayed Rekard. He had acted as a sort of double agent, secretly informing the vampires of Rekard’s movements in advance.

To hear him speak, it was a pitiful story, but Rekard did not respond. He simply heated a silver dagger over the campfire in silence.

Neither Ricardt nor Ice seemed particularly interested in the desperate plight of the man groveling before them. All three of them were not the kind of people to be swayed by human emotions or pity.

Above all, the man was lying. He had no family. There was no need to use any special ability or conduct any interrogation to uncover this fact, it was immediately apparent.

The one thing that was true was that he was trembling in fear. That was all. And for them, that was enough.

“You have two choices, Mali. A painful death, or a quick one. Spill everything you know, the hiding places of the other vampires, whether there are additional traitors, everything.”

The flames reflected in Rekard’s cold eyes danced chaotically, but the resolve beneath them was as solid as stone.

The traitor, whose name was Mali, alternated his trembling gaze between the heated dagger and Rekard.

Then, all of a sudden, he began to laugh faintly. When a person is driven to the brink of fear, their emotions can take unpredictable turns. Whether he had given up on survival or accepted his death was unclear.

They say you can’t see the depths of a person’s heart, but when faced with fear, a human easily reveals their bottom line.

"Hehehe, hehehehe, kekekeke......"

As Mali laughed like a madman, Ricardt, Ice, and Rekard looked on with emotionless expressions.

“Rekard, Rekard, my friend. What’s the point of all this? Kill vampires, kill some more, whether it’s a hundred or a thousand, who’s going to care? Do you think vampires will disappear from the world? In the end, it’s all meaningless, Rekard.”

“What makes you think that?”

It was Ricardt, who had been watching indifferently as if he didn’t care, who asked the question. Mali, still smiling faintly, replied.

“Because life is just too painful. Do you think heaven will come if vampires disappear? Do you think there’ll be salvation? Not a chance. The ones who torment humans most devilishly aren’t vampires, it’s other humans. So what if I worked for vampires? It’s not going to make the world any worse. And while I’m at it, what’s wrong with pocketing some money? That’s all there is to it. Fuck. Fucking hell! That’s all there is to it! Why are you all so serious about this? Traitor to humanity? Screw that! Fuck!”

Perhaps due to his heightened emotions, Mali's jaw trembled. But the three neither agreed nor disagreed with his words. If anything, that made them seem even more frightening.

“You know nothing, Mali.”

Rekard spoke calmly. He stood up, holding the glowing red-hot dagger, and approached Mali. At that, Mali began trembling in fear once more.

“H-Hey, wait a minute. I’ll give you money. I’ve saved up some money. Rekard, my friend. Listen to me, please.”

Bound tightly, Mali squirmed on the ground like an insect, trying to wriggle away. But escaping from Rekard, who slowly closed the distance, was impossible.

Rekard pressed his knee down on Mali’s head to pin it in place. Then, he thrust the dagger into his throat and sliced. The heated blade hissed briefly, making a sizzling sound, but it cooled quickly.

“Guh! Ack! Guhk! Grrr...”

Mali convulsed briefly before falling silent, lifeless. Rekard kicked the corpse to roll it away. Blood spilled onto the ground, forming a long trail.

He dragged the body into the nearby bushes, roughly concealing it, and then returned to the campfire.

A quiet night. The sound of crickets. A blazing campfire. The stars and the moon in the sky. And the scent of blood. That was all that remained.

“To think he fell to corruption for money. How pathetic. Most people become slaves to vampires in pursuit of eternal life.”

Rekard spoke bitterly as he wiped his dagger. Now that the ordinary vampire had been dealt with, the only task left was to uncover information about the high-ranking vampires.

Ricardt and Ice remained silent, making no effort to rush him.

Rekard, seemingly lost in thought, stared at the campfire for a while before opening his mouth to speak.

“As you saw today, ordinary vampires tend to live alone. That’s because creating other vampires weakens their power. Thus, vampires are extremely cautious when creating ‘children’. It seems that indiscriminately creating children is even considered a crime among them. The punishment? Being nailed into a coffin and buried deep underground. They don’t die but live eternally in starvation down there.”

“So, even those creatures have rules of their own?”

“They do have rules, but fundamentally, they have no interest in each other. Don’t expect some kind of orderly discipline from them. In any case, vampires grow weaker with each successive generation. Their lifespan is only slightly longer than humans, roughly between 80 and 100 years.”

“A lifespan? Aren’t they supposed to be immortal?”

At Ricardt’s question, Rekard tapped his temple lightly with his finger and replied,

“That’s the limit of how long their minds last. Their bodies may be immortal, but their minds can’t endure, and eventually, they just become actual monsters. Those are what we call ghouls. Have you heard of them?”

“I’ve only heard the name. Monsters that eat humans, right?”

“They’re ferocious and savage, but they lack intelligence, so dealing with them isn’t much trouble. They roam the forests until they’re killed by beasts or werewolves, or sometimes farmers band together and tear them apart with farming tools.”

It seemed that, despite their strength, vampires had clear weaknesses. If they didn’t, there’d be no reason for them to live in hiding.

Occasionally, incidents akin to witch hunts would occur in rural areas, and vampires often got swept up and killed during those events.

Moreover, in the countryside, everyone knew who lived where and what their lives were like. If a shady figure like a vampire showed up, people would quickly notice.

That’s why vampires mainly lived in large cities, places like slums, where no one cared if someone died.

“But there are always exceptions. Vampires close to the True Ancestor live far longer than a hundred years and possess incredibly powerful bloodlines. They live in very closed family units. These are called vampire clans, and they’re often referred to as ‘high-ranking vampires’. They’re fundamentally different from ordinary vampires. Famous clans include the Draken, Pasania, and Banstein.”

The Banstein family was the clan of the vampire who was both the client and target of this special commission.

“Isn’t the Banstein family a Count’s house? Does that mean a vampire became a noble?”

“That, I don’t know. Whether one of their ancestors was a human who turned into a vampire, or if the vampire family was granted a noble title, I have no idea. But for families of that caliber, no one dares to touch them. Not even the Emperor or the Holy See. They just leave them be, pretending they don’t exist.”

“How is that possible? I can’t understand.”

“I’ve heard that every now and then, investigations are conducted, but they never find any evidence. So they’re just left in some useless corner and forgotten. People like me don’t bother messing with them, either.”

The Emperor and the Holy See had more urgent and significant threats to deal with than vampires. These included local nobles, cardinals, and secular families.

One wrong move, and they could lose power or even be deposed. They saw no reason to waste manpower and money dealing with vampires.

Even so, Ricardt found it difficult to understand. Yet, at the same time, he could somewhat see the logic.

It was more of an unsettling feeling. Like learning a secret of the world that one didn’t need to know.

“When dealing with vampires, the most important thing to remember is not to let your heart waver. Those monsters are truly terrifying because they exploit the empty spaces in one’s heart to corrupt them. Keep that in mind.”

With that, Rekard stood up, as if preparing to leave.

“I don’t actually know much about high-ranking vampires. But it seems I didn’t really know much about you two either. I don’t know why you’re trying to kill a high-ranking vampire, but I wish you luck.”

And then he simply left. His footsteps grew fainter and fainter until they were swallowed by the darkness of the night.

“Not as useful as I expected,”

Ricardt said, glancing at Ice. Ice appeared to be lost in thought for a moment before speaking.

“What do you think? Should we go back and report to Volka on the progress? Or...”

"You mean go meet the client right now?"

“Yeah.”

"Hmm, should we send a letter at least?"

“Let’s do that.”

Originally, they had planned to return to Volka, discuss the situation, and then make a decision, but it seemed they could simply proceed to meet the client.

Adventurers tended to do things their own way, after all. One of the biggest headaches for every clan leader in the world was managing the whims of unruly adventurers. Ricardt and Ice were no exception in this regard.

Still, doing things their way was better than killing people indiscriminately or causing unnecessary trouble. The world was full of troublesome adventurers. Given the nature of their work, the line between crime and duty often blurred.

Ricardt stepped on the campfire to extinguish it and left the area. All that remained was the corpse hidden in the nearby bushes.

But had that man truly been corrupted because of vampires? After all, greed for money was a universal trait.

Ricardt sent a letter to Volka from Gates City. The letter briefly stated that they had easily dealt with a vampire and, based on Rekard’s information, there was no need for major concern. He wrote that Volka shouldn’t worry too much and informed him that he and Ice would head to the place called Banstein.

Banstein was a territory belonging to the Kingdom of Nethersland, located far west of Ernburg.

According to people, if they stopped by villages or cities along the way, it would take about a week to reach.

Ricardt prepared the supplies they would need in the city and then set out on the road with Ice. This was the first time the two of them had embarked on an adventure alone.

It was the middle of autumn, and the weather was somewhat cold. The wind carried a slight chill, and the mornings and evenings were chilly, requiring attention to their attire.

Ricardt wore a red cloak, while Ice donned a black one. Ice carried the backpack, being the older of the two and more adept at handling mana.

Despite Ricardt’s signature red cloak, no one immediately recognized him. This was because his fame had popularized red cloaks, turning them into a trend.

However, cloaks dyed with ju-sa, a mineral used to produce a deep red color, were expensive, so most people wore cloaks dyed with extracts from flower petals. These cheaper cloaks faded quickly after a few washes, turning pinkish.

Ricardt and Ice had once ranked first and second at the academy, respectively, making them almost unrivaled even on their own. As a result, they didn’t worry much about safety, but they were at the mercy of the weather.

From the first day of their journey, they were drenched by an autumn rainstorm, which made for a miserable start.

The sun set earlier than expected, and the two had no choice but to take shelter in an abandoned house to avoid the rain. However, there were already people there seeking refuge.

There were about a dozen people, men and women, dressed in cheap fabrics and gaudy accessories. Judging by their appearance, they seemed to be wandering prostitutes and their pimps.

“Welcome, young strangers. Have you come to lose your virginity?”

One of the pimps said, his tone laced with mockery. Unsurprisingly, the prostitutes burst out laughing.

Ricardt and Ice didn’t respond and quietly found a spot in the corner. As they began to light a fire with the kindling they had prepared, the pimp handed them a piece of burning firewood.

“Use this, young travelers.”

“Thank you.”

Ricardt lowered his hood and expressed his gratitude. At that moment, the prostitutes widened their eyes at Ricardt’s cute and handsome face.

"Oh? He's cute!"

“Did you get lost? Where’s your mom?”

"Want big sister to give you a hug?"

At their teasing remarks, Ricardt simply gave an awkward smile. However, the real problem arose when Ice removed his hood.

“Gasp!”

"Oh my!"

The moment they saw Ice’s face, every single one of the prostitutes inhaled sharply.

His snow-white skin, moonlight-like silver hair, soaked and clinging to him, just that alone was enough to evoke feelings of pity and sympathy.

His perfectly sculpted nose, flawlessly proportioned facial structure, and most striking of all, the deep sadness reflected in his eyes, created a magnetic pull.

His appearance stirred both maternal instincts and a desire to embrace him simultaneously.

Even the women, who had been quick to spew vulgar jokes earlier, found themselves speechless. The room fell silent.

“This won’t do. You’d better just put your hood back on.”

“Yeah, hold on. Let me dry my hair first.”

“Alright.”

Ricardt lit a fire in the corner, sat down, and leaned against the wall. He rested his sword either across his knees or between his legs, holding it close to his body.

“You’re swordsmen, are you? For a moment, I thought you were some sort of princes.”

Unlike the women, who were now fidgeting and stealing glances at Ice, the pimp struck up a conversation. His tone was noticeably more respectful than before.

“To be precise, we’re adventurers. We’re on our way to the Kingdom of Netherlands.”

“Ah, so you’re heading west. How kind of you.”

Kind? Kind about what? They hadn’t done anything, yet the pimp called them kind. It seemed that Ice’s very presence radiated kindness.

Regardless, since Ice was carrying the bag, Ricardt rummaged through it to prepare a meal. He decided to deal with the potatoes and sweet potatoes first, as they might sprout due to the dampness.

Just then, one of the prostitutes grabbed the pot that had been sitting over their campfire, went outside to collect rainwater, and started cooking something.

After some time, the fragrant aroma wafted over, it seemed to be corn soup. She added a few pieces of salted meat to season it and then served it in bowls, bringing it over to Ricardt and Ice.

“Please try this.”

Seeing how she could barely make eye contact, she seemed quite smitten. Truly, Ice seemed to have an easy time navigating life, or perhaps it was the opposite, given how much trouble his appearance could attract.

“Thank you.”

Ricardt accepted the bowl and handed one to Ice. Pairing the soup with roasted sweet potatoes and potatoes, they ended up with a surprisingly filling meal.

Though it was raining and the autumn air was brisk, the abandoned house felt quite cozy.

Even though the house had lost its owner, it was now filled with travelers who had happened to meet by chance, creating a warm and lively atmosphere. It seemed to subtly lift their spirits, even if an awkward silence occasionally lingered.

When traveling, encounters with strangers were inevitable. As long as no blades were drawn, such meetings were fleeting connections that would soon pass. Yet, in their own way, these encounters had a certain charm.

The faces and weathered hands of the pimp and the prostitutes seemed to tell tales of lives filled with hardship.

However, they didn’t appear to be beaten down or intimidated by life. Their vulgar and crude jokes were like a balm for their struggles, reminding Ricardt of the soldiers he’d met in the Eastern Expedition Territory in the past.

Both those soldiers and these people were merely warriors fiercely surviving on the battlefield of life.

Even if most days were grim, they found satisfaction in being able to laugh when good days occasionally came along. And Ice’s presence seemed to be making this one of those “good days” for them.

But happiness and unhappiness were like two sides of the same coin. Remarkably, they could flip in an instant.

The sound of footsteps outside grew closer, and soon other travelers entered the abandoned house. No, they weren’t travelers.

Rough-looking men stepped inside, and upon seeing the pimp and the prostitutes, one of them spoke.

"So this is where you were, you fucking bitches. Did you think you could run off without paying the turf fee, huh? You thought we’d just let it slide?”

“You must really think we’re nothing, huh?”

“Don’t beat them too hard, though. They won’t sell if they’re bruised. You'll have to work your bodies until you pay our fees."

Happiness, it seemed, was like a thin glass cup. So easily shattered.

Ricardt and Ice remained quiet in their corner, but the thugs eventually noticed Ice.

"Whoa, what's this?"

“Fenante, are you dealing in men now too? Damn, but this one’s the real deal.”

“N-no, they have nothing to do with me.”

“Shut up. Whether they’re involved or not, we’ll decide that.”

Ricardt turned to Ice and said,

“Let’s take care of this quickly and get some rest.”

“Alright.”

“You first?”

“I’ll take the left side from the door. Ricky, you handle the right.”

“Got it.”

While Ricardt and Ice calmly discussed their plan, the thugs grabbed the prostitutes by the hair and began to drag them out.

“Ahh! W-wait! I’ll go! I’ll go!”

“No! Don’t touch me!”

“You fucking bitch, are you crazy?!”

Crash!

One of the thugs kicked over the pot on the fire, spilling the fragrant corn soup all over the floor.

At that moment, Ice drew his sword and stood up.

“What- what do you think you’re doing? You wanna fight?!”

The sight of the clean, razor-sharp blade made the thugs instinctively tense up. But their brief hesitation was more than enough for Ice, it was an opening that felt endless to someone like him. He didn’t even need to showcase his full skill.

Swish! Thwack! Slash! Swish!

Thud. Plop.

The flash of his sword was followed by limbs being severed. The arm that had been grabbing a prostitute’s hair was sliced clean off, and she was freed. Ice immediately followed up with a horizontal slash that decapitated the thug.

Meanwhile, Ricardt intercepted a thug who was reaching for a weapon at his waist. Ricardt grabbed the thug’s wrist, stabbed his neck with a dagger, and then kicked him to the ground.

As one thug tried to flee in terror, Ricardt tripped him, pinning him down by placing the dagger against the back of his neck. With one forceful stroke, he sliced through, severing the spinal cord instantly. The man’s body twitched like a fish out of water before going still.

It all happened in the blink of an eye. No grappling, no shouting matches, and not even time for screams, just silence. Five strong men lay dead in mere moments.

The floor was soaked with blood, and the speed of it all left the pimp and the prostitutes unable to process what had just happened. The pimp’s eyes widened as he blinked rapidly in shock.

"Uh, uhh, uhhh......"

The pimp and prostitutes trembled uncontrollably, their bodies shaking beyond their will.

Meanwhile, Ricardt and Ice nonchalantly began tossing the severed body parts outside the abandoned house. Then, Ricardt turned to the pimp.

“Let’s move the rest of the bodies together.”

“No, I’ll do it.”

Ice activated his Mana Drive and effortlessly lifted the corpses of the grown men, hurling them outside one by one. The only traces left behind were the bloodstains on the floor and walls.

Ricardt scraped the floor with his foot, covering the blood with dirt as best as he could.

Once they had finished cleaning up, the two of them returned to their corner and sat down, resting as if nothing had happened.

To the ordinary person, this was nothing short of bizarre. Not just the ghost-like precision of their swordsmanship, but the way they could remain so calm.

That night, the pimp and the prostitutes chose to leave the abandoned house, braving the rain. They couldn’t bear to spend the night with Ricardt and Ice, they were simply too terrifying.

To them, the two were far more fearsome than vampires, creatures they might never even encounter in their lifetime.

And so, the two “monsters” claimed the abandoned house for themselves and spent the night there. The sound of the rain made for a good lullaby, and they slept well.

After all, their actions weren’t done in the name of righteousness. They couldn’t care less if others found them frightening or unsettling.

The smell of blood lingered faintly but was soon washed away by the autumn rain.