The Warrior’s Ballad

Translator: Willia

Near Nibelungen, there was an oak forest, and the Imperial Palace was located there.

The garden was designed to preserve the forest as much as possible, with only minimal trimming, allowing its natural beauty to stand out more than artificial aesthetics. It was said to reflect the taste of the 5th Emperor, Bellator I, who built the Imperial Palace.

Ricardt stayed at the edge of the Imperial Palace as a kind of dependent scholar, and the corridors were lined with large tapestries boasting the history of the Imperial Family.

Gold and silver threads, along with red and purple threads, were lavishly used, making the tapestries quite ornate. The heroes of the past, at least on the tapestries, still stood tall and proud, as if alive.

Among them was Caldebert, holding a sword up high. Before him lay a pile of barbarian corpses, entirely depicted in red threads.

“What happened to that ragged red cloak of yours?”

Someone spoke beside Ricardt, who had been standing in the middle of the corridor, gazing absentmindedly at the tapestry. The tone was slightly mocking.

When Ricardt turned around, he saw a young swordsman standing there. He was dressed casually and had a slender side sword strapped to his waist.

The man had wet-looking black hair that hung loosely on one side, long eyelashes, and sharp features that left a strong impression. A ruby earring sparkled on one ear.

“Who are you?”

Ricardt asked genuinely, not knowing who the man was. The young swordsman chuckled lightly and replied.

“Liberio di Bonatelli. In my homeland, they call me Stone Skipper Liberio. You’d better remember it, Red Cloak. But that nickname of yours seems awfully shabby. Unlike your impoverished land, red fabric isn’t that rare where I’m from.”

Hearing the name, Ricardt figured the man must have come from a distant southern country, or perhaps the Republic. In any case, it seemed he was another participant who had come for the tournament, much like Ricardt.

Still, Ricardt couldn’t quite grasp what the man wanted. He could sense the mocking tone, but it wasn’t enough to provoke him.

Northern people were usually more straightforward in their speech. When picking a fight, they tended to openly hurl curses or directly suggest a brawl. Thus, Ricardt genuinely didn’t understand what the man’s intent was.

"Ah... I see."

"The Empire's Nine Swords is just a name that ignorant commoners throw around. If you're feeling any pride about it, I wanted to tell you it means nothing."

“Well, that’s something I’ll decide for myself.”

Ricardt’s calm response made Liberio chuckle again.

“Stay humble if you don’t want to hasten your death.”

With that, Liberio passed by Ricardt and walked away with steady steps. As the two briefly brushed past each other, there seemed to be a moment of tension, but Ricardt remained composed and unguarded.

Eventually, Liberio opened the door to the next corridor and disappeared.

The Imperial Palace housed renowned swordsmen who didn’t need to go through preliminary rounds. Liberio was one of them.

Ricardt wasn’t particularly interested in how other swordsmen lived, but he inevitably picked up bits of information here and there.

The swordsmen staying at the palace could be divided into two main groups. The first group consisted of those who attended banquets daily, tried to align themselves with the princes, and formed factions among themselves.

The Empress had borne eight children in total, but the eldest son had died young, leaving the current Emperor’s nine-year-old grandson as the Crown Prince.

The second child, who was also the eldest daughter, had married into a distant country, while the third child, the second son, had been made a Count and served as a direct vassal of the Emperor, thus residing outside the palace.

The second son, though second in the line of succession, had shut himself away in his castle, severing ties with the world and remaining reclusive.

As a result, only the fourth child through the youngest lived in the palace, including three princes and two princesses. The eldest prince, now just fifteen, had recently reached adulthood, while the youngest was six years old.

The remaining princes and princesses were all children born out of wedlock who had been legitimized. Even among the Emperor’s offspring, the status of children born to the Empress was worlds apart from those born outside of marriage.

From what he heard, the fourth child and third son interacted frequently with the swordsmen, though whether it was due to ambition or sociability was unclear.

So they were largely divided into the Crown Prince's faction and the Third Prince's faction, and amusingly, the Empire's other nobles had long been divided into exactly those two factions as well. The current Imperial Palace seemed like a miniature version of that.

However, the Empress Dowager Barsilia, the current Emperor's mother, was the leader of the Crown Prince's faction and was effectively steering the nation's affairs. On the surface, this made the Crown Prince’s faction appear dominant.

The remaining group among the swordsmen staying at the palace were those who simply kept to themselves, avoiding factions altogether. Ricardt was one of them.

Liberio, on the other hand, was part of the Third Prince’s faction and maintained a close relationship with the Third Prince. Perhaps because of this, he had enough confidence to pass by Ricardt and throw out a mocking remark.

Ricardt, having encountered someone in the corridor, decided to end his observation of the tapestry. He returned to his room, picked up his sword, and headed outside.

After passing through a not-so-spacious courtyard and exiting the main gate, the fresh air of the forest felt as if it was washing out his lungs.

The forest had many centuries-old oak trees. Some of them had grown into peculiar shapes, looking like magnificent works of art in their own right. They appeared as if they had split in half long ago and then grown separately.

The trees were covered with moss, which, slightly damp, gave off a vibrant, lively energy.

Walking through the forest gave the impression that one might lose their way. Here and there were ranger outposts, but they didn’t seem to be monitoring the area closely.

The rangers’ main duties were to drive away wild beasts and maintain the forest and garden. In essence, they were both gardeners and rangers.

Since Ricardt didn’t enjoy attending banquets, he had little to do other than take walks. Occasionally, when boredom struck, he would briefly visit the city and return. Watching street fights, if he came across any, was amusing.

Still, most of his time was spent wandering around on walks.

Come to think of it, the palace didn’t seem as dangerous as the Imperial Knight had warned him when he first arrived. Perhaps it was because he had no involvement with the princes. For now, there was no problem in living a peaceful and carefree life.

At least until now.

“You there, swordsman.”

A voice called out to Ricardt from above. When he looked up, he saw a boy perched on a thick branch of an old oak tree, gazing down at him. The boy looked about ten years old. Ricardt had been that exact age when he left home.

Judging by the boy’s attire, he appeared to be one of the princes. He wore a purple tunic embroidered with the Imperial crest, a sacred oak tree, stitched in gold thread.

“Yes, Your Highness.”

“What’s your name?”

"I'm Ricky."

“Is that so? Hmm, I’ve never heard of you.”

"Pardon me, but I don’t know Your Highness’s name either.”

“What? Hahaha, fair enough. My name is Bellator. The same name as my grandfather, who built this palace.”

He seemed to be either the fifth or sixth child of the current Emperor.

“I see. 'Bellator I' must have been a man who truly understood beauty. Preserving the original state of the forest and sparing the old trees is evidence of that.”

“I think so, too. It’s rare to meet someone who shares my thoughts.”

The boy gave a subtle smile, imitating the speech patterns of an adult despite his young age.

Slowly, he climbed down from the tree. His extremely expensive clothes became dirty and scratched by the soil and debris, but Bellator didn’t seem to care in the slightest.

When he finally descended, his head barely reached Ricardt’s neck. Ricardt was currently in the late 170 cm range in height.

Come to think of it, Bellator and Marie were half-siblings. Perhaps because of this, Bellator, like Marie, had bright golden hair and snow-white skin. He was an uncle to the current Crown Prince.

“I am carrying a weapon. This doesn’t seem like an appropriate setting.”

Ricardt said, referring to the sword he held in one hand. It was, after all, not ideal for a prince to meet a stranger without any escort for safety reasons.

“So, are you going to harm me?”

“No.”

“Then it’s fine. From now, you can be my escort.”

Ricardt widened his eyes in slight surprise. Was this boy bold, or simply fearless? If it came to fearlessness, there were few who could match Ricardt.

Had living in the Imperial Palace dulled the prince's sense of danger? From Ricardt’s perspective, having grown up in the rough wilderness, the boy seemed somewhat naive about the ways of the world.

Bellator strolled leisurely through the forest with his hands clasped behind his back. Ricardt, though a bit bewildered, followed behind him for the time being.

“Where are you going?”

"To see the witch. I've been curious too, but until now it didn't seem like my place to go. Now that I have a bodyguard, I suppose I can go.”

“The witch?”

“Yes, Martellia. My half-sister.”

Ricardt's expression slightly furrowed.

“Why is Marie a witch?”

“Marie?”

“Marie and I are close friends from the academy.”

“Is that so? I didn’t know that. I heard that my sister attended the academy, but since both my elder brother and the Crown Prince call her a witch, I absentmindedly said the same. Forgive me for speaking carelessly.”

Surprisingly, Bellator apologized quickly, and Ricardt’s irritation, which had begun to rise, subsided just as swiftly.

“It’s fine. Think nothing of it. But, Marie is here?”

“You didn’t know? She’s been staying in Irmin Castle for the past two weeks. As the tournament’s prize, she’s being kept under special care.”

Two weeks ago, roughly a week before Ricardt had arrived at the Imperial Palace. In other words, they had arrived at almost the same time.

Still, the word “prize” grated on Ricardt’s ears.

“Prize? That’s going too far.”

“Hmm? Why?”

Bellator’s reaction made it clear he had no ill intent.

“Marie is neither a bird trapped in a cage nor a mere object. She is a person. How can you decide her fate without any consideration for her will?”

“Ah, is that so? I didn’t know. How interesting.”

Having grown up in the Imperial Family, where people were treated as tools, Bellator was encountering this kind of reasonable perspective for the first time upon hearing Ricardt’s words.

“So, does that mean all humans have free will?”

“Of course. When God created mankind, He didn’t create nobles and commoners separately. The division between nobles and commoners exists because they have different roles to fulfill. Nobles have the duty to act as protectors, while commoners have the duty to engage in their livelihoods and protect their families. Together, they can unite and even stand against great enemies. Just as the First Emperor defeated the Salamans and vanquished the Orcs.”

“Hmm… Is that so? Perhaps you’re right. Thank you for speaking honestly, Ricky. Most people either flatter me or show no interest at all. But you speak with sincerity.”

“I was only told by my father that a man must value honesty as if it were his life.”

"That's enviable. I’ve never heard anything like that from my father, His Majesty.”

Although Bellator’s situation was better than that of the illegitimate children, even as a son of the Empress, he still lacked the attention of his father.

“...”

Ricardt had nothing to say about that. Living as a prince seemed more challenging than he had initially thought. It made him feel a bit sorry for the boy. After all, looking at him, he still seemed like a child.

Moreover, as the Fifth Prince, Bellator had three elder brothers above him, and the Crown Prince was his nephew. This placed him fifth in line for the throne, but in truth, he held no real power.

It seemed that the Imperial Family treated the sons who were not part of the succession like any other, poorly, or even cruelly at times. The only difference was that the dignity of the Imperial Family ensured they were outwardly groomed like beautiful dolls.

Yet, Bellator didn’t seem to care much about power. He didn’t seem ambitious either. He was like a child who played well alone even when others didn't pay attention to him.

With his hands clasped behind his back, Bellator continued walking to an unknown destination. At some point, the path began to slope upwards, and soon, a low hill with a watchtower came into view.

The tower was a thick cylindrical structure with a pointed conical roof. It looked rather inadequate to be called a castle, but in the distant past, structures of this scale were common due to a lack of labor.

Over time, castles were either rebuilt in new locations or expanded to grow larger in scale, but Irmin Castle seemed to have been abandoned long ago.

Vines had grown chaotically along the walls, and since it was a defensive structure, the windows were small. It practically resembled a prison. And that was where Marie was.

Around the watchtower, there were about twenty people gathered. Among them, the individuals who were clearly in charge were the young Crown Prince and another prince. The rest were attendants or swordsmen who had come for the tournament.

“Hey! Witch! Show your face!”

The Crown Prince shouted, calling his aunt a witch. He picked up a stone and hurled it at the window, but it fell far short of reaching it.

At this, the Third Prince smirked and said,

“Now, it’s my turn, Your Highness.”

The Crown Prince huffed in frustration but didn’t say much, likely because the Third Prince was older.

The Third Prince carefully selected a suitable stone and threw it at the window. The height was roughly right, but the aim was off, and the stone merely struck the wall before falling to the ground.

It seemed they were betting on who could get Marie’s attention and make her look out the window.

“My turn!”

When the Third Prince missed, the Crown Prince quickly stepped up again. However, one of the swordsmen wearing a sword at his waist spoke up.

“Your Highness, may I give it a try? As your loyal servant, if I succeed, it will be as if Your Highness has succeeded.”

"Huh? Hmm......"

The Crown Prince alternated his gaze between the stone in his hand and the high window. It seemed even he realized the height was too much for him to manage.

“Alright, fine.”

“This is a contest between the Crown Prince and the Third Prince. Don’t interfere lightly.”

A swordsman from the Third Prince’s side frowned and stepped forward. It looked like the adults were getting involved in what was essentially a children’s quarrel.

“I have just received permission from His Highness. Are you questioning the Crown Prince’s authority?”

“...Tch.”

Even nominally, the Crown Prince was the next Emperor, so the swordsman on the Third Prince’s side backed off. The Third Prince, however, consoled him.

“It’s alright. I worry that you might be harmed because of me.”

“Your Highness...”

Perhaps because the Third Prince was older, he seemed better at handling people compared to the Crown Prince. But it was blatantly obvious that he wasn’t sincere. It was like watching someone attempt an awkward performance. Maybe he should consider taking acting lessons from a vampire.

In any case, the swordsman on the Crown Prince’s side took the stone handed to him by the Crown Prince and flung it at the castle window. With mana infused into the throw, the stone flew like a lightning bolt, precisely passing through the window and hitting the ceiling with a sharp thud before bouncing off.

“Oh!”

The Crown Prince was visibly delighted. While this display was nothing special to the swordsmen, who regularly used mana, they couldn’t help feeling jealous of the Crown Prince’s reaction. I could do that too. I could even smash the whole thing apart.

But Marie still didn’t look out the window.

At this, someone from the Third Prince’s side stepped forward holding a dagger. It was none other than "Stone Skipper" Liberio.

“I’ll step up as our champion.”

Throwing stones was a bad act in itself, but it could still be dismissed as a childish prank. However, using a blade was a different matter entirely. If it ricocheted off the ceiling as it just had, it could cause serious harm.

No one seemed to care about how Marie might feel about all this. Whether she got hurt or not, it didn’t matter to them. All they cared about was pleasing the Crown Prince and the third prince.

Liberio smirked confidently, tilting his upper body slightly back as he took aim at the window of Irmin Castle. He activated his Mana Drive and skillfully flung the dagger.

But then, out of nowhere, a stone came flying in and struck the dagger midair, deflecting it.

Clang!

The sudden noise startled everyone. All the swordsmen turned to look in the direction from which the stone had come. It was Ricardt.

Ricardt, his eyes blazing with anger, shouted.

“Stop it.”

The crowd, confused or even indignant, stared at Ricardt with a mix of bewilderment and irritation.

But regardless of how they looked at him, Ricardt walked forward with steady steps, positioning himself in front of the castle. It was as if this one small figure was trying to protect the large structure behind him.

“Stop this idiotic behavior, now.”

Ricardt spoke again, his tone carrying a clear warning.

“Who are you?”

The young Crown Prince blinked his eyes in confusion, while the Third Prince frowned and asked the question.

It was a question from a prince. Depending on how Ricardt answered, he could find himself in serious trouble.

Even if people referred to the princes as "fucking bastards" behind their backs, there wasn’t a single person crazy enough to insult them directly to their faces.

What should Ricardt say? Should he grovel, get on his knees, and beg for them to stop? Should he apologize for his actions and plead for forgiveness?

Neither. Ricardt, filled with fury, drew his sword and shouted. His demeanor was bold and dignified, like the heroes depicted in the tapestries.

“I am Ricardt of House Caldebern of Stormhertz! I invoke the rights of a noble and challenge anyone who threatens this castle to a duel!"

For the first time, outside of his close friends, Ricardt publicly revealed his full name and lineage.

Ricardt’s commanding voice left the Third Prince momentarily stunned, his mouth snapping shut in shock.

And that voice, thunderous and powerful, echoed all the way to the high window beyond the wall. It sounded like a roar, shaking the air like a clap of thunder.