The Warrior’s Ballad

Translator: Willia

It was a beautiful forest, partially shaded and partially illuminated by sunlight. The old castle blended seamlessly with the ancient trees, making it look like a natural part of the forest.

Sunlight pierced through the forest from the sky like a straight spear and landed on Ricardt’s sword. The light ran along the blade from the hilt to the tip.

Because of the drop of light gleaming at the tip of the sword, a few onlookers momentarily squinted their eyes.

The Third Prince, older and already an adult compared to Ricardt, didn’t know how to handle the situation upon encountering a beast raised in the wild. Having grown up in a greenhouse-like environment, he was entirely unprepared for this confrontation.

This was the first time someone had shouted at him like this, and the sheer intensity Ricardt exuded made it hard to believe they were of a similar age.

In truth, he wasn’t particularly interested in tormenting Marie. He simply enjoyed showing people that he was superior to the Crown Prince.

However, even he lacked the ability to handle real problems when they arose. A duel? He had only ever heard of such things.

The nine-year-old Crown Prince was surprised but wore an expression closer to curiosity. He found the situation intriguing and amusing. His eyes stayed fixed on Ricardt, wide and blinking.

Bellator, who had accompanied Ricardt to this place, also observed him from a distance. Having never seen such confidence in the Imperial Palace, Bellator found it both shocking and strangely captivating.

In short, this was the first time Bellator had ever thought, "That’s impressive". In the Imperial Palace, there were no men who were genuinely masculine, warrior-like, or admirable role models.

Everyone bowed their heads and appeared polite on the surface, but it was obvious they were inwardly dismissive. Thus, Bellator assumed all humans were two-faced.

But now, before his eyes, stood someone who wasn’t like that. And Bellator realized just how impressive such a person could be.

Confusion, curiosity, and shock, the three princes each felt different emotions as they looked at Ricardt.

The ones truly uncomfortable, however, were the swordsmen who had come to participate in the tournament. A subtle killing intent emanated from them. Still, with the Crown Prince and the princes present, they restrained themselves.

Those who resided in the Imperial Palace were individuals who had been tested and proven by Hellauman. They were all highly skilled. Ricardt wasn’t the only one who had survived life-and-death battles; each of them had crossed their own lines of peril.

They scrutinized Ricardt’s skills with sharp eyes, his stance, his breathing, his gaze, and his mana.

The more one trained in mana drive, the more accurately one could gauge the mana levels of others. Though they weren’t on Hellauman’s level, those present could almost precisely assess such things.

Oddly enough, however, no trace of mana could be felt from Ricardt. And yet, he had clearly deflected a dagger mid-flight earlier.

That feat was akin to a divine skill. Even if one had mastered mana drive, throwing an object at a precise angle to intercept a moving target was nearly impossible.

From that alone, it was clear Ricardt was qualified to reside in the Imperial Palace. His precision and reflexes were highly developed, surpassing ordinary human limits.

But if I were to face him, who would win? Could I win without getting injured? He seems to use longsword techniques, but isn’t the sword a bit large for his build? What style of swordsmanship does he use? Could it be the North’s characteristic fierce and aggressive style?

The swordsmen, forgetting they needed to impress the Crown Prince and the Third Prince, stared at Ricardt like beasts encountering a strange competitor.

No one seemed afraid, but neither did anyone step forward recklessly.

At that moment, someone stepped forward. It was "Stone Skipper" Liberio di Bonatelli. Whether it was pure confidence or his assessment of Ricardt, no one could tell.

“I told you to be humble. You really don’t listen, do you, kid? Well, there’s still time before the tournament, so a little entertainment wouldn’t hurt.”

With the castle at Ricardt’s back, Liberio kept a fair distance as he slowly circled around Ricardt like a prowling wolf.

He drew a long side sword with his right hand and gripped a dagger in his left. It seemed he was a dual-wielding swordsman. Mastering such a style was extremely difficult, but if one could handle it well, it was hard to find an equal.

“They say you’ve killed a Sword Master, huh? But did you know? Once someone becomes a Sword Master, they often only face opponents weaker than themselves, causing their skills to deteriorate. That ‘Mad Dog’ guy? I heard he was just a butcher who slaughtered farmers. I don’t even need to see it to know how lowly his level was.”

“Sorry, but I’ve never heard of you.”

Ricardt replied. In other words, someone like you wasn’t even worth his attention.

“Hmph. Allow me to reintroduce myself. I’m Liberio, the fourth sword of the Bonatelli Swordsmanship Family. Did you learn swordsmanship from your family? Or was it from that academy? Whatever it was, your swordsmanship lacks foundation. I’ll show you the difference between proper swordsmanship and someone who relies solely on talent to bluff their way through.”

Just like when they had met in the hallway earlier, Ricardt couldn’t quite understand what Liberio was saying. Sure, he seemed full of pride, but what kind of person talks about foundation in a life-or-death duel?

Liberio assumed his stance from a considerable distance. He placed his left foot forward, extending his dagger, while lifting his side sword above his head, its tip aimed at Ricardt.

With each step he took, he alternated the positions of his weapons, pulling the dagger back and extending the side sword forward. Though it might appear trivial, it created confusion about which was the feint and which the main attack.

The problem with such a maneuver was that if executed poorly, one could confuse oneself. However, since he had passed Hellauman’s tests, it was clear that he could wield this style freely and confidently.

Liberio moved one step forward, then sideways, switching the positions of his front and rear hands as he slowly closed the distance toward Ricardt.

Because of the vast difference in the lengths of the side sword and the dagger, it became difficult to gauge the proper distance each time he switched hands, at least, for anyone else.

Ricardt, on the other hand, bent his knees slightly, holding his sword beside his face. He stared directly into Liberio’s eyes with his signature cold gaze.

Then, suddenly, Liberio halted mid-step while adjusting his stance and thrust his side sword straight at Ricardt. Thus, the duel began.

Ricardt swung his sword directly at the incoming attack. He was much faster and more powerful than before. However, Liberio’s thrusting sword flicked and bounced in an instant, like a skipping stone on water.

In that brief moment, Liberio’s blade grazed Ricardt’s and left a shallow cut on his upper right arm. At the same time, Liberio stepped away, narrowly dodging Ricardt’s sword.

Whoosh! Clang!

A rosy afterimage lingered in the air. Liberio seemed to be on the verge of reaching the level of a Sword Master.

He then used his dagger, his ultimate secret weapon for ending lives, thrusting it upward toward Ricardt’s abdomen from below. From afar, it looked as though he was stabbing with a crimson streak of light.

But astonishingly, in that fleeting moment, Ricardt retrieved his forward-thrusting sword and struck down precisely on the dagger with the pommel of his hilt.

Changkang!

The mana-infused dagger shattered. Before Liberio could even register the pain in his wrist, he frantically leapt back, sparks flying as he retreated.

Despite the brief moment when his heart sank, Liberio’s quick reaction was commendable. Still, he couldn’t hide his shock. Was that even possible?

When mana is infused into a weapon, its sharpness and durability increase. In an age where the quality of steel weapons varied greatly, even that alone granted tremendous power. Sword Masters were capable of slicing through shields and armor as if cutting cheese.

But breaking a mana-infused blade with the pommel of a sword? This defied common sense.

The onlooking swordsmen were just as astonished. Even now, they couldn’t sense any mana from Ricardt.

The reason for this phenomenon was that Ricardt had inherited the strength of the legendary hero Ilya, who had slain a dragon. His physical strength alone surpassed that of most who operated mana drives.

Ricardt immediately chased after the retreating Liberio. He didn’t attack but seemed focused on closing the distance. Despite his overwhelming, superhuman strength, he didn’t rely on it alone.

Liberio quickly sidestepped and swung his side sword at Ricardt’s wrist, which held the sword. Ricardt twisted his blade and blocked the attack with the guard.

Chaeng!

A burst of red mana exploded outward. Immediately, a continuous stream of attacks followed as if it were as natural as breathing.

Whoosh! Clang!

Liberio, with his damp-looking black hair styled for flair and a ruby earring hanging from just one ear, suddenly found his head separated from his body.

His body, which had been moving intensely, lost control, spun around, and collapsed with a thud. Blood sprayed out in a circular arc as his head, which had soared upward, fell to the ground after his body had already hit the floor.

And so, the swordsman who prided himself on "poper" swordsmanship was decapitated and killed. The duel was over.

The watching swordsmen felt chills down their spines. They were left speechless for a moment, witnessing a method they had never seen before, which ended the fight swiftly and decisively.

Though it looked simple, they knew it was anything but. Above all, Ricardt had performed every move without any unnecessary actions, remaining calm and composed from start to finish.

Even after the duel was over, Ricardt showed no excitement. He simply glanced down at the torn fabric on his upper right arm. There was no blood. His skin hadn’t been cut.

“Wow...”

The Crown Prince, who had been watching the duel, exclaimed in awe, his eyes wide open.

“What was that? What was that? I couldn’t see it properly, but that was amazing.”

The Crown Prince, showing no fear, tried to run toward Ricardt, who had just finished the duel. The guards near him quickly grabbed him to stop him.

“What are you doing? Let go of me.”

“Your Highness, he hasn’t sheathed his sword yet,” one of the guards explained.

At that, Ricardt wiped the blood off his sword and sheathed it. Only then did the Crown Prince run up to Ricardt, looking up at him as he spoke.

“That was incredible just now. This is my first time seeing a real duel. You’re Ricardt of the Caldebern Family, right? Are you also participating in the tournament?”

"Yes, Your Highness."

Ricardt answered with a bow.

Despite the decapitated corpse lying nearby, the Crown Prince paid it no mind. He had seen many such scenes during executions and was unfazed.

What fascinated him now was the duel itself, the spectacle of two swordsmen pouring their life’s skill into a match.

Of course, Ricardt hadn’t even fought with his full strength, but to someone ignorant of swordsmanship, it was impressive nonetheless.

"Aren't you scared?"

The Crown Prince asked.

“Everyone is scared at first. But once you get used to it, it’s no longer frightening.”

“Really? So how much practice would it take to fight like you?”

“I’m not sure myself. However, as you train hard and fight, there comes a moment when you gain confidence.”

“Really? Alright. Then teach me swordsmanship. Come to my chambers every morning. I already have a swordsmanship teacher, but he’s not as impressive as you.”

“......”

Ricardt hadn’t anticipated this. He felt as if he had been dragged into something troublesome, but there was no choice. He had to protect Marie.

“In exchange, would you release Princess Martellia and ensure that no one bothers her in the castle?”

“Hmm... I’d like to grant your request, but that was decided by the Court Count, so I’d have to ask my grandmother. It probably won’t happen. Sorry.”

The real power in the Imperial Palace lay elsewhere, with the Empress Dowager and Hellauman. The Crown Prince, being young, couldn’t make decisions on such matters.

“...I understand. I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”

“No, I want to talk to you some more. Come with me.”

The Crown Prince grabbed Ricardt’s blood-stained hand and began pulling him along. The Third Prince and Bellator stood by, merely watching. Ricardt, caught off guard, was dragged away by the Crown Prince, with the guards following behind.

Meanwhile, the swordsmen aligned with the Crown Prince’s faction were dumbfounded. They had gone to such lengths to win the Crown Prince’s favor, yet Ricardt had captured all his attention in an instant.

The place the Crown Prince dragged Ricardt to, passing through the forest, was his room. It was incredibly spacious, overly adorned with decorations, yet luxurious and not vulgar.

The ceiling was adorned with hanging mobiles, and piles of strange, unique toys were stacked like mountains. All of them were meticulously handcrafted by master artisans, each one a masterpiece.

“Do you see any toy you like? I can give you one.”

The Crown Prince asked with an innocent smile. Whether it was naivety or purity, it was hard to tell. Ricardt couldn’t help but think how, at the Crown Prince’s age, he had left home to defeat bandits and wander through battlefields.

It seemed the Crown Prince didn’t know how to win people over. He simply gave nice things to those he liked and complained to his grandmother to punish those he didn’t. Perhaps this was inevitable, he didn’t have any real friends.

For that reason, everyone except the other princes tried hard to please him.

But Ricardt was different. His mind was entirely focused on Marie at the moment.

“These toys are intriguing but not interesting to me. I am merely a swordsman who has come to participate in the tournament. I need to focus my mind on the upcoming matches, so I'll take my leave now. While I will visit Your Highness every morning, I won't be able to play with you."

"Huh? Uh...... uh......"

The Crown Prince was momentarily stunned, having never experienced anything like this before. Ricardt was polite but not servile. He didn’t flatter or grovel. This was entirely new to the Crown Prince.

The Crown Prince suddenly felt anxious, how could he win Ricardt’s favor?

"Uh, th-that, uh, I could give you a good sword. Or a horse. I even have armor. Don’t you like those things?”

Ricardt shook his head at all these offers. While he might appreciate such things, he couldn’t accept them under these circumstances. Friendship or affection wasn’t something that could be bought with gifts.

“You cannot buy someone’s heart with money or possessions. Don’t be anxious, and let’s take our time getting to know each other. Isn’t there always tomorrow?”

“Wait... wait until tomorrow?”

The Crown Prince, who had always gotten whatever he wanted immediately, had no sense of patience.

“If waiting is difficult, why not occupy yourself with something else? Time will fly by that way.”

“Like what?”

“Reading a book, for instance. Or since you said you wanted to learn swordsmanship, practicing with your sword. Or revisit the things you’ve abandoned out of boredom. You might discover a new kind of enjoyment you didn’t notice before.”

“...Really? Alright. I’ll give it a try.”

“I’ll take my leave now, Your Highness.”

“Okay...”

The Crown Prince answered dejectedly. Seeing him like this, Ricardt thought to himself that the Crown Prince wasn’t a bad person. He was simply lacking due to the environment he grew up in.

To Ricardt, the title of "Crown Prince" seemed like a curse. It appeared to have robbed him of the opportunity to learn, to grow through pain, and to overcome adversity to achieve personal growth.

Ricardt, like a beautiful bird, stole the Crown Prince’s attention but escaped his grasp. He then headed back toward Irmin Castle.

When he arrived, the body had been removed, leaving only bloodstains. There was no one around the castle. Since people had only gathered earlier to gain favor with the Crown Prince and Third Prince, once they left, the crowd naturally dispersed as well.

Ricardt tilted his head back to look at the window. They were so close, yet he couldn’t see her. He sat against the castle wall, doing nothing. Should he call out to her? Would that be okay?

Many thoughts crossed his mind, but he hesitated to act. Time passed as he lingered in indecision, and before he realized it, the sun had set.

As he rose to leave for the Imperial Palace, he impulsively grabbed onto the vines and began climbing the castle wall. It was a reckless decision and incredibly dangerous.

If the vines tore, he could fall and seriously injure himself. And indeed, several times the vines nearly snapped with a sharp tutuk sound. Still, Ricardt persevered and climbed until he reached the window.

Moonlight poured into the room. The bed was covered in silk, and beyond it, a silhouette could be seen.

“Marie”

Ricardt called, standing on the vines and leaning against the window frame. But the silhouette sitting on the bed didn’t respond.

“Marie, it’s me, Ricky. Are you okay? I came because I was worried about you.”

Ricardt called to her again, but there was no answer. Then, after a long pause, she finally replied.

"What does it matter to you?"

Her words were cold, but her voice trembled ever so slightly. Hearing Marie’s voice for the first time in a long while made Ricardt feel an inexplicable tightness in his chest.

“I have something to say. Can you come out for a moment?”

“......”

Marie remained silent for a long while before finally parting the silk curtains and stepping out. She was dressed in a thin nightgown, her long hair cascading down her back.

The soft moonlight that draped over her seemed as though it had been tailored specifically for her.

She was breathtakingly beautiful, but her expression was as cold as ice. Her demeanor seemed to say, If you have something to say, then go ahead. Ricardt took a deep breath and forced himself to speak first.

“Well, first of all, I... I came here to participate in the tournament.”

“...If you win, isn’t that not what you wanted?”

If he won, the prize would be an engagement with Marie. But Ricardt had rejected her feelings in the past. Marie was bringing up that memory.

"No, I do want it. Because I like you too."

Ricardt spoke with a gentle smile, plainly revealing his heart. Marie’s expression grew confused. He’s not the type to joke about things like this... What’s going on?

But Ricardt wasn’t finished.

“You know, I’ve been carrying a deep wound for a long time. So, when I thought about truly liking someone, I was scared that wound would deepen, and I’d lose myself. Honestly, even now, I feel so uneasy. I think I needed time to work through it. But there’s one thing I can say for sure, I like you, Marie.”

Marie stared at Ricardt, especially into his eyes. His steady hazel eyes held no hesitation, no deceit, pure, sincere, and unwavering. Marie knew that better than anyone.

She blinked her eyes. Then, she quickly blinked again, her expression becoming a mix of complex and subtle emotions.

It seemed like she might cry, but also like she might laugh. Her heart was in such turmoil that she couldn’t tell if she felt sadness or joy.

Feeling embarrassed by her reaction, Marie turned her head and hid her face behind her long golden hair, which shimmered under the moonlight.

The unbearable emotional turmoil she had been carrying for so long seemed to wash away completely, replaced with overwhelming joy, so much so that she felt she might faint from the sheer intensity of it.

Marie tried to act like it was nothing and forced a smile, but her trembling hands kept wiping away the tears that continued to fall. Each drop of her tears sparkled like beads of moonlight.

“Can I wipe your tears for you?”

Ricardt, who had been silently watching her, asked softly.

"What are you saying, stupid. I'll wipe them myself."

“Hmm, so Bori was right after all.”

“What?”

“Bori said you’re like a female Ricky.”

Marie’s tears abruptly stopped as she stared at Ricardt, dumbfounded. Letting out a disbelieving chuckle, she turned to look at him. Her tear-soaked sapphire eyes shimmered.

Ricardt looked at her with the gentlest smile in the world.

“What do you think? Does it sound right to you?”

“No. Not at all. You’re the worst.”

“And yet, you like me.”

“Hah!”

Marie let out an exasperated breath. But she couldn’t deny it, and before she realized it, a smile had crept onto her lips.

“Then does that make me the male Marie?”

“Stop it, Ricky. You’re not funny.”

“But you already laughed, didn’t you?”

“That was just because I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. It wasn’t because it was funny.”

“Sure, let’s say that’s the case. Anyway, how have you been? How’s the academy?”

“It’s been... boring. Kali wants to become a professor, you know. Did you know he’s surprisingly good with a sword?”

“Really? I didn’t know that.”

"The book that Boribori wrote, you know? It seems to be really helpful."

“What about mine?”

“Yours... well...”

Marie couldn’t bring herself to admit that no one understood what he wrote and that no one really read his book.

"Not many people read it, seems like only the really advanced students look at it."

“As expected, just as I predicted. It proves my book is superior.”

“...Y-yeah. But how have you been?”

“Oh, right. Hey, Marie, have you ever seen a vampire? A high-ranking vampire.”

“A vampire?”

“When you graduate, you’re given your first mission, right? You know Sally, don’t you? That woman…”

Ricardt began recounting the story of last year’s special mission. It was an extraordinary experience, and in a way, perhaps he was here now because of Armand. By telling him to face himself, Armand had helped Ricardt begin overcoming his fears and opened his heart.

And yet, Ricardt and Marie talked as if they’d just seen each other yesterday, exchanging lighthearted and trivial conversation. But it felt so comfortable, and that alone was enough to make them happy.

Nothing special was necessary. Just facing each other made every little thing between them feel extraordinary.

At some point, Marie had settled herself on the windowsill, looking down at Ricardt as she listened to his story.

It was as if stars were spilling out from their gazes as the boy and the girl looked at each other.

Then, without either of them realizing, their lips met.

The clouds moved in to cover the moon briefly, ensuring no one could peek.

Chapter 15 - The Princess in the Oak Forest. End.

***

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