The Warrior’s Ballad

Chapter 25

Translator: Willia

The forest, unlike other places, was a location where one could feel that distinctive, fresh air. The smells of trees, soil, moss, grass, and even the invisible tiny things blended together, offering a sense of calm.

The breath exhaled by the old trees and the young trees alike seemed to cleanse a person’s lungs.

A place where life could be felt, a place that itself breathed with life—that was the forest.

Especially at dawn, that energy could be felt even more. It was a sensation as if one’s troubled mind and soul were being washed clean.

But in that wonderful air, a strange, unpleasant scent of blood tinged the tip of his nose. The smell of blood.

Somewhere along the winding forest path, corpses were scattered here and there. A group of people wandered among the bodies.

A man with a somewhat rough beard covering his chin and brown shoulder-length hair looked down at the corpses blankly.

Judging by the state of the bodies, they bore many stab and spear wounds, clear signs of a battle. And though it was hard to notice at first glance, every corpse had their eyes closed, as if someone had offered a prayer for them.

“Clan Master. Over here.”

Someone called the man with shoulder-length hair from a spot off the forest path. The man’s name was Lorenz, the Clan Master of the Rubens Clan.

A Clan Master referred to a person who managed several clans within the guild. The guild typically had an organizational structure with the Guild Master, the Advisory Council, Clan Masters, Clan Chiefs, and Adventurers. The Adventurers’ Guild generally followed such a structure.

While a Clan Master’s martial prowess was important, the position required a high level of expertise.

Given that adventurers were known for being free-spirited and uncooperative, managing them was no easy task. It required delicate management skills, as neither being too strict nor too lax would work.

Moreover, commanding operations that involved deploying multiple clans demanded complex knowledge and extensive field experience.

Upon hearing his name, Lorenz strode over to where he was being called.

Not far away, a grotesquely positioned corpse lay. The body was kneeling, its upper body tilted backward, and most notably, it was headless.

It was an exceedingly uncomfortable posture. But since the person was dead, it didn’t matter anymore.

However, it was possible to surmise how the death had occurred. The head had been severed while the person was still standing. That was Lorenz’s deduction.

Judging by the cut, it seemed as though the head had been sliced off in one clean stroke, rather than being sawed off repeatedly. Unless someone deliberately stretched out their neck like an executioner’s victim, cutting off the head of a standing person in one go was no simple feat.

What was more, there were no other visible wounds apart from the beheading. It meant the fight had ended in a single strike.

Nearby, the severed head lay on the ground. The man nudged it lightly with his foot to reveal the face. He muttered quietly.

“There’s no way……”

Although his expression didn’t change much, Lorenz was truly in disbelief. The reason was that the decapitated person was someone highly regarded within the guild.

There were several stages leading up to becoming a Sword Master, though each guild had its own classification system. In the case of the Rubens Guild, they categorized it as the “Petal Stage” and the “Blooming Stage”.

In the Petal Stage, when striking with the blade, a petal-like form of mana would ripple. In the Blooming Stage, swinging the sword would leave a mana afterimage along the trajectory. Finally, upon reaching the level of a Sword Master, light would emanate from the blade.

No one knew the exact method to become a Sword Master. It wasn’t achieved simply by training in Mana Drive or solely through swordsmanship practice.

What was universally accepted across all guilds, however, was that real combat experience was essential.

It was believed that killing someone or fighting in a life-or-death duel would ignite a certain mindset or mental process, which served as a kind of catalyst.

The decapitated person before him had been at the Petal Stage. He was a valuable talent, someone the Rubens Academy produced only once every few years.

The fact that he had died like this left Lorenz stunned, and as a Clan Master, it would be difficult for him to avoid responsibility.

Whether at the Petal Stage or as a Sword Master, one does not become immortal. They too are humans made of flesh and bone, capable of falling to their death while climbing a mountain, dying from an arrow, or succumbing to poison.

However, they usually didn’t die easily—especially not in a situation involving swordplay. Yet, someone had died. Why? How? Who could possibly kill a swordsman who had reached the Petal Stage?

“Did they notice…? Strange… That shouldn’t be possible…”

Lorenz muttered to himself as he lifted his foot from the severed head.

He couldn’t make sense of it. The main goal of this operation had been to kill the adventurers of the Beringen Guild, and that had already been accomplished by raiding their hideout.

During that process, they had learned that academy students were coming as reinforcements. To rack up additional achievements, they had hidden along the path to ambush them.

It wasn’t something they had to do. But in the end, annihilating the competing guild was the only way for their guild to survive, and it was the path to getting closer to power. So, if they had the opportunity, it was better to take it.

But now someone had died. A talent cherished by the guild. Was this a loss or a gain? Lorenz weighed the pros and cons in his mind.

Twelve active adventurers and one promising talent who had the potential to become a Sword Master. Which one was more valuable?

Though the difference wasn’t large, no matter how he thought about it, it leaned toward a loss. In that case, he had to make up for the loss. How should he do that?

Lorenz stroked his beard as he fell into thought. If the academy student who killed the promising talent was of a similar level, then killing that person would make up for the loss.

He must be killed. This was no longer a matter of scoring additional achievements. If their side had suffered a significant loss, the enemy had to suffer just as much.

Reaching a tentative conclusion, Lorenz looked to his side. Six or seven young men stood there, as if they were guilty of something.

“What did he look like?”

“Well, he wore a red cloak and was quite short. He looked rather young too, but he wielded a large sword that didn’t suit his body size. It was a longsword with leather wrapped around the ricasso.”

“If he was that young, he wouldn’t be an active adventurer, right?”

“Yes… we were pretty sure he was a student… that’s what we had thought…”

Lorenz became convinced. There was a talent at or even above the Petal Stage in the Beringen Guild Academy. That person had to die.

Now that his target was clear, the next course of action naturally came to Lorenz’s mind.

“Search the area and block any escape routes. Not a single one of them should escape alive. If word reaches Beringen, the entire operation will be canceled. If that happens, you won’t get your reward. I’ll be fucked, and you’ll be fucked too. Do you understand?”

The initial purpose of this mission had been to deal a one-sided blow to the Beringen Guild through a surprise attack.

But if the Beringen Guild caught on late and deployed their full force, the situation would escalate, and both sides would suffer losses, rendering the operation meaningless.

However, Ricardt had already anticipated this situation. The enemy might try to block the path to Beringen, but they wouldn’t linger around the hideout or Griffinswald, which they had already passed through.

On the other hand, Lorenz hadn’t anticipated it. He hadn’t expected that mere academy students would choose to press on with their mission instead of fleeing.

Griffinswald meant the forest where griffins lived. However, since griffins, which were close to mythical creatures, were so rare, the name of the village seemed rather unfitting. Had there been more of them in the past?

The village was situated on a somewhat steep hill, with the surrounding terrain carved out for defense. And a sturdy wooden fence encircled that hill.

There was a temple dedicated to a deity in the center, and the rest of the structures were all simple huts. The population wasn’t very large, with most people surviving by gathering herbs, hunting, or foraging.

While it wasn’t an environment that could sustain a large population, it was decent enough for a small community to live off. Similar to Stormhertz.

Though not entirely certain, there was one likely theory related to this village.

It was said that an Imperial Ranger once stayed here, eventually marrying an elf and settling down permanently, and that their descendants had firmly established themselves in this place.

Nowadays, they no longer had any direct connection to the Imperial family. However, most of the village’s men were Rangers. So, it was best not to act recklessly around here—unless, of course, one didn’t mind an arrow suddenly lodging between their brows without warning.

This wasn’t a village frequented by outsiders, yet nine strangers were wandering around the village. Although they were all cloaked, the weapons hanging at their waists were clearly visible.

Among them, one stood out as an easy target, even from a distance. He wore a bright red cloak and carried a sword slung over one shoulder.

The villagers watched the group blankly. Children, their eyes glimmering with curiosity, gazed at the strangers in fascination.

Meanwhile, a man standing guard in a watchtower was quietly observing Ricardt and his group. He held a bow in his hand.

As Ricardt glanced around, one house caught his eye. In the yard, an unfinished crossbow was drying as if it were hung on a clothesline. It seemed this place was a bowyer’s workshop. Crossbows were indeed a well-known specialty of this area.

An old man was planing a piece of wood with a rasping sound. Ricardt approached him and spoke.

“Excuse me, I’d like to ask you something.”

“…”

The old man stopped planing and lifted his head to look at Ricardt and his companions. Though they were armed, he didn’t seem the least bit frightened.

“My name is Ricky, a student from the Beringen Guild Academy. Do you happen to know of the Beringen Adventurers’ Guild? There must have been adventurers operating around here with a nearby hideout.”

“……I heard those fools died?”

“We’re aware of that too. However, we were wondering if you might know who killed them.”

“So, adventurers are killing each other, and now you want me to get involved? If I tell you, wouldn’t I be helping you? Then the other side will likely hold a grudge against us.”

“Ah, my thoughts were short-sighted. My apologies. In that case, have you heard anything about deserters?”

The old man silently stared at the boy who had readily admitted his mistake and then replied.

“…You’d have to go to the city for that. Besides, fugitives usually tend to blend into the city, not stay in places like this.”

“I see. Then, what’s the nearest city from here?”

“Torveil. It’s a day’s journey to the south. If you leave now, you should be able to make it out of the forest by sunset.”

“Got it. By the way, would it be possible to get some herbs or food here? We’ll make sure the guild pays you back later.”

Some of the students had lost their belongings in the chaos of their escape, so they were running low on food after having to share what little they had left. They needed supplies from the village, but they didn’t have any money.

Ricardt himself had spent all his money before coming here. The other students had lost whatever they had left.

The old man frowned slightly and spoke.

“And what reason do I have to give you any food?”

“Your intuition, grandpa.”

“What?”

“Look into my eyes and judge whether I’m trustworthy or not.”

The old man seemed incredulous at first, but his frown soon softened, and he let out a snicker. He stared at Ricardt for a moment before calling out to someone inside the house.

“Lester! Lester!”

“Yes, grandpa!”

From inside the hut, the sound of hurried footsteps could be heard. Shortly after, a sturdy young man appeared. The old man addressed him.

“You know that deer we caught last winter and salted? There should be a few pieces of meat left. Give them all to these people. And get them a few stalks of herbs too.”

“Yes, grandpa.”

The young man, without a word of complaint, did as he was told. He went back inside the hut and soon returned with salted meat and several bundles of herbs used for treating wounds.

Ricardt took the provisions and handed them to the students, then spoke to the old man again.

“I won’t forget your kindness.”

“It’s not kindness if I’m not giving it for free. I’ve got work to do, so if you’re done, be on your way.”

Ricardt gave the old man a polite bow and turned to leave. He and his group began walking south, away from the village.

“Weren’t you being a little too submissive? He’s just some old man from the countryside.”

Volka asked.

“When you’re in a foreign place, it’s best to get help from the locals. If that’s not possible, then at least don’t make enemies of them. Locals are scarier than enemies. Someone once said this: ‘If I can get help from the locals, I’d kneel even before a commoner.’ The person who said that was a member of royalty.”

It was something Caldebert had said—Ricardt’s only close friend in his past life and now his ancestor. Caldebert the Breaker.

Caldebert had originally come from the Adeloron Royal Family and had distinguished himself in the Eastern Expedition, establishing the branch family that Ricardt’s family now belonged to.

“Sounds like bullshit.”

“It’s true. If you go through the hell of life-and-death struggles on a battlefield, your perspective changes a lot. And if it doesn’t, well, you usually die.”

“…But how do you know all that?”

“Let’s just say I heard it from my father.”

Volka frowned slightly, looking like he wasn’t quite buying it.

“The villagers didn’t look all that strong.”

“Anyway, we got some food and found our next destination. We should head out. There might be a guild branch in that place called Torveil.”

“Well, I guess that’s true.”

Volka nodded in agreement. And so, the nine students set off, not back toward their academy, but toward a new city.

Meanwhile, no matter how thoroughly Lorenz’s group searched the forest and blocked off escape routes, they couldn’t find Ricardt’s group. Eventually, Lorenz returned to the hideout they had attacked.

As the saying goes, ‘it’s darkest under the lamppost’, he found traces of the students there. Once again, Lorenz was dumbfounded. He thought that these clueless students had lost their minds and come here.

Assuming that the Beringen Academy students had passed through the village, Lorenz took around thirty adventurers and students into the village. It was a day after Ricardt had already left.

Lorenz soon found the old man Ricardt had spoken with.

“Hey, old man.”

Lorenz called out to the old man, resting his hand on the hilt of his sword. The old man was carefully planing wood once again and glanced up at him.

“A bunch of brats passed through here, didn’t they? I already know, so don’t bother lying. Where did they go?”

“…I have no interest in getting involved in adventurers fighting among themselves. If I tell you, that’d mean I’m helping you, and then the other side will hold a grudge against us.”

The old man repeated the same words he had said to Ricardt the previous day. However, this time, the response was very different.

Lorenz narrowed his eyes and looked at the old man.

“You’re really testing my patience, aren’t you, old man? Do you not understand your situation? We have thirty people here, all well-armed. Burning down this useless village and killing everyone would be child’s play. You get what I’m saying? Where did those bastards go? Want me to start by killing your grandson in front of you? Huh?”

The old man stared quietly at Lorenz, his gaze slightly sharp.

“…Torveil. Yesterday.”

“If you’re lying, know that we’ll come back and really kill everyone. Let’s go.”

Lorenz led his men out of the village, heading toward Torveil.

But as the old man watched Lorenz leave, he suddenly shouted toward his hut.

“Lester! Lester!”

“Yes, grandpa!”

Just like the day before, a young man came rushing out. However, the old man’s command this time was entirely different.

“Gather the others. Then follow those bastards and kill them all.”

“Yes, grandpa.”

The young man named Lester responded as if he had just received an order to run a simple errand, completely unfazed.

He then went around the village, gathering the men. All of them were Rangers, armed with bows and crossbows.

There was an old saying that one skilled Ranger could stop the advance of an entire army. It might sound exaggerated, but there was some truth to it.

Armies naturally found it difficult to navigate through forests. Soldiers, caught in traps and sniped from a distance, often became too scared and collapse, paralyzed by fear.

Perhaps the reason why no beasts or monsters appeared in this forest, and why it remained so peaceful, was thanks to the Rangers of Griffinswald.

They were the apex predators within this territory.

These same Rangers now quietly pursued Lorenz and his men. Their quivers were full of arrows.

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