The Warrior’s Ballad

Translator: Willia

In the chilly autumn wind, crossing mountains and waters, two young swordsmen walked westward.

Before long, the mountains became barely visible, and they arrived at a land interwoven with river streams like spiderwebs and constantly swept by the wind. This was the Kingdom of Nethersland.

Creaking windmills turning round and round could be easily spotted everywhere, and tall reed fields, higher than a person’s height, were abundant.

The soil wasn’t fertile, making it unsuitable for farming, so the people here mostly lived by grazing sheep or cattle.

If one traveled to the western coastline, they’d find coastal cities developed since ancient times. However, the inland wasn’t a particularly favorable environment for making a living.

The Banstein Territory was located in just such a place. Barren land where only reeds grew thick.

It was midday. Yet, the sun in the sky shone dimly, as if veiled by mist.

Because of this, even though it was midday, it felt like dawn or early evening - a peculiar day indeed.

Somewhere in the reed field, at an old, seemingly abandoned dock, an elderly boatman was casting his fishing rod. His figure looked as if he were the last person left in the world, waiting for death to come.

Through the reeds, the two young swordsmen trudged toward the old man.

“Hello.”

Ricardt greeted him. At that, the old man, who seemed not quite dead yet, slightly lifted his straw hat and glanced at Ricardt and Ice. Then, he turned his gaze back to the river.

“May I ask you something? Is this the Banstein Territory? There’s no boundary stone, you see.”

Ricardt and Ice had made their way here by asking for directions, but it had become increasingly difficult to find people, leaving them in a bit of a fix.

The old man said nothing, simply raising his gnarled, tree-like hand to point to the opposite side of the river.

“We’ll pay for the ferry. Could you take us across?”

“It’s a futile endeavor.”

“Pardon?”

“Every now and then, when people have nearly forgotten, warriors show up. Claiming they’ll put an end to the Vampire Count. But there’s nothing over there.”

“......”

Ricardt stared at the old man silently for a moment, then gave a faint smile.

“We’re adventurers. We’re here to meet a client. Whether we kill the Vampire Count or not, even we don’t know how it’ll turn out.”

At that, the old man took another fleeting glance at Ricardt and Ice before reeling in his fishing rod and rising from his seat. He then climbed onto a small ferryboat.

“How much is the fare?”

“Just get on. It’s only a way to pass the time.”

Ricardt glanced back at Ice, shrugging his shoulders. The two of them boarded the ferry together.

The old man sat at the back of the boat, rowing with a creaking sound. The boat moved forward slowly.

Then, suddenly, a fog began to form in the middle of the river. It grew thicker and thicker until it became difficult to see even a step ahead. It was an eerie occurrence.

Moreover, the river wasn’t particularly wide, yet the old man rowed for quite a while.

Creak, creak, creak...

“Looks like he’s performing some kind of magic.”

Ice remarked in an indifferent tone. Had it been an ordinary person, they would have been startled out of their wits.

At some point, the fog lifted. The old man had vanished without a trace, and they found themselves on the opposite side of the river.

“Did we just cross the River of the Dead or something?”

Like Ice, Ricardt seemed unfazed. A bizarre phenomenon for two equally bizarre swordsmen.

After giving the oar a strong push to dock the boat close to the riverbank, Ricardt and Ice disembarked. The crisp autumn air greeted them. It was midday, and the sun shone brightly in the sky.

In the distance, a rare hill for Nethersland came into view. Atop it stood a small castle surrounded by wooden palisades. Without hesitation, they began walking toward it.

Before long, they arrived at a village below the castle, which looked like a small manor. Yet, not a single soul was in sight. Abandoned gardens, empty barns, vacant houses with creaking doors.

There were no signs of a military force or band of thieves having burned or massacred the place. It simply appeared to be a decayed village, deserted by its inhabitants.

After briefly surveying the area, Ricardt adjusted the sword on his back and started walking toward the castle on the hill.

“Let’s go.”

At this point, one might expect the atmosphere to feel eerie, but Ricardt and Ice showed no such signs. Whether they were utterly fearless or simply confident, it was hard to tell.

They climbed the hill and arrived at what appeared to be Banstein Castle. However, parts of the wooden palisades had rotted away and collapsed. This place also seemed to have been abandoned long ago.

The castle gate was completely decayed, lying in ruins on the ground. Only the door to the inner castle, where the Count likely once lived, remained firmly shut.

Crossing the overgrown courtyard, Ricardt reached the inner castle and knocked on the door with a heavy thud. Surely, someone had to be inside.

Eventually, the door creaked open on its own. Ricardt cautiously stepped inside. The interior revealed tattered carpets, furniture coated in dust, and cobwebs in the corners.

At first glance, it appeared to be a completely abandoned castle, yet something felt off. A peculiar sound reached his ears.

Gurrrrk. Gurk. Grrrrrk. Gurk.

The sound came intermittently, fading in and out.

As Ricardt was wondering what the noise could be, the torches hanging on the walls suddenly ignited on their own.

Whoosh. Whoosh. Whooosh.

The flames seemed to light the way, leading down a corridor to somewhere. Ricardt and Ice exchanged glances before following the illuminated path.

At the end of the corridor, they arrived at a space that was more like a grand hall than a dining room. A fire burned brightly in the fireplace, but apart from that, the room was devoid of decorations. A single, long dining table sat conspicuously in the vast space.

On the table, an extravagant feast was spread out, a stark contrast to the abandoned castle. Seated at the head of the table was none other than the old boatman they had met earlier.

However, unlike before, his appearance was impeccable. His white hair was neatly combed back, giving him a refined impression. He now wore a luxurious black silk outfit.

Rising from his seat, the old man spoke in a calm and dignified tone.

“Welcome, adventurers. Please, enjoy the banquet.”

Was this some kind of illusion? A spell? Yet Ricardt’s keen instincts, sharp as a blade, told him this was reality.

Ricardt and Ice took seats prepared midway along the table, facing each other. Ricardt scanned the food laid out before them - a freshly roasted suckling pig and out-of-season fruits that looked remarkably fresh.

Where had these ingredients come from? And how had they been prepared just in time? It was all so peculiar.

“I cannot partake in human food. So please, feel no need to show courtesy to your host. Eat as you like.”

Ricardt, studying the remarkably tidy-looking old man, asked cautiously.

“Are you Count Reman?”

“I am.”

“The Vampire Count?”

“Hahaha, indeed.”

“This isn’t some sort of trap, is it? You’re not after fresh blood from young people, are you?”

At that, Count Reman chuckled and shook his head. The strange sound from earlier echoed again.

Gurrrrk. Gurk.

“Forgive me. That’s the sound of my stomach. It’s been over fifty years since I last drank blood.”

“......”

Ricardt blinked. None of this made any sense. From start to finish, he couldn’t wrap his head around the situation. What was he supposed to say? Was it better to be polite? He felt bewildered and utterly at a loss for words.

"Time is relative. What might be a lifetime for someone could be just a fleeting moment for another. In my opinion, we seem to have enough time for our conversation. So there's no need to be too flustered."

“Why don’t you drink blood?”

Ice abruptly asked.

“Penance isn’t something exclusive to humans. I seek a long death.”

“Why?”

Ricardt followed up.

“There are two ways to end one’s life. One is to run from it quickly, the other is to see it through to the end with resolve. I do not wish to run away."

In other words, he intended to starve himself to death.

What kind of situation was this? Ricardt couldn’t help but wonder if this ancient vampire was trying to ensnare him with some sort of spell.

Moreover, high-ranking vampires were semi-immortal. To starve to death, they had to endure at least a hundred years, if not much longer, of starvation.

For a human, it was utterly incomprehensible, and gauging the patience required for such a feat was even more so.

“The method aside, why do you wish to die?”

Ricardt asked.

“It began with my father. At first, I also found it difficult to understand. But now, I do. This is the ultimate act of defiance against God. It’s about transforming the curse bestowed upon us into a blessing.”

It seemed that every time Ricardt asked a question and received an answer, more questions sprouted like branches from a tree. Whether it was philosophical or academic in nature, it carried a certain depth.

“What kind of curse are you referring to?”

Ice asked next.

“Humans often forget, but we were once all human. Even the first vampire was human. He was the first murderer. And so, he was cursed with eternal life.”

"But you die when your head is cut off, don't you?"

“That’s not death. It’s an accident.”

Ricardt briefly rolled his eyes in thought. Was there really a difference between the two? Vampires could live indefinitely by drinking blood, unlike humans, who would inevitably die when their time came. It was a question that was difficult to accept and even harder to answer.

While Reman seemed to have reached his own conclusion and acted upon it, Ricardt recalled the reason they had come here in the first place.

“I have some questions about the request, but first, why did you hire us? From the fog earlier to this feast here, it seems you’re quite capable yourself.”

“As I mentioned earlier, it began with my father. For nearly 600 years, he refrained from drinking blood. However, my younger sister, Remania, defied his will and abducted him. It was an attempt to steal his noble death. While I might still possess some abilities, I’ve grown considerably weaker. I cannot defeat my sister. That’s why I made the request.”

“If we kill her with our hands, won’t that just be another accident?”

"An accident is better than being robbed."

Ricardt exchanged glances with Ice across the table. With his eyes, Ricardt conveyed, This isn’t going to be easy.

High-ranking vampires were far more complex beings than they had imagined. Ricardt had thought they were just powerful monsters, but they existed in a realm of understanding that humans could barely fathom. Clearly, living a long life wasn’t for nothing.

But Ice hesitated. To become a Sword Master, he had to undergo a final trial, and the qualification for this trial was granted only to top-tier adventurers.

Walking away from this opportunity now was not an easy choice for him.

Reman, observing Ice in silence, finally spoke.

“Do you know the true essence of the curse placed upon the first murderer, the first vampire?”

“......”

“Guilt. It is a prison with no bars, no way to escape. Yet here you are, placing a curse upon yourself. Even if you achieve your goal, your brother will not return. All that will remain is emptiness.”

With startling precision, Reman pierced through to the essence of Ice, something even Ricardt didn’t fully understand about him. Ice, taken aback, found himself at a loss for words, his expression one of astonishment.

“Salvation might not be as far away as you think. It could be right next to you. Don’t you think so, murderer among murderers, devil among devils?”

Reman turned his gaze toward Ricardt as he spoke.

Ricardt stared at him quietly before letting out a faint chuckle. Compared to the time Reman had lived, even if Ricardt combined his current life, his past lives, and the voids in between, it would still pale in comparison.

"I don't know much about salvation. I'm not particularly interested in theology."

"But you have seen it, haven't you? A human who received salvation."

It seemed he was referring to Nameless X.

“That’s true. But at the same time, I’ve realized it’s not something just anyone can do. I don’t have that kind of confidence.”

“As pure as your soul is, the deeper the wounds you suffer. Love is a curse. And conversely, it is also a blessing. It seems you fear the repetition of tragedy. But what can you do? Even if it tears your heart to shreds, you have no choice but to accept it. Your salvation lies there. That is the blessing bestowed upon humans, acceptance. Surely, it’s easier than starving for hundreds or thousands of years, wouldn’t you agree?”

His final words seemed to carry a hint of humor, as Reman gave a faint smile.

It was truly bizarre. While Ricardt couldn’t fully grasp the entirety of Reman’s words, he could sense their logic. And yet, of all things, they came from a vampire.

As if understanding how hard it was to cast aside suspicion, Reman quietly placed a small vial on the table. Inside was a bit of yellow oil.

“This is the holy oil that revived the dragonslayer Ilya. The Pilgrim was none other than the first vampire, Cain. My father received this from him, so there’s no doubt it’s genuine.”

“What kind of effect does it have? Will it grant incredible power, like in the legends?”

“Perhaps it will, or perhaps it won’t. Every medicine is also poison, and every poison can be medicine. Cain is said to have remarked that Ilya’s pure and cheerful heart reminded him of sunlight he had long forgotten.”

Even though the task had not yet been completed, Reman left the vial on the table and rose from his seat.

“Go to Harlen. My beloved father, Armand, is being held captive by the Rose Circus there. If necessary, kill my sister to grant my father an imperfect death. If father should somehow fall for my sister's deception, I don't think I could bear it."

With those words, Reman walked out of the hall, leaving Ricardt and Ice behind.

The food on the table had already gone cold. Ricardt picked up a bright red apple and bit into it.

As he chewed, he savored the flavor. It was exceptionally sweet and incredibly delicious.

“This isn’t going to turn out to be human flesh or something when we find out later, right?”

Ice, who seemed to be deep in thought, looked at Ricardt and laughed. He pulled out a dagger, sliced off a piece of the roasted suckling pig, and ate it. Even though it had cooled down, the flavor was remarkable.

The two friends, seemingly unbothered, indulged in the feast prepared by a vampire. They ate and drank to their hearts’ content until they were stuffed. Drowsiness soon followed.

After retrieving Ilya’s holy oil, they ventured upstairs. Most of the castle was in ruins, but the bedroom was surprisingly tidy.

The two of them decided to take an afternoon nap there. When they awoke from their deep slumber, they found themselves by the riverbank. The moon hung in the sky, and a faint, rainbow-colored halo surrounded it, glowing softly.

It felt as though they had dreamt the whole thing. Yet, the questions Reman had posed lingered in their hearts, like that faint halo around the moon.