The Warrior’s Ballad

Translator: Willia

"If, and I mean if, an emergency situation arises, you don’t need any special technique. Just stab your opponent in the stomach like this, twist your wrist, and then slash, whether upward or sideways. The chest area has ribs, so it's difficult for a beginner. Cutting through bone isn’t easy."

Ricardt demonstrated by stabbing the air with a sharp dagger. The Crown Prince and Bellator sat on the ground, blankly watching him.

"Most of the time, they’ll lose strength and collapse. After that, don’t look back, just run."

Ricardt wasn’t sure if this was the right thing to do, but instead of swordsmanship, he was teaching the Crown Prince and the Prince techniques for killing. Of course, it was for self-defense in a life-or-death situation.

But then Bellator, who had been listening to the explanation, raised his hand.

"Go ahead."

"Wouldn't the neck be more fatal?"

"When you're panicked and startled, it's not easy to aim precisely for the neck. Plus, your hands will shake uncontrollably beyond your own will. If you really want to target the neck, it’s better to do it after slashing the stomach as I just explained. See this soft area under the chin? Stab here and then slice sideways. There’s cartilage in the middle, so you’ll feel a slight resistance. Cutting the throat guarantees death, but as a beginner, it's best to minimize movement."

Without hesitation, Ricardt traced his finger along the Fifth Prince’s neck as he spoke. Naturally, the prince didn’t seem to mind.

It was a lesson so chilling that it felt questionable to teach it to children, but Ricardt himself had already put it into practice when he was ten.

The Crown Prince, however, seemed unimpressed.

"But this isn’t as cool as Ricky."

"It may not look cool, but it’s effective. Properly handling a polearm isn’t something you can master in a year or two, especially if you intend to use it in real combat."

"Can't we test it out?"

Bellator asked.

"No, please don't test it."

"Not even on animals?"

"No."

"Then how do we verify if it works?"

"Honestly, neither the Crown Prince nor the Prince will likely ever need to use it. But knowing it might help if an unforeseen situation arises. When faced with a life-or-death moment, a side of you that you didn't know exists might emerge. What's important then is not to hesitate."

Even outside the Imperial Family, high-ranking nobles would usually rely on champions rather than fight or duel themselves.

"This concludes today’s lesson."

"Are you going to see Aunt again?"

Crown Prince asked.

"Yes."

“I want Ricky to join our family. You're going to win, right?"

Ricardt wasn’t particularly eager to get involved with the Imperial Family, but those words did make him feel good. A natural smile spread across his face.

"Of course."

Ricardt returned the dagger to its rightful owner, Bellator, then bowed and took his leave.

As the lesson ended, the Imperial Knights, who had been watching from a distance, escorted the Crown Prince away.

Bellator remained alone, gazing at his dagger. It was an extremely sharp weapon, capable of slicing through flesh effortlessly.

He stared at it for a long time, lost in thought.

But for some reason, instead of heading straight to Irmin Castle, Ricardt went into the city. He had ordered a gift for Marie.

The Imperial Palace was overflowing with treasures, and he could always ask the Crown Prince for anything, but he didn’t want to.

Ricardt made his way to the street where jewelers gathered. The Jeweler’s Guild was a place where goldsmiths, silversmiths, and gemstone artisans collaborated to create singular works of art.

When Ricardt arrived at a particular shop, a strict-looking craftsman smiled and presented a small wooden box. Inside was a necklace featuring a gentian flower carved from amethyst, with a sapphire set in the center.

The craftsmanship was so exquisite that it looked like a real flower, but the best part was that it would never wither.

However, while Ricardt personally liked it, he wasn’t sure if Marie would. That uncertainty made him uneasy. Still, for the sake of the skilled craftsman, he forced a smile and said,

"Thank you. I like it."

"I'm glad you're satisfied."

Since Ricardt had already paid for it, he took the necklace and left the shop. However, as he walked down the street, someone suddenly called out to him.

"Young Master?"

When he turned around, he saw a noblewoman who looked somewhat familiar, though he couldn’t immediately recall who she was.

"Uh…"

No matter how hard he thought, he couldn’t remember right away, which left him feeling awkward. However, the beautiful lady smiled gently, as if understanding his hesitation.

"It’s me. Daisy’s mother."

"Oh? Ah, it’s good to see you. What a surprise, meeting you here."

Though he was pleased to see her, Ricardt couldn’t shake off a sense of unease. She had left their hometown with nothing, yet now, she looked no different from a noblewoman.

"I'm relieved to see you're doing well. I’ve heard about the young hero in the red cloak. But you don’t actually wear a cloak all the time, do you?"

"Haha, it depends. I don’t wear it all the time. Daisy is doing well, right?"

"Daisy… Yes. I believe she’s doing well. She has become a prophetic nun devoted to the God of Judgment. It's a joyous thing."

"…What?"

"Did you also come to watch the swordsmanship tournament?"

Daisy’s mother seemed to deliberately change the subject.

"No, I came to participate."

"What? Ah, I see…"

She suddenly hesitated, and something felt off. Ricardt frowned slightly, tilting his head.

"If possible, I think you should reconsider participating…"

"I can’t. I have to win for a reason."

"Is that so… But the promised day is…"

Promised day? Ricardt was confused. However, Daisy’s mother never finished her sentence because a middle-aged man suddenly placed an arm around her shoulder.

Behind him stood a bodyguard with an overwhelming presence. Ricardt instinctively knew, that bodyguard is a Sword Master.

And the middle-aged man? None other than Emperor Claudius. The Crown Prince’s grandfather, and the father of both Bellator and Marie.

The emperor, who rarely showed his face at the Imperial Palace, was casually wandering around the city.

"Is that your son? He’s bigger than I expected."

"No, just someone I briefly had a connection with in the past."

"So, you dated him?"

As if his mind had latched onto that single idea, the emperor made a distasteful remark.

"Oh, come on. What are you saying? He’s someone who helped me when I was in trouble."

"Ah, I see. Pardon me, young man."

Ricardt was so dumbfounded that he forgot to even observe proper etiquette. In the meantime, the emperor climbed into the carriage with Daisy’s mother and left.

He stood there for a moment, watching the carriage depart, before snapping back to reality and heading straight for Irmin Castle.

There was a gate that allowed people to pass in and out of the castle, but officially, only maids were permitted through. So as always, Ricardt had to climb up using the vines.

When he reached the window, he saw maids helping Marie try on a dress. She had to wear it for the tournament day.

"Oh?"

"Oh?"

Ricardt hadn’t expected anyone else to be there, so he was caught off guard. Then again, wasn’t their relationship already an open secret by now?

"That’s enough, you all can leave now."

Marie said.

Thankfully, the perceptive maids only giggled before excusing themselves.

Feeling slightly embarrassed, Ricardt climbed through the window and entered the room.

Marie, dressed in a white gown, looked, without exaggeration, like a blooming flower. The dress was designed to create exactly that impression.

Her bright golden hair and fair skin shimmered, making her almost dazzling to look at. Her large eyes, like blue stars, were mesmerizing.

She was already beautiful, but with the light makeup she wore, Ricardt found it hard to keep his composure. He was used to seeing her in outfits suited for combat.

"Don’t stare so much… It’s embarrassing…"

"Oh? Ah, sorry."

"This dress feels really restrictive. I can’t move freely. But… do you like it?"

"Yeah. So much I might die if I keep looking."

Marie let out a small chuckle. But rather than feeling amused, she was deeply moved. She loved that he was a man who couldn’t lie.

"Ah, um, I came to give you this."

Ricardt took out the wooden box. He could have given it more romantically, but right now he felt like he might forget if he didn't do it immediately.

"What’s this?"

"Open it."

As she lifted the lid, Marie felt her heart stop for a moment, leaving her speechless. It wasn’t just that the necklace was beautiful, it was the meaning behind the gift. Because of that, what the gift actually was didn’t matter at all.

"Do you like it?"

This time, Ricardt was the one asking. But Marie, overwhelmed with emotion, couldn’t find the words to respond.

"Sit down. I’ll put it on for you."

Ricardt and Marie sat side by side on the bed. As Ricardt clasped the necklace around her neck, Marie lifted her hair to make it easier for him.

Once she wore it, the length was perfect, and it suited her incredibly well. Though honestly, what wouldn’t suit her?

Marie turned to the brass mirror to see herself, but since it was brass, it couldn’t fully reflect the colors.

"By the way, with all the rumors going around, I wonder if the tournament even matters anymore."

When Ricardt spoke, Marie burst out laughing. Only then did the overwhelming feeling seem to lift a bit.

"True. Can’t we just go on like this?"

Most people entered the tournament for the honor of their house, land, or social advancement. Ricardt was probably the only one participating for love.

"I'd like to do that too, but I guess it's better to connect properly through legitimate means."

"Hah...... Yeah......"

Marie took a deep breath, inhaling and exhaling deeply. The truth was, she loathed her own origins.

She had never received love from her mother, and she had never even met her father. Yet on the day of the tournament, she would have to pretend to be a well-respected princess.

For most of her life, she had lived as a bastard child, only officially acknowledged in the past two or three years. To her, being part of the Imperial Family wasn’t an honor, it was something detestable.

But none of that mattered anymore. Because he’s here. Because he likes me. Because she like him.

She wanted to give him everything right now. But she couldn’t. Because there was a belief that if a man knew a woman before reaching adulthood, his combat ability would decline.

It was an ancient tradition, passed down from tribal societies as a long-standing superstition.

Marie’s heart refused to settle. Reality felt like a dream, as if she were breathing in a world of illusions.

She wondered if she was allowed to be this happy, to the point where even her past misfortunes felt like something to be grateful for.

Just as people turned to the gods in moments of desperation, they also sought them out in moments of overwhelming joy. God, thank you, for bringing me into this world, for allowing me to live, for allowing me to love.

Then, her gaze fell on the sword propped against the wall, Ricky. Only then did she finally begin to calm down.

"Ricky."

"Hm?"

"If things go wrong, let’s just kill them all and run."

Ricardt smirked. He took it as a joke.

"I’m not running."

As the tournament approached, more participants dropped out, leaving only six competitors from the skilled fighters who had been staying at the Imperial Palace, Ricardt among them.

Those who withdrew had already enjoyed the luxurious life in the palace for months. Now, they would simply watch the tournament and then leave.

However, hundreds of participants had already undergone preliminary matches months in advance, and from them, only two would survive to face each other in the final duel.

The tournament was structured as an eight-person single-elimination bracket, three victories were all it took to win.

But those three matches were no easy feat. When fighters of similar skill clashed, even a single duel could mean life or death.

Even if one won, they were likely to sustain serious injuries, and if they were unable to continue, they would be eliminated.

The day of the tournament arrived. The makeshift wooden arena was a large rectangular structure designed for spectators to watch from above.

The limited seating meant that most of those present were nobles and wealthy patrons. However, since both sides of the arena were left open, commoners could still catch glimpses of the matches from outside.

A massive crowd had gathered around the arena, packed so tightly that even the trees were full of people trying to find a vantage point. Some were even watching from the hills where the castle stood, though it was doubtful they could see much from that distance.

The excitement in the city had reached its peak, fueled by the bloody spectacle of the previous preliminaries.

Hundreds of swordsmen from across the Empire had fought to the death in this very arena. No matter how much they covered the grounds with fresh dirt or scrubbed it clean, the stains of blood could never be completely erased.

The eight remaining duelists wore designated colors, red and blue, to make them easily distinguishable from afar. By coincidence, Ricardt had been assigned red.

In the center of the stands sat the Emperor, the Empress Dowager, the Crown Prince, the Princess, and even the Emperor’s mistresses. The prize of the tournament, Marie, sat alone on the opposite side, isolated from them all.

Ironically, the seats closest to the Emperor weren’t occupied by his royal family but by his mistresses.

Among the Emperor’s champions, only two had gone to war, leaving one of his personal guards and Hellauman present at the tournament.

Hellauman had practically been retired until now, but being someone who was still vigorous even after living over a hundred years, his mere presence was a curious spectacle when he appeared after so long.

Laughing heartily, he shook hands with the surrounding nobles, greeting them as if he were simply enjoying a social gathering.

And in a way, he was. He had already half-achieved his goal.

That goal was none other than the culling of hundreds of swordsmen during the preliminaries.

And it wasn’t just the fights that had thinned their numbers, many had been assassinated in the ensuing chaos.

Using the tournament as an excuse to eliminate those unfavorable to the Imperial Family, while also identifying promising talents, had been his true aim. The deaths of the others? They were collateral damage.

On top of that, he was pleased with how close Ricardt and Marie had grown. It was much better than if they had disliked each other, that would have been an annoyance.

For the common folk, this was nothing more than an exciting festival. But for the Imperial Family, it was a carefully staged political maneuver. A successful tournament would only strengthen support for the crown.

So what if the Emperor is a degenerate? It’s not like he’s done us any harm. As long as we’re entertained, that’s what matters. Long live the Emperor!

The festival’s feverish atmosphere had a way of shaping people’s thoughts.

The leaves had yet to fall, but they had turned brilliant shades of yellow and red.

It was the season of harvest, a time of abundance. Laughter, excitement, and pleasure easily concealed the sinister plots woven beneath.

Meanwhile, the Emperor, shameless as ever, was too busy groping and kissing his mistresses to care that his mother and children were seated nearby.

Marie, seeing her father for the first time in her life, was so shocked that she went blank. That man… is my father? That’s the Emperor?

The Crown Prince and the Imperial Princes wore gloomy expressions, their heads lowered in shame. The Crown Prince, in particular, had buried his face in his great-grandmother’s lap, refusing to look at his father’s disgraceful display.

What a ridiculous family.

Even Hellauman, who had been laughing just moments before, stiffened at the sight. At this rate, he should’ve died from a venereal disease already…

"Ahem! Ahem! Ahem! Hrrm! AHEM!"

He cleared his throat loudly and repeatedly, only stopping when he finally managed to draw the Emperor’s attention.

"Shall we begin?"

"It hasn’t started yet? Hurry up, then."

With a lazy wave of his hand, the Emperor signaled the start of the event. Immediately, a group of trumpeters raised their instruments and played.

Bam-ba-bam! Bam-bam-bam! Bam-ba-bam!

As the fanfare rang out, the duelists, dressed in red and blue, began to emerge from the opposite side of the arena. Among them was Ricardt.

The eight duelists lined up before the Emperor.

Ricardt, standing at the front, turned his head, not toward the Emperor, but toward Marie, who sat in the audience across from him.

As a smile began to form on his lips, the town crier, standing near the railing, unfurled a scroll and bellowed,

"Contestants, kneel before the pinnacle of all mankind! Pay homage to His Imperial Majesty!"

At his words, all eight duelists bent one knee toward the disgrace of an Emperor.

The Emperor flicked his hand in a dismissive gesture, as if acknowledging their deference, and the contestants immediately rose, barely having knelt for a second.

As the duelists rose, the town crier bellowed once more. His voice, chosen for its powerful resonance, rang through the arena like a thunderclap.

"People of the Empire, hear me! Since ancient times, our ancestors have believed in a single truth! And that truth is victory! The victor claims everything, while the defeated lose everything! This harsh reality is the justice decreed by the gods! Victory is justice! Therefore, it is a virtue to honor the art of combat and hone one’s martial prowess! His Imperial Majesty, in his wisdom, upholds this ideal by hosting this grand tournament! People of the Empire, let the victor be your example! And to the vanquished, mourn not! For the gods grant mercy to the brave! If you do not flee but die with your weapon in hand, know that heaven awaits you!"

Whether those words were right or wrong didn’t matter, it was a reflection of the era’s spirit. Perhaps the countless wars, feuds, and bloodshed stemmed from beliefs like this.

"Contestants, heed this decree! Swords, axes, maces, clubs, spears, all melee weapons are permitted! However! The cowardly bow and crossbow are forbidden! Furthermore! No one shall interfere in this sacred contest! Any who attempt to strike from afar, any who seek to corrupt the duel with vile magic, know this! They will be hunted down and suffer the most horrific punishment imaginable! And even in death, they will be cast into hell to endure eternal torment!"

With that, the crier finished reading the proclamation, rolled up the scroll, and declared:

"Contestants, proceed to your waiting areas and prepare for an honorable death!"

Ricardt, along with the other red-clad competitors, moved toward their designated waiting area.

As he walked, he glanced at the duelists in blue heading in the opposite direction. Neither side seemed to hold any personal grudges, it was just a contest, after all.

The waiting area was a temporary tent, its thick fabric blocking any view of the matches outside.

A gust of wind made the tent walls ripple slightly. Then, when the town crier called out the next competitor’s name, a warrior grabbed their weapon and stepped onto the battlefield.

Moments later, the town crier’s voice thundered once more:

"Let the duel begiiiiiin!"

Along with that came the roar of the crowd that seemed to shake heaven and earth.

The cheers were so overwhelming that even Ricardt flinched for a moment. He couldn’t understand why people were so frenzied over this.

Waaaaaaaahhhhhh!

With thousands of spectators, nobles and commoners alike, watching intently, the tournament was less a battle and more of a show- a spectacle where one person lived, another died, and if unlucky, even the victor might leave crippled.

The first match didn’t last as long as expected.

Shouts of Oh! and Wow! echoed through the stands. Shortly after, the fighter who had just left returned, but not alone.

He was limping, supported by an official, his calf slashed open and bleeding profusely. He wouldn’t be able to continue.

That meant his opponent would advance by default.

The tournament officials hurried to pour potions over the wound, but it was clear that even with treatment, it would take days to fully heal.

Though all the contestants were battle-hardened warriors, fighting a life-or-death duel in front of thousands was a different kind of pressure. Each of them took deep breaths, trying to steady themselves.

Ricardt was no exception. He had no issues with the fight itself, but with the sheer weight of the event, and Marie watching from the stands, he couldn’t stop his heart from pounding.

Calm down, dammit.

Then, the crier’s booming voice rang out once again:

"From Stormhertz! Third son of the Caldebern Family! Representing the Beringen Guild! The Red Cloak, Ricardt!"

The moment Ricardt heard his name, his nerves vanished as if they had never existed.

Grabbing his weapon, he stood up in one swift motion and pushed aside the tent flaps, stepping into the arena.

The roar of the crowd crashed down on him like a tidal wave.

Waaaaaaaaaahhhhh!

***

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