The Warrior’s Ballad

Chapter 1 – Prologue

Translator: Willia

Fire and steel, blood, and death. If I were to summarize my life in a few words, it would be these.

I originally worked as a shepherd in the northern part of the Empire, in Heiden. Like many people of this era, I was one of the numerous orphans who didn’t know their parents.

I don’t know since when I started shepherding, but for ten years, I lived almost completely cut off from the world, moving here and there across the fields of Heiden, feeding the sheep.

Just as colorful flowers bloom in the fields with the changing seasons, stars would bloom abundantly in the black night sky. In summer, a cool breeze would blow, and in winter, snow would fall, covering the world.

I had no greed, didn’t know what boredom was, wasn’t happy, nor was I unhappy.

Just as stars shine at night, flowers bloom in the fields, and snow falls in winter, I simply lived my life as a shepherd.

Then one day, something special happened in the place where the same things repeated every day. A lord rode a horse across the fields of Heiden.

I knelt down, and he, standing high with the sun like a halo behind him, smiled and spoke.

“Shepherd, how old are you?”

“I do not know my birth date, so I cannot say. I have been shepherding for ten years.”

“Then you must be at least 15 years old? Shouldn’t you get married?”

“I don’t know any women.”

“The Village Chief will arrange it for you. Live happily. You who are like a star.”

With those words, the lord rode across the fields and disappeared suddenly like scattering clouds.

Not long after, I indeed married a young widow from the village, arranged by the Village Chief.

After having a wife, I became a miller in the village instead of a shepherd, and just as the lord had said, I came to know happiness for the first time in my life.

A few more years passed, and one day, a cavalryman carrying a red flag came to the village.

He said he was recruiting men to go on an eastern expedition. I was chosen by drawing lots among the strong men in the village.

I told my wife I would definitely return and to not worry about living as I would send wages until then.

I wandered here and there, following the cavalryman. With a few people joining us in each village we passed, we endlessly headed east.

Day after day, week after week, more than a month passed as we headed east like autumn leaves drifting down a river.

The eastern expedition site was like a land of steel and corpses surrounded by forests. When I first arrived, I never dreamed I would end up staying there for 10 years.

If someone were to ask me where I learned to use a sword, I would answer: in war.

Stabbing, slashing, hacking. I’d say I was trained by the hostility of barbarians, courage I didn’t know I had, by the sacrifices of my comrades, and the luck of arrows grazing my cheeks.

“Where’s Thomas?”

“He’s dead.”

“Damn it, what about Falke?”

“This morning.”

“……”

We had good days once in a while, but most days were tough. Uncomfortable beds, moldy bread, dying from disease, dying from infected wounds, being eaten by monsters, being dragged away, skinned and hung up by barbarians.

At night, soldiers who had nightmares or trembled with anxiety were no different from babies. They seemed to need a mother rather than harsh senior soldiers or stern commanders.

One day, I realized that everyone I knew from the first day had died and I was the only one left.

I had survived more than dozens of times on the front lines, where 70% of the soldiers died or were severely injured. Why haven’t I died? It feels like it’s time to die.

My comrades would jokingly, sometimes seriously, call me “Lucky” Ricky. They said they felt like they would survive if I were by their side. However, none of the comrades I grew close to survived.

My first commander was the second son of a count. He was a very brave young man with a cheerful personality who often led the soldiers charging on horseback when battles broke out.

To be honest, in this horrible war, following him into battle sometimes felt refreshing and fun.

But that brave young man died in his fourth battle, falling from his horse.

The second commander was a man who was afraid of enemies but cruel to his own men.

Even when we needed to go out and fight while defending our base, he only wanted to stay inside and defend.

If anyone gathered the courage to say this wasn’t right, they would get beaten. After seeing a comrade suffer a severe beating and slowly die, I kept my mouth shut. I was a coward.

We were besieged and, after days of starvation, we lost our position to the barbarians who led trained trolls in a massive attack.

I fought to the end, ready to die, but seeing our incompetent commander grabbed by a troll, have his arm ripped off while still alive, and his head torn off and eaten.

Fleeing from a lost battle left few options. If I didn’t want to starve to death, I had to go to the rendezvous point. But even getting there wasn’t easy.

When I finally reached the rendezvous point after killing the pursuing barbarians, I was alone. Everyone else had died, either from starvation, being eaten by monsters, or being captured by the pursuers.

At the rendezvous point, I was assigned to the unit led by Caldebert, the fourth prince of the Adeloron Royal Family.

Caldebert had the appearance of a noble scholar. Beautiful blond hair, a somewhat delicate body that seemed barely able to handle the weight of chainmail.

He was ordered by the commander to recapture our lost position. Because of this, he asked me many things about the terrain, the situation, and the characteristics of the barbarians.

For some reason, maybe because we were around the same age, I got along well with Caldebert. We quickly became close, despite the vast difference in our social status.

He liked listening to stories about my hometown and patiently heard about my boring and peaceful shepherd life.

“Ricky, you have the qualities of a poet. Listening to your stories brings peace to my mind even in this brutal place. I thought all northerners were rough.”

“Well, I don’t even know how to read or write.”

“How do you think the first songs were created?”

His way of speaking was quite refined. Sometimes, the language used by nobles sounded like a foreign language.

When preparations were complete, Caldebert led the unit to recapture the front-line position. I participated in the battle as well.

Caldebert was the best commander. He was thorough and meticulous when planning, and brave during actual combat.

He made bold decisions, risking encirclement to penetrate deep into the enemy lines, hitting their rear and pushing them back before taking them down one by one to achieve victory.

But the barbarians, having reclaimed the position after almost ten years, fought with desperate determination to keep it.

Caldebert’s strategy was also a gamble, and retreating would put us at greater risk, so he couldn’t withdraw.

Both sides fought with all their might, leading to a truly fierce battle. Limbs dangling without being completely severed, corpses piled like mountains, large amounts of blood, cries of agony, and soldiers calling for their mothers with their last breaths.

Amidst all this, Caldebert fought tirelessly. When he was in danger of dying, I fought with all my might to save him.

But as I grabbed the nape of his neck to lift him up after he fell, a thunderous shout was heard.

“Iron Reaper Ricky! I challenge you to a duel! Let’s end this war here, between you and me!”

The one who suddenly appeared and challenged me to a duel was Vesprim, a legendary warrior among the barbarians. He was known among the Imperial army by the nickname “Meat Grinder”.

He was twice the height and size of an average person, covered in iron armor from head to toe, including his head and face. He wore dozens of severed Imperial soldiers’ ears strung together like a necklace. Skulls with bits of flesh still clinging to them dangled from his waist belt.

His large axe had a broad blade but securely fastened to its handle, and was infamous for chopping people into pieces in one strike.

Both Ricky and Vesprim had only heard of each other through battlefield rumors, and this was their first meeting directly.

Perhaps because of this, he pointed out Ricky as the leader instead of the new commander, Caldebert.

In the middle of a life or death battlefield, soldiers around them withdrew to create space. Both the enemy and allied soldiers momentarily forgot about fighting and watched the duel.

Ricky’s sword, although not as large as Vesprim’s axe, was still bigger than a typical sword.

The ground was muddy like a swamp, filled with the strong smell of iron and blood.

A duel of fate? I didn’t think of it that way. I just threw everything I had into following where my sword’s tip led me.

After what felt both long and short, the duel ended in an instant.

I accurately deflected Vesprim’s ferocious axe swing, moved to his side, and struck down hard with my sword. At that moment, holy golden flames erupted along the blade.

Vesprim fell sideways, raising his arm to block. With a loud metallic sound, his arm was severed. Blood gushed out. The duel ended just like that.

Beyond the duel itself, the spectators were speechless and shocked by the golden flames from Ricky’s sword. What was that? A warrior blessed by the gods.

But at that moment, I didn’t care about such things. I only saw Vesprim’s blue eyes through his helmet. They were trembling with fear.

Seeing those eyes, the flames in my chest quickly cooled, and at the same time the flames on the blade died down.

With everyone, both allies and enemies, holding their breath and watching, they all thought that only Vesprim’s execution by Ricky remained.

However, the reality was quite the opposite. In some ways, it was more shocking than the flames on the blade.

I slowly lowered my sword that I had raised over my head as if about to strike off his neck and said,

“Go. Forget the war and return home to live in peace.”

Why did I do that? Even I don’t know. Maybe I saw a reflection of myself in those fearful eyes. Perhaps this man was also an innocent person before he left his home. That was all I thought.

The Imperial soldiers watching couldn’t understand, but they didn’t dare to question it. Because at that moment, in that place, Ricky was an absolute presence.

The battle ended just like that. The demoralized barbarians withdrew on their own, and the Imperial army did not pursue them. It was as if there was a temporary truce.

For the past ten years, both sides had fought with extreme hatred for each other.

But with the recapture of the base, my war also ended. I applied for discharge to Caldebert, expressing my wish to return home.

Caldebert looked as though he had many things to say, but he accepted my application without saying a word.

I was the first person to be discharged with all limbs intact. In the eastern expedition, there was no normal way to discharge except through death.

Thus, after ten years, I returned to my hometown. To the fields of Heiden. To the place where I used to herd sheep. I suppose I’m not be a shepherd anymore. I’ll probably just guard the mill. It’s not bad.

However, when I returned home, my wife had already started a new family. She had a new husband and children.

With a cold gaze, my wife said words I could never forget. “What have you ever done for me? Don’t act like you know me.”

What did she mean? My wages? What was the point of enduring ten years in that hell?

The driving force that kept me going for ten years was so flimsy. When the truth came out, that flimsiness was torn apart like paper.

In a fit of betrayal and rage, I drew my sword and slaughtered her entire family in an instant. Without a moment for self-restraint, my sword, honed by ten years on the battlefield, acted even before my thoughts did.

But then I discovered that the Village Chief had been intercepting my wages. So, I killed him and his family too.

In the process of killing the Village Chief, I found out that even the drawing of lots was rigged. So, did I have any choice in the matter? I killed everyone in the village.

Just as I did on the battlefield, I tortured the children in front of their parents, then locked the rest in barns or sheds and burned them alive. This was all I had learned, so the entire process was surprisingly skillful.

Thus, I became a wanted man across the kingdom and the Empire. Now, I don’t care about anything. Let everyone die.

Many came to kill me. Bounty hunters, adventurers, thugs, thieves, robbers, wandering swordsmen, renowned knights.

Sometimes, a few elite warriors would come; other times, many came at once.

I survived countless close calls with death and ultimately killed them all. Countless numbers. And through this, my combat skills improved endlessly.

I wasn’t a fugitive or a runaway. Because I would go and kill them first.

I would storm castles alone and kill lords, destroy famous swordsmanship guilds, and wreck adventurer guilds.

With a sword burning with golden flames, I looked down at the world from atop a mountain of corpses.

So people started calling me the Demon King. Ricky, the devil of devils, the murderer of murderers. Even the emperor trembled with fear.

After spending another ten years this way, ironically, I gained followers. They believed such immense strength must have been granted by a divine being.

But my body was already a wreck. Countless wounds cauterized with hot iron, several fingers that could no longer straighten or bend. My mind was utterly exhausted, my life nearing its end.

Ten years as a shepherd, ten years on the battlefield, and ten years as a notorious murderer. I decided to go somewhere unknown to quietly meet my end.

Walking aimlessly, I eventually found myself in the fields of Heiden. Sunlight pierced through the dark clouds like spears, embedding into the ground.

In the distance, white sheep grazed like scattered cotton, and a young shepherd sat in the fields, gazing at the scenery, like I once did.

At that moment, someone approached on horseback again. Like before, he was backlit by the sun, so I couldn’t see his face due to the dark shadow.

This time, I didn’t kneel before him. I just plunged my sword into the ground, sat down, and bowed my head.

“Liar.”

“What do you mean?”

“There’s no such thing as happiness.”

“Nor is there unhappiness. Both are mirages. So it’s up to you to choose. It was you who cursed and condemned yourself to the stake.”

“…I don’t know. I’m tired now.”

“Then rest. But after your rest, another task awaits. Even I have no say in this matter.”

My eyes slowly closed. Was I dying? Or just falling sleeping? As my consciousness faded, I asked him.

“…Who are you? A god or a demon?”

At the edge of consciousness, I heard the man’s reply.

“Just as you saw the stars, I saw you.”

With those words, my first life seemed to end.

Fire and steel, blood, and death. If I were to summarize my life in a few words, it would be these.

Prologue – Memories that cannot be reminisced. The End.