The Warrior’s Ballad

Chapter 3

Translator: Willia

Reincarnation is like having faded memories of a distant past from a very young age, from the moment your consciousness awakens.

As you gain a new life and new experiences, the past memories gradually fade and become distant. Instead of the pungent smell of iron and the scent of burning, they are replaced with fragrant things.

A mother smiling at him for doing something silly, laughing and playing with his siblings in the forest, the fresh sensation of wearing new shoes, promises kept with friends, special snacks on special days.

And when his always stoic father was surprised and hugged him tightly.

Bit by bit, these starlight-like pieces came together to fill the emptiness inside him. Each day, every morning when he opened his eyes, he looked forward to what would happen that day.

How should he express these things? He couldn’t think of the right word. He just had this thought. He owed a great debt. Childhood memories that couldn’t be obtained with money or any effort.

It’s quite coincidental, or should one say providential, that his nickname is Ricky. Ricardt found the idea of fate ridiculous but he didn’t think it was all that bad.

“How is your body now?”

Abelich asked while wiping his hands stained with meat grease with a towel. At that, Graut, his wife and Vilter, looked at Ricardt, who was at the dining table.

Ricardt’s hand, which had held the spear so tightly that his muscles tore, was now unbandaged. A month had passed since that incident.

Ricardt covered his mouth due to the food in it and answered.

“I’m fine. It’s the same now as it was then. Don’t worry.”

“……”

Silence fell as they looked at Ricardt, who answered nonchalantly.

When people witness a shocking sight, they find it hard to accept at first, then somehow find a reason to accept it.

The reason people found was to believe it was due to a stroke of heavenly luck. Various fortunes overlapped. Otherwise, how could a 10 year old take down such a big boar with a single blow?

Still, the fact that he didn’t freeze or run away, but faced the charging wild boar, clearly meant he was born with an extraordinary temperament.

The way people looked at Ricardt changed. Their attitude towards him changed subtly. Ricardt felt it too.

“Would you like to learn swordsmanship?”

“……I’m not sure.”

Ricardt answered as if he lacked confidence.

Though he didn’t avoid the charging boar, was he afraid of holding a sword? His family thought, surely he is still just a child.

But it wasn’t because of another reason; Ricardt simply didn’t want to hold a sword again, having dealt with it so much in his previous life.

“I just don’t understand. When I was your age, I was so excited when I started learning swordsmanship.”

Vilter said.

As is typical for boys, they tend to like it when offered to be taught sword skills, thinking it’s something cool.

However, once they realize they have no talent and it becomes a series of boring practices, they quickly lose interest.

Still, he should be happy to learn at first. Vilter thought his little brother was definitely a bit odd.

Graut, looking at the somewhat timid Ricardt, spoke as if lecturing him.

“A man must do things he doesn’t want to do. Especially learning swordsmanship is something you must never neglect throughout your life. You can’t just refuse to do it because you don’t want to.”

Learning the sword was not just about training martial arts but was also a basic skill for a noble. Even if they didn’t achieve great accomplishments, they had to master the basics.

However, despite the words of his older brother, who was eight years older, Ricardt did not respond. A moment of silence passed.

“Answer.”

“……Got it.”

Ricardt reluctantly answered.

Though Vilter was lately being cheeky to his older brother, probably due to puberty, it was true that Graut was intentionally keeping a distance from his younger siblings.

When did it start? Probably from when he got married and began receiving formal heir training in earnest. Ricardt clearly felt that change too.

When they were younger, just running through the fields with his big brother would make him burst into laughter. He would help him up when he fell and dust off his clothes. He would even give him piggyback rides when they returned home at dusk after playing outside.

Now it was time to say goodbye to those things. Ricardt realized that neither sadness nor happiness was eternal.

After finishing the meal, Ricardt left the mansion. He wore the thick gambeson his brothers had worn at his age, put on mittens, and held a blunt practice sword.

Since there wasn’t a separate training ground, he was to receive his first lesson of sorts in the courtyard, which naturally drew the attention of people like the stable keeper and the hunting dog handler.

His father and Vilter watched from a distance, while Graut, holding a practice sword, twirled his wrist and spoke.

“The correct posture brings out proper strength. At first, it might feel awkward, but through constant practice, it should become as natural as breathing in any situation. Ultimately, you should handle the sword like a limb. It’s simple, but not easy.”

As Graut finished speaking, he swung the practice sword forcefully in the air. A threatening swoosh sound was heard, and the fact that his body didn’t sway with his own force made him look disciplined.

Ricardt just stood there blankly, holding the sword with both hands, resting it on his shoulder.

“Stand with your legs apart like this. Your left foot is the pivot. Shift your weight slightly forward. Left foot. Yes. When moving forward from this position, step big with your right foot, and when moving sideways, like this. Footwork is crucial. If your feet are unsteady, you can’t exert proper power.”

Graut started teaching the basics to his youngest brother. But he didn’t teach casually; he made sure to give proper instructions.

Ricardt did everything his brother told him to do. However, for Ricardt, who had memories of his previous life, such basic instructions were more of a restriction on his skills.

It didn’t matter, though. It wasn’t incorrect advice.

“Instead of swinging, think of it as pushing and striking. Like this. This way, you can defend and attack simultaneously. In actual combat, you slash with all your might while pulling back. There are various variations, but let’s stop here for today. Just try what I taught you.”

Ricardt did as his brother instructed. He spread his legs front and back, slightly bent his knees, shifted his weight a bit forward, and stepped forward with his back foot, thrusting the sword.

Once, twice, three times, four times…

The sword cut through the air with a swooshing sound, and the onlookers felt a slight sense of unease. Despite being his first time learning the sword, there was none of the usual awkwardness of a beginner. Beginners typically stumble, unable to handle their own strength.

It wasn’t just his posture. There was precision in it. He wasn’t just mimicking the outward appearance of what his older brother was doing; he had grasped the essence and made it his own.

Indeed, he was extraordinary. Unbelievably so. To this extent, it wasn’t just a matter of having some talent; he seemed to be a genius.

Because of this, Abelich, watching his youngest son, felt a complicated mix of pride and anxiety.

Having excessive talent was not always a good thing. It could become a threat to the future he envisioned.

“Graut, spar with him.”

Abelich, who had been watching from a distance, spoke.

Graut turned to look at his father. He understood his father’s words to mean he should give his brother a harsh lesson.

Ricardt also heard his father’s words and stopped swinging the sword in the air. Being just an ordinary child physically, he was slightly out of breath.

Graut looked at his younger brother. His eyes showed hesitation.

Ricardt quietly watched his brother’s gaze, then lowered his head deeply.

Graut steeled himself while looking at his younger brother and spoke.

“Remember what I just taught you? Try it on me. It’s better not to think that you might hurt me.”

However, Ricardt just stood there with his head down, not answering.

A moment of silence passed before he spoke.

“……No.”

“What did you say?”

“I said no. I don’t want to.”

It was the first time Ricardt, who was always gentle and obedient, had rebelled.

Graut turned to look at his father. The stern-faced middle-aged man was staring intently in their direction. So Graut turned back to Ricardt and spoke again.

“Are you defying me like Billy does?”

“It’s not that…”

Graut poked Ricardt’s chest with the blunt practice sword. Ricardt staggered backward.

“Then what are these words and actions? I clearly told you to swing the sword as I taught you. Do it now.”

“……No.”

“You!”

Graut struck his younger brother’s upper arm. Although he was wearing a thick gambeson, it still hurt.

“Ouch!”

Ricardt squeezed his eyes shut, hunching his shoulders and trembling in pain.

“I’m telling you one last time. Swing the sword.”

“No.”

“Do you think you can mock me?”

Graut hit the other arm this time. Thud, the sound was heard, and he struck not just once but repeatedly. Thigh, shoulder, all over.

Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud…

Even so, Ricardt just held the sword tightly with both hands and hunched over, enduring the blows. He shut his eyes tightly, his face contorted with pain.

The onlookers watched with indifferent expressions, though their true feelings were unknown. They knew that even nobles, or rather, especiallyamong nobles, there were times when discipline was harsh.

Defying the orders of a household elder, particularly the head, was unthinkable.

“I’ll give you one last chance. Swing the sword. If you don’t obey this time, I’ll strike your head.”

Even though it was a practice sword, it was made of metal, and a blow to the head could cause serious injury.

“No. I won’t do it.”

Ricardt said firmly. Graut’s hand, holding the sword, trembled. He had to strike his brother’s head as he had said, but it seemed too cruel.

So he turned to his father again, almost pleadingly. Vilter stood by anxiously.

Tragically, Abelich nodded. It was permission, no, an order, to strike the head.

Graut turned back to his brother and spoke quietly, so only Ricardt could hear.

“Just swing it once. Please. I don’t want to do this either.”

“That’s exactly why I can’t.”

“What do you mean?”

“……”

Graut couldn’t understand why Ricardt was behaving this way. It was the first time he had to hit his brother like this, and the first time Ricardt was defying him.

Ricardt couldn’t swing the sword at his older brother because the swordsmanship he knew wasn’t for practice duels. It was forged only through blood on the battlefield.

Knowing that pure killing intent would be conveyed through the tip of the sword, Ricardt couldn’t direct it at his older brother.

Despite their strained relationship recently, he couldn’t cut down the memories of their past and the brotherly affection with a sword. It was much worse than hurting himself.

And he didn’t know how to pretend and swing clumsily on purpose to lose intentionally. So he just did nothing.

But to the onlookers, Ricardt seemed to be rebelling needlessly. The gentle and obedient child, had he learned this from Billy?

Graut began to visibly panic at Ricardt’s defiance. No matter how small the matter, once their father had given an order, it had to be done.

Why was this happening on the first day of sword training? Should he control his strength while striking? Or pretend to strike the head but hit the shoulder instead? Would it be visible from their father’s position?

Graut had many thoughts. Eventually, he concluded that striking the head was not the answer.

So he gripped the sword and struck Ricardt’s shoulder hard. From the side or behind, it looked like he was hitting his head.

Thud!

“Ugh!”

Thud.

Ricardt, who had been standing and taking the hits, finally collapsed. He tried to get up, but his body wouldn’t respond.

Graut’s eyes wavered as he looked at his fallen brother. At this point, he didn’t know what to do and kept glancing between his father and Ricardt. Graut was still not old enough to be fully mature.

Then Abelich strode over. He looked down at the fallen Ricardt and spoke indifferently.

“Get up. Swing the sword.”

Ricardt, lying on the ground, trembled like a bird caught in the rain at his father’s stern command.

Then, he opened his tightly closed eyes. Looking up at his father, Ricardt gritted his teeth and spoke.

“No. I won’t do it even if it kills me.”

He wasn’t just saying it. His distinctive hazel eyes were burning with determination.

Abelich felt a chilling sensation at the back of his neck from Ricardt’s intense gaze. A cold shiver ran down his spine, making his hairs stand on end.

A long silence followed. Graut, feeling ashamed in front of his father and sorry for his brother, hung his head low, his sword dangling.

Ricardt lowered his head again, tears streaming down his face. Black dots formed on the dry ground.

Abelich felt an inexplicable emotion but maintained his usual stern expression as he spoke.

“……The lesson is over.”

Then Vilter hurriedly approached, helped Ricardt up, and supported him back to his room.

Ricardt found it difficult to even lie down on the bed due to the pain throughout his body.

“Are you an idiot…?”

Feeling sympathetic, Vilter scolded him lightly. Ricardt just lay on the bed, saying nothing, only showing a mysterious smile.

A moment later, there was a knock, and someone entered. It was his sister-in-law. Despite being pregnant, she had brought ointment and bandages herself.

She seemed to have seen what had happened from the window. Vilter, sensing the situation, left the room, and she spoke.

“I’ll apply some ointment.”

Ricardt endured the pain and sat up. He removed his upper garment and lowered his pants.

His arms and outer thighs were already bruised blue, and his shoulder was a mix of red and blue, almost black.

Seeing this, his sister-in-law was visibly shaken, her hands trembling as she applied the ointment.

She had come to tell him that Graut hadn’t meant it, that he had no choice, and not to resent him too much, but she couldn’t bring herself to say it.

However, Ricardt could feel her complicated and apologetic feelings through her trembling hands.

“It’s okay. I’m quite familiar with pain. It’s almost like an old friend.”

“……What?”

“I think I’m already enjoying more happiness than I deserve. I don’t know if it’s an illusion as some say. Rather, I’m worried about my eldest brother feeling bad. Even if he pretends otherwise, he’s still tender-hearted. So, please tell him. I understand everything, and my heart isn’t hurt. I still love him.”

At Ricardt’s words, his sister-in-law’s hand stopped applying the ointment. Her eyes were wide open, her expression showing she couldn’t immediately comprehend what she had just heard.

There’s a limit to how mature one can be, and she couldn’t have imagined Ricardt would say such things, that he would have such deep thoughts.

As his sister-in-law blinked in astonishment, Ricardt managed a slight smile through his pain.