The Warrior’s Ballad
Chapter 97

Translator: Willia

Faith. Faith in God. Faith in humanity. And faith in oneself. Whatever it may be, in the end, humans were beings who lived by faith.

And faith was always bound to be tested and shaken.

Having been subjected to near brainwashing education since birth, Ice found it incredibly difficult to break free from those chains of bondage.

What is true faith, and what is false faith? Anxiety and doubt seemed to parasitize his mind like worms.

Since they first met at the academy, feeling awkward at first, then at some point fighting back to back and sharing peaceful daily lives, four years had already passed.

The time when they overcame adversity and hardship together, shared joy, and alleviated sorrow, it was only a short while ago.

Now, the sword tips of Boribori and Ice, aimed at each other, trembled like trembling poplar leaves. Were they really going to stab? Could they really kill? Had they honed their swords for this?

It was truly an agonizing moment.

At that moment, the priest of the Order spoke.

“To your eyes, what we do may seem horrific and cruel. But do you know where it all comes from? It’s all the work of that old monster, Court Count Kelbron.”

“Lies.”

Marie denied it. She didn’t like her maternal grandfather, but she didn’t want to slander him either.

“He’s over a hundred years old. He’s been doing all sorts of things since long before you were even born. But he quit midway purely because it was inefficient. It cost too much and didn’t produce results as expected. He didn’t even care much when his techniques were taken. He’s cruelly indifferent to what he discards. Revenge for the late emperor? It’s all just a pretext.”

His words were cunning. Even if it were true, saying it now was clearly meant to plant suspicion and division. As expected from a brainwashing expert, it was as if a devil were wagging its tongue.

Thankfully, neither Boribori nor Marie were the type to be swayed by such talk. They weren’t here out of loyalty in the first place. They just came to work.

Even in such a situation, Boribori and Ice confronted each other, and Boribori, holding the Phantom Sword in one hand, clenched his teeth and attacked first.

Shifting his weight to his left foot, his signature stroke slashed from left to right. Ice dodged by stepping back, and Boribori pursued and drew the next stroke.

Chae-aeng!

Black and white mana mixed together like splashed paint.

Would he continue with another stroke, or write a new character? Seizing the initiative, Boribori drove forward aggressively.

Just like how soft and rough strokes differ depending on the calligraphy style, Boribori’s attacks were sometimes smooth and sometimes rough, seamlessly blending the two in a masterful display.

But could such swordsmanship really be advantageous when defending? Ice moved with extreme precision, as if measured with a ruler.

While retreating to dodge, he occasionally launched sharp counterattacks, and at one moment, he ghostlike pierced through the gap where Boribori was bound by strokes and dots.

Chang!

As Boribori faltered and stepped back, Ice drove his assault even harder, swinging his sword with ferocity.

Chang! Chae-aeng! Kagak! Whing!

The lightning-fast attacks were dazzling, and the black and white afterimages slashed through the air as if painting a picture.

It was a truly evenly matched battle, and though Marie watched anxiously, she realized that neither was aiming for the other’s vital points.

It was like a sparring match with real swords, but not a real duel. That feeling reached her, and tears fell from her eyes.

But the ones who understood that fact better than anyone were Boribori and Ice themselves.

Do they really have to wield killing swords? Really? Why does it have to be like this? Why do we have to do this?

Between life and death, between the desire to kill and the hope to live, Boribori cried out in anguish.

“Snap out of it!”

Jjeo-eong-!

Ice’s sword was cut and flew away. With a tang, the broken sword fell to the ground.

Boribori’s blade surged with a black mana aura that seemed to resemble the universe.

Sadly, it was at this moment that he reached Sword Master.

With defeat becoming clear, Ice let go of his broken sword and closed his eyes. He had lost. Yes, it was over now. It was a relief. Because he had lost.

“Huff, huff, huff, huff……”

Only the final blow remained, it seemed, but even Boribori couldn’t bring himself to harm him.

“Come to your senses… please…”

Even though he had become a Sword Master, he felt no joy at all. His face only contorted in anguish as tears streamed down. Then, he heard a voice he thought was asleep, Ricardt.

“What are you guys doing?”

At that, everyone present hurriedly turned to Ricardt.

Ricardt rose with difficulty, leaning on a sword taken from the enemy. Staggering over to Ice, he placed the sword into his hand and, smiling, spoke.

“I told you, even if you abandon me, I won’t abandon you. Is this the third time I’ve said that? You choose. Choose God, or choose me. I won’t blame you. Oh, and killing yourself isn’t an option. That’s just running away. You know that, right?”

In this tragic moment, Ricardt alone was smiling. Seeing that face, Ice felt as though his heart were breaking.

Escaping brainwashing was truly difficult. Those who hadn’t been through it couldn’t understand.

Breaking free from brainwashing was accompanied by a pain akin to cutting off one’s own limbs.

It meant throwing away and trampling on what one had once believed in with absolute conviction.

Ice tightly shut his eyes, clenched his teeth, and gripped the sword hilt so hard his hands trembled. Yes, if it meant killing Ricky, he’d rather cut off his own limbs a hundred times over.

Even if he were to punish himself with eternal pain, the one thing he could not do was kill Ricky. With that resolve firm in his heart, Ice opened his eyes and swung his sword.

Marie and Boribori, who had been watching anxiously, flinched in surprise. But then, the priest of the Order twitched, and his head slid cleanly to the side and fell off.

At some point, Ice’s sword was also radiating a snowflake-like white energy. A trail like gently fluttering white snow.

“If it’s God, He should pay you back for all the suffering you’ve gone through.”

Ricardt repeated what he had once said jokingly. Despite his tears, Ice couldn’t help but laugh.

Ricardt was overwhelmed with sleep, his side wound still unhealed, and his lungs not in good condition, making it hard to stand.

Barely managing to stay upright by grabbing Ice’s shoulder, Marie and Boribori approached from both sides to support him.

"I'm in terrible shape, but let's go now. Let’s finish this. If I take a nap before going, who knows, maybe that so-called god will resurrect.”

With that, they walked down the grand corridor. Then, from a corner where she had been watching with anxiety all this time, Daisy spoke.

“If you go… you’ll die…”

Ricardt paused for a moment and looked back. Daisy was hiccupping with tears as she spoke.

“It’s okay if you don’t love me. But I don’t want Ricky to die… You all like Ricky, right? Then you have to save him…”

After a moment of thought, Ricardt answered with sincerity.

“If something is going to happen anyway, what’s the point of trying to avoid it? That’s not who we are, Daisy.”

Then the four of them moved forward together. Daisy, for the first time, prayed to God. She prayed for forgiveness, for not having believed until now. And she begged, just let Ricky live.

Perhaps wanting to be with them until the end, she staggered after them.

At the end of the grand corridor, a light shone. It looked like a doorway to heaven. But when they finally arrived, the reality was far from heaven.

The sky was clear, and the sunlight dazzling. At the top of a tall, square-pyramidal platform stood a dark, grimy sword, embedded and surrounded by layers of hatred and resentment clinging like tree bark.

Around it were figures in human form, dried and hardened. No, they weren’t statues, were they real people who had dried up and died?

Then they noticed where all the cult followers had gone, they were bowing toward the altar. Chanting, “Close your eyes, close your eyes,” in a whispering prayer.

And the Prophetic Nuns, veiled in white, were singing a monophonic aria. Their voices were so angelic that just listening to them made one feel a sense of holiness.

But at the same time, a bizarre and horrific scene was unfolding. Hellauman and the adventurers who followed him had already arrived, and they were walking around stabbing the bowing worshippers with their weapons.

Even as people were dying right beside them, the devotees continued bowing toward the altar. What on earth were they doing?

Ricardt released the arm that had been supporting him and approached Hellauman. Hellauman’s eyes widened upon seeing Ricardt and his group.

“Oh? You made it here quickly. Or should I say, as expected?”

“Your Excellency, this isn’t right.”

"Hmm? What do you mean? The mission was annihilation from the beginning, wasn't it?"

Ricardt had no words to reply with. Because, as Hellauman said, he had known and joined the operation fully aware. He understood. They all had to be killed. But accepting it was something else entirely.

“There are children here who haven’t even learned to speak yet.”

“Ricardt, it’s that kind of naïve thinking that brought us to this point. If we hesitate and waffle around, these cockroach-like creatures will only lay more eggs. Then we might have to kill even more later. What’s needed now is not mercy, but determination.”

"But you're the one who brought this upon yourself!"

Suddenly, Marie stepped forward and shouted. Her face was flushed red, and it looked like something was boiling inside her.

Hellauman glanced at his fifth-generation descendant. When their eyes met, Marie trembled like a trembling poplar leaf. But she had to say what needed to be said.

“You kidnapped people for experiments, manipulated things from behind the scenes, and then when things didn’t go your way, you discarded them and acted like it had nothing to do with you. That’s why it turned out like this. You brought this upon yourself. You did it to me too!”

“…And?”

Hellauman replied with an emotionless expression. If he had scolded her or even shown anger, she would have been less shocked, but now, Marie was left speechless.

“I already ran the calculations long ago. To produce one Sword Master, you have to gather a thousand talented children and train them. Out of those, maybe ten will be geniuses. Then you gather another thousand geniuses, and maybe you get one true Sword Master. Do you think that’s realistic? So of course, we look for a more efficient method. If you gather children of average aptitude and castrate their emotions, eventually the blade will shine. I just didn’t realize they’d break so badly. If they break, they’re useless. So we discarded them. Steiner the Mad Dog was probably the last. Ricardt, thank you for taking care of him. He was such a headache.”

It was impossible to tell where or when his thinking had become so deranged. His mindset was so fundamentally different that it was hard to comprehend. He was a monster that birthed other monsters.

Hellauman looked at Marie again and spoke.

"Secure more powerful force in greater numbers to protect the Empire. And protect our family too. Is that bad in your eyes? That's enough whining. Even though you're not needed now, you still need to be an obedient dog. Martellia."

Marie stared blankly at the man who was the very embodiment of fear in her life, the one who weighed down her very existence. And then, she realized something: As long as this man lived, there would be no freedom.

So she drew her sword.

"I'm sorry, Ricky."

As she drew her sword, Boribori and Ice drew theirs in unison. Violet, black, and white light radiated.

To that, Hellauman unexpectedly raised his eyebrows and smiled brightly like a child.

“A shame, but a dog that bites its master must be killed. I’ve never broken that principle.”

But at that moment, Ricardt had no sword. Only a dagger.

He was confident in hand-to-hand combat, but he couldn’t use it against that old man. He knew full well that he’d die before even getting close.

On top of that, his body was in no condition to fight. Sleep was weighing him down, his side wound was far from healed, and his lungs were beginning to struggle for breath.

Meanwhile, Hellauman drew his sword with a cruel smile. A dense blue glow flowed along the blade. And without a moment's hesitation, he launched the first strike.

He was going up against not one, but three Sword Masters all by himself.

Jjeo-eong-! Chae-aeng! Jjaeng!

Ricardt, with his keen perception sharper than anyone else’s, knew immediately, this fight wasn’t winnable.

Boribori, Ice, and Marie tried to attack him together, but were instead pushed back. All they could do was block Hellauman from injuring or killing the others, barely at that.

It was impossible to believe that a single human could be this strong.

A duel that could end at any moment. A head could be cut off or limbs severed in the blink of an eye. Let alone among Sword Masters.

Ricardt searched the ground for a fallen weapon, but of course, there was none. Even if he wanted to borrow from the other adventurers, they were standing far away, merely watching.

So, with no other choice, he rushed up the altar. He had to do something, anything. His body was a wreck, and he dragged himself upward with desperate effort.

The wicked aura accumulated around the sword over countless years surged in from all sides, crushing Ricardt as though trying to suffocate him. It wasn’t just hard to breathe, it was impossible. Like entering a pool of sticky water.

As he got closer to the sword, it felt like his skin was being sliced open, and in fact, blood began to flow from his body.

Even so, Ricardt stretched out his hand and grasped the hilt. At that moment, a round shadow began to descend from above, blocking out the sun.

Daisy saw it and froze in shock. No way, no way!

Ricardt’s sudden action drew the eyes of the adventurers, who now turned to him. The worshippers, too, paused their bows and looked at Ricardt while still kneeling.

The sun became more and more obscured by the shadow. Then, when it was more than halfway covered, the world suddenly darkened. Finally, Hellauman and the three others ceased fighting and looked up at the altar.

Ricardt stood at the intersection of friendship and friendship, love and love, grudge and grudge.

Time felt as if it had stopped, and in that suspended moment, Ricardt felt as if all the sounds in the world had vanished. He couldn’t even hear his own breath or heartbeat.

In that darkness-like silence, someone spoke to him. It was the voice of the boy who herded sheep in the Heiden Fields. The most pure one.

‘I’ve been waiting a long time, Ricky.’

‘For me?’

'Yes. Are you going on another exciting killing spree?'

'Killing spree?'

‘Why not? You used to enjoy it, remember? Killing people.’

'......That can't be.'

‘Did you forget? How else could you have displayed such talent unless you truly enjoyed it? You were born a killer.’

‘…’

‘Just like how people arbitrarily define and judge you to justify themselves, you do the same, Ricky.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Hatred and rage. Aren’t they just excuses, really? Isn’t that right?’

Then the truth, buried deep within Ricardt’s own subconscious, was finally revealed. The reason he needed to justify killing people was simply that he wanted to. Whether it was hatred or anything else didn’t matter.

It was shameful and even devastating. But he couldn't turn away from or run from the truth he faced.

‘But now… it’s different.’

‘Why?’

‘Because I’ve learned things I didn’t know before.’

Ricardt recalled his memories. Childhood moments, the love of his family, the Nameless's salvation, the suffering of a vampire, the friendships he had, and his lover. People.

There was no need to put it into words, it was understood as it was.

‘I see… You’ve met some good people. I’m jealous. But you still kill sometimes, right?’

'If there's a reason to fight.'

‘Good. That’s fine. There’ll be plenty of fights anyway.’

Ricky, in his most innocent and purest form, answered with a bright smile.

Ricardt closed his eyes. Tears fell. Whether from repentance or simple sorrow. Like mourning clothes of white, not black, like dawn rising after a night of agony, a single quiet tear fell like a prayer.

At last, his past life and present life were no longer two separate things, they had become one. Wind blew through his body. It wasn't a stream flowing through his veins, it was simply wind. It lightly swept away the poisonous aura that had built up in his lungs and sent his drowsiness flying.

Finally, the sun was completely covered. Though it was midday, the world turned to night. Ricardt stood shrouded entirely in shadow, and behind his head, a halo of radiant light flashed like a divine ring.

The bark-like grudges that had clung to the sword cracked open with sharp tearing sounds. Through those fissures, golden flames began to bloom. They burned brightly in the heart of the darkness created by the eclipse, like a lone star shining in the universe.

Ricardt slowly drew the sword that had been embedded for a hundred years. As he did, the husks crumbled and fell away.

His eyes slowly opened. Within them, golden flames blazed. He slowly turned his head and looked down from the altar. People of all kinds were staring up at him with blank expressions.

Daisy was so shocked she seemed on the verge of fainting, her body trembling so much she couldn’t even stand properly. All she had to do was accept the prophecy! All she had to do was believe in the god! All she had to do was obey!

A heart-tearing sacred realization struck Daisy. Though she had seen the vision, she had seen nothing.

Finally, she understood, she was never meant to be chosen. Even when everything had been shown, she had refused to see it.

Hellauman shuddered. It was because he was finally witnessing again the ultimate sword he had pursued for over a hundred years. Look, behold the one who sprints across the horizon of infinity.

Now he understood the strange sense of familiarity he had always felt when looking at Ricardt. It didn’t matter how it was possible. What mattered was that now, he could face him.

As if possessed, Hellauman climbed the altar toward Ricardt. But even he, who was considered the strongest in the Empire, now looked like no more than a firefly beneath the sun.

He stood before Ricardt briefly, then unleashed a deadly blow infused with all the power he had cultivated in his lifetime.

But Ricardt’s movement was neither slow nor fast, it flowed as if he were swimming through stopped time. Yet what he unleashed was like a lightning strike.

Tteo-eong-!

A sound rang out, like a bell, or perhaps like a hammer striking an anvil, echoing through the darkness of the eclipse.

Before the sound, a straight line of golden light crossed through Hellauman. His sword shattered, and his body split in two like chopped firewood. A massive torrent of blood and organs crashed down onto the altar.

Those who watched were left breathless by the overwhelming sight. It was enough to understand why some might worship a mere human as a god.

Ricardt slowly turned his head. Because it wasn’t over yet. Now was the time to break the chain of evil. And for the people to face the truth, that the god they sought never existed from the beginning.

Or perhaps, not in the form they had wished, but now, true judgment was being delivered.

Those who met his burning gaze felt as though they might faint from it alone. Whether it was overwhelming fear or sublime rapture, they could not tell.

If one could cut down another in rage and hatred, then perhaps one could also do so with compassion. Perhaps that was what it truly meant to have a heart like that of a god.

This was not a level that could be achieved through training. It was, quite literally, a masterpiece born from living two lives and enduring two destinies.

No one could know by what standard he chose, but only few survived the Holy Fortress.

And so, the prophecy was fulfilled. It had been seen, but not recognized.

The sun, which seemed to have closed its eyes, slowly began to open them again. Its sacred gaze pierced down on the fortress soaked in blood.

Chapter 19 – The Brightest Star. End.

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