The Warrior's Ballad

Chapter 115

Translator: WilliaHartmann, whom Ricardt had watched from the side, was a quiet and reliable man. As a father, as a husband.

Of course, he too could not have been a perfect human. Why, for what reason he killed a priest was unknown, but because of that, the hardship for the entire family had begun.

Therefore, if asked whether all of Hartmann's decisions and choices were perfect, the answer would be no.

But one thing was certain: he was not simply a woodcutter, but a great father and a man who possessed the heart of a warrior.

So Ricardt respected and mourned him as a father, as a warrior.

Then what remained now was revenge? To honor him? That was not it.

To be honest, the Rubens Clan was so disgusting and repulsive that he just wanted to kill them.

So he did not want to make excuses by bringing up reasons like revenge or mourning. He simply wanted to kill. That was all. That was why he was a demon.

The purest form of murderous intent did not rise from anger or hatred, but simply from pleasure.

Excitement and ecstasy filled him at the thought of carrying out a massacre. The more he thought about it, the more he was eager like a drooling dog. Ricardt quietly contemplated that pure and dangerous blade.

When he did so, he could draw power from it without being swayed by the emotion.

Ricardt, with his head bowed, looked into the abyss, then opened his eyes. Then, a golden energy shimmered in his eyes.

He recalled old memories. The days when he was wanted and wandered the Empire alone, committing massacres.

The southeastern region of the Empire, Pasina, was an area full of forests and strange rocky formations, and the Rubens Clan's headquarters was also built atop a sheer rocky zone.

Though not very large in scale, the surrounding terrain was so rugged that, as a natural fortress, it seemed impossible to capture even with many troops.

Near the castle, there was a small village surrounded by forest, and surprisingly, a fair number of people lived there.

The reason the clan did not interfere with them was that having some people living nearby made it easier to receive and provide things from the outside.

The lives of the people were not affluent, but it seemed they were not being exploited or plundered in particular.

However, the villagers knew that something eerie and horrific was happening in that castle. They were just too afraid to speak up, living day by day in anxiety.

It was late afternoon. The sun had not yet turned red. A man wearing a red cloak and a hood walked across the village.

An old man, having harvested some carrots from his garden and placing them in a basket, dropped one by accident. The carrot rolled and stopped at the feet of the stranger.

He picked up the carrot and handed it to the old man. The old man, reaching to take the carrot, froze as he saw burning golden eyes beneath the hood.

Regardless of the old man's reaction, the stranger walked straight toward the castle. The old man stared at his back for a long time.

The path the stranger walked gradually turned uphill at some point. And from there to the castle, a narrow path continued. It was a path without any railing, with a deep cliff below.

Without any fear, he crossed the path and arrived at the castle gate. The gate was not closed, and there were only two guards on duty.

The two guards watched silently as a man walked alone toward them. They did not imagine at all that he came to do something to them.

Because of the cloak, it was hard to tell his exact appearance, but it was clear he wore a sword at his waist.

“Hey, this isn’t a place where you can just wander around.”

“Are you here to join?”

Among wandering swordsmen, there were those who occasionally came to join the clan. No matter how skilled one was, surviving alone in the wild without belonging to a group was difficult.

But the man said nothing and silently approached, standing before them. Because of the thick shadow of the gate, it was already dark like evening, and it would soon be time to light the torches.

“Hey, don’t cause any trouble. This is a warning.”

As the stranger approached without hesitation, the guards grew slightly flustered and frightened. Just in case. Even their tone had changed.

The man with his hood pulled down low enough to only reveal his jaw quietly spoke. It was Ricardt’s voice.

“Blow the emergency whistle.”

“......?”

“I won’t say it twice.”

In an instant, a flash of light burst forth. The guard tightly shut his eyes. There was a dull thud, the sound of something heavy falling, and when he opened his eyes again.

Dazed, he turned to his comrade and saw he had no head. Blood spurted from the severed neck of the fallen body. A chill ran down his spine, and he froze on the spot.

Without a word, Ricardt slowly raised his flaming sword and pointed the tip at the whistle hanging around the guard’s neck.

It seemed absurd, but the guard lacked the mental clarity to comprehend the situation. So, in a daze, he blew the whistle hard.

Piiik-!

The ear-piercing sound echoed throughout the castle, and the man who blew the whistle died instantly. With a heavy thud, his body collapsed, and now two corpses lay scattered at the castle gate.

Ricardt, sword in hand, walked into the castle courtyard.

Yet despite the clear sound of the whistle echoing through the area, the emergency response unit took a considerable amount of time to arrive.

At first, five or six people came out, but upon seeing the bodies strewn at the gate, they gasped and hurriedly ran back to their quarters. Then they came out again, bringing more men.

Around twenty people scrambled out into the courtyard and surrounded Ricardt. From inside the inner castle, which looked more like a mansion, people only peered out the windows to observe.

“Who are you? State your name!”

“Ricky.”

Some recognized it, while others did not, causing a stir. Was he that man from before? You know, the genius swordsman, the one with the red cloak. But why now? Such whispers passed by Ricardt.

In the midst of that, a man who seemed to be the leader of the emergency unit shouted with a deliberately fierce expression.

“What is your business here? This is an outright provocation against our Rubens Clan!”

Ricardt raised his head. From beneath the deeply pulled hood, golden eyes blazing with fire were revealed.

At the moment those eyes were seen, the murmuring stopped cold.

“I’ve come to kill every last one of you. Without leaving a single one behind.”

As those death-sentence-like words fell, even the mountains and trees around seemed to hold their breath in the already quiet interior of the castle.

It was a situation that defied common sense. For someone to come alone and fight a clan that had survived in this brutal world.

It wasn’t even sabotage against the clan’s business. It was simply a head-on assault, a reckless invasion. Something unheard of.

So people were not just dumbfounded, but also seized with the creeping fear of what if.

At that moment, people began to emerge from the inner castle. They wore scarves covering their jaws and coifs over their heads.

Just as clans typically had ranks like apprentices, trainees, official disciples, and full-fledged clan members, those coming from the inner castle were ones who had begun training in the Rubens Clan’s unique mana drive.

It seemed they were ashamed of their condition, as they dressed to conceal their slightly twisted skeletal structure.

One among them spoke to Ricardt.

“I still remember what happened four years ago. How you caused immense damage to our clan and brought us disgrace. Since then, we’ve never forgotten our grudge, not even for a moment.”

“I don’t feel like digging into who was right or wrong now, but wasn’t it you who ambushed me with some strange poison during the swordsmanship tournament?”

“You killed our clan master when you were still a student. Lorenz, do you remember him?”

It was absurdly self-centered. It was Lorenz and his subordinates who had ambushed Ricardt and the students while they were passing through the forest to assist with an adventurer’s request.

Yet they held a grudge because Ricardt fought back and killed them. What kind of fucking bastards were these?

But Ricardt no longer wanted to waste words on such topics.

“No. Why would I remember garbage like that?”

And with that, he was the first to shoot forward like an arrow.

He glided low like flowing water, slicing with a sword held in one hand. Though the opponent tried to dodge, one of his legs was cut clean off.

As the situation unfolded in an instant, many of those nearby rushed toward Ricardt. But naturally, more of them ended up tangled among themselves.

When Ricardt spun his body like a storm and swung his sword at those foolish ones, it was as if by magic, three or four were severed at the torso all at once.

It was an unbelievable strike. Yet such attacks erupted without pause.

Like a skilled chef filleting a fish, he swung his sword a few times, and corpses piled up in an instant.

Some people collapsed on the spot from the shocking sight, while the slightly more composed ones turned and fled to various parts of the castle. Those who weren’t even on his level were dealt with in a single sweep.

But those with mufflers wrapped around their faces couldn’t escape, even if they wanted to. Because everything they had was inside this castle, not just money, but research materials and specially refined mana hearts.

So they fought Ricardt desperately, but they had no real method to stop him.

It was as if an invisible shroud of death had spread. Once anyone entered that space, they were either cut apart or couldn’t escape death.

Encirclement tactics and hit-and-run maneuvers, the agile movements unique to the Rubens Clan, none of it worked.

His level far exceeded that of any Sword Master they had ever known. Was this even possible?

Ricardt’s eyes were never fixed on his current opponent. They always looked toward the next. And he unleashed a sword that couldn’t be stopped and could cut through anything.

Speed, strength, technique, judgment, genius and experience combined to produce a terrifying power. It had no fixed form, and it evolved with every moment. Because all of this was fun for him.

Some among the enemies, thinking of nothing but survival, tried to flee with the research materials or whatever they could. Ricardt slashed one down and immediately threw his sword, precisely skewering another’s back.

But that left him unarmed, and in that brief moment, the enemies who had been waiting for an opening rushed at him.

Just then, golden energy gathered in Ricardt’s hand. When he struck with his bare hand against their blades, they shattered all at once.

CLANG-!

He then grabbed one of them and pierced the heart with his bare hand.

But instead of pulling it back, he drew it upward. His hand split the ribcage and carved through the shoulder as it came out. The enemy collapsed to his knees with his mouth wide open.

In Ricardt’s hand was a still-living heart. What was truly shocking wasn’t the still-beating heart, but Ricardt’s cruel grin as he held it.

“You people like this kind of thing, don’t you?”

With those words, he crushed the heart in his grip and tossed it to the ground.

“Come and eat it like dogs.”

At that, even those who had abandoned their humanity for the sake of training faltered at the unbearable scene.

Silence fell once again. Did he just handle a Sword of Light with his bare hands? Unbelievable. It was impossible.

The castle courtyard was littered with grotesquely butchered corpses, and the ground was slick with blood. The late afternoon sun had already begun to turn red.

As Ricardt continued the slaughter, he felt an overwhelming surge of joy.

Though he tried to observe himself inwardly and keep control, it was hard to suppress the laughter that kept slipping out.

Maybe it was a sense of disillusionment with himself and with the entire farce around him. Maybe it was revulsion. If such things could even be considered humor.

Amid shattered weapons and horrific corpses, Ricardt shook with laughter. Then he threw back his head and burst into maniacal laughter.

“Hehehe... heh... Ahahahahahahahahaha!”

The enemies had completely lost their will to fight and could only stare blankly at Ricardt, who laughed so loudly in shock.

It was the fear of death, something utterly uncontrollable, something that couldn’t be resisted. They all felt like they were trapped in a nightmare made real.

A demon needed no reason. Talk of grudges or gaining power, none of it mattered.

Those were just excuses, self-justifications. To forsake humanity and yet not even become a monster, just trash.

A true demon was something closer to the purity of a child.

Ricardt slowly walked over and retrieved his sword from where it had fallen far away. Everyone just watched, no one dared even to breathe, let alone stop him.

He walked toward the castle gate and struck down with his sword, cutting through a thick rope. With a heavy clang, the portcullis dropped, slamming the gate shut.

Usually, one would block the escape route to prevent an intruder from fleeing, but now it was the opposite. This place had become a slaughterhouse.

Ricardt looked around at the members of the Rubens Clan and smiled, baring his white teeth.

The air reeked of blood and iron. But something was still missing. That was fire. What’s a festival without fire?

Ricardt ran toward the enemies again. They all scattered and fled. Into the inner castle, into their quarters, as if playing hide-and-seek.

But that was a mistake. Because he would burn everything.

Fire, steel, blood, and death, Ricardt was the one who mastered them best. And he was the one who had most thoroughly learned how to become a demon to survive in hell.

He had no interest in the Rubens Clan’s research, their treasures, or anything like that. There was only massacre and death.

At some point, cries for mercy began to echo intermittently throughout the castle. Or screams filled with agony from being burned. To some, it might have sounded like splendid music.

An old man working his vegetable garden in the nearby village watched from a distance as the castle burned. The entire village stood still, silently watching.

At sunset, under the red glow of dusk, thick black smoke rose, reaching the sky. The smell of burning drifted all the way to the village.

Then, from the direction of the castle, the hooded stranger walked out. Only an hour or two had passed since he arrived. That was how long it took to annihilate a powerful clan.

As he quietly passed through the village, no one could say a word. They simply watched. Then the old man asked,

“Are you an angel, or a demon?”

Ricardt glanced at the old man and replied. His eyes were no longer burning as before. They were simply clear hazel.

"Well, I suppose it is as you see it, old man."

And with that, he walked the way he came and disappeared.

The Rubens Clan’s headquarters burned for two full days and nights. No one survived. And later, only an unbelievable rumor spread, that the Angel of Death had descended and rained fire upon them.

Ricardt had defined himself as a demon, but in the old man’s eyes, it must have appeared otherwise.

Chapter 23 - The Demonic Angel. End.

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