Chapter 194 - <1>
And so, the final volume of the main story begins.
Our four heroes have finally arrived in the last country, the Zeum Divine Kingdom. Their destination is Shion, the Grand Temple that serves as the nation's holy site and central hub—where Kuchiba is surely waiting. But in this country teeming with enemies, they cannot travel as they have before.
After a journey fraught with hardship, what is the truth that will finally be revealed?
The original doujinshi was published over a period of roughly nine years, from 2001 to 2010.
On 'Shōsetsuka ni Narō,' it has taken barely a year. I might have rushed it a bit, haha.
Since the doujinshi was published as two volumes, I've combined them into one. As a result, this will be a loooong story, the length of two books.
And now, let the final volume begin.
He walked along the main street, not paved with stone but packed hard by the countless feet that had trod upon it, a cigarette dangling from his lips. The dry, local wind, which occasionally kicked up clouds of dust, was no different from that of the land of darkness that lay beyond this city: the Zeum Divine Kingdom.
This city, located on the edge of Tarnien, had once been part of Zeum, and its climate was different from the rest of the country. Tarnien was a land of forests, but this place, a sprawling wasteland of rugged stone fields and cold-resistant conifers, could only be called a wilderness.
It was in the middle of this wilderness, a full day's ride by horse from the nearest Tarnien city, that Shujun stood—the border between Tarnien and Zeum, and the boundary of a chronic battlefield.
The conflict between the two nations had supposedly been sparked by a human rights issue. Refugees fleeing Zeum claimed that all humans were suffering under the rule of demi-human races. In order to save them, Tarnien declared war on the Zeum Divine Kingdom, igniting a seemingly endless state of combat.
But the founding principle of human rights had long since been forgotten. The battlefield between this country and Zeum had devolved into a paradise for scoundrels looking to make a quick buck.
On the eastern, Tarnien-facing side of the city, there was only a simple wooden fort that did little to deter entry. But the western side… the Zeum-facing side, with its heavy, sturdy, multi-layered stone fortress of considerable height, was a gate to hell from which the unlucky could never hope to return alive.
Given its location, most of the city's inhabitants made their living, directly or indirectly, from the battlefield. Mercenaries who had drifted in from various countries were a given, but ambitious blacksmiths, weapon smiths, and provisioners, dissatisfied with the tranquility of their home nations, also flocked here from all over. Before long, a massive number of shops and the people who came with them had settled in, not because the Tarnien army had gathered them, but of their own accord.
Where such people gathered, an even greater number of taverns and brothels, targeting the settlers, sprang up like mushrooms after rain, adding a touch of gaudy, vibrant color to the grim atmosphere created by the rough men who drifted through the city.
Though it was still midday, the sounds of scuffles and touts' cries echoed boisterously along the main street. With the battlefield now entering the planting season, combat was rare, and the mercenaries had time on their hands. After all, a war between nations couldn't be fought without supplies.
Brawls and duels served as an outlet for them during these quiet times. Naturally, such events were commonplace in this city, and unlike in other towns, the guards wouldn't come running for something so trivial. Besides, everyone here was a mercenary; no mere city guard could hope to mediate their disputes.
For that reason, this country was Tarnien in name only. It was a lawless zone built upon the perfect meritocracy of the scoundrels who had gathered to fight Zeum and earn money. In this city, the only things that mattered were skill and earnings.
It had only been two and a half years since he'd left this city, and since he was, for all intents and purposes, still active, whispers of his all-too-famous reputation reached his ears, women's squeals were thrown his way, and touts called out to him. He simply raised a hand in silent acknowledgment and hurried toward his destination.
He shrugged slightly as a sudden cold wind blew past, sending ash fluttering from the tip of his cigarette. If my companions were next to me, they'd probably get mad, he mused, a faint smile playing on his lips.
Especially Anna. She'd probably lecture him, starting with how smoking was bad for his health, then moving on to how it bothered those around him, polluted the city, and so on. If anyone saw him getting scolded like that, the reputation and respect he'd built in this city would shatter in an instant. He was already weak when it came to the elderly and children, but if they saw him getting cornered by Anna and Edward, this stoic expression would be meaningless. That was precisely why he'd left all his companions back at the inn.
Still, he'd never imagined such a significant psychological shift could occur in the short time since he'd left this city two and a half years ago. He had left back then to visit the grave of his mentor, the mercenary captain Gilbert Douglas. It had been the fifteenth anniversary of his death, and Ritz had stood before his gravestone with a full purse and a cold, empty feeling in his heart.
It was there that he had encountered that strange jewel, the one that had decisively changed his fate. If he hadn't had it, Priest Anton would surely never have entrusted his precious adopted daughter to him. It was because they possessed the same item that Anton had felt some kind of connection and entrusted Anna to his care.
Anton probably never dreamed it would lead to all this.
And because he had Anna, he ended up taking Franz with him. If he hadn't had Anna's vegetables, he never would have met Franz. And without Franz and Anna, he never would have thought to contact Shasta. If he hadn't, he would never have met Edward again, much less found the courage to return to Sears.
He couldn't help but feel that single gem was guiding him toward some kind of destiny. But for now, there was no doubt it was all moving in a good direction.
His expression hardening, Ritz Alster turned his eyes to the tavern before him. If he were seen engaging in the sort of gentle banter he shared with his companions, he wouldn't be able to conduct his shady business with any dignity. And without that shady business, there was no getting into Zeum.
From the wooden tavern, built more crudely than those in Tarnien, boisterous chatter spilled out despite the time of day. The foolish revelry of mercenaries with nothing to do was likely already in full swing.
"Well, let's get to it."
Muttering to himself, Ritz pushed open the tavern door. The strong scent of liquor, the roar of men's voices, and thick cigarette smoke flooded out at once.
Whenever he returned from his wanderings and showed his face at the tavern, a feeling different from when he returned to Ciedena would fill his chest. It was a peculiar sense of desolation, the feeling that he had ended up here once again. But this time, he had a place to return to, and his heart was surprisingly calm.
As he stepped inside, the men's shouts died instantly. All eyes turned to him, and then a new kind of murmur filled the room.
Among the fragments of words that reached his ears were phrases like 'That nightmare…' and 'The battlefield will be stained with blood again,' a mix of respect and fear.
This happened every time, but the men here would never guess he was traveling with a couple of kids and an old man.
"Yo, Master."
He sat down at an empty spot at the counter and stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray. The men, who had been murmuring in awe, returned to their previous boisterous shouting. For men who made a living by risking their lives on the battlefield, enjoying their current drink was more important than Ritz's presence.
"Been a while, hasn't it, Captain?"
"…Same as always."
"Suppose so."
The master, an acquaintance of many years, knew that Ritz wandered the continent whenever he grew tired of the battlefield. It wasn't uncommon for mercenaries to use their earnings to go back to their hometowns and make a name for themselves. But Ritz, who continued to come and go from this city, prolonging his mercenary career despite having earned a great deal of money, was said to be a rarity.
For Ritz, being a mercenary was his livelihood, a place for his hopelessly lost self to belong, and perhaps even a beacon of hope that could sever his bleak future.
But the more he sought something, the more he tired of the bloodshed. At times like that, Ritz would unceremoniously abandon the battlefield and set out on a journey. Thanks to that, he had become known in this city and on the battlefield as a heartless mercenary who hunted his enemies for money. But he had no intention of denying it now.
"With you back, the young'uns won't be able to earn a thing."
"More of them around?"
"Yeah. The continent's at peace, so guys who don't know what to do with their strength end up drifting here. Hey, Captain, why don't you try starting a war or something?"
With words that were half-joke, half-serious, the master placed a cup of hot water mixed with distilled liquor before him. Ritz drank it in silence.
"Wars don't just start that easily, you know."
Muttering, the master went back to wiping a glass. Some guys can start them easily enough, Ritz thought, his mind briefly turning to Kuchiba, but he said nothing, just sipped his drink and surveyed the tavern. The master seemed to leave the tavern floor to a few female employees and a young male worker, preferring to stay at the counter and serve only the customers he wanted to. That was his way.
Ritz didn't know the name of this master, who was in his mid-fifties. The master, of course, knew Ritz's name, which had unintentionally become famous, but Ritz had never once heard his name despite their decade-long acquaintance.
Giving one's name was meaningless in this city to mercenaries who gambled with their lives. Knowing a name or having one's own name known was pointless if you ended up dead. But Ritz knew this master's other name.
He drank his liquor in silence, munching on the snacks provided. Waiting until the men who had been sneaking glances his way had grown bored and started boasting of their own exploits, Ritz spoke to the master in a low voice.
"I want to go to Zeum."
"…"
The master's hand, which had been wiping a glass, stopped.
"Peculiar hobby."
The master murmured, slowly resuming his task.
"Yeah. Before I came to this city, I met some folks in Suien who wanted to go to Zeum."
"And you're going with them?"
Ritz smirked at the master's suspicious frown.
"Something wrong with that?"
"…You won't make any money over there."
"I figured."
"Well, not that you need to worry about money."
In truth, he was currently quite poor. But there was no need to say so. He just smiled faintly and took a sip of his drink. The master spoke again.
"Then why go? And with a bunch of lunatics who want to go to Zeum?"
"That's right. But they've got money."
The master's expression twisted.
"Don't tell me a man like you is planning to rob them?"
"Don't be stupid. I haven't fallen that far."
He shrugged and smiled. The master sighed and returned the glass he was holding to the shelf.
"There's no mistaking you're a killer, but that's true enough."
"Damn right."
He swirled his empty glass, requesting a refill, and fell silent again. The master didn't press the matter, silently making another hot drink and placing it before him. While the female staff and a sturdy man bustled about the tavern, the counter alone was quiet, as if time flowed differently there.
Eventually, the master spoke.
"If there's nothing in it for you, why do you want to go to Zeum?"
"Still don't trust me?"
"Yeah. A guy like you could make more money killing all the wanted men in this city."
"True enough."
"So I don't get your motive."
The master, being a civilian, held no negative views about Ritz killing enemies in war, even though he knew about it. But he probably wouldn't feel good if the man before him were to lend a hand in killing civilians. Ritz could clearly sense the faint disgust and wariness in him, as if he were wondering if that was what Ritz intended to do.
"I've never been to Zeum."
At those words, the master's eyes widened.
"Getting a free ride to Zeum doesn't sound too bad, does it?"
"You mean… you, the blood-soaked mercenary, are playing bodyguard?!"
"Something wrong with that? I've just gotten tired of the other countries."
"Heh… I see."
The master, who knew of Ritz's wandering habits, nodded deeply.
"But you're a strange one, too."
"I'll take that as a compliment."
"To hire you, they must've paid a pretty penny."
"I'll leave it to your imagination."
He put on a look of余裕 and drained his hot drink. In truth, there was no reward to speak of. But being with Anna was the most important thing. He thought it would be amusing if people knew that; he'd probably lose his place in this city. But having a better place to belong was far more blissful than having one here.
"Get me something stronger this time. Straight."
As he spoke, he slid several bills under his empty glass. It was the full fifty thousand Giltz from Edward, an amount that Franz, on the verge of tears, had said would cover a month's living expenses if they were frugal. With this, Ritz's debt to Edward would likely exceed one hundred thousand. He could easily imagine being worked to the bone for free by the army after sending Edward back to the capital.
The master took the money and stared intently at Ritz's face. Ritz leaned in and asked in a low whisper.
"Where's the black-market passport dealer?"
After staring at Ritz with a frown, the master let out a small sigh. With a smooth, magician-like motion, he slipped the bills into his pocket and, as if nothing had happened, picked up a bottle of distilled liquor.
"Fifth shop in the blacksmith district. The one that only sells daggers."
"Password?"
"'Regarding the almond matter' will get you through."
"I owe you one, as always, informant."
"Anytime."
Using the information from the master… the informant, Ritz dealt with the black-market passport dealer and obtained travel documents for the four of them.