The Warrior’s Ballad

Translator: Willia

At the southwestern outskirts of Ernburg, a horse market was in full swing. The place was bustling with people.

A wide open field stretched around the hillside. Adjacent to the field were makeshift stables and enclosures filled with various horses, ponies, pack horses, multipurpose horses, and even riding horses for nobles or wealthy individuals.

In the wide open field, horse traders occasionally wandered around holding reins. While this served to advertise their horses, it was also a way for them to showcase their horse-handling skills.

Taking care of horses required significant expertise and experience. Especially the training and breeding techniques possessed by the horse masters of emperors, kings, and great nobles, these were considered state secrets. Revealing such knowledge carelessly could result in a gruesome execution.

Most of the horses at the horse market were pack or multipurpose horses, with only a handful of well-kept riding horses. As for warhorses, none were in sight, perhaps one or two could be found if you looked hard enough.

People were haggling with horse traders here and there. Some were genuinely buying out of necessity, while others sought to purchase horses for breeding purposes.

There were even people selling off horses, which were family assets, though their stories were unknown. These horses weren’t of particularly good breeds, but they had clearly been washed and brushed thoroughly to appear as neat as possible, likely in hopes of fetching a slightly better price.

Suddenly, someone on horseback came galloping into the open field. A red cape fluttered dramatically, drawing attention.

Clop! Clop! Clop! Clop!

“Whoa, whoa!”

“H-Hey!”

The people wandering the field holding reins were startled and flustered. Horses required careful handling, as any accidents could severely decrease their value.

“Apologies, I’m in a hurry.”

The person who appeared on horseback was none other than Ricardt. Mounted on the horse, Ricardt rode around the field erratically.

Though his actions seemed outrageous at first, the horse traders who initially stared in disbelief soon found their gazes fixed on the horse Ricardt was riding. Their expressions were akin to falling in love at first sight.

The horse Ricardt rode was well-proportioned, with a balanced and stable frame. Its sleek yet muscular build was strikingly evident. At a glance, it was unmistakably a warhorse.

Warhorses were in a league of their own compared to other horses, with their prices soaring sky-high. This was because their breed was rare and they required special training from a young age.

Warhorses were no longer just herbivores. They had to possess fierce bravery, endurance that allowed them to withstand spears and blades, and loyalty and obedience to their masters.

On top of that, qualities such as acceleration, stamina, agility, and responsiveness would push their value to the point where they were almost priceless.

Of course, it was nearly impossible for a horse to possess all of these traits. If one did, even the emperor would treasure it for his personal use.

For knights, a horse was both the beginning and the end, a symbol of honor and life itself. There were even stories of a king from long ago who sold a castle to purchase a prized horse.

Naturally, such horses were one in a thousand among warhorses. When paired with the right era and a hero, they would go on to create legendary tales.

Though the horse Ricardt was riding wasn’t quite at that level, it was undeniably the finest in the current horse market.

“Urgent sale! Anyone interested? Urgent sale!”

Ricardt rode around the field recklessly, shouting at the top of his lungs. The field was actually a space where strict order was maintained, with people taking turns walking their horses slowly in line. But Ricardt paid no mind to such rules.

And no one pointed it out either. The horse was simply too magnificent; everyone was captivated.

Among them was a man in silk clothes surrounded by people. He was a man with an impressive build and a beard that reached down to his chest.

This man, who had been watching Ricardt’s erratic behavior from afar, eventually mustered the courage to approach him and struck up a conversation.

"Hey, young man."

Ricardt turned his head at the sound of someone calling him. Just then, Boribori came panting, holding the reins of another horse. Ricardt took the reins from him and walked toward the man who had called out.

“I actually have two horses for sale. If possible, I’d prefer you to buy them both together.”

His abrupt manner of speaking made it obvious he was no merchant. The man in silk clothing chuckled faintly at this.Nôv(el)B\\jnn

The man calmly patted the neck and head of the horse Ricardt was riding, examining its condition.

It was excellent. The horse showed clear signs of meticulous care and devotion. Anyone could tell at a glance whether a horse had been handled roughly or treated with love and affection.

The horse Boribori had brought along paled in comparison to the one Ricardt was riding. However, it wasn’t a bad horse either.

After inspecting the horses, the man in silk looked up at Ricardt and asked,

“Do you know what kind of horse this is that you’re so urgently trying to sell?”

“It’s a pretty good horse.”

“This is a warhorse. The kind knights ride. Warhorses are divided into coursers and destriers, and coursers are much more expensive than other horses. But destriers are far more expensive than coursers. Do you know this?"

Even among destriers, there were various grades from legendary warhorses to those ridden by ordinary knights.

Judging by its physical attributes alone, the horse Ricardt was riding was among the better destriers. Of course, traits like bravery and endurance would need to be tested to know for certain.

“I know that much. My father used to ride a destrier.”

“...Hmm.”

If his father was a knight, that meant he was from a knight family. However, the man in silk clothes wasn't intimidated at all and didn't seem to care much.

“I’ll give you 180 gold coins for the pair.”

“400.”

“Hahaha! Ambitious, I like that, but you’re being utterly unreasonable, young man. I clearly heard this is an urgent sale?”

“Right, it’s an urgent sale. So, let's see, how about 390?"

“Thanks for letting me see a fine horse. Go find another buyer.”

When Ricardt named an outrageous price, the man in silk patted the horse’s neck twice and turned to leave.

Ricardt quickly followed after him.

“Fine. 200.”

“180. I don’t feel like haggling anymore.”

“Alright, 180 it is.”

Ricardt dismounted and spoke. The man gestured with his hand, and someone promptly brought over a pouch of money. He handed over two slightly large pouches and one smaller pouch.

Ricardt opened the pouches to verify the money. Just by running his fingers through the coins, he accurately counted the amount. It was exactly 180 gold coins.

“Ri... Ricky, what do we do? We’re rich now.”

Boribori, wide-eyed at the sheer amount of money, grabbed Ricardt and began shaking him enthusiastically. Growing up in poverty, Boribori had developed a fondness for money.

But then, they heard the sound of horse hooves rushing toward them.

Clop! Clop! Clop! Clop!

Riding hard toward them was Marconis, bareheaded, his partially bald scalp gleaming. He wasn’t even wearing the hat he usually kept on.

“Hey! Hey! That horse isn’t for sale!”

Marconis rushed over, stopping his horse right in front of Ricardt and the man in silk. He dismounted hurriedly, clearly flustered. His eyes landed on the money pouch in Ricardt’s hand, it was already too late; the transaction was complete.

“Hey you, that horse is not for sale.”

Marconis directed his words toward the man in silk. The man alternated his gaze between Ricardt and Marconis before letting out a mocking snort.

Instead of responding, he whistled sharply and snapped his fingers toward the crowd nearby.

At the whistle, a group of people mounted the horses inside the enclosure and began approaching. Although lightly armored, they looked like marauders, wielding spears and swords.

Moreover, their appearance marked them as foreigners. Ricardt had only heard of them before, small eyes and low nasal bridges suggested they were nomadic people from somewhere far in the lands of the Salaman.

Seeing nomads for the first time in their lives, both Ricardt and Boribori stared with wide, astonished eyes. Were they mercenaries? Or something else?

Regardless, the riders, armed and mounted, glared coldly at Marconis. There was nothing more terrifying than people you couldn’t communicate with.

On top of that, there were gruesome rumors about nomads: they rode horses with supernatural skill, and some even said they were cannibals.

Under their fierce glares, Marconis, though in a hurry, gulped nervously, tension evident on his face.

“1,000.”

The man in silk clothing said curtly. If Marconis wanted to buy the horse back, he would have to pay 1,000 gold coins.

The price was so outrageous that anyone could tell it was intentionally exaggerated. Overwhelmed by the man’s authority, Marconis couldn’t muster a response.

“If you can’t pay, then get lost.”

The man in silk said firmly.

Marconis opened his mouth as if to say something, but no words came out. He seemed convinced that if he said the wrong thing, his life might be at stake.

As a merchant, he had no courage to risk his life for a horse. Defeated, he retreated without a word, glancing back at the horse market over and over, unable to hide his lingering regret.

Watching Marconis leave, Ricardt turned to the man in silk and asked,

“So, this horse was actually worth 1,000 gold coins?”

The man in silk let out a soft chuckle.

“A fine horse isn’t something you can simply price. If fate doesn’t bring you together, you may never encounter one, no matter how much money you have. Placing a price on such a thing is foolish.”

“But you’re a horse trader. Surely you know the market value of something like this?”

The man in silk gave Ricardt a subtle smile.

“Do I really look like a trader to you?”

“...Huh?”

“Whether you stole the horse or whatever, you got what you needed, and we both benefited from this deal, didn’t we?”

With that, the man turned and walked away. Following his lead, the nomads dismounted from their horses as well.

Ricardt couldn’t shake the feeling that this man wasn’t just some ordinary horse trader. Was he really the leader of a band of marauders?

In any case, with the sale completed, Ricardt and Boribori hurried to the docks. There, they met Mason, the master of the Stonemason Guild, and asked.

“How much is the unpaid debt?”

In truth, Ricardt didn’t even know how much was owed. He had simply barged in, seized the horses, and sold them.

“With the transportation fees included, it comes to 120 gold coins.”

Ricardt handed over the 120 gold coins on the spot. Mason, who clearly hadn’t expected to actually receive the money, widened his eyes in shock.

“Th-this... how...?”

“How? I just barged in, took the horses, and sold them.”

“...”

“When it comes to collecting unpaid debts, you need to use force. Sitting around at the docks won’t get you anywhere.”

Whether bold or shameless, Ricardt said this as if it were the most natural thing in the world. And it was true, in reality, it was nearly impossible to recover unpaid debts without resorting to force.

Ricardt looked at the people still camped out at the docks, waiting for their money. “At least they don’t have to live out here anymore,” he thought to himself. That alone made the effort worthwhile.

"By the way, we haven't even written a contract yet, have we?"

Boribori asked. Now that he mentioned it, that was true. But a verbal contract was also a formal contract.

The only issue with verbal agreements was that they were hard to enforce if a dispute arose. But as long as both parties upheld the agreement, it didn’t matter.

“We still have money left.”

They had a surplus of 60 gold coins. Come to think of it, they had completed one request and earned 60 gold coins in less than an hour.

However, Ricardt stared quietly at the coin-filled pouch before turning to Boribori.

"How much interest should we charge?"

“Hmm... Well, from what I heard yesterday, the debt hasn’t been paid for three days? That makes today the fourth day.”

The interest rate could be set as desired, but generally it was 10% per day.

It was an era of harsh interest rates. For this reason, it was best to avoid borrowing money whenever possible, and if you did borrow, you had to repay it on time no matter what.

In comparison to ruthless usury, a 10% daily interest rate was actually quite reasonable.

“12 coins times 4 days is 48 gold coins. Let’s return the rest.”

“Huh? Why?”

“We need to have principles too. We should only take what we’ve earned. Otherwise, how are we any different from thieves?”

"Hmm... You're right."

Boribori replied, though his disappointment was obvious. Still, he decided to go along with Ricardt’s reasoning.

Ricardt had heard Mason's words about keeping tradition and principles, and he thought those words were right.

It was one thing to keep spoils of war, but payment for a job should be precise and fair. That was how Ricardt saw it.

With that in mind, Ricardt and Boribori headed straight back to the mansion.

When they arrived, the mansion was in chaos, no doubt because of the ruckus they had caused earlier. And when the instigator of the commotion, Ricardt, showed up again, the people in the mansion were so dumbfounded they could only blink in disbelief.

Ricardt grabbed the nearest person and asked,

“Where’s Marconis?”

“Y-yes? Uh, w-why?”

“I’m here to return the extra money.”

“...He’s in the office on the second floor…”

Without hesitation, Ricardt walked straight into the mansion as if it were his own home. He made his way to the second-floor office and flung the door open.

Inside, Marconis was sitting at his desk, holding his head in his hands. Startled, he shouted angrily,

"I said no one should come in...!"

But he stopped mid-sentence when he realized it was Ricardt who had entered. His face froze in shock.

“I sold the horse and got 180 gold coins. I gave 120 gold coins to the Stonemason Guild, and we kept the interest for ourselves. Since you didn’t pay for four days, we took 10% interest per day, which comes to 48 gold coins. I’m here to return the remaining 12 coins.”

With that, Ricardt spread the 12 gold coins out on the desk.

Marconis stared at Ricardt in stunned silence, so taken aback that he let out an incredulous huff of air.

“...Hah!”

“What? Are you upset?”

“...Do you have any idea what kind of horse that was?”

"No, I don't."

“What did you just say?”

“Do I need to know? All I know is that you didn’t pay your debt, and we took on the job of collecting the money for the Stonemason Guild. Isn’t unpaid debt typically collected through force? You’re a merchant, you should know this better than anyone.”

“Hah... Fine. Let’s say you’re right about that. But do you even understand who I am? I’m not just anyone, I’m a member and chairman of the Ernburg Merchants' Guild. Do you really think I’ll let something like this slide? You really have no common sense! And what is this? 12 gold coins? Ha! Are you joking!?”

Marconis’s temper flared, and he seemed to be losing his composure. Even someone as calculating and shrewd as him couldn’t seem to bear the loss of the horse. Despite not being a knight, he seemed deeply attached to the destrier.

But then again, even for non-knights, horses, especially destriers, represented a kind of dream or romantic ideal. Alongside swords, they were symbols of pride for men. This was why Marconis, despite not being a warrior, had insisted on riding such a fine destrier in the first place.

Ricardt watched Marconis panting in anger, his bewilderment evident.

“What’s this merchant guild supposed to be, anyway? And what are you going to do if you don't let it go? No common sense? If I were Mad Dog Steiner, do you really think your head would still be attached to your shoulders? Do you want me to show you what real lack of common sense looks like? Unbelievable.”

At the mention of Mad Dog Steiner, Marconis flinched visibly. His entire body trembled, and his composure finally began to return. It was only now that he fully grasped what kind of person the boy standing in front of him was.

Ricardt stared coldly at Marconis, his expression sharp and unyielding. The oppressive air around him grew heavy, and an unmistakable killing intent radiated from his gaze.

Marconis’s heart pounded wildly, and cold sweat ran down his face. Unconsciously, the thought that he was about to die filled his mind. The look in Ricardt’s eyes wasn’t human.

“Listen carefully, Marconis, if you’re a merchant, then act like one. People with money always think they’re untouchable, like they’re something special and cross lines, and that’s how they end up dead. It’s not for any other reason. Are you a knight? Are you going to ride that horse into battle and fight on the front lines? Is a horse as precious as your life? It’s not, is it? If you don’t want to die, learn your place. Got it?”

Ricardt delivered his warning as if he was genuinely about to kill him, then turned and left the office with Boribori following behind. Before stepping out, Boribori gave a quick bow.

As Ricardt left, Marconis felt like he could finally breathe again. The suffocating pressure that had gripped him lifted. For the first time, the reality of the boy who had taken down the Ernburg Five sank in.

Yet, Marconis couldn’t help but think that Ricardt wasn’t normal either. Glancing at the 12 gold coins spread out on the desk, he concluded that Ricardt was a different breed of lunatic than Mad Dog Steiner.

If Ricardt had taken everything, that would’ve been easier to understand. But returning 12 coins? What kind of logic was that? From beating his daughter to seizing his horse and then returning the leftover money, every action Ricardt took was incomprehensible.

At that moment, Marconis realized something. The belief that he could manipulate or tame the beast that had killed the Ernburg Five was nothing but a delusion.

Beasts like lions or tigers were undeniably captivating. Their leisurely gait, their casual lounging, it was elegant, beautiful, even majestic.

But just because they were alluring didn’t mean you could approach them and touch them. Doing so could lead to catastrophe. Those same beasts would bare their claws and fangs, ripping a person apart.

Splattered blood, spilling entrails, crushed and torn limbs.

When tigers disappear from the mountains, foxes and wolves tend to rise to power, and Marconis realized that he was just such a fox or wolf.

No matter how smart someone was, there were times when success dulled their instincts. That had happened to him.

There were true predators in the world, beasts in human form. And provoking such people was sheer foolishness.

Marconis had always prided himself on his motto: “Before doing anything, always weigh the profit and the loss.”

But now he understood, before calculating profit and loss, he had to consider whether he might die first.

Chapter 12 – Tiger in the Mountain. End.