qq附近人400元2小时

Some memories are so intense that they become etched in one’s mind like a tattoo. The smells, colors, emotions from that time—all of it could be vividly recalled.

When that happens, it’s not just a past event, but something that continues to live on. Even after a hundred years have passed.

In his youth, Hellauman had been quite talented. His physique was robust, making him well-suited for martial training.

But at some point, Hellauman began to feel an inexplicable frustration. Something elusive, just out of reach, tormented him.

At the time, he thought it was because he had grown tired of practicing the same techniques every day. But that wasn’t the case.

Rumors about the unparalleled mass murderer, Ricky, had been circulating for several years. There were stories that he had single-handedly killed famous knights, swordsmen, and even elite assassination squads sent by the Emperor.

Was that even possible? Surely it was just nonsense, right? But the stories about him continued to spread relentlessly, and eventually, even Hellauman’s family sought to kill Ricky to make a name for themselves.

Then, one day, it happened. Late at night, someone kicked down the door of the guild building, shattering it as they barged in.

Hellauman’s father, his brothers, relatives, and the disciples training at the dojo all looked on in shock as they watched him. Hellauman, too, stood among the crowd, observing.

The one who had barged in was none other than Ricky. He was tall, with broad shoulders, and eyes that blazed with intensity.

“When you were buzzing around me like flies, you were so annoying. Now that I’m standing right here before you, why is no one stepping forward?”

He spoke in a rough, cracked voice, like metal grinding together. The young Hellauman’s heart pounded.

Then, he quietly moved toward the wardrobe and hid, watching from inside. It was because, in that moment, he had instinctively realized something: everyone was going to die.

“H-Hold on. Calm down. I think there’s been some sort of misunderstanding.”

His father stepped forward, trying to reason with him. But what came in response was not words, but a lightning-fast slash of a sword. His father’s head was severed before he could even react.

As his father’s body collapsed to the ground, Ricky, already holding a greatsword, turned to the others and spoke.

“I’ll kill you all…”

Seeing their father’s corpse, his brothers lost their composure. They were the first to charge at him. After them, the rest of the family and the disciples followed.

Was it courage? Or was it simply an attempt to forget the unbearable terror they felt? To Hellauman, it seemed like they had simply given up. Given up on their own lives. It looked foolish.

In any case, Hellauman witnessed everything up close. The picture-perfect swordsmanship. It wasn’t just a technique for wielding a sword; it was art. It was so moving that tears welled up in his eyes, and he had to clamp his mouth shut to suppress the sobs that threatened to escape.

Amidst that overwhelming emotion, Hellauman realized what had been frustrating him all this time. It was the question of how far one could go with a single sword.

A level of swordsmanship so high that his narrow-minded father and foolish brothers could never have imagined. Ricky’s sword was a pinnacle—a summit one could spend a lifetime trying to reach.

First, a large step to the right, followed by a powerful slash. Then a shift to the opposite side to create space, and again, the sword would strike like lightning, driving the enemies back. A slight retreat to make more space, another left slash, a thrust while parrying, using the bodies of the dead to block the enemies’ movement, another right slash, and by then, a golden flame would be rising along the blade…

With his eyes closed, Hellauman recalled that scene and began to move ever so slightly, as if practicing some sort of ballroom dance. He muttered under his breath, “Right, left, forward, back,” repeating the directions endlessly.

Ricardt looked at Hellauman with a dumbfounded expression. Unsure of when this strange behavior would end, he finally spoke up.

“Uh, excuse me…”

“Shh!”

Hellauman raised a finger to silence Ricardt and continued reenacting something from his imagination. No, it was something he was trying to emulate. He had spent the last hundred years repeating those movements, desperately wanting to imitate them. But in the end, there had always been just a sliver of difference he couldn’t close.

Perhaps the memory wasn’t something etched into his mind, but something he had carved into himself—relentlessly.

After quite some time had passed, Hellauman finally took a deep breath with his eyes closed and then opened them.

“Phew… So, it was visible from the start… Hm…”

He fell into deep contemplation, his expression serious. Visible from the beginning, visible, seeing, not thinking, but seeing……

Hellauman was deeply reflecting on the concept of “seeing”—perhaps the principle behind it, or its meaning. He didn’t even notice Ricardt staring at him like he was some strange person.

Unfortunately, Hellauman didn’t come to a clear realization. He stopped just short of understanding, standing right at the precipice of insight but unable to grasp it fully. However, he wasn’t frustrated or troubled by it.

Because having something to ponder meant that, for the first time in a long while, something interesting had entered his otherwise dull life.

Only then did Hellauman turn to Ricardt.

“I’ve been acting foolishly. Forgive me, young lord.”

“No, it’s fine…”

“Instead of standing around here like this, let’s move to another place. I invited you, and yet we’ve been standing and talking. Follow me.”

Hellauman led Ricardt up a narrow spiral staircase, heading to some place inside the building.

It wasn’t anything special, just an ordinary reception room. There was a window that offered a clear view of the city below, with a strikingly beautiful view of the cityscape from the hilltop.

“I don’t come to Beringen often, so I don’t have much to offer in terms of hospitality.”

Hellauman said, sitting down on a hard wooden chair. Despite his age, he sat with an exceptionally upright posture.

“It’s alright.”

“While I was passing through for some business, I heard about you and became curious. It seems I’ve unexpectedly gained something valuable.”

“I’m glad I could help in some way, even if unintentionally.”

“Hahaha… You are modest. Even without mana, having talent in swordsmanship is still a rare gift. I spent fifty years obsessing over swordsmanship, then another thirty years fixated solely on mana. And now, I’ve come full circle, back to where I started. Lately, I’ve been thinking that mana might not be as important as we’ve always believed. No matter how much mana you have, no matter how pure it is, the vessel that holds it is always limited. The Mana Drive has its clear limits. But the principles of swordsmanship are limitless.”

It was a view that contrasted sharply with Ice’s. Since Hellauman had likely pondered it for a long time, perhaps he was right?

However, when it came to determining which perspective was correct—not who was stronger—it was hard to say. Even the claim that the Mana Drive has clear limitations could be wrong.

In any case, it wasn’t a topic that particularly interested Ricardt.

“Is there something you desire? If it’s within my power, I’d like to fulfill your request.”

Hellauman asked.

“Hmm, I’d like you to send a professor for ancient script. I’ve been waiting for a long time, but no one’s been appointed yet. And after I learn the ancient script, I’d like to see something called the Codex.”

At Ricardt’s request, Hellauman looked puzzled. He had expected the young man to ask for something like a famous sword, or at the very least, a large sum of money. If not that, perhaps he’d ask for land.

“May I ask why?”

“You know about the Eastern Expedition from about a hundred years ago, right? I heard the reason for that war was the Codex. I want to see for myself if the Codex was worth going to war over.”

When he heard this, Hellauman reacted the same way most others would. Why on earth are you curious about that?

But since Ricardt was the one who was curious, it wasn’t Hellauman’s place to criticize.

“Well, I don’t know the exact details myself, but I doubt the war was fought solely because of the Codex.”

“What do you mean?”

“As long as humans live on this land, war will always be inevitable. Don’t you agree? Even now, in some region, whether for trivial or significant reasons, people are killing and being killed. And those rulers who dream of greatness—they will always seek to start great wars. It’s how they create immortal legacies and secure their place in history for eternity.”

“……”

Faced with such unexpected and absurd words, Ricardt felt his brain had momentarily shut down. Live forever? No way. And because of something like that, so many people had to be mentally and physically destroyed?

“I can send you a professor soon. But seeing the Codex might be difficult. It’s in the royal archives. As for the Codex circulating in public, it’s hard to determine if they’re genuine. Most of them are fakes. I’ve seen it once myself, but since I don’t know ancient script, I couldn’t tell if it was really that important.”

“I see… In any case, thank you. Finally, I’ll be able to take lessons on ancient script.”

“Hahaha, to be honest, it’s a bit ridiculous. When I was young, boys were deliberately kept from learning how to read. People believed that reading would make them weak. Looking back now, it seems there was some truth to that. But ancient script, huh. Hahaha…”

“Well, it’s fine to treat it as a hobby.”

“Geniuses tend to have their quirks, don’t they? But the reason I wanted to see you, apart from my curiosity about you, is that I also have a request.”

“Please, go ahead.”

“In the future, more and more nobles will enter the academy. The times have changed. People’s thoughts have changed too. So I hope you will lead them well.”

“Me?”

“In my opinion, if you were able to kill a clan master at the age of eleven, no one at the academy is likely to match you. I will be your patron, so if you need anything or find yourself in a difficult situation, feel free to contact me through Dunkel.”

Having the Court Count and the Emperor’s Champion as a patron was like obtaining a powerful benefactor. However, Ricardt didn’t feel particularly moved.

That’s because he believed that whatever he needed, he could obtain on his own, and if he encountered any difficulties, he could resolve them by himself as well.

Actually, there was something he needed. An idea suddenly popped into Ricardt’s mind.

“There is something I need right now.”

“Oh? What is it?”

“Could you install a railing on the stairs leading to the academy? It’s a bit dangerous if someone misses a step. Also, the student living quarters are a bit cramped. The professors live in the inner castle, but they don’t stay there for long, so there’s a lot of unused space. I think it would be better if the students could use that space.”

“I’ll take care of it right away. Anything else?”

For a Court Count, these requests were trivial matters. In any case, thanks to this, the students of the Beringen Academy would finally be able to escape their cramped henhouse living conditions.

“For now, that’s all.”

“As expected, noblesse oblige, huh. As a noble, you should naturally offer charity. I’m starting to feel I’ve chosen well. When I heard the news, I had a good feeling about you. When you reach my age, you develop a strong intuition. It’s usually quite accurate.”

“Then you must make a fortune in dice gambling.”

Ricardt recalled and quoted something Arno had said before.

Hearing the unexpected words, Hellauman tilted his head back and laughed heartily.

“What? Hahaha! I’ve never thought of that before! Young lord! Hahaha!”

Ricardt also smiled faintly. Although this old man seemed a bit out of his mind due to his obsession with the sword, his easygoing nature was something Ricardt found likable.

And so, after his meeting with Hellauman, Ricardt was finally able to return to the academy.

About a week after Ricardt and the high-ranking students left the academy to assist with adventurers’ requests, ominous news arrived at the academy.

The news was that Ricardt, along with the other students, had been attacked by a rival guild and killed. The one most shocked by the news was Boribori.

His heart pounded, and although he thought it couldn’t be true, tears welled up and spilled from his eyes.

“N-no. That can’t be. Ricky is too strong for that.”

Given the times, misinformation was often spread, so at first, even the other students didn’t entirely believe the news.

Since news from the outside world didn’t reach the academy quickly, the rumor that Ricardt’s group had died in Torveil gradually became accepted as fact within the academy during their stay there.

As a result, the students’ attitudes toward Boribori subtly began to change.

One day, while Boribori was resting in his bed, a student approached him.

“Hey.”

“Huh?”

“Switch places with me.”

Boribori had originally been assigned to a bed on the second level of a bunk, near the middle of the room, next to Ricardt. The fact that he was staying there, without any rank, would have been impossible without Ricardt.

“Oh… alright.”

Knowing this, Boribori quietly gave up hid spot. He gathered his belongings and climbed down from the bed, all the while feeling the stares from others around him. They weren’t kind looks.

After switching places and just finishing organizing his things, another student came up to him.

“Hey.”

“Huh?”

“Switch places.”

“Oh… Ah, okay.”

Once again, Boribori packed up everything he had just unpacked and moved. But as soon as he finished unpacking again, yet another student demanded he move.

In this way, even when it wasn’t necessary, he was repeatedly pushed farther to the outer edges of the room.

But this was only the beginning. The surrounding students, slyly, began to increase the intensity of their bullying, bit by bit.

At first, it was just light jabs or shoves. Then, they began pinching him as he passed by, stealing his personal belongings, and eventually, they threw the shoes Ricardt had bought him off the cliff.

Boribori had to climb down the cliff and search everywhere for those shoes. From morning until evening, it took him the entire day. When he finally found them, the students threw the shoes off the cliff again.

The bullying escalated endlessly. They used every cruel method they could think of to torment him both mentally and physically.

They would drag him off somewhere and force him to close him eyes and open him mouth, only to make him eat bugs. If he couldn’t eat properly and spat out, they would gang up on him and beat him. They kept him from sleeping by making him take endless night watch shifts, and they even stole the money he needed for tuition.

The saddest part was that it wasn’t the high-ranking students who were bullying him, but rather the so-called “lower class” students who had no rank—those in a similar situation to him.

They hadn’t been on bad terms with Boribori before, but as soon as Ricardt was no longer around, they turned on him.

Boribori didn’t resist. It was unclear whether he couldn’t fight back or simply chose not to.

However, the hardest thing for Boribori to accept was the belief that Ricardt was dead.

Boribori was growing more and more devastated by the day, and yet the intensity of the bullying only increased with each passing day.

Cutting grass, emptying latrines, cleaning—these chores were things he was already used to doing, but now he had to take on all the other tasks that others neglected. His small body couldn’t withstand the burden.

One day, he lay limp on his bed, feeling like he might actually die at this rate. His eyes were swollen, and his face and body were covered in bruises of varying shades of blue and purple.

Even in that state, the other students came by just to hurl more cruel words at him. There was nowhere for him to escape to. After all, this was the place he had been abandoned to from the start.

“Hey, your mom was a maid, right? Did she seduce her master? Wow, that’s scandalous.”

What was truly disgusting was that the ones who insulted his parents were in similar situations themselves.

“Do you have the same filthy nature as your mother? Huh?”

“Is that how you bewitched Ricky too? Why don’t you do the same for me?”

“Hehehe, hey, are you crazy?”

“Stop it. Don’t talk bad about Ricky.”

Boribori finally spoke up.

Despite enduring all the other torment, despite the insults about his parents, Boribori only reacted when they mentioned Ricardt.

“This bastard’s gone mad. Hey, the Ricky you love so much is dead, you know? That loser bastard, I was going to kill that worthless bastard myself.”

“I should have knocked all his teeth out before he left. Hahaha.”

They say people curse even kings and emperors behind their backs, but this was beyond despicable.

“I said stop it.”

“This little bastard really needs a beating to wake up, huh?”

As the students tried to drag Boribori down from the bed, he, despite being utterly exhausted, clung tightly to the bedpost, trying to resist.

“You son of a bitch! Get out of there while we’re asking nicely!”

“Say it! Say that Ricky was a moron and a loser bastard!”

“Ricky’s gone now! You idiot! He’s dead!”

They punched, yanked, and scratched Boribori. Just like before, they knew he wouldn’t resist, and they believed he would never fight back in the future either.

But this time, it was different.

“I said stop it!”

Crack!

The voice was unmistakably that of a young boy, but the sheer volume was like thunder, shaking the entire dormitory.

In that moment, without realizing it, Boribori tore the bedpost clean off. With one of its pillars gone, the bed tilted.

The students, terrified out of their wits, fell over backward. They couldn’t comprehend what was happening. Then, in a blind rage, Boribori grabbed one of his tormentors by the collar and lifted him off the ground.

The student who had been grabbed saw it—black, ink-like energy swirling in Boribori’s eyes.

It was mana. But mana had never been visible outside the body like this.

It wasn’t like Ice, whose refined Mana Drive manifested along the trajectory of his sword. Boribori’s raw mana overflowed uncontrollably from his body.

The “size of the vessel” Hellauman had spoken of. Boribori’s body was small—weak, unskilled in combat. But the size of the vessel that contained his mana was so vast, it was beyond anyone’s ability to fathom.

Boribori slammed the student hard against the wall.

Thud!

“Ugh!”

And then he started beating him indiscriminately. Having never hit anyone before, his strikes were uncoordinated and wild. But it didn’t matter—somehow, an incredible strength surged from within him. Collarbones, ribs, internal organs—wherever his fists landed, bones shattered, and flesh tore apart.

Thwack! Thwack! Thwack! Thud!

With his bare hands, Boribori had turned the student into a pulp. And still holding onto his collar, tears streamed down his face as black energy pulsed in his eyes.

“Please… just insult Ricky one more time. Then I think I’ll be able to kill you.”

The words made no sense, yet they were undeniably terrifying. But the student, held by the collar, was already knocking on death’s door.

And then it happened.

“Bori, what are you doing?”

In that instant, Boribori froze like a stone. The death of his friend—a fact he had struggled to accept. His heart had been breaking over and over. But now, that friend’s voice.

In that moment, the black energy in his eyes dissipated. He turned his head, and there, standing at the entrance of the dormitory with light behind him, was Ricardt.

An indescribable sense of relief washed over him. The burning anger that had threatened to consume his brain rapidly cooled, as if it had all been a lie.

Fortunately, Boribori hadn’t crossed the line between human and monster. He didn’t break. Unlike the Ricky from his past life, or that deserter.

True friends, by their very existence, serve as pillars for each other’s souls. To prevent them from collapsing.

It had been quite the journey—for everyone.