Riftan’s POV (Under the Oak Tree Side Story) - Chapter 18 – Riftan’s POV

Chapter 18 – Riftan’s POV

Translator – LF

Proofreader – Nymeria

“My temper isn’t in control and when it comes to nobles, they wouldn’t find it to their taste.”

“…That figures.”

The merchant agreed meekly. Ruth, who was silently shoveling bread into his mouth from a hearing distance, giggled outright and burst into laughter. Riftan glared sharply at him and then stood up from his seat.

“Let’s get going now. We have to get to town before the night falls.”

They gathered their grazing horses and set out on the road to the south. After riding through the wide fields for half a day, a small village appeared before their eyes. There, they took a day to rest and then traveled again for two more days, arriving at the capital of Osyria, Balbon.

Rfitan’s jaw involuntarily dropped as he witnessed the towering walls of the huge city that was once the capital of the Roem Empire. As they passed through gates so majestic that even a dragon would be able to enter, a wide and clean boulevard that could fit at least six side by side wagons was revealed before them.

His eyes wandered incessantly whilst gripping the horse reins. He had explored the countries of Whedon, Livadon, and Balto, but he had never seen a city as glorious, majestic, and beautiful as Balbon.

The buildings that stood left and right of the road were all made of stone, the structures were so tidy and built beautifully that it was hard for him to believe that those were inhibited by commoners. Well-groomed shrubs and flower beds lined the boulevard, the clothing of the people was neat, and there was no trace or smell of animal manure in the gutters.

Riftan looked skeptically at the clean, immaculate road and the wagons that passed by in orderly traffic. Based on his experiences, bigger cities tended to have the worst stenches. He wondered how they maintained the environment clean despite the higher number of livestock and people living in the area. He was immersed in his useless thoughts when the head of their group, who was driving the wagon up ahead, pointed to the end of the road and exclaimed.

“That’s the great temple of the high church. We’ll stop by before we proceed to the inn.”

Riftan felt uncomfortable and adjusted himself on the saddle. Their wagons filled with trading goods passed through the huge square and stopped in front of a gothic architectural structure. The merchants of Balto climbed up its stairs and filed into a line at the arched entrance.

While everyone gave their offerings and uttered their prayers in the temple, Riftan stood beside the wagons and gazed intently at the fountain gushing with clear water. He had always felt uneasy whenever he stood in front of temples, he felt as if he was not welcome.

“Sir Calypse, are you sure you’re not going in?”

Ruth, who had been dozing off on the wagon’s seat, suddenly turned to look at him from over his shoulder and asked. Riftan only shrugged.

“I would’ve ended up being a beggar if I gave offerings at every destination’s temple.”

“I see, in situations like this, Sir Calypse is a normal mercenary.”

Ruth shook his head.

“You always persecuted me, so it gave me the impression that you’re a devout Catholic.”

 “I act harsh towards you because you’re annoying, not because you’re a wizard.”

Ruth grumbled at his blunt reply while Riftan let his words come out of his other ear and approached the fountain. Above the crystal-like flowing water stood a statue of Uigru with twelve knights, Emperor Darian wearing a crown, and angels that surrounded them like they were bestowing blessings.

Riftan pulled his hood deep into his head, shading his eyes. He wondered if he was so accustomed to the rough and dirty environment or if he had a deep-rooted sense of inferiority that the sculpture of the knights in the legend looked unnecessarily dazzling.

“Come on, let’s go and take a rest.”

After a while, the merchants who had completed their worshipping rituals walked out of the temple. Riftan mounted himself again on the saddle. As he escorted the wagons toward the inn, his eyes caught six luxurious four-wheeled carriages and dozens of knights heading towards the temple. Riftan narrowed his eyes as the flag that the party was bearing appeared familiar to him. The merchants made a fuss as they parked their wagons near the side of the road.

“Hey you! What are you doing, why aren’t you coming down from your horse?”

A mercenary slammed his leg with a thick palm as he gazed at the gold-adorned carriages and the shimmering armors. Riftan frowned in displeasure and hesitantly dismounted from his saddle. A merchant then pulled the hem of his clothes to pull him down to bow down to the height of his waist, rebuking him in a whisper.

“That coat of arms belongs to the Duke of Croix. Half of the land in the eastern parts of Whedon is property of their family. He belongs to the top ten noble families of the seven countries, so you better bow your head instantly when you see that flag.”

Riftan stiffened like he had been struck by lightning. Indeed. It was the same flag he grew sick and tired of in his childhood. Looking at the complex pattern branded with a silver fish, maroon deer, and golden intertwining wreath, he asked the merchant.

“Why did the nobles of Whedon come to Osyria?”

“I told you, there is a sword competition coming up. They’re here to spectate and socialize with other influential nobles.”

Riftan listened attentively to the merchant’s explanation without taking his eyes off the carriage. For incomprehensible reasons, his throat felt dry and his heart pounded aggressively against his chest. He wondered if the girl had come too. He stared earnestly at the curtained windows with intolerable curiosity.

However, the thick curtains only gave him glimpses of people’s shadows. Riftan was washed with nervousness as he stretched his neck to see. How old would she be by now? Thirteen? Fourteen?

He was dying to see how the girl in his memories had grown up. Most of all, he wanted to know whether she was healthy and well. Eventually, he couldn’t resist his eagerness and tried to follow the party, but the merchant suddenly held him back, startling him.

“Why? Do you know anyone there?”

Riftan’s shoulders stiffened, and then shook his head. He looked at him nonchalantly and pointed towards the inn.

“Then, come on. We’re taking the main road so keep your head low and bow when the nobles and royalties pass by us.”

Riftan glanced at the duke’s flag as it drifted farther and farther away, following it with his eyes. But even after settling down in the inn, he was anxious, and his mind bugged him of the possibility that she was in the city as well.

He just wanted to see her at least once, even from afar. He wanted to witness her with his own eyes, his fantasy that comforted him whenever he was weary. Riftan, who was lying down at the bed staring mindlessly at the ceiling, leapt to the window when he heard a loud sound of trumpets. In the boulevard were Royal Guards bearing flags of Whedon, marching with a carriage led by four horses.

He gazed at the dignified knights marching majestically towards the temple, then his eyes turned to the amphitheater located east of the city. A cool breeze swept his hair. Riftan ran his hand through his hair, removing the bangs that pricked his eyes and closed the windows.

Stop thinking so irrationally. There’s no reason for you to be this obsessed.

Riftan repeated the words in his mind to convince himself, but the possibility of her being in the same city as him wouldn’t get out of his head. Riftan harshly rubbed his face against his palms. It was obvious that she wouldn’t remember a lowly peasant whose blood was mixed with southern pagans. But what did it matter? He remembered her, and memories of her were the only comfort he had ever had in his entire insufferable life.

Seeing her in real life rather than his fantasies would probably add another comfort to his desolate life. Creating another memory that would give him comfort when he had to spend a night in a cave or suffered from injuries inflicted by monsters wouldn’t be so useless. Eventually, Riftan was tempted enough to go see her and went straight to the merchant.

“What is it?”

The merchant, who was resting alone in his room, asked him in a wary manner. His sudden visit was strange and posed suspicions. Riftan took a step back to indicate he didn’t mean any harm as he sensed the merchant’s vigilance and opened his mouth to ask bluntly.

“I came here to ask you regarding the sword competition. You said that commoners can freely participate, right? What should I do to join and compete?”

The merchant’s eyes widened in surprise and then burst into laughter. “Did you change your mind after seeing the Royal Knights march?”

Riftan didn’t bother to answer. The merchant, whose expression turned to displeasure because of his unfriendly attitude, responded coarsely.

“You must head to the great temple and pay the participation fee to join the competition. It’s getting late so do it tomorrow.”

“I see. I apologize for interrupting your rest.”

The merchant shrugged and closed the door again. The next morning, Riftan went to the great temple as soon as dawn broke. The great temple was built in the heart of Balbon in the golden age of the Roem Empire, boasting a size grander than any royal castle. However big it was, it wasn’t difficult to find where he had to apply to join the competition.

At the left side front of the temple, men who appeared to look like wandering swordsmen stood in a long line. He shuffled at the end of the line and waited impatiently for his turn. The process to register was unexpectedly simple. All that he had to do was pay the fee and write down his name. However, he had to exhibit his skills first through the preliminary rounds in order to qualify for the finals. Of the hundreds of swordsmen who paid two gold coins, only less than thirty men would be able to brandish their swords in front of the nobles.

What a convenient way to make money. Riftan thought bitterly and frowned as he held out two gold coins. When his name was placed in a roster, a priest led him somewhere that appeared like a training ground.

He competed in there against five men and then qualified for the finals. He was stunned for a moment at how there was no sincerity of holding a separate round for qualification, but it was also convenient as the competition did not drag for long. He took the ticket that branded his entry from the priest and left the great temple.

The sun was setting as he headed back to the inn and Riftan went to its tavern to have dinner. Ruth, who was eating in a corner, leapt to his feet.

“Sir Calypse! I heard that you’ll be competing in the sword competition.” The wizard run in front of him while holding a bowl of soup in his hands. “I thought you didn’t give a damn about it. What made you change your mind?”

Riftan avoided Ruth’s eyes. Somehow, it felt embarrassing for him to take part in such a raucous event just to see a girl. He slowly turned to him and talked.

“The money for winning the competition is better than I have expected.”

“How much is it?” The wizard’s eyes glistened, asking and Riftan gave him a sharp look like he was irritated.

“Did you forget that you agreed not to ask useless questions?”

“It’s not a useless question! That’s a serious question. There’s a bet going on in the taverns on who will win the sword competition!” Ruth wore a serious expression. “As soon as I heard that Sir Calypse was competing, I placed a huge sum of money to bet on you. You’ll certainly play seriously right?”

Riftan stared at him with a startled expression, then shook his head and sat at the tavern’s corner. Ruth sat next to him and continued to pester him. “If Sir Calypse puts his mind to it, the championship will be ours. The winnings will be over twenty times the bet!”

“What’s it with you!”

“What’s it with me? It won’t be fine if I ended up losing the bet and ending up empty-handed, right? I trusted Sir Calypse and poured all my money in. If we win, I’ll give you a share. So, you must do your best, alright? You have to win! Win for sure!”

Ruth’s voice rattled his eardrums like a woodpecker throughout the dinner. Riftan had to be patient and prevent himself from throwing the bowl of soup in his face.

The sword competition began a week after. Meanwhile, several nobles from Livadon, Dristan, and Arech came to spectate in Balbon. The streets were crowded with people who watched the knights march and drums together with trumpets rang everyday in the square.

As the boisterous atmosphere continued, the commoners’ interest grew focused on the sword competition. When the day of the competition came, a crowd so thick gathered that it was impossible to pass through, unless people were pushed around.