Chapter 88
Legacy of the Living
The shopkeeper stared intently at Ulrich.
“…May I verify it?”
“Of course.”
He set the ring upright on the stone floor, then raised his right foot and stomped down hard.
A dull thud echoed.
When he lifted his foot, the ring beneath it was visibly crushed. Narrowing his eyes, the shopkeeper stared down at it.
Then—
The ring trembled.
The inner sides that had been pressed together separated, returning to its original circular shape.
“…So it’s real…”
Letting out a low breath, the shopkeeper picked it up.
Ulrich took the ring back.
“I’d like to meet your elder. Could you arrange it?”
“Please wait a moment.”
The shopkeeper stepped behind the counter and disappeared into the back.
A door opened and closed.
Roberta frowned slightly.
From the outside, the shop had looked small. There shouldn’t have been space beyond the counter for another room. The sound of a door meant there was likely a passage connecting to another building.
“Is this… the base you were looking for?”
“It’s not grand enough to be called a base. Just one of many fences scattered around.”
Roberta looked over the shelves.
They were filled with miscellaneous items—bowls, baskets, wooden shovels. At a glance, it looked like an ordinary general store.
Nothing appeared stolen.
But if it truly was a fence, then of course stolen goods wouldn’t be displayed openly. This place was likely a front—or an entrance.
“Formally, they’re called the followers of Gaheka, the god of indulgence. But thieves are thieves. And thieves don’t stay in one place—they wander wherever money can be made. As long as they can quickly and profitably move stolen goods, that’s all that matters.”
Ulrich picked up a small earthenware pot from the shelf.
“And in large cities like this, there are places that deal exclusively in stolen goods. The ‘base’ you’re thinking of is essentially a guild of fences like this.”
Roberta nodded.
“That ring… it must be well known among them?”
“It has its significance.”
Ulrich handed the ring to Roberta.
At first glance, it looked plain—just a silver ring. But upon closer inspection, it wasn’t quite silver. The color was duller.
Like the shopkeeper before her, Roberta checked the inside.
There were engravings—numbers and characters. The number was 2, and the script was ancient.
“What does it say?”
“The meaning isn’t important. What matters is the history contained within the ring.”
“…Let me guess—someone very important wore it long ago?”
Ulrich smiled faintly.
“That’s right.”
“This ring was made by melting down Yusuf’s sword.”
Yusuf?
The name felt vaguely familiar, yet she couldn’t place it.
Just as she was about to ask, a voice came from beside her.
“Oh.”
“Fritz, do you know him?”
“Yusuf? Of course. Haven’t you heard of him, Sister?”
When Roberta shook her head, Fritz hesitated.
“Uh… well… he was a famous thief from long ago. A well-known name in Osnover—I thought you might have heard of him.”
Now that she heard it, it did sound familiar—but she still couldn’t recall clearly.
According to Fritz, Yusuf had been active during the very early days of the Jokuster Empire.
In the lingering chaos after the Second Empire—the Isturia Dynasty—he robbed the wicked and wealthy, distributing what he stole to the good and the weak.
Like the hero of a common folktale.
“This ring… was made by that Yusuf?”
“He didn’t make it alone. And it’s not the only one. It’s one of forty rings. Back then, Yusuf gave one to each of the forty who stood with him.”
“Why melt down a sword of all things…?”
Ulrich stroked his chin.
“Who knows? Everyone has their own reasons. In any case, he chose to do it—melt the sword and make rings. That sword had the property of never breaking. Even as a ring, that property remains.”
He pressed the ring between his thumb and forefinger.
It bent instantly.
When he released it, it returned to its original form.
No matter how many times he repeated it, the result was the same.
Roberta clicked her tongue.
If that property had belonged to a sword, it would have been a priceless treasure. What kind of thinking led to destroying it?
“…He must have been quite a person.”
She almost asked Ulrich why he hadn’t stopped him—but held back.
The man before her had melted down a crown offered by the Kormilius family. Melting a sword that wasn’t even his own likely wouldn’t faze him.
“He was remarkable—in many ways. That friend of mine never hesitated to make a fool of the Emperor.”
“…What?”
Make a fool of the Emperor?
Since Yusuf was a thief, did that mean he had stolen from the Emperor himself?
The thought was so absurd she nearly laughed.
“And yet someone like that isn’t widely known?”
“There were quite a few problems if his story became widely known. So… measures were taken. Only fragments of his deeds remain today. Even so, they’re treated like legend.”
Roberta looked down at the ring in her hand.
It sounded unbelievable—but it wasn’t something she could dismiss lightly.
Yusuf had given rings to forty companions.
If Ulrich possessed one, then—
It meant he had been one of them.
Why?
The Ulrich she knew wasn’t someone who would resort to theft, even for a good cause. He would have found a more measured and effective method.
If he hadn’t…
“Father is waiting.”
Roberta looked up.
The shopkeeper had returned.
“This way.”
***
They were led to a bedroom.
An old man lay asleep on the bed.
He didn’t respond when the shopkeeper knocked. Even after the door opened, he remained as if dead, breathing faintly under the sunlight streaming through the window.
“Father.”
The shopkeeper leaned in and whispered.
The old man slowly opened his eyes. His son supported his back, helping him sit up.
“Come closer.”
Ulrich stepped forward, followed by Fritz and Roberta.
The old man narrowed his eyes, examining the three standing before him.
“Who is it that seeks me?”
“…Someone like you.”
At Ulrich’s quiet addition, the old man nodded and continued:
“The value of the ring has changed over time. When it was first made, no one paid it any attention. But after Yusuf died, it became a relic carrying his fame.”
Ulrich touched his chin.
“I know… but it’s still fascinating. A ring made simply to honor friendship becoming a relic.”
At that, the son glanced at Ulrich.
“Closer,” the old man said again, gesturing.
When Ulrich stepped right up to him, the old man reached out with both hands and touched his face.
“Your name?”
“Elmar.”
The old man repeated the alias under his breath.
“Elmar… I hear you showed my son something. Will you show it to me as well?”
Ulrich handed over the ring.
Like the others before him, the old man examined the inside.
“Yusuf’s ring… and the second one, at that. You said you received this from a friend.”
“I did.”
“May I ask your friend’s name?”
Ulrich did not answer.
“…Then why have you come to me?”
“I thought you would understand its meaning. And if you understood, you might be able to help me.”
The old man lifted his gaze and stared directly at Ulrich.
“Do you believe this holds that much value?”
“It does. You should know that as well.”
The old man’s faded eyes trembled with age, yet he struggled not to lose sight of the young man before him. At last, he lowered his gaze and let out a sigh.
“…A very long time has passed since the forty-one rings were made. Over the years, most of them have been lost. Naturally, their owners have changed many times as well—from blood relatives… to those unrelated.”
“…Like you.”
At Ulrich’s quiet addition, the old man nodded and continued.
“And with that, the value of the rings has changed as well. When they were first made, no one paid them any mind. But after Yusuf died, they became relics imbued with his fame.”
Ulrich rested a hand on his chin.
“I know… but it’s still fascinating. A ring made simply to honor friendship becoming a relic.”
“That is the nature of treasure. Its value lies not with the one who made it, but with those who behold it. Yusuf was a thief who even plundered the Emperor himself—and these rings are his remains. Anyone who holds even a trace of admiration for him would want one.”
The old man steadied his breath and spoke again.
“Do you know how many of those rings remain today?”
“Last I recall… fourteen.”
“Nine now.”
Ulrich let out a bitter smile.
“So more have surfaced again.”
He remarked that being unbreakable seemed to matter little.
The missing rings were not destroyed. Their whereabouts were simply unknown—hidden by someone, or lost in a place beyond reach. If fortune allowed, they might appear again someday.
“Among the forty-one rings, the greatest is the first—the one Yusuf himself possessed. But he took that ring into his grave, and it has never reappeared since his death.”
“He spent his life stealing, and even in death, he refused to be stolen from.”
The old man chuckled.
“Indeed. That is why the most valuable ring must be the next one.”
Ulrich shook his head as he looked at the ring resting in the old man’s wrinkled palm.
“To think it comes down to nothing more than order… the human heart is a difficult thing.”
“You may think it trivial, but to others it is not. The second ring belonged to the one who made all the rings.”
The second ring… belonged to their maker?
“What was that person’s name?”
Roberta, who had been quietly observing, suddenly spoke up.
The old man flinched slightly, but soon answered calmly.
“Gamil. Yusuf’s younger brother.”
At the word brother, Roberta’s brows furrowed.
“A blood relative?”
“That is what has been passed down.”
She turned to look at Ulrich.
His youthful appearance. If he had traveled with Yusuf at a later stage in Yusuf’s life, pretending to be a younger brother might have been plausible.
But an actual brother?
As far as she knew, Ulrich had been born in the age of the gods, while Yusuf had lived in the Third Age of Humanity. How could they possibly be true siblings?
Since Ulrich possessed Yusuf’s second ring, she had assumed he was the one who forged it—but that assumption now seemed wrong.
“…Interesting.”
For now, that was all she could say.
“That is not the only interesting part,” the old man continued. “The second ring—Gamil’s ring—has also long had no clear trace. It has appeared in the world from time to time, but unlike the others, its ownership has never been clearly recorded.”
He explained that reports would occasionally surface—someone seen somewhere with Gamil’s ring—but nothing more than brief rumors.
Roberta glanced at Ulrich’s reaction, then asked:
“Why do you think that is?”
“Those interested in the rings have made many guesses. That it fell into the hands of a noble house that wished to remain unnoticed… that it was taken by a shadowy organization… or even that the sightings were mistaken, since the last confirmed appearance was centuries ago…”
“And you?”
“I am content with any of those answers.”
“You’re not curious? You seem quite invested.”
Smiling faintly, the old man reached into his collar and pulled out a necklace.
Two rings hung from it.
They were identical in form to Ulrich’s ring—Yusuf’s rings—but with different numbers.
Nineteen and thirty-four.
He lifted the necklace and let it sway slightly.
“My interest comes from my father. He told me that one day, someone bearing Gamil’s ring might come here. And if that person did… I was to treat them with the utmost respect.”
“If someone carries something as significant as the second ring, isn’t that only natural?”
Roberta blinked as she looked at the rings.
“Indeed. That would be reason enough. But my father added something else. He said, ‘That person will be very tall. A young man, with black hair and black eyes. Even if they appear different, make sure to confirm it.’”
She glanced at Ulrich before asking:
“…How did your father know that?”
“He said he heard it from my grandfather. And my grandfather heard it from my great-grandmother. It was passed down like that. But I’ve never heard of anyone in my lineage actually meeting such a person.”
“No reason for it to be remembered… and yet it endured.”
Ulrich spoke at last.
Roberta, who had been about to ask another question, swallowed her words.
“It survived because it was the only tradition our insignificant merchant family had. My father didn’t truly believe it either—but he treated it like a small inheritance, something unique to us.”
“And now that person has come,” the old man said, leaning back against the bed.
He seemed to have many things he wanted to ask, but instead let out a long breath.
“…I have much to say, but I cannot speak only of myself. So—what is it that you seek from this old thief who waits only for death?”
“There’s something I want to ask about the Archbishop.”
The old man fell silent for a moment, then asked:
“You mean… whether His Excellency has changed sides?”
Instead of answering, Ulrich nodded.
The old man returned the second ring and replied:
“Yes. He has changed.”