WeTried Translations

Translator/Editor: Oblivious

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◈ Prince of Rage ◈

Chapter 10

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Torvik, the capital of Nordlanding, one of Duke Sven’s directly ruled counties, seemed like a city without any real consistency.

Before the Norsemen settled here, Astrians had lived here. Before the Astrians, other people had lived here, and traces remained of those who had lived there even earlier.

No one knew when humans had first settled this land, but Torvik had formed as those traces were never completely erased, instead being repaired and expanded upon over time.

In more recent history, after the Norsemen landed during the Founding War, Torvik was the first place used as a base for their full-scale invasion of the kingdom.

The city was named after the thunder god among the dead gods, meaning Anvil of Thunder. It was also a wish that the grand sound of its hammering would echo throughout the kingdom.

Torvik Fortress stood where the two rivers running through the city met. The stone castle, built in ancient times, had served as a fortress even then, and it still did now. It was Duke Sven’s residence.

A little way down from the hill where Torvik Castle stood, its full majesty as a true military stronghold became apparent, with barracks, stables, smithies, annexes, and even gardens.

The fortress courtyard was on an entirely different scale from Winslow Castle.

The area around the gate was built of solid brick, while the walls were made of brick in some places and sturdy log palisades in others. Sections that had fallen apart over the long years had been patched with timber.

In any case, whether in historical significance or practical terms, it was a fortress fit for a duke who stood nearly equal to a king.

There was a narrow path through the garden inside the fortress. Following it led to a clear pond.

Rare, precious fish swam through the pond, displaying their colorful forms.

By its bank, a middle-aged man draped in wolf fur crouched down. When he scattered a handful of feed, the fish rushed over and frantically devoured the food floating on the surface.

The feed vanished in an instant. Yet the fish still struggled against one another, unwilling to leave.

Just as they were about to disperse, the man scattered more feed. The fish devoured it even more fiercely than before.

As the man silently watched them, someone approached and called to him quietly.

“Your Grace.”

The one seated by the pond and scattering feed was none other than Duke Sven. Without looking back at the caller, he replied.

“...Mm.”

The man, apparently his adjutant, knelt on one knee beside the duke to bring himself level with the duke’s eyes, then took out a small wooden box.

He opened it. Inside was a severed nose.

It was Gale’s nose, the envoy who had been sent out.

Duke Sven had already received the report. Gale had been blinded and had his nose cut off during a sparring match. This was the proof.

The duke quietly regarded the nose in the box, picked it up, and tossed it into the pond. The fish instantly swarmed over it and began pecking at it.

The adjutant shut the box and tucked it away inside his clothes.

“Shouldn’t we take action? He went there as an envoy.”

“It was a sparring match, wasn’t it? And I heard he was the one who proposed it.”

“That may be so, but isn’t it a matter of prestige?”

A duke had sent an envoy to a vassal. That envoy had been blinded and had his nose cut off. Taken at face value, it could be seen as a challenge to the ducal house.

“Prestige? Whose prestige? Ketil, do you think my prestige has been damaged?”

“No, Your Grace. Who would dare?”

“Then there’s no need to assert my prestige separately, is there?”

“Then will you simply let this pass?”

“Let it pass or not, didn’t we gain something from this?”

“...You mean the illegitimate child?”

“Yes. That boy will make a useful chess piece.”

“He certainly seems to possess extraordinary natural talent. But will he take our side?”

“What do you think, Ketil?”

“Persuasion would be better than threats.”

Duke Sven smiled and shook his head.

“You still have a long way to go.”

Ketil’s expression darkened considerably.

“...My apologies.”

“No, there is nothing to apologize for. The answer is that a capable illegitimate child is nothing but a threat to the future of his house. Even if left alone, he will eventually become the seed of internal conflict.”

At Duke Sven’s words, it felt as though Ketil’s vision had brightened. The duke’s insight and designs were that deep.

“Indeed... I have learned much.”

“Still, someone like you can understand it. The others wouldn’t even understand.”

The duke spoke as though defending his adjutant. There seemed to be a personal feeling behind it, because Ketil’s full name was Ketilmund, and he was Duke Sven’s concubine-born son.

The difference between a concubine-born child and an illegitimate child was whether they had been born out of wedlock. Simply put, a concubine-born child was born to a concubine rather than the lawful wife, while an illegitimate child was born to a woman who was not even a concubine.

At the duke’s words, Ketil replied with a mixture of quiet pleasure and embarrassment.

“You give me too much credit, Father.”

Duke Sven scattered feed for the fish and smiled faintly. Gale’s nose had been torn to pieces and was now so mangled that it was impossible to recognize its shape.

“Still, it would be better to give him a little support than leave him alone. He needs to get a little full of himself if he is to rebel properly.”

“By support, you mean...?”

“I mean I will raise him. Wouldn’t it be amusing to send him back to Winslow afterward? Bring that illegitimate child here. I would like to see his face.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

Ketilmund bowed to his father and lord, then left.

The fish in the pond were still bewitched by the food scattered by the duke. It seemed they could not escape his grasp even when he did not feed them.

Chirp, chirp.

The night insects cried, and nocturnal birds also called mournfully, as though longing for someone.

A bright full moon hung in the cloudless night sky, bathing the world in deep blue light.

Unlike other nights, the full moon made the surroundings as visible as they were in the early morning.

Yet its distinctive hue made the world feel unfamiliar, stirring the unease that something horrifying might be lurking somewhere in that darkness.

In truth, one had to beware of werewolves on nights with a full moon. If one carelessly ventured out because it was easy to see, there was no telling what terrible fate might await.

Awoooo...

The howl of a wolf came from far away. Its sound reached even Winslow Castle.

Count Aethelred, unable to sleep late into the night, sat in his study lost in thought. The wolf’s howl could not reach the depths of his worries.

Then came a knock.

Knock, knock.

The door opened, and Valerie entered the study.

“You sent for me.”

“...”

Even after Valerie spoke, Count Aethelred remained silent for a while. He sat still for a long time before speaking as though his feelings had spilled out.

“You were rash.”

He meant blinding the envoy and cutting off his nose.

Valerie’s inborn talent, no, he was undoubtedly a genius. But the trouble Valerie had caused had nothing to do with his skill or talent.

As a count responsible for his house and territory, Aethelred could not help but worry.

“I don’t think so.”

Yet Valerie answered indifferently. Count Aethelred was taking this seriously, while the person responsible for the incident acted this way. The count’s brow furrowed on its own.

“...What must I do for you to grow out of this rebellious phase?”

At the words rebellious phase, Valerie gave a disbelieving chuckle.

“Rebellious phase? That is your problem, Count.”

“What did you say?”

“You cannot see the essence of things. What, would it have been better if I had only beaten him up enough? Would that have let this pass without offending the duke? Let us say it would. What then? When the duke plots again, will you simply let that pass as well?”

Count Aethelred had never expected Valerie to press him like this, and he was taken aback. That surprise soon turned to anger.

Just as he was about to speak, Valerie gave him no chance and continued.

“No matter how diligently you repair a leaking house, it is all for nothing when a storm comes. You must either undertake major repairs, even if it means pulling out the foundation posts, tear the entire house down and build it anew, or seize another man’s house. Your problem is that you do not have that kind of nerve.”

“...”

Whether he had missed the moment to get angry or was left speechless by the scathing criticism, the anger rising in Count Aethelred abruptly subsided.

“I will give you the answer. First, form an alliance with the Count of Windale. Harald is not engaged yet, so he can be used as an important diplomatic card. If you can draw in the Count of Revi as well, the duke will not be able to treat you carelessly. In an emergency, you could raise an army and fight it out. If you do not like that, then second, kill the duke. We are not the only ones dissatisfied with him. Nor are his vassals the only ones. He may appear skilled in schemes and stratagems, but he is no more than an empty shell. Those who rule through discord and division eventually lose the trust of those beneath them. Assassination is not as difficult as you might think. Now then, which is better?”

As alternatives too shocking to even voice poured out without pause, Count Aethelred struggled to collect himself.

He was certainly a capable man. He was also someone who always did his best.

But in Valerie’s eyes, a ruler needed decisiveness above all else. Unfortunately, Count Aethelred lacked that quality. He only worked diligently within the limits of what he already possessed.

Valerie, who had endured the War of Succession and ultimately become its final victor, found everything surrounding House Winslow insignificant.

To be honest, Count Aethelred was no more than the lord of a rural backwater to Valerie, while even Duke Sven was an easy opponent compared to his true enemies.

“Even if a storm comes, yes, you will adapt to it and do your best again. But if you cannot avoid it, why not create the storm yourself? You do not have the capacity for that, do you?”

Valerie’s speech had shifted into informal speech.

Count Aethelred wondered what on earth had gotten into him. He was overwhelmed by the shocking words he had heard, and by the charisma that Valerie himself radiated.

The count had always maintained his composure, but this time it was difficult. He even began to stammer.

“...You, Wid, you...”

Regardless, Valerie slowly moved somewhere with his hands clasped behind his back.

Moonlight entered through the window and illuminated the study, but one corner was unusually dark, so dark that nothing but black seemed to exist there. Valerie went and stood in that shadow.

Then the deep darkness covered half of Valerie’s face.

Valerie turned toward Count Aethelred. A light manifested from the depths of his eyes. It was that sacred gaze said to be passed down only to the princes of the Volsung royal house.

The moment he met that gaze, Aethelred felt a chill run through his head. Goosebumps rose along his spine. But his shock did not end there.

“Valerie. Valery Helgisson. A man of the Vǫlsungr clan, the great-grandson of Sigurd the Dragonslayer, grandson of Sigmund the Avenger, the founding king, and the fourteenth son of His Majesty the current King. I am neither an illegitimate child nor Wid. You know that too, do you not?”

At Valerie’s words, Count Aethelred jolted as though struck by lightning. His hand shook like an aspen.

Valerie silently watched the count, then spoke. Whether because of the mood or because they were naturally so, the shining eyes of the Volsung royal house seemed less sacred than chillingly eerie.

“Are you afraid of having taken in a prince? Does it feel like a burden? If I were you, I would have used it as a powerful card. But you could not do that. Nor will you be able to in the future.”

Valerie’s voice was calm. It was a calm sharp enough to cut.

Yet if one listened closely, it also seemed to contain something sad, perhaps even regretful.

However, Count Aethelred was far too disoriented to notice such subtle things.

“That is your tragedy and mine. You are not a vessel capable of holding me, Aethelred.”

With that, he left the room.

Click.

As the study door closed, Count Aethelred immediately went limp. As though he had been holding his breath all that time, he drew in deep breaths.

He sought alcohol to calm himself, but his hands were shaking too badly, and he had no choice but to give up.

He slumped back in his chair. His senses did not return easily. Even when he finally recovered after some time, nothing had changed. He was overwhelmed by a terrible sense of helplessness.

Sadly, not even the gentle moonlight could comfort him.

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