WeTried Translations
Translator/Editor: Oblivious
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◈ Prince of Rage ◈
Chapter 102
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* * *
Though it had not been openly declared, the rebellion against the king had, for all intents and purposes, already begun.
They were disregarding the king’s authority and power while taking control of the Duchy of Nearcaster without permission.
On top of that, the Duke of Eldeira, Gunnar, appeared to be taking Valerie’s side. He had not raised an army yet, but still.
From the king’s perspective, this was deeply concerning. Eldeira and Nearcaster together essentially meant the entire north.
It was very different from Third Prince Ivar’s case. Though those around him plotted one thing or another, Ivar himself had no such will.
Valerie, on the other hand, had both the will and the strength.
It might have been a rebellion against the one leading them to heaven, or a rebellion against heaven itself.
But before any of that, it was a son defying his father.
The days grew colder and colder. Even the air had frozen, and each breath made their lungs sting.
The window was open, letting cold air pour inside. The firewood in the hearth had not gone out, but the warmth had been utterly conquered, leaving the room full of chill.
“Sometimes, cold air seems good for one’s health.”
Ivar spoke to Valerie. They were the only two in the cold room.
Ivar rose and shut the window. Despite the expensive glass fitted into it, it was so cloudy that nothing outside could be seen.
It did block out much of the noise, at least.
Ivar sat at the table rather than on the bed. It was covered in neatly organized documents.
Most had been sent by Lucas and Knut, reports and approval requests for matters requiring a prince’s authority.
Most matters requiring approval involved violence. Property seizures, threats, official torture, punishments. Some even requested permission for assassinations.
Ivar handled such matters with sharp, measured precision and indifference. His body was frail, but perhaps because he was Volsung by nature, he felt little over matters of life and death.
In other words, the fates of Nearcaster’s influential figures were being decided at Ivar’s fingertips.
It was a harsh winter, not only because of the cold. There was no justice, only efficiency and necessity. Cold, mechanical efficiency and necessity.
Yet while it could be merciless, fair enforcement itself might sometimes be justice. After all, its blade fell on those who exploited others, traitors who clung to the enemy, incompetent people, and all manner of corruption.
Then perhaps a dull blade was injustice. Who could say?
Valerie sat in his chair, quietly watching the burning logs.
“Aren’t you curious, Brother?”
“About what?”
“Our father and mother. Not the people who raised us.”
“Well, the people who raised me are my father and mother.”
“...”
“But I’d be lying if I said I’d never wondered. What would come of thinking about it? Would it only make your hatred burn hotter? It’s needlessly exhausting.”
“What if you could see them?”
At that, Ivar stopped arranging the documents in his beautiful handwriting and looked up at Valerie.
“You and I may resemble each other, but you are you and I am me. Sorry, but I have no attachment or feelings toward my biological parents. I may have hated them when I was young, but not anymore. Time seems to have solved that. The best revenge is indifference, Valerie.”
“I’m not doing this for revenge.”
“But you don’t have no resentment at all, do you? You’re young. That’s why.”
Valerie laughed in disbelief, taking his eyes off the flames at last to look at his brother. Ivar, however, had already returned his attention to the documents.
Ivar and Valerie were the Third Prince and Fourteenth Prince respectively, but they were only eight years apart.
That was because the king had fathered princes by many women. Ivar was now twenty-two.
“Isn’t that a little harsh?”
“What good is obsessing over something time will solve?”
“Still, there are things that can only be done in that moment. Things that can only be done when you’re young.”
Ivar seemed to consider it for a moment, then nodded.
“...Hm. You got me. I suppose you’re right. But my health is poor. I don’t have your overflowing energy.”
The bond between Valerie and Ivar seemed thin yet tenacious. They were indifferent in the sense that you were you and I was me, yet there were things they could understand only in each other.
Then they heard the faint sound of hooves outside. Not one horse, but several, drawing close in an instant before arriving at the building.
Valerie was wary at first, but the noise from downstairs soon took the wind out of him.
“Ta-da! I’m here!”
It was Brynhildr’s voice.
“Where’s Ivy? Ivy!”
She seemed to be looking for Ivy right away. After a burst of crashing and clattering downstairs, she came stomping up the stairs with footsteps impossible to ignore.
Then she threw open the door and shouted again.
“Ta-da! I’m here!”
Thus all three siblings had gathered, but the calm atmosphere was inevitably shattered.
The two brothers looked at their sister. Her appearance was somewhat rougher than before, but her winged helmet was striking. She looked like a Valkyrie from a myth.
“What about the Cambrians?”
Valerie asked. Brynhildr ignored him and said only what she wanted to say.
“Look what I caught! You’ll be shocked!”
She dragged something in from outside the room. It was Regin, a pointed-eared boy with a sullen expression.
Valerie blanked for a moment, then let out a laugh of disbelief.
“It was so hard catching this little bastard! He used nasty magic, so I almost cut off his fingers. But that would lower his value, so I brought him in as intact as possible!”
“Regin?”
“...Sid?”
Regin had been hanging his head gloomily while being held by the nape. At the sound of someone calling him, he raised his head.
Then he immediately wailed.
“Siiid! Kill this bitch for me! Hurry! She’s horrible!”
“Sid? What are you talking about? Do you know each other?”
“...”
Valerie had no idea where to begin explaining, or how he was supposed to clean up this situation.
“...You and I really do have a tenacious connection.”
Valerie spoke with equal parts exasperation and pity.
“Hey, bitch! Let go of me!”
Regin shook free of Brynhildr’s rough grip and threw himself straight into Valerie’s arms. Valerie thought the front of his clothes would be soaked in tears and snot again.
And of course, it was.
“Wait, Regin? The legendary Regin?”
Even Ivar, who was seldom surprised, widened his eyes as he asked.
“He’s my friend. We first met at a witch’s house near Gringen in the north.”
“A witch’s house...”
“Kill her already...”
“The woman you keep telling me to kill is my sister, Brynhildr.”
“What? That explains it. I thought my magic wasn’t working properly. She’s one of those awful Volsung women. Damn it.”
“No, I caught him because someone kept stealing food...”
“Sid, be careful. You shouldn’t get close to the women in your family. Every last one of them is insane. I told you, didn’t I? Your mother was crazy!”
The mother Regin meant was Sigurd’s mother. That made it rather obvious who was truly crazy here.
“Calm down first. Warm yourself up.”
“What do you take me for? Do you think someone like me would be bothered by cold?”
“Then don’t, I suppose...”
It was complete chaos. Still, Valerie was glad to see him.
Regin stared warily at Ivar and Brynhildr with his large eyes from Valerie’s arms.
“This is my older brother, Ivar.”
“What? Your older brother? Ah, I see. Now I get it.”
“Get what?”
“You’re the Sid who became Valerie.”
“What are you talking about...?”
“This is the end of the world. There are three Volsungs here.”
“There could be more.”
“How many more?”
“Who knows? There may be nearly twenty men alone.”
“Insane. You’re talking nonsense, like Nidhogg’s balls are shriveling.”
“What does that mean?”
“If there were several suns, wouldn’t every living thing in the world burn to death?”
It was impossible to tell whether he meant it figuratively or literally.
Brynhildr removed her helmet and looked at it for a moment before speaking to Regin.
“Sorry. Still, thank you for making this. I like it.”
“You beat and threatened me into making it. Give it here. I put a curse on it, but I’ll remove it.”
Regin accepted the helmet and took an oil bottle from his pocket, smearing it over the helmet here and there. Then he rubbed it with something like a sponge.
The helmet began to gleam as though it had been made of silver. Something he wiped from its surface fell to the floor. It was a translucent black substance that seemed almost alive, and Regin crushed it underfoot.
“What was that? What sort of curse was it?”
“A curse that grows a dick.”
“What?”
Startled, Brynhildr felt around below her waist. It was thoroughly horrifying. Dwarves’ nasty magic was usually like this.
“Using it for a few days would have no effect. Besides, you’re Volsung, so you’re especially resistant to magic. Still, if you’d kept wearing it, you would’ve kept acting like a man and slowly been affected. There, it’s done now.”
Regin handed the helmet back. It gleamed with a deep silver light, its front shaped like a bird’s beak.
Perhaps still unsettled, Brynhildr accepted the helmet but did not put it back on.
“You didn’t do anything to my sword too, did you?”
“Hey, do you think I’m the sort of bastard who harms a friend? Let me see it.”
Valerie undid his belt and handed it over whole. Regin drew Wound and examined it. Smiths were not necessarily skilled swordsmen, but he had a natural affinity for blades.
Regin inspected Wound from every angle before speaking.
“Hmm, it’s grown well. Fire-like lightning, perhaps electric flames? Lightning fire? It looks like it stabbed a dragon’s heart. At this level, it might even rival Gram.”
“Explain that in more detail.”
“Oh, this sword is made from lightning-struck yew, Leiptrýr. It grows according to its owner.”
“It was made of wood?”
“That’s how all weapons we make are made. Other materials go into them too, but we don’t forge them by hammering iron like humans do. I didn’t make Gram, but it was made from mistletoe too, Mistilteinn.”
“Mistletoe... Surely not.”
Ivar spoke.
“Yes, the sword that killed Baldur, the god of light. It’s a god-slaying sword. And the one who named it Gramr, Rage, was none other than Signy, Sid’s mother. It was reforged with her blood as well, so it truly is a demonic sword.”
Ragnarok had begun with Baldur’s death. An immense snowstorm swept across the Nordic lands, meteorites fell across the world and caused a great flood, and the age of the gods came to an end.
His death was at the beginning of it all. The one loved by all things in the world, yet made complete by death. That was Baldur, the god of light.
“Whew, what a relief. I’d thought my behavior had been a little strange lately.”
Brynhildr said this. It seemed that none of their conversation about the god-slaying sword had entered her ears. She had been focused only on the issue concerning her body.
“You’re strange enough already. How about controlling yourself a little?”
Ivar said.
“What does it matter? We’re family, aren’t we?”
Perhaps because they still did not know much about each other, Ivar wondered whether Brynhildr had always been this strange. Really, all three of them were strange when one thought about it.
“Anyway, stay as long as you want.”
Valerie took back his sword and spoke to Regin.
“What about you?”
“I’ll probably be going south soon.”
“Where in the south?”
“Valden.”
“Why there?”
“I need to see who they really are.”
It was both a personal and strategic purpose. He meant the king and the Kingmakers, and their true nature.
The enemy needed to be clear to be faced properly. He also wished to resolve the vague personal knot that had followed him for so long.
“I’ll come too.”
Regin said.
“Why?”
“This place is too barbaric.”
“You’re not normal either...”
“Idiot. That’s always been true. The same goes for you, and everyone else. From the dead gods to humans.”
“If no one is normal, then what is normal?”
Ivar asked. Regin snorted as though Ivar should have known.
“It’s like a plague. The people who force others to say this is right, this is normal, spread the disease. Or they beat everyone down and silence them, then force their own version of normal onto everyone. But people who’ve adapted to it will never know how sick they are.”
It sounded rather philosophical, but Valerie only stared at Regin before stretching his plump, baby-fat cheeks. They had a pleasantly springy feel. Regin, not knowing why, simply let him do it.
Before they knew it, the room was full of warmth. Could the memory of even a moment’s warmth help them endure a long cold? They would see.
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