WeTried Translations

Translator/Editor: Oblivious

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◈ Prince of Rage ◈

Chapter 15

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Arne ran one lap around the fortress courtyard every dawn. He did not run normally, either. He wore something like a leather vest, a piece of equipment made for physical conditioning. It was deliberately weighted by filling it with stones.

It took about ten minutes to complete one lap in that vest, and after each lap, Arne added more weight until he had run five laps in total.

It was training so grueling that his breath caught in his throat and his vision swam. More than anything, because nobody forced him to do it, it forged his willpower and mental strength like iron.

Still, while training the body was good, it also looked like he was abusing himself.

What was he working so hard for? Advancement? To avoid falling behind? Or was he simply running away? If so, what was he running from?

Such questions might have occurred to him, but a body exhausted to its limit allowed no stray thoughts. He simply ran.

Then someone suddenly intruded upon Arne's tiring mind.

“Do you run like this every dawn?”

Since Arne always ran alone, he turned around in surprise. It was Valerie. He was running beside him while wearing a training vest like Arne's.

“Cough! Hack! Urk!”

Arne's breathing fell apart for a moment, and he started coughing. He barely managed to regain his rhythm and continue running, but he could not help being conscious of Valerie.

Whether Arne was flustered or not, Valerie kept running beside him.

Once he began to get used to it, Arne found himself growing competitive for no reason and sped up to shake Valerie off. However, Valerie kept pace without difficulty.

Because Arne pushed himself harder than usual, he stopped before completing five laps.

“Huff, huff, huff, huff...”

Valerie was breathing hard as well. As they both panted beside each other, Arne said,

“You, you joined late, so I was already tired.”

What was he trying to say? Probably that if they had started together, he would have left Valerie behind easily enough.

Valerie smiled.

“Then tomorrow, let's run together from the start.”

“...”

Arne felt strangely unsettled.

He tried to ignore Valerie and headed to the barracks' training ground. Yet Valerie continued following him.

Valerie bothered him, but he could not skip the training he did every day. As he picked up a practice sword despite his exhausted body, Valerie spoke.

“Want me to spar with you?”

“...I would appreciate it.”

It was a spar against a genius whose reputation had recently spread far and wide. He would be lying if he said he was not looking forward to it. Part of him wanted to win as well.

Valerie picked up an arming sword style practice weapon. He rolled his wrist as though feeling out its weight, then gave it a few simple swings through the air.

When they faced each other, people living in the barracks began watching curiously from all around. Some had only just woken up and watched from their windows.

Valerie stood facing Arne directly, with his feet slightly apart front to back. Arne turned his body slightly, set his feet farther apart, and lowered his center of gravity.

There was a four-year age difference between them, but there was not much difference in their height or build. Valerie was a little smaller.

Valerie moved first. His movement was strange, as though he slowly tipped his center of gravity forward and fell. It almost seemed as if he was playing around.

Arne focused, darted left, and thrust his sword. Valerie blocked by setting his sword in the path of the attack.

Clang!

The real contest began now. Arne tried to close in quickly. Even with his exhausted body, his instantaneous speed was little different from when he was in peak condition.

Drawing his blade back toward himself, he tried to strike Valerie with the guard.

But at that moment, Valerie dropped so low that it looked as though he had sunk into the ground. Then, swift and smooth as a swallow flying low, he swept past and struck Arne across the waist.

The blow was powerful enough to twist Arne's body, and pain throbbed through him.

“Urgh!”

With his body already exhausted and the sudden pain hitting him, Arne dropped to one knee. But he immediately sprang back up as though released from a coil.

The onlookers cried out in admiration from all around.

“Want another?”

Valerie asked, rolling his sword around his wrist. Arne felt frustrated, but he also felt refreshed. It was an utterly unfamiliar sensation.

“...P-please.”

Valerie smiled gently.

Their next spar began, but there was not much to watch, really. This time, Arne could not even launch a proper attack, nor could he respond correctly to Valerie's opening move.

He fell forward rather awkwardly. Pushing himself up from the ground, he hardened his resolve and said,

“One more.”

Unfortunately, there was even less to see this time. His wrist was struck, and he dropped his sword entirely.

Clatter!

They sparred several more times after that, and Arne only became more of a mess with each round. His body was tired, and he was no longer able to maintain his concentration.

Still, there was not a single forced movement in Valerie's actions. Everything flowed naturally, beautifully, like water.

And whenever his platinum blond hair swayed with sweat, the spectators forgot the spar entirely and lost themselves in the sight.

Unable to endure any longer, Arne lay sprawled on the ground, panting. He wanted to fall asleep just like that.

Valerie stood with his hands behind his back, quietly looking down at Arne.

“You don't need to be honest even in a fight, do you?”

“...What?”

“Your honesty is admirable, but you don't need to be honest even in a fight.”

“I'm honest in a fight?”

“Yes. Even if someone leads you a little, you always take the bait. You need to understand your opponent's intentions. Thinking too much slows your movements, but you need to become proficient at it. Eventually, you will naturally perceive everything through instinct. I think you should direct your training that way.”

Listening to Valerie, Arne felt as though something that had long frustrated him had come undone. Yet another question arose.

“Why are you doing me this favor?”

“Didn't I tell you? Because I want to become friends.”

“...Why? And I've never seen you before, so how do you know me?”

“Am I not allowed to?”

Valerie gave a faint smile and held out his hand. Arne looked as though he had encountered a truly strange person, but he took that hand and rose.

The Skard gang had been watching their spar as well. One of them glanced at their leader, Skard, and said,

“If we fight him while he's tired, I think we could win...”

Skard thought the remark made sense.

Having seen Valerie's skills himself, he could not deny they were exceptional, but Valerie did not seem as formidable as the rumors claimed.

That was only because Valerie had gone easy on Arne out of consideration.

Having finished his calculations, Skard boldly stepped forward with a greatsword style practice weapon and called out loudly.

“Hey! Illegitimate child!”

Valerie turned to him.

“Do you think the barracks are somewhere you can come and go as you please? Whose permission did you get to enter?”

He was openly picking a fight. If he had simply asked Valerie nicely for a spar, Valerie might have agreed, but apparently Skard did not have the sense for that.

Still, his ability to pick fights was outstanding. He practically treated it as a profession.

Valerie looked at Skard without emotion.

“Your father.”

“What?”

“I got your father's permission. I saw him begging in the market yesterday while I was looking around the city. Isn't that your father?”

Everyone, including Skard, was left speechless in surprise. They had not expected someone so remarkably beautiful to insult another person's parents so crudely.

But Valerie had spent years surviving in back alleys before his return. When necessary, his language could become rough.

This was a kingdom that revered the courage and spirit of warriors. Customs varied greatly from place to place, but that was one thing common throughout the world.

Enduring an insult was unthinkable. It meant giving up being a warrior, and at the same time, giving up a warrior's rights.

“You little...!”

Just as expected, Skard charged at Valerie in a rage.

He swung the practice greatsword with all his strength, but Valerie stepped in half a beat faster and launched a kick at his head.

The force of trained thigh muscles combined with astonishing flexibility, giving the kick explosive destructive power. It struck Skard squarely on the jaw.

Crack!

It sounded like a skull breaking. Skard's head snapped back, and the sword he had been swinging so powerfully veered weakly off course. It slipped from his grasp and flew away.

Clatter!

The sword hit the ground. Before that, Skard's huge body toppled over with his limbs spread wide. The spectators' eyes widened in shock.

Perhaps his toughness was decent, because Skard did not completely lose consciousness.

Still, no matter how he tried to get up, his body would not obey him. Even when he clenched his molars and tried to rise, he staggered and immediately fell again.

Valerie slowly approached Skard, looked down at him coldly, and spoke.

“Go beg alongside your father. I'll make you a cripple.”

This was different from the threats common thugs made. Valerie was the kind of person who always kept his word. It did not mean a simple threat, but action and fulfillment.

Valerie raised his practice sword and struck Skard hard as he lay on the ground. Then again, and again, continuing to beat him severely.

Thwack! Thwack! Thwack! Thwack...!

Skard was large, so there were plenty of places to hit. He tried somehow to block, but Valerie chose the places he could not defend and struck them. Skard's body gradually curled up like a pill bug.

The spectators were so overwhelmed that they felt afraid. It was as though someone who looked like an angel had turned into a devil in an instant, and there was a particular terror in that contrast.

But Arne stepped forward to stop Valerie. Grabbing Valerie's arm, Arne said,

“Stop. Please stop.”

Valerie turned to look at Arne. Even after beating someone like that, his gaze remained calm and free of emotion, which made it even more chilling.

“You have to leave him half-dead so he never challenges you again. If you do it halfway, people will look down on you and come at you again. That's human nature.”

“...Even so, he is my comrade.”

After being bullied by him so badly, Arne still called him a comrade. It might have seemed foolish in one way, but it also showed the breadth of Arne's character.

He was upright and sincere. That was why, before his return, Valerie had trusted him as one of his few generals. He had always entrusted Arne with castles and strongholds that could become fatal weaknesses.

But perhaps that was why they could not remain together until the end.

This time was different. Valerie simply tossed the practice sword onto the ground.

“If that's what you want, then fine.”

“Th-thank you.”

Arne helped Skard to his feet. Skard's expression seemed filled with frustration, fear, shame, and other complicated emotions. His lackeys hurried over and took him away.

The situation had become somewhat uncomfortable, but since he had been training and sweating since dawn, Arne went to wash at the well behind the barracks. Valerie followed him again.

There was nothing special about washing. They simply took off all their clothes, drew water with a bucket, and poured it over themselves from head to toe.

Both men trained regularly, so their muscles were well defined like ancient statues.

When mind-numbingly cold water was poured over bodies honed in heated training, white steam rose from their shoulders and heads. They took turns drawing water to wash themselves, and even washed each other's backs.

“By the way, aren't they choosing new Einherjar?”

Valerie asked.

“I don't know much about it, but I heard rune-mages will not come until around autumn at the earliest. Or they may come next year. Are you interested?”

“I don't know. What about you?”

“I know that stars can be admired but never possessed. So I don't dream of something that unrealistic. Though perhaps you might, Wid.”

Arne did not seem particularly interested in the Einherjar.

When they were almost finished washing, Valerie swept back his hair and looked around. Something strange caught his eye in the distance.

Torvik Fortress had an exceptionally tall watchtower, built so that one could see far into the distance.

It appeared to have originally been built of stone long ago, but its middle portion had collapsed. A wooden structure had been built above it afterward.

High on that watchtower, something like a birdcage hung from a thick iron chain. Naturally, it was not a birdcage. It was an iron cage meant to imprison people, with spikes pointing inward so that its occupant had nowhere to lean.

Someone was imprisoned inside it. Even from this distance, Valerie could tell that person was looking this way.

Then Arne suddenly grabbed Valerie's arm and pulled him away.

“Don't look.”

Valerie's eyes widened at the sudden action. Arne released his hand and continued.

“It's Young Lord Knut. The third young lord. He's being punished for killing Adjutant Ketil. Young Lord Knut has a vicious temperament. If you look at him for no reason, you never know what revenge he might take later.”

Knut was infamous within the duke's household. When he was young, he had once cut open a servant's stomach while trying to catch the person who had stolen a watermelon.

“Really? Then he's already my enemy, isn't he? Because of me, the assassination plot was practically exposed.”

“...Which is exactly why you should be more careful.”

“Well, I don't want to. Why did he kill him?”

“I don't know for certain, but... actually, everyone knows. Adjutant Ketil was practically the man in power. More importantly, he controlled the money, so the young lords faced all kinds of inconvenience because of him. For example, if they ran up a tab at a tavern in the city and Adjutant Ketil refused to settle it, it would be quite embarrassing for them. Of course, the third young lord never went to places like taverns, but Ketil had many conflicts of that sort with the young lords. He interfered with what they did or stopped them, things like that.”

“...So, in short, he was the family's lightning rod.”

“What?”

From those fragments alone, Valerie formed a rough picture of the complicated situation.

Among the duties of a ruler were things that subordinates disliked. Some rulers avoided such matters, while others forced them through with tyranny.

Duke Sven had cleverly positioned Ketilmund as the lightning rod, leaving him to bear the resentment that would otherwise have been directed at the duke himself.

But then the third young lord had killed that lightning rod, so naturally the duke was angry. Not just anyone could fill such a role. Finding a replacement would give him quite a headache.

“By the way, you've finally stopped speaking formally, Arne.”

“...Y-yes, because you seemed not to know anything, so I was teaching you.”

“Teaching me and speaking casually are unrelated, aren't they?”

“Th-they are related.”

Arne gathered up his clothes and hurried back toward the barracks. At last, Valerie was alone.

Valerie put on only his trousers, carried the rest of his clothes in his hands, and left.

As he headed toward the annex with his upper body bare, even the passing maids and those far away saw him and let out shrieks.

Whether they did or not, Valerie suddenly turned around.

Far above, Young Lord Knut, the third young lord imprisoned in the iron cage, was still staring intently at him.

At Valerie himself.

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