WeTried Translations

Translator/Editor: Oblivious

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◈ Prince of Rage ◈

Chapter 21

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Before sunrise was always the darkest time.

Was a person's life the same? If so, how many people had despaired in the deep darkness just before dawn and given up?

Ironically, then, the regret of "if only I had held on a little longer" belonged to those who had not given up, who survived to see the sun rise.

At the darkest hour, without even the faintest glimmer of dawn, four boats slipped out of the marshes on the outskirts of Gringen like snakes crawling from their nests.

Four or five people rode in each boat, torches in hand. Their flickering light reflected off the black river water.

Before long, the four boats reached the docks south of Gringen. About twenty people poured onto the pier.

They had daggers tucked into their clothes, but carried torches or clubs in their hands.

The man who appeared to be their leader spoke to them. The torchlight revealed his strikingly flared nostrils. It was none other than Snub-Nose Ged.

“Don't pull your daggers under any circumstances. We can't let the third young master die. Just beat the shit out of them. Keep the one who looks youngest in the back.”

He made a broad gesture for them to move.

A confused clatter of footsteps rang out as the gang reached the warehouse where Valerie and the others were staying.

Ged gripped the handle of the large double doors and looked back at his men one last time.

Then he threw the doors open.

Rrrrrrkk!

His men rushed in, ready to beat anyone inside to a pulp.

But there was nobody inside the warehouse, at least not in the torchlight.

Ged stood blankly for several seconds before speaking. He had never imagined that the Black Hand might have already discovered his plan.

“...Is this the wrong place?”

Then someone suddenly came running toward them with rapid footsteps. When Ged turned his head, an impact as devastating as a traffic accident struck him, and he lost consciousness.

Thud!

The one who slammed into Ged was Skard. He had charged from afar with a round shield before him, then hurled himself forward with all his strength.

Ged collapsed helplessly, and Skard fell over him.

In a practiced motion, he immediately stabbed his dagger into the unconscious Ged's stomach, drew it upward in one long cut, and sprang to his feet.

Ged's men froze for a moment, eyes wide as they tried to understand what was happening. Then another collision came from the opposite side.

Wham!

“Urgh!”

“Ah!”

Several people fell at once. It was Arne.

Arne, too, drove in his dagger just as he had practiced countless times. He angled the blade slightly upward, stabbed the lower abdomen, then slashed diagonally.

He did that because his opponents might be wearing leather vests or clothes with some resistance to blades.

It was simple. Slam into them behind a shield, then immediately stab them in the stomach.

The drawback was that it could only kill one person at a time, but it was reliable. If it succeeded at the start, the others would inevitably fall into confusion.

And someone was there to press that advantage and finish things decisively. Valerie, who had been hiding in the corner of the warehouse.

Unless one was a master, it was nearly impossible to sense Valerie's presence when he moved as an assassin. On top of that, his swordwork was smooth and precise beyond belief.

Valerie approached in a low stance, like the darkness itself, and swung his sword. Torchlight flashed across the blade.

Ged's men, nearly defenseless, did not even understand why they were dying as their heads dropped one after another. Blood sprayed from the severed necks, bodies collapsed, and the torches in their hands fell to the ground.

“Eeeek!”

“Fuck! What is that!?”

Seeing the person beside them lose their head and spray blood, the enemies could not possibly remain calm.

Moreover, it was the darkest hour before dawn. Even lit by torches, Valerie's movements were difficult to follow clearly. They could only see something dark darting back and forth. Whether it was a person or a shadow, they could not tell.

Meanwhile, Arne and Skard steadily killed enemies by charging into them behind their shields.

Five or six people died in an instant after the first attack. The remaining men still outnumbered Valerie's group, but by then they usually lacked the presence of mind to care.

Were they greater in number or fewer? Should they fight back or run? Their minds could only be consumed by what lay before their eyes: their dead comrades.

“Aaaagh!”

“What, what is this!?”

“Fuck!”

Some tried to resist by wildly swinging their clubs, some simply ran, and others dropped to the ground and trembled. It no longer seemed possible for them to fight.

Those who still resisted became Valerie's first targets and swiftly received fatal wounds.

Amid the panic, one enemy spotted a small figure. His first thought was that it was the third young master, and believing the only way to survive was to take a hostage, he reached out to seize Knut.

Naturally, Knut avoided him. Yet all he did was take a small step to the side, so the enemy continued trying to grab him.

But he could not. His neck suddenly burned, his arm lost its strength, and he could only collapse as though he were drowning and could not breathe.

His throat had been deeply cut at some point, and blood surged out, blocking his airway.

“Cough! Ghk! Gurgle!”

Looking down at him coldly, Knut said,

“Are you stupid? Who'd let themselves get caught if you came at them that openly?”

“Young master! Are you all right!?”

Yorick, who had only been hiding, shouted from behind a cargo crate, apparently worried about Knut. Knut lightly tossed him the dagger he had just used to kill the enemy.

“Clean it.”

And that was the end of it. All the torches had fallen to the ground.

Arne and Skard fought by exerting all their strength, so they were breathing somewhat heavily. Still, both had trained bodies and were not exhausted to the point of being unable to move a finger.

Holding his bloodstained sword, Valerie said to them,

“You're better than I expected. I thought you'd freeze up and be unable to move.”

“...”

Seeing blood was not common, but they had worked as city guards and seen all sorts of things. They were not complete beginners fighting for the first time in their lives.

Valerie approached a survivor who had collapsed and was trembling. Several torches lay behind Valerie, so the backlight rendered his face black to the man looking up at him.

His eyes seemed to shine. But he could not tell whether they truly glowed or merely reflected the firelight. Either way, terror was the only emotion controlling him.

Valerie wiped his bloodstained sword against the man's clothes. After thoroughly cleaning it, he sheathed the sword and said,

“If you answer well, I'll let you live. If you make this difficult, I'll kill you. Understand?”

The man nodded rapidly.

“Was Creed here among the people who came today? Your boss.”

He shook his head.

“Really? He's incredibly careful. He sends twenty subordinates but doesn't come himself?”

There was a reason Duke Sven had been unable to deal with him for so long.

“Hey, Yorick. Bring me a handful of salt.”

“Yes? Ah, yes.”

Yorick, who had been staring in horror at the scattered corpses, hurriedly brought him some salt.

Valerie personally pulled the enemy's hand forward, placed the salt in it, and said,

“Take it and eat it with your boss. Once it gets light, we'll hand out more salt to the people. Tell your boss that if he wants more, he can come collect some. Got it?”

Valerie nodded toward the exit, telling him to leave. When the man still seemed slow to understand, Valerie even patted his shoulder as if encouraging him.

The man looked frightened and bewildered for some time, as though he truly had not expected to survive.

Eventually, he came to his senses, returned to the docks, and climbed into a boat. He put the salt in his pocket and rowed away.

“...Can it really be this easy?”

Skard spoke as he looked around at the corpses. He seemed excited and overwhelmed. His heart was pounding so hard with excitement that others could see it.

There were nearly twenty corpses. Three, four people had accomplished this.

Even having achieved it with his own hands, Skard seemed unable to believe the result.

Winning against an enemy with greater numbers might somehow be possible. But Skard could not believe they had accomplished it in such a short time without a single casualty.

“Momentum matters in a fight of numbers. If you cause casualties in the opening clash, anyone short of seasoned veterans will lose heart and be unable to fight.”

Valerie spoke as he set a torch inside the warehouse, beside a brazier containing peat charcoal.

Put simply, it was a tactic of hitting them all at once so hard that they could not think straight. If many casualties were inflicted while the enemy was disoriented, there was no enemy in the world they could not defeat.

Of course, that was easier said than done. As numbers grew and battles reached the scale of armies, it became increasingly difficult. Yet Valerie had accomplished it all, earned an undefeated reputation, and become king.

“I feel like I've become invincible.”

Perhaps feeling much the same as Skard, Arne was even smiling now.

He mourned the suffering of innocent people, but he was no more merciful than Valerie or Skard when fighting enemies.

As though he still had strength to spare, Arne kept rolling his shoulders and cracking his neck from side to side. He felt useful. It felt like he had proven that all his training had not been in vain.

It was almost as though Valerie's earlier words had come true.

You will gain confidence in yourself.

But the mission was not over yet. It was only the beginning.

The black sky was gradually filling with dawn.

It was a handful of salt. A huge man sat in a chair covered in tiger hide, staring at the handful of salt on the floor.

He was not huge because he was fat. His very frame had been born large. Both his height and build looked to be twice that of an ordinary person.

His loose hair reached his shoulders, and his beard was braided in two strands that reached his chest.

More than anything, his eyes bulged fiercely. They seemed to burn with flames, though whether the fuel was greed or resentment toward the world, no one could know.

He was Creed Groin-Ripper, the self-styled Terrifying Creed.

“Twenty men went over there and got crushed by four people?”

Creed's voice sounded like a rough echo in a cave.

“Th-there were five, actually. I saw that clearly.”

“What about Snub-Nose?”

“...He's dead.”

Creed gripped the armrest of his chair so hard it seemed ready to break, trembling as a Creak sounded.

“You fucking bastard!”

After shaking for a while, he suddenly roared at his subordinate. He truly sounded like a wild beast roaring.

The kneeling subordinate felt such terror that it seemed his life was already over.

Creed sprang from his chair. From the kneeling man's perspective, it was as though a mountain had suddenly risen.

Creed raised his foot as if he meant to crush the subordinate at once. But in the end, he did not step on him and quietly lowered his foot.

Regaining his reason, he asked,

“Four men took down twenty... Did the Duke send knights? I thought he didn't, because he was afraid they'd fall in the water and die. Or did the third young master really hire swordsmen on his own and bring them along?”

Despite his enormous build, he seemed capable of controlling his feelings and using his head. There was a reason he had survived despite Duke Sven persistently pursuing him for years.

“What do you think you saw?”

Creed asked his subordinate. After all, he was a survivor who had witnessed it directly.

“One was big, and one had a good build. The two of them pushed in from both sides behind shields. There was one swordsman, and he looked younger than I expected. But his swordsmanship was truly ghostly. Every time something flashed before my eyes, another head was cut off. The other two... seemed to be the third young master and a servant.”

“...So three people did this to you?”

“W-well, that one swordsman was so skilled...”

“Then it wasn't three people. It was one person?”

“...”

The more the subordinate spoke, the more cornered he felt.

But Creed had not said it to reproach him. A moment of unease suddenly sharpened his mind, and his vigilance surged.

First, he thought he should not act rashly. He needed to find out exactly who that swordsman was. But his subordinate's next words made him lose his reason.

“Ah, and the swordsman said this. He said that when it gets light, he'll hand out salt to the people again. He said the boss could come and get some for free, too.”

“...What did you say?”

“H-he said the boss could come and get some for free...”

“Who the fuck says he can hand out salt!? Do I look like a fucking joke to you!? Huh!?”

Amazingly, Creed already considered Valerie's group's salt his own. Unable to contain his fury, he kicked his subordinate in the head.

Thud!

Despite his massive frame, he was agile, and the kick carried tremendous force. The subordinate was knocked unconscious in a single blow.

“Bring me my weapon! How dare they take the salt!? I won't forgive them!”

At Creed's shout, his trembling subordinates brought him his weapon.

It resembled a short spear, a kind of billhook with a broad blade that curved slightly downward into a hook. It looked suited to ripping things open, and it was the weapon that had earned him the name Groin-Ripper.

Creed pulled back the tent flap and stepped outside.

Daybreak was coming. As though swaying beneath the sunlight, the reeds rustled gently.

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