WeTried Translations

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◈ Prince of Rage ◈

Chapter 22

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Gringen City, especially its southern district, was bustling with unusual activity.

The reason was simple. Valerie had begun handing out salt freely.

At present, salt in Gringen was practically worth its weight in gold. Rather than use it solely for eating, people went to the comparatively better-off northern district and traded it for necessities.

Some bought food to get through the day. Others bought essential household goods, including pots. The wiser ones bought livestock such as chickens and pigs to prepare for the future.

For people who had endured their darkest days, it was as though dawn had finally broken.

But there was someone who could not stand the sight of it.

Creed.

He appeared with his subordinates, but rather than head straight for Valerie's group, he astonishingly began robbing the people.

He went to people living in dugouts or tents pitched among ruins, beating and stealing from them indiscriminately.

“Who the hell said you could sell salt!? Are you insane!? Everything you bought with that salt is mine!”

Creed sent his men barging into ordinary homes. They carried out anything that looked worth money.

Most people were too afraid of death or violence to resist even once, but a few pleaded piteously.

“Please! Please, not the pot! It’s the only thing we own!”

“We didn’t buy this with salt!”

“Where are we supposed to live if you take our tent?”

But though this was not even a war, Creed's plundering showed no mercy. Every object that looked like metal was loaded onto carts, and for some reason, he overturned properly prepared meals people had finally managed to make after so long.

He dragged carts through the streets like that, stealing and beating everyone in his path.

Meanwhile, Valerie's group had genuinely been distributing salt since dawn. At some point, they noticed unrest spreading through the crowd.

At first, people had packed together to receive salt in a frenzy. But gradually, their numbers dwindled, and fear began to show on their faces.

Then Valerie caught a whispered phrase clearly.

“Groin-Ripper. Groin-Ripper is here.”

Valerie and the others exchanged looks at once. Forget selling salt. The reason they had come here in the first place was to kill Creed.

Since Creed rarely left his hideout, this was their opportunity.

“Where is Groin-Ripper?”

Arne grabbed someone and asked.

“They say he’s past that alley, on the road leading up to the northern district...”

As soon as he heard that, Valerie spoke to the group.

“Arne, Skard. Get your weapons. Knut and Yorick, stay here.”

The three entered the warehouse and collected shields and swords. They pulled their leather gloves tight and securely fastened one another's belts again, making what preparations they could.

At the thought that the moment had finally come, Arne and Skard's hearts pounded. When anticipation and fear mixed in just the right measure, they became excitement. That was exactly how they felt.

Valerie strapped his sword to his waist, draped a short Viking-style cloak around his shoulders, then left the warehouse and led the way.

The people who had come for salt sensed that something was wrong and poured after the three.

When they headed in the direction they had been given, curses and screams could be heard in the distance. Valerie immediately headed toward them.

However, only Creed's subordinates were in sight. Creed himself was nowhere to be seen.

“Split up and look for him. Ask the people, too. If you find him, don’t fight first. Shout to call the others, gather up, then fight.”

Arne and Skard nodded and scattered.

Valerie went straight to Groin-Ripper's men, beat them down, and drove them away. He deliberately let them flee so he could follow where they went. Creed might be there.

But they headed straight for the wharf, apparently a gathering place of sorts. There was only a cart full of odds and ends stolen from people.

Whether it was good luck or bad, Skard found Groin-Ripper first.

Creed wore clothes patched together from the pelts of various animals, making him recognizable at a glance. More than that, he was enormous, with an extraordinary look in his eyes.

Following what Valerie had taught him, and the method that had served him well at dawn, Skard put his shield forward and charged straight at him.

Creed, who had been directing his men as they harassed people, was startled by Skard's sudden charge. But he twisted aside in an instant and avoided a direct collision.

He was so large that he did not fall. Though the shield blocked his view, he caught Skard's wrist just as Skard tried to stab his stomach with a dagger.

“What the hell? Ah, it’s you.”

Thud!

Creed drove his forehead straight into Skard's face.

Dazed by the impact, Skard grimaced and stumbled back. Blood streamed from his nose.

Moving leisurely, Creed took his weapon from one of his subordinates as if snatching back something that belonged to him. He pointed it at Skard.

“You got beaten by this worthless little bastard? You deserved to die. You deserved to die, you idiots.”

With his face throbbing and unable to breathe properly, Skard had no choice but to draw his sword.

As he prepared to face Creed with shield and sword, a familiar voice rang out.

“Hey! Groin-Ripper!”

It made Creed, who had been about to crush Skard, whirl toward the owner of the voice with fury blazing in his eyes.

“What dog dares call me by that name!”

His voice was so loud that it seemed to shake the entire city.

The sheer force of Creed's presence was unlike anyone Arne had faced before, and his heart hammered as if it would burst. Still, he barely managed to calm himself and draw his sword.

Valerie had told them not to recklessly draw their swords and fight. But perhaps Arne's confidence had swelled after what happened at dawn, or perhaps he was angry that his friend had been hit. He intended to face Creed head-on.

Or perhaps it was simply the impulse of an eighteen-year-old man who wanted to test himself.

Arne strode forward, stopped at a set distance, and settled into a fighting stance with his shield raised.

Creed snickered at the sight.

“Both of you come at me together. I’ll make you pay for calling me Groin-Ripper.”

It was overwhelming confidence. Arne and Skard had both served a ducal house and trained as warriors for years, yet Creed treated them like children.

Arne attacked first. He approached quickly behind his shield, keeping his sword as hidden from Creed's sight as possible as he tried to thrust at an opening.

But all of it came to nothing before Creed's kick.

“What are you doing, idiot!?”

Creed kicked Arne's shield hard. The single blow made Arne lose his balance and tilt sideways. His overflowing confidence shattered at once.

Then Creed swung his short-spear-like weapon in a great upward arc. Its speed was tremendous, and combined with the monstrous strength of his massive body, it carried absurd power.

Arne barely blocked it with his shield, but part of the shield split apart and his arm shot over his head. It hurt as though his arm would tear off.

Crack!

Skard seized what seemed like an opening and attacked. But another powerful blow sent him flying.

Crack!

Skard's shield split apart beyond use. His arm hurt terribly, but the heavy impact seemed to spread through his entire body. Without the shield, it would have been strong enough to split his body in two.

Arne and Skard had been thrown aside in just two attacks. They fell to the ground and rose again, but they could barely stay standing.

“This is ridiculous.”

Creed said this as he rolled his neck from side to side. He moved leisurely the whole time, as though he was confident he could kill the two whenever he wished.

Then the nickname Creed hated so much reached his ears again.

“Groin-Ripper!”

“...You little bastards...”

He gritted his teeth and turned around.

Valerie was standing there. A crowd that had gathered before anyone knew it surrounded the battlefield.

Valerie's short cloak fluttered as he stepped forward.

“Arne, Skard. Fall back.”

“Wi, Wid...”

Arne called to Valerie, but Valerie glared at him as though he would kill him.

“I said fall back.”

Valerie fixed him with that distinctively intense, anger-filled gaze. Seeing it for the first time, Arne felt as though his breath had caught in his throat.

Valerie seemed angry because Arne had ignored his warning not to fight recklessly.

Arne and Skard had no choice but to circle around and retreat. An even larger crowd had gathered than before.

Valerie looked at Creed. His gaze was icy enough to make it seem as though he had returned to before the regression.

“A one-on-one duel. Do you agree?”

“Hmph. So you’re that swordsman. With that face, you could’ve ruled the world as a rent boy. Didn’t you choose the wrong profession?”

He was referring to Valerie's face. Creed's spirit was no ordinary thing, since even Valerie's intense stare did not intimidate him in the slightest.

Valerie silently drew his sword.

Valerie was tall and well-built for his age, but before Creed, he was undeniably a boy.

The crowd watching their standoff was filled with anxiety. If one man won, their past days of suffering would continue. If the other won, they would finally escape oppression.

Thus, each person's hopes gathered upon Valerie.

Perhaps. Please. Dead gods, protect the young warrior.

It was morning, and the sun had risen fully. There was not a cloud in the sky, so the sunlight was especially fierce. When it reached Valerie's sword, it flashed brilliantly.

Valerie subtly turned his wrist and sent the sword's gleam toward Creed's eyes.

As if the trick was ridiculous, Creed gave a short laugh. Then he strode forward and swung his weapon wide.

It was not simply a wild swing backed by brute strength. His movement was extremely natural, making it truly powerful.

Whoosh!

Valerie lowered his stance slightly, evaded, and slipped into an opening.

But Creed's hook-shaped weapon suddenly swept back from behind. As if he had eyes in the back of his head, Valerie lowered himself further and avoided it.

It looked so perilous to the onlookers that worried gasps broke out here and there.

From his low stance, Valerie swung his sword like a snake striking sharply at Creed's forearm.

Even as a chill ran through him, Creed reacted in time, releasing the weapon and avoiding the sword.

After exchanging a brief clash, they both retreated and faced each other again. Valerie and Creed each realized that the other was no ordinary opponent.

Creed possessed the monstrous physique he had been born with, as well as abundant practical experience. His balance between attack and defense was perfect. Long weapons had clear advantages and weaknesses, but it seemed he had nearly eliminated their weaknesses through skill alone.

Valerie, on the other hand, possessed innate senses, reflexes, and such precision in swinging his sword that he seemed less human than animal. One mistake against Valerie felt as though it could lead not only to a grievous wound, but death.

From that one exchange, Valerie and Creed had understood each other almost perfectly.

“...”

Would the fight drag on? Should they conserve their stamina? Who would hold the advantage, and who would be at a disadvantage?

Similar thoughts passed through both their minds.

Creed no longer made his usual mocking remarks. He focused solely on Valerie.

Valerie looked relaxed at a glance, but he too sharpened his concentration like Creed.

This time, Valerie attacked first. With the smooth, flowing movements characteristic of an assassin, he slipped into Creed's range.

Creed instinctively knew his own range precisely and swung his weapon at Valerie.

As though he had expected it, Valerie quickly circled to the opposite side, as if he had prepared the feint from the start.

Creed then swept the ground as though cutting grass with a huge scythe.

The difference in their size was so great that Valerie judged a thrust with his sword would not reach. He leaped into the air to evade, then hurriedly retreated.

But Creed did not miss the opportunity. He pressed close, raised his arm, and brought his weapon down. Valerie hurriedly dodged sideways.

But a wall stopped him.

Creed immediately spun his weapon and struck down diagonally with all his strength.

Valerie had no choice but to raise his sword overhead and block.

But the difference in weapon, speed, strength, everything made it impossible to block with a sword as slender as a skewer. It was obvious that his sword would break and Valerie's body would be split apart with it. It was a fatal mistake.

“It’s over, you bastard!”

Creed shouted, certain of victory.

Then something magical happened. Something Creed had never experienced in his life.

At an impossibly precise moment, Valerie folded the sword he had raised to block back toward his own body, deflecting Creed's attack.

It was an extremely difficult technique. He turned his body slightly, braced the flat of his sword against his shoulder and back, and guided the attack away.

Creed's spear veered off its intended path and slid along the sword as though down a slide.

Creed had never imagined such a method. Even if he had, he could not have believed it possible. For an instant, his mind went blank.

Sparks flew as the spear shaved across the cross-section of the sword, and a strange ring of steel echoed.

Kiiiiing!

The instant Valerie deflected Creed's attack, he twisted his waist again and sharply pulled down the arm he had raised. With both feet planted firmly on the ground, the rotation of his whole body, and every ounce of strength in his shoulders, abdominal muscles, and back, he struck down like lightning.

“Hup!”

As his lungs contracted, breath burst out of him on its own.

Creed was about to be struck in the face, but even then, he threw back his head and avoided instant death. The sword cut deeply through his shoulder, severing his collarbone and first rib. It was a fatal wound that nearly reached his heart.

Creed hurried back. Valerie cut his sword free from Creed's shoulder and immediately pressed close this time.

Through the pain, Creed gritted his teeth and swung his weapon with one hand. But unlike before, he lacked timing, distance, and strength.

Naturally, his attack cut only the air.

Sword light flashed under the morning sun. In an instant, Valerie's sword severed Creed's inner elbow and thigh tendons.

Clang!

Creed's weapon fell to the ground. Its owner staggered backward in haste, then collapsed onto the ground. In a brief instant, his body had become a bloody wreck.

“Fuck...!”

The watching crowd did not feel joy at first. They could not believe what was before them, and their hearts pounded wildly.

The young warrior had won? Really?

Valerie had beads of sweat on his brow from the immense concentration, and his hair, dampened slightly by his fierce movements, hung in disarray.

The contest was already over. Valerie approached Creed to finish him.

“Your excessive greed brought you to your death, Groin-Ripper.”

Creed, who had been deeply frowning at those words, suddenly began to grin. Then he burst into loud laughter.

“Bwahahahaha! What!? Greed!? What do you know, you whore! Stop talking nonsense and kill me already!”

Creed shouted, then suddenly turned toward the crowd and let out a hate-filled roar. No, it was closer to a scream.

“You fucking bastards! How many times did my father risk his life fighting for you, only for you to inform on him and get him hanged!? And when my mother was raped to death, none of you helped her!? You sons of bitches! You don’t deserve happiness! You don’t deserve to live! You don’t even deserve to die peacefully! Suffer forever! I’ll curse you even after I die!”

Valerie did not know what had happened, but it did not seem to be an ordinary story.

Yet the people's silence seemed to prove Creed's words were true.

At the root of Creed's brutal oppression was not greed, but a resentment that cut to the bone. Valerie might have achieved his goal somehow, but his judgment had clearly been mistaken.

Who had made Creed this way? The betrayal of those around him, or the world itself?

And who had made a person without a heart?

Valerie had hated seeing himself in mirrors, so he had taken them down and covered them. But before Creed, he had no choice but to face his own reflection.

Creed squeezed out his last strength and screamed every curse he could at the people.

Then he sharply turned his bloodshot, nearly tearful eyes toward Valerie.

He trembled with resentment. Valerie spoke to him.

“...If there is a world after death, I hope things go better for you there.”

“Forget your pity. You should work things out for yourself, whore.”

Those were Creed's final words.

Without a trace of hatred in his heart, Valerie swung his sword. Sword light flashed again, and the radiant brilliance blinded Creed so that he did not see his own neck being cut.

His head separated from his body and dropped to the ground. The headless body collapsed, blood spraying from its severed neck.

After the blood that had gushed for a while began to subside, Valerie grabbed Creed by the hair and lifted his head.

A sword in one hand, a head in the other. The blade cast a piercing light from the parts unstained by blood.

Valerie held Creed's head toward the people and slowly moved his arm from left to right, as if making sure everyone saw clearly.

It was not to boast of his martial achievement. It meant that those among them who bore guilt should confront that guilt clearly.

No one cheered. Only a heavy silence overwhelmed the crowd.

Arne, Skard, Knut, and Yorick, who had arrived at the scene at some point, could only stare blankly at the chilling sight.

Yet ironically, afterward, the people of Gringen gave Valerie a nickname and praised that shining deed.

Salt Prince.

Epsiode 6: Light and Salt. End.

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