WeTried Translations

Translator/Editor: Oblivious

Discord: https://dsc.gg/wetried

◈ Prince of Rage ◈

Chapter 23

──────

Valerie and his companions returned to Torvik by ship.

Free from Gringen's distinctive smell of burning peat and earth, they could clearly feel that they had returned somewhere different.

There was no grand victory celebration. Perhaps the news had not spread yet, or perhaps people did not know who the Groin-Ripper was.

The dock was therefore quiet. Only the reed beds swayed gently in the wind, as if welcoming them.

As they disembarked, Skard carried a large box under his arm, while Arne held Creed's personal weapon. If they had any spoils, those were them.

Yet despite their considerable achievement, none of the five looked particularly happy. There was not the slightest sign of excitement, and no one said a word.

One had seen both their own potential and the wall before them. One had done it simply because they were told to, without much thought from the start. One could not make it feel real.

And Valerie. Deep contemplation seemed to drape over him like a cloak.

He was not particularly depressed. Creed's life and death simply did not feel like someone else's story.

When had it begun? What had gone wrong? Who had done wrong? What did wrong even mean in the first place? Such fundamental questions followed him like a tail.

But no easy answer would come from thinking about it. Perhaps what mattered was not uncovering that essence, but what choice he made right now.

Everything had changed from the moment he accepted Harald's invitation to go hunting on his birthday.

A heart sharpened by the fear of being hurt, a little courage, sincerity he had not been able to show, and regret...

Valerie did not free himself from his worries. He buried them in his heart. Creed as well. He did not pity him. He only understood him.

Valerie and the others first headed for the alley where the jewelers were gathered. They entered the largest shop among them.

“Welcome, customers.”

The person examining a jewel across the table quickly hid it and spoke.

Then, even faster than that movement, he looked Valerie and his companions over. Penniless customers could be a nuisance.

Still, Valerie's group was hard to judge. Except for one, their features were not especially harsh, so they did not seem like vagrants. Yet their clothing, while fine, was torn and stained in places, making them look dirty.

And the smell. They reeked of something burnt, enough to make the jeweler wonder whether there had been a fire somewhere.

That was because Valerie's group had spent four days living in a warehouse, burning peat charcoal, without washing properly.

But Valerie's looks were so exceptional that they overwhelmed everything else and clouded the jeweler's mind.

That insanely handsome man stepped forward and spoke.

“I wish to sell some jewels.”

“...J-jewels? Ah, jewels? Of course. Ah, but first, I would like to see the goods... It is the proper procedure, naturally. Yes, yes.”

The jeweler had been staring blankly, but quickly came to his senses.

Then Valerie spread the jewels he had received from the Black Hand across the table, and the jeweler nearly lost his mind again.

Real gems had a different luster from the start. Rubies, sapphires, emeralds, topazes, and more glittered across the table, almost dazzling the jeweler's eyes.

There were not just one or two, either. The stones were large. Even after a lifetime as a jeweler, he rarely saw gems like these. Every single one was top quality? That could not be...

Hands trembling, the jeweler picked one up, squeezed one eye shut, and examined it closely. It seemed to have received only minimal cutting, and it was perfectly clean without a single flaw. It was unmistakably a top-quality jewel.

He put it down again. Unable to inspect another, he merely moved his lips. There were too many goods to even begin negotiating. Not one or two, but so many that he could not grasp their value.

Silver coins were out of the question. In gold coins... fifty? A hundred? More?

“...W-where did you get all these?”

“In Gringen.”

“Gringen?”

The jeweler felt a chill run through his chest, wondering if Valerie's group were smugglers.

Smugglers could be found anywhere, but anyone carrying gems of this quality could not be ordinary.

As the jeweler once again found himself speechless while studying Valerie and the others, Yorick spoke.

“Hey, jeweler. Let's get this moving. Don't go getting clever, understand? This gentleman here is the hero who took the head of the infamous Groin-Ripper. And this gentleman is the third son of the grand House of Torvik. Got it? Don't get clever and try anything funny. Conduct yourself properly if you don't want your head cut off or your guts split open. Understand?”

Perhaps because he came from the back alleys, Yorick spoke in a thoroughly rough manner, and some of his information was inaccurate. It was not the House of Torvik, but the House of Viding.

Still, it was true that many troublesome matters disappeared when Yorick stepped in.

“You didn't have to mention splitting open his guts.”

Arne muttered to himself. It was not a pleasant memory for Knut. Knut did not seem particularly bothered, though.

In any case, Yorick's threats were remarkably effective. At the mention of the third young master, the jeweler's expression immediately changed, and he gave a servile smile.

They had supposedly gone to sell salt not long ago, and it seemed they had done quite well. More importantly, he killed the Groin-Ripper? Really?

“M-my apologies. I failed to recognize such noble people. B-but as for the jewels...”

“Do not raise or lower the price. Appraise them at the market rate. If you do not have enough money, we will trade only part of them and make a provisional contract for the rest.”

Valerie settled the matter.

“T-that would be best.”

The jeweler began inspecting the gems one by one again. His hands shook so badly that he pressed his face close to the table, afraid he might drop one.

He valued each jewel at around five to ten gold coins. There were twenty such gems, so they decided to trade only two for now.

The jeweler scraped together every bit of money in the shop and ordered an assistant to go to the moneychanger and exchange it for gold coins.

After making a contract to trade the remaining jewels with this jeweler as well, Valerie left with the money and the rest of the gems. There were exactly twenty gold coins.

Valerie gave four gold coins each to the others.

It was such a large sum that Arne and Skard looked as though they could not believe it, while Yorick's eyes widened as if they might pop out.

“M-my lord...”

“Staying by my side and taking risks was work too. We succeeded, but one wrong move and we could have died. And taking care of Knut was not exactly easy, either. You deserve it, so there is no need to be overwhelmed. Hold your heads high.”

Valerie was so effortlessly cool that not only Yorick, but Arne and Skard as well thought he looked incredibly impressive.

Knut, of course, was indifferent. He was not excited simply because he had made some money. As the child of a great noble family, he had no ordinary sense of money or even the concept of earning it.

If he needed something, he simply obtained it. If there was something to do, he ordered servants to do it. Naturally, only within the limits Duke Sven permitted.

“I don't really need money.”

“Take it anyway. You had a role too, and you did it well. This is your reward.”

Knut had served as the front for their cover operation and as a deterrent against enemies. Valerie had designed all of that, of course, but Knut had nevertheless done important work in completing the mission.

“Should I... say thank you?”

“It isn't a gift. It's payment for your work.”

“Then it makes me sound like a commoner. I don't do work like that. A gift would be better.”

Not only Knut, but nobles in general considered working for compensation beneath them.

That was why they loved spoils of war. Many believed that only what they won through fighting themselves had value.

“Then call it a gift.”

Once Valerie said that casually, Knut finally tucked the money into his clothes.

“I'll keep dividing the proceeds as we trade the jewels. Don't get too excited just because you've come into a large sum. Money is like a devil's favorite thing. I've seen many people fall because of it. What is truly valuable is the strength, courage, and wisdom you showed while carrying out the mission. It's fine to use some to lift your spirits, but I hope you'll think wisely about how you spend it.”

Valerie said this while looking at them all. It almost sounded like a commander addressing soldiers. It was more than speaking well. His words made people feel awakened and encouraged.

Whether his personality was crooked or cold, perhaps because he was a prince at heart, he truly was different when it came to leading people.

“If you actually met a legendary hero like Sigurd the Dragonslayer, I think he would be like you.”

Arne said it because he sincerely believed it, not as flattery or praise.

He had witnessed Valerie's unusual appearance, unwavering mind, intellect for forming meticulous plans, courage in facing powerful enemies, decisive judgment, and above all, his charisma.

Especially the sight of him cutting off the Groin-Ripper's head and holding it up. It remained deeply impressed upon Arne, like a tattoo that would never fade.

“But wasn't Sigurd the child of twin siblings? That bothers me a little.”

Skard said. Sigurd's parents really had been twin brother and sister. From Sigurd's perspective, his aunt was also his mother.

The men of the Volsung clan were said to have unusually intense eyes, but Sigurd's were especially intense, so much that they seemed to shine even in broad daylight.

“He has divine blood. He's different from people like us. And killing a dragon at fifteen is impressive, isn't it?”

“That is true.”

“Enough. Let's split up for now. Meet in front of Torvik Fortress before sunset. We need to report to His Grace. I'll take this for now.”

Valerie did not have any particular thoughts about his great-grandfather, but he did not enjoy listening to others talk about him like this.

So he cut off the conversation, took the box containing Creed's head and the weapon, and headed for the fortress. The fortress was where Knut and he lived.

Arne and Skard mostly stayed in the barracks, but each had a separate home. Yorick did as well.

“See you later.”

Valerie said this as he and Knut walked toward the fortress first.

“Want to have a drink?”

Skard asked Arne.

“Huh? I... No. It's fine.”

“Really? Fine, then. What about you, Yorick?”

“I'm going to a sauna for the first time in a while. And I want to buy some nice clothes.”

“I see. See you later.”

Without any lingering regret, Skard gathered his group and left to have a hearty drink.

Yorick also headed for a paid sauna, as he had said.

But Arne, left alone, found it difficult to move. He did not particularly want to go home.

Still, he had accomplished something great, and he had not been home in a long time. He thought it was about time he visited at least once.

So he forced himself to start walking.

Arne's home stood on the outskirts of the city. A round shield painted in four sections of black and yellow hung on the wall. It meant that the people living there were freeborn.

They were a family of Norsemen warriors, a class that had neither become nobles nor knights, nor owned even a scrap of land.

There was a small vegetable patch inside the fence outside. Tools such as hoes and shovels stood against the wall, and there were no livestock. Some firewood was stacked up, but not much. The whole place felt somehow empty.

The sight of his home made Arne even more reluctant to enter. After hesitating by himself for a while, he decided he should go in and leave quickly.

He opened the fence gate, entered the yard, and carefully opened the door. A woman sewing before the fireplace came into view.

“Mother.”

At that word, the woman quickly lifted her head and looked at Arne.

“Arne?”

“Yes, Mother. It's me.”

As he carefully stepped inside, his mother threw aside her sewing and came toward him with a moved expression. She hugged him tightly and touched his shoulders and arms, perhaps checking that her son had returned safely.

But bruises marked her face.

“Have you been well? Life in the barracks cannot be easy.”

“Yes, well... I'm doing fine. You don't need to worry.”

“This won't do. Come in quickly.”

His mother took his hand and pulled him inside. Then she served him a strange, pale porridge that bubbled over the fireplace.

She gave it to him to eat. It did not taste like much, but it was a taste he had missed in a way.

Arne rarely felt comfortable at home, but he blew on his mother's porridge and ate it.

“Is there anything I can help with?”

“Hmm, it would be nice to get some help from my son for once. Could you chop some firewood outside?”

“All right.”

Arne took off his outerwear and went outside. Rolling up his sleeves, he picked up an axe and began chopping the firewood that had piled up.

After he finished and went back inside, his mother gave him more porridge. There were no set mealtimes. Eating porridge whenever they could was their meal.

They spoke again. But Arne found no interest or enjoyment in talking with his mother. It felt as though they were only exchanging formal words.

He spent time helping with chores, talking with her, then helping again.

After several hours had passed, Arne carefully brought up words he had not intended to say from the beginning, words buried deep in his heart.

“How is Father... these days?”

“He isn't like he used to be. Maybe because he has less strength now, he doesn't hurt me too badly.”

“Wouldn't it be better if you lived away from him? I'll support you. I've earned a lot of money now.”

Arne took out the four gold coins Valerie had given him.

His mother's eyes widened.

“Where did you get all this?”

“I'm an adult now. I earned it by working.”

“What kind of work?”

“Well, something like mercenary work.”

“...You cannot deny your blood.”

At that moment, someone seemed to approach outside, and then the door flew open.

A wildly grown beard. Bloodshot red eyes from drink. It was his father.

“Who is it? What? Arne? What brings you here?”

Arne's heart dropped. Simply facing his father made his heart pound. It had always been that way since childhood.

Flustered, he hurriedly tried to hide the money, but his father spotted it.

“What was that? Was that money? Don't tell me it's gold?”

He strode forward, grabbed Arne, and tried to take the money.

“I don't have a single coin for you, Father. Let go of me.”

“What? Is that any way to speak to your father, you little bastard!? Hand it over!”

His father raised his hand to strike Arne, but his mother rushed forward and stopped him.

“You useless bitch!”

His father shoved her away, and she fell with a crash.

At that sight, Arne's eyes blazed.

He sprang to his feet, shoved his father, and shouted.

“You filthy parasite!”

His father fell as well, and Arne drew the sword he had brought.

“How long are you going to live like that!? No! I don't care how you live! Just stop hitting Mother!”

Arne finally released the resentment he had suppressed his entire life. He did not know whether it was anger or sorrow, but tears ran down his face.

The blade caught the firelight and flickered red. Seeing the sword, his father was so startled that he could not even get up.

“Are you not the one staining Grandfather's honor? What kind of warrior among the Norsemen are you!? Is a warrior someone who grovels outside and beats his wife at home!? Someone like you is not my father!”

He let out the words he had endured for his entire life. It was satisfying, yet somehow he felt guilty too. Arne felt as if he might go mad wondering why he should feel guilty.

Then someone struck him with a fire poker. It was his mother. She swung with all her strength, but it was clumsy and did not hurt.

No, his heart hurt more than if his body had been cut by a sword.

“You terrible boy! You cannot speak to your father like that! Get out at once! You are not my son either!”

This was what truly hurt Arne. His mother could not leave his father. Since childhood, whenever Arne resisted his father, his mother had beaten him.

This was something he truly could not endure.

So many tears flowed that his vision wavered. He could not see clearly, but it was not difficult to catch the fire poker his mother swung.

When he pulled it away as if wrenching it from her, his mother could not hold on and fell forward.

He wanted to kill them all. But Arne clenched his teeth so hard they felt as though they might break, endured it, then took the four gold coins from his clothes and hurled them hard onto the floor.

Then he shouted at his parents.

“That is payment for giving birth to me and raising me! Do not ever pretend you know me again!”

Arne grabbed his outerwear and scabbard and went outside. He could not even put the sword back in its scabbard. He was in no state to do so.

He threw open the door, crossed the yard, then abruptly stopped.

Valerie, Skard, and Yorick were waiting for him.

Arne turned his head, wiped away his tears, and strode past them.

Sometimes people told friends what they could not tell family, and told family what they could not tell friends. But this was something he could never show his friends.

Arne did not go far. Perhaps his heart had broken. He dropped to the ground and lowered his head.

After a long while, his friends approached. Without a word, they put his sword lying on the ground back into its scabbard and covered him with his outerwear.

Only when time had passed and the sun was setting did Arne speak.

“Is life always this hard, or is it only hard for me? Wid, you're smart. Do you know?”

Even before his regression, Valerie had not known about Arne's family circumstances.

So his answer now was entirely for the Arne before him. Without a single trace of hypocrisy or pretense.

“...Being born is the sin. Living is receiving the punishment for it.”

“Then why should we live?”

“I don't know. I'm searching for the reason too. Let's find it together.”

“...”

Arne steadied his breathing for a while. Once his emotions had finally settled, he raised his head and stood.

His friends did not comfort him carelessly. They merely pretended not to have seen anything.

Then Yorick, who had been awkwardly reading the room, spoke.

“I don't even know who my father or mother are. I was thrown into a gutter right after I was born. It's not as though I can ask them why they did it. Hehe...”

“What a fucking world...”

Skard said. His family circumstances were not exactly normal either. Or perhaps normal itself was abnormal. It was hard to find.

Valerie's situation was not much different either, even if there were differences in status.

And these people were heroes. Heroes who had defeated the infamous Creed with only five people.

The red sunset gently embraced the four of them as if offering comfort.

Join our discord at https://dsc.gg/wetried