WeTried Translations

Translator/Editor: Oblivious

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◈ Prince of Rage ◈

Chapter 32

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Valerie arrived at Hemsley Village around evening.

Perhaps because territorial patrol officers had not come by often, when a stranger on horseback entered the village, the people merely stared blankly at first.

Once they learned that he was a territorial patrol officer, they offered him a place to sleep.

An ordinary traveler might have been lucky to sleep in a barn, or unlucky enough to be driven out of the village, but Valerie was allowed to stay in the village chief’s house.

However, the house did not even have separate rooms, nor were the spaces divided by partitions.

So he had no choice but to stay with the village chief’s family, which was rather uncomfortable.

The village chief had a wife, two grown sons, two daughters-in-law, and six grandchildren. Valerie was staying in a house occupied by twelve people in all.

He did wonder where, exactly, they had made all those children, but in any case, there was only one bed in the single space, and Valerie was given it.

Four little children stared intently at the sword Valerie had leaned against the wall. They seemed curious about it.

“Want to draw it?”

At Valerie’s question, one child nodded while sucking a finger.

Valerie handed the child the sword. Unable to lift it properly, the child tried to draw it while leaving it on the floor.

Then, perhaps the child’s mother or aunt hurried over and smacked the back of the child’s head.

Smack!

“Ah!”

“I’m sorry, my lord. You brat, come here! The rest of you too. Stop bothering His Lordship.”

The woman swept the children away.

Valerie leaned his sword against the wall again and sat quietly with a hand on his forehead. Then, deciding this would not do, he asked the village chief.

“Village chief, is there a barn or something? If you give me something to cover myself with, I will sleep there.”

“What? Oh, but you are a patrol officer. We cannot make you sleep in a barn. There is a widow’s house. Would you like to stay there?”

“...No, never mind.”

Valerie considered it for a very brief moment, then shook his head.

“By the way, has the tax collector not come here?”

“The tax collector? Ah, do you mean that ‘money grub’? He is as vile as they come. We used to beat him and drive him away, but lately he has been taking hostages and doing all sorts of things.”

They beat him? Was that allowed?

In truth, once one stepped even slightly beyond a lord’s direct control, that was simply how things were.

Though the viscount governed the place, people outside the directly ruled lands often resisted as if to say, “And who says you are the Duke?”

Farmers were fundamentally stubborn and fierce. They did not meekly pay their taxes just because someone told them to.

Whether Astrians or Norsemen, they were people who had survived harsh times. They were more than willing to fight to protect what was theirs.

Being a viscount was not easy either. It was little different from being caught in the middle and suffering. If the farmers rose up or trouble broke out, the Duke would hold the viscount responsible.

To a lord, villages, cities, and the people living in them were the most important assets of all.

A peasant revolt was not only a loss of assets in itself, but suppressing it also meant cutting into one’s own flesh.

So managing an estate well, securing tax revenue while keeping rebelliousness under control, was truly not easy.

From that perspective, Count Aethelred was someone who managed his territory very diligently and well.

Of course, in some places, a tax collector might be no different from a grim reaper to the people, but in Krischer, they did not seem to receive much respect.

“And that man is not even a tax collector. There is a real tax collector separately. More precisely, he is someone who bought the right to collect taxes from the tax collector. I suppose he is trying hard to recover his investment, but we did not even pay the tax collector. Why would we pay someone like him?”

Could tax collection rights be sold?

Since nothing seemed to work properly, it honestly sounded like a complete mess.

In any case, the real tax collector had gotten sick of it and sold the collection rights. The person who bought them, as the village chief said, needed to recover the cost. But there was no way he could properly do so.

Valerie could somewhat understand why the man had even gone after the rangers. Since he could not collect money easily, he must have tried to get something from them instead.

Valerie had thought the man was simply using his pathetic authority to harass people, but perhaps he did not need to pay much attention to him.

Still, he could not let the man keep stirring up trouble everywhere. Perhaps Valerie should at least make a threat. The rangers were clearly under the Duke’s authority, and demanding things from them had certainly crossed a line.

“I see. I understand.”

Valerie lay down on the bed. He placed his sword in a corner in case the children tried to touch it again.

As he turned over to sleep, he sensed a presence. When he looked back, one or two children stood beside the bed, watching as though they wanted to sleep with him.

Valerie patted the empty space on the bed, inviting them up. He had expected one or two children to climb in, but they all piled onto the bed at once.

He could not say he did not regret it, but how could a journey be satisfying all the time? He simply curled up in a corner of the bed and tried to sleep.

Time passed, and dawn came. Valerie opened his eyes. The village chief’s family was still asleep. He quietly rose and went to the village well to wash himself.

He drew water with a bucket and poured it over himself from head to toe. As always, his mind went dizzy, and sleep fled in an instant.

A few early risers widened their eyes at the sight of Valerie completely naked, but there was no other way to wash.

He returned to the village chief’s house, quickly dried himself, and dressed before anyone else woke. The room was dark, but his hands knew the routine, so he could put on even his complicated equipment quickly.

One child sleeping on the bed opened their eyes and looked up at him. Valerie patted the child’s head once before leaving.

He went to the stable, brought out Snow, put on the tack, and mounted. Then, without looking back, he urged Snow into a run.

Clop clop clop clop.

After traveling for perhaps six or seven hours while eating his meal in the saddle, the sun stood high overhead, and an unfamiliar wind began to blow. It was a sea breeze.

The sea was nowhere in sight, and he could not hear the waves, but a strong wind blew from the distant east. Valerie’s platinum-blond hair fluttered constantly.

Beside the road stood a forest of tall, thick conifers. This was Thunder Forest.

The road ran east along the edge of the forest, and Valerie followed it.

Then, instead of waves, he heard shouting like howls from somewhere far away.

“Get lost! I said get lost! I told you to bring money, not come swarming in here!”

A low hill blocked his view, but when he followed the road and rounded it, he found a hostage situation underway.

One man held a sword to the throat of a girl who looked three or four years old, desperately shouting at the men surrounding him.

“Get lost! Can’t you hear me? You want this girl to die? Go! Get out of here!”

The men surrounding the hostage-taker were all large, their arms as thick as logs. Most were bare-handed, but some carried felling axes. Were they lumberjacks or carpenters? They seemed to be both.

“Everyone, step back!”

A roar like that of a wild beast erupted from among them. Everyone flinched, including the hostage-taker.

The owner of that shout stepped forward. He was a very large old man, though half his hair and beard had turned white.

Valerie recognized him immediately. It was Thorvald, Thorvald the Thunderbearer. He had been an old man before the regression as well, so he did not look greatly different now.

Perhaps his hair and beard were not completely white yet, and perhaps he had a few fewer wrinkles.

His eyes were as bright then as they were now. They held quiet fury, spirit, and resolve.

Thorvald stepped forward, tore open his shirt, and spoke to the hostage-taker.

“Come. Come and stab me to death. You will earn fame. But release that child.”

“...What is this old man talking about? I asked for money in the first place. You did not bring money, and you all came swarming over here. What fame would I gain from killing you? I do not need that! Give me money! Money!”

Watching quietly from afar, Valerie recognized that the three- or four-year-old girl being held hostage was Thorvald’s granddaughter.

He felt something strange. Back then, I was the one holding her hostage.

The hostage-taker slowly backed away. He seemed to have given up on getting money and decided that he first needed to escape this place.

Valerie thought he knew who the hostage-taker was too. He was probably that money grub who had bought tax collection rights from the tax collector and gone around doing bad things.

At this point, he seemed to have decided that tax collectors and collection rights no longer mattered. He had simply become a criminal.

When people thought about recovering their investment, their eyes tended to go wild.

The surprising thing about the situation was that the girl, only three or four years old, neither cried nor moved.

Perhaps she did not understand the situation, or perhaps she instinctively knew that crying would not help.

As the money grub continued putting distance between them, Thorvald only stood tall and watched. He had even offered his own life, but it had done no good. There was truly nothing he could do.

So Valerie stepped in.

As he rode toward the scene, the people finally noticed him and turned to look.

“Who are you now? Get back! I said get back!” the money grub shouted.

“I am a territorial patrol officer.”

“...So what? If you come any closer, I will kill the girl!”

“What do you want? I want to resolve this peacefully, without anyone being hurt.”

“M-Money.”

Valerie dismounted. Then, before everyone’s eyes, he approached the hostage-taker.

“Do not come closer! I will kill her!” the money grub shouted again.

Valerie stopped walking, threw off his cloak, removed his sword, and threw it far away. He tossed every weapon on him, including his dagger, into the distance.

Then he took out his purse and poured its contents into his palm. There were seven gold coins and dozens of silver coins.

Holding them out so the money grub could see clearly, he said,

“I have no weapons now, and as you can see, I have only money. Exchange her for it. Then no one gets hurt, and we both get what we want.”

The money grub could not take his eyes off the coins in Valerie’s palm. He swallowed once, then slowly came closer.

“D-Drop the money on the ground.”

“No. I want the girl. This is an exchange between both sides, not a one-sided demand. I cannot give you only the money.”

“...”

When he heard it, it made sense.

The situation was too urgent, his emotions were running high, and his desire flickered before his eyes. The money grub obediently followed Valerie’s words.

Once they were close enough, Valerie extended his other hand to receive the girl, while the money grub reached out to take the money.

They moved even closer, and when the tension reached its peak, Valerie dropped the coins to the ground.

“What?”

The money grub lost his balance for an instant, and Valerie swiftly pulled the girl toward himself.

The money grub sensed that something had gone wrong, but the coins clattered across the ground, and his mind froze. Should he attack Valerie, snatch the girl back, or pick up the money...?

That brief hesitation was an eternity to Valerie.

In one motion, he took the money grub’s sword and stabbed it into the man’s throat.

“Ghk!”

The man collapsed to the ground. Valerie watched him die without expression, then held the girl in one arm and asked,

“Your name is Gudrun, right?”

“Huh? How did you know?”

“I had a feeling. Were you not scared?”

“Um... That man was more scared.”

Gudrun said, pointing at the dead money grub. Valerie let out a small laugh.

Then, carrying Gudrun, he approached Thorvald and handed him his granddaughter. Held in her grandfather’s arms, the girl continued looking at Valerie.

“You do not need to thank me. I will consider the debt repaid.”

“...”

Thorvald could not understand all of Valerie’s words, but it seemed he would find the part about not thanking him difficult to obey.

His heart was trembling with emotion and gratitude.

The people came and picked up the coins scattered on the ground. They returned every last one to Valerie.

Valerie picked up his weapons and cloak from the ground, brushing away the dust.

After putting them back on, he looked at the grandfather and granddaughter. The sea breeze blew, tossing his hair and making his cloak flutter.

Just like that day, beneath the gray sky before the storm, when fierce winds had blown.

But now, the sky was only blue, and the sunlight was utterly clear.

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