WeTried Translations

Translator/Editor: Oblivious

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◈ Prince of Rage ◈

Chapter 39

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Sigurd and Regin headed for Gnita Heath to slay the evil dragon Fafnir.

Fafnir guarded a treasure hoard and came out of his cave once a day to drink from the river. As Fafnir’s massive body moved, it had formed shallow ravines across the heath.

After observing this, Sigurd dug holes at various points in the ravines. Then he hid in one of them.

The next day, when Fafnir passed overhead, Sigurd thrust Gram into his heart and killed him in one blow.

Fafnir let out a dying scream and poured out blood, covering Sigurd in it.

Regin gave Sigurd Ridill and told him to cut out Fafnir’s heart. He said he was going to sleep for a while, and told Sigurd to roast the heart over the fire so he could eat it after waking.

Sigurd granted the request of his teacher and only friend.

While Regin slept, Sigurd roasted the heart. He burned his hand on the fire and, without thinking, put his finger in his mouth.

That was when he tasted dragon blood.

Once he tasted the dragon’s blood, Sigurd could understand birdsong as though it were human speech.

‘If you eat a dragon’s heart, you gain power like a god’s.’

‘Regin means to eat the heart, kill you, and claim the treasure for himself.’

After hearing that, Sigurd considered it for a while before stabbing the sleeping Regin to death.

Then he took all the treasure and departed.

That was how the tale of the Dragonslayer had been passed down.

“So this is the legendary dagger that cut out the dragon’s heart.”

Skard looked at the dagger lying on the table.

It was large for a dagger. It was certainly too small to be a short sword, and judging from the sheath, it seemed to have a single edge.

Still, judging by its craftsmanship, it did not look ancient at all. Yet after hearing the story, it did seem as though it might be something special.

Everyone thought the same.

“But how are we supposed to tell whether it’s genuine?”

Yorick asked.

“The catalogue records its successive owners, along with its appearance and special powers. Its original owner was Regin, who made it. Sigurd killed him and took it, and its whereabouts have been unknown ever since. It has one edge and is longer than expected. It seems suited to cutting large cuts of meat rather than general use. An inverted Wunjo rune is carved into the pommel. It symbolizes corrupted joy, betrayal, and a broken banner. It grants its owner unmatched joy, but it will not be the joy you wanted.”

At Knut’s explanation, everyone fell silent. It was an unsettling object. Just hearing the description sent chills down their spines.

“Let’s throw it into a swamp.”

Arne frowned as he spoke. He even tilted his head back, as though being in the same room as it made him uncomfortable.

“It’s definitely an unlucky thing, but to people who want it, it’s an irreplaceable treasure. To mages, alchemists, and people like that.”

It was not an outright objection, but Knut did not seem to want to throw it away.

“But we need to have it authenticated either way, don’t we?”

Valerie asked.

“We won’t know for certain unless a rune-mage examines it. But given the circumstances, I think it’s real.”

The problem was that they did not know where rune-mages lived or how to meet one.

Everyone was uneasy about the object they could not even touch carelessly when a hubbub came from outside. It was morning, and people had come to work.

“I’ll go out. Still, I want it thrown away.”

“I’ll go too.”

Arne and Yorick opened the door. The noise of what sounded like a marketplace flooded into the house.

“Get in line! A line! Get in line first!”

“Hey, you fucking bastards! Just because we’ve been nice, you think we’re complete fucking jokes!?”

Fortunately, when Yorick shouted, the crowd quieted down. The door closed, and the house became quiet again.

“The kids are here too. I should go out.”

Skard was something of a drill instructor, training people with sturdy builds and some strength, so he had to go as well.

In the end, only Valerie and Knut remained. But neither of them knew what to do with Ridill. Keeping it made them uneasy, but throwing it away felt wasteful.

As they hesitated, someone opened the door and entered. It was the trio.

They were not wearing masks, perhaps that was why they looked so awkward. They kept lowering their heads or turning away, as if avoiding eye contact.

“We heard what was said outside. The Marsh Witch might know about it.”

Raily spoke. Their manner of speaking had become strangely polite.

“She may not be a rune-mage, but shall we at least have her examine it?”

When Valerie asked Knut, Knut nodded, though reluctantly. There were too many fakes in the world. Most people who called themselves mages or witches were simply frauds.

“By the way, are you three all right?”

Valerie looked over the trio. The last time he had seen them, they had been standing there, dazed and vacant.

“Those who want to stay will stay, and those who want to leave will leave. We decided to manage the monastery. We will keep taking in children. We will teach them various things and raise them, then help them find work once they are old enough.”

“No, I mean, are you all right?”

Valerie asked again.

“We don’t know. How should we live? Should we get married and have children like everyone else?”

It was ironic. They had suffered because of the organization called the Black Hand, but now that it was gone, they did not know how to live.

“Think about it slowly. I don’t really know either. Why we should live, or how we should live. Let’s find out together.”

Valerie was committed to what had been given to him and had goals of his own, but he did not know the fundamental reason for living.

Still, could anyone in the world give a clear answer to that? An answer to why people should live.

For now, they followed the trio to meet the Marsh Witch. A person who did not know the way could not enter the marsh carelessly, since one wrong step could sink them into the bog.

Moreover, the reeds grew so tall that they could not even see what lay beneath their feet.

As Valerie and Knut followed them, splash, splash sounded with every step, and their feet kept sinking deep into the mud.

Once they had gone fairly deep into the marsh, the way back was so far away that it truly felt as though someone could die there.

Fortunately, the trio did not betray them and led Valerie and Knut to a hut somewhere in the marsh.

The hut looked ready to collapse. Smoke rose from its crooked chimney above its slanted roof.

The trio had guided them there, but they could not bring themselves to enter. Valerie, holding Ridill wrapped in a cloth bundle, knocked on the door first.

Thud. Thud.

“Is anyone inside?”

A moment later, a woman’s voice came from within. It sounded phlegmy and unpleasant.

“If you came because of greed, turn back. If you came because of worry, come in.”

Valerie opened the door and entered. An indescribable smell rushed over him, a mixture of fragrant herbs and mould.

A large cauldron sat over the fireplace, filled with an unidentifiable liquid that bubbled away. Talismans made from animal bones, feathers, and other unknown things hung or had been attached throughout the house.

The witch’s hair was completely white, yet her face looked surprisingly young. She appeared to be in her early to mid-twenties.

Yet there was something strange about her. It felt as though she maintained her youth by force, making it difficult to guess her true age.

“So, what worries you, handsome young man?”

“I came to have an item examined.”

“If you came to me over something like that, it surely isn’t an ordinary item.”

“Just tell us whether it is genuine.”

“Sorry, but I’m not an appraiser.”

Valerie had nothing to say. Knut stepped forward.

“Just see whether it has magic on it.”

“I can do that much. But there is a price.”

“What is it?”

“A kiss filled with love.”

Valerie pointed at himself, then at Knut. He was asking which of them she wanted a kiss from. Knut frowned.

“Both.”

“Crazy.”

At the witch’s answer, Knut could not hide his disgust. Valerie whispered in his ear.

“Say we’ll do it, then give her a few coins and leave afterward.”

He had never intended to do it. And Valerie was very good at lying when necessary.

“We can’t promise love, but we can kiss you.”

“Then keep kissing until it is filled with love.”

“All right, all right. We’ll do our best, so just see whether it has magic on it.”

“You are good at lying, aren’t you? I hate lying men.”

Valerie was gradually becoming irritated. They had come because they had no other way, but it was difficult to humour her any longer.

For a moment, he considered drawing his sword and threatening her, but she did not seem like someone who would be intimidated by that.

Then Knut snatched the bundle and set it down on the cluttered table. He unwrapped it and said,

“It’s Ridill. Regin’s dagger. Isn’t that enough to make you curious?”

“Ridill!?”

At Knut’s words, the witch sprang to her feet and shouted. Her attitude was completely different from before.

It was unsettling and difficult to sell, but it was certainly an irreplaceable treasure to oddballs such as mages, witches, and alchemists. Valerie did not know where or how they intended to use it.

The witch hurried around the house, searching for things. Unable to find some of them, she rummaged around while throwing objects aside carelessly.

She brought over a vial and poured out white powder, tracing a circle around the dagger. Her skill at drawing a precise circle was impressive.

Even after that, she took several more measures. As if she was not concerned the house might catch fire, she brought burning firewood and set alight the things she had scattered around Ridill. Flames that changed colour from moment to moment flared up.

The trio, who had been standing guard outside, peeked into the hut as well, apparently curious.

The witch watched the shifting colours of the flames closely, then opened her eyes wide.

“I-It’s real. It’s really Ridill.”

But then, an enormous flame surged up as though an explosion had occurred. Valerie and Knut jumped and grabbed each other, trying to flee outside.

Before they could, something appeared from within the great flame and fell with a thud. It first struck the table, then toppled over and fell onto the floor.

“Argh! Ah!”

Valerie, Knut, the witch, and the trio all stared wide-eyed, unable to understand what had happened. A child who looked about ten stood up while rubbing his backside.

“Ow, ow... I told that bastard to guard the sword properly... Where did that slave trader run off to?”

Everyone could only stand there with their mouths open as they stared at the child. His ears were pointed. It was a dwarf.

A dwarf, evil and greedy, an exceptional smith and mage, the sort always found in tales of gods and heroes. They might be called pranksters, but many gods and heroes had met miserable fates because of their pranks.

The dwarf looked around in confusion, then met Valerie’s eyes.

“Huh!? Sid!? You were alive!?”

Perhaps the dwarf was not in his right mind, because he acted as though he knew Valerie. Then the witch cried out.

“Dwarf! Grant my wish! I will offer you everything I have! Give me eternal youth!”

The dwarf turned to look at her and replied bluntly.

“What is this?”

He jabbed two fingers into the empty air toward her. Then something astonishing happened.

“Eek!”

The witch squeezed her eyes shut and collapsed.

As she screamed and rolled across the floor, the dwarf gave a wicked grin.

“Hehehe, why would I grant your wish? Eat this instead!”

The dwarf snapped his fingers.

The witch began to retch, then vomited up a flood of maggots. Her flesh immediately rotted and decayed.

Snakes crawled out through her eyes. Her body twisted, and frogs, tadpoles, and snails poured from the torn gaps.

Valerie and Knut recoiled in horror and pressed themselves against the wall. Valerie had seen magic before his regression, but never anything so terrifying.

At the dreadful sight, the trio who had been looking inside fled without looking back. Those bastards.

“That is what happens when you imitate clumsy little tricks. Magic is not for humans, idiot.”

He looked exactly like a cute little boy, but just as the legends said, he was utterly evil and horrifying.

The dwarf turned back to Valerie. Valerie could not even flee carelessly and froze where he stood.

“Anyway, if you were alive, Sid, you should have told me. I really thought you were dead.”

“I-I... am not Sid.”

“What are you talking about? If you are not Sid, then who is?”

Valerie asked, trying to remain calm.

“...I think you have mistaken me for someone else. Who is Sid?”

“Why do you keep saying that? Did you hurt your head? Sid is Sid. Sigurd. The posthumous child of a family with three generations of posthumous children. Posthumous Child Sigurd.”

A posthumous child was one whose father had died while the child was still in their mother’s womb. From the clan’s progenitor Volsung to his son Sigmund, who bore the same name as the founding king, and Sigurd, the Volsung clan had three generations of posthumous children.

All three avenged their fathers, and all three died tragically. The Volsung clan’s story was stained with bloody vengeance, so brutal that it was remarkable their line had continued at all.

The Volsung clan was famous for repaying every grievance and achieving every vengeance, no matter what. It was not only because they had divine blood. Because of the extraordinary path their clan had walked, all Norsemen did more than respect them. They revered and worshipped them.

“Anyway, your face has improved a lot. You always looked so gloomy and said you wanted to die. You seem a little better now. Wait, where did that slave trader go? I told him to guard the sword properly. I should gouge out his eyes before he learns to listen.”

Knut’s heart pounded so hard that he could not speak. Eventually, he managed to collect himself and ask,

“Could you be... Regin?”

“Yes, I am Regin. Who are you?”

“You were not dead?”

According to the legend, Sigurd the Dragonslayer had stabbed the sleeping Regin to death and claimed all the treasure.

“Why would I be dead? I was simply hiding myself. There are many who seek Andvari’s Ring. Hehehe, this is mine.”

The dwarf claiming to be Regin took out a thick gold ring and showed it to them with a deeply satisfied smile.

Then he went to the table and fastened Ridill at his waist. Looking at it now, it seemed it had not originally been a dagger at all, but a sword made to suit his body.

Then he turned to Valerie again.

“So, are you happy now, Sid?”

“What... I am sorry, but I am not Sid. I am Wid. Wid...”

Valerie had no choice but to lie because Knut was beside him. Still, it did not matter whether he was Wid or Valerie, since Regin saw him as someone else either way.

Regin stared at Valerie and spoke.

“Human memories. This is why one should not befriend humans. Who can I blame? It is my own fault.”

“But it seems somewhat different from the story we know. They say the Dragonslayer killed you while you were asleep. After he tasted the dragon’s blood.”

Knut asked. He liked collecting odds and ends and was interested in classic interpretations of legends like this.

Regin let out a disbelieving laugh.

“Honestly, I have told people again and again that it is not true, but do humans still believe that? They believe whatever they want. I have never seen a human as kind as Sid. Why would he kill me? When he stabbed Fafnir’s heart, blood poured everywhere. Do you think he did not swallow a single drop? If a human drinks dragon blood, their heart bursts and they die. I am the one who saved Sid by roasting the heart and feeding it to him. It was the opposite, I tell you.”

“...”

Legends were always mixed with truth and lies. Perhaps those lies had been made for the sake of a friend who wished to hide, even if Sigurd had to bear the disgrace himself.

“Anyway, it was nice seeing you. I should go now. There are many people after the ring.”

“Wait. What did you mean earlier, when you asked whether I was happy?”

Valerie asked.

“The men in your family were all forged by their mothers. Volsung’s mother cut open her own belly to give birth to her son. Sigmund’s mother said she too belonged to an enemy family and would set an example, then stabbed herself in the belly with Gram before the twin brother and sister. And when you said you were leaving, that stubborn woman jumped straight into a fire and died.”

Regin adjusted his clothes as if he were about to leave.

“Then she said, ‘Go seek that wonderful happiness of yours. But if you cannot find happiness, you will never be able to die.’ Whether it was her last words, a curse, or a blessing, I do not know. Anyway, Gram had been broken, but it was reforged in the flames that burned your mother. Otherwise, even I could not have repaired it.”

After straightening his clothes, Regin put the thing called Andvari’s Ring onto his finger. It was loose at first, but soon fit his finger perfectly.

He swept his palm toward the floor, where maggots, frogs, snakes, and other creatures crawled. Light shone from the ring. Astonishingly, all those disgusting things turned to gold.

Then he took something from an inner pocket of his clothes. No one knew how it could have fit in that pocket, but a sword and a dagger emerged.

He gave the dagger to Knut and the sword to Valerie.

“It may not be as good as Gram, but it is much better than that piece of junk at your waist. Well, I am going. I really am. Take care, Sid. See you again. Byyyyyye.”

Regin waved at them. Light soon enveloped him, and he vanished in an instant.

“...”

The two remained silent for a while. Then Knut spoke first.

“But why did he mistake you for Sigurd, Wid?”

“...I suppose I resemble him. He did not seem to be in his right mind.”

“Hmm...”

Knut did not give it much thought. Something else had captured his interest. As a dagger collector, it was the dagger he had received from the dwarf.

He drew it. Light flashed, almost stabbing his eyes.

The blade gleamed as smoothly as a mirror, with faint rippling patterns flowing across it. Its edge was so sharp that it seemed like a two-dimensional line.

“Dwarf steel...”

Knut muttered. Dwarf steel was the ultimate weapon material, something human hands could never create.

As Knut examined the dagger, a smile spread over his lips and steadily deepened. He looked immensely satisfied, like someone who had received a favourite toy as a gift.

“Freedom. Frelsi would be a good name. I will call it Frelsi. What about you, Wid?”

Valerie did not answer. He could only give a bitter smile.

It felt as though he had had a brief dream. What in the world had just happened?

He was dumbfounded, yet the dreamlike event remained in Valerie’s heart like a painful scar. His heart throbbed.

You will never be able to die until you become happy...

Valerie did not know who his mother was. Yet Sigurd, his great-grandfather, must surely have been wounded by hearing those words from his mother.

He must have only wanted a little encouragement.

Valerie did not even draw the sword. He simply turned it over in his hands.

“Wound. Sár would be a good name.”

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