WeTried Translations

Translator/Editor: Oblivious

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◈ Prince of Rage ◈

Chapter 43

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The grand ducal army of Eldeira certainly looked splendid and imposing on the surface. The flags representing each house fluttered proudly, and the soldiers were well armed.

A few knights did not yet need to wear helmets, but perhaps to raise morale, they wore them anyway, complete with decorations.

Before leaving, some soldiers embraced their wives and children.

The children looked proud of their fathers, armed and leaving for the battlefield, while the wives were filled with worry and sorrow.

They had no choice but to wait, trusting only the promise that their men would return. At least the battlefield was not too far away.

The long marching column headed west. The army would go around the wetlands to the north, then turn east again.

Count Windale led the vanguard. The central force was the ducal army led by Gunnar, the Duke's eldest son, while Count Winslow commanded the rearguard.

As discussed beforehand, Duke Sven would remain at the very rear and guard the supply line.

After marching for some time, the grass in the fields gradually thinned until there were more rocks than grass. From then on, the road became narrow and uneven, making it difficult for wagons to pass.

Even with donkeys or packhorses pulling them, several people had to push from behind. If a wheel broke, it was no small matter. They had to repair the wagon, then have people carry its cargo themselves.

The knight apprentices rode back and forth diligently, relaying news between the front and rear. They reported that the wagons were struggling and the pace needed to slow, or informed them of unusual things ahead.

An army on the march was naturally vulnerable, making this another cause for tension.

Around noon, they sent out scouts to find a place where the army could stay.

There was nowhere in the rugged rocky terrain where the whole army could gather and camp. All they could do was huddle as close together as possible, pitch tents to block the wind, and sleep under blankets.

Then, just as they had feared beforehand, someone appeared on the slope to the side. At first there was only one person, so they wondered what that bastard was doing.

Judging by the clothes, the person was from Dunbria. A man wearing something like a skirt and rough leather that looked barely tanned. He seemed caught somewhere between a civilized man and a barbarian.

His long hair was red, as was his beard, which was just as long. Including the large black-hilted sword slung over his shoulder, he seemed nearly as tall as a person. He was a Highlander.

He held something in his hand, then casually threw it toward the marching army.

It bounced down the sloping rocks and rolled to a stop.

It was a human head. One of the men sent to scout out a campsite.

“Fuck...”

“Those barbarian bastards.”

The soldiers muttered in disgust.

Then the Highlander standing proudly above them shouted at the ducal army.

“Who gave you permission to set foot on this land!”

Duke Sven saw it too, so he rode toward the slope to raise morale.

“I am Sven, Duke of Eldeira! Who are you!”

“I am Duncan, King of Dunbria and heir to Alpin! Not even Sigmund, descendant of Volsung, set foot upon this land. How dare the likes of you set foot here as you please!”

Within Dunbria, they called him king. That was possible because the terrain was so harsh that they had never truly been conquered.

He had become a margrave because he accepted the title without even knowing what it meant, thinking it was a token of friendship.

Strictly speaking, the kingdom and Dunbria had a non-aggression pact, not the relationship of lord and vassal.

“You red-monkey bastard! Do you think I don't know you backed the Third Young Master in order to have the Second Young Master murdered!”

Duke Sven berated him confidently. Honestly, though, Duncan did not look like the sort of man capable of plotting such schemes.

The margrave might have felt wronged, but true to appearances, he did not bother defending himself.

He looked down at Duke Sven and said,

“Shut your mouth and come up here. Let's fight.”

Then people appeared beside Duncan in a line. There might not have been many, but the sight was rather overwhelming. They were all tall and heavily built, dressed similarly in skirts and leather, with large swords.

Then the wind flipped up a few skirts, revealing everything underneath. They wore nothing at all.

Those watching from below found it rather unpleasant, but the Highlanders showed no shame. Instead, they stood all the prouder. What was wrong with a man seeing another man's parts?

“If you're so confident, come down here!”

Duke Sven shouted back without yielding.

“Why did you come if you have no confidence, you pedigree-less piece of trash!”

“The one without a pedigree is a barbarian like you! Come down!”

“Come up!”

“Come down!”

It looked childish, but etiquette had not yet developed into anything particularly refined in this world. To the ducal army, the Highlanders looked no different from barbarians, but in truth, they themselves were not much less barbaric.

In any case, with one side shouting for the other to come up and the other telling them to come down, the situation showed no sign of progressing. Yet the ducal army could not simply ignore them and pass, so they were practically stuck.

Then someone stepped forward like a hero. Shield and sword in hand, he began climbing the rough rocky slope. More precisely, he climbed toward the margrave.

It was Duke Sven's eldest son, Gunnar.

“Fine! I'll come up!”

“Young Master!”

The nearby knights cried out in alarm and followed him. But there were fewer than ten of them.

Whether in battle or a duel, the person on higher ground had the advantage. Sure enough, Margrave Duncan swung his huge sword down at Gunnar, who had almost reached him.

It was a heavy blow, but Gunnar roughly caught it with his shield, shoved it aside, and thrust with his sword. Duncan was no ordinary man either, and he dodged the attack.

Once they closed the distance, they abandoned their weapons and grappled, clawed, shoved, pulled, and struggled against each other.

But Gunnar's natural strength was so great that the older Duncan could not endure it and was thrown back.

Gunnar had a chance to finish off the fallen man, but the margrave's subordinates beside him were not about to stand by. The knights had already suffered injuries while holding them back.

The other soldiers and knights watching from below wavered, unsure whether they too should join the fight. Still, it was an exciting sight that set their hearts racing.

“Hey, ptooey! You barbarian bastard! Now you come up here!”

Gunnar took the place where the margrave had been standing, spat at him, and shouted confidently. But when the knights grabbed him and practically dragged him down, he could not fight any longer.

Ten knights desperately held back the Highlanders' attacks, while several of them nearly carried Gunnar back down.

It was a vicious battle. The Highlanders fought brutally as well. But they did not come all the way down.

“You dog bastards! Come down here!”

“You barbarian bastards!”

The soldiers' spirits rose, and they hurled curses at the Highlanders.

The Highlanders retreated, carrying Duncan away. No one knew whether he was badly hurt, but their king had been injured, so they had no choice but to withdraw.

“Let go! Let go! I could have killed him!”

Gunnar panted as he shook off the knights. They said even a maggot had a trick or two, and one had to admit that he was brave and strong.

Then Duke Sven, who had approached him, suddenly slapped him across the face.

Smack!

Gunnar blinked in stunned confusion.

“You fool! Two knights were hurt because of you! Haven't I told you again and again? Even if you must sacrifice a hundred soldiers, you protect a single knight!”

It was not entirely wrong, but it was harsh.

First, they had been trapped and needed a breakthrough, and Gunnar had resolved the situation, even if there had been some casualties.

Second, Sven should not have humiliated him publicly like this. Gunnar was the commander-in-chief for the capture of Gringen.

Gunnar had expected praise, but instead he was slapped. Disappointment and sorrow welled in his eyes.

“You idiot. Are you planning to cry in front of the soldiers?”

After that rebuke, Gunnar did not answer his father. He covered his eyes with a hand and hurried away.

The soldiers and knights nearby looked as though they were at a funeral. Two knights had been hurt, but their commander-in-chief had led the charge up that slope. It had been a stirring sight.

“I will handle the supply line, so continue the march.”

Duke Sven gave the order.

The army reluctantly continued marching, but their rising momentum had been crushed, leaving them with an unpleasant feeling.

In any event, they advanced slowly as planned, driving stakes into the ground along the road. Yet Highlanders appeared often and harassed them.

The marching formation stretched out in a long line, so they could not form up properly. Only the attacked side could counterattack each time, making it difficult to respond even though the Highlanders were few in number. Casualties steadily increased, like clothes becoming soaked in a drizzle.

The losses were minor compared to the total army, but for the soldiers, it was exhausting and stressful. They could not sleep properly, and even while eating, they had to do so in fear.

As the losses accumulated, they crawled along like maggots. After more than a week, they finally reached flat ground.

Gringen was visible in the distance.

But unlike what they had heard, its walls were not wooden palisades. They were built of stone.

“What is that...”

Someone spoke in a deflated voice, too dumbfounded to say more. The words represented everyone's feelings. They had said the city would fall as soon as they arrived, but this was not what they had expected...

Gringen's walls filled the ducal army with despair, but from Valerie's perspective, they were still lacking in many ways.

To build a proper wall, sand and stones had to be neatly packed inside before the outer walls were raised. But they had skipped that process for lack of time, so if the enemy removed the foundation stones or dug beneath the wall, it could collapse quickly.

And above all, one of the most important things in defense was a moat. A castle or city was difficult to take precisely because of its moat, but there had been no time to dig one properly, so it was narrow and shallow.

At its current state, it was merely difficult to lay ladders across the moat with confidence. If the enemy mobilized enough men to fill in the moat, they could do it quickly.

Still, they had plenty of arrows, and fortunately, food supplies coming in through the northeastern waterway had not been cut off.

Of course, the ducal army was also being harassed by Highlander attacks, so they could not focus solely on attacking. Both sides were short on resources and struggling. Such was the way of the world.

They had scraped together about eighty people for Gringen's forces. Of them, only around twenty were properly armed.

From atop the walls, the soldiers saw the enemy appearing in the distance and were already intimidated.

That was understandable. It was not merely a gathering of people. The enemy was packed with armed, able-bodied men.

Valerie gathered all the city's soldiers and delivered a speech from atop the walls, beside a fluttering frog-shaped flag.

Not only the soldiers listened. Everyone listened to the speech. The women preparing field meals, the elderly who could not fight because of their age but carried stones to repair the walls, even the children carrying arrows.

Valerie slowly swept his gaze across them as though looking at each one, then shouted,

“Listen to me, all of you! As long as this flag does not fall, we win! If we remain until the last person and protect this flag, the city survives! Will you let them occupy this place and live miserable lives as slaves once more, or will you live like human beings as you do now? Anyone who wants to live as a slave, surrender your weapon and leave right now! I will take those who remain as saying they would rather die than live as slaves! We will win! We will win no matter what! If you cannot trust yourselves, trust me! I will fight alongside you! Fight bravely!”

As soon as Valerie finished speaking, he drove the flagpole into the wall.

In the extraordinary circumstances of war, Valerie's confident speech, delivered by someone of such renown, made the young people's blood boil.

“Fight! Fight!”

The soldiers raised their swords, spears, and bows, shouting for battle. Even the women and children, who were merely civilians, raised their voices with them.

Arne and Skard had known it already, but they found themselves thinking once more that Valerie was truly impressive. They joined the cries to fight, and Yorick shouted with the most enthusiasm. Knut only clapped.

Their cries were loud enough to reach the ducal army far beyond the walls.

Watching the people shout at the top of their lungs, Valerie's heart pounded too. It felt as though all their desperate feelings were gathering around him.

He had first come to this city for another purpose, but after staying four months, it seemed that both his thoughts and his heart had changed.

Just as he had regained his smile in Winslow, the people of Gringen had gradually regained theirs. When he saw the hope for life in their eyes, he sometimes felt that they were the ones giving him strength.

He had grown up without parents, unable to receive love and always watching others' moods. Before his regression, he had resented the world and his bloodline.

But now, did someone like him truly deserve the expectations, hopes, and trust of so many people?

He had once lived believing that everyone used one another, so he would do the same. But not anymore.

At the very least, he could not betray them. Even if the world had betrayed him, he would not betray these people. Just wait and see. He would win, no matter what. The resolve arose naturally within him.

From Valerie's experience, a cold calculation of their chances made this closer to a reckless battle.

But even if he fought and died, even if he failed to defend Gringen, would that not still be more worthwhile than driving a sword into his own neck and dying?

That was what he thought.

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