WeTried Translations

Translator/Editor: Oblivious

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◈ Prince of Rage ◈

Chapter 46

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Silverrich, commander of the Silverrich Mercenary Company, looked every inch a battle-hardened warrior. The scar across his face, his sharp eyes, and the battle gear that seemed to have been with him for years all made that clear.

Yet instead of the widely known five hundred men, he had brought only around a hundred.

It was impossible to know whether he had decided that was enough or whether there were practical reasons behind it.

Still, all one hundred were fully equipped men-at-arms, from helmets and armor to shields and weapons. His soldiers clearly differed from troops drawn from rural villages. They had the air of professional soldiers.

“...So the problem is a dwarf steel sword?”

Silverrich privately thought it was absurd that they had failed to take a city because of one sword.

“That’s right.”

Gunnar answered rather curtly. He did not care much for mercenaries in the first place.

“Hmm... It’ll make fine loot.”

“You’ll be lucky if your head doesn’t fly off.”

Gunnar made the cutting remark for no particular reason, but Silverrich seemed too experienced to care. A mercenary encountered every sort of noble in the course of their work. Compared to some, Gunnar was practically a gentleman.

“Fine. Aside from His Grace’s rear guard, summon every soldier here. Gather as much food as possible, and launch a full assault as soon as the siege equipment is assembled. We need not worry about the supply route. Once we take the city, we can travel down the river to Torvik.”

“You make it sound easy. Do you think my men and I have been sitting around doing nothing? Will you take responsibility if this fails? A thousand men could starve to death.”

Silverrich’s plan certainly left no room for retreat. In simple terms, he wanted to bring in every soldier and scrap of food, then end it all in one stroke.

Yet even at Gunnar’s sharp question, he merely smirked.

“When hiring mercenaries, what you should fear most is them dragging things out while doing no work, then collecting their pay all the same. We’re not like that. We’re busy. We have many places to go besides this backwater, young master.”

“...Where are you going?”

“That’s beside the point. His Grace has spoken, so I’d appreciate it if you followed my advice.”

“...”

Gunnar looked toward Count Windale beside him. The count nodded. They had failed to take the city on their own, so he thought it would not hurt to listen to an expert.

Besides, he wanted to rest. The people in the rear, guarding the supply route, had surely suffered while dealing with the Highlanders, but a siege truly drove people to their limits. It was time for them to take their turn.

If they failed, they could simply leave. Their food would be gone anyway.

This was truly the last attempt. Count Windale thought so, and so did the soldiers.

The soldiers of Gringen watching the duke’s army from the walls were gradually falling into despair.

Valerie had led from the front and raised their morale with impossible feats again and again, but there was nothing they could do. The duke’s army was swelling by the day.

Gringen had only eighty soldiers, so every death and injury was devastating. Yet no matter how hard they fought, the enemy’s numbers increased by hundreds. It was enough to crush their spirits.

Had it been impossible from the beginning? What meaning had there been in all their fighting?

Worse still, hearing that Valerie had fallen had drained their will to fight beyond words.

Arne stepped forward to steady their resolve. He gathered everyone, stood atop the wall, and gave a speech to fill them with the will to make their final stand.

In one hand, he held the billhook once used by Groin-Ripper. It was Arne’s weapon now.

“Everyone. I know your worries and fears well. I feel them too. But running away because we are afraid is not the right choice. You and I both know there are lives worse than death, do we not? We have fought with the resolve to die, cutting back on sleep, not merely to prolong miserable lives. We want to live as people. To live without groveling. To live with our families in homes built by our own hands.”

Arne had supervised the construction work, so he knew the people who had worked alongside him. He looked at them one by one amid the crowd. He even knew their names.

“Tochi, Wells, Kennid, Wolf, Woods, and everyone who worked with me, thank you for everything. This is farewell. I intend to die in the final battle. I won’t force you to join me. I only wanted to say thank you.”

There was something moving in Arne’s speech. It was different from Valerie setting fire to people’s hearts, but it left a heavy echo in their souls. Some wept openly.

His words came from honesty and sincerity.

What was a hero? Was it not someone who gave people courage and hope, led them down the right path, and united them as one? If so, Arne too had the qualities of a hero.

“One more thing, Wid is my friend. If it weren’t for him, I would never have come this far. I don’t know how I ended up fighting this hard to defend this city... I don’t know. Still, I think I can die gladly. I’ll fight, if only to protect my friend.”

Arne spoke with a smile. His expression was simply peaceful. It was not courage dragged out by force. He seemed to face fear with a calm heart.

It was ironic. Before Valerie’s regression, Arne had died at Valerie’s hands while defending a city. Now, he was prepared to die to protect Valerie.

The people did not shout with force. They only applauded. Skard and Knut did the same. Yorick was not there, as he remained beside the fallen Valerie.

Perhaps life was so painful and miserable in order to let moments like this bloom.

Two days had passed since the Silverrich Mercenary Company joined them and the troops guarding the supply route had all gathered. There was now barely enough food left for tomorrow. They had gathered every person and morsel for the final attack.

Unless they captured Gringen and traveled by river to Torvik, they would have to retreat while starving and face the margrave’s army. In other words, they were as good as isolated in enemy territory.

It was an overcast day. The weather had been clear until yesterday, but gray clouds filled the sky. It might rain. If it did, whom would it favor and whom would it hinder?

That no longer mattered. Neither the duke’s army nor Gringen could retreat.

With the supply-guarding forces and the Silverrich Mercenary Company joining them, the duke’s army, now nearly eight hundred strong, advanced in three divisions.

Count Winslow’s army advanced through the center while protecting the battering ram. Gunnar and Count Windale held the left, while the Silverrich Mercenary Company took the right, hauling a siege tower.

As the army moved together, the sound of their footsteps was like distant thunder. They did not charge ahead but advanced slowly behind a firm shield wall.

Once they entered bow range, Gringen’s soldiers fired a volley. Several times as many arrows came flying back from the duke’s army.

As arrows flew back and forth, the infantry continued advancing behind their shields. Until then, there had been almost no casualties on either side.

“Do not break formation! Keep in step!”

“This is the last one! The last battle! Break through there, and we go home!”

The noncommissioned officers urged the soldiers on. Some included vicious curses.

Beneath Gringen’s walls were burn marks, uncollected corpses, and piles of stones where the wall had collapsed.

As the enemy drew close, Gringen’s soldiers hesitated no longer. They threw peat, reeds, and timber down, setting fire beneath the walls again. Flames spread in a line along the long wall, making a spectacle of their own.

The duke’s soldiers endured the pain of burning flesh as they dragged up sacks of sand and threw them onto the fire. It did not extinguish easily, but it was better than doing nothing.

Their formation became somewhat disordered then. The rotation between soldiers carrying sand and soldiers holding weapons did not go smoothly.

When the flames seemed to weaken somewhat, the commander of the Silverrich Mercenary Company gave a bold order.

“Push through!”

The mercenaries pushing the siege tower put on speed. Its wheels rumbled as they rolled.

They rammed the siege tower against the wall, uncaring if it broke somewhat. Then those carrying swords and shields swiftly climbed its stairs.

But no one stood atop the wall. Looking into the city, they saw a long, deep trench. Gringen’s soldiers waited beyond it with bows and crossbows.

Thump! Thudududum!

They hastily raised their shields, but could not block everything. Several bolts struck their legs.

Yet, perhaps because they had so much combat experience, they gritted their teeth, endured it, and headed down beneath the wall. If they hesitated, their allies could not enter behind them.

They knew from experience that moving forward increased their chances of survival once their allies joined them. In that respect, they were certainly different from ordinary demesne troops.

The mercenaries who had crossed the wall poured down in a rush. Formation no longer mattered. They intended to overwhelm Gringen with numbers.

“Long live His Majesty the King! Lead us to heaven!”

“Long live the Silverrich Mercenary Company!”

The mercenaries shouted their praise for the king and their company, then charged forward with renewed momentum. But the trench was too wide to leap across at once.

They had to climb down and then up again. When they scrambled up the trench wall, Gringen’s soldiers formed a dense formation as if waiting for them and thrust their spears at Arne’s command.

“Thrust!”

“Hah!”

Whether pierced by spears or blocked by shields, they had no choice but to be pushed back. The mercenaries who had charged at the front tumbled into the trench once more. Some were dead, while others were wounded.

Whenever new enemies somehow climbed out of the trench, the spears thrust again. More tumbled down. Meanwhile, the soldiers in the rear ranks fired arrows without pause.

They were defending well. If things continued like this, they might win. But that was not the only place the duke’s army was attacking.

The battering ram hammered at the gate.

Bang! Boom! Bang!

They had completely barricaded the other side of the gate, but if the gate broke, clearing those obstacles would only be a matter of time.

Skard commanded the section where they had temporarily blocked the collapsed wall with ropes. The situation there was much the same as Arne’s.

But perhaps they truly meant to see this through now, for the duke’s army did not give up even as casualties rose rapidly. The trench filled with corpses and wounded men, and they crossed over them.

“Argh!”

“I’m alive! I’m still alive!”

“Mother!”

The survivors pinned beneath them screamed. Gringen’s soldiers threw more peat down and set it ablaze. It was complete chaos, a horrific vision of hell.

The harsh smell of the flammable material filled the air, along with the stench of roasting corpses and people.

Silverrich, who had reached the wall, surveyed the battle. It seemed there was no other way. They had no choice but to push through with numbers until the end. He thought Gringen’s soldiers were truly tenacious.

Bang! Boom! Crack!

The gate broke then. Winslow’s army could not immediately pour in, but once they cleared the carts, stones, and timber blocking their way, Gringen would truly be finished.

And amid this, duke’s soldiers entered the city little by little, like grains of sand slipping through fingers. Knut dealt with them, but there were too many.

“To the gate! Go to the gate!”

Silverrich shouted. All manner of obstacles stood in the way, but they could force their way in somehow. The obstacles were being removed continuously.

Unfortunately, Gringen had no troops to spare for that position.

Gringen’s soldiers on the left and right thrust their spears with all their strength until their palms tore, but now there truly seemed to be no way out.

In desperation, Skard mounted a horse, intending to hold the center even alone. At that moment, an enemy arrow struck his shoulder, and he fell from the saddle.

The sight shocked both friend and foe. There was something symbolic about a rider falling from a horse.

“We’ve won! Push them back!”

“To the gate! Clear the obstacles!”

Enemies converged on the gate from both within and without.

Meanwhile, from inside the mercenary company building where Valerie lay unconscious, the distant sounds of fierce fighting could be heard.

Yorick was unbearably anxious. He did not care what happened to himself, but he could not bear to watch Valerie be killed by the enemy while unconscious. So he made a decision and spoke to Valerie.

“I don’t know, but I think Lord Wid must live. I think you are meant for greater things. I’m sorry to the other lords, but when you wake up later, later on, please resent me.”

Yorick’s voice caught as he spoke. Tears did not pour out, but his heart ached.

Still, he had made his decision. He intended to carry Valerie to the docks and flee.

As he pulled Valerie’s arm to lift him onto his back, he heard a voice.

“How could I resent you...?”

Meanwhile, the defense was nearing defeat. The gate was almost fully broken through, and Count Aethelred of Winslow was entering with his soldiers. Harald, Gidwin, and Tommy were with him.

That was war. By a twist of fate, even fathers and sons, or brothers, could meet as enemies.

The soldiers of Gringen fought until the very end. Not one fled. But the enemies who entered the city began dragging women by the hair and attacking from the flanks and rear.

Watching this, Silverrich felt exhilaration rise within him.

“Leave not a single one alive...!”

Silverrich could not finish. No, he had certainly shouted, but the sound vanished midway. The same was true for everyone else. It was as if sound itself had suddenly disappeared.

At that inexplicable, strange occurrence, enemies and allies alike faltered. They struck their ears and made sounds, ah, ah, but heard nothing.

Then the wind blew. The flames burning the corpses leaned to one side with the wind.

Following its direction, they saw someone standing on the roof of a house. Though there was no backlight, the figure looked entirely black, swallowed in shadow. Their clothes fluttered.

The instant Silverrich saw them, goosebumps rose over his body and his hairs stood on end. A sense of wrongness, an indescribable sense of wrongness, overwhelmed him. And not only him. Everyone on the battlefield felt it.

Then lightning flashed in the clouded sky, followed by thunder. In a world that had briefly gone silent, the roar struck as though it would burst people’s eardrums.

Kaboom!

All who had been drunk on the violence of battle squeezed their eyes shut, covered their ears, and fell. Weapons dropped from their hands.

What was happening? What in the world was happening? What was about to happen? Trembling in fear, they all looked at the person on the roof. Then two lights appeared in the black figure. Eyes.

When the figure drew a sword and raised it toward the sky, lightning descended from above as if it had been waiting.

Kaboom!

None of them had ever seen lightning strike so close. They shut their eyes against the blinding flash. Some, afraid of heaven’s wrath, instinctively covered their heads and crouched down.

But when they opened their eyes and looked up again, the figure was gone.

No one knew how they had moved, but they stood atop the wall beside Silverrich.

Every soldier of the duke’s army in the straight line they had crossed was falling with their heads severed or their bodies cut in two. Electricity crawled across the ground.

Silverrich’s legs gave out without him realizing it, and he collapsed onto the ground. From closer than anyone else, he looked up at the figure.

Silverrich had survived countless battles and had thought there was nothing left to fear. Yet now, his mind and body were paralyzed by terror. All he could do was tremble.

A face angry enough to weep, eyes pouring out light, a sword holding lightning. This was not human. At the very least, it was something beyond human. A superhuman, or a god itself.

Valerie stood on the border between consciousness and unconsciousness. He could not tell whether he was moving himself or whether something else was moving him.

One thing alone was certain. He was filled with burning pain in his heart and immense sorrow.

Valerie raised his sword, Wound, then brought it down. From the edge of the sky to the earth, a single bolt of lightning crossed that vast distance in an instant and descended.

Kaboom!

What resistance could Silverrich offer? He was burned black, his entire body splitting apart. It was as if it had happened before death could reach him.

Valerie looked over the people from atop the wall. Then he drew in a deep breath, spread his arms wide, and shouted as if vomiting out that enormous pain and sorrow.

It was not thunder echoing from the distant sky. It was thunder heard from close at hand.

“Who dares oppose me!”

Once again, people felt as though their eardrums would burst. A ringing filled their ears, and they grew dizzy as their sense of direction temporarily failed.

One man had not merely overwhelmed this vast army. He had subdued them with a single cry.

Friend and foe alike found their knees trembling too much to stand. At that moment, courage for the duke’s army did not mean fighting. It meant running.

Someone far from Valerie was the first to find the courage to flee.

Then the duke’s army began to scatter in a rush. Thought vanished, and fear alone ruled their minds.

It was as if even the hatred they had felt toward their enemies in battle, and their malice, had been crushed beneath overwhelming force.

Capture? Victory? Defeat? None of that entered their minds.

Rain began to fall. The flames burning corpses in the trench died down, and Valerie let go of his sword.

With only rain audible on the silent battlefield, the sound of the sword falling rang out loudly.

Clang!

Valerie dropped to his knees and clutched his heart. It had only lasted a moment, but that absurd power, power approaching that of a god, had its price. Yet had he not decided to pay that price for Gringen? Then it was enough.

As his trance gradually faded, the power scattered, leaving only unbearable pain behind. Would his heart burst and kill him, just as Regin had said?

Still, feeling pain also meant that he was alive. For a dead heart to revive, such pain was necessary.

It hurt enough that death seemed preferable, but if he was to live on like this, that too would be the price.

As his consciousness blurred, unsure whether his heart would burst or whether he would simply faint from pain, Valerie raised his head at the feeling that his surroundings were growing bright.

Far away, a light beginning in the reeds of the marsh drew steadily closer to him. Was it an illusion? A hallucination?

The light was not dazzling. It was simply comforting. As it approached, he saw the form of a person surrounded by light. A mage holding a staff. A rune-mage.

“Those who bear their own suffering deserve rest. You have accomplished all you needed to. Close your eyes and rest.”

Could there be such a sweet voice in the world? A thought suddenly came to him. He had never seen his mother, but he wished her voice had been like this.

The rune-mage embraced Valerie warmly, allowing him to sleep peacefully.

At the edge of consciousness, he saw the frog flag soaked by rain, drooping limply. Still, it had not been taken by the enemy or fallen until the end. Just like Valerie.

Chapter 11: When a Dead Heart Revives. End.

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