WeTried Translations
Translator/Editor: Oblivious
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◈ Prince of Rage ◈
Chapter 48
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A castle was not a very good place for a child. It was cool and bleak.
In that bleak place, young Knut would sometimes visit his mother’s room. But he could not bring himself to call for her. He only stood there and watched.
Scattered liquor bottles, tangled hair, a head hanging low. That was how his mother usually looked. He was too young to understand her sorrow.
Knut had been born into high status, yet he wandered the castle like someone with nowhere to go. Then, from time to time, there were people who called to him warmly.
“Knut.”
When he turned around, there was his eldest brother, grinning foolishly, and his second brother, who was not fat, did not behave strangely, and looked healthy.
“Look at this.”
His eldest brother showed him what he had been hiding behind his back. It was a pinwheel woven from twigs and blades of grass. His first toy.
“Let’s go outside. There’s no wind here.”
His second brother said.
“Knut, run! Faster!”
Running around with nothing but a pinwheel was so much fun. When he grew tired and exhausted, his brothers would take turns carrying him on their backs.
Easy laughter, blue skies, and the wind. They were things he could not feel inside the castle.
Even when he slept, Knut did not let go of his pinwheel. If it broke or the grass blades wilted, one of his brothers would tell him it was all right and make another.
Then one day,
“We just need Father to disappear. Then everything will get better. Mother won’t drink anymore, either.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure. I fed it to a rabbit, and it died right away.”
Knut only listened quietly to his brothers’ conversation. Something felt strange, but he did not understand it then.
Perhaps there had not been enough poison. Their father did not die, and he realized there had been an attempt to poison him.
“Let’s say Mother did it. He can’t possibly do anything to Mother, can he?”
“Huh? Uh, I don’t think that’s... right.”
“You idiot, this time it might not end with a whipping. You and I could die.”
“Knut... are you all right?”
“...”
It did not feel real. Something terrible seemed to have happened, and young Knut wanted to help somehow when he saw his brothers shocked and flustered.
So he nodded.
“Yeah. I’m all right.”
And from then on, everything shattered.
His mother did not offer a single excuse. She did not protest her innocence. Her last words to Knut were these.
“I’m sorry...”
His mother was still recognized as a princess, so she was not publicly executed. Rather than by an ordinary executioner, she was beheaded by a high-ranking noble swordsman with an Ulfberht blade.
That was when he first learned that even beheading came with distinctions of status. Who carried it out, what weapon was used. But it offered no comfort at all.
“I am a woman of the Volsung clan. Put a weapon in my hand.”
According to an old superstition, the Norsemen believed one had to die with a weapon in hand to go to Valhalla. Valhalla no longer existed, but they seemed to believe Heaven would be similar.
His mother was given a wooden dagger.
She did not look afraid. If anything, she seemed relieved. He vividly remembered the overcast sky that day, the damp wind, and the people’s heavy silence.
“With not a trace of personal feeling, and with only the wish that you may reach Heaven, I will strike you down, Valkyrie. Nod when you are ready.”
The executioner spoke. His mother closed her eyes with her back straight. The executioner took his stance, and after a moment, his mother nodded.
The blade passed through the air as smoothly as if it were cutting it. His mother’s head fell.
Even after her head fell, her upright posture did not collapse. Red flowers bloomed across the white burial shroud she had put on beforehand.
For a while after that day, he lost his voice.
Looking back, I was an accomplice. So there was no one to blame. No one to resent.
I was the one at fault. I...
The wind blew. Lying in the grass, Knut opened his eyes. Above him was a blue sky dotted with white clouds.
“Have you decided to quit working already?”
It was Valerie’s voice. Knut did not turn around. He merely smiled faintly.
Valerie naturally came over and sat beside him.
There was no conversation between them. But there was no awkwardness, either. Only the sound of reeds swaying nearby could be heard.
Swoooosh...
Valerie suddenly plucked a blade of grass nearby and put it between his lips. He seemed to be trying to play a grass whistle, but all he could manage were faint peep, peep sounds.
“This isn’t working. Yorick is really good at this.”
“Let’s ask him to teach us.”
“Yeah.”
After saying that, Valerie turned to Knut. He was still lying in the grass, simply looking at the sky.
“Does your heart not hurt anymore?”
Knut asked.
“Yeah. The rune-mage took the proper measures.”
“That’s a relief. Wid, I thought you were becoming something else. Someone who wasn’t the friend I knew.”
“Well, I guess so. But from where I’m standing, it seems like you’ve changed a little, Knut.”
“Me?”
“Yeah.”
“Hmm... I don’t know.”
“What was it you wanted to say last time?”
“Last time?”
“You were about to say something before the final battle.”
“...Ah.”
Knut seemed to remember what he had wanted to say.
He closed his eyes again, then opened them after a while and spoke.
“I was wondering if we could save my older brother. If he died in battle, that couldn’t be helped, but we might have been able to capture him. It doesn’t matter anymore.”
“Does it really not matter?”
“Hmm. I don’t know.”
“You know, Knut.”
“Yeah.”
“As you live, you have to make choices, and every choice comes with regrets. Like two sides of a coin. But I think this much is certain. The regret from not doing something is much greater than the regret from doing it. If you’re going to regret it either way, it’s better to just do it.”
Those were things Valerie had realized after regression. If only he had been a little braver. If only he had shown a little more sincerity. If only, if only. Those regrets.
Knut turned Valerie’s words over in his mind, then finally looked at him and smiled. It was a smile like the sound of reeds swaying in the wind.
At the duke’s army camp in the fields near Torvik, cries of mourning could be heard. It was not just one or two people. The sound of many women weeping at once carried a sorrow that made it seem as though the world itself had fallen apart.
The death of the head of a household meant the collapse of an entire family. It was common for one man to support his wife and children, as well as his parents and cousins.
And even if they had not been heads of households, those killed in battle had been someone’s older brother or son.
That was what war was.
Still, though it was hard to call it fortunate, being able to grieve was proof that life was still worth living. There were worse cases, ones where there was not even time to grieve.
The duke’s army had numbered roughly a thousand when it was first assembled. About six hundred returned, and a hundred of those would essentially have to live as cripples.
Losing a few fingers or having teeth broken did not even count as being wounded.
Two hundred had died in the battle to seize Gringen, and the wounded were too numerous to count. Another two hundred had fallen to the margrave on the way back. Some were still wasting away from infection and dying even now.
Even those who survived were not in good condition. They had starved, grown exhausted, and been mentally worn down by the dreadful fighting.
Naturally, the atmosphere inside the command tent was poor. Nobles, knights, and commoners alike all looked like defeated soldiers.
Amid it all, Duke Sven alone was raging and shouting. More precisely, he was shouting at his eldest son, Gunnar.
“You goddamn idiot! You should’ve waited for the mercenaries from the start! What the hell do you know about siege warfare? Huh!? Didn’t you fail because you went and did something so reckless!? What are you going to do about this!? I said, what are you going to do!? How are you going to take responsibility!?”
Duke Sven threw things and struck him with his palms, making a complete spectacle of himself. Gunnar sat silently in his chair and took every blow.
“What!? A dead god came back to life!? Is that supposed to be an excuse!? You couldn’t even beat one illegitimate child and came back looking like this!? You’re the problem, and that’s why this family is in such a miserable state!”
There had been more than one witness, yet it was hard to believe for those hearing about it afterward.
And it was difficult for anyone else to step forward and defend Gunnar. The duke was this enraged.
They would have to wait for the duke to calm down a little before speaking in Gunnar’s defense, but then Gunnar, who had only been taking the blows in silence, opened his mouth.
“...I don’t think that’s right...”
“What did you say?”
“I don’t think this family is in this state because of me...”
Perhaps he had not expected Gunnar to talk back. Duke Sven was momentarily speechless, his eyes wide.
But then his eyes bulged as rage surged through him, and he shouted even louder than before. He brought over a riding whip and struck Gunnar without restraint.
“Now you’re talking back!? Useless bastard! Parasite! You maggot! You are not my son! I don’t need you! Get the hell out! Get out! Get out...!”
At this point, it was no longer mere scolding. It was closer to abuse.
Then, all at once, Gunnar grabbed a nearby shield and swung it.
Thwack!
Whether he had aimed for it or not, the shield struck Duke Sven squarely in the head. The duke fell with his limbs stretched out.
That was not the end of it. Gunnar rose with a somewhat dazed, blank expression, raised the shield, and repeatedly brought it down on Duke Sven’s head.
Everyone inside the tent froze in horror at the shocking sight. The Count of Winslow, the Count of Windale, the Count of Revi, the captain of the guard, and everyone else.
As Gunnar continued smashing Duke Sven’s head, the resentment of a lifetime seemed to burst out of him, and he screamed like a beast.
“I! I! Told you! Later! Don’t! Blame me! From the start! You! Should have! Taken charge! You killed Guttorm too! You killed Mother too! My stepmother too! You killed them! This family is like this! Because of you! It isn’t! My fault!”
No one knew how many times he struck. The duke was certainly dead, and his head had been crushed beyond recognition.
“You never! Praised me! Even once! When did I! Ever say! I would do it!? Did I start! This war!? You did it all! You did!”
Only after striking him for a long time did Gunnar finally begin panting for breath. He threw the shield covered in his father’s blood to the floor.
Clatter.
Then he slumped back into his seat. His face felt itchy, so he wiped it with his hand and found drops of blood on it.
A flood of emotions passed through him. It felt satisfying, something weighed on his chest, and he was worried.
Then they narrowed down to one thought. Regret. Not regret for what he had just done, but regret that he had not done it sooner. And emptiness.
“I should’ve killed him sooner. It’s too late now... None of it matters anymore...”
Everyone was so shocked that they could neither speak nor think.
Then the Count of Winslow, who had already formed an alliance, looked at the Count of Windale. The Count of Windale looked back at him, and something passed between them through their eyes.
The duke had been murdered. But if the duke was dead, who would be his successor? What were they supposed to do about this?
The Count of Winslow spoke first.
“Your Excellency should take control of the army first.”
Understanding the meaning well enough, the Count of Windale hurried out of the tent. He mobilized his close retainers and took control of the army, while the Count of Winslow mobilized the knights and his own direct troops to secure the command tent.
Once they made up their minds, things moved quickly. The two counts first subdued the duke’s close associates and direct troops.
“Captain of the guard, please come quietly.”
“I, I...”
Guilty or not, they first needed to break up the duke’s faction. Meanwhile, Gunnar merely sat there blankly.
Cries of mourning could still be heard throughout the camp, but they stopped as soldiers hurriedly gathered their equipment and moved about. The women had sensed that something unusual was happening.
“Disarm them first!”
“Take off your belts! Put down your swords!”
The duke’s direct knights had no will to fight. Gunnar had killed Duke Sven. What could they do? They too were too shocked to make a judgment.
The Count of Revi, who had been assigned to reclaim the marshes, had gained nothing in this war. Yet because of that, he had kept his forces intact.
But as the two counts moved quickly as though acting together, he seemed to realize that the balance had already shifted and hurried to join them.
The duke’s direct knights now numbered around twenty, while the remaining troops totaled just over two hundred. All of them had been disarmed and stood gathered to one side, like prisoners of war.
Some had not yet heard the news and looked confused. Others were gloomy, as if all their strength had left them.
The Count of Winslow went to see Gunnar last. He was still sitting there in a daze. He muttered something to himself, but it was difficult to understand.
“I, I should’ve done it, should’ve used more, because of me, no, it was all because of Father, no...”
“Effective immediately, Young Master Gunnar will be placed under detention. The matter of Duke Sven’s murder will be discussed later to determine your guilt. Until then, please follow our instructions.”
Gunnar remained silent for a moment, then merely nodded weakly.
He was not bound. The Count of Winslow led the way, surrounding him with knights, and headed for Torvik.
The aftermath of defeat in war, and the duke’s death. The whole city became quiet as though cold water had been thrown over it, even its breathing subdued.
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