WeTried Translations

Translator/Editor: Oblivious

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◈ Prince of Rage ◈

Chapter 56

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Late at night, Benholm’s tavern was, as always, crawling with idle swordsmen who looked like good-for-nothing bums.

They were the sort who swaggered around with a cheap sword at their waist, with neither skill nor courage, making them nothing but trouble.

Anyone skilled and trustworthy had gone to the outpost village near Hord Forest. They had no reason to stay here.

In other words, the people here were scraps too useless even to become proper thugs.

Oder, the self-proclaimed village chief, tossed jobs fit for such scraps their way. Jobs like a dog bone with barely any meat left on it.

The reason for using people of such low quality was the cost. Proper fixers, mercenaries, and elite troops were expensive.

Making a profit while spending as little as possible. That had likely been commerce’s unchanging nature ever since humans began trading, and would remain so far into the future.

That was why they had raided a village recently. Saving as much money as possible, Oder had picked the least useless among the trash and ordered them to occupy the village.

“Boss, did you hear? The Northern Duke died not long ago.”

Some punk sharing Oder’s table spoke up.

“So?”

“His son killed him.”

“So? Get to the point.”

“Well, apparently a prince showed up and pardoned that son.”

“...Bullshit.”

“It’s true! I have a friend in the Silverrich Mercenary Company, and he told me!”

“What friend could a bastard like you possibly have in the Silverrich Mercenary Company?”

“It’s true, though...”

“Hey, you ignorant fool. Whenever a prince appears, a noble house gets wiped out first. There was no such incident, so what prince are you talking about?”

“Does a house always have to be wiped out first...?”

“What would you know? It isn’t interesting, so drop it. A prince, my ass.”

“By the way, Boss, will you get promoted once this work here is wrapped up?”

“I came to this fucking shithole counting on that. If I don’t get promoted, I’ll have to ram into them.”

It was bluster. Unless he wanted to die, someone like Oder could never dare stand up to the Lokir Merchant Company. Still, talk of a promotion was not entirely without basis.

The company assigned various tasks, then gave important posts to those with exceptional results.

If one earned the company’s recognition, one could rise from an ordinary employee to management, becoming a regional administrator, goods manager, or manager of guilds and skilled workers. Within the company, that was practically becoming nobility.

Tax collection rights were not one of its primary businesses, of course. They were merely one among the company’s countless ventures. Dirty, dangerous work that stirred up plenty of trouble, and could be either profitable or unprofitable depending on how it was handled.

It was a seasonal business. They just had to squeeze out a reasonable amount of money, then sell off the tax collection rights.

“You know those men we sent a while back? Looks like they failed, seeing how they still haven’t gotten the money from the farm village.”

“They were only meant as a warning from the start. I’ve made arrangements, so don’t worry.”

In truth, Oder had made no arrangements. At most, he had sent Valerie’s group there. In terms used in this line of work, Oder was more or less completely screwed.

He tried to appear calm, but things were not going well. He did make some profit by collecting on loans or seeking out small jobs, but that was pocket change.

The real money came from taxes. They needed to bring in around one-fifth of the oats harvested that autumn for the numbers to work out.

“True, Boss. You always know what you’re doing. But where will the position be if you get promoted?”

“Who knows? It could be at the Nearcaster docks, or I could take charge of the textile guild. Anyway, I’ll probably end up in one of the big cities.”

“Then, heh heh, take me with you. I may be uneducated, but I put my whole heart into running errands. Leave the women to me. I’ll personally select the finest ones and offer them to you, Boss.”

The one flattering him from beside him was one of Benholm’s pimps. There was probably no decent person among those who groveled like that, but Oder secretly enjoyed it.

“Of course. These days, even monasteries manage brothels, so why shouldn’t we? With talent like yours, you should be swimming in a bigger pond. You can’t let your talent rot away in a place like this.”

“Right!? You think so too, Boss!?”

“So, do you have anyone fresh tonight?”

“Who do you think I am? I’m Benholm’s Lark!”

What a lark had to do with anything, Oder did not know, but that was what the man called himself.

“I’m getting sleepy. I should get up.”

Oder rose from his seat, subtly revealing his desire. Avoiding the drunks sprawled across the tavern floor, he headed outside.

The night was pitch-black. A cold wind blew.

He headed toward the brothel with the pimp. In truth, Oder had been receiving this sort of hospitality for months without paying even a single coin.

Guided by the faint moonlight, they went around the edge of the market toward the public cemetery. The brothel stood beside it.

But at some point, the pimp who had been walking beside him and chatting away fell silent. Hearing something sink into the muddy ground with a thud, Oder turned his head and saw the man sprawled on the ground, apparently asleep from drunkenness.

“Ha ha, you bastard. Sleep here, and your mouth will freeze crooked.”

As he crouched down to take care of him in his own way, there was no head where there should have been one. Blood was spraying from the severed neck.

Thinking he had seen something impossible in the darkness, Oder shook his head violently. Then an unfamiliar voice sounded beside him.

“Are you mourning his soul? How long do you intend to stare?”

At that moment, chills ran down Oder’s spine, and he fell backward into the mud without realizing it.

Valerie looked down at Oder as though he were pathetic and contemptible. Oder’s pupils widened, and he recognized Valerie at once.

“Y-you...!”

“Why did you lie? It would have been exposed soon enough.”

“W-what?”

“If you don’t come to your senses and answer properly, you’ll die too.”

“...W-wait. You must be doing this because you don’t know where I belong. Don’t do this.”

“The Lokir Merchant Company, isn’t it?”

“You know?”

“I asked around, and everyone told me.”

“You’re doing this even though you know? What’s your game?”

“What game? I asked why you lied. The farm village wasn’t occupied by thugs. Rather, the thugs you sent were raiding nearby villages.”

“Is that so important? Wouldn’t it be better if it eased your guilt a little anyway? Wait, don’t tell me. Did the company send you?”

When people were shocked and flustered beyond measure, their minds raced. But a racing mind did not necessarily find the right answer.

Instead, all kinds of information mixed together, producing irrational and illogical conclusions. Oder believed Valerie was an inspector sent by the company.

Valerie found it absurd, but decided to play along.

“What will you do if that’s true?”

“T-time. There’s still time left. If I resolve it somehow by then, won’t that be enough? Please, don’t do this.”

“Isn’t that excuse a little too stale? Hmm. Let’s do this instead. Where is the tax collection rights certificate? You’re dismissed as of now, and the company will reclaim it. That will be your punishment.”

Oder breathed a sigh of relief. At least it seemed he had escaped death.

Valerie’s words had many holes if examined closely, but Oder did not have the presence of mind to notice. He immediately pulled a parchment certificate from his clothes and offered it up.

The parchment had been folded four or five times. It stated that the Count transferred the tax collection rights, how much the initial purchaser paid, and what portion of the collected amount would be paid to the Count.

The bottom was covered with seals beside the signatures of those who had bought and sold it.

For a moment, Valerie wondered what this scrap of paper was that so many people had died over and faced such tragic circumstances over. He felt the injustice of it.

Putting the tax collection rights certificate away, Valerie spoke.

“I’m sorry, but I wasn’t sent by the company.”

“...What?”

“Unlike you, I don’t tell lies that bring me no benefit. Farewell.”

Valerie drew his sword. The blade’s surface was polished like a mirror, shining darkly. Whether that gleam came from moonlight or starlight, it was impossible to tell.

“What!? Wait! Just wait! You can’t do this! Do you know how frightening the company is!? What are you doing!? I don’t understand! Do you even know what you’re doing right now!? Did you deceive me!? You deceived me!? Can you handle the consequences!? This is Lokir! The great Lokir Merchant Company! Did you think you could touch the Lokir Merchant Company and walk away unharmed!?”

Oder chose threats as his last resort. Yet although he screamed in the middle of the night, no one came out to see.

When Valerie simply stood there looking down at him, Oder felt a final glimmer of hope. Of course, no one could touch Lokir. Yes, that had to be it. He repeated the thought to himself.

“Huff, huff, huff...”

Then, at some point, light began to gather in Valerie’s eyes. Drawing too deeply on his power could tire him, so he drew upon it only moderately. Even so, his eyes shone as if starlight had been plucked from the sky and set within them.

Oder’s mind gradually went blank, and his heart began to pound.

Valerie spoke.

“How dare a mere merchant company think it can do anything to a prince? Who is touching whom? I promise you, if your company touches me, I’ll crush it.”

“...”

Oder could not speak. No, he could not think at all. He merely felt as though he were dreaming.

A thought entirely unsuited to the situation crossed his mind. They called a prince’s eyes the Star of Dawn, and they truly did shine like stars.

Then the words the pimp had said earlier passed through his mind.

‘Apparently a prince showed up and pardoned that son.’

That was his final thought, his final moment of consciousness. It was neither repentance nor regret.

As the darkly gleaming blade flashed, Oder’s head fell. His body struck the muddy ground. The pimp lay nearby, and they seemed to have found fitting companions for the road to the next world.

It had looked as though it would rain, but the clouds parted. Several majestic shafts of dawn pierced the vast fields like the spears of a god.

The able-bodied men of the farm village were loading a wagon. They loaded food such as smoked lamb haunches, smoked ham, and cheese, as well as tough canvas for pitching tents, supports, iron stakes, shovels, pickaxes, sheepskins, and wool.

It was in return for what Valerie’s group had done for them. Honestly, considering what they had taken care of, even this was not enough.

Only the very rich or nobles could afford to hire a skilled swordsman. Such rural people could never have borne the cost in the first place.

On top of that, Valerie quickly wrote something on a parchment. It was a certificate transferring the tax collection rights.

<This certificate was acquired as spoils after executing the person responsible for the lie commissioned by the Lokir Merchant Company. It is transferred to the farm village in Westlanding. Vǫlsungar Valery Helgisson.>

“What is the village chief’s name?”

“Hedmund, sir...”

“Were you a noble?”

One could tell a noble’s name the moment one heard it. Ivy, for example, meant a vine, and such names were mainly used by commoners.

The Norsemen and Astrians had somewhat different naming customs, but noble names generally carried meanings such as victorious one, brave warrior, strong spear, or wise adviser.

Hedmund meant noble protector.

“I heard my family was noble until my grandfather’s generation. It’s all meaningless now, though.”

“Hmm...”

Valerie added more writing to the certificate.

<The chief of the farm village in Westlanding, Hedmund, confirms receipt.>

“Sign here.”

“What is this?”

“The tax collection rights certificate.”

“Pardon?”

Chief Hedmund looked at the certificate in confusion. But he could not read.

“I cannot read or write.”

“Draw a circle, an X, anything you like. Then this will belong to your village.”

“What happens then?”

“No more strange people will come demanding money, I suppose. If someone does, they are all bandits.”

“...You mean all these miserable affairs are finally over?”

“In a manner of speaking. But isn’t life suffering by nature? There will be other hardships. Face them well. In any case, sign it quickly. I need to go.”

Valerie held out the pen and parchment again. With trembling hands, the chief drew a crooked X where Valerie pointed.

Valerie blew on the ink to dry it, then folded the parchment and handed it to the chief.

Even as he accepted it, the chief wore an expression difficult to describe. When people were overcome with emotion, they sometimes looked almost sad instead.

“Y-your name, sir?”

“Valerie.”

“I will surely pass it to my children, and they to theirs, so that we remember it forever. I cannot leave writing behind because I am illiterate, but I can do that. That the hero Valerie saved this village.”

Valerie snorted softly as he mounted Snow. Then he looked down at Hedmund.

“You did the saving yourself. How many people did you save by accepting the evacuees? I merely did a little swordplay. Live well.”

Valerie turned his horse and rode out of the village. Yorick drove the wagon, still clumsily, so Knut stayed beside him.

The wagon, pulled by two horses, slowly left the village as well. The sounds of hoofbeats, clop, clop, and rolling wheels could be heard. Ivy was in the wagon with the luggage.

Valerie seemed to wait for his friends outside the village. Once they got the wagon moving well enough, he rode ahead alone again.

All the villagers came out to watch him leave. The young hero on the black horse grew smaller and smaller in the distance. Yet they could not take their eyes off him.

He headed toward a distant place where dawnlight squeezed through the clouds and billowed like curtains. Somehow, it felt as though heaven might lie above those clouds.

Chapter 13: A Prince’s Duty. End.

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