Prince of Rage - Chapter 57

WeTried Translations

Translator/Editor: Oblivious

◈ Prince of Rage ◈

Chapter 57

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On the muddy road near the cemetery, two corpses lay sprawled. Yet no one collected them. It was deeply ironic.

As though no one cared at all and simply went on with their daily lives, lively calls to customers rang out from the market.

For hygiene alone, it would have been better to remove the bodies. But since no one touched them, it seemed they were not merely being left there out of inconvenience or indifference.

In truth, it was because of the Lokir Merchant Company, to which Oder had belonged. People knew that if they meddled carelessly, trouble might fall on them.

A few days after Oder was killed, hooded people came.

Maggots swarmed over parts of the body. The severed head had already had its soft eyeballs, lips, and tongue eaten away by insects. Holes had opened in its cheeks, exposing the maggots writhing inside its mouth.

One of the hooded figures rummaged through the body with a gloved hand. They opened the front of the clothes and searched, then stood when they failed to find what they wanted, tossing aside their glove.

Their next destination was Oder’s house. They examined documents and traces of his stay, but there was no real clue to be found.

They left the house and Benholm. One of them carried something covered in black cloth. When they lifted it, a pigeon and a raven sat on perches inside a cage.

They took out the raven, tied a small note to its leg, and released it.

The raven took flight at once. As it had been trained to do, it flew swiftly toward its designated destination and reached a tall tower attached to a large estate in the late afternoon.

The moment it settled by the window, someone retrieved the note and fed the raven a piece of fine meat.

After stroking the raven as though praising it, the person placed it on a perch in the room. There were many pigeons and ravens there, and the smell of bird droppings was overwhelming.

The person left the room with the note. They descended a spiral staircase for some time, left the tower, crossed a courtyard with a well-kept garden, and entered a building with covered corridors. Reaching a room, they knocked.

Knock, knock.

“I am the communications officer.”

“Come in.”

When the person carrying the note entered, they saw a young man with black hair seated before a desk, handling paperwork.

He looked up at the communications officer. His long hair reached his shoulders, and he was a handsome man with gentle features.

Yet his eyes were full of certainty and confidence, giving him an air of strong composure.

“What is it?”

“A raven messenger.”

Raven messengers were birds sent only in emergencies, when the message needed to be checked immediately. Normally, pigeons were used.

“...Is that so?”

The communications officer approached and handed him the tightly rolled note. The man put down his pen and unfolded it.

He silently read the note, then casually tossed it onto one side of the broad desk as though it were nothing important.

“Hmm... Bring Mas to me.”

“Yes, sir.”

The communications officer left the office. A short while later, a man named Mas entered. He had a plump build and a kindly appearance.

“You called for me, Young Master?”

“It seems the collection agent has been assassinated.”

“...Was it the Aria Merchant Company?”

The Aria Merchant Company was one of the Lokir Merchant Company’s many competitors. Lokir overwhelmingly surpassed it in scale, but because Aria had local roots, Lokir could not simply crush it.

“Do you think so as well?”

“They are the only ones who come to mind at once.”

“Then choose five suitable people from their side and have them killed.”

“Without investigating further?”

“As you know, we have many enemies. Aria is merely one of them. What matters is not the truth, but the result. We need to show results quickly, so people understand what happens when they touch us. If one person on our side dies, the price is fivefold. In the end, this is simply another calculation.”

“I understand. I will see to it.”

“Make it a punishment. The purpose is not simply to kill them. Hang their heads in a crowded place, or throw their bodies somewhere people will see them. Make it as provocative as possible. Cut open their bellies so their intestines are exposed.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Ah, and I will personally carry out the last one. It would be best to do it within Westlanding. We should send a warning to that cowardly Count as well. And make certain the true culprit feels fear.”

The reason for warning the Count of Westlanding was that he had borrowed a great deal of money from the Lokir Merchant Company and had not repaid it on time. In truth, tax collection rights were little more than pocket change.

“I will do so.”

“You may go.”

Mas bowed to the young man and left the office.

The man resumed processing documents. After some time had passed, someone rudely flung open the door.

No one at the Lokir Merchant Company dared disturb his quiet work. There were only two exceptions, his father and his younger sister.

“Brother!”

A high, beautiful voice like that of an oriole seemed to pierce the office. A woman as dazzling and adorable as her voice burst in.

Her braided golden hair was pinned up with ornaments set with gems of every color, lavish beyond measure. With some exaggeration, selling those ornaments alone could probably buy an entire territory.

There were also necklaces, earrings, brooches, and rings. She looked almost like a walking exhibition of jewels.

She appeared to be fourteen or fifteen, and the beauty only possible at the boundary between girlhood and womanhood outshone all her ornaments.

Anyone could see that she was beautiful.

Yet for some reason, her expression was poor. Pouting deeply, she glared at her brother.

The man wore an awkward expression, but a faint smile slipped onto his face.

“Lucy, I told you not to interrupt me while I’m working.”

The woman’s name was Lucilia, and Lucy was her nickname.

“You can say that right now?”

“What do you mean? Explain slowly.”

“The treasure, the treasure. Sigurd the Dragonslayer’s holy relic. You’re giving it to that Valkyrie? How could you?”

“Who told you that?”

“Is that important right now!?”

Lucilia shouted. The man seemed to realize he had misspoken. Looking distressed, he quickly rose and approached his sister.

He gently held her arm as though comforting her.

“I’m sorry, Lucy. But it’s for the family. You know you’re the only woman I love in this world.”

“Then why are you trying to marry that Valkyrie woman?”

“As I said, it’s for the family...”

“Didn’t you say you would make me shine brighter than anyone in the world? But now you’re giving even the most valuable treasure in the world to that woman. Marriage, being the brightest, she gets everything.”

To others, it might have looked like petty jealousy. But to Lucilia, it was a terribly unfair and heartbreaking matter.

She had been born the only daughter of the Lokir family, which led the Lokir Merchant Company, and had grown up receiving everyone’s attention and love.

She might not have known much about the world, but she was not unkind and could be considerate. Still, her unhappiness had begun when another woman appeared who received attention equal to, or greater than, her own.

Those who had once come to visit no longer came. It seemed everyone only wanted to impress the Valkyrie, and Lucilia had begun to feel worthless.

To people worrying whether they would manage even one meal a day, it would have been absurd. But the emotion itself was real, and tears streamed down her face.

Seeing this, the man looked deeply grieved and sorrowful as he gently embraced his younger sister.

“I’m sorry. It’s because I’m lacking. Blame this brother of yours. But believe one thing without fail. I have only you. No other woman can take my love from me. My love already belongs to you.”

Then, quietly, he lifted his sister’s chin and kissed her.

“Luke...”

Lucilia called him by his nickname rather than calling him Brother.

His real name was Lucas. He was the eldest son of the Lokir family, and he was effectively running the enormous merchant company in place of his father, who had been bedridden with illness.

He was both meticulous and bold, and despite his young age, people said his ability surpassed even his father’s.

In any case, it was difficult to say whether things like this could happen between siblings, but quite a few people privately suspected the nature of their relationship.

They simply did not dare speak of it because they were intimidated by the merchant company’s power.

On a tranquil night, the stars gleamed as they sang in silence.

A wagon stood beside the paved road, while the horses had been released from their harnesses and grazed leisurely.

Beside the parked wagon was not quite a tent, but a roughly erected shelter of cloth. A campfire burned beneath it.

“You have to hook it there. On your little finger. Then pick this up.”

Knut spoke. They seemed to be playing a string game, with Yorick, Ivy, and Knut taking turns holding the string.

But perhaps Yorick’s fingers did not move well, or perhaps he simply could not learn it. He held the string strangely, tangling it up.

“No, you have to spread it from below to above. Why are you just pulling it?”

“Well, I feel like I’ll lose what’s hooked around my fingers if I do it wrong.”

“Wait. I’ll untangle it. Stay still.”

Ivy spoke. Now that she had been washed clean, she was a cute child with long golden hair and large eyes. Every time she moved her eyes, they looked like smooth beads rolling about.

But Yorick frowned and snapped at Ivy.

“What would a girl who only milked goats know?”

Despite saying that, he held it out for her to untangle.

Knut scolded him instead.

“You were only a pickpocket, yet you’re this clumsy with your hands?”

“A pickpocket only needs these two fingers. We don’t use all of them like this. The people who aren’t good at it use all their fingers. Then they get caught and have their wrists cut off. Pickpocketing is, in its own way, like risking your life in a sword fight.”

“What kind of pride is that...”

Meanwhile, Ivy focused as she pulled and hooked the strings one by one. When she finally spread them out, a shape like a star appeared.

“Oh, that’s impressive. Yorick, we don’t need you anymore. Go away.”

Knut widened his eyes in admiration, then spoke coldly to Yorick. Naturally, Yorick’s face soured, and he glared at Ivy for no reason.

Muttering that no one had asked him to do it and that he had merely been playing along with them, he left.

The only place he could go was beside Valerie. Valerie sat on a flat stone, shelling boiled green beans.

Valerie often, or rather frequently, spent time alone in thought. He was not especially lost in thought now, but he seemed like someone for whom the garment called solitude suited better than anyone else in the world.

Ironically, that also meant he did not look particularly lonely even when he was alone.

Yorick sat beside him, interrupting his not-quite-contemplation.

“Those childish games don’t suit adults like us.”

“That’s true.”

“He has a childish side, I’m telling you. You know that well too, Sir Valerie.”

“Yes.”

“Seeing how well he gets along with a ten-year-old proves it.”

“That’s true.”

“Am I bothering you?”

“No.”

Valerie half-listened, but he understood that Yorick was acting this way out of pointless jealousy.

Until now, Yorick had cared for Knut more closely than anyone and played with him. But in the past few days, Knut had grown close to Ivy, which had put him in a bad mood.

Valerie did not think jealousy was necessarily a negative emotion. It was simply one of the feelings people naturally had, and if it was expressed properly, he thought that could be healthy.

A little harmless gossip was one way to do that.

“How did a country girl like that end up joining us? Let’s leave her behind when we reach the next city.”

“No. It’s her choice to make.”

“Then shouldn’t you establish some order, Sir Valerie?”

“What order?”

“If you think about it, she’s the newcomer. If this were the Thieves’ Guild, she wouldn’t even dare speak to me. There’s this much of a difference between us. This much.”

Yorick spread his arms wide.

“Then why haven’t you established order until now?”

“She’s still a child, after all...”

“I feel the same way.”

“But isn’t the age gap between her and you smaller?”

“What are you talking about? How does the ranking work?”

“If we rank by strength, you’re the highest, Sir Valerie. But if we rank by age, am I not the eldest? You said we should keep double ledgers to be accurate.”

Valerie gave a disbelieving laugh. Perhaps Yorick had been joking, because when Valerie smiled, Yorick finally grinned in satisfaction.

The mood was pleasantly light and comfortable. Their hearts seemed lighter as well.

Then, after a while, Snow made an unusual snorting sound. Prrr. Prrr. The horse seemed to be making the sound deliberately, so Valerie naturally turned his head in that direction.

At the boundary between light and darkness stood someone. The person was so tall, with shoulders as broad as mountain ranges, that at first Valerie thought a werewolf was standing there.

It was already night, and the person wore dark robes from head to toe. More precisely, he was an armed monk, with a sword at his waist and armor beneath his robes.

He seemed to be carrying something on his back and looked visibly exhausted. He glanced about at Valerie’s group, then spoke to Valerie.

“May I warm myself by your fire? I have a sick person with me. It isn’t contagious. It’s old age. I ask you.”

He was speaking, but there was something about him that felt like encountering a wild animal. Meeting a stranger on the road was always like that. Especially when his build was so overwhelming, his very presence was threatening.

But Valerie quietly looked straight into his eyes and nodded.

“Very well.”

The armed monk came closer. Knut and Ivy, who had been playing with the string, turned toward the stranger as well. He was so tall that they had to tilt their heads far back to look up at him.

The armed monk carried an elderly person on his back, his hair and beard completely white.

He carefully laid the old person down and took out a water skin to let him wet his throat. But there was not a single drop of water in it. Looking troubled, he turned to Valerie’s group.

“Wait a moment.”

Valerie went to the baggage wagon and brought back an oil flask, water, simple first-aid herbs, and medicine. He carried them over and examined the old person closely.

Judging by the state of his skin and his fever, he did not seem to be suffering from any particular illness. Since even the young monk with such a strong build looked exhausted, it seemed this had happened because the old person had endured a difficult journey at an advanced age.

So Valerie did not apply any medicine. Instead, he gave the old person oil and water, ground herbal powder, mixed it into water, and made him drink that as well.

The old person had been half-conscious, but after taking in some fluids, he barely managed to look around. Then, as though leaving final words, he spoke and fell asleep.

“Thank you...”

Valerie soaked a towel in water, wiped the old person’s face, and placed it on his forehead. Then he spoke to the young monk.

“Soak it in water and replace it often.”

“...Thank you. I didn’t think there would still be righteous people in this world.”

“I only helped because I had the means. If I didn’t, I would have pretended not to see.”

“That is only natural.”

“By the way, are you on a pilgrimage?”

“No, it is...”

The young monk trailed off. His short blond hair was plastered down by sweat. He wiped his face, ran a hand through his hair, and spoke again.

“There is a traitor. He was once our brother, but he stole the holy relics and fled. The Father Priest and I are pursuing him.”

“What relic?”

“The sacred skull of Sigurd the Dragonslayer.”

He rose, unfastened his belt, and took off his robes. He wore chainmail and a surcoat, and on the surcoat was an emblem of a skull in the center of a cross.

He had also attached things resembling talismans here and there with red wax seals. It was unusual, solemn, frightening, and strange all at once.

“We are people who honor the Saint’s spirit of sacrifice and practice by following his beliefs and life. We are Jomsvikings, who revere truth, preserve purity, and place our faith in courage, trustworthiness, and a disciplined life. In our hardship, we have received the grace of being saved. We will surely repay this kindness.”

It was the first Valerie had heard of Sigurd the Dragonslayer having any particular philosophy, but the Jomsvikings were so famous that even he knew of them.

The Jomsvikings were a group that revered Sigurd the Dragonslayer almost as a god. They were both a monastic order and a mercenary band.

During the War of Conquest, they had charged on the front lines more than anyone else, and it had become legend and myth that they played decisive roles in many famous battles.

But they were also known for serving only the king and never involving themselves in succession wars.

Their members were selected through strict tests examining a healthy body, high martial skill, courage, and self-restraint. Once admitted, they had to preserve purity and discipline for life.

They spent almost their entire lives at Jomsborg, their headquarters on the island of Jom. There was even an expression that said, “When they move, the undefeated move,” for they had never once been defeated in their entire history.

It was difficult to believe that such people had their holy relics stolen and had been reduced to such a pitiful state.

Still, considering their strict discipline and the way they scarcely involved themselves in worldly affairs, perhaps something this ridiculous was bound to happen.

“I do not follow your faith. But it seems our ways of life have some things in common. If our paths are the same, we may travel together for a while.”

Valerie readily offered his kindness.

“...Thank you.”

“What is your name?”

“Sigbold.”

“Bold victory.”

“And yours?”

“Valerie. This is Yorick, and those two are Knut and Ivy.”

“It is good to meet you, Valerie. And all of you. Thank you. I pray that heaven be with you.”

Then he sat upright, clasped his hands, and offered a solemn prayer. With his eyes tightly shut, he murmured with such seriousness and earnestness that it was almost frightening.

Still, a warrior of this caliber would not be cheap to hire. If he traveled with them, Valerie’s group might actually have more reason to be grateful.

But unlike some people, Valerie had not offered kindness after making calculations. It was not sympathy or pity.

Simply put, if people’s paths in life overlapped, they could travel together for a while.

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