WeTried Translations

Translator/Editor: Oblivious

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◈ Prince of Rage ◈

Chapter 58

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Valerie’s party arrived in Helsingborg, the seat of Westlanding. It had a castle with a village around it, but it was not a directly governed domain centered on a city.

It was like Winslow, only larger and more bustling. Wide farmland, forests, and rivers came together there.

“The Count? They’re not here. It’s been about a year? Two years? Anyway, quite a while. They’re courting that Valkyrie. No one will say anything if you set up camp by the river.”

A farmer leaning on a hoe said this.

Armed travelers, especially groups of some size, needed permission to camp near the lord’s castle. But the lord was currently absent.

In Valerie’s view, territory management should not be handled like this. Even if there was no immediate problem, pests like bandit gangs would gather over time.

There were also those who usually kept quiet, only to slowly raise their heads. Merchant companies, or organized criminal groups like the Thieves’ Guild.

Unless such groups were kept under control, they would charge usurious interest or collect spot fees, poisoning a community from within.

Honestly, judging by the situation in and around Benholm, things were already starting to become a mess. There was no way things could run properly when the owner did not properly manage what was theirs.

Still, the place with the lord’s castle seemed to retain a certain degree of order and peace.

Valerie bought food and necessities in the village, then settled beside the forest and river.

He should not have, but he went into the forest, cut down trees of a suitable thickness, and split them into firewood.

Quick-footed Yorick looked around the area like a scout, while Ivy lit the fire, set up the pot, and prepared the meal.

Knut carved bits of wood. Other than assisting Valerie with assassinations or battles, he usually did little more than idle around.

The newly joined Sigbold carried the heavy luggage. The elderly priest, whom he regarded as a father despite not being his birth father, helped Ivy prepare the meal.

Everyone had their own task.

After finishing the firewood, Valerie rolled up his sleeves, carried over his axe, and joined the camp. The stew in the pot was bubbling away.

When Valerie sat down, it was none other than the elderly priest who ladled stew into a wooden bowl and handed it to him.

“Benefactor, if it would not be rude, may I ask where you got that axe?”

Wiping his face with a towel, Valerie looked back at the axe he had stuck into the ground.

The face of its blade bore Norse carvings. Thorvald had given it to him, and Valerie used it often in daily life rather than in battle.

“A man named Thorvald gave it to me.”

“Thorvald? Thorvald of the Elding Clan?”

“Yes.”

“How do you know that child?”

“Child? He doesn’t seem like one. I once served as a territorial patrol officer in Eldeira, and I met him while making the rounds. Why do you ask?”

“I did not mean to pry. I know him as well.”

The priest answered with a gentle smile. Sigbold brought him stew too.

For a while, Valerie and the priest stopped talking and ate the stew, blowing on it first. Since they had no spoons, they had to drink it or scoop up the solid pieces with their hands.

That was simply how it was. Whether noble or commoner, believer or unbeliever, everyone ate the same way.

As Valerie drank his stew, he caught sight of faded tattoos near the old priest’s collarbone beneath his robe. His long sleeves covered his hands, but there were tattoos on the backs of them too.

Only a little was visible, but they were clearly traditional Norse tattoos. The old kind people no longer got.

For the Norsemen, tattoos were not something one could simply get because one wanted them. They were marks carved into the body to prove one’s origins, status, strength, courage, achievements, and victories in battle.

If tattoos ran from the collarbone to the backs of his hands, his entire body was probably covered in them.

When he was halfway through his stew, Valerie asked,

“How do you know him, Priest?”

“An old comrade, perhaps? When I first met him, he ran errands for his father, but he grew into a fine warrior. How is he doing now?”

The old priest was about twenty years older than Thorvald. He was not merely elderly, but very old. He was around seventy or eighty.

During the War of Conquest, the priest before Valerie had fought as a combatant, while Thorvald had been young enough to serve only as an auxiliary fighter.

“He is very healthy. He seems fairly happy, working as a carpenter with his granddaughter. In fact, he is much more vigorous than most young people.”

“Just like that child. I am glad to hear he is well. The last news I received was that his clan had been wiped out, so I worried greatly.”

Even calling the War of the Beasts terrible was not enough. The war itself had been long, and even afterward, they had relentlessly hunted down and purged their enemies.

The Elding Clan had endured as long as it could through that process, before being virtually exterminated.

“If it is not rude, may I ask your name, Priest?”

“Eirik.”

“Could you be Eirik the Red Axe? Of the Dragonslayer Clan?”

Based on his age, his affiliation with the Jomsvikings, his acquaintance with Thorvald, and his tattoos, Valerie made a guess and asked.

But the priest merely smiled faintly without answering. Valerie took that as confirmation.

Whether it was truly so or not, the legendary warrior Eirik was called the Red Axe because there was never a day when blood dried on his axe.

The Dragonslayer Clan had been a band of warriors led by the Dragonslayer, Valerie’s great-grandfather. It was the origin of the Jomsvikings, and naturally, that clan too was legendary.

In this world, where people married young, had children young, and died young, someone in their seventies or eighties was of Valerie’s great-grandfather’s generation. In other words, he might have fought shoulder to shoulder with the Dragonslayer.

That man studied Valerie closely. Almost enough to make him uncomfortable.

“You resemble him greatly. To an unbelievable degree.”

“Whom do I resemble?”

“The most perfect human I ever knew. A human closest to a god. A human who carried the sorrow of the world alone. And yet, because he was human, someone with many shortcomings...”

Perhaps because of his age, the old priest’s mind was not always clear. Looking at Valerie, he saw the man he had known overlap with him, as though he were dreaming of days long past.

The priest remembered the commander he had once followed. Not the legendary achievements, majesty, or noble and glorious death known to the world, but his deeply human side.

When they set up camp at night and slept, he sometimes suffered terribly in his sleep and murmured,

‘Mom, I’m sorry. I was wrong. Please forgive me...’

The priest said Valerie resembled him not only because of his features, but because Valerie seemed to carry a similar, inexplicable sorrow.

Then again, Regin and now this priest both thought Sigurd and Valerie looked remarkably alike. Valerie assumed that was simply because they were ancestor and descendant.

The sunset bidding farewell to the day shone upon the camp. The wind that had blown all day died down, seeming to gently caress the party.

At some point, Yorick’s cackling laughter could be heard, apparently after some prank.

When Valerie looked over, Knut was fuming, while a smile that symbolized recovery spread across the lips of the girl who had endured tragedy.

Valerie finished the rest of his stew and asked,

“What do you think happiness is, Priest?”

“I once thought it was something a warrior should keep far away. Something sought by farmers, or women. But I no longer think so. Happiness is embracing this painful life with all one’s heart. Not resenting the wounded past, nor longing for glorious memories, but simply living the rest of one’s days with calm acceptance. I believe happiness naturally settles within us when we wholly accept that.”

“...It is different from what Thorvald said, but it feels similar somehow.”

“Is that so? That child must have had many wounds and found healing too.”

“Did you establish the Jomsvikings?”

“I founded them with comrades who shared my purpose.”

“Was there a reason?”

“For the sake of lost beasts. The King saved lives by killing, while my comrades and I made them a home through faith.”

During the War of Conquest, many Norse warriors had truly been killers beyond redemption. Beasts possessed of immense violence, savages so accustomed to slaughter and pillaging that they could not imagine any other life.

There was no denying that each of them had fought on the front lines and contributed to the founding of the kingdom. Yet the founding king Sigmund, and Valerie’s father, the current King Helgi, had killed them under the name of purges for a very long time.

That was what the priest meant by saving lives through killing. It had been a desperate effort to somehow maintain this kingdom.

The Jomsvikings, instead, led those beasts through faith and discipline. They suppressed their violence through strict control and gave them lives in which they could find inner peace.

The King’s way and the Jomsvikings’ way were complete opposites, but their purpose was ultimately the same.

“By the way, do you know where your enemy is? The traitor who stole the holy relics.”

“I hear they plan to sell the holy relics. A Valkyrie staying in Nearcaster is said to be collecting the treasures of the world, so I imagine it may be connected to that.”

“What if the Valkyrie has already received those remains as a gift?”

“I would politely ask for their return.”

“And if she refuses?”

“That would be regrettable.”

“And the enemy?”

“There are rules. They will not be able to escape punishment.”

“Hmm...”

They were headed the same way as far as Nearcaster. Valerie wanted to help them if he could, but it would be a great disappointment if they had to part without accomplishing anything.

He had sufficient personal legitimacy. The buying and selling of his great-grandfather’s skull was not particularly pleasant, after all. Who could object if a descendant sought to reclaim it?

Still, it was only a skull. The difference between the priest and Sigbold, and Valerie, was whether they regarded that skull as sacred. Valerie thought a skull was merely a skull.

Valerie had no faith.

Valerie’s party stayed in Helsingborg for one night, then departed the next day. They could reach Nearcaster in as little as two days, or three or four at most.

They traveled east along an ancient paved road and finally reached the border of the County of Westlanding.

There was a village here as well. Valerie looked around from horseback, and as expected, the people’s faces were dark.

It did not seem that anyone was coming in and killing people as in Benholm, but the villagers generally looked drained.

It was nearing evening, and it seemed likely to rain, so Valerie decided to spend the night there.

He asked the villagers if there were any empty houses. If it rained, staying indoors would be far better than staying outside.

“There is an empty house. It is somewhat messy, but if you clean it up, it will be enough for six people to stay in.”

Valerie agreed and tried to pay them. But the villager refused.

“Could you give us food instead of money?”

“You cannot have harvested long ago. What happened?”

“...It is because of usurious interest. They suddenly raised the interest rate.”

“Who did?”

“The Aria Merchant Company...”

Usury itself was bad enough, but changing the interest rate midway was truly despicable.

Valerie decided that this was something he should handle as an Einheri. If territorial patrol officers looked into matters within a territory, then an Einheri was the King’s guard and, at the same time, a patrol officer for the entire kingdom.

Independent operational authority, immunity. What else were such powers for? He decided he would threaten them with his sword if necessary and burn every document concerning the illegal usury.

Valerie could not understand why they did such things. Unless they were in immediate need, squeezing people dry was bad for them in the long term as well.

For now, they would rest today and deal with the matter the next day.

Since Nearcaster was not far away, they kept only two days’ worth of food and distributed the rest to the villagers. Cheese, smoked meat, grain flour, and the like.

They rented the empty house, parked the wagon there, and let the horses rest.

“You did well.”

The priest said this. Valerie had not done it to be praised, but he simply nodded.

Valerie’s party intended to rest in the empty house for the night and leave the next day. They lit the fireplace and tried to sleep, when at some point, they heard rain striking the roof. It had started to rain.

When they awoke the next morning, the sound of rain was gone. Fortunately, it seemed to have stopped during the night.

Valerie dressed, fastened his sword at his waist, and left the house to investigate the matter of usury.

But when he stepped outside, the world was still dark beneath the cloudy sky, and he saw people gathered somewhere, murmuring among themselves.

Wondering what was happening, he went over. Someone stood atop a low hill.

Looking closer, that person was not simply standing there. A person had been cut in half lengthwise and hung on either side, while he stood between the halves.

He stood with his legs slightly apart, his hands gathered before his crotch, and his head bowed.

At that moment, the clouds parted slightly, and sunlight streamed from far off in the east. It was a morning after rain, and dew covered the whole world. Countless drops of dew sparkled in the sunlight.

It was a majestic, solemn, and cruel sight. The man standing amid that staged scene slowly raised his head. It was as though all charisma had gathered upon him.

“The Aria Merchant Company brutally killed one of our Lokir Merchant Company people and exploited you through usury. As humans, we could not help but be enraged, nor could our hearts remain untouched. I stepped forward and killed this rotten man. If anyone believes I have committed an unlawful murder, then let whoever wishes throw a stone at me.”

His words were not mere words. They sounded as if they had been lifted directly from sacred scripture.

The villagers were naturally awestruck, even moved by the display’s fitting mixture of majesty and terror. As though watching a scene from a myth, they stared at the man with wide eyes, entranced.

It was none other than Lucas, the true head of the Lokir Merchant Company.

As intended, he succeeded in firmly impressing upon the people what would happen if they crossed the Lokir Merchant Company, and what sort of person he was.

However, his prediction that the true culprit would be terrified if he saw it proved mistaken.

Valerie felt neither fear nor admiration, unlike ordinary people, when he saw the scene.

All he could think was whether Lucas really had to go that far after preparing since dawn.

Choosing the location, sawing a person in half, hanging the halves on either side, and standing in the middle at the right time.

In a way, Lucas and Valerie were alike in their meticulousness and boldness. But Lucas did not suit Valerie in his pursuit of simplicity.

Considering that Valerie had killed thug mercenaries all at once after lining them up in a two-file column.

Thus, Valerie’s first impression of Lucas was that he was someone with a flair for theatrics.

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