WeTried Translations
Translator/Editor: Oblivious
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◈ Prince of Rage ◈
Chapter 65
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Military castles were usually built atop hills or halfway up mountains.
Strong walls and the people who defended them were important, but geography was most important of all. Almost as though it were fate.
Like most places where people lived, Nearcaster had begun as a castle on a hill. Buildings were raised around it as the hillside was cut away, and that became a town.
But it was no longer a small town perched on a hill.
Beyond the city walls at the foot of the hill, houses, workshops, commercial buildings, temples, and more spread across the land like drops of water spilled on the ground.
The hill town was still the city’s center, but it was no longer the city itself.
The place where the Valkyrie Brynhildr stayed was at Nearcaster’s heart. But she did not live deep within some secluded palace, as people might imagine.
The morning sun had only just risen when a figure lay sprawled in a pile of straw in a barn, as though abandoned there.
Long, pale legs stuck out from the straw. The figure appeared to be a woman, though it was difficult to tell whether she was dead.
Fortunately, that did not seem to be the case. After stirring briefly, she sat up and scratched at her tangled long golden hair.
Even in such a disheveled state, she was beautiful enough to make one think her face shone like a pearl in the dirt.
Her eyes, however, had the fierce shape of a bird of prey, like a falcon or hawk. Her bedraggled appearance almost softened that severity.
Her eyes were blue like a clear sky.
Though she had risen, she hung her head as though tired, then stretched an arm toward the barn entrance. Her voice was unexpectedly low, though it sounded languid.
“Randy, booze.”
The person standing at the entrance, backlit by the sun, had the height and build of a man. Yet the voice was female.
“You drank it all yesterday. You.”
The woman sitting in the straw let her outstretched hand drop.
“It was good. What was that drink called?”
“I don’t know.”
“Was it mead? Wine?”
Since she could not even remember what she had drunk, she did not seem entirely sane.
“Sigrún came by yesterday. That was the fifth warning.”
“What did that pointy-ear nag about this time?”
“She said it’s over now. You’ll pay the price for ignoring the warnings. An inescapable regret has come.”
“...How interesting.”
“Will you really not stop now? Pick anyone, or just leave. Even the King’s patience has limits.”
At the word King, the woman snorted and mocked him.
“That man was interested in me? I didn’t know.”
“You... Never mind.”
“You always say that. You know I hate it.”
“What do you want me to do? Hild, you should behave yourself.”
The woman called Hild was none other than the Valkyrie Brynhildr. The King’s daughter, a princess.
The woman called Randy was Randgríðr, Brynhildr’s bodyguard and longtime friend, an Einheri.
“Or will you cut this stifling feeling out of me? With a sword, perhaps. With your skill and that dwarf steel sword, it probably wouldn’t hurt.”
Brynhildr pointed toward her heart. Randgríðr turned away as though she had not heard.
Brynhildr wore a bitter smile for a moment, then forced herself to sound cheerful.
“I think I was born wrong. I should’ve been born a man. It would be better to be a prince and fight in a succession war. Don’t you think?”
“...”
“Fine! Don’t speak if you don’t want to! Fine! I’ve decided! I’ll enter the joust! I’ll marry the man who defeats me there! If nobody can defeat me, I’ll live alone forever!”
Brynhildr sprang to her feet and declared this boldly.
But it was not part of any particular plan, nor had she made the decision after careful thought. It was simply impulsive.
If she was going to decide so impulsively, one had to wonder what she had spent the last two years doing.
Brynhildr left the barn looking almost like a beggar. She was barefoot.
There were several guards outside the barn besides Randgríðr. When the Valkyrie emerged, they silently lowered their heads.
“Bring me my armor!”
Brynhildr shouted.
There was a place on Nearcaster’s outskirts where the boundary between the city and the outside was unclear. In other words, there were no walls yet to distinguish the city from beyond it.
The jousting grounds were there. It was a large rectangle with one open side, where people could watch freely. Those wishing to watch from the stands had to buy tickets.
Naturally, the areas where tickets were unnecessary were packed with people. Most were spectators, but there were also many street vendors and pickpockets.
Brynhildr had registered anonymously for the joust, then come to the grounds because she had not left the hill town in a long time and thought she might as well look around.
She did not buy a ticket, instead heading toward the thickest crowd.
Her hair was unadorned, and she was dressed no differently from a country girl. Nobody thought she was a Valkyrie.
She had guards, but they were not directly beside her. Other than her pretty face, there was nothing to draw attention.
Brynhildr climbed a tree to get a better view. Local children had already claimed spots on its thick branches.
When she climbed up and squeezed herself into a spot, the children widened their eyes.
“She’s pretty.”
Brynhildr smiled and patted one of them on the head. But there was one problem.
“Hey, miss. You have to pay for that spot.”
Some thug-looking man spoke from below the tree. The children beside Brynhildr did not seem to have paid to climb it, so he was clearly just hitting on her.
Of course, Brynhildr had no need to answer.
There was no need for Randgríðr, an Einheri, to intervene either. Red-eyed Vidar shoved the thug lightly.
“What? Why?”
Vidar’s huge stature and murderous air quickly cleared out not only the thug, but the people nearby as well.
Brynhildr had an innocent side to her and quickly got along with the local children. She gladly accepted strange food that looked like roasted insects, drank from a bottle of booze, and laughed with them.
“Are you a witch, miss? Your face is pretty, but you seem crazy.”
“Hey, is that something you say to a lady? Will you be able to charm women later if you talk like that?”
“I think you should worry about whether you can charm men.”
“...You are very good at judging people.”
“Who did you bet on?”
“Hm?”
“You have to wager money.”
“Well, I don’t even know who’s competing.”
“It’s ‘the Invincible’ Walter against, what was it? ‘the Frog Prince’ Valerie. Walter’s odds are low. Valerie’s are high.”
“Is this Walter person strong?”
“Yeah. He’s never lost. They say that even when he promised to lose before a match, he won and broke his opponent’s arms and legs.”
“What? Then he’s a coward. What about the Frog Prince?”
“I think this is his first joust, so I don’t know.”
“Really? Why is he called the Frog Prince, anyway?”
“I don’t know. Nobody knows anything except that he came from the north.”
At the mention of the north, Brynhildr imagined a large, taciturn man.
After thinking for a moment, she told the children,
“I’ll bet on the Frog Prince.”
“You are bold.”
“I’ve always been bold. Hey, Randy, give me some money.”
Randgríðr, standing beneath the tree, sighed deeply and handed over several silver coins.
When Brynhildr gave the coins to the children, their eyes went wide. Then the child at the very edge called out to someone and placed the bet.
“Mister! Mister! Three silver coins here! On the Frog Prince!”
A man running a gambling table on the roadside sent one of his underlings to collect the money.
“Were you rich, miss?”
“Well, if I win, buy yourselves some meat. You need to eat well to grow.”
“Really!?”
“Of course.”
Brynhildr patted the head of a child whose face was streaked with dirt, as though the child were adorable.
Then the herald running the joust shouted in a thunderous voice. He was a professional herald, and his voice was so loud one wondered whether he was human.
“Quiet! Quiet! It’s not as though this is your first or second joust. By now, be quiet! You there! I saw that gob of yours opening! Shut it unless you want to be thrown out!”
Nobody was frightened by the herald’s shouting. They merely laughed loudly.
Still, once the murmuring had died down somewhat, the herald formally began the joust.
“Hear me! Hear me! Citizens, hear me! This joust is held by the will of the Valkyrie and hosted by His Grace, the Duke of Nearcaster! By laws handed down since ancient times, none but the contestants may enter the grounds! Magic and spells are strictly forbidden! Should anyone violate this, they shall surely fall into hellfire and, by ancient law, be torn limb from limb until dead! Let there be no such foolishness! The contestants shall fight on horseback with the designated weapons, using equal arms! The victor shall take all that belongs to the defeated, while the defeated may only accept defeat!”
After proclaiming the broad rules, the herald introduced the contestants in the first match.
“Who says Astrians are weak! The undefeated knight has come riding the wind! His nimble movements and precise lancework have already become legend! Today’s joust shall add another passage to that legend! The Invincible Walter!”
The crowd cheered and applauded. Walter rode proudly into the grounds on a sleek brown horse.
His helmet crest was a red lion, and his armor was adorned with every sort of decoration, making him dazzlingly extravagant.
With his face uncovered, Walter rode one circuit around the grounds as if displaying himself, then approached the stands and extended his lance.
The women there shrieked excitedly, and a stunning beauty, even from afar, tied a handkerchief to the tip of his lance.
In a world with little entertainment, it was a rare and amusing spectacle. It had gone on for two years, so regardless of its various harmful effects, ordinary people simply enjoyed it.
“The next contestant! Who dares make light of a frog! Frogs of the north bite people too! Will he become the hero of a storm, or be flattened beneath it! The Frog Prince Valerie!”
The crowd burst into laughter at the rather ridiculous nickname. Still, it was entertaining, and that was enough.
Then a pitch-black horse galloped into the grounds. It was a rare steed, large and powerful, yet perfectly balanced.
Unlike Walter, Valerie wore a frog helmet that concealed his face. There were no decorations on his helmet or armor, and his shield was simply painted black. He had not intended it, but with such a black horse, he looked rather like a black knight.
Those with a discerning eye sensed something strange about Snow. It was obvious at a glance that this was no ordinary horse. But most people merely awaited the fierce collision to come.
Valerie did not charge around the grounds, nor did he ask a lady for a handkerchief. He simply rode about briefly, then stopped with his lance raised.
A railing ran across the middle of the grounds, and they stood on their respective right sides to prepare.
The herald took a deep breath and shouted.
“The joust begins! The joust begins!”
At once, both riders dug in their spurs and charged.
Thud-thud-thud-thud! Thud-thud-thud-thud!
Their lance tips, angled diagonally upward, gradually lowered until they were aimed at one another. Every bit of speed, weight, focus, and their very lives rested upon those points.
Thud-thud-thud-thud! Thud-thud-thud-thud!
Crack!
The jousting lances shattered. Walter’s body snapped violently to the side, struck the railing, and scraped along it.
Screeeeech!
The sound of metal grinding rang out for a long time before he fell from his horse and hit the ground.
The crowd shouted in amazement, then fell silent as though doused with cold water.
No, Valerie’s friends in the stands chattered excitedly.
“What is invincible about you? You lost! You’re not invincible now!”
Yorick shouted loudly, and even Knut, usually indifferent to everything, clapped with delight.
“Ha ha ha! This is fun! So fun! Long live the Frog Prince!”
Perhaps to see whether his opponent was dead or alive, Valerie rode all the way to the far end of the grounds before returning on horseback.
He looked toward the herald, who stood there blankly before suddenly coming to his senses.
“The victor...!”
Then Walter, who had fallen to the ground, staggered to his feet and shouted.
“It’s not over yet!”
He threw off his helmet and rushed at Valerie. He tried to drag Valerie down from his horse.
Valerie did not bother resisting, allowing Walter to pull him down to gain a technical advantage in wrestling.
He fell as though pouncing on Walter. They rolled around on the ground briefly before Valerie rose with Walter’s head trapped beneath his left arm. At the same time, he drew his sword in a reverse grip with his right hand.
The spectators did not understand what had happened. They only saw Walter’s body collapse emptily. Walter’s fallen body no longer had a head.
Valerie had pressed Walter’s head hard toward the ground and sliced through his neck with a sword he had not even fully drawn.
Gasp!
Sharp intakes of breath sounded throughout the crowd. Valerie dropped Walter’s head, then finally removed his helmet.
When his astonishingly handsome face was revealed, it seemed as though the world had awakened. Then gasps arose here and there again, for a different reason.
He brushed back platinum-blond hair matted with sweat, fully drew his sword, flicked off the blood, and sheathed it again. After briefly looking over the stands and the crowd, he said to the herald,
“Who is the victor?”
There was no need to ask. Nobody would object. The herald, whose voice had been so resounding before, was dumbstruck and barely managed to murmur,
“V-Victor, Valerie...”
Only then did Valerie mount Snow again and leave the grounds without concern.
Brynhildr, perched upon the tree branch, could not think of anything. Her gaze seemed fixed upon Valerie, following every movement he made.
There were no thoughts in her mind, yet her heart ached with sharp throbs.
Then, from afar, her eyes met Valerie’s for only an instant, and time seemed to stop.
His gaze was intense. Brynhildr instinctively sensed the sorrow within it. That sorrow seized her body, heart, and soul.
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