Prince of Rage - Chapter 66

WeTried Translations

Translator/Editor: Oblivious

Discord: https://dsc.gg/wetried

◈ Prince of Rage ◈

Chapter 66

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Valerie waited in the preparation tent for his next match. The sound of the crowd chattering outside filtered in.

He sat bare-chested in nothing but trousers, cooling down while Ivy diligently fanned him beside him.

Lucas and Yorick were watching the horses, while Knut tended to and inspected Valerie’s equipment.

Before a tournament or duel, one normally entrusted equipment checks to the person one trusted most.

Valerie could have done it himself, but to keep his mind calm, his focus steady, and fight in peak condition, he needed someone else’s help. That was why knights took squires with them.

“There’s quite a lot of blood on this.”

Knut spoke. Valerie must have gotten blood all over the scabbard when he slashed Walter’s neck with his sword only half-drawn. If the blood dried and stuck, it could interfere with the next fight.

“It’s fine. Just wipe it off roughly.”

There was another match ahead, so he could not replace the scabbard now. A scabbard had to be custom-made to match a sword’s length and thickness.

The scabbard Valerie used had been made by the dwarf Regin, but scabbards were essentially consumable items.

So even though a dwarf had made it, it was not nearly permanent like the blade itself.

“That’s enough. Wipe me down instead.”

Valerie took Ivy’s thin plank-like fan and spoke.

Ivy soaked a towel in water and wiped Valerie’s back. He could feel her hands trembling.

A deep groove ran along his spine, his shoulder blades were heavily developed and uneven, and his latissimus muscles were long and broad above a narrow waist. His back formed a perfect inverted triangle.

To a young girl, it did not simply look like the difference between a man and a woman. It looked like they belonged to entirely different species.

More than that, every slight movement made his muscles ripple, like some huge insect crawling beneath his skin.

It was strange. Fascinating, disgusting, and oddly captivating all at once. It was shocking, too.

“How’s the priest’s side doing? Sigbold, I mean.”

Valerie asked Knut without paying Ivy any mind. Sigbold had entered the hand-to-hand tournament rather than the jousting tournament.

“He’s smashing people apart with his bare hands. You’re the one in danger, Valerie. Swords are your specialty.”

Skill naturally mattered in the jousting tournament, but mindset, concentration, and above all courage mattered far more. Luck also played a role.

Holding a lance one-handed atop a swaying horse was difficult enough. Keeping its tip aimed at the opponent as steadily as possible until the very end demanded enormous concentration, stamina, and strength. Neither rider nor horse could hesitate.

The slightest fear would make the lance tip shake, and that tiny difference decided the match. It was an entirely different matter from honing one’s technique and competing through skill.

And the most important factor was the horse. In truth, a horse’s ability accounted for seventy or eighty percent of victory or defeat in the jousting tournament. The rider’s skill and luck made up the remaining twenty or thirty percent.

Of course, owning a fine horse and handling it well were abilities in themselves.

Valerie was good at jousting tournaments because he had fought countless battles before his regression. What he had learned through that experience was that shrinking back and hesitating only got one killed more easily.

On the battlefield, even when arrows rained down, there were often people who simply entrusted themselves to luck and walked with their backs straight. Surprisingly, those people did not die easily.

Of course, one wrong move would send them straight to the next world. But if someone could sense and handle even that wrong move through instinct, they became a battle-hardened warrior, a fighter worth a hundred men.

There were ranks even among such people, but Valerie before his regression had been at that level. Now that he had awakened the power of runes and become an Einheri, he did not know exactly how strong he was.

Until one was sifted through the great sieve of war, there was no way to know what powerful people existed in the world, or how far a person could grow.

Valerie accepted the towel from Ivy and wiped his front himself. Once his body and mind had recovered somewhat and he had regained his composure, he went outside wearing only a thin shirt.

The moment he entered the grounds, he tasted the familiar dust in the air.

Judging by the crowd’s cheers from inside the tent, there had apparently been about two matches. When Valerie emerged, the final match of the first round had just begun.

“The final competitor of the first round! Another first-time entrant! Will this one take the tournament by storm like the Frog Prince? Or will they suffer an embarrassing defeat? Hopping all the way from the south! The Red Rabbiiit Siguuurd!”

The herald shouted. Knut heard the nickname and spoke.

“What kind of nickname is that?”

“Do you have no conscience?”

Valerie had only entered the jousting tournament as the Frog Prince because of what had practically been an accident, and Knut had caused that accident.

“What? Frogs are cute.”

“Aren’t rabbits cute too?”

“Valerie, have you never seen rabbits mating? After I saw it as a kid, they disgusted me.”

“Frogs mate too...”

“I’ve never seen that.”

While Valerie and Knut chatted meaninglessly, the contestant called the Red Rabbit entered the field.

Without question, they seemed to be the most flamboyant competitor in the tournament’s history.

Perhaps safety had been abandoned for style, because the armor, helmet, and shield were clearly not made for a tournament.

The helmet had a faceguard like an iron mask, shaped like an expressionless face, with wings on either side. It looked neither fit for a tournament nor actual battle, but rather for ceremony.

The armor was scale mail, gleaming gold as if it had been gilded.

The horse was the most extravagant part. It was so red that Valerie wondered if such a horse could truly exist. With its mane streaming behind it, it looked as though it rode upon flames.

The Red Rabbit glanced around, then went to take position. Once both contestants were ready, the herald shouted.

“The match begiiins! The match begiiins!”

The two horses burst forward at full speed.

Thud-thud-thud-thud!

Without even meaning to, Valerie sharply observed the match. The Red Rabbit’s opponent aimed the lance at their face.

At that distance, the shield would have been the proper target. But aiming for the face was one technique used to make an opponent flinch. The opponent was probably taking advantage of the fact that the Red Rabbit did not wear a tournament helmet.

But the Red Rabbit did not flinch at all.

Thud-thud-thud-thud!

Thud! Crack!

The Red Rabbit’s opponent was thrown into the air as though they had flown, then fell from the horse. The fall had been clean enough that the injury did not seem severe.

The watching crowd burst into loud admiration, and the herald cried out.

“The winner! The Red Rabbiiit!”

After winning, the Red Rabbit circled the field as if showing off. The eyes visible through the faceguard’s eyeholes were such a vivid blue that Valerie could see them clearly from afar.

The Red Rabbit approached the side where Valerie and his friends stood, then met Valerie’s eyes. They pointed at him and drew a finger across their throat.

“?”

Valerie, bewildered, pointed to himself as though asking whether they meant him. The Red Rabbit gave no response and simply left.

“As flamboyant as the outfit, and just as full of spirit. Is this a sense of rivalry between two first-time entrants?”

Knut said.

“More importantly, wasn’t that a woman?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Something about them just felt like a woman.”

There were female warriors known as shieldmaidens, but they were not a common sight.

Of course, Valerie had no intention of going easy on either a woman or a man. He took the gesture as a performance meant to stir interest. In any case, one needed to attract attention to build a name.

After noon, Valerie fought another match and won cleanly without it turning into a brawl. The Red Rabbit won the next match as well.

Thus, Valerie and the Red Rabbit would face one another in the final. It had been a long time since two first-time entrants had met in the final, ever since a Valkyrie made a marriage proposal.

People were excited that new figures had appeared, and a larger crowd than usual gathered.

Rumors already spread everywhere, mixing fact and exaggeration. The Frog Prince was truly handsome enough to be a prince, the Red Rabbit wore armor made of gold, and so on.

After finishing the second match and returning to the preparation area, the Red Rabbit threw off the helmet first, as though stifled by it. A flushed white face appeared beneath it.

It was none other than Brynhildr.

Her hair was tied up, with loose strands clinging to her face from sweat. With the help of her friend and bodyguard Randgríðr, she removed her armor first, then immediately took off her gambeson to cool down.

She wiped her neck with a wet towel, raised her arms, and wiped under them. She tugged aside the undergarment tightly binding her chest and cleaned herself thoroughly before fanning herself wildly.

“Whew, I can finally breathe.”

Randgríðr brushed the dirt and dust off her friend’s armor and hung it neatly on its stand.

“It’s the final.”

“I know.”

“Be careful. Especially, do not fight with swords. If you fall from your horse, admit defeat cleanly.”

The moment the Einheri Randgríðr saw Valerie’s first match, she immediately recognized that he was no ordinary opponent.

Highly skilled fighters valued judgment and decisive execution more than technique. Valerie had not tried to hold on atop his horse, but immediately used a wrestling technique. He had wrapped his opponent’s head and slashed the person’s neck with a half-drawn sword. Those things had immediately felt unnatural to her.

“If he cut someone’s neck from that position, it is no ordinary sword. It is an Ulfberht blade at the very least.”

“I wonder whether I want to lose right now, or whether I want to win.”

“He was handsome. Isn’t that good enough?”

“...It is not that. His eyes just...”

“What about his eyes?”

“...They looked pitiful.”

“He is not someone you should pity. Worry about yourself.”

Randgríðr did not fully understand what Brynhildr meant. She merely loosened Brynhildr’s hair and tied it up again.

“I hope you will not need it, but I will lend you my sword.”

She removed her sword from her belt and handed it over with its scabbard. It was a dwarf steel sword named Urðr, meaning Fate.

Brynhildr accepted the sword and stared at it for a moment before speaking.

“Thank you. One of us will die.”

There was a common saying about dwarf steel swords. Their blades were so durable and sharp that they were almost magical, and once drawn, they would surely wound someone, whether owner or enemy.

The finalists were given a fairly long rest, and the match was held near sunset.

The red sunset shone over the city and the field. Valerie appeared in his usual frog helmet and plain tournament gear.

Brynhildr’s equipment was already in shades of red, and beneath the sunset’s glow, she looked almost dreamlike.

As befitted the final, the herald introduced both contestants with even greater force. But perhaps because of the hour, or perhaps because he wore a helmet, the words sounded dull to Valerie, like sounds heard underwater.

He could hardly make out what was being said. He simply went to his position and stood there. Brynhildr was the same.

Inside, Brynhildr repeatedly chanted the same words.

I want to win. I want to lose. I want to win. I want to lose.

She felt relieved that she might finally find a husband, yet terrified that doing so would end her life as she knew it.

This was not a matter of choice. It was something she had to face. If her opponent lost, he was not husband material. If she lost...

She did not know.

It was not good to enter a match with such complicated thoughts, but the moment the herald announced the start, her thoughts changed at once.

I will kill him. Or I will die.

The black horse and red horse kicked off the ground and ran.

Thud-thud-thud-thud!

The horses charged at each other with fierce momentum, then crossed like lightning.

Thud! Crack!

Both lances broke at once, and both riders’ waists bent sharply backward at once. The broken lances struck the ground and bounced violently.

Clang! Clang! Clang!

Fortunately, neither fell completely. Their bodies, nearly lying backward, bounced as they reached the ends of the field.

Valerie felt his consciousness vanish and return. Before he could even sit up, he shouted.

“A lance! Bring me a lance!”

A tournament official hurried over with a lance. As if Snow understood his master’s precarious condition, the horse reared high and turned around.

Neighhh!

Valerie hurriedly tensed his body and found his balance.

But Snow did not move in step with Valerie. The horse ran wildly, recklessly, as if mad. Astonishingly, Brynhildr was the same.

Valerie’s lance tip shook wildly. So did his opponent’s. Both desperately continued aiming for the other’s shield.

Thud-thud-thud-thud!

Crack!

They crossed once more, and once again both their waists bent sharply backward. Neither was finally thrown from the horse.

A great mixture of admiration and dismay erupted from the crowd gathered like clouds.

Valerie’s consciousness completely faded. His friends’ cries woke him.

“Valerie!”

His eyes snapped open, and he forced himself, forced himself to rise. He hurriedly looked back at his opponent, who was also barely getting up.

As an official brought another tournament lance, Valerie pushed it away, threw off even his shield, drew Wound, and charged. He intended to cut through any lance in his way and kill his opponent.

Even while his head spun, it felt as though flames burned in his eyes. It had been a long time since his fighting spirit had risen so fiercely, brought on by an injury that was not quite an injury.

Perhaps Valerie truly was a Norseman after all, or perhaps it was because of his bloodline. The more he was hurt, the more rage rose within him, driving him toward a fight to the death.

He had the sort of temperament that could not rest until either he died or his opponent did.

Seeing Valerie like that, Brynhildr drew her own sword and charged without hesitation.

Unlike when he held a lance, Valerie lifted himself slightly from the saddle and aimed his sword tip at his opponent. Brynhildr raised her sword as though she meant to bring it down.

Then their swords met, and an enormous metallic sound rang out.

Claaang!

The spectators covered their ears in pain as one sword spun through the air. Had the match been decided? Whose sword was it?

That did not matter.

Because amid it all, Valerie had hooked his arm around his opponent’s arm, forcibly pulled Brynhildr off her horse, and dragged her along. It was a technique for unhorsing an opponent in close combat while riding.

Caught in Valerie’s arm, Brynhildr fell from her horse and was dragged along until her body caught on the middle railing, her armor scraping against it.

Thud-thud-thud-thud!

Screeeeeech!

Just as Valerie tried to unhorse her, Brynhildr instead grabbed Valerie tightly around the waist and clung on.

His head was already spinning from the previous impact, and Valerie ultimately fell from his horse at the end as well.

Both fell from their horses and rolled around briefly. In the process, Valerie and Brynhildr’s helmets came off.

Valerie swiftly climbed on top of her, gripped her hair and pressed her down, then placed Wound’s blade against her throat. Their eyes met.

She looked about the same age as Valerie. But he seemed completely unconcerned with such a thing, glaring down at her with his usual intense gaze as though he would burn her alive.

Brynhildr, on the other hand, looked unexpectedly relieved. That blazing gaze seemed to burn away all the stifling frustration and resentment in her chest. Since the matter had been decided without regret, she felt strangely refreshed.

“Say you lost.”

Whether he understood that or not, Valerie growled.

But Brynhildr neither looked startled nor afraid. She smiled softly and replied.

“Not even if I die.”

“Then die.”

Valerie tried to bring Wound down like a guillotine and slice through Brynhildr’s throat.

Then the herald shouted.

“The final champion! Valeeeerie!”

Valerie’s hand, which had been about to kill Brynhildr, stopped.

For a while, they looked down at and up at one another.

The rage burning fiercely in Valerie’s eyes gradually cooled.

“My head hurts. Let go...”