WeTried Translations
Translator/Editor: Oblivious
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◈ Prince of Rage ◈
Chapter 67
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The appeal of the jousting tournament was that, while relentless practice and experience mattered, there were sometimes things that effort alone could not overcome.
A certain inborn nature, one that refused to yield even an inch and threw aside even the instinct to survive, determined to see things through whether one lived or died.
Such a disposition could not be acquired through effort.
Perhaps people were thrilled because they saw all that effort, time, talent, and inborn nature bloom at the tip of a lance in a brief instant.
Even when one put everything into that lance tip, it was a contest where the outcome was divided most starkly.
A shining victor, a miserable loser. Fierce, decisive, cruel, and empty. All of it bloomed and withered in a single moment.
It was like life compressed into a single point.
Some failed despite their efforts, while others succeeded after struggling. Some were good from birth, while others could try until they died and came back to life and still fail. Those doing well could fall in an instant, while someone never seen before could suddenly soar like a bird.
Then had Valerie soared? At least, that was how the people who watched that day felt.
It had been a magnificent match after a long time, and the fighting spirit they had shown until the end left such a strong impression that people talked about the final in taverns for days afterward. The entire city did.
Yet the one who had soared was confined to bed.
There were no visible external injuries, but the strain of the collisions remained within him.
He had crashed twice, not once. His muscles, bones, and organs all needed rest.
It was remarkable that he had continued fighting after that. Both Valerie and his opponent.
“Sir Walter’s horse and equipment have been sold. Here’s the money.”
Lucas placed a heavy money pouch on the small bedside cabinet with a thud. Since Valerie had killed the man, it did not include a ransom, but the horse and equipment alone had brought in a considerable sum.
And lying on the cabinet as though it were worthless was a gilded medal, proof that its owner was the tournament champion and had passed the Test of Valor.
“The second contestant, Sir Bleed, begged for mercy, saying he supports his elderly mother. I think it’s a lie. He spent the entire year eating and drinking his way through the city. Since when did he support an elderly mother?”
“Fine. Tell him to get lost. But tell him he might die if he catches my eye, so he should be careful.”
Valerie answered as though it were tiresome, turning toward the window.
Since ancient times, it had been custom and law for the victor to take everything from the loser. That included the right to decide whether they lived or died.
That was what it meant to fight while staking everything.
Of course, it was regarded as virtuous for victors to show mercy and generosity to the defeated, but refusing mercy was not considered wicked.
“Then what about that woman? Red Rabbit.”
Knut asked while sitting on the bed as though he had only come to visit, cracking peanuts. Apparently, he was not worried about Valerie at all.
During the second collision, he had shouted Valerie’s name as though he were about to cry, but now he was acting as if it were nothing.
“It seems she entered anonymously. We’ve asked around to find where she ran off to, but we haven’t found her yet.”
Sigurd was the name of the legendary dragon-slayer, but it was also one of the most common names among both commoners and nobles. It could also mean some unnamed person.
Considering that a woman had entered as Red Rabbit Sigurd, it was nearly certain that she had participated anonymously.
“This is only my guess, but could she be the Einheri who came as that Valkyrie’s bodyguard? Isn’t it strange for a woman to be that strong?”
Yorick reasoned it out after giving the matter some thought. Being around Valerie seemed to have improved his deductive ability, and he appeared to enjoy it.
“Why would that person enter the tournament?”
Knut asked for his basis. He tried to offer Valerie a peanut, but when Valerie shook his head, Knut ate it himself.
“Maybe she was bored. If you spend two years guarding someone, that could happen.”
“She risked her life in a tournament because she was bored? Maybe in a martial arts contest, but this seems different.”
“She didn’t think she would lose.”
“But she did.”
“That’s why she ran away.”
“Where to?”
“That’s what we have to find out. Just getting that horse and sword would be incredible. It was the first time I’d seen something Valerie’s sword couldn’t cut.”
“That’s true. The horse and the sword. Something is strange.”
It was common knowledge that the only thing dwarf steel could not cut was more dwarf steel. And that red horse was no ordinary animal either.
Horses could become endlessly expensive. Ordinary people could never afford a warhorse, and even among those, there were ranks. Horses of legendary quality cost enough to nearly require selling an estate or a title.
Valerie’s Snow was excellent enough to rank among legendary horses, but that red horse was no ordinary animal either.
The person, the horse, and the sword. Those three things pointed only to a Valkyrie or an Einheri.
“Hmm... Yorick might be right. I hate to admit it.”
“Why?”
“What?”
“Why do you hate admitting it?”
“Just because.”
“There’s no such thing.”
“Here.”
“What?”
“I said, here.”
As Knut and Yorick were about to start another pointless conversation, Valerie asked Lucas, “What is the Test of Wisdom like?”
The Test of Wisdom came after the Test of Valor.
“How should I put it? It’s easy enough for anyone without something wrong with their head to pass. Do you think people who pass the Test of Valor are properly educated? You attend a banquet hosted by His Grace the Duke and make light conversation with him. Unless your reputation is terrible or you greatly offend His Grace, the Test of Wisdom ends there.”
“Then the final test is the real problem. The world’s most valuable treasure.”
“That’s right. That’s where everyone who sought a Valkyrie got stuck, so none of them even saw one. As time passed, everyone became interested only in the incidental rewards. Wealth, fame, honor, those sorts of things. Or they became a wreck like the Count of Westlanding. Even if someone sought the treasure now, would anyone truly be acting purely for marriage? Wouldn’t they all just be trying to show how remarkable they are? That’s what I think. Because that’s what I did.”
“Would this not be enough to count as the world’s most valuable treasure?”
Knut, who had been bickering with Yorick, took something from his clothes.
It was a large, brilliant red gem. The ruby called Blood Tear, which the head of Gringen’s Jewel Guild had given them.
“Why do you have that?”
Valerie’s eyes widened in surprise.
“Wasn’t it given?”
“No, that’s true, but why do you have it? You should have left it at the mercenary band’s headquarters.”
“Why? Wasn’t it given to you, Valerie, rather than the mercenary band? That’s how I understood it.”
It was hard to tell whether Knut was being shameless or whether he had a point.
Lucas, who had owned everything money could buy, widened his eyes as well.
“What in the world is that? Is it really a jewel?”
“It’s a ruby. Top quality, and it’s large. It’s a jewel from Gringen called Blood Tear.”
“How did you acquire this?”
“We dealt with Gringen’s thugs, and the Jewel Guild head gave it to us.”
“Wait...”
Lucas had heard, though not in great detail, news of what had happened in the north, in Eldeira.
A Duke had started a war, lost to a mercenary band, and then his eldest son had killed him. Afterward, a prince had pardoned them.
He had never checked whether the tale was true, but he felt strangely unsettled.
Something about a mercenary band. What were these people? They were not merely wandering swordsmen.
Only now did Lucas feel that confusion. There had been something frightening about them beneath their appearances, and they were not ordinary people. Even apart from the Jomsvikings.
“When is the Duke’s banquet?”
Valerie asked. Lucas stared blankly for a moment before suddenly coming to his senses.
“I shall look into it. It will probably be soon, especially since a new champion has emerged.”
“By the way, what was your sister’s name? Anyway, did you speak to that girl?”
The mention of the banquet naturally made Valerie think of Lucilia. They had originally planned to attend it together, but things had turned out this way after she trampled and shattered the holy relic.
“Speak to her about what?”
“You said you would explain properly about breaking the promise.”
“I’ve been too busy to have time for that. Don’t worry about it. That child doesn’t know much about the world.”
Something bothered Valerie. It was not that he felt sorry for her, of course. It was more that the matter had not been properly settled. For some reason, it left an unpleasant feeling behind.
Valerie did not know it, but from Lucilia’s perspective, she had been abandoned by both her brother Lucas and Valerie. Put more emotionally, both of them had been taken from her by a Valkyrie.
She had caused the problem through her own foolishness, so there was no one for her to resent. Still, it was difficult to believe she possessed enough sense to understand that.
In any case, though Valerie did not show it to his friends, he kept thinking of Red Rabbit, his opponent in the final.
Why had she looked so relieved then? Had she not fought with rage, like him? Then what had she been fighting for? Even with such skill.
He had rarely cared about losers, and he had no interest in spoils, but he was curious.
It was very rare for Valerie to be curious about anything. Especially a person.
A Valkyrie, or perhaps an Einheri. Hmm...
“The ancient law is sacred. You have to offer proper spoils.”
Randgríðr, taller and broader than most men, spoke to her longtime friend and princess.
Brynhildr was not uninjured either, and she lay half-reclined in bed.
Unlike her usual disheveled state, she was neat and tidy. She had not dressed up in any special way, but her beauty stood out so vividly that it was dazzling.
Still, some of her usual boyish behavior remained. Scratching her head under her friend’s scolding, she made a feeble excuse.
“Isn’t it a little strange to hand me over as spoils?”
“Hey, stop changing your mind. What do you think a sacred match is?”
Duels and competitions were sacred rituals that carried almost religious significance. There was a reason trial by combat existed.
In particular, the victor’s rights and the loser’s duties were practically iron laws. Breaking them was unthinkable. If one had nothing to give or did not wish to give anything, the proper procedure was to beg to be spared.
“The horse isn’t mine, and the sword isn’t mine either. That only leaves me...”
The red horse was actually the King’s horse. Brynhildr had stolen it and ridden away when she left the palace.
In other words, she could not give away the King’s horse, and she could not give away the sword because Randgríðr had lent it to her.
And though Brynhildr acted confident outwardly, she was timid inside as well. She feared that Valerie might not like her.
She could not tell him that she was a Valkyrie, that she had decided to marry the man who won the match, and that man was him.
She knew it was awkward to hesitate now, but that was how she honestly felt.
“You said you wanted to marry! Aren’t you ashamed before your ancestors? Volsung! Sigmund! Sigurd! Are you going to disgrace those names?”
Perhaps angered by Brynhildr’s frustrating attitude, Randgríðr finally shouted. In truth, this was not the first or second time their conversations had gone this way.
To Randgríðr, a warrior to her very bones, the lineage of heroes across three generations commonly called the Volsung Cycle was like the gods themselves.
That was why she could not bear it whenever Brynhildr failed to be proud and showed a cowardly side.
“Hey... Even so, insulting my ancestors was too much...”
“Did I insult them? You’re the one disgracing them!”
“That’s true.”
“Argh!”
Randgríðr, too frustrated for words, sharply turned her head and squeezed her eyes shut. She could neither hit Brynhildr nor stand the situation.
In truth, there was nothing anyone could do if a Valkyrie lost a duel or tournament and simply refused to yield. That did not mean she could behave however she pleased.
As Randgríðr said, such conduct would disgrace the royal house’s sacredness.
“Still, I definitely brought my sword down properly...”
Brynhildr glanced at her friend and tried to change the subject. Fortunately, she succeeded in drawing Randgríðr’s attention.
Randgríðr calmed her anger and agreed.
“That was strange. I could understand the black horse, but a dwarf steel sword is not something you can buy at a market.”
Every dwarf steel sword was an artwork and a relic. No amount of money could buy one. To obtain one, one had to befriend a dwarf.
Thus, unless its owner inherited it as a family heirloom or gained it as spoils, possessing one was practically impossible.
Dwarves were wicked and powerful sorcerers. Becoming entangled with one wrongly could bring not only personal curses, but the ruin of an entire household.
Randgríðr’s sword, Fate, was passed down through her Staling clan. Though she had no right of inheritance, she had earned the sword by having her ability duly recognized.
In contrast, no matter how capable Brynhildr was, there was nothing she could acquire through her own abilities.
A right of succession was out of the question, and she could hold neither land nor a title. She was provided with a comfortable life, at least.
“Could he have inherited it? Then what sort of house does he come from? Did he hide his identity like I did?”
Brynhildr never considered that he might have newly acquired it from a dwarf. She assumed it had been inherited from his family.
“Or perhaps he acquired it as spoils. I heard there was recently a war in the north.”
“I have never heard that House of Viding possessed a dwarf steel sword.”
“Wait. It is rather strange.”
“Right? Right? That’s why I was reluctant.”
“Either way, you lost.”
“No, what I mean is that there might be some kind of plot. I’m not denying that I lost. I’m saying we need to be careful. Let’s observe him first. Don’t be too hasty, Randi.”
Brynhildr wheedled at her friend. Randgríðr did not like it, but she did not think it was entirely unreasonable.
“So what will you do?”
“First... when is the next banquet? We’ll attend. And you introduce yourself as a Valkyrie, Randi. I’ll say I’m an Einheri. What do you think? I’ll observe him myself.”
Randgríðr answered with the gentlest smile imaginable.
“Wouldn’t simply killing you, then killing myself, be one way to handle this?”
She meant half of it.
“H-Hehehe...”
Brynhildr tried to smooth things over with laughter. But she did not give up on her idea.
And as always, when Brynhildr threw a tantrum, Randgríðr eventually gave in. Deep down, she pitied Brynhildr.
Being a Valkyrie did not mean being nothing but radiant.
The Volsung royal house was supreme, yet it was also a house without blood or tears.
The heroes Randgríðr respected and worshipped had all met tragic ends, and that cold fury ran through the royal house’s veins.
Brynhildr’s father, the current King, had become king after killing all his brothers and nieces and nephews. What could a daughter mean to such a man?
Stealing the King’s horse and running away was, in truth, no different from asking to be killed.
And the King was certainly capable of it, even if she was his own daughter.
Yet when one looked closely, Brynhildr seemed almost to desire such a thing. It was a form of self-destructive behavior.
Randgríðr had watched her since childhood. Even if it meant suffering humiliation herself, she could never help but yield to her friend.
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