WeTried Translations

Translator/Editor: Oblivious

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◈ Prince of Rage ◈

Chapter 70

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When an urgent, chaotic situation arose, there was always someone who stepped forward to set things right.

That was not a bad thing, but sometimes they seemed a little drunk on being the one in control.

“Everyone, calm down! Those carrying weapons, put them down! Order! Maintain order! I guarantee your safety!”

An unidentified man among the banquet guests shouted. People had rushed toward the entrance to flee, and he was blocking the way as he yelled.

The Duke of Nearcaster was nowhere to be seen. Perhaps he had escaped through a secret door.

Naturally, the ducal house had a standing force, but even they seemed flustered and unsure what to do.

They only knew there was a corpse with its head smashed in and that two large men had fought. They did not know exactly what had happened.

Most people were like that. They were so startled that they had become even more frantic.

All things considered, it was not such a serious situation, and Valerie had somewhere more urgent to be.

What mattered most now was who would win and who would die, the avenger or the traitor.

“Move!”

Valerie kicked the man blocking the entrance hard in the side. The man let out a shriek and was sent sprawling.

Valerie immediately went outside, and people began fleeing after him in a rush.

After passing through the dim corridor and reaching the courtyard, he was greeted by bright silver moonlight.

“Lord Valerie!”

It was Ivy’s voice. When he turned, he saw Ivy in the distance, supporting Eirik, who was breathing heavily.

When Valerie hurried over, she pointed toward the downhill road outside the castle before he could even ask whether they were all right.

“This way!”

For a moment, he thought she truly had sharp instincts. It was a small thing, but even while traveling with the carriage, she had never caused any particular trouble.

Looking down the slope outside the castle, he saw bonfires standing along both sides of the road, just as when they had arrived. The support for one of them had fallen over.

Some people were running away, while others had come outside to catch their breath. They gathered in groups and talked about what had happened.

When Valerie hurried down, he saw Knut and Yorick. Not far from the fallen bonfire, Sigbold and Vidar faced each other.

Vidar held a spear and shield. Guards approached, but Valerie shouted sharply.

“A sacred duel! Do not interfere!”

The guards stopped, though they had no idea what was happening.

When people pointed toward the hill, the guards first rushed toward the castle. Two men fighting to the death was not all that rare. They had decided it was more important to secure the castle.

Naturally, a duel could not simply be fought whenever and however one pleased, but Valerie’s bearing and the circumstances made them unwilling to interfere.

In any event, all that remained was the fearful murmur of the crowd, the silver moonlight, and shadows dancing in the flickering firelight.

Sigbold held his distinctive enormous twin axes, and for some reason, blood was seeping from one of his legs. Yet his stance was as firm as a mountain.

“Is some skull whose owner you do not even know so important? If it is fake, then what betrayal have I committed? Answer me, brother.”

Vidar asked.

“What you betrayed was your oath and your faith. Why do the brothers of Jomsborg restrain themselves, endure, and train? Is it not for peace and rest? What you did not only abandons that, it mocks the other brothers.”

“Shut up! The old men were the ones who deceived us, not me! You idiot! What kind of faith is built upon lies?”

“Then you should have left on your own! Why steal it? Why sell it!? It was only for your own greed!”

“No!”

Vidar struck first, thrusting his spear with all his strength. Even with one hand, the thrust was perfectly steady, so powerful that the sound of it carried far.

Sigbold twisted aside and brought his axe down on the spear shaft. But as though he had expected that much, Vidar immediately drew back his spear, raised his shield, and charged.

Distance was crucial. One had axes, while the other had a spear and shield. Their distance would decide life and death.

Both men knew that all too well, and their combat experience was extensive. Their struggle for distance was fierce. Their skill with weapons had gone beyond mastery, as though the weapons were extensions of their own bodies.

Vidar thrust his spear again and again, blocking with his shield or letting attacks slide away. Sigbold swung his axes in wide arcs, hooked them to drag Vidar closer, and gripped the hafts short to guard his weak points.

Even Valerie found much technical inspiration in watching their duel. The harmony of strength and skill had reached its limit. Their fight was brutal, but it was also like art, even beautiful.

It was enough to leave even someone who knew nothing of fighting spellbound. Those who had fled the castle were likewise watching the two men as if bewitched.

Then Vidar moved toward higher ground. Knut blocked the escape route just in case. Vidar paid no attention, as though he no longer intended to flee.

Sigbold took a stance like a giant praying mantis holding up its forelegs, then brought both axes down with tremendous force at once.

Whoosh!

It was a strike meant to decide the duel at the perfect moment. Vidar dropped his shield, barely evaded it, and thrust with his spear.

To a spectator, it looked as though Sigbold had been stabbed. But he had dropped the axe in one hand and clamped the spear shaft firmly beneath his arm.

The moment he caught it, he yanked the spear hard, nearly at the same time, dragging Vidar toward him. Their bodies collided. Would it become a contest of strength? If so, Sigbold, with his monstrous build, seemed certain to win.

But Vidar appeared to have concealed one final move. He aimed a dagger at Sigbold’s neck. Sigbold’s armor prevented Vidar from targeting his stomach.

Sigbold released his remaining axe and caught the dagger’s blade with his bare hand. Vidar desperately tried to drive it in, but he was gradually forced back. Blood seeped from Sigbold’s hand.

Thud!

After forcing the dagger aside somewhat, the towering Sigbold drove his head down like a hammer. Vidar collapsed from the heavy blow.

He hurriedly tried to rise, but his head spun and he staggered. Sigbold strode over, seized him by the collar, hauled him up, and punched him.

Thud!

“Urk!”

Broken teeth scattered across the ground, and Vidar went limp.

Sigbold’s palm bled from catching the dagger, but he paid it no heed. He clenched his fist and raised it to strike again.

Yet for some reason, his raised fist stopped. It only trembled. He did not deliver the final blow. Was he hesitating now? Why?

When he released Vidar’s collar, the traitor collapsed at Sigbold’s feet.

“I will ask you one last time. Do you repent?”

Sigbold asked.

Vidar only panted harshly for a while, then laughed hollowly. Blood covered his mouth, and because of his broken teeth, he could barely speak clearly.

“I, I have seen mountains of ice floating upon the sea. I have seen mountains that spew fire forever. I have seen seas made of sand. People did not believe me. But you do. You and I, we know. We saw them together. The Kraken Warrior Band. We were invincible. We headed fearlessly toward the end of the world. I only missed those days... I would gather money, gather people who shared my purpose, buy a ship, and once more, once more...”

Even if one captured an animal that had once run freely through the wild and tamed it, one could not erase its memories of the wilderness. If that was the reason for his betrayal, it was too sorrowful to condemn.

Perhaps the greatest tragedy for the Norsemen was the reality that they could no longer roam the seas and had to settle down.

At some point, Priest Eirik had arrived at the scene, supported by Ivy as though squeezing out the last of his strength.

Listening to the words of someone he had once regarded as a child, he shed dry tears. The tears could not properly flow, caught in his deep wrinkles. How could he not understand? He too had once sailed the seas beside the Dragon Slayer.

But the Dragon Slayer had been the first Norseman to attempt settlement. No more raiding, he had said. Let us cultivate the land and live. Let us enjoy peace, not battle and plunder.

He had been the first to dream of living as a human rather than a beast, and so he had died unhappy and miserable.

Thus, the old priest understood Vidar’s words a hundred times over, but he could not respect them.

“Faith must be upheld. Whether it is truth or a lie. That is how we live, you bastard...”

With his head lowered, Sigbold clenched his teeth. He placed one of the axes that had fallen to the ground into the hands of his old friend and brother. Valhalla no longer existed, but he did so with a longing for Valhalla in his heart.

Then he picked up the remaining axe, gripped it short, covered Vidar’s eyes, and slit his throat in one stroke. Vidar’s body stiffened sharply once, then went limp.

And so, the Jomsvikings’ vengeance was fulfilled.

The cool air, the crackling bonfires, and the duel of vengeance beneath the moon all had a special atmosphere, but no one could enjoy it. The fight had been too serious, fierce, and tragic.

They were men who had fought to restore irretrievable memories, and for faith.

Many people had been so overwhelmed by the two men’s battle that they could not even breathe. Lucas was among them. He had always only imitated others, but seeing a true fight between men left a powerful impression on him.

The stories of the two men, seen at the end of betrayal and vengeance, made Lucas feel small. For a moment, the thought passed through his mind that money was nothing at all.

Then a guard came down the hill and spoke to him.

“Are you Lucas of the Lokir Merchant Company?”

“...?”

“You should come with me.”

“...What is it?”

“Your younger sister has died.”

“What? What are you talking about?”

“Please come with me first.”

Lucas was utterly bewildered.

In a daze, he followed the guard back to the banquet hall. The shouting and confusion had already subsided, but the atmosphere was heavy.

When Lucas appeared, people gathered nearby turned to look at him, their faces solemn. Then they stepped aside.

There lay the body of a young woman whose head had been smashed in. A familiar dress, jeweled ornaments, a crushed head, bulging eyes.

Her face could no longer be recognized. Only her clothes and jewelry made it possible to infer who she was.

At first, Lucas felt severe cognitive dissonance and could not properly grasp reality.

“I am sorry. She suddenly raised a knife from behind. Before I knew it...”

Strictly speaking, Randgríðr had done nothing wrong, but she felt tremendous guilt at having killed a weak woman.

As an Einheri, she could not be punished for any crime, but she seemed to feel sorry on a human level.

But neither that fact nor her apology reached Lucas’s ears.

His sister’s death began to sink in gradually. Then memories of the days he had spent with her flashed rapidly through his mind.

At that moment, goosebumps covered Lucas’s whole body.

“Gasp!”

He collapsed where he stood. People tried to support him, but others stopped them. It seemed best not to touch him for now.

The reason Lucas had broken out in goosebumps was simple. Those memories were not memories of affection.

Only after losing her, looking back, did he realize the truth. He had never loved her even once. He had only been intoxicated with himself.

Then self-loathing surged over Lucas like a flood. What had he done? Why had he done it?

Like someone completely out of his mind, Lucas stared into empty space with his mouth hanging open. Tears flowed from his vacant eyes.

Now that he was the only heir to the merchant company, he even felt a strange sense of relief. He hated himself so much for that that he wanted to die immediately. How much of a piece of trash was he?

Only then did he finally understand the difference between Valerie and himself, between people who took life seriously and himself. No matter how much money he spent, all he could obtain was a shell.

If he had been sincere with her, even once, even a little, he would not have felt such self-contempt. It was not something that required money...

People brought a white cloth and covered the body.

A woman sitting at a table in one corner of the banquet hall watched. Brynhildr also looked somewhat dazed, and she had no time to sympathize with someone else’s tragedy.

That was because she too had faced a truth too difficult to bear.

She realized that she had not been forging her own destiny all this time. She had been running away. And the price of that escape was that the man who had appeared before her like fate was none other than her younger brother.

Brynhildr felt hollow, wondering what she should do now. At the same time, she thought that she had lived wrongly and that she could not continue living this way.

But first, she had to endure this pain like a bruise upon her soul.

Outside, Eirik and Sigbold were tending to Vidar’s body.

They had all faced their own truths. What each felt, their attitudes, and their actions were all different.

Some felt sorrow and misery. Some felt painful loss and solemn resolve. Some felt regret and self-contempt.

Thus ended the banquet beneath the moon.

Episode 16: Each Person’s Banquet. End.

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