WeTried Translations
Translator/Editor: Oblivious
Discord: https://dsc.gg/wetried
◈ Prince of Rage ◈
Chapter 73
──────
* * *
Nearcaster and the Lokir Merchant Company estate were a half-day walk apart. On horseback, it took half that.
It was close enough, but traveling back and forth was still rather bothersome. Brynhildr did not seem to think so.
Two days had passed since Valerie told her to take responsibility. As soon as she received the advance payment, Brynhildr mounted the king's red horse and raced to the Lokir Merchant Company estate as though flying.
The autumn wind in the early evening was chilly, but Brynhildr's heart was not.
She would see Valerie again.
Simply thinking of someone, simply looking forward to seeing them soon, could make a person happy.
Valerie gave the pouches of gold coins in the chest a rough glance, then asked in surprise,
“Did you kill the Duke?”
“No. Why?”
“What did you say that made him hand over the money so easily?”
“It was less about what I said. At first, we couldn't reason together, but then he said something like Valkyries had no honor. So I said I'd kill him, and he gave me this as an advance payment.”
Valerie briefly glanced at Randgríðr. With an Einheri at her side, Brynhildr could indeed threaten him with force.
Whether she had stumbled into a measure of legitimacy through blind luck or intended it that way, he could not tell.
It had not been a clean solution, but it had certainly been effective.
And now that she had actually brought back the money, his irritation and contempt toward her seemed to ease somewhat.
Valerie quietly thought it over. Trying to follow the Duke of Nearcaster's line of thought from the man's perspective, he felt the Duke might do something unnecessary.
From the Duke's perspective, after all, the Valkyrie had begun doing things she had never done before.
Someone must have encouraged her. It was unlikely to be Randgríðr, who was always beside her. If the Duke sought someone responsible for this dramatic change in her behavior, he would likely point to Valerie.
Valerie could not know exactly what measures the Duke would take if he acted. If the Duke resented the money, he would make a hasty decision. If he were truly a good man, he would restrain himself.
Valerie placed his bet on the former. Someone who made money through fraud could not possibly be indifferent to losing it.
After considering how to deal with it, he picked up the chest and left the room.
When he reached the third floor, a faint smell of excrement touched his nose. Brynhildr and Randgríðr, who had followed him, frowned in slight confusion.
Valerie headed toward the source of the smell. When he opened the door, the room was surprisingly clean. The smell had simply seeped into the walls and floor, where it could not be removed.
Quiet conversation drifted from within. Priest Eirik sat in a chair beside the bed, talking with Lokir, the bedridden head of the merchant company.
He was looking after him for a while in place of Lucas, who had been exhausted from caring for his father day and night.
“At the mill, at the mill, there were snakes, you know. Two of them. I caught them right away, skinned them, and ate them. My stomach's hurt ever since, and Mother went around the village to the field. The buckwheat field was white as though snow had fallen... You understand what I'm saying, don't you, friend?”
The merchant company's head spoke without order, rambling incoherently. His memories remained in the distant past, and his mind came and went.
Priest Eirik did not dismiss those ramblings. He listened with great attention.
“That is right. It must have been around autumn. The buckwheat field was especially beautiful whenever the full moon rose.”
“Yes. I told Mother to rest, but she said a fatherless wretch like me should at least learn to read and write. A skill to make a living. She said that if I entered service, I would not starve to death... One of the Norsemen. A kind one. What was his name? Sigurd? Sigurd? He asked how buckwheat was grown. I said I was a farmer's son, but I did not know how to farm. Hahaha...”
Lokir had almost no teeth left. After causing a commotion all day, he was finally exhausted enough to drift off with a smile.
Before long, he was breathing softly in deep sleep. Valerie continued to wait quietly with the chest in his hands. It was quite a while.
Brynhildr and Randgríðr had no choice but to wait as well. Both felt strange.
An old priest of the Jomsvikings keeping company with an elderly man with dementia, and Valerie silently watching them, all seemed somehow detached from reality.
It was not that there was anything grand about it. There was simply an atmosphere that seemed to transcend something in ordinary life.
Priest Eirik stroked Lokir's head as though caring for the most pitiful person in the world. Only after a long time did he turn to Valerie.
“An old man understands an old man.”
“...I have brought the money. Lucas said he paid 442 gold coins to purchase the holy relics, so I believe you should return that much, Priest.”
Priest Eirik lowered his eyes slightly and smiled gently.
“I do not know how many times I have become indebted to you. It seems you are kind, like the Norsemen, as well.”
“I cannot agree with that. The person here merely fulfilled her responsibility.”
Valerie said this while briefly looking toward Brynhildr behind him.
The priest raised his gaze to Valerie, then looked once each at Brynhildr and Randgríðr standing a little farther back. Then he looked at Valerie again.
“Are you, perhaps, a prince?”
“...Why do you think that?”
“As I said before, you resemble him too much.”
Whether it was praise, a curse, or an inescapable fate, Valerie could not tell.
“Please leave the two of us alone for a moment.”
Priest Eirik spoke to Brynhildr and Randgríðr. They felt gently overwhelmed somehow and left without a word, closing the door behind them.
It was early evening, and the room was dark. There was only a lantern on the table beside the priest.
“Come closer.”
Valerie approached him and set the chest on the table.
“You seem to wield the power of runes as well. Who taught you?”
“I once drank dragon's blood. My heart nearly burst and killed me, but a rune-mage sealed the power and taught me a breathing method. They said I would be able to absorb the power little by little.”
“A rune-mage would be an elf, would they not?”
“Yes.”
“Elves live long lives, so their training methods do not suit humans. We do not live for hundreds of years as they do. Listen closely to what I say from now on.”
As he spoke, Priest Eirik removed his priestly robes. As Valerie had expected, his entire body was covered in tattoos, with too many scars to count.
It seemed that every passing year and every choice he had made were recorded upon his body.
“Following the power that originates in the heart is the most basic method of wielding it. I doubt a single Einheri fights that way. But if you change its course on your own, you may become crippled or go mad, so you must be careful. Begin at the wrist and practice gathering power in your fist. First with one hand, then both hands, then both feet. After that, cross the power of your right foot with your left arm, then the power of your left foot with your right arm. Make the lower abdomen the crossing point, and pay no attention to the heart. Once you grow accustomed to this method, it will be more suitable for battle. This was how the dragon-slayer wielded his power. I will now tell you the exact path. Never forget it, and do not teach it to anyone else. I did not pass it on to the young Founding King because that child was burning too fiercely with vengeance, and I feared it would harm him instead.”
Perhaps so he would not forget the paths the power traveled, Priest Eirik had special tattoos carved into each of those places.
He pointed to his body and explained them one by one. Valerie had a good memory, so he memorized everything exactly as the priest instructed.
“At first, it will feel unfamiliar, as though your hands and feet are moving separately. But once you grow used to it, you will be able to use great power instantly without losing your balance. In other words, what matters with the power of runes is not the amount, but how efficiently you wield it. The method suited to each person differs, but if you are a prince, this will likely suit you best. Use the elves' breathing method for meditation, expanding your senses, and invigorating your body and mind. In actual battle, follow this method instead. But remember this. Do not rely too much on the power of runes alone. You must train your body and not neglect technical refinement. That may be even more important. You are the one who uses the power. You must not be ruled by it.”
“I will remember.”
“Also, every person is born with their own rune. It can also represent that person's disposition and character. The impatient, the easygoing, the cold, the warm, the curious, the reserved, the aggressive, the defensive, and so on. Rune characters, which the god of wisdom taught to humans, encapsulate those complex things. Even when elves and dwarves use the same characters, their cases are different, so be careful.”
Perhaps because he had spoken too much at once, Priest Eirik paused to catch his breath. Valerie followed everything well, but waited calmly for him to recover.
“A person's inborn rune may symbolize their fate, but when it runs contrary, it may also signify pain. Just as calm work does not suit an impatient person, and busy work does not suit a calm one. A base person born into noble station may ruin not only themselves, but many others. A noble person born into low station may overcome adversity and become great. Do you understand what I mean? The dragon-slayer was the Dawn Rune. Calm, with quiet understanding, and hope amid sorrow. A noble person was born into noble station. That was why he had to endure great sorrow and pain.”
As he said this, Eirik placed a hand over his heart. One rune character there, ᛞ, began to shine and lifted itself.
The glowing character remained in his hand. When Eirik reached toward Valerie and placed his hand over Valerie's heart, it seeped through his clothes, into his body, and into his soul.
After that, Eirik put his robes back on. Valerie helped him a little, but even that seemed difficult, and Eirik sat in his chair and began to breathe even more heavily.
He continued trying to catch his breath, but it did not look easy.
“Come closer.”
When Valerie leaned nearer, Eirik placed one hand on Valerie's head and the other over Valerie's heart.
“In truth, the gods have not died. They are alive here and here. Listen to their voices, but do not be ruled by them. You may think that you are thinking for yourself, but often the opposite is true. Thoughts can control you. So always reflect. Ask whether you are doing the thinking yourself, or whether your thoughts are controlling you. Do not define yourself too firmly. Perhaps, perhaps you are not truly a cold person, but a warmhearted one. Restrain your emotions, but learn to face them properly. Then, amid all those things, you will discover true faith. A faith that will never be shaken.”
His words were somewhat rushed and disorderly, as though his increasingly labored breathing left him no choice. Then, after barely managing to leave those final words, he closed his eyes.
“I am tired as well. I should rest my eyes for a while...”
One arm rested on the table, and his head lowered. Just like that, he entered eternal rest. He remained seated and did not collapse.
A man who had been alive moments ago had hurriedly poured out his words, then fallen asleep forever.
When Valerie turned his head, Lokir was no longer breathing either.
A heavy silence settled over the room. It was not stifling. It was like a time of meditation when no one should be awakened.
Valerie stood still for a long while. He looked at the chest on the table, then at Priest Eirik, then around the room once. As night fell, the room had grown darker.
One man had once explored the world, been called a warrior known as the Red Axe, followed the dragon-slayer's unfathomable dream, and afterward guided beasts through faith.
The other had lived through two great wars, lost everything, yet risen in the end to build a great family.
At the end of their lives, could two people of different races meet only briefly and become friends? Friends who shared death.
What, then, had their runes been? What hardships had they overcome to finally reach these quiet deaths?
Valerie, who had once stabbed himself in the throat and died, suddenly felt ashamed before the two old men.
He had lived a pathetic life...
Valerie repeated every last word Priest Eirik had said.
Even after memorizing them perfectly, he memorized them again.
So that he would never forget.
Among those words, the instruction not to define himself too firmly, or perhaps a whisper, lingered especially in his mind and heart.
Join our discord at https://dsc.gg/wetried
