WeTried Translations

Translator/Editor: Oblivious

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◈ Prince of Rage ◈

Chapter 8

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Valerie, Harald, Gidwin, Tommy, and Hakon had a training routine they performed every dawn.

First, they gathered in the courtyard and began running, crossing the village until they reached the nearby mountain.

There, farmers had piled up stones they had pulled out or cleared away while plowing their fields. The boys filled large baskets with them, slung them over their backs like packs, and ran up the mountain.

People beginning their work early in the morning watched them with smiles, stared blankly, or, in the case of children, hopped about in the distance and cheered them on.

Gidwin was the fastest, followed by Tommy, Valerie, and Harald. Hakon did not carry a basket to begin with. He brought food instead.

Their thighs and calves felt ready to burst, and several times they became so exhausted that it felt as though they might stop breathing. Still, like forging a spearhead capable of piercing anything, they overcame their bodies with willpower alone and ran up the mountain.

After about an hour of climbing, they reached a spring. If they pushed through the brush and went a little farther, they could watch the sun rise over the distant eastern horizon.

Golden light fell upon the five young men, and it felt as though the sun's energy seeped into their tired bodies.

Tommy bore two deep knife scars across his face from what had happened at the horse market.

In exchange, his eyes no longer held their old irritability and arrogance. They had become somewhat bolder and deeper. If two scars were the price, perhaps it was cheap.

What had happened at the horse market had affected each of them in its own way. That influence meant change, and perhaps it was an opportunity for growth.

Even Harald, who had once seemed nothing but an immature child, had become quieter. His usual innocence had not disappeared completely, but since he had been the one kidnapped, it would have been stranger if he had remained unaffected.

After becoming a page, Hakon no longer wore his helmet. Once he washed his face, which had been streaked with grime, he turned out to be a truly adorable child, like a porcelain doll.

No, he was not actually a child. He was around the same age as Valerie and Harald. Despite being of pure Norseman blood, his development was unusually slow.

Valerie was above average for his age, Harald was average, and Hakon was clearly below average.

At thirteen, it was for the best that he had become a page rather than a squire. He was learning the basics of ordinary life, from washing himself to speaking properly and keeping a neat appearance.

To be honest, prior to becoming a page, his appearance and behavior had been no different from a beggar's.

Lastly, the Countess's words continued to ring in Valerie's ears.

'I will be your mother.'

Those words shook Valerie more deeply than any magical spell, and like aftershocks, they still gently stirred him.

At the time, he had wanted to run into her arms and call her Mother.

Even so, he had forced himself to reject her. It was not only because of guilt. Her feelings might have been real, but a relationship made that way could only be a lie.

The sun rose completely. Dawn faded, as though it had finished its task.

Watching the fully risen sun, Hakon spoke.

“Why can't we find the house where the sun sleeps, no matter how far east we run?”

“Because it comes from heaven.”

Harald answered.

“I see. So we have to die to get there.”

“Long live His Majesty the King, fuck.”

Tommy, the one who led the kingdom's subjects to heaven, praised the king and immediately stripped naked before jumping into the spring. Splash!

Valerie and the others stripped as well and jumped into the spring. The water was cold enough to chill their bones, but they quickly grew accustomed to it.

They washed, played, and did their laundry all at once. Then they built a fire, set a pot over it, threw in whatever ingredients they had, and made stew.

Each took a bowl, cautiously blowing on the hot broth before eating. Even while complaining that it was hot, they picked up chunks with their fingers and ate them.

Tommy and Hakon seemed rather close. They played jokes on each other and looked after one another. Hakon's attempt to save Tommy from the Lecton gang with his small body, though it had not helped much, seemed to have brought them together.

After finishing the stew, they washed their bowls and hands in the spring.

They dried their clothes roughly by the fire, then put them back on even though they were still damp and headed down the mountain. By the time they returned to the castle, their clothes were dry, whether from the morning sunlight or the heat of their bodies.

But when they arrived, a stranger stood in the courtyard. Judging by the horse beside him, he seemed to have ridden there. His clothing and the fine-looking tack suggested he was no ordinary person.

He had a somewhat fastidious appearance. Though leanly built, he did not look easy to deal with. Valerie recognized at once that he was a swordsman.

The embroidered letter V and oak tree on his clothes identified him as someone from House Viðing.

House Viðing was Duke Sven's house. In other words, the man before them served Duke Sven.

He examined the five who had just entered the castle. The five of them looked back at him without a word. An uneasy tension hovered, not quite forming.

After a moment, Count Aethelred came out of the castle and asked at once,

“Who are you?”

He knew the man had come from the ducal house, but as the host, he was asking because this was their first meeting.

With slight insolence, the man did not greet the count immediately. He swept his eyes over him once before lowering his head.

“Greetings, Count Winslow. It is an honor to meet one whose illustrious reputation I have heard so much about. I am Gale Rotmund, a humble guest retainer of Duke Sven, head of House Viðing, ruler of all Eldeira, lord of Nordlanding and Krischer, overlord of the Counts of Winslow and Windale and the Count of Revi, and commander of forty-two knights. I have come as an envoy to deliver His Grace's words.”

It was a long introduction, but simply put, Eldeira was his duchy, while Nordlanding and Krischer were counties he held and ruled directly.

The forty-two knights included his direct knights, frontier knights, and manor knights. It meant he could immediately muster forty-two knights.

Counting two or three supporting fighters per knight, including squires, along with roughly ten soldiers each, forty-two knights meant he could mobilize approximately five to six hundred troops.

If his vassals' forces were included, the entire Duchy of Eldeira could muster around a thousand armed troops, excluding peasant militia.

That was about three or four times the forces of a single count.

In any case, this was generally how nobles were formally introduced. Yet there was no need for an envoy to recite all this before a vassal. Besides, he himself was only a guest retainer without a single official post.

Above all, showing up unannounced at the crack of dawn was not a respectful attitude.

As expected, Count Aethelred looked at the envoy with clear displeasure before reluctantly saying, since he was still the duke's envoy,

“Come in.”

The envoy cast a brief glance toward Valerie's group before following the count into the castle.

Watching him, Valerie could guess why he had come. Not immediately, perhaps, but he would surely make excuses to take Harald as a hostage.

Though Valerie's own actions had changed the circumstances around him somewhat, the broader course did not seem to have changed. Duke Sven's characteristically bizarre persistence did not care about trivial variables.

Valerie sensed that the time was approaching for him to repay his debt to House Winslow and leave.

The meal was rather modest for entertaining a guest. There was only thinly sliced ham, raspberries, and wine. It was not bad as food to accompany drink.

Gale, the envoy, did not touch the food or wine prepared for him.

“I heard the news. About what happened to the young master. You must have been terribly shocked. Please accept my deepest sympathies...”

“Get to the point.”

Count Aethelred cut him off. Their eyes seemed to say that the envoy should leave as quickly as possible.

“The point... Yes, very well. It saves me the trouble as well. There has been a royal command. New Einherjar are to be selected.”

At the words royal command, Count Aethelred's eyebrow twitched.

The Einherjar were the King's Royal Guard, while an individual member was called an Einheri.

Back when the gods were alive, the word referred to warriors preparing for the final war. Literally, it could mean one who fought alone, or a one-man army.

In fact, although the Royal Guard was an organization, its members operated individually rather than through cooperation.

There was a saying. If a knight could face a hundred ordinary men, an Einheri could face a hundred knights.

That was beyond human, so people said they had received fragments of the gods' power when the gods died, or awakened the power of runes.

The Founding War had been over fifty years ago, and the War of the Beasts thirty years ago. In every major war, the Einherjar had participated whether they wished to or not. Survivors passed down eyewitness accounts and tales of their martial prowess.

They were described as nearly inhuman, splitting the earth with a single stomp, cutting off a horse's neck with one stroke, or breathing lightning and fire.

It was hard to believe unless one belonged to a generation that had lived through war. Even those who had experienced war often did not believe it, since they were so few. The current king's Einherjar numbered only around ten.

However, they had also been present during the War of Succession before Valerie's regression, so he had seen them himself. He had witnessed their unbelievable power, how they could turn around even an unfavorable battle alone.

Yet all of them had stubborn natures that refused compromise, and they rarely obeyed anyone but a king or prince. They often brought about their own isolation and met miserable ends.

Some of them were not in the Royal Guard at all, but lived quietly before being swept into war. Valerie roughly knew who they were and where they lived now.

“I've heard of them, but I don't know the details. What do you want me to do?”

Count Aethelred asked as though the selection of the Einherjar had nothing to do with him.

“Selection for the Einherjar must be conducted only by royal command. Rune-mages are dispatched throughout the land, and they select the candidates. Dukes and margraves are obligated by royal command to assist them in making suitable selections. Put simply, that means gathering talented people. Surely you have no objection to a royal command?”

“...”

It was obvious that under the pretense of selecting talented people, they intended to choose Harald and take him away. But by invoking a royal command, they had left him with almost no choice.

Still, Count Aethelred was not someone who could be pushed around so easily.

“How could I dare defy a royal command? What I find strange, however, is that the one who received the royal command was Duke Sven, not me.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“I mean I will select the talented people and send them. His Grace will not select and take them himself.”

“...Producing an Einheri is a house's greatest honor. If that happens, it is practically certain that His Majesty will grant new land or elevate your rank. Gaining renown throughout the kingdom is merely an added benefit. Would you truly reject such an opportunity?”

“What opportunity? Do you know whom I would send?”

Gale realized his mistake. He had revealed his intention to take the heir.

He had heard that Count Aethelred was not an easy man to handle, but he was more formidable than expected.

He had a sharper mind than the illiterate Count of Windale. Of course, dealing with an ignorant man had its own difficulties.

Perhaps frustrated, Gale drained the wine he had not touched until then. Then, while at a disadvantage, he came up with the best move he could. They had long known each other's intentions anyway. It did not matter.

“Let us have an instructional spar. Talent is not something that needs to be hidden, is it? His Grace sent me to carry out the royal command. If Your Excellency simply says you will handle matters yourself and sends me back, I fear His Grace may take offense.”

Count Aethelred drank his wine slowly. It was somewhat threatening, but it was not entirely wrong. The duke had sent an envoy, and telling him to leave because Aethelred would handle everything himself could certainly offend him.

In any case, their lord-vassal relationship put him at a severe structural disadvantage. He could only do his best within those limits. Openly defying the duke would be difficult.

Count Aethelred set down his cup.

“Very well.”

At the count's answer, Gale's eyes gleamed. Under the excuse of an instructional spar, killing that bastard whose fame had lately become widespread would be an achievement in itself.

Without that bastard, he would have grounds to take the heir. He trusted that the duke would deal with the aftermath. Perhaps he might even receive a reward and an official post for doing well.

The ease returned to Gale's troubled heart, and he smiled faintly.

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