WeTried Translations
Translator/Editor: Oblivious
Discord: https://dsc.gg/wetried
◈ Prince of Rage ◈
Chapter 81
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In any organization, it is the second-in-command who determines its caliber. The leader, the one at the top, determines its fate.
The rank-and-file members did not understand that very well. To them, the leader seemed to do nothing but give orders while taking all the profits.
The War Dogs mercenaries realized their leader was dead about thirty minutes after Valerie left.
The red sunset was gradually darkening. Ordinarily, this was when they would begin lighting campfires one by one and taking up night watch.
But who would have expected an assassin to come in broad daylight, kill their commander, and walk out?
“Fuck, what is this...?”
Cain, the mercenary band’s deputy commander, arrived after hearing the news and swore at the sight of several beheaded corpses. One of them was their commander, whose head was missing altogether.
Around forty mercenaries stood around the bodies with grim expressions. They whispered and muttered among themselves, but fell silent when Cain arrived.
Cain was responsible for the mercenary band’s discipline, a sort of drill sergeant.
“Which bastard did this?”
“...I heard that he came from the merchant company headquarters...”
“Who did?”
“Him.”
One mercenary pointed at someone. It was the mercenary who had told Valerie where the commander’s tent was.
“N-No, I thought he was an envoy. Come on! What assassin would openly show up in broad daylight!? This is the fault of the bastards who failed to keep watch outside the tent, sir!”
“Hey, you fucking bastard. Someone died, and you’re talking like that? Didn’t you betray us?”
Perhaps they were close to the people guarding outside the tent. They glared at the protesting mercenary.
There were fifty mercenaries, after all. They could not all be equally close.
“Betrayal!? Watch your mouth!”
“Then why did you show him the commander’s tent!?”
“I told you, I thought he was an envoy!”
“You should have checked!”
“Shut your damn mouths!”
As the two mercenaries raised their voices, Cain shouted. Silence immediately fell.
Yet beneath that silence lingered an atmosphere like the growling of dogs.
“How many were there?”
Cain asked.
“One. The other was waiting outside the camp with a horse. Thinking back, they did look very uneasy...”
“One person?”
“Yes, really. Only one person entered the camp. He was very handsome, but he looked young too. He had an air of nobility, so I didn’t suspect him.”
If they had come alone, Cain thought, then not only were their sword skills extraordinary, but so was their boldness.
Coming alone, in broad daylight, killing the commander, and strolling out again was something Cain had never even imagined. Cain had never heard of such a thing either. It was almost as if the visitor were an Einheri.
“What happened to the personnel who went to the crossroads this morning?”
“...I do not think they have returned yet.”
Someone else answered.
Only then did Cain realize things had gone wrong. The Lokir Merchant Company headquarters, not merely its branch, had begun to respond.
What were they supposed to do now? Should they withdraw like this? The operation had failed, and their commander was dead. It did not feel as though they could simply leave.
But Cain could not make a rash judgment or decision. That was the difference between a leader and a second-in-command.
“What about a night raid? We should take revenge.”
Someone cautiously offered an opinion. The sky was steadily growing darker.
“That is right. I have been itching for a fight. Let us go kill them all.”
“For the commander, and for our own reputation and honor, we must kill them all. If we let this pass, who will hire us in the future?”
Voices of agreement came from all around.
In truth, beneath their words lay not so much a desire to avenge their commander as a desire to plunder.
Even if discipline kept them in check, mercenaries were people with desires. Given the chance, those desires quickly reared their heads, especially when there was no leader.
That was why leading an army required knowing how to govern people before one could devise brilliant operations, tactics, or strategies.
And that was the most difficult part. How much should one control, and how much should one let loose?
An army that had developed a taste for plunder could not fight. More precisely, a person steeped in pleasure would not fight with their life on the line.
The difference between an army and bandits was whether they could be controlled. Yet given the opportunity, an army could also turn into a band of brigands in an instant.
Perhaps because of the campfires blazing around them, the mercenaries’ eyes seemed to gleam more brightly than usual.
Like starving beasts.
Cain saw those eyes and could think of no other order. At the very least, if Cain was to become the next commander, Cain had to fulfill the desires their subordinates wanted.
“...Get your equipment.”
The order was quiet, but all forty-odd mercenaries heard it clearly. They immediately scattered to gather weapons, armor, helmets, and the like.
They were fairly well trained, so it did not take long for them to equip themselves and gather again.
It was called a night raid, but there was no real operation to it. They had forty men. They would rush in, block the escape route, kill everyone, and take what they wanted.
They simply intended to commit a little banditry. Of course, its wrapping paper was revenge for their commander.
Very convincing wrapping paper.
By the time the mercenaries gathered again, it was early evening. They all held torches in their hands. The pimps and prostitutes who had stayed with the mercenaries could only watch in silence with anxious eyes.
Cain had many complicated thoughts as they watched the mercenaries gather. Killing them all was one thing, but what was Cain supposed to tell the Third Prince’s side?
The purpose had been to pressure the Lokir Merchant Company. That was why they had killed only a few at a time despite being able to kill them all.
Should Cain take the loot and abandon the Third Prince? Or should Cain simply go to the Third Prince and say they had killed everyone because of what had happened? How would the Third Prince react?
In truth, Cain had never even seen the Third Prince. It seemed his close retainers planned and carried out everything.
“Damn it...”
Cain muttered beneath his broad-brimmed helmet.
But while dwelling on all those concerns, Cain had gravely overlooked several points. Just because they rushed in to kill them did not mean they could kill every last one.
Until now, they might have been able to. But perhaps not anymore. Cain had not considered how capable that bold and skillful swordsman might be, or that the enemy might easily predict their actions.
The actions available to a group that had lost its leader were obvious. There were only two choices: seek revenge or withdraw.
They believed they had thought it through carefully before making their decision, but they did not realize how simple it would appear to their opponent.
Cain led the mercenaries in a fast march. It was half a day’s walk away, so at an army’s marching pace, they could arrive late at night and kill them all.
Around forty armed people marched together, their rumbling footsteps fairly intimidating. The heat of the torches in their hands seemed to heighten their excitement.
They had heard that hardly any adult men remained, and that most of the people were women and children. Some mercenaries already seemed to be swelling beneath their trousers.
The crescent moon seemed to draw the mercenaries’ madness steadily to the surface.
Yes, a night raid was better than attacking in broad daylight. It had more excitement to it.
Then they reached the bridge said to have been built by a giant. Their torches made them plainly visible, but they could not see across the bridge.
They had crossed halfway with bold, rapid steps when an unimaginable sound came from the darkness ahead.
Clatter! Clatter! Clatter! Clatter!
It seemed distant at first, then drew close in an instant. By the time its identity was revealed in the torchlight, it was already too late.
“Wha...!”
Thump! Crash! Thump! Crash-crash-crash!
A jet-black warhorse charged at full speed, slamming into the mercenaries as it crossed the bridge. There were no railings, and mercenaries tumbled over the sides.
“Arghhhhh!”
More than one scream rang out as they fell. From below came the sound of people hitting the ground.
Thump, thump.
Cain was among them. Since they had been at the very front, they took the strongest impact, lost consciousness, and fell beneath the bridge without even knowing they were dying.
If that could be called fortunate amid misfortune, at least they no longer needed to worry or agonize.
The mercenaries lucky enough not to fall could not make sense of what had happened. Some clung to the bridge, hanging from it, while most sat or lay where they had fallen, only looking around in confusion.
Those in the rear ranks especially did not know exactly what had happened. The front ranks had been shoved backward, and they had simply been pushed down with them.
“What was that? What happened?”
“A knight. It was a knight.”
“A knight?”
“It was a horse! A warhorse!”
Half the torches had fallen beneath the bridge, while the other half lay on its surface.
As the mercenaries struggled to regain their senses, footsteps sounded. Someone was approaching from where the warhorse had passed.
Thud. Thud.
It was a night beneath a crescent moon, with torches scattered everywhere. There was not enough light to make out the figure clearly, but they could recognize the flashing sword light.
The mercenaries instinctively tried to rise and fight back. But fewer than ten were able to.
Then Valerie drew upon the power of the runes, and his eyes glowed in the dark night. At the sight, even those who had tried to resist froze in place.
For an instant, Valerie’s body seemed to blur. Then he passed through the mercenaries like the wind.
The sword’s path was clear because of its gleam.
As that path passed through the mercenaries’ bodies, they were inevitably carved into pieces of flesh. At least the darkness hid the gruesome sight from clear view.
Valerie killed the uninjured people in an instant, then passed by those hanging from the bridge, striking their hands with his sword.
Tap, tap.
Their fingers were severed, and they fell below.
That was how they all died.
The War Dogs mercenaries, that was.
Valerie stood at the center of the bridge and looked around for any survivors. Then Snow approached with a clop, clop, and Valerie mounted again to return.
Wilfred, who had watched the scene from the other side of the bridge, had nothing to say.
Had it really been that easy? They were all dead? All those mercenaries?
Was it beyond absurd, or simply dumbfounding? It did not feel real.
Wilfred was not the only one.
After the night passed and dawn came, merchants, travelers, and pilgrims passing through Hayden Crossroads witnessed what had happened at the bridge and were left speechless.
More than a few had fallen beneath the bridge and died. Bodies with severed limbs lay scattered across the bridge, leaving thick bloodstains behind them.
Amid all that, some people hurried down to gather weapons and other equipment.
Then they saw the heads hung outside the Lokir Merchant Company’s Hayden Crossroads branch and understood.
Ah, Lucas, the merchant company head, had begun his counterattack.
Only days ago, they had thought the company was being helplessly victimized.
Still, they could not help wondering who had done this and what had happened for all the mercenaries to die. There was not a single corpse from the merchant company’s side.
It was truly baffling.
Because of the heavy curtains, the room was somewhat dark despite it being midday. Sunlight entered through the gaps in the curtains, seeming to cut the space in two.
A solid wooden table stood in the middle of the room. It had no particular shape, neither round nor square, but was naturally irregular. It looked as though someone had cut down a very large tree and used its stump as a table.
Five or six people sat around it.
Atop the table was a box full of salt, and inside it was a head.
The head of the War Dogs mercenary commander.
“The new merchant company head... has such nerve...?”
Someone spoke.
“We only made ourselves look ridiculous by provoking him.”
“Did not a great many mercenaries go?”
“I hear they all died.”
“Things were fine until recently. How did this happen?”
By all common sense, killing around fifty mercenaries required at least similarly capable mercenaries in similar numbers.
And even if they had hired such mercenaries, it would be difficult to kill them all overnight. There would normally be skirmishes and local battles first. It was rare for both sides to truly fight to the death from the very first clash.
Even in an all-out battle, it was rarer still for every soldier to die. Losing even one-third of a force was considered annihilation, and there should have been survivors fleeing or retreating.
But they had all died.
Every last one.
The merchant company had not even hired other mercenaries. How?
“At this point, would it not require someone on the level of an Einheri?”
“Do not be ridiculous. Even an Einheri could not chase down and kill every person who fled.”
“Then they must have laid a trap with the intent of killing them all from the beginning.”
“You say they devised an operation? There cannot be someone as strong as an Einheri who also knows how to formulate operational plans. Superior physical ability and intelligence are inversely proportional.”
It was an entirely personal prejudice, but it was still possible to think that way.
“If such a person exists, that would be terrifying.”
“Come now, let us not jump to conclusions. We cannot yet know whether they hired mercenaries or a swordsman as strong as an Einheri. The result is surprising, and it seems everyone is excited. Let us calm down first.”
“Let us remove this first. We have seen enough.”
The person who said that while looking at the box holding the head had a woman’s voice. She was also the youngest person present.
No one particularly objected, so a servant came, closed the box, and carried it away.
“...By the way, what should we tell His Highness?”
“Even if we report it, there is not much to say...”
“Do not say such things. Does that not sound as though you are disregarding His Highness? We must never do that. Do you want to end up neither here nor there? If His Highness cannot ascend the throne, we will all die.”
“...My apologies.”
“He is someone who must become king, no matter what happens. No, he is already our king. Do you understand? We must report this to His Highness, and investigate the matter thoroughly. Who exactly did this, and how?”
“Could someone be interfering with our work?”
“Who?”
“Let us suppose. If it truly was an Einheri, perhaps someone from a Kingmaker family who does not look favorably upon us sent one.”
“That is possible.”
“They say three Einherjar visited when the Duke of Nearcaster was killed. It may have been one of them, or more than one.”
“That is possible, considering the time and distance.”
“Is this not obvious? Other than Black Halfdan, who could have done something like this?”
“For now, do not make a definite conclusion. We can worry about saving face later, so let us be cautious for the time being. I heard recent news... The King’s condition has worsened. I hope none of you overlook that point. What matters most to us is ‘that day,’ not such trivial matters.”
“That day” likely meant the day the King died.
Apparently, these people followed the Third Prince, yet they knew nothing of Valerie’s identity.
They made fairly sharp guesses about the outward aspects, such as an Einheri, or someone with great martial strength who also possessed the intelligence, experience, and insight to formulate operational plans. But they could not imagine that he was a prince.
“You will handle informing His Highness of this matter, Eldwin.”
“Understood.”
The meeting continued for a while longer before ending. The woman named Eldwin left the meeting room and headed elsewhere.
The corridor outside the meeting room had a distinctly old-fashioned air. The mounted animal heads on the walls, the armor and weapons, and above all the furniture, all looked expensive.
She headed for the finest bedroom in the estate. People stood guard outside the door, and they opened it for Eldwin without a word.
Unlike the meeting room, this room was not dark. Light streamed in through the window, brightly illuminating the interior.
A figure stood by the window.
They were tall but thin. They held one arm with the opposite hand, making them look even frailer.
“Your Highness.”
Eldwin called.
The man standing by the window was Ivar, the Third Prince.
Ivar Volsung (Ívarr Vǫlsungr).
He turned his head to look behind him. His face was pale, making him appear very sickly. His cheeks were hollow, and there was no strength in his eyes. They did not hold the venomous gaze characteristic of the Volsung clan.
Even so, there was an inexplicable aura about him that was difficult to approach, even in his frailty.
He looked at Eldwin once, then turned back to the window.
“About the Lokir Merchant Company matter, Your Highness...”
Eldwin cautiously began.
But as though cutting off her words, Ivar spoke first.
His voice was remarkably beautiful. It was the sort of voice that naturally put the listener at ease, a voice whose comfort was impossible to resist.
“It is autumn, Eldwin.”
“Pardon?”
“Autumn. The last leaf has fallen as well. Even knowing that spring will come after winter, why does it always leave me with regret?”
“...”
“Leave me alone. I am tired.”
Eldwin’s heart trembled. She did not know whether it was pity or sorrow.
One thing was certain.
She loved him.
The man who had once been her older brother.
Now, he had become someone she could not dare embrace.
If only he would allow her to remain at his side, just a little. If only he would let her ease even a little of his loneliness. She wanted nothing else.
But she could not.
“...Understood. I will take my leave.”
Eldwin quietly withdrew, closing the door with a click.
Prince Ivar remained alone in the room, looking out the window. Then, like the last falling leaf, he lowered his head.
Because everything surrounding him was painful.
And no one understood.
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