Chapter 24

Translator: Willia

Within the citadel of Torvik, the castle standing atop the hill was not as large as one might have expected.

Perhaps that was because it had been built so long ago; still, it was made of stone at its core, and in terms of structural mechanics and defensive function, it looked far sturdier than the castles being built these days.

But since it had originally been raised for defense, it was hardly suited for living in. Sunlight rarely reached inside, leaving it dark even at midday, hot in summer and cold in winter.

Even so, beyond defense, it possessed just one thing for certain, and that was dignity. From a distance, it looked like a crown set upon the hill.

The castle's first floor served mainly as an audience chamber, a banquet hall, or a dining hall. While grand feasts were held in the citadel courtyard, here only the Duke's confidants and figures of importance were invited to enjoy the festivities.

A banquet must have been planned for tonight as well, for a feast had been laid out. Bonfires burned along the edges of the space, and candelabras set along the long table lit the dark interior.

Along the walls were displayed trophies and relics handed down through generations of the ducal House Viðing.

A necklace made of orc fangs, a troll skull, a tiger pelt, a tapestry several meters long, and helmets, swords, axes, and all manner of other arms taken from slain enemies.

All of it stood as proof of the family's power and valor, and one more piece was soon to be added.

Kneeling on one knee, Valery and his companions presented Duke Sven with Creed's head packed in a box of salt, along with the weapon the man had wielded in life.

As if unseasonable sunlight had broken across his aged face, Duke Sven was grinning from ear to ear.

"How is this any different from the old tales of heroes who repay their host's kindness by slaying a monster? Creed was a thorn in my side for many years. In striking him down, you have walked the very path of heroes, just as in the stories of old."

He was in such high spirits that Duke Sven lavished them with the finest praise he could muster.

"Heroes, raise your heads and rise."

At Duke Sven's words, Valery, Arne, Skard, and Yorik rose to their feet. Knut was seated right beside Duke Sven.

Whether it was the sheer grandeur of the space or the weight of the occasion itself, Yorik's eyes had gone wide, rolling this way and that.

"Truly the bearing of heroes...... Who is that man?"

Duke Sven, wearing a contented expression, looked from the strikingly handsome Valery to the stalwart Arne and Skard, but when his gaze reached Yorik, he tilted his head.

It was simply that, unlike the others, Yorik had a rather crumpled look about him. His newly bought clothes didn't suit him at all, and he carried the air of a man from the slums.

"Yes? I, I'm."

"This man's name is Yorik, and he is a boatman. He rowed a ferry at the crossing so that people could get over the river, but we had need of a boat for this mission, so he joined us."

Valery stepped in and covered for him smoothly. He could hardly say the man was a lowlife from the Thieves' Guild.

"A boatman, eh. Well, fine. If he was of help, so much the better. In any case, heroes who have achieved such a feat deserve a fitting reward, do they not?"

Duke Sven turned to the members of his Advisory Council seated around him and asked.

"Most rightly said."

They all nodded with smiling faces, but there was one whose expression was anything but pleasant. The Second Young Lord. The First Young Lord, dim as he seemed, had eyes only for the food.

The Second Young Lord was a man named Gutoerm, tremendously fat, with narrow, elongated eyes.

Some time ago, the Black Hand had passed along word that both the Harold kidnapping and the policies aimed at keeping Winsloe in check had come out of the Second Young Lord's head.

And, for whatever reason, he kept fondling one of his own nipples. All the while, those narrow eyes kept casting sidelong glances at Knut and Valery.

"Skard, was it? I hear you serve as a watergate guard. So, what is it you want? I shall grant it, insofar as it lies within my power."

Duke Sven asked. Skard's heart seemed to be pounding.

"A knight...... I wish to become a knight in full. I have the qualifications, but I have no horse yet, and I have not received Investiture. If I become a knight, I will devote this body of mine all the more to serving Your Excellency with loyalty."

Skard was an Apprentice Knight. Being an Apprentice Knight meant he had served long years as a squire and mastered everything from tending equipment and caring for horses to matters of courtesy.

But the reason Skard had never become a knight was a lack of skill and experience, and a lack of money.

Duke Sven nodded firmly, as if he found the young man trustworthy, and said to his Captain of the Guard,

"Teach this stalwart and loyal young man the art of Mounted Combat. You will take charge of raising him into a fine knight. Understood?"

"Understood."

"And, Arne. What do you want?"

"I...... am lacking in skill in many respects. If Your Excellency would permit it, I would like to be excused from duty so that I may devote myself solely to training."

"A humble young man indeed...... How could I refuse so small a request? You will be excused from duty starting tomorrow. Even so, your pay will still be given. You have my word."

Looking closely, Duke Sven readily granted only the small requests, and slyly sidestepped anything that seemed otherwise.

He had spoken as though he might hand Skard a horse on the spot and knight him then and there, yet no actual measures followed.

Of course, considering how much money went into a single knight, he could hardly go about doling out knighthoods for one meritorious deed.

"And, Yo, what was it? Yonik? Yorek? The boatman, anyway. What do you want?"

"Ah, I, I-I-I, I...... want to marry a pretty bride."

At Yorik's request, Duke Sven let out a puff of breath, then laughed as if dumbfounded. The Advisory Council laughed too, and thanks to that, the atmosphere seemed to loosen a little.

"Well, overseeing the marriages of his fief's people is indeed one of a lord's duties. Steward, you take charge of this one."

In other words, pick out some pretty maid or another and marry him off, or handle it as he saw fit.

"Understood."

Duke Sven took a sip of wine and finally looked at Valery. A face so handsome it struck him anew every time he saw it. And now that the young man had proven his ability on top of it, one had to wonder how any person could be like this.

"And...... you could well be called our true hero. Honestly, I was surprised. I had no idea your capabilities ran this deep. I took you for a young man merely gifted with the sword, but no. Perhaps I am witnessing the beginning of a hero for the ages. My power may be modest, but I wish to grant whatever it is you desire, Wid. So, what do you want?"

His words were clearly different from what he had said to the others. And no wonder, for the Duke had given the mission to Valery in the first place, and it was Valery who had taken charge, chosen his men, and carried the mission through.

And when the Duke asked what a man wanted, he was also testing his measure.

For to use a person, to steer them, to handle them, the key was knowing what they wanted and what they feared.

The three before him had answered plainly, but Valery understood these political undercurrents well.

Valery swept his gaze over the Duke's Advisory Council, his two sons and their wives, and his close attendants.

In the light of the bonfires and the candles on the table, they looked less like living people than figures in a painting.

Valery glanced once at Knut, who looked somehow bored and sullen, then at the Second Young Lord Gutoerm, and finally back at Duke Sven as he spoke.

"There is nothing I particularly want. Only, the suffering of the people of Grinnen still weighs on my mind. Please lift the Trade Embargo. Then the people of Grinnen will be able to make their living again, and it will profit Your Excellency as well. That is all I ask."

Perhaps it was an answer he hadn't expected; Duke Sven thought for a moment, then leaned back in his chair. Then, with a look that said, well, look at this one, he smiled faintly.

"Is that truly what you want?"

"Yes."

"The one who dammed the waterway is gone, so it is only natural that the water flows again. That would have happened without your asking. Did you not know?"

"Your Excellency is wise, so of course I knew it would come to pass. What worries me is that, if measures are not taken quickly, someone may arise again to covet Your Excellency's profits. And torment the people once more."

Valery spoke cunningly, weaving in lies where they fit.

The lie was that he cared much about the people; the point that the Ball-Ripper's death was no guarantee another such man wouldn't appear was sound.

In other words, lifting the Trade Embargo was one thing, but measures concerning the trade itself also had to move quickly. Seizing control of the southern docks, for instance.

Why had Duke Sven wanted the Ball-Ripper removed in the first place? Partly to punish a man who worked against his interests, but also because he wanted to monopolize those profits for himself.

Of course, it was not something the Duke could pursue officially. The city belonged to another lord's fief.

The Duke narrowed his eyes and looked at Valery. And he concluded that Valery wanted to become the man who managed that trade himself. 'More ambition than I thought.'

Duke Sven had been willing to make use of Valery to keep Winsloe in check, and to let him grow a measure of strength, but he had no intention of granting him real, substantive power. What was more, the thought crossed his mind that this one might be a little dangerous.

Of course, Valery knew everything the Duke was thinking. The reason he had brought up the trade anyway was that the words were meant not for the Duke, but for the Second Young Lord's ears.

Because if that man grew antsy and insisted on taking it on himself, he would ruin everything.

By now the Black Hand would have already seized full control of the docks, and Valery knew that meddling there would bring nothing but losses. Short of marching in an actual army, sending a handful of men would accomplish nothing.

If there was a solution, it was negotiation. Negotiation with the Ball-Ripper had been impossible, but the Black Hand, at least, were people one could talk to.

The Second Young Lord Gutoerm was now all but glaring at Valery, and the hand fondling his nipple grew fiercer and faster.

"......It was not by my wish, but the suffering of the people of Grinnen grieved me as well. Measures will be taken before long, so there is no need to worry. But is that truly all you want?"

At Duke Sven's repeated question, Valery pretended to consider for a moment before answering.

"City life is fine, but at times it can feel stifling. If you would make me a Provincial Marshal, I could take the air while securing the borders and interior of the fief for Your Excellency."

"A Provincial Marshal, you say?"

Duke Sven, who had been eyeing him with suspicion all the while, widened his eyes; clearly he hadn't expected it. For Provincial Marshal was something of a dead-end post. Dangerous, grueling, and unprofitable.

Knights took it in rotation, and none of them wanted it. A single patrol took at least three or four days, sometimes more than a week.

Along the way there were many nights spent sleeping rough; at times one had to face bandits alone or with the barest handful of men, and with bad luck, stumbling upon a monster could mean meeting a horrific end without ever having fought on a battlefield.

Even so, the reason Valery requested it was to free himself, to some degree, from constraints on his movements. Even that much would open up a great many things he could do.

For Duke Sven's part, no matter how he furrowed his brow and puzzled over it, he could not work out the reason. 'Wasn't he supposed to be ambitious? What is this?'

"What is your reason?"

“As I said, remaining in the city all the time can feel stifling. But I do not wish to leave the city entirely either. Every now and then, truly only every now and then, I would simply like to get some fresh air.”

"Hmm...... Very well. I will give you a writ and a token. When you stop at gates, cities, or villages, they will open their doors and welcome you. They will provide food and lodging, and if you have need of supplies, you may requisition them."

Dangerous and grueling as the post was, its authority was formidable in equal measure. The right to requisition supplies from cities and villages was not something just anyone could hold.

What was more, in wartime it carried the authority to conscript local forces, form them into an army, and command it.

It was that important a post, yet in practice such occasions rarely arose, so it was regarded as nothing but toil.

Conscripts hardly fell in line just because they were called up; rounding up a few able-bodied men was of no immediate use anyway; and if a real war broke out, the Duke would conduct the conscription himself rather than send out a marshal.

"Come, come, we've kept our heroes standing far too long. All this fine food will go cold. Take your seats, and everyone, raise your cups!"

As if to proclaim the banquet begun, the Duke lifted his wine cup and spoke with vigor.

Regrettably, there was no reward for Knut. Not out of wariness or anything of the sort; he was simply treated as a half-disowned son.

With the important business, if it could be called that, concluded, the banquet began in earnest. Bards strummed their lutes, and servants bustled about carrying drink and food.

As time passed, some laughed at the top of their lungs, drunk, while others spat on the Ball-Ripper's severed head and cursed it.

"Mount that head on a pike outside the citadel at once! Show them that no one who defies me goes unscathed, no matter who they are! Wahahahaha!"

Duke Sven, too, shouted loudly, drunk it seemed. What pleased him now was not that his subordinates had achieved a feat, but the very fact that Creed the Ball-Ripper was dead.

The man who had given him headaches for so long was dead, and it seemed to delight him to no end.

Yorik, drunk as well, was pestering the maids carrying drink and food.

"E, excuse me."

"Yes?"

"What time did we say we'd meet tomorrow?"

"Pardon? I don't think that was me. You have the wrong person."

"Huh?"

"Hey, for the love of god, sit still."

Arne all but grabbed Yorik by the collar and hauled him back into his seat.

"Come to think of it, where's Wid?"

“No idea.”

Skard asked, and Arne didn't know.

Because Valery had been quietly watching the course of the banquet, and when he judged that people were dead drunk, he had risen from his seat.

When Valery deliberately moved in secret, he was difficult to notice. Especially when everyone around him was drunk.

Where Valery was headed now was none other than Knut's room on the second floor. The raucous din from the floor below came through, muffled and dull.

The door was smaller than expected. When he knocked, Knut's voice came from within.

Knock, knock.

"Who is it?"

When he opened the door, a modest room came into view, crammed with all manner of outlandish objects.

Mobiles, toys of every kind, trinkets both cheap and costly, a collection of daggers, stuffed dolls, and the like, all expensive and useless things, filled the room. Apart from the bed, there was hardly space to set a foot.

A single lantern atop a chest of drawers illuminated the room, making it feel almost detached from reality. Various ornaments glittered softly in its light.

"Huh? What is it?"

Knut had been playing with a toy, and when he saw Valery come in, his eyes went round with surprise.

"You're not drinking?"

"Nah. I don't drink. Tastes bad."

At the words tastes bad, a small laugh escaped Valery.

Wondering what he was up to, Valery went closer; Knut was playing with a strange toy.

It looked like a small wooden box; place a gold coin on top and press the button, and a hand popped out and snatched it away.

Then, after winding the mechanism and pressing the button again, a fairy doll holding the gold coin rose from the box and spun in circles to the sound of ethereal music. It was certainly fascinating, though it did little to interest Valery.

"Is it fun?"

"I just do it without thinking about anything."

"Hm, is this how you always spend your days, shut up in your room? Playing with toys?"

"Yeah."

"Why?"

"If I go out, I have to look at faces I'd rather not see."

"Is that so?"

"Yeah."

"Hey, listen."

"Yeah. Go ahead."

"Have you ever thought about becoming Duke, by any chance?"

It was an enormously dangerous thing to say. Dangerous enough that being overheard could cost him his head on the spot.

But Knut, far from being startled, looked wholly unmoved. Just as Valery had no particular interest in the toy.

“No. Never.”

"......Then, by any chance, is it all right if I kill your brothers?"

An even more dangerous thing to say.

At that, Knut, who had only been playing with his toy, turned to look at Valery.

Eyes large as a cat's, green irises gleaming like emeralds of the finest grade. And this time too, there was not a trace of surprise in him.

"Those people aren't my brothers."

"What do you mean?"

"They poisoned the old man's drink themselves and said Mom did it. I couldn't protect my mom. I didn't even know what I was supposed to do. It's the same now. Asking me things like that, I just don't have anything to say. I won't get in your way."

Knut went back to playing with his toy. Set the coin, press the button, wind the spring. He simply repeated the same motions.

He seemed to want nothing more than to pass the time blankly, thinking of nothing at all.

Numbing the heart until one was alive yet as good as dead. That was the way Knut had chosen in order to survive.

The sight was just like looking at Valery himself, back when he had kept the coin ledgers. Work that had felt tedious and meaningless. Work that had ceaselessly driven him toward becoming a man who felt nothing.

It was no refuge, no escape; it was nothing but a prison of one's own making.

Valery wanted to pull Knut out of that prison.

"Then, Knut, from now on, you really just trust me and follow my lead."

At Valery's words, Knut plucked the gold coin from the doll's hand and held it up as though to say, Look at this.

Then he smiled playfully. There was not a trace of venom in the expression. He looked utterly gentle.

“I don't accept gifts from just anyone. How do I know they haven't been poisoned?”

Perhaps Knut had meant it as a playful joke in his own way, but it was not funny.