Chapter 35

Translator: Willia

It had been four days since Gutoerm, the Second Young Lord of House Viðing, died.

According to the original plan, he should still have been alive, holding the wharf while gradually drawing down the troops, then withdrawing once Duke Sven sent an administrator.

Frankly, it was such a simple, easy task that there had been no need to put the Second Young Lord in charge. Even a six-year-old child could have succeeded.

That was why Sven had never even considered the possibility. No, it had never occurred to him that Gutoerm might fail, much less die.

Yet one day passed, then two, then three. Not only had the troops not withdrawn, there had not even been any news. Only then did Duke Sven begin to take notice.

“Did I send that idiot there to do his job, only for him to spend his time amusing himself?”

Given the circumstances, that was the rational conclusion.

But when he sent someone to investigate, the report came back that the wharf had burned down, and not only was the Second Young Lord nowhere to be seen, neither were the knights and Soldiers who had gone with him.

Only then did Duke Sven realize that something was wrong.

At first, when he heard that the wharf had burned down and was being rebuilt, he wondered if the fool had burned it down and run away because he was afraid of being punished. Honestly, that sounded exactly like something the Gutoerm he knew would do.

But even if Gutoerm had run away, it made no sense for the knights and Soldiers to go with him. For all of them to vanish without a word, without leaving a trace, was strange.

He sent people to Grinnen to ask around and find out what had happened, but the locals were too afraid of the Black Hand to say anything.

The bizarre incident remained completely shrouded in mystery until the fourth day, when, fortunately or unfortunately, a corpse bloated beyond recognition was discovered on the riverbank.

The clothes, the teeth, the gouged-out wound on the chest. Taken together, all the evidence pointed to the Second Young Lord, Gutoerm.

After receiving the report and confirming the body with his own eyes, Duke Sven felt less grief over losing his son than fury over the ruined operation and the challenge to his ducal house.

“Filthy vermin......!”

Who had done this? Who dared?

Duke Sven wracked his brain. He was not an unintelligent man, but his emotions were running too high for him to think rationally.

So first, he looked for someone to blame, someone on whom he could vent his anger. That person was Knut.

Duke Sven stormed straight into Knut’s room.

The room was filled with all kinds of mobiles, toys, and miscellaneous objects. As usual, Knut sat beside his bed, playing with a toy.

Normally, Sven paid him no attention at all, but for some reason, the sight only enraged him further.

“It was you! You did this, didn’t you!? Tell me the truth!”

With his father suddenly barging into his room and shouting, Knut could only feel frightened and bewildered. Too startled to say anything, he merely stared at him with wide eyes.

As though bursting into the room had not been enough, Duke Sven began smashing and throwing everything within reach. Finely crafted toys, mobiles made by skilled artisans, all of them were destroyed without mercy.

Knut could do nothing but remain seated beside the bed and raise his arms defensively as broken fragments flew in every direction.

Then Duke Sven went even further and suddenly drew his sword, swinging it wildly. He cut through the strings of the mobiles, hacked apart the bed, and slashed at the objects piled throughout the room.

After venting some of his fury, he stood there breathing heavily, then pointed the tip of his sword at Knut.

“Gutoerm. You killed Gutoerm, didn’t you? You killed Ketil too, didn’t you? You and that damned mother of yours are trying to take over this family, aren’t you? Answer me truthfully. Otherwise, I’ll kill you.”

Knut was about to say no when he suddenly remembered something Valery had said before.

He had asked whether he could kill Knut’s brother. So Knut thought Valery had killed Gutoerm.

But he said nothing.

Knut was deeply scarred by being falsely accused, but he did not want Valery to get hurt.

“......”

“Your silence tells me I’m right. Even if it means ending the family line, I will never let you take this house.”

With that, Sven raised his sword high, as if he truly intended to kill him. At this point, they looked less like blood relatives than people who were worse than strangers to each other.

Knut’s heart pounded. At last, he thought the time had come. The time for him to die. As though accepting everything, he closed his eyes.

Fortunately, the knights waiting outside rushed in like lightning and restrained the Duke.

“Let go! Let go of me!”

“Compose yourself, Your Excellency!”

“Do I look like I can compose myself!? You killed Ketil, and now Gutoerm too!? This is clearly an attack on the Heir! It’s Usurpation! Usurpation!”

Ketilmund could perhaps have been overlooked because he was a Concubine-born Son, but killing a Legitimate Heir was an extremely serious matter. Of course, Knut had not killed Gutoerm.

Only after the knights restrained him for quite some time did Duke Sven finally regain a little of his reason. He flung his sword away irritably, then pointed at Knut with a hand trembling from rage.

“Lock him up. Put him in the iron cage in the watchtower. I’ll keep him there until he dies. Anyone who gives him food or water without my permission will be killed, no matter the reason! Do it immediately!”

Duke Sven finally stormed back out, leaving the wrecked room behind. Knut remained sitting beside the bed with his head lowered.

And so, Knut was locked in the watchtower’s iron cage once again.

High above the ground, where fierce winds blew without pause, where the floor was not fully enclosed and his legs could easily slip through, and where inward-pointing spikes kept him from leaning comfortably against the bars.

By the time Valery returned from patrol, Knut had already been locked in the iron cage for two days.

Valery had not even washed yet. Still fully armed from patrol, he looked up at the iron cage.

It was not as though the journey had been easy, but returning had still felt like setting down some of the weight he had been carrying. Now Valery’s heart grew heavy again.

“Maybe it’ll be all right? He got released last time too.”

Skard spoke with his arms crossed, his expression grim. He seemed to be making an effort to stay optimistic.

“I think this time is different. The Second Young Lord was still a Legitimate Heir.”

Arne voiced the harsh reality they did not want to face. This was different from when Ketilmund had been killed.

It was not as though Concubine-born Sons or Bastards could simply be killed at will, but this was a world where some lives were valued more highly than others. That was the Class System.

“He could be prickly on the outside, but he was such a warmhearted person underneath.”

Yorik said.

Yorik was currently employed as a Servant in Torvik. He had occasionally attended to Knut during the operation in Grinnen and afterward as well, so the two of them were surprisingly close.

“Hey, don’t talk about him like he’s already dead.”

Arne frowned and warned him.

“What? Th-that’s not what I meant......”

“Enough. Right now, none of us can do anything. We’re all in the same position.”

Skard cut off the pointless conflict before it could begin. Then, almost unconsciously, he turned toward Valery. Arne and Yorik looked at him as well.

Valery’s face revealed no particular emotion. He merely stood there calmly, wearing chainmail beneath his surcoat, a sword at his waist, and staring up at the iron cage. He held a Viking Axe in one hand.

“Wid.”

Arne called to him.

But Valery did not look at him. His gaze remained fixed on the iron cage as he spoke.

“I killed Gutoerm.”

Yorik’s eyes widened. The other two remained silent, their expressions unchanged.

“And now I know for certain why this family has to fall.”

Words that most would not have dared to utter left Valery’s lips in a calm voice.

“What do you mean?”

Arne asked with a grave expression.

“Even a parent doesn’t have the right to treat their child however they please. That’s what I believe. Duke Sven cares about no one but himself. When a man like that is a Duke, all he does is spread misery wherever he goes. This wasn’t only about Winsloe.”

There was no need for some solemn resolution. It was simply clear to him now.

This was a world where parents thought of their children as possessions. Nobility and commoners alike were the same. And everyone treated it as simple common sense.

But as Valery saw it, giving birth to and raising a child did not grant someone the right to do whatever they wanted with that child or treat them however they pleased. All misery began there. And it followed a person for the rest of their life.

Had any of it been my choice? Having to be raised by someone else simply because I was born a Prince, then having to kill my own brothers and nephews?

There were things Valery had seen while out on patrol. People clutching each other and wailing in a barley field, the loneliness of a Ranger, an enormous family living beneath one roof, Torvald’s struggle, a Marcher Knight’s determination to live.

Valery had envied them at times. At others, he had admired them.

After seeing such things, he finally understood. Neither power nor violence should ever be used to tear apart a harmonious family, nor should anyone be allowed to block the path each person had chosen to walk.

Duke Sven was nothing more than a money-grubbing worm. That was what Valery thought.

But to his friends, Valery’s words sounded unfamiliar. None of them had ever even considered the idea that parents did not have the right to treat their children however they pleased.

As his friends remained silent, Valery finally turned toward them.

“I’m going to save Knut. That means openly opposing the Duke. Think carefully before you get involved.”

His friends were silent for a while. It was only natural. The idea was so serious and so enormous that it almost felt unreal. Opposing a Duke.

Arne was the first to answer. Given his own family circumstances, Valery’s words about how even parents could not treat their children however they pleased had struck him deeply.

Besides, Arne was naturally honest and had never been able to tolerate injustice.

“I cut ties with my mother and father and decided to live as myself. If I pretend not to see this and walk away, then I won’t be me anymore. I’m in.”

Skard thought for a moment before asking.

“......Do you have a plan?”

“First, we go to Grinnen. We already have enough money, so forming a mercenary company and moving to another region would be an option too.”

The money from selling the jewels had left them with more than enough funds. And rather than suddenly fleeing somewhere far away, Valery judged that Grinnen, where he already had a certain amount of standing, would be the better choice. He was famous there as the Salt Prince, after all.

Skard thought it over once more before answering.

“I wanted to become a knight, but the more I look at the Duke and the Captain of the Guard, the less it seems like they’ve got much going on in their heads. Living as a mercenary might not be so bad. If we’re fleeing anyway, I should take a good horse with me.”

Only Yorik remained. Everyone looked at him, though none of them seemed to expect much.

With all eyes on him, Yorik deliberately straightened his posture and adopted a solemn expression.

“Why should a beast of prey live only on food handed to it by others? It ought to venture into the wild and fight for its own food.”

“......Where did you hear that?”

Arne asked suspiciously.

“Well, I’ve been learning to read lately. Apparently, nobility only considers things won through struggle to have any value.”

“Have you already become a noble?”

Arne was so dumbfounded that he could not help being sarcastic.

“Can’t I be noble at heart? And frankly, I’m the only one who can wait on the Young Lord while keeping him in a good mood. Are you My Lords going to do that?”

Somehow, he seemed to be getting better and better with words. Or had he always been like that? In any case, all four of them had reached the same decision.

Together, the four looked up at the iron cage where Knut was imprisoned.

Knut thought about becoming a tree. Trees never complained, even when battered by wind and rain, and calmly endured pain.

It was closer to self-hypnosis than thought. Knut had been locked in cages and subjected to all sorts of punishments since childhood, so whenever he wanted to numb himself to pain, he had always imagined a tree.

It’s all right if this position is a little uncomfortable. Being hungry is all right too. I only have to endure the cold for a little while. Soon I’ll lose my strength and get sleepy. If I pass out like that, a lot of time will have gone by when I wake up. And it would be best if I never woke up at all.

It was now past midnight, marking Knut’s third day in the iron cage, and in his own way, he was holding on well. No, could this really be called holding on?

He nodded off like a sick chicken, slept for a moment, woke up and moved his body a little, then nodded off again and passed out.

If this keeps going, I’ll die in my sleep.

That was all he had to think. Thinking nothing at all would have been best, but becoming a stone was too difficult, so he always thought of a tree.

The first thing Knut had learned to do as a child in order to become numb to pain was abandon hope. Hope that he might survive. Hope that he might someday be happy.

It was a beautiful night, the stars shining brilliantly. But they brought him no comfort. Beautiful things somehow made him want to live, so Knut looked away.

He surrendered himself instead to passing out, to the sensation of strength slowly draining from his body, letting his mind find comfort in it.

Then he heard a phantom voice.

“Knut.”

He was used to hearing phantom voices too. Whenever they came, he simply let them come. If he reacted, the pain would rise again, so Knut ignored the voice and continued nodding off.

“Knut.”

The voice came again. A voice. That sounds like Wid. Hmm, do I miss him? But I won’t see him anymore. It was fun, even if it was only for a little while. Goodbye, Wid.

“Knut.”

He heard it again. This time, it felt like a tiny droplet falling onto still water and sending out ripples. Perhaps it was the faintest trace of a will to live.

Knut weakly raised his head and looked forward. At the high watchtower window, someone had leaned his body out beneath the flood of starlight.

Once Knut realized who it was, his eyes slowly widened.

“I came to save you. I need you to help me a little. Can you stand?”

“......Wid?”

“Yeah, it’s me. Let’s go. You won’t have to go through this anymore.”

“W-why?”

“What do you mean, why? We’re friends. Besides, you shouldn’t be going through this because of me. Just try to stand up first. We don’t have much time.”

Valery had wedged something like a wooden plank beneath the gap between the iron cage and the window. The wind blew fiercely. Just in case, Skard and Arne had linked hands and were holding on to Valery.

Knut’s eyes grew wider and wider. Then, just as quickly, his expression fell.

“No. Just go.”

“What are you talking about? It’s already too late to turn back.”

“Father will get angry. All of you are going to get in trouble.”

Valery stared quietly at Knut. Then he spoke with complete sincerity, without the slightest trace of falsehood.

“For me, watching you suffer is worse than getting in trouble. And I told you before to trust me and follow me. Come on.”

At those words, Knut’s face suddenly crumpled, and tears began streaming down his cheeks. He had thought his emotions had died long ago, but now the tears poured endlessly, like a dam that had finally burst.

Valery unlocked the iron cage with the key he had stolen. Now Knut was close enough to reach with one hand.

Knut reached out. Valery seized his arm, pulled him sharply forward, and wrapped one arm tightly around him. Knut was as light as a feather, so there was no chance Valery would lose his grip.

“There. I’ve got you.”

At Valery’s words, Skard and Arne clenched their teeth and pulled with all their strength. In an instant, all four of them tumbled back into the watchtower.

“Drink some water first. I brought porridge.”

Valery supported Knut’s back and made sure he got some nourishment into him first. Knut’s throat was so tight that even swallowing porridge was difficult, but he forced down gulp after gulp.

Before long, he passed out. He had simply run out of strength.

Valery lifted Knut into his arms and hurried down the tall tower. Arne and Skard rushed after him.

Outside the tower, Yorik was waiting with four horses, including Snow. Somehow, he had also managed to steal the weapon once used by Creed the Ball-Ripper.

Valery placed Knut in front of him and mounted behind him. Skard and Yorik shared another horse, while Arne mounted a third and took the reins of the remaining horse to lead it.

Then they passed through the castle gate and drawbridge they had opened in advance and rode out of Torvik Citadel.

There were people standing night watch, but since the four were all familiar faces, the guards merely stared blankly, wondering what was going on.

Knut regained consciousness in Valery’s arms after passing out. But his mind was far from clear, and everything felt hazy, as though he were dreaming.

He had no idea what was happening, but from the back of the swaying horse, the stars in the night sky looked unbearably beautiful.

Is this Heaven? I hope it is.