Chapter 36

Translator: Willia

When someone went through something too absurd to comprehend, sometimes they could not even get angry. Even anger that had already flared up could cool just as quickly.

At first, Sven flew into a towering rage when he heard that Knut had escaped. But as soon as the question, ‘How in the world?’ occurred to him, his anger rapidly subsided.

“The bastard Wid, the soldiers Skard and Arne, and the servant Yorik seem to have conspired to help him escape.”

The Captain of the Guard delivered his report. His expression was exceptionally grave. The Second Young Lord was dead, and now the Third Young Lord, who had been under punishment, had escaped.

Only then, with his head finally cool, did Sven think the situation over from every angle before asking,

“Aren’t those the bastards who killed the Ball-Ripper last time?”

“Yes. They also stole the weapon the Ball-Ripper used while he was alive and fled with it.”

“......Where did they run to?”

“According to the guards at the city gate, they headed toward Grinnen. And......”

“And?”

“We’re still making inquiries in Grinnen, but apparently, on the day the Second Young Lord was killed, soldiers wearing clothes bearing the Marquis of Denbria’s Coat of Arms were seen setting fires.”

“......”

Sven felt as though not only his head but even his heart had gone cold. So the Marquis had been behind it.

He did not think he had been too hasty in punishing Knut. If anything, he thought it had worked out well. Thanks to that, he had managed to uncover all the spies.

“Of course. Killing the Ball-Ripper in less than a week...... After I spent years struggling with him.”

Sven became convinced that all of it had only been possible because the Marquis was behind them. With someone protecting them from behind the scenes, they had been able to kill the Ball-Ripper in less than a week, all so they could push the Third Young Lord as the next Duke.

None of that was remotely true, but Sven believed it. Given the circumstances, it was practically inevitable that he would, and the conclusion chilled him to the bone.

Then was Winsloe’s bastard actually one of the Marquis’s agents? Had Winsloe already betrayed him long ago as well?

Suspicion naturally bred more suspicion, and Sven’s doubts kept spreading. They extended beyond Winsloe to Winddale, and even to Count Debi. There seemed to be no end to them.

Then his true nature began rising from the deepest part of his heart. Just as Valery had said, his cowardly streak.

“Captain, what is your opinion?”

The Captain of the Guard was not a position concerned solely with guarding the Duke. There was a separate Military Officer, but it was the Captain of the Guard who commanded the knights, the core of their military strength.

“Send the Marquis a Letter of Challenge and issue a Call to Arms.”

Sending a Letter of Challenge amounted to a Declaration of War. Traditionally, a war began by sending the opposing lord or king a formal challenge to meet in battle.

It did not mean that kings or lords actually met and fought one another one-on-one, but that was the formality. Of course, once in a very great while, an actual duel did take place.

The problem was that Sven knew nothing about waging war and had no confidence in himself. He was suspicious and manipulative and sometimes could not control his emotions, yet when it came to a fight in which everything had to be staked, he had no nerve for it.

‘If you weren’t a Duke, you’d be a man who couldn’t do a thing.’

For some reason, the words of his second wife flashed through his mind. Sven bit his lip without realizing it. His pride as a man and his cowardly nature collided violently inside him.

Then, as always, his habit of avoiding responsibility while forcing it onto someone else resurfaced.

“Call Gunnar.”

“Yes.”

A short while later, Sven’s eldest son, Gunnar, entered in response to the summons. His eyes were swollen, as though he had been crying over his younger brother’s death.

Sven did not like the sight of it and glared at his eldest son as he spoke.

Gunnar was famous for being a little stupid. He was not disabled. He was just a little stupid. If he had one advantage, it was his great height, massive build, and natural strength. That build was Nordic through and through.

“The Marquis is behind this.”

“......”

“Don’t you have anything to say?”

Gunnar hesitated before answering.

“......If you’re planning to put me in charge, wouldn’t it be better for you to handle it yourself instead of getting disappointed in me and punishing me again?”

“You worthless fool!”

Enraged by his eldest son’s frustrating answer, Sven grabbed the first thing within reach and hurled it at him. It happened to be an inkwell. Black ink splattered everywhere and stained Gunnar’s clothes.

“All you do is snivel like a girl! Can’t you think like a man and go take down the Marquis!?”

“Father, haven’t you repeatedly told us that the Marquis’s Highlanders are terrifying, and that we must never underestimate them or let down our guard?”

“You dare talk back to me!? I’ve gone through all this trouble trying to hand you the position of Heir, and you can’t even take it when it’s being handed to you! Is that something you should be saying!? What, are you planning to give the ducal title to Knut instead!?”

“......I wouldn’t really mind if he had it......”

Sven felt the back of his head throb and nearly collapsed. The Captain of the Guard hurried forward and caught him.

Only after taking a long time to calm himself did Sven speak again. He no longer shouted.

“Revenge. A noble is only a noble if he takes revenge when wronged. If we sit idle after suffering something like this, not only my authority but the authority of our entire house will fall into the dirt. If you truly mourn Gutoerm’s death, lead the army and hold the Marquis responsible. Once you seize Grinnen, I’ll handle the negotiations afterward.”

A war could not be fought over authority or pride alone. There had to be some tangible gain as well, and that gain was Grinnen.

Sven had wanted Grinnen for a very long time. It was geographically close to Torvik, it produced gemstones, and it was a major transportation hub along the river to the northwest.

Yet far from acquiring Grinnen, he had spent more than a decade plagued by a bastard like the Ball-Ripper.

Part of that was because the Ball-Ripper was no ordinary opponent, but another reason was that Sven could never dispatch a proper force without worrying about how the Marquis of Denbria would react.

But if he started a war and mobilized the army, he would need to take all of Grinnen at the very least. That was the calculation that made sense to the Duke. His mind worked well when it came to things like this.

“But, Father. What if the Marquis of Denbria isn’t behind it? What if he wasn’t the one who killed Gutoerm?”

Gunnar spoke. It was, in fact, a question that struck at the heart of the matter, but to Sven, it merely sounded like this idiot was spouting nonsense again.

Sven clutched the back of his head with one hand and pointed toward the door with the other. Squeezing his eyes shut, he said,

“Get out. Get out. If you don’t want to watch me die, just get out.”

Gunnar quietly left the room with a dejected expression.

In a way, he might have been the one who had suffered most among the three brothers of House Viðing. He had been subjected to the Duke’s contempt and abuse longer than either of the others.

Knut might have suffered particularly harsh treatment, but that did not mean Gunnar or Gutoerm had lived without constantly watching their father’s mood.

If anything, they were the ones who had endured his cutting verbal abuse for longer and more relentlessly. Had Gunnar truly been slow-witted from the beginning? Had Gutoerm always been that vile?

Regardless, Sven sent a Letter of Challenge to the Marquis of Denbria. Then he issued a Call to Arms throughout the entire Duchy of Eldeira.

The County of Winsloe, the County of Winddale, County of Debi, Viscount Krisher, along with the soldiers of Belfort and the Marcher Knights. A Call to Arms went out to every place obligated to answer its Liege Lord’s summons.

The sound of the War Horn announcing the coming war echoed throughout Torvik.

Valery and his companions had brought four horses with them, which meant they could not travel by boat.

So they had to circle around the marshes to the west and take the overland route to Grinnen.

Knut, who had regained consciousness, rode the remaining horse, sharing it with Yorik.

Yorik kept glancing behind them, apparently nervous that pursuers might be on their trail.

But they had escaped around midnight. Knut’s disappearance had not been discovered until morning, and it had taken several more hours to figure out what had happened. By the time anyone could give chase, it was already too late.

“Don’t worry about pursuit. The problem is the road.”

Valery spoke.

And sure enough, when he said the road was the problem, a vast expanse of rugged, uneven rock stretched as far as the eye could see.

There was not a single tree, and even the sparse vegetation consisted almost entirely of moss-like growth clinging here and there to the rocks.

The terrain in this direction was so rough that almost no one traveled through it. There was a road of sorts, but it was hardly a place where one could comfortably gallop a horse.

It was late afternoon. They had been fleeing nonstop without sleep since midnight, so they were growing tired, and only now were they beginning to feel safe from pursuit.

The five traveled diligently until evening, then camped once night fell. Dry wind blew endlessly through the rocky terrain, so they found a sheltered place and lit a fire.

Fortunately, the space was large enough to accommodate all four horses along with them.

A broad slab of rock jutted out overhead like an eave, while the sides were enclosed. It blocked the wind, though it could not block the sound.

Whoooooosh......

Yorik set up a cooking stand and placed a pot over the fire. They had grabbed all sorts of things while fleeing, so they would not have to worry about food for a while.

He boiled water and threw in whatever ingredients came to hand to make a stew. Well, not exactly whatever came to hand. Yorik did have his own little recipe.

Once the food was ready, they ladled it into their bowls and drank. The slightly sour taste was a little off-putting, but overall, it was not half bad.

They were already exhausted, and once the warm stew filled their stomachs, their eyelids naturally began to grow heavy.

“I don’t know if we’re doing the right thing......”

Skard said it while lying down with one arm tucked beneath the back of his head.

“Regret it?”

Arne asked.

“No. I don’t regret it. I just don’t know what’s waiting for us ahead.”

Skard’s concern was perfectly reasonable. What in the world had possessed them to defy the Duke and help Knut escape?

Yet he was not blaming Knut, nor was he regretting it, just as he had said. Now that he had actually left Torvik behind, the thought that he might never be able to return made him strangely afraid.

It was where he had been born and raised. That was only natural.

“Skard, is there anything you want to do from now on?”

Arne asked again.

“I don’t know. Maybe we could start a mercenary company together. If it does well later, since we’d be founding members, we could end up high in the ranks and make a fortune, right? Then I’d buy some land. Live like a big shot there. Drink as much booze as I want. No worries about anything.”

It sounded like he was talking about an ordinary dream. Simply living warm and well-fed.

“What do you want to become?”

This time, Skard asked Arne in return.

“I just want to be myself. I don’t know what that means yet. Someone who doesn’t waver. Like a sturdy tree growing straight and tall.”

“Isn’t that harder than mine?”

“Maybe.”

“Wid, what about you?”

Skard asked.

“I don’t know. If necessary, maybe I’ll try becoming king.”

“Hey......”

Everyone took it as a joke. Even so, they thought it went a little too far for a joke. Kings were not something one spoke about carelessly. They could not risk saying the wrong thing and being barred from Heaven.

“It’s similar to you wanting to live without worrying about anything. The thought just crossed my mind. But think about it. What if the king dies, then?”

“Uh, well, doesn’t that mean one of those Succession Wars?”

“Then I could side with whoever looks most likely to win, kill him at the very end, and become king myself, couldn’t I?”

Valery said it with a grin. This time he truly was joking, but no one laughed. Was it not funny?

“Wid, watch what you say......”

Arne, unable to listen any longer, chided him from beside him.

“It’s just us. What does it matter? Knut, what about you?”

“Hmm...... I think anywhere would be fine as long as it isn’t here. The north feels kind of stifling. I want to go south and live there. And I want to make toys. Really well-made ones, fun enough that you lose track of time playing with them.”

On the scale of the entire world, Astria itself was considered part of the north. Within Astria, places like Eldeira and Denbria were even farther north. And the Nordics had originally come down from lands farther north still.

“Yorik?”

“I’m going to keep a diary. I’ll write in it until I’m a hunched-over old geezer, then gather all of it together and turn it into a book. Isn’t that what they call history? If someone reads that book a long time from now, they’ll know how we lived and what kind of people we were. I probably won’t live like the Dragon-Slayer or any of those other great heroes, but I won’t be forgotten. Even if I’m not a legend, it’ll still say that I lived. That this was how I lived.”

“Hmm. If I become king, I think I could make all your wishes come true.”

Valery said it, and Arne immediately frowned.

“Stop talking about becoming king. You’re being way too blasphemous. What if even I can’t get into Heaven just from listening to you?”

Arne anxiously berated Valery, but since Valery had only been joking, his reaction made him burst out laughing.

“You said you wanted to become someone who doesn’t waver, but this is enough to shake you? All that matters is eating well and living well while you’re alive. Long live His Majesty the King, fuck. Happy now?”

Skard scolded Arne.

No one knew whose words were right, but they were all young men whose lives were only just beginning.

Young men who had left the places where they were born and raised, stepped out into a harsh world, and were now fighting an enemy they could scarcely hope to stand against.

They ate together, and they dreamed together. Their dreams were not the same, but they dreamed side by side.

For Valery, that became a kind of bedrock in his heart, and he found himself wanting to see their dreams come true. There was something so wonderful about people who had dreams.

Would it be wrong to become king simply to see their dreams fulfilled? Did he need some grander reason? He did not know.

The campfire burned on, and the night deepened. The group took turns standing night watch.

As time passed and the sky slowly began to brighten before sunrise, everyone woke and filled their stomachs with dried food.

They traveled diligently and did not reach Grinnen until evening once again.

The first news they heard there was that war was about to break out.

The Duke of Eldeira had sent the Marquis of Denbria a Letter of Challenge. That was what everyone was saying.

Valery was a little surprised. He had never expected the coward Sven to go so far as to start a war.

He had expected Sven to send knights or hire someone to come after him with that characteristic persistence of his, but war had been outside Valery’s expectations.

That did not mean he was worried. Before regression, war had been the decisive factor behind the Duke’s downfall.

Now Sven was starting the war himself, which struck Valery as ironic.

One could say it was a result Valery himself had brought about, but in another sense, it also looked like Sven’s inescapable fate.

Rather than worry, Valery almost felt that this worked out well. For a mercenary company, fame and reputation were its worth, and there was no better opportunity than war for spreading one’s name.

And if someone asked Valery what he did best, the answer, above anything else, would be war.

Once a Call to Arms was issued, gathering everyone could take as little as a month, or more than a year at the longest.

There was still time to spare before then. Valery judged that if they seized Grinnen first, they could become a small but crucial factor capable of deciding the course of the war.

After the war ended, perhaps...... he would head south. That was something to think about when the time came, but perhaps only then would he finally be ready to set out in search of his mother.

That was what Valery thought.

Deep into the night, Valery found his gaze lingering on Yorik as the two of them unloaded baggage from the horses.

He stared at the utterly ordinary Yorik for a moment before abruptly asking,

“Yorik, how about writing a legend instead of a diary?”

“Pardon?”

“You said you wouldn’t get to live like the Dragon-Slayer or those other heroes. If you could live like them, would you?”

“Haha......”

Yorik merely gave an awkward laugh. The idea sounded far too distant and fanciful.

Still, he seriously considered it, if only for a moment. Then he answered.

“If a man the world threw away carved a legend into that same world, I suppose that would make for a pretty satisfying revenge.”

Yorik had been thrown into a gutter the moment he was born and did not even know who his parents were.

“Would you look at this guy......”

Arne muttered toward Yorik. He had thought Yorik was nothing more than an ignorant punk, yet after learning a little writing, the way he spoke had somehow turned poetic. Arne was frankly a little impressed.

“I used to wonder why people bothered learning letters, but I can see why now.”

“Anyway, what are we calling the mercenary company?”

Skard asked.

“Grinnen’s specialty is frogs, so how about the Frog Mercenary Company?”

At Yorik’s suggestion, Skard and Arne both scowled at once. Grinnen was famous as a source of gemstones too, yet out of rubies, emeralds, sapphires, and everything else, he had chosen frogs. Figures. What a punk!

Just as the two were about to protest, Valery agreed.

“That’s pretty good. It sounds kind of ridiculous, so let’s make sure no one can ever take us lightly.”

“......Don’t tell me that means it’s decided.”

“I’m for it. Frogs are cute.”

Knut chimed in. Three against two.

“No, Young Master......”

“Then it’s decided. From now on, we’re the Frog Mercenary Company, The Froskar. Me, Knut, Arne, Skard, and Yorik are its founding members. Before long, the entire kingdom will know the name of The Froskar, and people will tremble in fear at the mere sound of it. I swear it by the Dead Gods.”

With that, Valery entered the inn first.

Arne and Skard remained standing there in stunned disbelief, while Yorik hurried after Valery into the inn before the other two could turn around and blame him for anything.

Knut followed as well, leaving Arne and Skard standing there looking utterly lost.

“I actually had one in mind......”

Skard said regretfully.

“What?”

“The Widowmakers.”

“......Isn’t Frog better than that......?”

“Then what did you come up with?”

“The Ball-Ripper Slayers.”

“Maybe Frog is better after all......”

In any case, the mercenary company now had its name. It was The Froskar. Whether it would truly go on to write a legend as Valery had said remained to be seen.