Chapter 56

Translator: Willia

Late at night, Benholm's tavern was, as always, packed with idle, good-for-nothing swordsmen who had nothing better to do.

They were the sort who strutted around with cheap swords at their hips despite having neither skill nor courage, troublesome men no one knew what to do with.

Anyone skilled and trustworthy had gone to the outpost village near Hord Forest. They had no reason to be here.

In other words, the men here were dregs too worthless even to make proper thugs.

Oder, the self-styled Village Head, tossed these dregs jobs befitting their worth. Jobs like dog bones with hardly any meat left on them.

The reason he bothered using such low-quality men was simple: cost. Competent fixers, mercenaries, and elite troops cost a great deal of money.

Spending as little as possible, somehow turning a profit, and pocketing the difference. Ever since humans first began trading, that had been one of the unchanging traits of commerce, and likely would remain so far into the future.

The recent raid on the village had been for the same reason. Spend as little as possible, pick out the least useless among the trash, and send them to occupy the village.

"Boss, did you hear? That northern Duke croaked a while back."

One of the punks sharing Oder's table spoke up.

"So?"

"His own son killed him."

"So? Get to the point."

"No, listen. Apparently a Prince showed up and pardoned the son."

"......Bullshit."

"It's true! I've got a friend in the Silverreach Mercenary Company, and he told me!"

"Since when does a bastard like you have a friend in the Silverreach Mercenary Company?"

"I really do......"

"You ignorant bastard. Whenever a Prince shows up, some noble house always gets wiped out first. Nothing like that happened, so what Prince are you talking about?"

"Does a noble house really have to get wiped out every time......?"

"What the hell would you know? This is boring, so drop it. A Prince, my ass."

"Anyway, boss, once you wrap things up here, are you getting promoted?"

"I came to this fucking shithole on that promise. If they don't promote me, I'll raise hell."

It was bravado. Unless he had a death wish, a man like Oder would never dare defy the Lokir Merchant Company. Still, the talk of a promotion was not entirely baseless.

The Merchant Company did assign people various jobs and give important positions to those who produced exceptional results.

Once someone earned recognition from the Merchant Company, they could rise beyond the rank of an ordinary employee and become a regional administrator, a goods manager, or someone responsible for guilds and skilled craftsmen. Within the Merchant Company, it was practically the equivalent of joining the nobility.

Tax Collection Rights were, of course, not one of the Merchant Company's main businesses. They were merely one among the countless ventures it handled. Dirty, dangerous, prone to trouble, and capable of being either highly profitable or unprofitable depending on how they were managed.

It was a kind of seasonal business. Squeeze out a decent amount of money, then sell the Tax Collection Rights and be done with it.

"Speaking of which, you know those guys we sent out a while ago? If they still haven't managed to get the money from the farm village, I don't think it worked."

"Those guys were only meant as a warning from the start. I've already taken measures, so don't worry."

In truth, Oder had not taken any particular measures. At most, he had sent Valery's group there. In the parlance of his line of work, Oder was thoroughly fucked.

He was trying hard to act calm, but things were not going well. He was still turning a profit by collecting debts and picking up minor jobs here and there, but all of that was pocket change.

The real money was in the taxes. He needed to bring back roughly one-fifth of the oats harvested that autumn for the numbers to work.

"Well, I'm sure you've got it all figured out, boss. So where's the opening supposed to be if you get promoted?"

"Who knows? Maybe Nearcaster Wharf, maybe they'll put me in charge of the cloth guild. Either way, I figure it'll be somewhere in a big city."

"Then, hehe, maybe you could take me along too. I might be a little ignorant, but when it comes to running errands, nobody works harder than me. And leave the women to me. I'll handpick the finest girls around and bring them straight to you, boss."

The man fawning beside him was one of Benholm's pimps. It was hard to imagine anyone who groveled so shamelessly being a decent person, but Oder secretly enjoyed it.

"Of course. These days even Monasteries manage brothels, so why shouldn't we? With talent like yours, you ought to be playing in a bigger pond. Can't let it go to waste in a dump like this."

"Right!? You think so too, boss!?"

"So, got anyone fresh tonight?"

"Who do you think I am? I'm the Lark of Benholm!"

What a lark had to do with anything was unclear, but that was what he called himself.

"I'm starting to get sleepy. Guess I should get going."

Oder rose from his seat, subtly making his desires known. Then he stepped around the drunks sleeping on the tavern floor and headed outside.

The night was pitch-black. A cold wind blew.

He headed toward the brothel with the pimp at his side. In fact, Oder had been receiving this sort of hospitality for the past several months without paying for the women at all.

Relying on the faint moonlight, they skirted the edge of the market and headed toward the cemetery. The brothel stood beside it.

But at some point, the pimp who had been joking and laughing with him fell silent. Oder heard a dull sound as something sank into the muddy ground and turned around. The man was sprawled face-down on the ground, apparently so drunk that he had simply fallen asleep.

"Heh, you idiot. Sleep out here and your face'll freeze crooked."

Oder crouched down, intending to look after him in his own way, only to find no head where a head should have been. Blood was spurting from the severed neck.

The night was so dark that Oder wondered whether he was seeing things and shook his head violently. Then a stranger's voice came from beside him.

"Are you mourning his soul or something? How long are you going to keep staring?"

A chill raced down Oder's spine, and before he knew it, he had fallen backward onto his ass in the mud.

Valery looked down at Oder as though he found him both pathetic and contemptible. Oder's pupils widened as he immediately recognized him.

"Y-you......!"

"Why did you lie? It was going to be exposed soon enough anyway."

"W-what?"

"If you don't get your head straight and answer properly, you'll die too."

"......W-wait. I don't think you know who I work for. You don't want to do this."

"The Lokir Merchant Company, isn't it?"

"You know?"

"I asked around. People told me everything."

"And you're still doing this even though you know? What are you trying to pull?"

"I'm not trying to pull anything. I'm asking why you lied. That farm village wasn't occupied by thugs at all. If anything, the thugs you sent were the ones raiding villages nearby."

"Does that really matter? Wasn't it better if it made you feel a little less guilty? Wait, don't tell me...... Did the Merchant Company send you?"

When someone became too shocked and flustered, their mind tended to race. But a racing mind did not necessarily arrive at the right answer.

Rather, scraps of information often became jumbled together, producing irrational and unreasonable conclusions. Oder decided that Valery must be some sort of inspector sent by the Merchant Company.

Valery was dumbfounded, but decided to play along.

"And if I am?"

"There's time. I still have time. As long as I somehow resolve this before the deadline, isn't that enough? Please, don't do this."

"That's a pretty tired excuse, isn't it? Hmm. Then let's do this. The deed to the Tax Collection Rights. Where is it? As of now, you're dismissed, and the Merchant Company will take the rights back. Consider that your punishment."

Oder let out a breath of relief. At least it seemed he had escaped death.

There were plenty of holes in Valery's story if examined carefully, but Oder was in no state of mind to notice them. He immediately pulled a parchment deed from inside his clothes and held it out.

The parchment had been folded four or five times. It stated that the Count transferred the Tax Collection Rights, that the original purchaser had paid a certain sum, that a certain fraction of what was collected was to be paid to the Count, and other such terms.

At the bottom, signatures and seals belonging to those who had bought and sold the rights were scattered chaotically across the parchment.

For a moment, Valery wondered what this ridiculous scrap of paper could possibly be that so many people had died or been driven into tragedy over it. He felt the sheer injustice of it.

Valery tucked the deed to the Tax Collection Rights inside his clothes and spoke.

"Sorry, but I wasn't sent by the Merchant Company."

"......What?"

"I don't tell pointless lies like you do. Goodbye."

Valery drew his sword as he spoke. The surface of the blade was polished as smooth as a mirror, gleaming darkly. It was impossible to tell whether that gleam came from moonlight or starlight.

"What!? Wait! Wait a minute! You can't do this! Do you have any idea how terrifying the Merchant Company is!? What the hell are you doing!? I don't understand! Do you even know what you're doing right now!? Was this a scam!? You scammed me!? Do you think you can handle the consequences!? This is Lokir! The great Lokir Merchant Company! You think you can cross the Lokir Merchant Company and walk away unscathed!?"

Oder chose threats as his last resort. Yet despite his shrill shouting in the middle of the night, not a single person came outside to see what was happening.

When Valery simply continued looking down at him, Oder felt one last flicker of hope. Of course. He couldn't mess with Lokir. That's right. That had to be it. He repeated the thought to himself again and again.

"Hah, hah, hah......"

Then, at some point, light began to gather in Valery's eyes. Since drawing out too much power could tire him, he raised only a moderate amount, and his eyes began to shine as though starlight itself had been set into them.

Oder's mind gradually went blank as his heart began pounding in his chest.

Valery spoke.

"How dare a mere merchant company think it can do anything to a Prince? Who exactly is touching whom? I promise you this. If your company lays a hand on me, I'll smash it to pieces."

"......"

Oder was left speechless. No, he could no longer think of anything at all. It simply felt as though he were dreaming.

All that drifted through his mind was the bizarrely ill-timed thought that they really had been right to call a Prince's eyes the Stars of Dawn. They truly shone like stars.

Then the words the pimp had spoken earlier flashed through his mind.

‘No, listen. Apparently a Prince showed up and pardoned the son.’

That was his final thought, his final moment of consciousness. Neither repentance nor lingering regret.

The darkly gleaming blade flashed for an instant, and Oder's head fell. His corpse pitched into the muddy ground. The pimp lay nearby, making an apt companion for the road to the afterlife.

It had looked like rain, but the clouds cleared, and several majestic shafts of dawnlight pierced the vast fields like spears of God.

The men of the farm village were loading supplies onto the wagon. There was food such as smoked lamb leg, smoked ham, and cheese, along with tough canvas for pitching tents, support poles, iron stakes, shovels, pickaxes, as well as sheepskins and wool.

It was repayment for what Valery's group had done for them. Frankly, considering what they had taken care of, even this was not enough.

Only the immensely wealthy or the nobility could afford to hire a skilled swordsman in the first place. It was far beyond what people from a rural village like this could normally afford.

On top of that, Valery took a parchment and quickly wrote something on it. It was a deed transferring the Tax Collection Rights.

<This deed was acquired as spoils after executing the person responsible for lies made in the course of a commission from the Lokir Merchant Company. It is hereby transferred to the Westlanding farm village. Vǫlsungar Valery Helgisson.>

"What is your name?"

"Hedmund......"

"Were you of the nobility?"

A noble name was usually recognizable the moment one heard it. Ivy, for example, meant a vine, and names like that were mostly used by commoners.

The Nordics and Astrians had somewhat different naming conventions, but the names of the nobility generally carried meanings such as victor, valiant warrior, strong spear, or wise counselor.

Hedmund meant noble protector.

"I heard my family were of the nobility until my grandfather's generation. None of that means anything now, though."

"Hmm......"

Valery added another line to the deed.

<Hedmund, Village Head of the Westlanding farm village, acknowledges receipt.>

"Sign here."

"What is this?"

"The deed to the Tax Collection Rights."

"Pardon?"

Village Head Hedmund stared at the deed in bewilderment. But he was illiterate and could not read it.

"I can't read."

"Draw a circle, an X, anything you like. Just make some kind of mark. Then this will belong to your village."

"Then what happens?"

"You shouldn't have any more strange men coming around demanding money. And if anyone does, they're bandits."

"......Does that mean all this wretched business is finally over?"

"You could say that. But life is suffering anyway, isn't it? There will be other hardships. Get through them as best you can. Anyway, hurry up and sign. I need to get going."

Valery held the pen and parchment out again. With a trembling hand, the Village Head drew a crooked X where Valery pointed.

Valery blew gently over the ink to dry it, then folded the parchment and handed it to the Village Head.

Even as he accepted it, the Village Head wore an expression difficult to describe. When someone was deeply moved, their face sometimes looked closer to sorrow than joy.

"Your name. What is your name?"

"Valery."

"I will make sure to tell my children, and have them tell their children, so that you will be remembered forever. I can't leave anything in writing because I'm illiterate, but this much I can do. I will tell them that Warrior-Hero Valery saved this village."

Valery gave a faint grin and mounted Snow. Then he looked down at Hedmund and spoke.

"You were the one who did the saving. How many people did you save by taking in those who evacuated here? All I did was swing a sword around a little. Live well."

Valery turned Snow and galloped out of the village. Yorik was driving the wagon, but he was still clumsy at it, so Knut stayed beside him to help.

The wagon, drawn by two horses, slowly made its way out of the village as well. Clop, clop went the hooves, accompanied by the rumble of turning wheels. Ivy rode in the wagon alongside the supplies.

Valery seemed to wait outside the village for his companions, but once they had more or less gotten the wagon moving, he rode off alone again.

Every villager came out to watch him leave. The young Warrior-Hero on the black horse grew smaller and smaller in the distance. Even so, they did not look away.

He was heading toward the far-off place where dawnlight squeezed between the clouds and billowed like curtains. Somehow, it felt as though Heaven might lie above those clouds.

Chapter 13 – A Prince's Duty. End.