Chapter 67

Translator: Willia

What made a joust so compelling was that, important as tireless practice and experience were, sometimes effort alone was not enough.

There was, for instance, an inborn temperament that made a person refuse to give an inch, cast aside even the instinct to survive, and see the fight through whether they lived or died.

That was not a quality one could acquire through effort.

Perhaps that was why people went wild at the sight of all that effort and time, talent and innate temperament, blossoming at the tip of a lance for one fleeting instant.

For even when the contestants poured everything into the tips of their lances, no contest drew a starker line between victory and defeat.

A glorious victor, a wretched loser. Fierce, final, brutal, and hollow. All of it bloomed and withered in a single instant.

It was as though life itself had been compressed into a single point.

Some failed despite their efforts, while others succeeded through them. Some were gifted from birth, while others would never manage it no matter how hard they tried. Someone riding high could fall in an instant, while a complete unknown could suddenly soar like a bird.

So had Valery soared? At least, that was how it had seemed to the people watching that day.

It had been a match to remember, the first in a long time. The determination to fight to the very end had left such a powerful impression that the taverns were still buzzing about the final days later. All across the city.

But the man who had soared so high was actually confined to bed. He had no visible injuries, but the collisions had taken their toll beneath the surface.

He had endured not one collision but two, and his muscles, bones, and organs all needed rest.

It was remarkable that they had kept fighting after that. Valery and his opponent alike.

“I sold Sir Walter’s horse and equipment. Here’s the money.”

Lucas spoke as he dropped a heavy purse onto the small chest of drawers beside the bed. Since Valery had killed Walter, there was no ransom to collect, but the horse and equipment alone had fetched a considerable sum.

A gilded medal lay on top as well, a token of his tournament victory and proof that he had passed the Trial of Valor, left there as though it were worthless.

“Your second opponent, Sir Blid, asked for mercy because he has an elderly mother to care for. I think he’s lying. The man spent the whole year idling away his time in the city. When did he ever look after his mother?”

“Forget it. Tell him to get lost. But warn him that if he crosses my path, I might kill him.”

Valery said this as he turned toward the window, as though the whole matter were a nuisance.

By custom and law dating back to ancient times, the victor took everything the defeated possessed. That included the right to decide whether the loser lived or died.

That was what it meant to fight with everything at stake.

Of course, showing mercy and generosity to the defeated was widely praised as a virtue, but withholding mercy was not considered a vice.

“What about that woman? Red Rabbit.”

Knut asked from the bed, where he sat shelling and eating peanuts as though he had simply dropped by to hang out. He seemed not the least bit worried about Valery.

During the second collision, he had screamed Valery’s name as though he were about to cry. Now, though, he was already acting as if it had been nothing.

“She seems to have entered under an assumed name. I’ve asked around to find out where she ran off to, but I haven’t found her yet.”

Sigurd was the name of the legendary Dragon-Slayer, but for that very reason it was also one of the most widespread and common names among nobles and commoners alike. It could even mean ‘so-and-so’.

The fact that a woman had entered as Red Rabbit Sigurd made it all but certain she was competing anonymously.

“This is just a guess, but could she be that Einheri who’s supposed to have come as the Valkyrie’s bodyguard? Isn’t it a little strange for a woman to be that strong?”

Yorik had done some thinking of his own. Spending so much time around Valery seemed to be sharpening his deductive skills, and he appeared to enjoy putting them to use.

“Why would she enter the tournament?”

Knut wanted to know what he was basing that on. He offered Valery a peanut, then ate it himself when Valery shook his head.

“Maybe she was bored. Two years of nothing but guard duty could do that to a person.”

“She’d risk her life in a tournament because she was bored? I could understand that with a melee, but this seems a bit much.”

“She never thought she’d lose.”

“But she did.”

“That’s why she ran away.”

“Where to?”

“That’s what we need to find out. Even getting just that horse and sword would be incredible. I’d never seen anything Lord Valery’s sword couldn’t cut before.”

“That’s true. The horse and the sword. There’s something odd about them.”

Common sense said that the only thing dwarven steel could not cut was other dwarven steel. And that red horse was no ordinary animal either.

There was no limit to how expensive a horse could be. Ordinary people could not possibly afford a warhorse, and even warhorses came in different grades. For one of legendary quality, a buyer would practically have to sell an estate or a title.

Valery’s Snow was easily fine enough to rank among the horses of legend, but that red horse was no ordinary mount either.

The rider, the horse, and the sword. Together, the three pointed to either the Valkyrie or an Einheri, and no one else.

“Hmm...... Yorik might be right. Much as I hate to admit it.”

“Why?”

“What?”

“Why do you hate admitting it?”

“Just because.”

“Where’s the logic in that?”

“Here.”

“Huh?”

“Right here.”

Knut and Yorik were about to lapse into another pointless exchange when Valery asked Lucas a question.

“What’s the Trial of Wisdom like?”

After the Trial of Valor came the Trial of Wisdom.

“How should I put it? Anyone with a functioning brain can pass. How many people who pass the Trial of Valor are likely to have had a proper education? All you have to do is attend a banquet hosted by His Excellency the duke and have a light conversation with him. Unless your reputation is truly awful or you seriously offend His Excellency, that’s the Trial of Wisdom over and done with.”

“Then the last trial is the biggest obstacle. That business about the most valuable treasure in the world.”

“Exactly. That’s where everyone gets stuck, so not a single suitor has even seen the Valkyrie. As time passed, they all became interested only in what they could get out of it. Wealth, fame, honor, that sort of thing. Or they ended up wrecks like the Count of Westlanding. Even if someone does seek out the treasure now, would they really be acting purely out of a desire to marry her? Wouldn’t they just be trying to show everyone how impressive they are? That’s how I see it. I was the same.”

“Wouldn’t this be good enough to count as the most valuable treasure in the world?”

Knut, who had been bickering with Yorik, pulled something from inside his clothes as he spoke.

It was a large gemstone, brilliant and vividly red. It was the ruby called ‘Bloody Tears’, a gift from the guild master of Grinnen’s Gem Guild.

“Why do you have that?”

Valery’s eyes widened in surprise.

“Wasn’t it a gift?”

“Yes, but why do you have it with you? You should’ve left it at the mercenary company’s headquarters.”

“Why? They gave it to you, Valery, not the mercenary company, didn’t they? That’s how I understood it.”

It was hard to decide whether he was being shameless or making a fair point.

Even Lucas, who had owned everything money could buy, stared wide-eyed.

“What on earth is that? Is it a real gemstone?”

“It’s a ruby. Top quality, and a big one too. It’s the jewel from Grinnen called ‘Bloody Tears’.”

“How did you come by it?”

“It was a gift for clearing out the thugs in Grinnen.”

“Wait......”

Lucas did not know all the details, but he had heard about the events in the North, specifically Eldeira.

The story was that the duke had started a war and been defeated by a mercenary company, then been killed by his own eldest son, after which a prince had granted a pardon. Lucas had yet to verify any of it, but something felt strange.

There had been something about a mercenary company, hadn’t there? Who exactly were these people? They weren’t just wandering swordsmen, were they?

Only now did these questions begin to trouble Lucas. There had been something fearsome about these people beneath their outward appearances. They really were no ordinary men, and that went for more than just the Jómsvíkingr.

“When is the duke’s banquet?”

Valery asked. Lucas was lost in thought and took a moment to snap out of it.

“I’ll find out. It will probably be soon. Especially now that there’s a new champion.”

“By the way, your sister, what was her name again? Anyway, did you pass the message on to her?”

The mention of the banquet naturally brought Lucilia to Valery’s mind. He had originally planned to attend with her, but things had ended up this way because she had trampled the holy relic and shattered it.

“What message?”

“You said you’d explain things to her about the promise I broke.”

“I’ve been rushed off my feet. When would I have had the time? Don’t worry about it. She’s a bit, well, naive about the world.”

Something about it bothered Valery. He certainly wasn’t feeling sorry or anything of the sort. It was more a sense that things had not been properly tied up, a nagging unease he could not quite explain.

Valery did not know it, but as far as Lucilia was concerned, both he and her older brother Lucas had abandoned her. To put it more emotionally, the Valkyrie had stolen them both from her.

Her own foolishness had caused the problem, so who else could she blame? Still, it was hard to imagine her having enough sense to realize that.

For his part, Valery kept thinking of Red Rabbit, his opponent in the final, though he gave his friends no sign of it.

Why had she looked so relieved then? Hadn’t she been fighting out of rage, like him? What, then, had been driving her as she fought? And with skills like hers, too.

He seldom paid much attention to those he defeated, and he had no interest in the spoils, but he was curious, and that was that.

It was extremely rare for Valery to become curious about anything. Especially a person. The Valkyrie, or an Einheri. Hmm......

“The ancient law is sacred. You have to give him the spoils he’s rightfully owed.”

Randgríðr, taller and bigger than most men, spoke to her longtime friend and princess.

Brynhildr had injuries of her own and lay half-reclined in bed.

Unlike her usual disheveled self, she looked neat and tidy. She had made no special effort to dress up, yet that alone brought out her beauty so vividly that it was almost dazzling.

But there was still something rather masculine about her manner. She scratched her head under her friend’s scolding and offered a lame excuse.

“Isn’t it a bit much to hand me over as spoils?”

“Hey, stop changing your mind. Do you think a sacred contest is some kind of joke?”

Duels and tournaments were much the same, both sacred rites with religious significance. Trial by combat existed for a reason.

In particular, the victor’s rights and the loser’s obligations were all but inviolable. Defying them was unthinkable. If the loser had nothing to offer, or did not want to give it up, the proper course was to plead for mercy.

“The horse isn’t mine, and neither is the sword. I have nothing to give but myself......”

The red horse was actually the king’s. She had simply stolen it and ridden away on it when she left the palace.

So she could not give away the king’s horse. Nor could she give away a sword she had borrowed from Randgríðr.

For all Brynhildr’s outward confidence, there was a timid side to her. She was afraid Valery might not like her.

She could not bring herself to tell him that she was actually the Valkyrie, that she had agreed to marry the man who won the contest, and that he was that man. It might seem absurd to hesitate now, but that was how she honestly felt.

“You’re the one who said you’d get married! Aren’t you ashamed to face your ancestors!? Vǫlsungr! Sigmund! Sigurd! Are you going to drag their names through the mud!?”

Perhaps infuriated by Brynhildr’s maddening behavior, Randgríðr finally lost patience and shouted. This was far from the first time one of their conversations had taken this turn.

To Randgríðr, a warrior to her very bones, the lineage of heroes spanning three generations, commonly called the Vǫlsungr Cycle, was practically divine.

That was why she could not bear it whenever Brynhildr failed to hold her head high and instead showed a cowardly streak.

“Heeey...... Even so, insulting my ancestors was going too far......”

“Did I insult them!? You’re the one who disgraced them!”

“That’s true.”

“Argh!”

Utterly exasperated, Randgríðr jerked her head away and squeezed her eyes shut. She couldn’t even hit her, which made the frustration unbearable.

In truth, if the Valkyrie lost a duel or tournament and flatly refused to pay up, there was little anyone could do about it. That did not mean she could behave however she pleased.

As Randgríðr had said, such behavior was an affront to the sanctity of the royal house.

“Anyway, I’m sure I struck squarely when I brought my sword down......”

Brynhildr watched her friend’s reaction as she tried to change the subject. Fortunately, she managed to catch her interest.

Randgríðr agreed, reining in her temper.

“That was strange. The black horse is one thing, but a dwarven steel sword isn’t something you can just buy at the market.”

Each dwarven steel sword was both a work of art and a relic. Money could never buy one; a person had to forge a friendship with a dwarf.

So unless a sword was passed down as a family heirloom or taken as spoils, it was virtually impossible to acquire one.

For dwarves were wicked and powerful mages, and an unfortunate entanglement with one could mean not just a personal curse, but the ruin of an entire house.

Randgríðr’s sword, called ‘Urðr’, was an heirloom passed down through her clan, House Stáling. She had no claim to the family succession, but she had won recognition for her abilities and earned the sword on her own merits.

Brynhildr, by contrast, could gain nothing through her own abilities, no matter how gifted she was.

Succession was out of the question, of course, and she could hold neither land nor a title. She was provided with a comfortable life, though.

“Could he have inherited it? Then what house is he from? Is he hiding his identity, just like me?”

It did not even occur to Brynhildr that he might have acquired it directly from a dwarf. As far as she was concerned, the sensible assumption was that he had inherited it.

“Or he could have taken it as spoils. Wasn’t there a war up in the North recently?”

“I’ve never heard of House Viðing having a dwarven steel sword.”

“Wait. That is a little odd.”

“Right? Right? That’s why I was hesitating.”

“You still lost.”

“No, what I’m saying is that there could be some kind of plot. I’m not denying I lost. I’m saying we need to be careful. Let’s watch him for a while first. You’re being too haasty~ Randy~”

Brynhildr was all sweetness as she coaxed her friend. Randgríðr did not like it, but she thought the argument was not entirely unreasonable.

“So what are you going to do?”

“First...... when’s the next banquet? We’ll go to that one. And you introduce yourself as the Valkyrie, Randy. I’ll say I’m the Einheri. How does that sound? I’ll watch him myself.”

Randgríðr replied with the gentlest smile imaginable.

“Wouldn’t killing you and then myself be another option?”

She was half serious.

“Heh, hehehe......”

Brynhildr tried to laugh it off. But she did not give up on her idea.

And as always, when Brynhildr pestered her enough, Randgríðr eventually gave in. Deep down, she felt sorry for her friend.

A Valkyrie’s life was not all splendor. House Vǫlsungr stood alone at the pinnacle of power, yet it was a family without mercy.

Every hero Randgríðr revered and worshipped had met a tragic end, and that cold fury ran through the veins of the royal family.

Brynhildr’s father, the current king, had taken the throne after killing all his brothers and nephews. What did a daughter mean to a man like that?

Stealing the king’s horse and running away was practically asking him to kill her. And he was perfectly capable of it, even if she was his own daughter.

Yet on closer consideration, Brynhildr almost seemed to want exactly that. It was a kind of self-destructive behavior.

Randgríðr had watched over her since childhood. That was why she could only ever give in to her friend, even if it meant being humiliated herself.