Chapter 68

Translator: Willia

It was easy to see why Valery had earned the nickname Prince in so many places. He looked exactly like the handsome prince people imagined.

There was a certain irony in an actual prince being nicknamed Prince, but the nickname merely reflected people's preconceptions.

That was why Valery ignored what people said behind his back but despised anyone who approached him for his looks alone. He even had hang-ups about his own appearance.

When people saw only his looks, he felt as though they were dismissing his pain and sorrow, his regrets and emptiness altogether.

That was the reason he was always so cold and indifferent. It was not an attempt to look cool.

Blessings and curses are two sides of the same coin. What everyone else envies can be a curse to the person who possesses it.

Even so, it was hard to fault people for praising Valery's appearance.

After a thorough bath and a change into proper clothes for the feast, he truly looked as though he alone belonged to another world.

Even the word perfection fell short of describing him. Valery's looks far exceeded human standards, or even human imagination.

It was enough to make the notion of a curse entirely believable.

In truth, Valery looked even more attractive than usual because Lucas had spent days painstakingly choosing his clothes and hairstyle.

Perhaps Lucas had decided to move beyond imitation and bring out Valery's appeal to the fullest. He had thrown himself into overseeing everything, from the choice of fabric to the tailoring and embroidery.

He had, in effect, created a work of art all his own.

The red tunic had gold-thread embroidery, ivory buttons, and a calfskin strap to fasten the front.

From the colors down to every last stitch, nothing had been chosen carelessly. Valery, as he stood there now, was the result of an extraordinarily delicate balancing act between splendor and gaudiness, refinement and plainness.

“This feels a little tight around my neck.”

“Nooo!”

Valery tried to loosen the high collar, which felt a little too constricting, and Lucas shrieked at him.

Valery gave him a look that asked what was wrong with the bastard. He was about to say something, but thought better of it when he saw the madness in Lucas's slightly sunken eyes.

He would have preferred to wear the gambeson Lady Sybil had made for him, but it was getting rather worn, so he had little choice. This was an occasion that called for proper dress, after all.

“There aren't many places to hide a dagger in clothes like these.”

Knut opened the door and stepped out, grumbling a little.

Dressed up for the first time in a while, he too looked every inch a young nobleman. He did look rather ill-mannered, though.

Clothes really did make the man, and Yorik looked quite handsome too. Unfortunately, he still could not shake the air of a servant. Fortunately, he himself seemed delighted.

Freshly washed and dressed in fine clothes, Ivy was as cute as a doll, but she still moved awkwardly, without the poise of a young noblewoman.

Her hair was neatly braided and pinned up, but despite the effort put into her appearance, she looked rather plain without a single piece of jewelry, not even earrings or rings.

Still, Ivy seemed just as excited as Yorik, and the excitement showed on her face. Between them, they did most of the talking.

“Well, look at you. The country bumpkin who used to milk sheep is a proper princess now. Fine clothes really do make all the difference.”

“You're starting to look human yourself, Yorik-nim.”

“......What? I say something nice, and that's what I get back?”

“I was giving you a compliment.”

“I take back the princess part. You'd make a perfectly good lady-in-waiting somewhere. You know not just anyone can become one, right?”

“You'd make a decent valet yourself, Yorik-nim.”

“Hahaha, that doesn't hurt me in the slightest. I've been serving these two for a long time. You can't even imagine how extraordinary they are.”

“Why? What's so extraordinary about them?”

“Not telling.”

“Oh, come on. Don't act so smug. That doesn't make you special.”

“Oh? Look at you. Showing your temper now?”

For all their apparent bickering, they seemed to get along wonderfully, and above all, the smiles never left their faces.

Ivy straightened Yorik's clothes, and Yorik carefully tidied her hair in turn. They were like real siblings, looking after each other even as they seemed to quarrel.

In keeping with their faith and discipline, Priest Eirik and Sigbold had not dressed up for the occasion. They had merely exchanged their ragged habits for new ones.

And both had a faintly murderous air about them, ready in case they encountered the traitor.

Lucas looked rather hollow-eyed, Valery and Knut were untroubled, Yorik and Ivy were excited, and the old priest and towering monk exuded murderous intent. That was the mood of the group.

It was hard to sum up the atmosphere in a single word, but they certainly made a peculiar and highly distinctive bunch.

“By the way, how reliable is that information?”

Valery asked Lucas.

“What information? About the Valkyrie? Well, it sounds like another false rumor, but who knows. It makes the rounds every so often, just when people have almost forgotten about it, so don't get your hopes up.”

The rumor Lucas was referring to was that the Valkyrie would attend this feast.

People's hopes had given rise to such rumors from time to time, but the Valkyrie had never once shown her face.

Valery was not particularly disappointed by the warning not to expect much. If she came, she came. If she did not, she did not. He simply looked around at his companions and said,

“Let's go.”

At his word, the group headed for the hill town at the heart of Nearcaster.

It was early evening. Bonfires burned on either side of the road, from the gate in the wall surrounding the hill all the way up to the castle at its summit.

The faint strains of lutes and pipes, and the songs of bards, drifted from the hilltop down to its base. The music gently tickled their ears, and the mild warmth of the bonfires brushed them as they passed.

The people looked excited too, but there was no excessive shouting or noise. The whole character of the place, its atmosphere, was distinctly different from that of the North.

The North was rough, and to put it harshly, even its nobility could carouse like common riffraff. Nearcaster had a certain refinement.

Technically, Nearcaster was part of the North too, but the difference was so stark that it was possible to understand, to some extent, why the locals refused to call themselves Northerners while looking down on their fellow Northerners.

Valery had traveled all over the kingdom fighting battles before his regression, so he had a rough idea of the cultural differences between regions, but he had never experienced them like this.

That was hardly surprising. All he had done was eat and sleep in the field, fight, march, kill, and burn things down.

He had not feared death. There had been only disillusionment with life and an obsession with ending this cursed bloodline, no matter what it took. Everything that stood in his path, he had trampled and destroyed.

As a result, he had always been exhausted in body and mind, his nerves on edge, with even less attention to spare for culture or customs.

Now, unlike back then, he slowly climbed the gently sloping road, taking his time to savor the sights and sounds, the weather and smells, people's accents and temperaments, and everything else around him.

There might be bloodshed if Eirik and Sigbold ran into the traitor, but to Valery, that sort of thing was as natural as breathing.

This leisure, this atmosphere, was what felt so much stranger and more unfamiliar to him. It was precious, too.

Maybe this was why people liked peace. He had always thought it was the sort of thing only weaklings wanted.

“Don't fool around like that. You'll wrinkle the clothes.”

“What, I can't even give him a piggyback ride? People wear clothes. Clothes don't wear people.”

Knut had tried to fool around with Valery, only to be scolded by Lucas. Was this what peace was like? It did not seem so bad.

The feast hall had tables for three or four scattered throughout rather than the long tables used in the North. The seating, layout, and atmosphere differed from one area to the next.

People mingled freely, enjoying themselves as they gathered in small groups with acquaintances to chat or made introductions.

Young girls gathered around the bards, listening to their sweet songs with dreamy expressions, while the older guests discussed politics, the state of the world, and the latest talk of the town.

Even without trying to listen, Valery heard his name here and there. Valery, Valery. He could guess what they were discussing without hearing the rest.

The most popular guests were, unsurprisingly, the champions. Just as Lucas had said, the people who ‘counted’ in Nearcaster were those who had proven their skill or passed its trials.

Their relaxed yet confident smiles, and the crowds always gathered around them, seemed to bear that out.

One area of the feast hall did not immediately catch the eye, yet anyone looking that way would have thought that only the most important people present were gathered there.

That was where the duke and his family were seated. All newly arrived guests had to offer the duke at least a brief greeting, and anyone who caught his interest was expected to stay and converse.

Once the conversation ended, guests were free to enjoy the feast, returning to join the duke if he sent for them.

The Duke of Nearcaster was a man in his forties, with a mature, self-possessed air.

He did not seem warlike, but neither did he have a scholar's air. He looked reasonably confident without being overly fond of showing off, just a good-natured man who liked people.

One might have expected him to tire of the endless greetings, but he seemed to enjoy them well enough, and his smile looked genuine.

A young woman approached him.

From her hair ornaments to her earrings, necklace, and rings, she wore so many extravagant jewels that her entire figure glittered in the light of the feast hall, almost as though she had a halo.

People's eyes were naturally drawn to her, though, surprisingly, there seemed to be a quiet snicker here and there.

The duke's eyes widened as he warmly welcomed the glittering woman.

“Oh? It has been a while, Lady Lucilia.”

“Lucilia, Your Excellency. Have you been well?”

“The same as ever. Contentment is my creed. And how has our young Lucilia been?”

“I have been well too, thanks to Your Excellency's favor.”

“Haha, I can hardly take credit for that. And how is the head of the merchant company?”

“Father is well too. The foreign incense you sent last time was a great help. Thank you.”

They exchanged the usual pleasantries. The duke hesitated over whether to mention Lucilia's older brother, Lucas, then decided not to.

He was not without tact, and he knew of the unsavory rumors about the siblings. He had not heard about the latest events, but bringing the subject up would do little good.

Besides, Lucas was more active in the city than Lucilia and was expected at the feast that day as well, so asking after him would have been odd.

A young woman attending a feast would normally be accompanied by her father, an older brother, or a man she trusted. Yet now that he looked, Lucilia was alone.

Lucilia looked so forlorn that it nearly made even the duke uncomfortable. It was not a good position for a young woman attending a feast.

“Please, make yourself comfortable and enjoy the feast. Do not hesitate to tell me if anything troubles you.”

That was as much consideration as he could show her. Showing her more, or ignoring her altogether, would do her no favors. Envy, jealousy, and slander existed everywhere.

“Thank you, Your Excellency.”

Whether she had come with steely resolve or was simply a formidable woman by nature, Lucilia kept flawless control of her expression. With a sweet smile, she took her leave of the duke and headed into the feast hall.

But the looks people gave her were not particularly welcoming. It felt worse than at the last feast she had attended.

She had first entered high society at twelve. Her older brother had led her by the hand and introduced her to the world. Adults had doted on her and showered her with attention, and she had made friends.

Everyone had approached her with goodwill. Everyone had envied her and praised her endlessly. Why had those people changed so much?

Daughters of the nobility or other respectable families generally found good husbands and married at fifteen, so talk of prospective marriages began at around thirteen, and girls gossiped among themselves about men.

Then the Valkyrie had come. People's attention had started shifting toward her, and finally, a year ago, even Lucilia's brother had joined the ranks of her suitors.

It had made her terribly sad, but her brother had given one reason after another, insisting that she was the one he truly loved and that he had had no choice. Yet after that, the attention she received had dwindled all the faster.

Perhaps that was why she had clung all the more to her brother. When she heard that he had bought a holy relic as a gift for the Valkyrie, she had begun to feel genuinely angry, then betrayed, and from that point on there had been moments when she truly felt she might go mad.

Then, finally, there had been Valery. Valery, at least, seemed a sure way to get revenge on those so-called friends who badmouthed her behind her back. They were always laughing and chattering about men's looks, after all.

But they had both left her. Her brother and Valery, both of them. And Valery had even entered the recent joust. Didn't that mean he was seeking the Valkyrie's hand?

The Valkyrie again. How could this happen? Someone who had never even shown her face in high society? Lucilia could not accept it.

What was so special about her that she drew men's love and attention? Because she was a member of the royal family? Did status really mean that much? That didn't seem to be it. How am I any less than her?

When she had stomped on the holy relic and shattered it, anyone who heard about it would have asked whether she had gone mad. But she had thought her brother or Valery would come to her and apologize then, at least. Or even just get angry with her.

But they just left? Left me behind? And then went off to court the Valkyrie?

It was hard to say when or where Lucilia's common sense had gone awry, but beneath her anger lay a craving for attention. Was she still too young to look that deeply into herself?

Had she understood even a little of how the world worked, she could have seen that the attention first lavished on her had come from the Lokir Merchant Company's wealth, connections, and influence. Yet she did not seem to know even that.

Perhaps she was trying to preserve the last of her pride. Even now, she stood alone, neither trying to join the groups gathered here and there nor hovering around them.

As she stood there alone, her glittering jewelry looked more pitiful than pretty.

People looked at Lucilia and merely whispered that she still had not come to her senses, or called her a lowborn thing.

Each time those words brushed past Lucilia's ears, her heart sank further into the abyss, rotting and festering until it all but gave off a stench.

Yet she maintained the expression of an innocent girl guilelessly taking in the feast.

Everyone could see how desperately she was struggling inside to keep that expression on her face, but no one bothered to come over and speak to her.

In truth, the reason for their coldness was that Lucilia had behaved far too arrogantly while she was the center of attention. And she was not even a member of the nobility.

She had wanted to be the kindest person in the world, the prettiest, the most deserving of pity. Whatever was good, she had wanted it all, and whenever she did not get her way, she showed her displeasure openly and embarrassed people.

Whether she was simply getting back what she had dished out was hard to say, but the world's cruelty did seem more than a fifteen-year-old girl could bear.

Just then, exclamations of admiration and excited murmurs rose from somewhere in the feast hall. They came from near the entrance.

“Ah!”

“Oh, my!”

Someone stepped into the feast hall, and it truly seemed as though light had flashed. The man's looks were so otherworldly that the phrase on another level came naturally to mind. It was Valery.

His looks alone seemed to eclipse status, honor, and wealth alike, and his sharp gaze, tempered by experience and gravitas, seemed to draw in people's very souls.

Every gaze fixed on Valery at once, like arrows loosed by marksmen.

Valery kept his eyes casually lowered, glancing around at the guests from time to time. Even the briefest touch of his gaze made noblewomen and young ladies alike feel a stab of pain, as though a knife had pierced their hearts.

The men did not feel even a trace of jealousy at the women's reactions. He was simply that overwhelming.

In truth, Valery sometimes slept outdoors, dressed shabbily, and took little interest in his appearance. But Lucas had gone all out dressing him up this time, and the result was nothing short of an explosion of beauty.

He talked with Lucas, then sometimes with the short, insolent-looking man beside him. On the rare occasions when he smiled, the women squealed as though they might melt away.

Even the duke looked dazed when Valery greeted him, his face blank. At times he could not meet Valery's eyes, and when he finally managed to look at him again, he would glance away once more.

Watching him, Lucilia felt utterly shabby by comparison. She had thought him a mere wandering swordsman, but now a strange regret surfaced: had she known things would turn out like this, she would have treated him a little better. She still believed she was above Valery.

If only she had come to the feast with him, if only that man had escorted her. The thought made her feel as though she had let something that had belonged to her all along slip through her fingers, and she felt close to losing her mind.

Her own brother was beside him too, yet she could not bring herself to go over and speak. She merely retreated farther into a corner and stole glances at him, all but hiding.

Watching from afar, she could only catch intermittent glimpses of him through the people between them. So Lucilia craned her head this way and that in an undignified attempt to see him, without even realizing what she was doing.

Each time he came back into view, he looked as though he alone lived in a completely different world.

Soon word spread that Valery had won the recent joust, and a crowd suddenly surged toward him. After that, she could not even steal a glimpse.

Should I go too, should I go over, should I acknowledge him, would he get angry, might he apologize even now, what if he ignored me, with all those people around him?

So many thoughts filled Lucilia's head that she found herself unable to think at all. She had felt shabby before; now she felt wretched.

Then, after who knew how long, the chamberlain called out loudly, something he had not done when the other guests entered the feast hall.

“The Valkyrie approaches! Everyone, set down your cups and kneel to pay your respects!”

Members of the royal family truly were different. The Valkyrie ranked as the duke's equal and surpassed him in symbolic importance. Even the duke rose from his seat and respectfully clasped his hands.

Between Valery's presence and the Valkyrie's first appearance at a feast, the guests hardly knew what to do with themselves, yet they hurriedly knelt. The duke was the only one left standing.

Clinging to her last scrap of pride, Lucilia hid in the farthest corner and did not kneel.

But when the Valkyrie finally appeared, Lucilia was stunned all over again, though for a very different reason than when she had seen Valery.

The woman in the dress was taller than most men, with broad shoulders and a neck and forearms as thick as logs.

People bowed their heads low, afraid their astonishment might show. A heavy silence settled over the feast hall, which had been so lively only moments before.

In that silence, even those far away could hear the Valkyrie greeting the duke.

“I'm Valkyrie Brynhildr. My thanks for your hospitality, Duke.”

She was certainly a woman, but was it really proper for her to speak like that? Was that simply how Valkyries spoke?

One overwhelmed everyone with his looks, the other with her physique. No matter how anyone looked at it, something seemed to have been switched around. It was not just Lucilia. Everyone felt the same.