Chapter 71

Translator: Willia

When someone died, the body was prepared before the funeral. It was washed and dressed in burial clothes, and its stiffened limbs were straightened.

The preparation of the body was the same, but after that, Nordic and Astrian funerals followed different customs.

If the deceased was a renowned warrior or someone of high standing, the Nordics loaded the body and grave goods onto a ship, set it adrift on the sea or a river, then shot flaming arrows at it to burn the ship.

Afterward, they carved the deceased's achievements or life story into a large stone and erected it as a runestone. It differed somewhat from a gravestone in that a runestone did not have to stand where the body was buried.

Even far away or long after the death, those who admired or respected the deceased might erect a separate runestone. In the Dragon-Slayer's case, more than a thousand runestones had been raised throughout the kingdom.

There were also those who simply buried the body and ship in the ground, or buried only the body with its grave goods and no burial ship.

Funerals cost money, so they differed from person to person.

An Astrian funeral ended with placing the body in a coffin and burying it. The only differences determined by status or wealth were how expensive the coffin was and where it was buried.

People of high status or great wealth used stone coffins and were laid to rest beneath their castles or mansions.

Those without money were buried in a public cemetery, and if even that was beyond their means, the body was simply discarded.

Did even death discriminate? In truth, when one thought about it, the kind of funeral held meant little to someone already dead.

In other words, a funeral was a ceremony for the living.

Then what did the living gain by commemorating someone gone forever? Surely it was not merely grief and longing.

Loss, absence, what had been lost, what remained, realizations. Each painted the heart in its own color, sometimes vivid, sometimes pale.

And there was the solemnity of death, the primal fear underlying it, and the reminder that death was not far away but had always been with them.

Perhaps a funeral was the process of looking back on one's life, rising again, and preparing to take another step forward.

Perhaps death had been created for much the same reason. That was what Valery thought.

The nurse and maids who had attended Lucilia in life washed her body and dressed her in burial clothes.

A skilled mortician restored her crushed head. A complete restoration was naturally difficult, so he did what he could to restore its shape, then covered her face with a mask made of gold and her head with a wig.

Then they adorned her from head to toe with the jewelry she had loved in life. Those were her grave goods, so to speak.

At first, Eirik and Sigbold intended to salt Vidar's head and take it with them as proof of their revenge, but they decided that did not seem right.

Instead, they cut out his red eye and a few other identifying parts of his body, then loaded what remained onto a funeral ship and sent it down the River Tyme, which flowed through Nearcaster.

It was the final voyage the deceased had wished for.

Valery paid for Vidar's funeral. The reason was difficult to explain. He simply felt a vague sense of indebtedness.

The Dragon-Slayer's decision had opened a new era, and Vidar seemed like someone who had been pushed aside by it.

Perhaps both the legacy and the failings of one's forebears were for their descendants to bear. There was no need to blame anyone. In keeping with Eirik's approach to life, one simply did what had to be done in silence.

And so Lucas bade farewell to his sister, and Sigbold to his brother-in-arms, sending them to a world the living could never reach.

The siblings who remained were Valery and Brynhildr.

Three days had passed since the feast. The funerals were over, and the living had returned to their daily lives.

Needless to say, the atmosphere at the Lokir Merchant Company's estate was unsettled and heavy.

Perhaps that was why the fallen leaves looked so forlorn and the autumn wind felt unusually cold.

Eirik and Sigbold had to take the Dragon-Slayer's holy relic with them once it was restored, so they seemed to be planning to stay at the estate until then.

They had agreed to pay with the spoils once Vidar was executed, but there had been no real spoils to claim. There had not even been enough money to cover the funeral, so Valery had paid instead.

“If you ask me, the duke pocketed the money from selling that fake holy relic.”

Knut spoke as he noisily crunched his way through a whole raw carrot. He liked sitting on tables and railings instead of perfectly good chairs, and he was perched on the windowsill now.

“He was trying to secure a ship, equipment, and a crew, so the money probably did go to the duke. Otherwise, it's hard to see what connection there would be between the two of them.”

Yorik agreed with Knut.

Securing a seagoing ship, equipment, supplies, and an experienced crew was not something money alone could accomplish. It required funds, power, and connections.

“Still, asking for the money back now would be a little awkward. Besides, it has nothing to do with us.”

“It still leaves a bad taste in my mouth. I feel like we were played somehow.”

“What do you think, Valery?”

Knut asked Valery, who sat quietly by himself with a sword at his waist. Apparently lost in thought, Valery looked up and asked,

“About what?”

“The money from the fake holy relic. I'm saying it's probably in the duke's hands.”

“Probably.”

“Doesn't it piss you off to just let it go?”

“It does, but...... I think he'll end up paying the price even if we leave him be.”

“What price?”

“Swindling people in his own fief or holding jousts is within the duke's authority. Normally, his citizens or vassals would resent him for it. But he used the Valkyrie to avoid responsibility, didn't he? Do you think the king will let that pass? If it were me, I'd be waiting for a chance to deal with him. That's where the Duke of Nearcaster crossed the line.”

The Valkyrie was not blameless, but actively lying to exploit the Valkyrie's authority, and therefore the authority of the royal family, was dangerous even for a duke.

Of course, there was no telling whether he had done it with that risk in mind or simply without understanding it.

The Valkyrie acting recklessly and causing trouble might anger the king, or it might be something he did not care about. Exploiting the royal family's authority, however, could become a serious matter depending on how the king chose to deal with it.

Under feudalism, even a king could not casually interfere in the rule of his vassals. But treason, rebellion, or an affront to royal authority was another matter.

“I hadn't thought of that. Hmm, I suppose that would be more dangerous.”

“If I may presume to put myself in His Majesty's place, I imagine he'd be thinking, ‘Has this bastard lost his mind?’”

The wording was rather crude, but Yorik's summary was accurate.

“Still, he might never have cared in the first place. The public story is that they're searching for a husband for the Valkyrie, so he might believe that. He might even know it was a lie and let it pass anyway. There's no telling what will happen. We don't know what kind of man the king is.”

Valery had never seen the king in person either. Before regression, he had not learned of his own identity until after the king died.

“......By the way, don't you want it?”

“Want what?”

“To be king......”

It was unusually cautious for Knut, who normally said whatever he pleased without ever reading the room.

Valery thought for a moment, then answered with a faintly bitter smile.

“Strangely enough, becoming king seems to mean losing everything. That's how I see it. People think the king owns the world and can do anything he wants. If I'd truly wanted to become king, I would have gathered supporters like the 3rd Prince. I still don't know.”

The 3rd Prince's forces lay farther south of Nearcaster.

According to the story, the family that had raised the 3rd Prince was wiped out one day by an Einheri who appeared without warning, and the prince began gathering his forces afterward.

Before regression, the 3rd Prince had also been the prince supported by the now-dead Duke Sven. The Count of Winsloe, as Sven's vassal, had been forced to follow his lead, and tragedy had befallen Valery as a result.

Even so, Valery held no particular grudge against the 3rd Prince. The prince had felt no affection for Valery, and Valery had felt none for him.

More importantly, Valery had already cut off his head and paraded it from place to place for three days, making a spectacle of him.

Valery's most formidable enemies had been the 7th Prince and the 8th Prince. The other princes had either been assassinated or killed by their brothers, so he hardly knew anything about them.

“If you don't become king, won't you have no choice but to die......?”

Yorik asked. The Royal Succession War was a war that could end only once every prince but one was dead.

Valery replied with a quiet smile.

“Probably. But neither of you will die. Don't worry about that.”

“What? What do you take me for, saying something like that?”

“What are you talking about?”

“If we die, we die together. If we live, we live together. I left behind a woman I'd promised to marry so I could follow you, Lord Valery.”

“......You'd go that far?”

“Of course. And just so you know, I didn't follow you because I wanted to get ahead in life. It feels a little awkward saying this, but...... you looked lonely. You did, Lord Valery.”

“Me?”

Yorik looked toward Knut. Knut spoke as though he could not believe Valery had failed to realize it.

“Even when you were traveling with the rest of us, you'd go off by yourself sometimes. I wondered what you were always thinking about alone, but after you pardoned my brother, I realized you'd been acting that way because you were lonely.”

While traveling with his companions, Valery often withdrew from them and became lost in thought. He was doing the same thing now.

He had not realized that his companions had been watching him in their own way.

What Yorik and Knut meant was that they had wondered what he brooded over alone, only to learn that he was a prince and understand why he had been worrying by himself.

They had followed him to ease that burden, or perhaps simply to keep him from being lonely.

But was that reason enough to brave death? If Valery lost the Succession War, he would not be the only one to die. Those who followed him would have little hope of escaping death either.

“......I never thought of that. I really do have my shortcomings.”

“If you've got shortcomings, what does that make us? Half-finished human beings?”

Valery laughed at Knut's teasing remark and shook his head.

Rather than some solemn resolve, the two of them seemed to have more of an “If we die, we die” attitude. But did that really mean they were taking it lightly?

Perhaps death did not always have to be solemn. Not to the living, at least. Those who were alive had the right to choose and decide.

“By the way, how is Lucas doing?”

“He spends the whole day caring for the head of the merchant company.”

They had only recently learned that Lokir, the head of the merchant company and Lucas's father, suffered from dementia.

It was not something they could announce publicly, so people had merely been told he was bedridden. In truth, he had lost control of his bodily functions and could no longer recognize Lucas or Lucilia.

Lucas was caring for him now. It was a form of self-reproach and penance, a punishment he imposed upon himself for having failed to truly care.

“Seeing him like that does make me worry, though. Who's running the merchant company? From what little I saw, caring for him looked truly unbearable.”

“Why?”

“Oh, don't even ask. He smears shit on the walls and throws it around, gets angry, curses, and causes no end of trouble. How did he end up losing his mind?”

People regarded dementia as the loss of one's soul, a state in which the soul that should have inhabited the body was no longer there.

“I heard he lived through two great wars. He lost everything each time. They say the merchant company he built again afterward is the one we see today. Perhaps his wounded soul died before his body did.”

Knut spoke.

Valery had nothing to add. After all, he was not so different when it came to having endured a terrible war.

Does that mean my soul is dead too? It may not be now, but will it die someday? The thought made him somewhat uneasy.

“Perhaps. It's a sad thing.”

“It is. Being unable to remember those closest to you.”

Knock, knock.

Someone knocked. No one had even answered when the door opened to reveal Ivy.

“You have a visitor.”

“Who?”

“She says she's the Valkyrie.”

Valery had given her three days to decide what she would do. It was now three days since the feast.

Knut and Yorik's eyes widened as they wondered what had brought her here, but Valery spoke calmly.

“Tell her to come in.”

Brynhildr and Randgríðr must have been standing right beside Ivy, because they entered as soon as Ivy told them they could.

The moment Yorik saw Randgríðr, his expression changed completely. No one paid him any attention.

Brynhildr looked deeply subdued, yet resolute at the same time. She looked at Valery and said,

“I'd like to speak with you alone.”

“You can just say it here. My friends already know.”

“Do they?”

“Yeah.”

“They must be good friends.”

“Have you decided what you're going to do? Just tell me that.”

“I have.”

Knut and Yorik knew Valery was a prince, but they did not know Brynhildr was the Valkyrie. They still believed Randgríðr was the Valkyrie.

Randgríðr did not know Valery was a prince either, so everyone except Valery and Brynhildr looked bewildered. What were those two talking about?

“For now, I've decided to follow you.”

Brynhildr spoke.

“That's your decision? Never mind that. What about a husband?”

“There isn't one.”

“Then what have you been doing for the past two years?”

“Wandering.”

“Then you should have hidden your identity. Did it never occur to you that going around telling everyone you were the Valkyrie while searching for a husband would hurt a lot of people? Just how stupid are you?”

“Hey......”

Apparently thinking Valery had gone too far, Randgríðr, who had no idea what was happening, cautioned him. Brynhildr shook her head at Randgríðr, stopping her.

“I was wrong. So please don't hate me too much.”

“Don't flatter yourself. Why would I hate someone like you? You don't matter that much.”

“......You truly are a cold-hearted child.”

“A child? Me?”

“Well, you're my little brother, aren't you? Or are you my older brother?”

Valery was mildly dumbfounded, while Randgríðr's eyes went wide. What did she mean, little brother?

“If you're going to follow me, at least take responsibility for what you've done first.”

“All right.”

Without a moment's hesitation, the elder sister answered her little brother's cold words and planted her hand on the table with a thump. Then she drew a dagger from inside her clothes and brought it down toward her long white fingers.

Valery caught the hand holding the dagger. The point stopped above her hand, and through his grip he felt her strength and sincerity.

As one might expect of House Vǫlsungr, she had an extreme streak. The women of House Vǫlsungr in particular had been renowned for their ferocity through the generations.

There had been a woman who cut open her own belly, a woman who killed herself before her children to set an example, and a woman who cursed her son never to die unless he found happiness before throwing herself into the flames.

The men were actually the fainthearted ones. Faced with this, even Valery, who had once killed himself by driving a blade into his own throat, felt a chill in his chest.

Stabbing himself in the throat was one thing, but watching someone else turn a blade on themselves felt entirely different.

“Just how stupid are you......?”

“Didn't you tell me to take responsibility?”

“I meant get the money back. From the duke. The money he swindled out of people. Return as much of it as possible to its original owners. That's taking responsibility.”

Running the tournaments and gambling operations was one thing, but profiting by brokering the sale of the treasures had clearly been fraud.

The claim that the Valkyrie wanted treasure had been a lie, and most of the treasures themselves were fake.

That was also why the Count of Westlanding had sold his tax collection rights and been left practically a wreck of a man.

“All right. I'll do that. Now let go of my hand. It hurts.”

Valery released his sister's wrist. Brynhildr put away the dagger and left.

Silence hung over the room for a while before Knut looked at Yorik and spoke first.

“What's with him?”

“......What? Oh, but wasn't the big lady the Valkyrie?”

“No.”

Valery answered. This was news to Knut as well.

“That woman just now was the Valkyrie? The one you faced in the jousting final?”

“Yeah.”

“I see...... But I have a feeling she's going to cause trouble......”

“So do I.”

Valery tended to engineer the right circumstances, act boldly once an opportunity presented itself, settle matters in an instant, and clean up neatly afterward.

But it hardly seemed likely that Brynhildr the Valkyrie would handle things with that kind of precision and efficiency.