Chapter 73

Translator: Willia

Nearcaster and the Lokir Merchant Company's estate were half a day's walk apart, and less than half that time on horseback.

It was fairly close, but making the trip back and forth was still rather bothersome. Brynhildr, however, did not seem to mind.

Two days had passed since Valery told her to take responsibility. The moment Brynhildr received the advance, she mounted the king's red horse and flew to the Lokir Merchant Company's estate.

The early-evening autumn wind was chilly, but Brynhildr's heart was not. She was going to see Valery again.

Simply thinking of someone, simply looking forward to seeing them soon, could be enough to make a person happy.

Valery gave the pouches of gold coins in the chest a cursory glance, then asked in surprise,

“You didn't kill the duke, did you?”

“No. Why?”

“What did you say to make him hand over the money so readily?”

“It wasn't so much what I said. At first, I couldn't get through to him, and then he said something about a Valkyrie having no honor. So I told him I'd kill him, and he gave me this as an advance.”

Valery glanced at Randgríðr. With an Einheri beside her, a threat of force would certainly work.

What he could not tell was whether she had deliberately found a justification for her actions or simply blundered into one, like a cow catching a mouse by stepping backward.

It had not been handled neatly, but it had certainly been handled decisively.

Now that she had actually brought back the money, he seemed to regard her with somewhat less distaste and to find her a little less pathetic.

Valery gave the matter some thought. After reconstructing the Duke of Nearcaster's likely train of thought, he concluded that the man might try something foolish.

From the duke's perspective, the Valkyrie had suddenly done something entirely out of character.

Someone must have put her up to it. It was unlikely to be Randgríðr, who was always by her side, and if the duke sought someone who could have caused such a dramatic change in her behavior, Valery suspected he would point to Valery himself.

He did not know what specific method the duke might employ if he chose to act, but if he begrudged the money, he would make a rash decision. If he was truly as good-natured as his reputation suggested, he would make an effort to restrain himself.

Valery judged the former more likely. A man who made money through fraud could hardly be indifferent to losing it.

After coming up with a response in his head, Valery picked up the chest and left the room.

When they reached the third floor, the faint smell of excrement brushed their noses. Brynhildr and Randgríðr, who had followed him, frowned in mild dismay.

Valery headed toward the source of the smell. When he opened the door, he found a surprisingly clean room. The odor had simply seeped into the walls and floor and would not come out.

He heard the murmur of conversation. Priest Eirik was sitting in a chair beside the bed, speaking with Lokir, the bedridden head of the merchant company.

He was watching over Lokir for a while in place of Lucas, who was exhausted from tending to his father day and night.

“At the mill, at the mill, there were snakes, I tell you. Two of them. Caught them quick, skinned them right there, and ate them. My stomach's hurt ever since, and Mother went all the way around the village to the fields. The buckwheat field was white as snow...... You, you know what I'm saying, don't you? My friend.”

The head of the merchant company's words were rambling and incoherent. He drifted in and out of lucidity, and his memories remained rooted in the distant past.

Priest Eirik did not let those ramblings pass unheard. He listened with the utmost attention.

“That's right. It must have been around autumn. The buckwheat fields were especially beautiful beneath a full moon.”

“Yes. Mother too, I told her she should stop and rest. She said a fatherless boy ought to at least learn his letters. A skill to make a living with. Said I wouldn't starve if I entered service...... A Nordic. A kind Nordic. What was his name? Sigurd? Sigurd? He asked how to grow buckwheat. I told him I was a farmer's son, but I didn't know how to farm. Ha ha ha......”

Lokir, who had scarcely any teeth left, had raged all day. Only now did exhaustion seem to carry him toward sleep, his eyes slowly closing as he smiled.

Before long, he was sound asleep, breathing softly. Until then, Valery waited in silence with the chest in his arms. It took quite some time.

Brynhildr and Randgríðr had no choice but to wait with him. As they did, both felt something strange.

There was something removed from reality about the elderly Jómsvíkingr priest keeping a senile old man company, and about Valery quietly watching them.

It was not so much that there was anything extraordinary about the scene. Rather, it held an atmosphere that seemed to transcend the everyday.

Priest Eirik stroked Lokir's head as though caring for the most pitiable man in the world. Only after a long while did he turn toward Valery.

“It takes an old man to understand another old man.”

“......For now, I've brought the money. Lucas said he paid four hundred and forty-two gold coins for the holy relic, so I believe you need only return that amount.”

Priest Eirik gently lowered his gaze and smiled.

“I've lost count of how many times I've been indebted to you. It seems you're a kind Nordic too.”

“I'm afraid I can't agree with that. The person behind me has simply fulfilled her responsibility.”

Valery spoke with a glance at Brynhildr behind him.

The priest raised his eyes to Valery, then looked in turn at Brynhildr and Randgríðr standing some distance behind him. He returned his gaze to Valery and spoke.

“Are you, by any chance, a prince?”

“......Why do you think so?”

“As I said before, the resemblance is far too strong.”

Valery could not tell whether those words were praise, a curse, or an inescapable fate.

“Leave the two of us alone for a moment.”

Priest Eirik spoke to Brynhildr and Randgríðr. Feeling somehow gently overpowered, the two left without a word and closed the door.

It was early evening, and the room was dark. The only light came from a single lantern on the table beside the priest.

“Come closer.”

Valery approached and set the chest on the table.

“You seem to wield rune power as well. Who taught you?”

“I once drank dragon's blood. My heart nearly burst and killed me, but a rune mage sealed the power and taught me the breathing technique. The mage said it would allow me to absorb the power little by little.”

“Isn't a rune mage an elf?”

“Yes.”

“Elves live long lives, so their training methods aren't suited to humans. We don't live for hundreds of years as they do. Listen carefully to what I tell you now.”

With that, Priest Eirik removed his priest's robes. As Valery had suspected, his entire body was covered in tattoos, and his scars were too numerous to count.

It seemed that every passing year and every choice he had made had been recorded upon his body.

“Following the power as it flows from the heart is the most basic method of circulation. I doubt a single Einheri fights that way. Yet if you alter its path arbitrarily, you may cripple yourself or be driven mad, so you must be careful. Begin by practicing how to start at your wrist and gather power in your fist. Start with one hand, then both hands, then both feet. After that, cross the power of your right foot with that of your left arm, and the power of your left foot with that of your right arm. Place the point of intersection in your lower abdomen, and pay no attention to your heart. Once you grow accustomed to this method, it will serve you better in battle. This was how the Dragon-Slayer wielded his power. I will show you the precise paths now, so never forget them and never teach them to anyone else. I did not pass this on to the young Founder-King because he was so consumed by vengeance at the time that I feared it would bring him harm instead.”

Perhaps to keep himself from forgetting the paths the power followed, Priest Eirik had special tattoos marked at every point along them.

He touched parts of his body as he explained each point in turn. Valery had a keen mind and memorized everything exactly as Eirik taught it.

“At first, it will feel unfamiliar, as though your hands and feet are moving independently of one another. Once you become accustomed to it, however, you will be able to unleash immense power instantly without losing your balance. In other words, what matters isn't how much rune power you possess, but how efficiently you wield it. The right method varies from person to person, but if you're a prince, this will probably suit you best. Use the elven breathing technique for meditation, expanding your senses, and invigorating your mind and body, but follow this method in actual combat. Remember this, however. You mustn't rely too heavily on rune power. You must train your body and never neglect the refinement of your technique. Those may be even more important. You are the one wielding the power. You must never allow the power to wield you.”

“I will remember.”

“And every person is born with a rune of their own. It represents that person's disposition and character. The quick-tempered and the easygoing, the cold and the warm, the curious and the reserved, the aggressive and the defensive. Runic letters, which the God of Wisdom taught to humankind, encapsulate all those qualities and their countless combinations. Take care, however, for the same letters work differently for elves and dwarves.”

Perhaps because he had poured out so many words at once, Priest Eirik paused to catch his breath. Valery had followed him without difficulty, but waited patiently for his breathing to settle.

“An inborn rune symbolizes a person's destiny, but it also signifies suffering when one's life flows contrary to it. Just as calm work doesn't suit the quick-tempered, and hectic work doesn't suit the placid. When an ignoble person is born to a noble station, he may ruin not only himself but many others. Yet when a noble person is born to a low station, he may overcome adversity and become a great man. Do you understand what I mean? The Dragon-Slayer bore the Rune of Dawn. It held tranquility, quiet enlightenment, and hope amid sorrow. A noble man was born to a noble station. That was why he had to endure tremendous sorrow and pain.”

As he spoke, Eirik placed a hand over his heart. One of the runic letters there, ᛞ, began to glow and rose from his skin.

The letter of light rested in his hand. When he reached out and placed that hand over Valery's heart, it seeped through his clothes, into his body, and into his soul.

Eirik then put his habit back on. Valery helped him a little, but even that seemed to exhaust him. He sat in the chair and began breathing more heavily.

He kept trying to catch his breath, but it did not seem easy.

“Come closer.”

When Valery leaned nearer, Eirik placed one hand on his head and the other over his heart, then spoke.

“The truth is, the gods never died. Here and here, they live. Listen to their voices, but don't let them sway you. You may believe that you are the one thinking, but often the opposite is true. Your thoughts may be controlling you. So always look back upon yourself. Ask whether you're thinking for yourself or your thoughts are controlling you. Don't define yourself too rigidly. Perhaps, perhaps you aren't truly a cold person, but someone warmhearted instead. Restrain your emotions, but learn to face them for what they are. Then, amid all those things, you will discover true faith. A faith that can never be shaken.”

His words were somewhat disjointed and hurried, but his breathing was growing more labored by the moment, and it seemed he had no choice. At last, he barely managed to say a few final words before closing his eyes.

“I'm tired too. I should get some sleep......”

One arm rested on the table, and his head bowed. Just like that, he entered his eternal rest. He remained seated and did not collapse.

A man who had been alive only moments ago had hurriedly poured out his words, then fallen asleep forever.

When Valery turned his head, he saw that the head of the merchant company was no longer breathing either.

A profound silence settled over the room. It did not feel oppressive. It was like a time of contemplation that no one should disturb.

Valery stood motionless for a long while. He looked at the chest on the table, then at Priest Eirik again, before slowly surveying the room. Night had fallen, leaving the room darker still.

One man had once explored the world, been known as the warrior Red Axe, followed the Dragon-Slayer's incomprehensible dream, and afterward guided beasts through faith.

The other had endured two great wars and lost everything, yet had ultimately risen again and built a great family.

At the end of their lives, could two men of different races meet for the briefest moment and become friends? Friends who shared death.

What runes had they borne? What adversity had they overcome to arrive at last at this quiet death?

Valery, who had died by stabbing himself in the throat, suddenly felt ashamed before the two old men. What a wretched life I lived......

Valery repeated Priest Eirik's final words to himself, one by one, without omitting a single word.

Even after memorizing them perfectly, he recited them again so that he would never forget.

Of them all, the admonition not to define himself too rigidly, or perhaps that whisper, lingered with particular force in his mind and heart.