Chapter 75

Translator: Willia

The songs of morning birds were a nuisance to late risers and a welcome sound to those who rose early.

Birds chirped in the morning at the Lokir Merchant Company estate as well. They sounded as though they were performing together, or perhaps competing to show off their sweet voices.

But Randgríðr did not hear their bright, lovely songs.

She gazed through the window at the distant fields and spoke with a rather grave expression.

“Three more entered the forest yesterday and haven't come back out. It's clearly an ambush.”

“How many are there in total, then?”

“Eight in the forest alone.”

Brynhildr bit her lower lip lightly at Randgríðr's answer. Valery had told her not to concern herself and to leave them alone, so she had, but she could not help worrying as she watched.

Even the strongest person could be endangered or killed depending on where, how, and under what circumstances they fought. With the assassins openly laying a trap, it was difficult for her to stand by and do nothing.

However, Brynhildr had never fought Valery outside the joust, so she did not know how accomplished his swordsmanship was or how precise and keen his judgment could be.

After fretting by herself, she headed somewhere. Her destination was the wagon belonging to Valery and his companions.

Knut, Yorik, and Ivy often gathered around the wagon and passed the time with idle chatter even when they had nothing in particular to do.

If they needed muscle, they called Sigbold. If they needed anything else, they asked Lucas for help.

There was no real need to guard the wagon at the Lokir Merchant Company estate, but that was also what they were doing.

“No, I'm just curious. What if they launch the ship and the flaming arrow misses? What if the ship keeps drifting farther away and simply floats off downriver?”

“Think about it. You can just follow along the riverbank and keep shooting until you hit it.”

“What do they do when the funeral is held at sea?”

The subject seemed to be Nordic funerals, but the point under debate was utterly pointless.

“You're making fun of Nordics, aren't you?”

“What are you talking about? I'm Nordic too.”

“You are? You don't know who your parents are, do you?”

“Look at my name. My name. It's Yorik.”

“But someone else could have given you that name......”

They seemed to debate in earnest, though they occasionally mixed in a joke. When Brynhildr approached, however, their expressions hardened.

Knut in particular seemed to regard Brynhildr with displeasure, his eyes bearing their usual insolent, almost feline look.

None of them even asked why she had come or what she wanted.

“Um, I came because I thought you ought to know.”

Brynhildr was not oblivious. She knew that Valery's original companions did not look kindly upon her.

But the matter at hand was urgent, or at least she believed it was, so she continued.

“There are people targeting Valery. Not just one or two. Three of them went into the forest yesterday and never came back out. There are eight in total, and I think they're lying in ambush.”

“......”

To Brynhildr's embarrassment, Knut, Yorik, and Ivy did not respond. She wondered if they had failed to understand her or simply did not grasp the seriousness of the situation.

Then Knut spoke curtly.

“Since when were we close enough for you to speak so casually to me?”

“......What?”

“I am Knut, the third son of House Viðing. I am also the only younger brother of the current Duke of Eldeira. I would appreciate being treated with respect.”

Knut had never once revealed his status when dealing with anyone. By telling Brynhildr his house and rank, however, he was drawing a line between them.

Brynhildr looked slightly flustered, apparently having never imagined that Knut was the son of a great noble house.

Among Nordic nobility, using the name of one's clan from the days when they lived in the frozen lands as a house name signified an ancient and prestigious lineage.

Since the current king's reign began, all newly founded noble houses had taken Astrian-style names regardless of whether they were Nordic or Astrian. That made old clan names such as Vǫlsungr, Viðing, Elding, and Stáling all the more distinctive.

Brynhildr naturally looked at Yorik and Ivy as well, but Yorik smiled kindly and shook his head.

“I come from the Thieves' Guild, Valkyrie, and she comes from a shepherd village. You may speak freely with the two of us.”

“......I see...... Well, anyway, there are assassins targeting Valery.”

Whether because of Knut's hostile gaze or because she thought she had made a mistake, Brynhildr did not return to casual speech even after hearing that they were commoners.

“We already know. But if Valery tells us to leave them alone, then we have to leave them alone. He isn't weak, either. You don't need to worry so much.”

They already knew? Brynhildr was left speechless. Valery himself was strange enough, but his companions seemed strange as well. Their behavior seemed a little at odds with common sense.

Assassins were after him, yet they were leaving them alone simply because he had told them to? What did that even mean? She might have thought they were not particularly close, but everything she had seen of them suggested otherwise.

“It may seem strange to you, but this is how we are. We don't stop those who come or hold back those who leave. If someone needs help, we help them, but we never do it expecting a reward. Before anything else, we help those who are trying to stand on their own. That means we must begin with respect. We respect one another's choices and decisions. No one has the right to interfere with those. He has never said so himself, but that is what I have observed. That is Valery's way.”

They had traveled together for far longer than a day or two, so Yorik had gained a remarkably accurate understanding of how Valery acted and thought, even of things Valery himself had scarcely recognized.

Brynhildr found this way of thinking and treating one's companions utterly unfamiliar. At times they seemed extraordinarily close, while at others they appeared to have almost no interest in one another.

But as Yorik had said, that was because they respected one another. They were close, but there were boundaries they had to respect. That was simply how they were.

Brynhildr stood there with nothing more to say until Yorik kindly spoke again.

“If it bothers you that much, would you like to go and watch?”

“......Watch?”

“If something goes wrong, we might be able to help. It isn't about interfering. You could say that this is also a choice. Valery is more tolerant than you might expect with those close to him, provided their actions come from goodwill.”

“I was a little worried too. Let's go.”

Ivy chimed in. Yorik then turned to Knut as though asking his opinion, and Knut nodded as well.

“Then it's decided.”

“You're becoming surprisingly similar to Valery, aren't you?”

Knut said to Yorik.

Friends naturally rubbed off on each other when they spent enough time together. They had shared good times and bad since the takedown of the Ball-Ripper, so perhaps it was inevitable.

Brynhildr felt strangely drawn to this group, who seemed hopelessly optimistic or perhaps just a little irrational.

At their core, all of Valery's companions had one thing in common: life had treated them like shit. Perhaps she was drawn to the strangely hopeful spirit that lay beneath it all.

When it came down to it, Knut, Yorik, and Ivy had all been saved by Valery.

Brynhildr sensed that spirit too, if only unconsciously.

It was the sixth day since Valery began his training. Only now did he begin to see a path, or perhaps gain a sense of direction.

The dragon's nature and the Dragon-Slayer's texture were not truly two separate powers, but one. They had merely influenced the rune I already possessed. They had not changed its essence.

It only looks and feels as though three powers inhabit one body. In truth, they are one. Now I understand.

But understanding it intellectually and mastering it were two different matters.

I have to abandon even the thought of controlling my rune power. I must also discard every thought of using that power to gain greater strength or move faster.

What matters is the will. The sword moves according to my will, unleashing the dragon's fierce power without restraint. Then the power of the Rune of Dawn follows naturally.

Unleashing the power first and then having the power follow was a contradiction, but there was no other way to explain it.

Wielding rune power was like composing a poem.

It was like crying out at the top of one's lungs. Thunder at dawn wept in longing for the promised light. And at last, lightning hooked the sun and hauled it into the sky.

Feeling, sense, intuition. Something difficult to put into words, yet unmistakably perceived.

Valery gripped his sword in one hand and swung it fiercely, as though flinging something away. A moment later, a faint rumble of thunder sounded along the path the blade had traced.

An inexplicable thrill welled up inside him and brought a smile to his face, but throwing knives suddenly rained down from the trees. Their blades flashed in the morning sunlight.

Valery twisted aside and evaded them by a hair. The blades were so keen that one sliced through his outer garment and exposed its lining.

The throwing knives thudded into the ground, and at the same moment, two men emerged from the nearby brush.

They carried grappling hooks. After whirling them once with force, they skillfully hurled them at Valery. The hooks at the ends of the ropes served as weights, sending them hurtling toward him.

Then someone behind him cast a net. It spread wide in midair, poised to envelop Valery no matter where he dodged.

The timing of their coordinated attack was exquisite. They had clearly practiced together more than once or twice.

Even so, Valery held his sword out toward the incoming hook and hurled himself toward it to dodge the attack.

Clang!

Valery's sword struck the hook, which caught on the blade. The net closed over empty air, while the other hook that had passed him swung back to attack him from behind.

The hook caught on his sword was yanked hard, as though to tear the weapon from his grasp. At the same moment, five men dropped from the trees in a shower, all aiming for Valery.

Two of them tracked his movement and tried to drive their short swords into him in reverse grips.

An ordinary swordsman would have been unable to resist with his weapon bound and would have died. Valery, however, held his breath and swung his sword outward with all his strength, using one hand.

Whoosh!

Crang! Clang!

In a single stroke, he severed the hook caught on his sword, broke the blades of the two men falling toward him, and cut through their arms. Blood gushed as two severed arms fell.

He stopped the remaining hook coming from behind by grabbing its rope. The rope instantly whipped around his body once under its own momentum.

Just as the hook completed its circle and was about to sink into Valery's body, he somehow already had his sword in a reverse grip and brought it down to block the hook.

Clang!

Even so, the rope had wrapped once around his body. Its owner gave it a mighty yank, trying to topple Valery. That was when the man realized something had gone wrong. The rope would not budge, as though it were tied around a boulder. Huh?

The remaining three men landed and charged bodily at Valery, trying to ram their swords into him.

Just then, the rope wrapped around Valery came loose. He planted his feet wide and gripped his sword in both hands. Then he leaned his body far to one side and swung the blade horizontally, almost as though bringing it down in an overhead strike.

Perhaps his training had not been in vain. Rune power flowed into his feet of its own accord, gouging the ground beneath them. His arms remained almost relaxed, while tremendous force gathered in his abdomen and lats as he sliced through.

The force naturally crossed at his lower abdomen and was distributed perfectly.

Then came the rotational force of his entire body, flowing through his feet, legs, and waist. The blade merely rested upon its path.

A clean line like a single ray of light was drawn, and all three men were severed through the middle at once.

Their upper bodies toppled onto Valery with the momentum of their charge, but naturally, there was no force behind them. Their lower bodies collapsed where they stood.

The three men had apparently died before they could even feel pain, for not a shadow of death had crossed their faces. Only a moment later did their entrails come spilling out.

Rumble......!

The thunder sounded last of all. Given the situation, however, the enemies failed to register it.

They were briefly stunned senseless by the shocking sight, but Valery had not finished moving. At some point, he had picked up one of the throwing knives from the ground, and he hurled it with all his strength at the man who had cast the net.

The throwing knife shot straight through the air, pierced the man's hard skull, and buried itself between his eyebrows all the way to the hilt.

Thunk!

His head snapped backward as he fell. Valery yanked hard on the rope while swinging his sword one-handed once more at the enemies whose arms he had severed.

The sword swept past with a whoosh, and the heads of the men who had stood stunned for a moment dropped one after another. At the same time, Valery completed the wide swing and severed the head of the enemy dragged toward him by the rope.

It all seemed like a single movement, hard to believe even after seeing it. This appeared less like a fight than a work of art or an acrobatic performance.

The last surviving man stared blankly at Valery, his mouth hanging slightly open.

Valery did not kill him immediately. He drew one deep breath, then raised an arm and wiped the sweat from his face. It was not sweat shed from fighting them, but from his training.

“Hmm. I'm still lacking.”

He was satisfied with cutting down three men at once, but against the rest, he seemed to have fought in his old way without properly wielding his rune power. Valery assessed his own level objectively and dispassionately.

The subtle problem was that he had to avoid wielding rune power consciously, yet if he stopped thinking about it, he simply fought in whatever way came most easily. Bridging that delicate gap would require relentless effort.

“Listen. When I say I'll spare someone, I really do spare them. One answer is all it will take, so tell me. Who sent you?”

Valery asked the enemy standing there in a daze. The man neither trembled in fear nor showed hostility. He merely blinked as though unable to comprehend the situation.

Then he murmured as though speaking to himself.

“The duke. The duke... The Duke of Nearcaster......”

It was exactly as Valery had expected.

Now that he had grounds to act, he intended to pay the duke a visit and demand money. If necessary, he would reveal that he was a prince as well.

It was generally best not to reveal that he was a prince if he could avoid it, but if the duke learned that his intended victim was a prince, Valery could squeeze money out of him more easily. It would give Valery solid leverage over him.

“All right. Good work. You can go. Tell him you failed. Or keep the advance payment and run away. Do as you please.”

Valery truly let the last survivor go. He swung his sword through the air to cast off the blood, then sheathed it at his waist.

He was about to leave the forest like a man returning from a morning stroll when he sensed eyes upon him and looked in that direction. His friends stood in the distance.

Yorik waved with a bright, innocent smile.

“What the......”

He approached with Knut and Ivy, then began picking up the enemies' weapons from the scene. Iron was still iron. Even low-quality iron could be sold.

“Why did you come?”

“Someone wanted to.”

“Who?”

Rather than answer, Knut jerked his chin toward a spot nearby. Brynhildr and Randgríðr stood there with their horses.

Valery merely accepted it and looked away.

“Just take a few. You'll cut yourselves if you carry too many.”

“I picked them up, so the money from them is mine anyway. I'll do as I please.”

“Suit yourself......”

“Are you stupid? Find the scabbards first. The scabbards.”

“There aren't any. They must have carried the blades wrapped in cloth.”

Yorik grumbled at Knut's rebuke. Assassins often wrapped their blades in cloth so they would make no sound when drawn.

“Be careful, Ivy. Wrap the broken ones in cloth.”

“I can keep one, can't I? This one seems like the right length for me.”

“You'll hurt yourself.”

“But I can't let the fear of getting hurt stop me from even trying.”

“You're going to learn swordsmanship? You?”

“Why not?”

“Just don't cut off your fingers.”

“I haven't even started, and you're already cursing me.”

“Oh? There you go losing your temper again.”

“Because you keep making me lose it, Yorik.”

Corpses and entrails lay strewn around them, yet the two spoke as though joking around. It was not because they were cruel, but because of the things they had witnessed in their lives.

Ivy herself had watched her parents be brutally murdered and cradled her mother's severed head. A scene like this did not trouble her at all.

As Brynhildr watched them, she wondered what sort of people they were, yet she also envied them. A faith deeper than trust seemed to have taken root naturally among them.

Above all, even after witnessing Valery's skill in battle herself, she could hardly believe it. The sudden ambush had not flustered him in the slightest, and every movement had flowed as naturally as if it had been scripted in advance.

Moreover, cutting through three people at once required more than merely possessing a Dwarven steel sword. It demanded strength, speed, and perfect timing.

His lance technique had already been extraordinary enough to defeat her, but his swordsmanship surpassed even her wildest imagination.

So she asked her friend Randgríðr, the Einheri.

“What do you think?”

Randgríðr did not answer. She was lost in thought, her expression grave.

“Randy. Randy.”

“Huh?”

“I asked what you thought.”

“......Honestly, I'm not sure I could beat him either.”

“What? How is that possible? You're saying he's strong enough to defeat an Einheri?”

“He seemed somewhat clumsy at handling rune power, but his technical skill surpassed mine. And I don't know what kind of rune that was. Thunder sounding in the wake of his sword...... I've never seen or even heard of such a rune......”

Brynhildr stared blankly for a moment at Randgríðr's words. Then a belated chill swept over her. I really could have died.

It would have been fine if the match had ended when she fell from her horse, but she had clung to his waist until the very end and dragged him down with her.

In a way, that made her feel that what had happened was fate itself. She had struggled so desperately to die, yet she had survived, and the two of them had met.

The birds in the forest, which must have been holding their breath, began chirping again. It was still morning.