Chapter 77

Translator: Willia

A cool autumn breeze swept through the field of yellow grass that had grown waist-high. The girl's long golden hair streamed in the wind as well.

Ivy wandered through the field, swinging a stick. Left, right. Each swing brought the sound of it striking the tips of the grass.

Tap! Tap!

It seemed as pointless as the idle ways any child might pass the time.

In truth, she was doing it without any particular purpose. Even so, she swung the stick with a certain degree of focus.

Ivy could feel that the more she relaxed her arm, the more fiercely the stick swung.

Brush through the grass like the wind. Follow the wind.

Every so often, she felt something satisfying. Like pursuing an elusive spirit, Ivy chased that sensation.

Yet just when she thought she was drawing closer, it receded again, approaching and retreating over and over.

“No. This isn't it either.”

Ivy muttered to herself and continued swinging the stick. It looked like a form of practice, though strictly speaking it was closer to play.

Because it was fun.

Valery naturally came to mind. The sight of him lining up the thug mercenaries and beheading them all at once remained so vivid that it felt as though it had happened only moments ago.

The sunlight that day, the tingling in her limbs, the stench of rotting corpses, the pollen, the streak of light, the blossoms of blood bursting forth like something long suppressed. She remembered it all vividly.

She felt guilty about it, but the memory was so clear and vivid that her parents did not even come to mind.

But that was too difficult. Not yet.

During the recent fight in the forest, however, Valery had swung his sword one-handed and severed two men's necks. She thought she might somehow be able to imitate that.

Cleaner, more natural, yet unwavering. A perfect straight line.

Then, at one point, she swung the stick and heard no sound of it striking the grass. There was only a whoosh as it sliced through the air, while the grass was cut cleanly in a straight line.

“Ivy.”

Someone called her from behind. Ivy turned around. It was a woman whose long golden hair, like Ivy's own but brighter than the yellow ripened grass around them, streamed sideways in the wind. Brynhildr.

“Would you like to learn the sword?”

Brynhildr asked.

“Hmm...... I would, but no one will teach me. Valery just shakes his head, Young Master Knut says he doesn't know how, and Yorik took my sword away because he said I'd cut off my fingers.”

After Valery killed the assassins, they had claimed their weapons as spoils. Ivy had tried to keep one of the swords, but Yorik ultimately took it away because it was dangerous.

“Shall I teach you?”

“Really?”

“Of course.”

“How much will it cost?”

“What cost?”

“Don't you want money in exchange for teaching me?”

“......Why would I want money from you? I'll simply teach you.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“You're a little different from what I expected.”

“What did you expect?”

“I thought you'd be greedy for money.”

“Me?”

“Yes.”

“Hmm...... To tell the truth, I'm sick to death of money.”

Though Brynhildr had lived in poverty, her mother had often forced her to dress up prettily. She had been expected to do so even if it meant going hungry. Money truly had been her enemy.

Brynhildr walked softly over to Ivy. Then she guided the girl's hands and began by teaching her how to hold a sword.

“When you hold it with both hands, grip it as though you're gently wringing something out. Keep one hand against the guard and the other near the end of the grip, leaving a little of the handle exposed and plenty of space between your hands. How does that feel? Is it uncomfortable, or is it all right?”

“......It feels strange, but I think it's all right. I don't think I'd ever drop it. But how do I hold it with one hand?”

“For that...... you'd be better off building up your arm strength first. You need to be able to hold it easily before you can swing it as you please. A sword isn't light, especially when you're cutting something. Once even cutting feels effortless, you'll be ready to leave the village on your own. That's roughly how I learned too.”

Only after reaching that level could someone be considered capable of leaving their community and protecting themselves in a place akin to the wilds.

The standard varied depending on whom one asked, of course, but that was what Brynhildr said.

“Who taught you?”

“My friend Randgríðr.”

“That incredibly huge woman?”

“She really hates being called that. You'd better call her Randy.”

“Then what should I call you, my lady?”

“I'm Brynhildr. You can call me Hild.”

“All right, Sister Hild.”

Ivy said with a smile. It was the sort of smile that seemed to brighten everything around her.

A smile naturally spread across Brynhildr's lips as well. If Ivy was like sunlight, Brynhildr was like moonlight, gentle yet somehow forlorn.

Judging by her appearance alone, Brynhildr had slightly fierce, haughty eyes and an air of looking down on others. Yet perhaps because she had forced herself to act cheerful for so long, her shifting expressions did not seem awkward.

She was certainly gentler than Valery, who was almost always expressionless except around his friends and glared as though he might kill someone whenever the slightest thing displeased him.

“You do look alike.”

“Who?”

“You and Valery.”

“Ah...... We do.”

“You looked wonderful at the joust, when you were charging on horseback.”

“Thank you.”

“Do you think I could learn to ride someday too?”

“Winter is long, so you can learn then.”

“But what if I learn faster than Yorik?”

“Well, that...... By the way, aren't you and Yorik siblings?”

“Me?”

Ivy asked with a displeased frown.

“You seemed very close.”

“Of course not. We don't look anything alike. Just look at us. I have front teeth, for one. See?”

“......Yes, I see.”

“He always looks down on me, calling me some bitch who did nothing but milk sheep, but I honestly don't care, you know? Milking sheep really was my job. So inside I'm thinking, So what? But he only seems satisfied if I at least pretend to be angry. That's why I force myself to act mad. I'm not really angry. You know what I mean, Sister Hild, right?”

“Uh...... Yes.”

Brynhildr did not actually know what she meant, but agreed anyway.

It was unclear when the two of them planned to begin teaching and learning swordsmanship in earnest, for they simply kept chatting.

It had been a long time since Ivy had spoken with another girl, and she chattered away without pause, as though releasing everything that had built up inside her without her realizing it.

In truth, traveling with three men was not always enjoyable for a young girl.

Knut did play with her from time to time, but he could be self-centered and placed his own enjoyment first. Strictly speaking, there were times when Ivy was the one entertaining him.

Playing pranks with Yorik was fun too, but he was the oldest member of the party and could not fully understand a young girl's feelings. In the end, he merely enjoyed teasing her.

Valery had an air that made him difficult to approach. He would not reject her when she made an effort to talk to him, but she could sense that he found it somewhat bothersome. The way he had merely shaken his head without a word when she cautiously asked him to teach her the sword only reinforced that impression.

Brynhildr, however, was different. Ivy believed that she would understand everything about her.

It was a hasty judgment, but Brynhildr at least pretended to listen and understand. She too had never enjoyed a proper girlhood, and seeing Ivy stirred innocent feelings within her.

It felt as though a tiny seed she had thought withered and dead was beginning to sprout.

And so, in that field of yellow grass where the autumn wind blew, the woman and the girl healed each other without realizing it.

Lucas was reading a letter delivered by a raven. It was brief, but the words it contained were far from trivial.

<The title of Duke of Nearcaster is expected to remain vacant for an extended period. Intelligence indicates that the 3rd Prince covets it. Highly reliable.>

Lucas lifted his head and spoke to Valery, who was sitting beside the fireplace.

“It says the 3rd Prince covets the title of Duke of Nearcaster.”

Valery watched the flames crackling now and then and answered without turning his head.

“A prince can't hold a noble title. He must intend to put someone else in the position.”

“Either way, he covets it.”

“Coveting it doesn't mean he can have it, especially when he's a prince whose identity has been revealed. The king won't allow it.”

“Hmm......”

Lucas supposed that made sense. From the king's perspective, a prince whose identity had been revealed could only be a source of unease.

The very fact that a prince knew his own identity made the royal succession less than fair. Moreover, if someone with succession rights also amassed power, it would not be entirely impossible for him to launch a rebellion against the king.

The king likely sought to interfere as little as possible while ensuring that no prince acquired too much power.

“Still, I doubt he'll abandon his ambitions easily. Things could get troublesome in all sorts of ways. How far do you think he'll go, Valery?”

Lucas was asking what the 3rd Prince might be capable of. He could even pretend to be mad, seize Nearcaster by force, and dare anyone to do something about it.

“He isn't capable of that. He lacks resolve. The people around him are probably hounding him and pushing him into trying to claim Nearcaster. That means he doesn't have the drive to raise an army.”

Those who might wield power in the future, whether princes or young lords, invariably attracted people who whispered in their ears or tried to manipulate them.

People who urged them to do one thing after another and ensnared them with honeyed words. Prolonged exposure to such an environment often caused them to lose their grasp of reality.

That was why being born first and discovering one's princely identity first could not be considered an unqualified advantage. As with everything, there were benefits and drawbacks.

The 3rd Prince was a man consumed by those drawbacks. At least, that was how Valery, who had defeated him before his regression, saw him, though the process had by no means been easy.

“I see. Then should I simply keep my head down?”

“That depends on your decision. But a man named Halfdan will probably become duke. He's a member of the Kingmakers' Council and oversees military training. Halfdan ‘The Black’.”

The Kingmakers' Council was also known as ‘The Kingmakers’. As the name implied, they were the people who had aided the current king when he was still a prince during the Succession War and made him the final victor.

Just as the people who advised a lord, developed policy, and handled the practical administration of his domain were known as the Advisory Council, those who performed a similar role beneath the king were the Kingmakers' Council.

They were called the Kingmakers' Council because the Kingmakers or their houses occupied most of the kingdom's key positions.

Some belonged to distinguished houses whose lineage stretched back to the Founder-King, while others held relatively low noble ranks for members of the Kingmakers' Council.

Halfdan the Black had once been a mercenary captain. He had held numerous positions of power and possessed more than enough merit, yet had remained without a noble title.

Whether that was because of his low birth, because he did not desire one, because the king had kept him in check, or because of some other internal circumstance was unknown. Whatever the reason, he remained untitled.

In other words, if Halfdan became the Duke of Nearcaster, the position would no longer be held by some mere merchant family. A formidable man, battle-hardened and influential within the Kingmakers' Council, would be coming instead.

“How do you know that?”

Lucas asked, his eyes widening.

Valery knew it from before his regression, so it might not happen this time. Even so, events appeared likely to follow the same course.

Besides, he could offer a plausible explanation if he had to.

“Nearcaster is rich in resources and has thriving commerce, but its military strength is lacking. It served as a logistics base during the Conquest War because it was the hub of trade in the North. The king originally intended to install someone suitable and simply keep the region under control, but the 3rd Prince's interest will have made him see the need to strengthen its military. Enough to make the prince abandon the very thought.”

“......How do you know all of that?”

“I could be wrong.”

“No, I'm asking how you even know someone like Halfdan exists.”

“Because I'm a prince?”

“......That's ridiculous. Anyway, I'll need to gather information on him. I don't know much about this, but if he builds up the army, it seems like things around here will change a great deal.”

“You can assume the good times are over.”

“How so?”

“There'll be more regulations, demands for money, stricter oversight, and brutal punishments.”

Building up the military also meant tightening security. That could disrupt the merchant company's smoothly running operations.

“Would it really be necessary to go that far......?”

“That's for the king to decide. All you can decide is which of two choices to make.”

“What choices?”

“Either kill the 3rd Prince or become the duke yourself. If you kill the 3rd Prince, the king will reach a different decision. If you become duke, at least you won't be at someone else's mercy.”

It was an extraordinary thing to say, something that could never be repeated to anyone. The conversation had suddenly become intensely serious.

Lucas fell silent and lowered his head, sinking into deep thought. One wrong move could destroy the merchant company, yet doing nothing might lead to its slow death.

Nothing had been decided yet. Acting now might create trouble where none existed, but failing to prepare could leave him unable to cope later.

Valery's insight was sharp, but putting it into practice was another matter entirely.

Valery watched Lucas continue to wrestle with the question, then spoke.

“Which choice is easier or safer can't be your standard. You need to know what matters to you and make that your standard. Which choice is better for the merchant company? What about rising above the merchant company to govern a fief? Are you prepared? Can you handle it? If you don't want to be swept away by a storm, you need to know how to raise one yourself, Lucas.”

Lucas had certainly grown, but he still had a long way to go. Could he grow further? That depended entirely on him.

Lucas considered the matter with a somewhat grave expression, then slowly smiled.

“Are all princes like you?”

“What do you mean?”

“There don't seem to be any boundaries to your thinking.”

“They can't all be like me.”

“It's as though you think like a king.”

“......You can think like a king too.”

“Is that so? Let's eat for now.”

Lucas rose from his seat. For the moment, further thought would only make his head feel heavier.

“By the way, how is the Valkyrie doing?”

“I don't know.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“She seemed to be doing well.”

“You really are a man whose strengths and weaknesses couldn't be more obvious.”

“What do you mean?”

“Right. With a face like yours, you've probably never had to think about a woman's feelings.”

“What are you talking about? Hild and I belong to the same house.”

“That's not what I meant. She could be troubled by all sorts of things. I'm asking whether you care about that.”

“Isn't that something she has to handle herself? People can only master their own hearts.”

“Yes, I'm sure.”

“......Why, you little...”

Valery let out an incredulous chuckle. Still, he did not dislike this change in Lucas's attitude.

There were very few people who treated him as an equal, and just as few whom he truly respected.

To someone walking a dark and lonely road, such a person was like a guiding light.