Chapter 78

Translator: Willia

A long journey always required time to rest. Without exception.

For rest was not only a time to recharge, but sometimes also a time to store up happiness.

A single moment of rest could sustain someone through a lifetime on the weary road of life.

And so, one had to rest.

Following the Duke of Nearcaster's death, Valery's party had been staying at the Lokir Merchant Company's mansion for a month.

They had decided it would be better to winter there than make an ill-prepared journey south.

In other words, it was a kind of respite.

The sight of the young girl riding with her long golden hair streaming behind her was truly picturesque. Her posture was not completely steady yet, but she was visibly growing accustomed to it.

Should I go faster? No. Sister Hild always told me to think of my friend.

Ivy did not indulge only her own desires. She was considerate of the condition and mood of the horse she rode.

There was something only those who had ridden could understand: a horse and its rider shared their emotions, or perhaps resonated with each other. That was why it was best to build trust and faith over a long time.

Training was important, but without trust, neither horse nor rider could realize their full potential.

That was one of the secrets behind Brynhildr's prowess as a jouster, with few even in the royal capital of Valdene able to rival her. Strangely enough, it was also similar to the way Valery handled horses.

After racing along with the wind in her face, Ivy gradually slowed and looked around. She saw Brynhildr riding some distance away.

She seemed to be taking a moment to enjoy riding herself after watching Ivy. On horseback, Brynhildr looked like a Valkyrie from myth rather than a princess bearing that title.

She overtook Ivy, then deftly turned and looked back at the girl.

Then she approached and spoke.

“Let's rest for a while. For everyone's sake.”

Brynhildr herself could have ridden all day, but she said it out of consideration for Ivy and the two horses.

“All right.”

Brynhildr dismounted first, then helped Ivy down. Ivy practically threw herself into Brynhildr's arms as she came off the horse, giggling for a moment as though she found it amusing.

Then they led the horses beneath a large tree nearby and removed their tack. The horses stayed close, grazing on the surrounding grass. Running to their hearts' content was good for them too, especially when they were with riders they loved.

Fallen leaves and pinecones lay scattered around the tree. The wind swept some of them along and sent others rolling.

Brynhildr took out a comb and brushed Ivy's hair.

“Well done. You didn't get carried away in the middle, did you?”

“Huh? How did you know?”

“I could tell by watching.”

“By the way, I think I ride better than Yorik now.”

Ivy said. There was a difference in talent, but much of it was actually because Yorik had failed to learn properly from Knut.

Knut tended to lose his temper whenever the slightest thing failed to go his way, so there was no chance Yorik could have learned properly.

“Would you like to race Yorik sometime?”

“No, I don't want to.”

“Why not?”

“Now that I really do ride better than him, it doesn't make me that happy. Instead, how should I put it? I almost feel bad about it. But I won't let him off if he teases me again.”

She was such a sweet-natured child, the kind who made one smile without thinking.

After brushing Ivy's hair, Brynhildr braided it. Ivy's hair was lovely, but Brynhildr was also highly skilled. Simply braiding and pinning it properly made Ivy look like the daughter of a noble house.

Brynhildr took out a silver mirror and showed her. Ivy beamed at her reflection.

She kept examining herself from every angle. The mirror itself was precious, so she seldom had a chance to see her own appearance clearly.

Then, as though something displeased her, her expression dimmed slightly, and she looked back and forth between Brynhildr and herself.

“What's wrong?”

“I'm ugly.”

“What are you talking about?”

“The corners of your eyes turn up a little, but mine droop.”

“That has nothing to do with being beautiful. I used to hate how the corners of my eyes turned up.”

“Really?”

“Of course. But I'm all right with them now. I know now that beautiful eyes come not from their shape, but from the light within them. And that light changes depending on the thoughts and feelings you carry. If you think good thoughts and harbor kindness in your heart, your eyes will naturally become beautiful.”

“Really?”

Ivy's eyes widened as she repeatedly asked whether that was really true. Judging by the look in them, she seemed to believe everything Brynhildr said.

In truth, Brynhildr had also been speaking those words to herself. When teaching someone, especially a child, it was only natural to want to teach them good things.

And in the process of drawing out those good things, the teacher herself was positively influenced as well.

Ivy had never seen such a wonderful older girl in her short life, so she wanted to imitate and resemble Brynhildr in every way.

Thus, to serve as a good example to a child, an adult had no choice but to grow as well. In other words, teaching someone else was also a way of teaching oneself.

“I'll braid yours too.”

Ivy said. Brynhildr gladly entrusted her hair to the girl.

Of course, Ivy was not yet very skilled at braiding hair and could only manage a small section. Her hands were still clumsy, but her work possessed a charm of its own.

This time, Ivy held up the silver mirror. Brynhildr smiled and spoke.

“It's pretty. Thank you.”

“Hehehe.”

Braiding each other's hair was nothing remarkable, yet perhaps it was the sort of thing that would occasionally return as a cherished memory later in life.

It was, in other words, a moment of rest precious as any treasure.

But one could not spend life resting forever.

“Don't there seem to be a lot of pigeons and ravens coming and going lately?”

Ivy said as she gazed into the distance. A tall tower stood in one corner of the mansion's courtyard, with a place at its summit for sending and receiving messenger birds.

It was an entertaining sight at first, but once the novelty wore off, the only thought it inspired was that one should avoid walking beneath it for fear of being struck by bird droppings.

“There do.”

Brynhildr had heard a rough account of recent developments. There was talk of the 3rd Prince coveting the ducal title, and of the king granting it to the Master of Military Training from the Kingmakers' Council.

The Lokir Merchant Company ranked among the five greatest merchant companies in the kingdom, so it could hardly avoid being affected by such matters.

Sure enough, someone was riding toward them from beyond the field. It was Yorik.

He crossed the field and approached the two of them. Ordinarily, he would have made a joke or teased them, but his expression was far from cheerful.

“Valery is calling for you. You should come. Ivy, you've played long enough too. Come back and do some cleaning.”

“I'm not playing.”

“Whatever.”

Brynhildr and Ivy put the tack back on the horses and mounted. They followed Yorik across the field toward the mansion.

After leaving the horses at the stable, they entered the mansion. As they headed for Lucas's office on the second floor, Yorik spoke to Ivy.

“Go do some cleaning.”

“Why?”

“What do you mean, why? If I tell you to go do it, then do it. Or go pack your things.”

It might have seemed as though he was teasing her, but he was not. Yorik's expression was serious.

“I'll come see you in a little while,” Brynhildr said. “Wait in your room.”

“......All right.”

Ivy left reluctantly. Once she was gone, Yorik opened the office door.

Valery, Lucas, and Knut were inside. There was also a strange smell, somewhat like the reek of fish.

A box sat on the table in the office, its lid already open. A human head, fingers, and other pieces lay inside, preserved in salt. They were the source of the smell.

Ivy had some tolerance for the sight of gruesome corpses, but bodies left by combat and bodies produced with deliberate malice were different things.

Moreover, this was a discussion of “work”.

“That's the branch manager from Hayden Crossroads. Apparently, mercenaries called the War Dogs killed him. Sending a message like this means they didn't kill him to plunder the place or in a fit of rage. Anyone can see the 3rd Prince is behind it. It looks like he's demanding an oath of fealty, but we have no intention of giving him one.”

Valery said from his seat beside the fireplace.

In truth, the 3rd Prince also knew that it would be difficult for him to obtain the ducal title. It was impossible for him to become duke himself; what he meant to do was install one of his own men as duke.

The course he had hit upon, of all things, was to pressure the Lokir Merchant Company. He did not appear to believe that pressure would win him the ducal title. Rather, if he could not obtain it, he seemed intent on bringing the merchant company under his control.

When something like this happened, the local lord was supposed to offer protection. Of course, if there had been a lord, it probably would not have happened in the first place.

But with the title of Duke of Nearcaster currently vacant, the 3rd Prince seemed to believe there was no one to protect them.

He apparently assumed that a little pressure would be enough to make them submit to him.

Of course, he never dreamed that Valery, the 14th Prince, was staying with the Lokir Merchant Company.

Knut, who sat on a table in one corner, Lucas, who sat behind the office desk, and Yorik, who had just entered with her and now settled onto the sofa, all looked at Brynhildr.

“So what have you decided to do?”

Brynhildr asked.

“Send a message of our own.”

“It seems a little late to exchange letters or settle this with words.”

“Right. So we're going to send them the mercenary captain's head. That's our answer to their demand for an oath of fealty.”

“Wouldn't that take things too far to turn back?”

“I thought it would be better to make our position clear than resist halfheartedly. Lucas agreed. Knut and I decided to go. The party will be made up of people who can ride.”

“What about me?”

“I called you here to ask what you wanted to do.”

Brynhildr considered it for a moment. She had no particular feelings about what the men were planning. For some reason, she merely found herself thinking of Ivy.

“I'll go too.”

“Good. We're leaving in two days. Be ready, and tell me if you need anything.”

“All right.”

“But what's that?”

“What's what?”

“Your hair.”

Valery was referring to the clumsily braided sections scattered through Brynhildr's hair.

“Oh, this. Ivy braided it for me.”

“I see.”

That appeared to end the conversation, but Lucas interjected with an awkward laugh.

“Ahaha, I take it you're getting along well with Ivy?”

“Thanks to you, I've been having a pleasant time, Head of the Merchant Company.”

“I told you, you can speak more casually with me.”

“Mm, I expect that will happen naturally once I feel more comfortable.”

“Well, if you say so. By the way, selling off Lucy's old clothes has left us with some spare funds. If you need clothes, weapons, or anything else, please don't hesitate to ask.”

The dresses and jewelry Lucilia had worn were, in truth, unimaginably expensive luxuries. One of her dresses alone was worth almost enough to hire an entire mercenary company.

And there had been far more than one or two such items, so the money left from selling them was truly enormous.

At his words, Brynhildr suddenly remembered what she had told Ivy: that harboring kindness in one's heart would make one's eyes beautiful as well.

“Winter will soon be here. It would be good to give some charity to the poor. Providing them with nothing more than firewood and food would be an enormous help in surviving the winter.”

Everyone seemed slightly surprised by Brynhildr's answer.

“Do you truly mean that?”

Knut, who had merely watched in silence until then, asked.

“Rather than truly meaning it, I'm trying to. I already told Ivy something, so I can hardly take it back now.”

“What did you tell her?”

“That a kind heart gives you beautiful eyes.”

“Sounds like a waste to me......”

Yorik, who had the humblest origins among them, muttered. It was not because he was mean-spirited; he knew from having lived that way. Treat people too well, and they tended to grow presumptuous or even dependent.

“Well, it's an opportunity. Who knows what spring might bring?”

Valery said.

His reasoning had little to do with kindness. He was considering the practical function of charity. A measured amount of generosity could increase loyalty and preserve productivity.

“Come sit down. We've just received a tea that can only be enjoyed at this time of year.”

Lucas rose and naturally guided her toward where Valery was sitting.

Brynhildr had remained standing, but only then did she sit beside Valery at the table near the fireplace.

Yorik closed the gruesome box, and as Lucas poured the tea, a rich, nutty fragrance spread through the room.

“Does my hair look bad?”

Brynhildr asked Valery.

“No. It just looked a little different.”

At that answer, Brynhildr's mood subtly brightened, spreading through her like the fragrance of the tea.

“Do you know something?”

“What?”

“They say the eyes are mirrors that reflect the soul.”

“I've heard that.”

“What do you think my soul is like?”

At Brynhildr's question, Valery finally turned from the flames he had been watching and looked at her.

He studied her blue eyes for a moment, then looked away again and spoke.

“Stronger than I expected.”

“Huh?”

Lucas, who had been looking into Brynhildr's eyes from beside them, reacted as though he did not understand.

“What about my eyes?”

“And me?”

Yorik and Knut approached Valery and asked as well, apparently curious. They pulled over chairs, and soon all five were naturally seated together.

“Yorik, deep down you think you're better than other people. Knut, you have no interest whatsoever in anything that doesn't fascinate you.”

“Gasp.”

“Wow.”

Yorik sucked in a breath as though something had been exposed, while Knut exclaimed in admiration.

Valery was extraordinarily perceptive. Besides, he had not reached those conclusions merely by looking at their eyes, but from their behavior and ways of thinking over time.

Valery smiled at their reactions.

“Surely you didn't think you were better than me?”

Knut asked, turning to Yorik.

“Ahaha......”

At Yorik's evasive laugh, Knut's already large eyes widened even further.

“Are you insane? You think you're better than me? Isn't this rebellion?”

“What rebellion? You're young, Young Master. I'm older.”

Their age difference was only five or six years at most.

Rather than angry, Knut looked slightly dazed with disbelief.

But he soon scowled and grew angry, demanding to know how Yorik could do this to him. Yorik brushed it off with ease.

The tension quickly dissolved, and Brynhildr spoke.

“Can't we call Ivy in now?”

“You're right. I'll go get her.”

Yorik rose, then soon returned with Ivy. At last, all six of them were together.

They began chatting beside the fire about nothing of any substance.

The warmth of the firewood, the rich fragrance of the tea, and the comfortable conversation melted the hearts of Valery's party and filled them anew.

On the surface, Valery's party were merely staying there as houseguests, but upon closer inspection, they almost seemed like a family.

They might not have been related by blood, but their conversations, actions, and the way they treated one another made it seem so.

At least within their own little world.

And before venturing into the chilly autumn wind to kill someone, this was also their time to recharge.

They were not going to kill out of aimless rage or a thirst for revenge. It was simply to make the enemy pay for the intrusion and warn them not to cross the line.

If I kill my brothers again, Valery thought, at least it won't be out of resentment or rage, or for my own survival.

I have a world I must protect. I will simply act on my resolve to fight for it.

That was why Valery's pale sky-blue eyes were not merely beautiful.

They were like a finely honed spearhead, like lonely autumn leaves, and like a delicate yet vivid flame. At least, if eyes truly reflected the soul.