Chapter 59

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The party spent the morning preparing to leave. Valeri brushed Snow and fed him plenty of carrots, dried bean stalks, and the like before they set out.

Ivy learned from Yorik how to tend and handle the draft horse. Yorik did not know much himself, but Knut walked him through it.

Sigbold always tended the elderly priest as devotedly as if he were his own ailing father. He also did all the heavy lifting and helped Ivy organize the wagon bed.

Finally, the fighters inspected their equipment. Knut had little to look after besides his dagger, but Valeri used several weapons and fought on horseback as well, leaving him with a great deal to check.

He kept his dagger, axe, sword, and other weapons in peak condition, fastened his leather belts and straps properly, and checked that the soles of his boots were still sound.

Fighting required more than skill with a weapon. Absurd yet fatal mishaps were not uncommon: a boot sole coming off in battle, a belt snapping, or a poorly maintained blade sticking in its sheath at a crucial moment because of dried blood.

Without a squire, what choice did he have? Valeri saw to everything himself.

Since Sigbold also wore armor, they could at least check each other over, but ultimately each man had to attend to every detail himself.

“What's that?”

Already mounted, Knut was looking off to one side. A crowd of villagers had gathered, and someone was handing out food.

Valeri's party had distributed provisions only yesterday, but it seemed their effort had been unnecessary.

Not that he regretted it. There was simply far more food being handed out now, and it looked better than what Valeri had given them.

“The Lokir Trading Company, apparently,” Valeri replied as he mounted.

“Lokir? Isn't that where Oder, or whatever that fake headman's name was, belonged?”

“That's right.”

“Hmm... What a curious thing to do. They kill and plunder in one place, then hand out charity in another?”

“This is only my guess, but from what I heard this morning, they seem to think the Aria Trading Company killed Oder.”

“What fucking idiots.”

“That's a bit harsh.”

“We're ready,” Yorik said, taking the driver's seat.

Valeri nudged his horse's flanks and started forward at a walk.

As luck would have it, their route took them past the crowd, and Valeri's eyes naturally met Lucas's.

Lucas scrutinized Valeri and his companions for a brief moment, then smiled and greeted them.

“Travelers, this food is being given away freely. Please, don't hesitate to take some yourselves.”

“...”

Valeri did not answer. Neither did Knut, Yorik on the driver's seat, Ivy peeking out of the wagon bed beside the priest, or the towering Sigbold.

The silence was enough to embarrass the man who had greeted them.

Valeri gave Lucas a peculiar feeling. It set something twisting in his gut. For some reason, Valeri seemed to be looking down on him. No one had ever looked at him that way before.

The fact that Valeri was looking down from horseback only heightened the impression.

“You have exceptionally fine features. Might I ask your name, if you don't mind?”

“Valeri.”

“I am Lucas, deputy head of the Lokir Trading Company.”

“...”

Again, silence. Valeri's attitude seemed to say, So what? Lucas was slightly taken aback, though he did not show it. Even after he had identified himself, that seemingly disdainful gaze had not changed.

Even lords—earls and barons—often groveled before him with obsequious smiles, begging for leniency. Being treated this way felt utterly unfamiliar.

Lucas decided he needed to get to the bottom of this strange, inexplicable discomfort.

“Since you're heading east, are you bound for Nearcaster?”

“Yes.”

“The inns there are already full. Even the camps outside the city are packed. It's because of the Valkyrie. She declared she would marry regardless of rank, and suitors have flocked there from all over the kingdom. My family has long considered it a virtue to favor the brave, the wise, and those with even the smallest talent. Unless you have some objection, why not stay at my mansion, Valeri?”

Valeri glanced back at his companions, silently asking their opinion. None seemed to have any particular thoughts. They neither welcomed Lucas nor shunned him.

So he looked down at Lucas again and replied, “Very well.”

Lucas nodded with a broad smile. He gestured to his subordinates and issued instructions, then had his horse brought over and mounted. It was a snow-white animal, plainly expensive.

A visibly capable horseman and several armed men accompanied him. They were most wary of Sigbold. His sheer height and powerful build made him look the most threatening, whatever his actual skill might be.

The horses moved off slowly, with the wagon in the middle and Knut following behind it.

Without intending to, Valeri found himself riding abreast of Lucas. The jet-black horse and the pure-white one made a stark contrast as they walked together.

Once they left the village, a cool breeze greeted them, fresh from the previous day's rain. The grass in the fields was a deeper green than usual.

“Are you also going to Nearcaster to seek her hand, Valeri?”

“No, my destination lies elsewhere.”

“Where?”

“Valden, the royal capital.”

“Then you seem to have chosen a poor time. The sea route is closed at present.”

“I'm only stopping for supplies. I wasn't planning to travel by sea.”

“Is that so? Hmm. You don't look like an ordinary traveler, by the way. Might I ask what you do?”

“A wandering swordsman would be a fair description. Or simply a traveler, in the literal sense.”

“If you call yourself a swordsman, you must be confident in your swordsmanship. Where have you come from?”

“The north.”

“Strictly speaking, isn't this the north as well?”

Viewed on the scale of the entire kingdom, the north did indeed extend as far as the Duchy of Nearcaster.

But the word “north” carried popular associations of provincial ignorance, so the people of Nearcaster did not consider themselves northerners.

If there was anything favorable in that image, it was that northerners were hardy and good fighters.

“Farther north.”

“Eldeira, then. I hear it's been in an uproar lately. A war, the duke murdered...”

While Lucas was speaking, Valeri suddenly seized him by the back of the neck and yanked him backward.

Lucas startled, and his attendants hurried toward them in alarm. Just then, an arrow whipped past where Lucas had been.

Valeri immediately recognized the work of a sharpshooter. Normally, when targeting someone with bows or crossbows, the standard approach was to fire several shots at once.

An attempt made with a single arrow implied exceptional marksmanship. Indeed, had Valeri not pulled Lucas back, the arrow would have struck his head.

Everyone turned in alarm toward the source of the arrow. Far away stood a figure holding a bow. Lucas's attendants immediately charged after him.

“Who goes there?!”

“Don't go! It's an ambush!”

Valeri shouted urgently, but they did not hear him. His warning was swallowed by the heavy pounding of hooves.

Sure enough, Valeri was right. As the mounted guard raced off the road, enemies armed with billhooks suddenly emerged, apparently from behind a rise. They hooked the horse's legs and caught the rider by the neck. Their movements were swift, precise, and practiced.

Mortally wounded in the neck, the rider fell from his horse and died on the spot.

Everyone's eyes widened. Valeri, however, turned toward the other side of the road. More hidden attackers were rising from cover and rushing toward them.

“Knut! Sigbold! On the left!”

At Valeri's shout, Sigbold retrieved his weapons from the wagon with surprising calm. They were long-handled, two-handed axes—not one, but two.

He stripped the cloth covers from their blades and took a two-handed axe in each hand. Then he planted himself boldly in the road.

“Come.”

Meanwhile, Valeri galloped straight down the paved road. At a glance he might have seemed to be fleeing, but he intended to circle around at a distance. He would not fight on ground chosen by the enemy.

The charging attackers faltered, uncertain whether to pursue Valeri or head for the wagon. They naturally split into those who hesitated, those who kept charging, and those who chased after him.

Knut stayed beside the wagon, keeping the draft horse from panicking. The enemies rushed toward Lucas.

Then disaster struck them. Sigbold swung the two axes in great arcs, and four or five men were wrecked at once in a feat that hardly seemed possible with human strength.

Wrecked was a better word than killed. In a single blow, they were hacked into, sliced apart, dismembered, and crushed.

WHOOOSH!

SPLAAASH!

“Haaah!”

Lucas's horse reared high. The animal was not at fault; the startled Lucas had pulled awkwardly on its reins.

Knut hurried over, snatched the reins from him, and calmed the horse. As he did, he shouted, “Stay still, you fucking idiot! Stop getting in the way!”

It was outrageously rude, but under the circumstances, Lucas did not even register it.

Knut knew his role well. All he needed to do was keep the area around the wagon secure and prevent any unexpected trouble. Valeri would handle the rest. Staying out of his way was the best help he could offer.

Valeri circled around at a distance, then left the road and came charging back. His pursuers were scattered, running at different speeds, their original formation in disarray.

Now Valeri truly picked up speed. The powerful Snow surged into an explosive gallop.

BA-DUM! BA-DUM! BA-DUM! BA-DUM!

The enemies failed to time the thrusts of their billhooks and spears. Valeri slammed into them at speed and rode straight through.

THUD! THWACK!

He continued hurtling toward the wagon, sweeping away the remaining attackers. Even as he plowed through man after man, his speed did not diminish at all.

THUD-THUD-THUD-THUD!

That immense weight combined with such speed produced a force no human flesh and bone could withstand. Those it struck were scarcely human anymore, their limbs bent and broken at unnatural angles, their organs burst.

A few enemies survived, but everything had happened so quickly that they immediately abandoned the fight, dropped their weapons, and fled.

Valeri did not pursue them. He halted his horse and looked in the direction Lucas's horseman had charged earlier.

The enemies there had just finished killing all of Lucas's attendants and were approaching the wagon. There were roughly ten of them.

Valeri dismounted. There was too little distance to build up speed again. Drawing his sword, he walked slowly toward them.

They charged with spears and billhooks leveled. Rather than attacking together, however, whoever reached him first struck first.

They lacked coordination, too eager to kill Valeri quickly and move on to Lucas.

They paid for it. Valeri knocked a spear shaft aside with his sword and killed one man, then surged forward and cut down three or four more to either side in an instant.

To the astonished Lucas, it looked like magic: a few flashes of steel, and the enemies crumpled, spraying blood.

Sigbold had started over to help, but at the sight, he stopped and simply watched. Apparently he had not expected Valeri to be this skilled; he looked deeply impressed. Equal to himself and his brothers, if not better. How?

The elderly priest, Eirik, also watched Valeri intently, his expression grave.

Valeri brought his sword down hard, cleaving through one enemy's helmet, head, and torso. An immense quantity of blood and flesh spilled out, only to be quickly absorbed by the field.

The remaining enemies recoiled in horror. Just then, an arrow flew toward Valeri. Astonishingly, he caught it in his hand. The arrowhead stopped right before his eyes.

Without the slightest surprise or fluster, he discarded the arrow in the field and flicked the blood from his blade. The scattered droplets pattered against nearby flower petals.

Then, sword in hand, he strode toward the distant sharpshooter. A crosswind streamed through his platinum-blond hair.

A few enemies still remained, but they kept their distance, weapons leveled, not daring to approach.

After he had walked some distance, another arrow came. Valeri merely tilted his head aside and avoided it with ease.

Another followed. This time, he caught it in one hand as before.

Only then did the distant sharpshooter stop drawing his bow. With plenty of distance still between them, he chose to flee. As the archer ran, Valeri stopped walking.

Valeri turned his head from side to side, surveying the area. The survivors were already fleeing far away.

He dropped the arrow in the field and sheathed his sword at his waist. The movement seemed to signal that it was over.

Then he returned to his companions, the wind still blowing across him. His steady footfalls sounded as though he were out for a leisurely stroll.

When he reached the wagon and mounted Snow, he found Lucas utterly dazed, staring blankly at him.

“Instead of putting on that strange performance first thing in the morning, you might have searched around the village.”

There was a hint of contempt in his eyes. Whether they belonged to the Aria Trading Company or someone else, the attackers had plainly been after Lucas.

Valeri said nothing more. He simply set his horse moving again. The wagon rolled along the paved road, its wheels rattling.

Lucas sat blankly as though he had been left behind, then hastily came to his senses and followed belatedly. Now he was alone, without a single attendant.