Chapter 62

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Vǫlsungr, who had grown up alone in the wild, gathered companions in his fifteenth year and exterminated the clan that had killed his father. He seized their lands and at last had his revenge.

Under his leadership, the clan grew stronger and wealthier by the day. No expedition ended in failure, and every enemy they fought was defeated.

Once his clan’s rule had entered a period of stability, Vǫlsungr took a woman of the Elding clan as his wife.

But as time passed and his wife approached the end of her pregnancy, her family began plotting to seize his power and wealth.

One night beneath a bright full moon, they burst in on Vǫlsungr as he slept and assassinated him.

Despite his grievous wounds, Vǫlsungr cut one of his brothers-in-law in half, then delivered his final words in a voice seething with blood.

“Long ago, I heard a witch’s prophecy and knew this would happen. But our clan does not flee from fate. Just as my mother did not...”

His horrified wife fled on the spot, taking only one of her husband’s swords.

Perhaps they could not bring themselves to kill their own daughter or sister, or perhaps Vǫlsungr’s monstrous strength, even as he lay dying, had stunned them senseless. Whatever the reason, the treacherous assassins failed to stop her.

On the day Vǫlsungr died, the day her husband was murdered, Hljod gave birth beneath the cold moonlight, consumed by resentment, rage, and grief.

There were two children. Twins, a son and a daughter: Sigmund and Signy.

Hljod was no longer merely a man’s wife. She was a mother.

The mother wandered without a destination, vowing revenge over and over. She endured every hardship and took on every kind of work. All the while, she raised the twins with an obsessive determination to instill her thirst for vengeance in them.

Sigmund grew into the bravest and most accomplished warrior in the region. Signy was beautiful and clever, and above all possessed the fierce ruthlessness peculiar to the Vǫlsungr clan.

When the twins came of age, their mother sent her daughter to become the Wylfing chieftain’s concubine in hopes of securing his aid.

Even so, one concern continued to trouble her: her son, who was bold and warriorlike on the outside but tenderhearted within.

And so the twins’ mother made a decision. Or perhaps she had been preparing for it for a long time.

“I must have made a mistake giving birth to you, for it seems your sexes were switched. But what can we do? Nothing can be undone now. I, too, belong to the family of your father’s enemies. I will make an example of myself first, so you must never forget your revenge.”

Before her children’s eyes, their mother drove their father’s sword into her own belly and died.

The twins buried their mother together, held her funeral, and swore to avenge their parents.

But things did not all go as they wished. The Wylfing chieftain showed little enthusiasm for their revenge.

Vǫlsungr’s treasured sword, however, caught his greed-bright eyes.

“I hear your father’s sword is a magnificent blade, without a single nick despite countless battles. Would you give it to me as a wedding gift?”

Sigmund, whose pride matched his courage, drew the sword then and there and brought it down on a hard boulder nearby. The sword snapped in two with that single blow.

“Take it. If you can reforge it.”

The chieftain tried to melt down the broken sword and forge it anew, but the blade, tempered by two generations of vengeance, would not melt in even the fiercest flames.

Broken though it was, he had indeed received the sword as a wedding gift. The chieftain therefore took Signy as his concubine and accepted Sigmund among his warriors.

Afterward, Sigmund fought in battle after battle, growing in strength as he distinguished himself as the bravest and most accomplished warrior in every fight.

Meanwhile, Signy intended to raise any children she bore as incarnations of vengeance, just as her mother had. Sadly, however, all the children she bore the chieftain had severe disabilities.

As tradition dictated, Signy ended her babies’ lives with her own hands.

Overwhelmed with frustration, she sought out a skilled diviner and asked him why. He answered:

“Only those worthy of your clan can beget its descendants. The Wylfing clan is incompatible with yours, but the Elding clan is a good match. Why not join yourself to one of their men? There is no other choice.”

But to Signy, the Elding clan were mortal enemies upon whom she must have revenge.

She thought for a moment, then fixed the diviner with her clan’s piercing glare.

“No other choice? You know nothing of us. Just as my grandmother did, and my father and mother did, we always make our own choices. Not some mere diviner.”

That night, Signy disguised herself with magic and entered the bedchamber of her twin elder brother, Sigmund, who had just returned exhausted from battle.

Later, after their revenge was complete, she gave birth to a child. Unlike her previous children, he had no disabilities and was perfectly healthy.

That child was Sigurd the Dragonslayer, the greatest hero of the Nords.

Before the sun had risen, Valeri finished an early meal and came out to examine the long tapestry hanging in the corridor.

A tapestry was a textile in which threads of different colors formed pictures. The one at the Lokir Trading Company stretched for dozens of meters, comprising an entire history, legend, or epic.

It was a work of art depicting a sweeping story, from the birth of the world through the Twilight of the Gods to the tragedy of House Vǫlsungr and the War of Conquest.

The corridor was dark, but the deep blue light peculiar to early morning allowed him to make out the pictures well enough.

Valeri had stopped at the story of Sigurd the Dragonslayer’s parents—specifically Sigmund, his own great-great-grandfather.

It was the scene in which Sigmund’s twin younger sister, Valeri’s great-great-grandmother, disguised herself with a witch’s potion and stole into Sigmund’s bedchamber at night.

“I’m especially fond of that part myself. Was it love, I wonder, or the desire for revenge?”

Someone spoke as Valeri quietly studied the pictures. It was Lucas.

Valeri merely glanced back at him, then turned away again without answering.

“Have you eaten? Is everything to your liking? I was busy catching up on work yesterday and failed to attend to you. My apologies.”

“I’m quite satisfied with my stay.”

“I’m glad to hear it. By the way, may I ask a favor?”

Valeri turned toward him, his eyes asking what it was.

“I have an important transaction today. I’d like you to accompany me. I’ll compensate you generously.”

“I’m sorry, but I have a prior engagement. I agreed to attend the duke’s banquet with your sister today.”

“Ha ha, yes, I heard. But I’m the one who runs this company. I’m sorry for Lucy, but surely business must take precedence over personal affairs? Lucy will understand. I’ll explain everything to her, so you needn’t worry about a thing, Valeri.”

Lucas intended to get the jump on Lucilia and take Valeri with him first. It was rather petty.

Whatever his intentions, however, Valeri thought he had a point. Lucas was, after all, the company’s de facto master at present, and it was he who was providing for their comfort.

Of course, since Valeri had saved Lucas’s life, he did not feel particularly indebted to him.

And so he agreed without giving it much thought.

“Very well.”

Only then did Lucas smile in satisfaction, without even knowing what he was so satisfied about.

Something struck Valeri as oddly incongruous, though. He had not noticed at first in the dark corridor, but Lucas’s clothes, the belt around his waist, his shoes, and even his sword were identical to Valeri’s.

Lucas’s sword was not Dwarven steel, of course, but its hilt, length, scabbard, and overall construction were almost the same. The clothes, shoes, and belt were perfectly identical.

Looking more closely, Valeri saw that Lucas had also cut his shoulder-length hair. The style resembled his own.

Valeri wondered what was going on, but while he was well versed in his own specialties, he had no idea what such bizarre behavior meant. Even counting his life before returning to the past, he had never encountered anyone like this.

“They say daylight is gold. It’s a little early, but let us set out shortly.”

Valeri agreed and prepared to leave the mansion early that morning with his companions.

Meanwhile, Lucilia had lain awake all night, troubled by what had happened with her brother and anxious about her engagement with Valeri. She had finally fallen asleep around dawn and awoke late in the morning.

When the full morning sunlight filtered through the soft silk curtains and illuminated her bedroom, she forgot the previous night’s distress and sat up with a start.

“What am I doing!”

She hastily pulled the bell cord by her bed to summon her maids, then bustled about eating, washing, applying makeup, and choosing her clothes.

She could hardly have been more scattered, but her several experienced maids attended to her flawlessly no matter what she did.

“Not purple. It makes me look far too mature. Pink... No, not this either. It makes me look too young. And white might get dirty on the way.”

“Then, miss, why not wear something comfortable for now and take your dress with you?”

“Would that be better? Won’t there be too little time? Then I’d have to leave him for a little while. What would I tell him?”

“Do you mean that beautiful-looking honored guest?”

“Yes. Lord Valeri. I told you, didn’t I? We’re attending the banquet today.”

“Um... But I think he’s about to leave now.”

“What? What do you mean? Is he going for a ride nearby?”

“No, he’s accompanying the deputy head to some important engagement...”

“...”

Lucilia did not immediately grasp what she meant. But as the pieces fell into place in her mind, rage welled up from the very pit of her stomach.

She had waited until late last night for him to come and apologize. And now he stabbed her in the back like this?

Trembling with betrayal, Lucilia lost all reason. She sprang up from her dressing table and marched off—to Lucas’s office.

There, she snatched up the lavishly gilded reliquary that had been carefully stored away and hurried downstairs at almost a run.

It was the most precious treasure in the world, which Lucas had kept to present to the Valkyrie.

Downstairs, she found Valeri and his companions just about to leave. She also spotted Lucas, smiling as he spoke with Valeri.

The sight made Lucilia completely lose her temper.

“Hey!”

Her shrill voice rang through the corridor, piercing the air amid its marble, ancient statues, and assorted works of art.

Naturally, everyone turned to look at her. Lucilia strode briskly toward Lucas, her shoes clicking against the floor.

“Huh?”

Sigbold and Eirik both looked startled at the same time. For the object in Lucilia’s hands was the very reliquary the traitor had fled with.

It was all too sudden for them to react. Lucilia was already upon them, glaring murderously at her elder brother as she hurled the reliquary hard against the floor.

THUD!

The sturdy reliquary did not break, only dented slightly, but its contents spilled out. In contrast to the splendid box, they amounted to nothing more than a shabby old human skull.

While everyone stood bewildered, Lucilia raised her foot and stamped on it.

CRUNCH! THUD! THUD! CRUNCH!

The skull shattered, and fragments of bone bounced across the corridor.

Fragments of the skull of Sigurd the Dragonslayer—Valeri’s great-grandfather, and the greatest hero of the Nords.

“...”

No one spoke. It had happened so suddenly that they could only stand there in a daze.

Lucilia glared at Lucas, breathing hard, then spun around and strode away, her shoes clicking once more.

The mighty Sigbold seemed to lose all his strength and dropped heavily to his knees. It was the frail old priest who had to support him instead.

Could the scattered fragments of bone be pieced back together? And even if they could, would that undo what had happened?

Part 14 – Shattered Faith. End.