Chapter 63

He was a short, solidly built man with very thick fingers and broad nails. A member of a guild under the Lokir Trading Company, he was one of the kingdom’s foremost goldsmiths, silversmiths, and jewelers.

Holding an object called a lens, cut from crystal, he was examining something in minute, magnified detail: the broken edges of the Dragonslayer’s remains.

After inspecting them carefully for several dozen minutes and roughly fitting the fragments together, he reached a conclusion like a master physician delivering a diagnosis. He set down the lens and turned to the others: Valeri and his friends, Lucas, Eirik, and Sigbold.

“They can be joined with animal glue. It will have to dry naturally, so each application will take two weeks to a month to dry completely. Nor can we glue everything at once. We’ll have to work in sections, then join those together at the end. That will take about three months. We can decorate the gaps with gems. Whether to gild the whole thing is up to you.”

A blessing in disguise, perhaps: as he fitted the bones together, restoration seemed reasonably possible. Finished with gems and gold, the skull might even look finer than before.

Did that mean they could breathe a little easier now? Valeri felt very strange as he looked at the broken remains. He could not understand what made these bones worth all this fuss.

Sigurd had accomplished legendary feats in life, had lived with pain and sorrow, and, above all, was Valeri’s direct ancestor.

But hadn’t all of that already attained immortality by passing into legend and surviving in stories? He felt no need to project any further significance or sanctity onto this skull.

Wouldn’t it be better to care for the living instead? They had tormented so many people buying and selling the right to collect taxes. Was it right to lavish this much money, care, and the finest craftsmanship on a damned skull?

Looking at the broken skull, Valeri felt the absurdity of it all.

“Then let’s settle on the design first. Rather than leaving signs of repair, make it look as though it was intended that way from the start, so the flaws are effectively concealed...”

Lucas was speaking to the craftsman, but he never finished. Sigbold had seized his shoulder with one enormous hand.

From the look on Sigbold’s face, the slightest provocation would make him lose all reason. He was so tall and powerfully built that he looked capable of devouring Lucas—and that was no joke.

“You...”

At Sigbold’s low growl, Lucas froze, looking ready to piss himself.

“Sigbold. Let go.”

Fortunately, Father Eirik intervened. But Sigbold did not release him immediately. He squeezed as though he meant to crush Lucas’s shoulder, then abruptly let go. Lucas hunched over in pain.

“Listen, young merchant.”

“Ugh... M-me?”

“Yes. Who sold you the holy remains?”

“Well...”

“Let me make one thing clear first. From now on, take great care with what you say. Do not call your guards or do anything foolish. We are Jomsvikings. We have no wish to lay this peaceful place to waste. I shall ask again. Who sold you the holy remains?”

Eirik might have restrained Sigbold, but that did not mean he was not angry himself. It was a quiet anger, perhaps.

He was an old man with little time left to live, scarcely able to support his own body, yet suddenly he radiated danger.

These were no ordinary thugs. If the main force at Jomsborg marched, there truly was no power in the world that could stop it.

“J-Joms... Jomsvikings...?”

Lucas’s eyes widened. Without a word, Yorik quietly moved to close the door and stood guard there, preventing any escape.

Even the craftsman, caught up in this through no fault of his own, sat looking around wide-eyed. Why him?

“Look, don’t tell us you didn’t know. You bought it because you knew where it came from and believed it was genuine. There are fakes everywhere.”

Knut’s voice was cold.

His shoulder aching and stunned by the sudden turn of events, Lucas did not know what to do. He sent Valeri a pleading look, but Valeri’s expression was almost one of bored indifference.

Once it struck him that he might actually die here, any thought of lying or talking his way out of this vanished.

“V-Vidar. He called himself Vidar ‘Red-Eye.’ The white of one eye really was red, as though soaked in blood. His Grace the duke himself introduced us... I truly didn’t know. You couldn’t ask for a more reliable guarantee of someone’s identity. I genuinely didn’t know the holy remains belonged to the Jomsvikings.”

Lucas spoke urgently, and he did not seem to be lying.

Above all, he had purchased the holy remains solely to present them to the Valkyrie. Since she was staying under the Duke of Nearcaster’s protection, there was no reason not to buy them if the duke vouched for the seller.

Eirik and Sigbold exchanged a glance. That was indeed the name of the traitor they were pursuing: Vidar Red-Eye.

“Why did the duke introduce him? What is their relationship?” Valeri asked.

“Powerful people always need strong, trustworthy bodyguards. I heard he was hired specifically to guard the Valkyrie. They say she had an Einheri with her as a bodyguard when she first came to Nearcaster, but surely she’d need more men to live comfortably in every respect? I haven’t really given it much thought, but that is what I know.”

“The Valkyrie’s bodyguard...”

Things seemed to have become rather complicated. Attacking her bodyguard recklessly might mean picking a fight with the Valkyrie herself.

The man had already stolen the holy remains and fled. He hardly seemed likely to accept an honorable challenge to a duel.

Still, now that they had somehow recovered the holy remains, one might wonder whether they really needed to execute the traitor. But for a traditional Nord, vengeance was their very identity.

The tragedy of House Vǫlsungr made that plain. One reason the royal house was considered sacred was that, for three generations, its sons had been born after their fathers’ deaths, yet every one of them had avenged their parents.

In fact, it was the other way around: even if they failed to recover the holy remains, vengeance had to be taken.

After a moment’s quiet thought, Eirik spoke. The disquieting aura he had exuded earlier was gone.

“Young merchant, Lucas, was it? I am sorry, but the Jomsvikings will be taking possession of the holy remains from this moment on. In return, once we have executed the traitor, we shall pay you with the spoils we take from him. You have no choice in the matter. It is decided.”

“... Well...”

Lucas began to speak, then stopped. Sigbold’s glare was terrifying, and he did not want to offend Valeri either.

From Lucas’s perspective, he had made an unwitting purchase only to be struck by a bolt from the blue.

Still, he was not entirely blameless. Hadn’t the holy remains been broken?

He could hardly protest that Lucilia had done it, since he had insisted all along that he was the one running the company. That meant taking responsibility when someone belonging to it did wrong.

“You are not a Nord. We are. The world has become a much kinder place. Very much kinder. I hope you understand what I mean.”

Father Eirik delivered his threat with courtesy and refinement.

He was not wrong, of course. In the old days, they would have started by splitting skulls and proceeded to a massacre.

After all, from the king down, the kingdom’s ruling elite consisted primarily of Nords. There had been many policies promoting integration, but each people’s traditions and customs, and the rules and principles that followed from them, were still very much alive.

“Anyway, when is the Valkyrie getting married? She’s been here two years, hasn’t she? Isn’t it about time?” Knut asked.

“How should I know a woman’s whims?”

“You’re one of her suitors, aren’t you? I’m asking whether you’ve heard anything.”

“I can only guess. In my opinion... perhaps she enjoys it. Men risking their lives fighting over her and laying the world’s most precious treasures at her feet.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? Isn’t she a whore, then?”

“Ivy.”

Knut hastily checked Ivy and glanced at Valeri. Fortunately, he did not seem particularly bothered.

“She’s right, though.”

“... A-are you people mad?”

It was Lucas whose eyes widened in shock. Insulting a princess—a Valkyrie—could be a grave crime.

Valeri’s gaze seemed to look down on the whole world, and now even on the Valkyrie. Lucas admired him, but wondered whether this was a step too far.

“There’s nothing wrong with looking for a husband. But dragging it out for two years is bullshit. How many suitors have died in that time? Didn’t the Earl of Westlanding sell his right to collect taxes just to buy a treasure? How many people suffered because of that? And now holy remains have been bought and sold without a care, and even damaged. There must be plenty of misery we know nothing about, too. Can anyone claim the Valkyrie bears no responsibility? I don’t know whether that stupid bitch is agonizing over her choice or enjoying herself, but it’s time she stopped.”

“...”

Valeri’s cold assessment left Lucas speechless. Who in the world could point at a Valkyrie and tell her she was in the wrong?

Such audacity—or such reckless words and actions—was not something one could reproduce through mere imitation.

Of course, being a prince gave Valeri some freedom to behave that way, but fundamentally it was his skill and ability that supported him.

He had killed all his other brothers and nephews before. A mere Valkyrie was nothing. And since that insignificant creature was spreading misery, he felt he ought to stop her as the bare minimum of his duty to his bloodline.

“So what will you do?” Knut asked.

“Let’s go to Nearcaster first. I’ll take this trial of hers if necessary.”

“That’s a bit...”

Knowing Valeri was a prince, Knut did not think it appropriate for him to enter as one of the Valkyrie’s suitors. They were brother and sister.

But revealing his identity to visit her would cause all manner of repercussions and do his own journey no good. His ultimate destination was still Valden, the royal capital.

“I’ll only be pretending.”

“Well, if that’s what you want. Anyway, isn’t that woman going to be punished?”

He meant Lucilia.

“I spoke with her briefly yesterday, and she seemed to have low intelligence. It would be ridiculous to hold someone deficient to the same standards of responsibility as a normal person.”

“How deficient? As bad as my brother?”

“She seemed worse.”

“Then I suppose it can’t be helped.”

“I will take the trial as well,” said Sigbold, who had been speaking quietly with Father Eirik. He was entering because he needed to execute the traitor who now served as the Valkyrie’s bodyguard.

Valeri looked toward the window. It was still morning. Nearcaster was half a day away on foot, so they could easily arrive before sunset on horseback.

“You. Come with us,” he said, pointing at Lucas.

He had now abandoned even the moderately respectful tone he had used before and was speaking to him with blunt familiarity. Taking Lucas along would be convenient in various ways, but he was also half a hostage.

Lucas was beginning to think something about this was very wrong, but he could not resist. He had thought them merely an exceptionally skilled swordsman and wandering warrior monks. Ever since hearing the name Jomsvikings, however, his heart had been pattering like a frightened mouse’s.

Leaving the holy remains with the craftsman, Valeri immediately departed the mansion with his companions and Lucas.

Everyone rode. The party had originally owned only Snow, Knut’s mount, and two packhorses, but they simply took good horses out of the Lokir Trading Company’s stables.

It was practically outright robbery, but once Valeri had made up his mind, he stopped worrying about such details and pressed straight ahead.

Valeri, Knut, and Lucas each had a horse to themselves, while Sigbold shared with Eirik and Yorik with Ivy.

Since Sigbold and Yorik were not skilled riders, they kept to a slow walk rather than hurrying. Even so, they reached Nearcaster that afternoon.

An enormous river ran through the city, which from a distance seemed to rise in terraces. But that was only its center. Below the hill, buildings spread far and wide.

Nearcaster was so much larger and better laid out than Torvik that the latter seemed a genuine backwater by comparison.

Outside the walls, colorful tents covered the fields. Their occupants were people who could not enter the city or afford lodging, living, eating, and sleeping out here instead.

The sight was reminiscent of a festival. Looking over it, Lucas addressed the group.

“Ever since the Valkyrie arrived, it’s practically as though a new social class has emerged. Put simply, unless you’re someone who ‘counts,’ even a noble can’t hold his head high in Nearcaster.”

“‘Counts’?”

“I mean those who have passed the Valkyrie’s trials. Even if they don’t end up marrying her, simply passing earns them different treatment. Many have come seeking that fame.”

In other words, to throw your weight around in Nearcaster, you had to pass the Valkyrie’s trials.

That atmosphere led people such as the Earl of Westlanding to overextend themselves without even realizing it.

Lucas was little different. Strictly speaking, he was not a noble, but passing the trial had made him feel like a real one.

It was therefore a place of opportunity for wandering swordsmen, knights-errant, mercenaries, and the like. Suitors could put forward a champion for the trial of valor instead of competing themselves.

Naturally, hiring someone skilled enough to pass was expensive.

Moreover, victors in the jousts or combat contests could claim their defeated opponents’ equipment and ransom as spoils. Anyone with sufficient skill could keep competing as a champion and continue accumulating money.

Of course, with bad luck, they could die. Many had.

In any case, the Valkyrie’s search for a husband offered opportunities both to make a fortune and to build a reputation.

For a moment, Valeri wondered whether the Valkyrie—his elder sister—had intended this, then dismissed the thought. Whether she had intended it or not, it was time to stop.

With Lucas leading the way, the party entered the city, secured rooms at its finest inn, and registered for the trial. Naturally, Lucas paid for everything.

To avoid facing each other as opponents, Valeri entered the joust and Sigbold the combat contest.

A name was written in the signature field on the competitors’ register: Valery.

“Do you have a nickname?” asked the registration clerk. A nickname made a dramatic introduction possible.

“You’ve got the Salt Prince,” Knut said from beside him, munching on a snack.

“That’s a bit...”

“Then call yourself the Frog Prince.”

At that, the clerk took it upon himself to write down “Valeri the Frog Prince.” The sight of that handsome face had inspired no small amount of petty spite.

“I’m busy. Move along. Next.”

“Huh? Wait. Excuse me.”

“There are people waiting behind you. Next!”

It had happened in an instant, and that was that. Valeri would be competing in the joust under the name of the Frog Prince.