Chapter 65

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Castles built for military purposes generally stood atop hills or halfway up mountains. Stout walls and the people who manned them mattered in defense, but geography mattered most. Rather like fate.

Like so many human settlements, Nearcaster had begun with a castle on a hill. People cut into the hillside and built around it, and those buildings became a village.

But it was no longer a little hillside village. Beyond the walls at the foot of the hill, the city spread wide like a drop of water fallen on the ground: houses, workshops, commercial buildings, temples. The hill village was now the city's center, rather than the city itself.

The Valkyrie Brynhild was staying in the heart of Nearcaster. But she was not secluded deep within a palace, as people might imagine.

The morning sun was only just rising, and someone lay sprawled on a heap of straw in a barn as though abandoned there. Judging by the long, pale legs left bare, it seemed to be a woman. She might even have been dead.

Fortunately, that did not appear to be the case. She stirred, sat up, and scratched vigorously at her tangled long blond hair.

Even in such a disheveled state, she was so beautiful that, like a pearl in the dirt, her face seemed almost to shine. Her eyes, however, had the fierce cast of a bird of prey, an eagle or a hawk. If anything, her current disarray seemed to soften that fierceness.

Her irises were the blue of a clear sky.

Even after sitting up, she hung her head as though exhausted, then stretched an arm toward the barn entrance. Her languid voice was unexpectedly low.

"Randy. Booze."

The figure standing backlit in the doorway answered. Their height and bulk suggested a man, but the voice was a woman's.

"It all got drunk yesterday. By you."

The woman slumped on the straw let her outstretched hand drop.

"It was good. What was it called?"

"No idea."

"Was it mead? Wine?"

She did not seem entirely in her right mind, considering she did not even know what she had been drinking.

"Sigrún came by yesterday. That was the fifth warning."

"What was that pointy-ear nagging about this time?"

"She said it's all over now. You'll pay for ignoring the warnings. Regret you can't shake off has arrived."

"... Sounds fun."

"Why don't you finally give it a rest? Pick someone, anyone, or just leave. Even the king's patience has its limits."

At the mention of the king, the woman gave a derisive little laugh.

"That man cared about me? I had no idea."

"You... No. Forget it."

"There you go again. You know I hate it when you do that."

"What do you want me to do? Behave yourself for once, Hild."

The woman called Hild was none other than the Valkyrie Brynhild (Brynhildr). The king's daughter. A princess.

The woman called Randy was her bodyguard and longtime friend, the Einheri Randgrid (Randgríðr).

"Or you could cut this suffocating feeling out of me. Slice me open with your sword or something. With your skill and that dwarven steel sword, I doubt it would even hurt."

Brynhild pointed at her heart. Randgrid turned away as though she had heard nothing.

For a moment, Brynhild smiled bitterly. Then she forced a bright note into her voice.

"I think I was born wrong. I should have been a man. I'd rather have been born a prince and fought a war of succession. Don't you think?"

"..."

"Fine! Don't talk if you don't want to! All right! I've decided! I'll enter the tournament! I'll marry the man who beats me! If no one can, I'll live alone forever!"

Brynhild sprang to her feet with that spirited declaration.

She was not acting according to any particular plan, nor had she reached this decision after careful consideration. It was pure impulse.

If she was going to decide on a whim like this, one had to wonder what she had been doing for the past two years.

Looking almost like a beggar, Brynhild left the barn barefoot. Several bodyguards besides Randgrid stood outside. They quietly bowed their heads as the Valkyrie emerged.

"Bring me my armor!" Brynhild shouted.

On the outskirts of Nearcaster was a place where the city's boundary grew indistinct. In other words, it had no walls yet to separate the city from the world outside.

The jousting grounds were there. The arena was a large rectangle with one side left open, where anyone could watch as they pleased. Seats in the stands, however, required a ticket.

Naturally, the free viewing area was packed. Most were spectators, but there were plenty of street vendors and pickpockets too.

After registering anonymously for the tournament, Brynhild came to the arena to watch, since it had been so long since she had ventured outside the hill village. Rather than buy a ticket, she went where the crowd was thickest.

With her hair unstyled and her clothes no different from a country girl's, no one imagined she was a Valkyrie. Her guards were not right beside her, so there was nothing to attract attention apart from her pretty face.

Brynhild climbed a tree in search of a better view. Local children already occupied its thick branches. When she clambered up and squeezed herself a place, the children stared wide-eyed.

"A pretty lady."

Brynhild merely smiled and patted their heads. There was one problem, though.

"Hey, miss. You have to pay for that spot."

Some thug of a man called up from beneath the tree. The children beside Brynhild did not seem to have paid to climb it. Since he was singling her out, he was plainly just pestering her.

Of course, Brynhild had no need to answer.

There was no need even for Randgrid, the Einheri, to intervene. Vidar Red-Eye gave the thug a shove.

"What? Got a problem?"

His towering height, massive build, and murderous air were enough to clear away not only the thug but everyone nearby.

There was something childlike about Brynhild, and she quickly hit it off with the local children. She readily ate the strange snacks they offered, which looked like roasted bugs, and laughed merrily as she tipped back her bottle.

"Are you a witch, lady? You're pretty, but you seem crazy."

"Hey, is that any way to speak to a lady? How will you ever charm a girl talking like that?"

"I think you're the one who should worry about ever charming a man."

"... You really know how to read people."

"Who did you bet on?"

"Hm?"

"You've got to put money down. Money."

"Well, I don't even know who's competing."

"Walter the Invincible is up against... what was it? Valeri the Frog Prince. Walter's odds pay out low. Valeri's pay out high."

"This Walter must be strong?"

"Yeah. He's never lost. They say once he agreed to lose before a match, but won anyway and broke the other man's arms and legs."

"What? What a dirty coward. What about the Frog Prince?"

"Dunno. I think this is his first match."

"Really? Anyway, why do they call him the Frog Prince?"

"Nobody knows. All anyone knows is he's from the north."

Hearing that he was from the north, Brynhild pictured a large, taciturn man. After a moment's consideration, she told the children,

"I'll bet on the Frog Prince."

"Bold choice."

"I've always been bold. Hey, Randy, give me some money."

Randgrid, standing beneath the tree, sighed deeply and handed up a few silver coins. The children's eyes went wide when Brynhild passed them the money. The child sitting farthest out called to someone to place the bet.

"Mister! Mister! Three silver here! On the Frog Prince!"

One of the men running a gambling operation on the street sent a subordinate to collect the money.

"Are you rich, lady?"

"Who knows? If I win, buy yourselves some meat. You need to eat well to grow."

"Really?!"

"Of course."

Finding the child adorable despite the grime streaking their face, Brynhild patted their head once more.

Just then, the herald officiating the tournament bellowed in a booming voice. As a professional herald, he was so loud it scarcely seemed humanly possible.

"Quiet! Quiet, I say! It's not as though this is your first tournament! You ought to know to shut up by now! You there! I saw you open your trap! Shut the fuck up unless you want to be thrown out!"

No one was frightened by the herald's shouting. They simply roared with laughter. Still, once the hubbub subsided somewhat, he formally opened proceedings.

"Hear ye! Hear ye! Citizens, hear ye! This tournament is held at the Valkyrie's wish! And hosted by His Grace the Duke of Nearcaster! By the laws handed down from antiquity! None but the contestants may enter the arena! Magic and spells are strictly forbidden! Anyone who violates these rules! Shall assuredly fall into hellfire, and furthermore! Shall be torn limb from limb under ancient law! May none of you be so foolish! Contestants shall fight on horseback with the prescribed weapons! Both using the same kind! The victor shall take all that belongs to the vanquished! And the vanquished shall have nothing but submission!"

Having proclaimed the general rules, the herald introduced the contestants for the first match.

"Who dared call Astrians weak? An undefeated knight has come riding the wind! His swift movements and unerring lance are already legend! Today's match shall add another chapter to that legend! His name is... Walter the Invincible!"

The crowd cheered and applauded at the introduction. Walter rode boldly into the arena on a sleek brown steed. A red lion adorned his helm, and his armor was extravagantly decked in every sort of ornament.

With his face exposed, Walter rode a showy circuit of the arena before approaching the stands and extending his lance. The women there squealed and made a tremendous fuss, and a beauty whose splendor was evident even from afar tied a handkerchief to its tip.

In a world with little entertainment, it was a rare and amusing spectacle. After two years of this, whatever harm it might have caused, ordinary people simply enjoyed the show.

"Our next contestant! Who dares look down on a frog? Northern frogs bite even men! Will he take the tournament by storm? Or be squashed flat? Valeri... the Frog Prince!"

The rather ridiculous nickname drew roars of laughter. Well, as long as it was entertaining, that was what mattered.

Then a pitch-black horse charged into the arena. Large, powerful, and beautifully proportioned, it was a rare and magnificent steed.

Unlike Walter, Valeri wore a frog-mouth helm that concealed his face. Neither his helm nor his armor bore any particular decoration. His shield, too, was simply painted a plain, inky black. It was unintentional, but with his horse so black, he looked rather like a black knight.

Those with a discerning eye sensed something unusual when they saw Snow. This was plainly no ordinary horse. Most, however, merely looked forward to the violent collision to come.

Valeri did not make a circuit of the arena or approach a lady to ask for a handkerchief. He merely rode about a little before taking his position with his lance.

A rail-like barrier ran through the center of the arena. Each man took his place to its right and prepared for the match.

The herald drew a deep breath and shouted,

"Begin the match! Begin the match!"

Both men spurred their horses forward at once.

CLIP-CLOP! CLIP-CLOP! CLIP-CLOP! CLIP-CLOP!

Their lance tips, initially raised at an angle, gradually lowered until they pointed at one another. All that speed and weight, all their concentration, and their very lives rode on those tips.

CLIP-CLOP! CLIP-CLOP! CLIP-CLOP! CLIP-CLOP!

CRACK!

A tournament lance shattered. Walter's body bent violently sideways, struck the barrier, and scraped along it.

SCREEEEEECH!

After a long metallic scrape, he fell from his horse and thudded to the ground. The crowd's cheers died as though doused with cold water.

Not quite everyone fell silent. Valeri's friends were making an excited racket in the stands.

"What do you mean, invincible? You lost! You're not invincible anymore!"

Yorik jeered noisily, and even the usually indifferent Knut clapped with delight.

"Hahaha! This is fun! So much fun! Long live the Frog Prince!"

Valeri rode all the way to the far end before coming back, perhaps to see whether his opponent was alive or dead. He looked toward the herald, who stared blankly before abruptly coming to his senses.

"The victor...!"

Just then, Walter staggered up from the ground and shouted,

"Not yet!"

He flung aside his helm and lunged at Valeri, trying to drag him from his horse. Valeri made no effort to resist. He let himself be pulled down to gain the advantage in the grapple.

He fell almost on top of Walter. After a brief struggle on the ground, he rose with his left arm wrapped around the man's head. At the same time, his right hand drew his sword in a reverse grip.

The spectators had no idea what had happened. All they saw was Walter's body collapse helplessly. It had no head.

Pressing Walter's head firmly downward, Valeri had sliced through his neck with his sword before even drawing it fully.

Gasps rose from here and there in the crowd. Valeri let Walter's head drop, then finally removed his helm.

When his astonishingly handsome face was revealed, it was as though the world awoke. More gasps sounded, this time for a different reason.

He swept back his sweat-matted platinum-blond hair, drew his sword the rest of the way, and flicked the blood from it before sheathing it at his waist. After what seemed a cursory glance over the stands and the crowd, he addressed the herald.

"Who is the victor?"

There was really no need to say it. No one would object. The herald, whose voice had been so thunderous, could barely manage a dazed murmur.

"Th-the victor, Valeri..."

Only then did Valeri mount Snow again and leave the arena without a care.

Perched in the tree, Brynhild had not a single thought in her head. Her gaze seemed pinned to Valeri, following his every movement.

Her mind was empty, but her heart throbbed painfully.

Then, across the distance, her eyes briefly met Valeri's, and time seemed to stop.

That intense gaze. Brynhild instinctively sensed the sorrow within it. That sorrow seized her body, her heart, and her soul.