Chapter 67

The fascination of jousting was that, while constant practice and experience mattered, some things could not be achieved through effort alone.

An inborn disposition, for instance, to refuse to yield an inch, to cast aside even the instinct for survival and see things through whether one lived or died.

That was not something effort could acquire.

Perhaps people went wild because they saw all that effort and time, talent and innate temperament bloom at the tip of a lance for one brief moment. Even with everything riding on that point, no contest divided its outcomes more starkly.

A glorious victor. A wretched loser. Violent, definitive, brutal, and futile. All of it blossomed and withered in an instant.

It was like life compressed into a single point.

Sometimes effort came to nothing; sometimes it bore fruit at last. Some were gifted from birth, while others could never succeed in a thousand lifetimes. Someone riding high could fall in an instant, while a complete unknown suddenly soared like a bird.

Had Valeri soared, then? At least, that was how those watching that day felt.

It had been a long time since they had seen such a magnificent contest. The combatants’ determination to fight to the bitter end had left so powerful an impression that taverns were still buzzing about the final days later. Throughout the entire city.

The man supposedly soaring, however, was actually confined to bed. He had no visible wounds, but the toll of the impacts lingered inside him.

They had collided not once but twice. His muscles, bones, and organs all needed rest.

It was remarkable that either Valeri or his opponent had managed to keep fighting afterward.

“I sold Sir Walter’s horse and equipment. Here’s the money.”

Lucas set a heavy purse firmly on the little chest of drawers beside the bed. There was no ransom, since Valeri had killed him, but the horse and equipment alone had fetched a considerable sum.

A gilded medal marking Valeri as the tournament champion and signifying that he had passed the trial of valor lay carelessly on the chest, as though it were worthless.

“Your second opponent, Sir Bleed, begs for mercy on the grounds that he has an elderly mother to support. I think he’s lying. The man spent the entire year idling about the city. When did he ever look after his mother?”

“Forget it. Tell him to get lost. But warn him to be careful. If I see him again, I might kill him.”

Valeri turned toward the window as he spoke, sounding irritated.

The victor took everything belonging to the defeated. That was a custom and a law handed down since ancient times. It even included the right to decide whether the loser lived or died.

That was what it meant to stake everything on a fight.

Of course, showing the defeated mercy and generosity was widely considered a virtue, but refusing to do so was not a vice.

“Then what about that woman? The Red Rabbit?”

Knut sat on the bed shelling peanuts as though he had merely dropped in for a visit, apparently not worried about Valeri at all.

At the second collision, he had screamed Valeri’s name as though he might burst into tears. Now he was already acting as if it had been nothing.

“It seems she entered anonymously. I’ve asked around to find out where she ran off to, but I haven’t found her yet.”

Sigurd was the name of the legendary Dragonslayer, but for that very reason it was also one of the most common names among nobles and commoners alike. It could even mean “so-and-so.”

Given that a woman had entered as Sigurd the Red Rabbit, her anonymous entry was all but certain.

“This is only a guess, but could she be the Einheri who came here as the Valkyrie’s bodyguard? Isn’t it a little strange for a woman to be that strong?”

Yorik put his mind to work and offered his own deduction. Spending time with Valeri seemed to be improving his reasoning, and he seemed to enjoy it too.

“Why would she enter?”

Knut asked for his reasoning. He offered Valeri a peanut, then ate it himself when Valeri shook his head.

“Maybe she was bored. After two years of nothing but guard duty, that wouldn’t be surprising.”

“She risked her life in a tournament because she was bored? Maybe in the combat contest, but this? I don’t think so.”

“She didn’t think she’d lose.”

“But she did.”

“That’s why she ran away.”

“Where to?”

“We’ll have to find out. Just getting her horse and sword would be quite a prize. I’ve never seen anything Lord Valeri’s sword couldn’t cut through before.”

“That’s true. The horse and the sword. There’s something strange about them.”

It was common knowledge that the only thing dwarven steel could not cut was other dwarven steel. And that red horse was no ordinary animal either.

There was virtually no limit to how expensive a horse could be. Ordinary people could not possibly afford a warhorse, and even those came in different grades. For a legendary steed, one might practically have to sell one’s lands or title.

Valeri’s Snow was good enough to stand among the horses of legend, but that red horse was exceptional too.

The rider, the horse, and the sword. Together, those three things pointed only to a Valkyrie or an Einheri.

“Hmm... Yorik might be right. Much as I hate to admit it.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why do you hate to admit it?”

“Just because.”

“What kind of reason is that?”

“Mine.”

“What?”

“It’s my reason.”

As Knut and Yorik began another pointless exchange, Valeri asked Lucas a question.

“What does the trial of wisdom involve?”

After the trial of valor came the trial of wisdom.

“How should I put it? Anyone without something wrong with their head can pass. How likely is it that the people who pass the trial of valor have received a proper education? You attend a banquet hosted by His Grace and make light conversation with him. Unless your reputation is truly dreadful or you offend him severely, that’s the end of the trial of wisdom.”

“Then the final trial is the real obstacle. That business about the most precious treasure in the world.”

“Exactly. That’s what has stopped every suitor from so much as seeing the Valkyrie. So, as time passed, everyone became interested only in the trappings. Wealth, fame, honor, that sort of thing. Or they ended up broken men, like the Earl of Westlanding. Even if someone finds a treasure now, would anyone truly be doing it purely to marry her? Aren’t they all just trying to show how extraordinary they are? That’s what I think. It’s what I did.”

“Wouldn’t this be enough to qualify as the most precious treasure in the world?”

Knut, who had been bickering with Yorik, took something out of his clothes.

It was a large, brilliantly gleaming, blood-red gemstone. The ruby called Tears of Blood, given to them by the master of Gringen’s jewelers’ guild.

“Why do you have that?”

Valeri’s eyes widened in astonishment.

“Wasn’t it a gift?”

“Yes, but why do you have it? You should have left it at the mercenary company’s headquarters.”

“Why? Didn’t they give it to you, Valeri, not the mercenary company? That’s how I understood it.”

Valeri could not decide whether that was shameless or perfectly reasonable.

Even Lucas, who had owned everything money could buy, stared wide-eyed.

“What in the world is that? Is it a real gemstone?”

“It’s a ruby. Top quality, and large too. It’s a gem from Gringen called Tears of Blood.”

“How did you come by it?”

“They gave it to me after I cleaned up the thugs in Gringen.”

“Wait...”

Lucas had heard reports, if not in great detail, of what had happened in the north—in Eldeira.

A duke had started a war, been defeated by a mercenary company, and then been killed by his eldest son. Afterward, a prince had granted a pardon. Lucas had yet to investigate the truth of it, but an odd feeling came over him.

Hadn’t they mentioned something about a mercenary company? Who were these people? They weren’t just wandering swordsmen, were they?

Only now did Lucas feel that confusion. There had been something frightening about them beneath their appearances. They were no ordinary people—and not just the Jomsvikings, either.

“When is the duke’s banquet?”

Valeri’s question finally snapped Lucas out of his daze.

“I’ll find out. There should be one soon. Especially now that a new champion has emerged.”

“By the way, your sister—what was her name? Anyway, did you speak to her?”

The mention of the banquet naturally reminded Valeri of Lucilia. He had originally agreed to attend with her, but her trampling the holy remains to pieces had led to the present situation.

“About what?”

“You said you’d explain why I broke my promise.”

“I’ve been rushed off my feet. When would I have had the time? Don’t worry about her. She’s rather ignorant of the world.”

Something troubled Valeri. Naturally, it was not guilt or anything of the sort. It was more a sense that the matter had not been properly settled. An inexplicable feeling of unfinished business.

Valeri did not know it, but from Lucilia’s perspective, both her brother Lucas and Valeri had abandoned her. To put it in more emotional terms, the Valkyrie had stolen them both.

Her own foolishness had caused the problem, so she had no one else to blame. Still, it was hard to imagine her having the sense to realize that.

Meanwhile, though he gave his friends no sign of it, Valeri kept thinking about his opponent in the final, the Red Rabbit.

Why had she looked so relieved then? Had she not been fighting out of anger, as he had? If not, what had driven her to fight? Especially with skills like hers.

He rarely gave the defeated a second thought and had no interest in spoils, but he was curious all the same.

It was truly rare for Valeri to be curious. Especially about a person. A Valkyrie, or an Einheri. Hmm...

“The ancient laws are sacred. You have to surrender the spoils he’s rightfully owed.”

Randgrid, whose height and bulk dwarfed most men, addressed her longtime friend and princess.

Brynhild had not come through unscathed either and was half reclining in bed.

Unlike her usual disheveled self, she looked neat. She had made no special effort to adorn herself, but that alone brought out her beauty until it was almost dazzling.

Her behavior still retained a somewhat masculine air, however. Scratching her head under her friend’s scolding, she offered a feeble excuse.

“Isn’t handing me over as spoils taking it a bit far?”

“Stop being so fickle. What do you think a sacred tournament is?”

Duels and tournaments were much alike: sacred rites that even carried religious significance. Why else would there be trial by combat?

In particular, the victor’s rights and the loser’s obligations were all but iron laws. Breaking them was unthinkable. If one had nothing to give, or did not wish to give it, the proper course was to beg for mercy instead.

“The horse isn’t mine, and neither is the sword. The only thing I have to give is myself...”

The red horse actually belonged to the king. She had stolen it on a whim and ridden away from the palace.

In other words, she could not give away the king’s horse, nor could she surrender the sword Randgrid had lent her.

And despite her outward confidence, Brynhild was timid inside. She was afraid Valeri might not like her.

She could not tell him that she was actually the Valkyrie, that she had promised to marry the man who defeated her, and that he was that man. What good did it do to hesitate now? Yet that was how she honestly felt.

“You said you’d marry him! Aren’t you ashamed before your ancestors? Vǫlsungr! Sigmund! Sigurd! Are you going to disgrace those names?”

Perhaps angered by her maddening behavior, Randgrid finally lost patience and shouted. In truth, their conversations had taken this turn more than once or twice.

To Randgrid, a warrior to the marrow of her bones, the three generations of heroes commonly known as the Vǫlsungr Cycle were like gods.

That was why she could never bear it when Brynhild failed to act honorably and showed a cowardly streak.

“Come on... Insulting my ancestors is going too far...”

“Did I insult them? You’re the one disgracing them!”

“That’s true.”

“Argh!”

Randgrid turned her head sharply away and squeezed her eyes shut in frustration. She could not even hit her. It was unbearable.

In truth, there was little anyone could do if a Valkyrie lost a duel or tournament and then simply refused to pay. But that did not mean she could behave however she pleased.

As Randgrid said, it sullied the sanctity of the royal house.

“Anyway, I’m sure I brought the sword down properly...”

Brynhild glanced cautiously at her friend, trying to change the subject. Fortunately, she succeeded in catching her attention.

Swallowing her anger, Randgrid agreed.

“That was strange. Never mind the black horse—you can’t just buy a dwarven steel sword at the market.”

Every dwarven steel sword was a work of art and a relic. No amount of money could buy one. To obtain one, a person had to befriend a dwarf.

Unless an owner passed one down as an heirloom, or someone won one as spoils, acquiring one was practically impossible.

Dwarves were wicked, powerful sorcerers. Becoming entangled with one the wrong way could bring not only a curse upon an individual but ruin upon an entire family.

Randgrid’s sword, Fate, had been handed down through her own family, the Starling clan. Though she had no right of succession, she had earned the sword through open recognition of her abilities.

Brynhild, by contrast, could acquire nothing through her own abilities, however outstanding they might be.

Succession was naturally out of the question, and she could possess neither lands nor titles. She was provided with a comfortable life, of course.

“Did he inherit it? Then what family is he from? Is he hiding his identity like I am?”

Naturally, Brynhild never even considered that he might have obtained it directly from a dwarf. She assumed it was a family inheritance.

“Or he could have won it as spoils. There was a war up north recently, wasn’t there?”

“I’ve never heard of the ducal House Viðing having a dwarven steel sword.”

“Wait. That is a little strange.”

“Right? Right? That’s why I was hesitant!”

“Either way, you lost.”

“No, what I’m saying is that there might be some sort of conspiracy. I’m not denying I lost. I’m saying we need to be careful. Let’s at least watch him for a while. You’re rushing things, Randy~”

Brynhild wheedled her friend. Randgrid did not like it, but she thought the idea was not entirely unreasonable.

“So what are you going to do?”

“First... When’s the next banquet? We’ll go to that. And we’ll introduce you as the Valkyrie, Randy. I’ll be the Einheri. How does that sound? I’ll observe him myself.”

Randgrid answered with the gentlest smile imaginable.

“Wouldn’t simply killing you and then myself be another option?”

She was half serious.

“Heh, hehehe...”

Brynhild tried to laugh it off. But she did not abandon her idea.

And, as always, when Brynhild insisted, Randgrid eventually gave in. Deep down, she felt sorry for her.

Being a Valkyrie was not all glory. House Vǫlsungr stood supreme, yet it was also utterly ruthless.

The heroes Randgrid so respected and revered had all met tragic ends, and their chilling fury flowed through the royal family’s veins.

Brynhild’s father, the reigning king, had taken the throne after killing all his brothers and nephews. What could a daughter mean to such a man?

Stealing the king’s horse and running away was, in truth, tantamount to asking him to kill her. And the king was quite capable of doing it, even to his own daughter.

Yet when Randgrid watched her closely, Brynhild almost seemed to want that. It was a kind of self-destructive behavior.

Having watched over her since childhood, Randgrid could only ever give in to her friend, even at the cost of her own humiliation.