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Translated By Arcane Translations
Translator: Yuziro
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“Are you Valian?”
It was a slightly low voice for a woman, but befitting a knight.
“That’s me.”
She removed her helmet and met Valian’s gaze.
“I’m called Elia. Aren’t you quite famous?”
“…What?”
What an abrupt comment.
“The barbaric warrior from Aynakia. The black-haired butcher. The undefeated great warrior. You’ve amassed quite a few nicknames in this war, which is not even a week old.”
“Ah…”
Valian understood what she was referring to. His place of origin was a familiar tale, and the “butcher” nickname stemmed from his slaughter-like killing methods. The peculiar one was “undefeated great warrior.”
This wasn’t a moniker earned from slaying Noife’s soldiers. It was what Dustick’s thugs called him. Aside from drinking and womanizing in Dustick’s decadence, he had made some money participating in about half a dozen fighting matches. Later, those who knew Valian in Dustick would address him as such.
“Well, it just happened as I lived.”
“I hope those nicknames truly reflect your abilities. Follow me. The lord wishes to see you.”
Not good. Valian didn’t want to get entangled with nobles. The lords of this medieval land had all made unreasonable demands of him without proper compensation. While he could threaten others into compliance, doing so to nobles would instantly make him a wanted man.
Still, unable to defy his current employer, Valian followed Knight Elia. As she led her horse, she spoke up.
“Are you really from Aynakia?”
“Yes.”
At least his physical origins were accurate.
“Oho. To have crossed those great snowy mountains. It must truly be difficult to live there?”
“What do you mean?”
“Didn’t you come here because it was hard to make a living? I’ve heard most from Ainakia do.”
Ah, he got her meaning now.
“Making a living wasn’t an issue. There simply weren’t any fights worthy of Valtazah’s attention.”
Elia raised an eyebrow slightly.
“What do you mean by fights worthy of Valtazah’s attention?”
This was part of the background lore for barbarian warriors in the Armenia RPG setting. According to the setting, the humans beyond Ainakia’s snowy peaks were descendants of the warrior god Valtazah.
In his lifetime, Valtazah slew hundreds of demons to attain divinity. And he surveys the world, calling exceptional warriors to his side.
They become the celestial forces battling the demons rising to the surface world. Thus, warriors following Valtazah constantly fight demons and monsters, hoping to catch his eye at the moment of death and be summoned.
It was a setting loosely adapted from Norse mythology, a suitable backstory explaining the wandering and combative nature of Ainakio’s barbarian warriors.
The lore Valian had read while looking up barbarian warrior female panty shots. Now he wondered if it was actually true or not.
A barbarian warrior transcending human limits, yet with a soul feeble beyond measure. What would the real Valtazah think if he saw Valian? Was he truly watching over him?
“…When one’s belly is full, all sorts of odd thoughts tend to arise. Aynakia is a land of plenty, and with full bellies, we start pondering and doing other things.”
For a moment, the holy knight Elia couldn’t make sense of Valian’s words, considering the context. But she soon concluded this barbarian simply lacked faith in his god.
“I wasn’t asking for an abridged, meandering version stripped of essence. Nor with such a skeptical gaze. I’m merely curious about how people live there.”
“We all live well enough. Why else would I be this large?”
Elia chuckled softly. With Valian walking beside her, their stark difference in stature was evident. His collarbone seemed level with the top of her head, his arm about as thick as her waist. Valian grinned slightly too.
“Are all the people there as big as you?”
“No. I’m a bit of an exception. Quite large, but not like me.”
“I wish I were at least that ‘quite large’ size.”
Exchanging a few more such idle remarks, they walked toward the lord’s tent. Torches burned brightly all around the camp, evidence of the immense expenditure.
Elia spoke up, “Alright, we’re nearly there. Let me warn you of a few things to watch for before the lord. Simple matters. Don’t agree if he invites you to drink together or challenges your skill.”
“Anything else?”
“Nothing, unless you start swearing profusely.”
If her words were true, he seemed an unusual fellow. That impression solidified as they entered the tent.
A handsome middle-aged blond man sat on a wooden chair. His well-trimmed goatee and blue eyes were striking features, as was the pipe in his mouth.
Elia gave a slight bow before exiting. As she passed Valian, she met his gaze and curled an eyebrow flirtatiously. Those thick brows twitched cutely before she walked past. What was that about? Flirting?
Then Dustick’s lord, the king’s brother, hero of the Eastern War, patron of wine and whores – Sigelard spoke up.
“The undefeated great warrior. A pleasure to finally meet you.”
So this was the source of that knight knowing the nickname. This fellow must have been merrily regaling others within the lord’s quarters. How did he know about me?
“…I’ve only won about five times. Seems a bit lacking for an all-encompassing title like that.”
Sigelard chuckled in a pleasing baritone.
“From what I know, it was six times. And since you emerged the victor in all six, ‘undefeated’ fits. You’re more humble than I expected from a warrior.”
Humility be damned. Please, just underestimate me instead.
Sigelard retrieved a bottle from under his chair and tossed it to Valian. Catching it lightly, Valian stared at Sigelard blankly. What now?
As Sigelard uncorked another bottle for himself, he spoke, “Have a drink.”
Ignoring Elia’s warning, Valian uncapped the bottle and took a swig. A decent vintage.
“Not bad, is it? A gift from my brother. He sends a few bottles each year, packed in a crate.”
Valian lowered the bottle, eyeing it intently. The king’s gift. Damn.
Sigelard paid it no mind as he continued speaking.
“He sent some this year too, so I figured things weren’t too bad between us. What a joke. He stabbed me right in the back. Viraki, who at least had some integrity amidst his craftiness, suddenly dies. Then this bastard Drite shows up out of nowhere, stirring up chaos. How bloody infuriating.
It’s been barely seven years since the Eastern War ended. The defeated Easterners are just starting to recover, and now another war?
And not even against a foreign nation, but a domestic territory dispute? My brother’s indifference to this is sheer madness. For now we’re fellow traders, but lest you forget, our adversaries seven years ago were the Arians. Why can’t he see the weakened Eastern forces will naturally try to reclaim their lost lands?
Some may argue that since the Pesenekt royals all perished, the other Arian kingdoms don’t care. Nonsense. What justification do the Arians need to reclaim their ancestral homelands? My brother has gone mad…”
Why was this man ranting so abruptly? Valian was flustered by Sigelard’s apparent drunken rambling, which included terms Valian didn’t understand, like the “Pesenekt royals.”
“…Instead of pointless chatter, just tell me why you summoned me here.”
“Ah yes, that.”
Sigelard stroked his magnificent goatee. Valian had a bad feeling. Sigelard took a puff of his pipe and exhaled smoke as he spoke.
“One of my personal guards recognized you. Heard you singlehandedly slew a Manticore? And Viraki knew about it too.”
Valian sensed he was being ensnared.
“I’m aware Viraki had issues with a mage before his death. And that he employed you to resolve it. But Viraki died, and the witch went missing. What am I to make of this?”
Valian’s right hand twitched, but didn’t reach for his sword.
“…I didn’t kill him. The one I killed was the witch. If beheading her and dutifully delivering her head is a crime, then guilty as charged.”
“What was your payment?”
“Twenty gold pieces. And the blades of twenty soldiers.”
The corner of Sigelard’s pipe-clenching mouth curved upward wryly.
“Viraki was narrow-minded. Whenever faced with anything beyond his limits, he always tried resolving it through blades and swords. That was his flaw, but also his strength.”
He removed the pipe and took a swig like Valian, wiping the dribbled liquor from his lips before continuing.
“I don’t care whether you killed the witch or Viraki. For all I know, you were deceived by the witch into killing Viraki. Who knows what spells those magic-users might unleash, when and where? And this Drite fellow is no real threat either. If he persists as he has, he’ll go bankrupt soon enough. The Dwarf banks would never lend to him. And that would be the end of it.”
Too many unnecessary words from this man. Valian cut to the chase.
“Then what’s the problem?”
“My son.”
“Who?”
“My son is the problem. The twelve-year-old boy is the issue here.”
For a moment, Valian recalled hearing Sigelard had no wife upon arriving in Dustick. But then he realized a wife wasn’t necessary to have a child. And the status of that child.
“The king has no children currently, does he? So that boy is…?”
“Yes. As it stands, he would be the legitimate prince.”
Valian thought he should immediately plug his ears and exit the tent. Why was he being told such things so abruptly?
“Stop. Why are you telling me this? Isn’t it supposed to be a secret?”
“It was. Only my brother, myself, and the two most trusted guards in my personal retinue knew.”
Valian’s mouth fell slightly agape. This man clearly had a screw loose.
“Even so, the reason I’m telling you is that I need a capable blade I can utilize. Simultaneously, one that nobody would believe even if he went blabbing certain facts.”
“…Because I’m from Aynakia?”
“Correct. If you claim someone is whose son, thereby the true prince heir, who would believe the ramblings of a barbarian who crossed the northern snowy peaks?”
“But there may still be those who would try verifying the truth of that information. What makes you think I won’t sell this intel to them?”
Sigelard chuckled lightly.
“It doesn’t matter. You’ll be working for me now, under constant surveillance without a moment’s respite. And once the job is done, you can sell that information or do whatever you wish with it.”
“Not ‘would you’ do it, but ‘you must’ do it?”
Sigelard’s smile was chilling.
“Yes, you must. Or will you refuse my command?”
At those words, a savage grin spread across Valian’s lips, baring his fangs.
“…Every lord has tried ordering me around the same way. And looking at the results, those lords ended up dead.”
“And the result is what led to Drite becoming lord and sparked this territory war. Don’t you feel some responsibility? If you had simply followed through properly, the soldiers and mercenaries slaughtered today could have been sharing a warm dinner with their families.”
“Don’t spout such nonsense. That Drite is a warmonger and the men stabbing others for a few coins ended up dead are not my responsibility. It was their choice, their life. Don’t try pinning misplaced accountability on me. And I followed through properly on Viraki’s orders. That’s why I was paid.”
Sigelard nodded calmly.
“Well-spoken for a barbarian. So what would it take for you to take on this task?”
For a moment, Valian nearly refused, but realized this was Sigelard extending an olive branch of sorts, his tone not entirely forceful. The savage grin faded from Valian’s face. So this was a quintessential medieval noble after all. With a stony expression, Valian replied:
“…I’m not sure.”
“I cannot promise you a fief, but I can give you a chest of gold. Pure ingots, no strange artifacts mixed in.”
Was he serious? Did he truly intend to make good on that promise? Such thoughts flashed through Valian’s mind, but he didn’t voice them aloud.
“A hand axe.”
“What?”
“Provide me with a throwing axe as well. An advance payment of sorts.”
“Hah. That much I can do.”
Valian asked with slight resignation, “Very well. What is the task then?”
Sigelard exhaled pipe smoke as he spoke.
“An escort mission. Take my son to the Twin Steel Towers along with two of my personal guards.”
Valian’s expression turned incredulous.
“The Twin Steel Towers? It would take nearly four months on foot.”
“We could cut that time to a month on horseback. Of course, that’s assuming no incidents arise.”
“Right. So tell me about that. Why am I needed? Why do you expect trouble? Is there an assassin targeting him?”
Sigelard nodded, his brow furrowed slightly.
“Precisely. There is currently a group of assassins after my son’s life. Not just one, but an entire organization – the ‘Golden Shields.’ They are a league of those excessively loyal to my brother. And they’ve learned about my son. Their next course is obvious – they’ll try killing him to solidify the line of succession. Despicable curs.”
But this man… Didn’t he just claim only the king and two subordinates knew about this?
“…And the king? He knows yet does nothing?”
“The very fact they could form in the first place is because my brother has allowed it. Truth be told, I wouldn’t stop them either. If they’re clearing my path, why would I obstruct them?”
So the will of the Golden Shields trying to kill Sigelard’s son aligned with the king’s intentions. Valian could only inwardly groan. Ultimately, the task Sigelard commanded went against the will of this land’s ruler.
No matter that I alone could slay a Manticore, did he really expect a pagan barbarian like me to take on such a mission? This man was utterly insane.
After taking another swig of wine, Sigelard spoke again.
“Go wait in your tent. When my son and the guards are ready, they’ll come get you, so prepare to depart. The advance payment will be sent to them.”
Without hesitation, Valian turned to leave at his dismissal, the bottle he had received still in his left hand.
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How he get his full payment after he finishes his mission? Through blades?