Hyakuren no Haou to Seiyaku no Valkyria - Volume 24 - Chapter 3.1

ACT 3

Jorgen, former patriarch of the Wolf Clan and peerless advisor to the reginarch of the Steel Clan, was not skilled in combat by any means, but the fact that Yuuto would often leave him in charge in his absence showed how capable he was nonetheless. He was particularly adept when it came to politics. From the days of the Wolf Clan to arriving in the New World, he had continued to support Yuuto from the shadows—truly the unsung hero of the clan.

That same hero, now over sixty, had recently hung up his advisor hat for good, preferring instead to spend his days warmly watching over his grandsons as they frolicked in the park. One day, he was doing exactly that when he heard a voice.

“Longtime no see, Big Bro.” A familiar face to match the voice appeared before him.

Jorgen sighed and gave a small shrug. “No matter how much time passes, I doubt I’ll ever get used to you calling me that. How many years has it been, I wonder? Little Bro.”

“Yeesh. Calling an old geezer hke me ‘Little Bro’ is way worse, if you ask me.” The wispy-haired elderly man had a crooked grin on his face as he spoke. He was hunched over, and his face had far more wrinkles than when he and Jorgen had last spoken—a typical development for a man of his age—but the wily glint in his fox-like eyes was unmistakable and just as sharp as ever. The old man was none other than Botvid. He was the patriarch of the Claw Clan—one of the clans under the Steel Clan’s umbrella—as well as the Steel Clan’s current leader of subordinates.

“So, to what do I owe the pleasure? I doubt you’re here to enlist my aid because something happened at Tarshish. I’ve long since stepped off that stage, and we never had that kind of relationship in the first place, did we?” Jorgen said with a smirk. Since joining the Steel Clan, the Wolf Clan and Claw Clan had become family, but there had been a time when the two clans had fought one another as mortal enemies. Their relationship within the Steel Clan hadn’t been all that rosy either—while they’d both deferred to the Steel Clan as fellow allies, they’d remained ruthless rivals from a political standpoint. If Botvid had gone out of his way to see Jorgen in the twilight of his retirement, there had to be a good reason, but he couldn’t imagine what it would be.

“I suppose not,” Botvid said with a grin. “Would you believe me if I said I just wanted to wax sentimental about the good old days?”

“The good old days’?” Jorgen parroted, not sure what Botvid was getting at. “Why?”

Botvid’s grin became wistful. “Well, you see, at my age, all my other conversation partners have long since passed on.”

“...Right.” Jorgen sighed and nodded. In this era, even living much beyond around fifty years was considered quite fortunate. Out of the friends he’d made that were similar in age, hardly any remained. Even Rasmus had passed away unexpectedly last year. He still recalled the tranquil expression on the old man’s face —no doubt one of satisfaction, having lived long enough to see his grandchildren and Linnea grow and mature to adulthood. “So, I suppose I’m the only one left then?”

“Indeed, as I am no doubt the only one left for you to reminisce about those days.”

“Ha ha, so it seems.” Jorgen let out a humorless laugh. It was just as Botvid said—everyone else he’d known in the days of the Wolf Clan had long since passed.

“Maybe it’s just my old age getting to me,” Botvid began, “but lately, my mind seems preoccupied with those days—back before Father descended upon Yggdrasil, and I was still young and spry.”

“What a coincidence. Me too. Though I seem to remember differently—I only recall you being a huge pain in the ass,” Jorgen replied.

“That’s funny, because I remember the same about you. But, well, I’ve been finding myself looking upon even those memories with fondness nowadays. I’ve no idea why that is...” Botvid sighed, his smile tinged with melancholy.

“Yeah, I know what you mean,” Jorgen said. Yuuto’s arrival in Yggdrasil and subsequent exploits had been tumultuous and thrilling in ways that had made Jorgen feel hke he was a kid again. Yuuto aside, young folk in general had given Jorgen’s hard work purpose. He’d always felt it was his role to support the youth from the shadows—and he was confident that during his tenure as advisor of the Steel Clan, he’d done so with aplomb. Yet, although he was satisfied, he had merely been a spectator watching a legend unfold from the sidelines. He hadn’t been the hero of this tale—Suoh Yuuto, the young man who’d saved Yggdrasil from a terrible fate, had been the real main character. Jorgen had been young once too, and he used to have loftier aspirations. Back when Farbauti, Bruno, Olof, and Skavidr were still alive, Jorgen had been confident that he would be the legendary hero who’d rescue the Wolf Clan from ruin...

Jorgen was born in a quaint village on the base of the Himinbjorg Mountains, just north of Iarnvidr. It was a village of hunters, so during his youth, he spent most of his days racing around the mountains, chasing rabbits and deer with his minuscule bow in hand. When he wasn’t doing that, he trained with a wooden sword, sparring with the local kids his age. Thinking back on it now, those experiences had been precious— since he didn’t possess a rune, without all that mock fighting and training, he might never have grown strong enough to rival an Einherjar.

When he turned fourteen, everything changed, however. “We’ve gotten word that the Horn Clan Army is headed our way,” the envoy from Iarnvidr told his father, the village chief. “We need you to join the fight.”

That in itself wasn’t anything unusual. Even in the times before Yuuto’s arrival, it was common knowledge that bows were the most useful weapons on the battlefield, surpassing even swords or spears, and Jorgen’s village was full of hunters whose archery skills were second to none. The Wolf Clan patriarch would pay handsomely for their work, and by selling the weapons and armor they looted from their enemies, they’d make even more of a profit. The villagers figured it’d be a perfect opportunity to reap rather handsome rewards.

“I want to join the fight too, dad!” Raring to go just as much as his father, the young Jorgen expressed his desire to tag along. His father nodded with enthusiasm.

“Well said, son. Your eagerness and bravery make me proud. Just make sure you have the skills in combat to back it up. I won’t have you staining my honor and good name with a shameful display.”

“I understand, dad.”

“That said, I doubt there will be any reason to worry about you,” his father said with a grin. By now, Jorgen was already a head taller than most of the village boys his age, and far more muscular to boot. His skill with a bow put some of the full-grown adults he knew to shame—he was probably the third best in the entire village, and within a few more years, he would likely surpass even the chief himself to become the number one archer.

Unsurprisingly, in his inaugural battle, Jorgen performed just as outstandingly as expected.

“That must be their commander.” Looking down on the approaching Horn Clan Army from the treetops, Jorgen identified the leader immediately. The leader was the only one atop a horse-drawn carriage, so it was easy to tell him apart.

When participating in their first real battles, most young folk were often devoured by the horrors of war and rendered unable to think properly or even stand on their own two feet, but not Jorgen. Where the average person would be quick to attempt to prove themselves and let loose a hail of arrows without reserve, inadvertently giving away their location to the enemy in the process, Jorgen kept his distance and waited for the right moment to strike.

“There!” Fortune must have also smiled upon him, because the decisive arrow he finally loosed pierced straight through the enemy commander’s temple—a bull’s-eye.

“All right!” Having witnessed the outstanding shot with his own eyes, Jorgen pumped his fist. With the enemy commander down, the army lost their chain of command and collapsed into ruin in no time, making them sitting ducks for the Wolf Clan Army. It was no exaggeration to say that the battle had been decided the moment Jorgen had fired that arrow, and thanks to his heroic efforts during that inaugural battle, the name “Jorgen of Nazir Village” soon began to spread throughout the Wolf Clan like wildfire.

A majestic palace stood in the heart of Iarnvidr. Jorgen had gazed upon it from afar many a time whenever his father had brought him here, but naturally, this was his first time actually entering the building. After being guided to one of the rooms, he saw a man with graying hair who had to be at least in his forties sitting at the throne, one hand resting on his cheek. The man stared hard at Jorgen. It was as if the man’s gaze saw through every inch of him.

“So, you’re Jorgen, are you? You look fearless. I like it.” The man stroked his graying beard as if in thought. The gruff authority in his voice made Jorgen feel as though a great weight had fallen on his shoulders.

“It’s truly an honor, Your Majesty,” Jorgen replied with a polite bow. “So this is Lord Farbauti, our patriarch.” Raising his head and facing the man once more, he swallowed hard—he understood immediately why the Wolf Clan patriarch’s name was known throughout all of Bifrost. Though at first glance the man appeared frail, he exuded an unmistakably intense aura. Jorgen wouldn’t have been surprised if the man had been a seasoned warrior in his own right. At the same time, however, he recognized that this was the level he would eventually have to surpass. He was still at the age where he was full of vim and vigor, ambition burning bright in his heart.

“Heh heh. I hear you’re the one who took out the Horn Clan’s commander. Considering that was the first time you’d ever been in an actual battle, that’s quite the accomplishment—although I would expect no less from Jigen’s son.”

“Heh, that was child’s play compared to what I’m really capable of.”

“Oh? How reliable, and confident to boot.”

“I know, right? So how about making me one of your sworn children? You won’t regret it,” Jorgen declared, pointing to himself with his thumb.

Of course, toward one with as much authority as Farbauti, his cheeky attitude could be considered the height of disrespect. Perhaps one could chalk it up to being young, but there was only so much that his youth could excuse—regardless of Jorgen’s accomplishments, no one would’ve so much as batted an eye if he’d been thrown in the dungeon for his insubordination.

“Know your place, brat! How dare you behave that way in the presence of our patriarch!” In fact, one of the middle-aged men standing beside the throne roared in anger. Judging from his gray beard and the deep wrinkles in his forehead, he seemed to be rather high-strung. “You are speaking to the leader of the Wolf Clan, our sworn father, so show some respect! Normally, the likes of you would not even be allowed to speak in his presence!”

“Oh, shut up already, old man. You guys were the ones who brought me here, weren’t you? Besides, this conversation is between him and me, so buzz off.” As the man continued to lecture him, Jorgen cursed him in his thoughts. Naturally, he at least had the sense to not voice his opinion out loud, but again, perhaps because he was still young, the man’s attitude ticked him off all the same.

“Enough, Bruno.” Farbauti silenced his subordinate with a dismissive wave of his hand and a placid smile, as though Jorgen’s impudence hadn’t bothered him in the slightest—as though he dealt with people like him on a regular basis. His broad-mindedness honestly impressed Jorgen.

“Meanwhile, this dude over here has a stick up his ass, just as the rumors said.”In his heart, Jorgen smirked, though he didn’t let it show. He’d heard all sorts of things about the man named Bruno—none of them particularly flattering. In short, they’d said he was a petty, obstinate man who talked a big game but didn’t have the stuff to back it up. There were also those who said he was wholly unsuited to serve as the Wolf Clan’s second-in-command. On either count, Jorgen couldn’t agree more.

“F-Father! I cannot very well sit idly by and let some ingrate besmirch your good name...”

“Get too stubborn, Bruno, and you become unable to hear anyone but yourself,” Farbauti said sternly. “It’s good for youth like him to have some fire in them, and if my good name was something so easily besmirched, I wouldn’t be in this position in the first place, correct?” With a cackle, he threw a knowing glance in Jorgen’s direction.

“This guy blows what he’s talking about. He’s the real deal. Patriarchs really do have to be on a different level, I guess.” Jorgen continued to be impressed by the man’s wisdom.

What Jorgen hadn’t realized at the time, however, was that at that point, he’d already been ensnared in Farbauti and Bruno’s trap. It had all been an elaborate act—they had intentionally played the stubborn fool and generous leader in order to get Jorgen on Farbauti’s side, but in his inexperience, Jorgen had failed to notice.

“At any rate, we didn’t call you here to lecture you on your etiquette,” Farbauti began. “We’re here to commend this battle’s most valuable player. Fine work, Jorgen. On behalf of the entire Wolf Clan, I thank you."

“Thank you very much, sir!”

“For your exemplary deeds, I would like to reward you. Anything you want, anything at all, just let me know. If it’s something within my power, consider it done.”

“Then I’ll take you up on that offer. I do not yet possess a Chalice. Please, Lord Farbauti, offer me yours!” Jorgen stared straight into Farbauti’s eyes, his gaze unwavering as he divulged his request. From the moment he’d met him, Jorgen knew: this was a man worthy of devoting his entire life to.

“You overstep your bounds, ingrate!” Bruno cut in, roaring with anger. His face had gone red, so it had likely been a genuine reaction. “You may have proved yourself in this battle, but don’t think the patriarch of the Wolf Clan’s Chalice comes so cheaply! Know your station!”

Farbauti held up a hand and spoke. “Now, now, there’s no need to get so riled up, Bruno. I told him it could be anything.”

“Ah, b-but Father, even if you say so, there are limits! If you just let any child that asks for it have your Chalice, it will devalue in worth! I’m saying this not for my own sake, but for the good of the clan!”

“Hm, I suppose you have a point. His lack of discipline also needs to be sorted out... How about this, then? Bruno, offer him your Chalice. You’ll drill into him manners and etiquette. From the ground up.”

“Huh?” Jorgen’s mouth fell open when he heard Farbauti’s decision. Of course, he also received a nasty glare from Bruno.

“What’s wrong? Unsatisfied?” Farbauti trained his eyes on Jorgen. His gaze seemed to miss nothing.

Of course Jorgen was unsatisfied. Naturally, he hadn’t thought it’d be that easy to gain Farbauti’s Chalice in the first place, but he hadn’t expected to be stuck taking Bruno’s, a man who decidedly hadn’t made Jorgen’s list of favorite people in the few minutes he’d come to know him.

“Heh, it’s written all over your face. Seems you’ve still got some growing to do,” Farbauti teased. Jorgen froze. As if sensing that the young man had been rattled, Farbauti chuckled once more. “Well, no need to pout. This guy’s my right-hand man and the second-in-command of the Wolf Clan. For a pup like you, the Chalice of a real wolf should be honor enough.”

“W-Well, I guess...” If the patriarch of the clan said so, he had no choice but to agree. But he could also see there was truth in Farbauti’s words. Normally, someone hke him would spend their entire lives at the bottom rung, living and dying in obscurity. The second-in-command was always personally appointed by the patriarch, so earning his Chalice would certainly bolster Jorgen’s future prospects of taking over the clan. Looking at it objectively, the arrangement was entirely to Jorgen’s benefit, rather than his detriment.

“You see, Bruno has a wealth of experience when it comes to whipping young ones into shape. You’ll learn discipline from him, and when I see that you’ve finally grown some horns, you may have my Chalice. So right now, what I want from you is diligence.”

“...Yes, sir.” Truthfully, he couldn’t be more dissatisfied, but once again, a cheeky brat like Jorgen had no room for argument against a patriarch.

“Truthfully I don’t think I’ll ever be able to get along with that jerk, but oh well,” Jorgen thought. He couldn’t help feeling like he’d had no choice in the matter to start with, but nonetheless, Jorgen began his new life under Bruno.

In the three years since that day, Bruno had drilled both academics and etiquette into the young Jorgen, now his sworn son. He’d also made Jorgen cook, clean, and chop firewood, among other odd jobs. It was a far cry from the days he’d spent chasing prey throughout the mountains and sparring with his friends.

“Dammit! He’s not gonna use me any longer!” Seeing the list of tasks Bruno had allotted to him for the day, Jorgen exploded, tousling his own hair in frustration. Put simply, he was as bored as could be. The days seemed to get longer and longer with no reprieve in sight. He was a warrior by trade, and his sword and archery skills were diminishing with every moment he wasted on nonsense like this.

“At this rate, I’ll never bear a rune of my own!” Overcome with equal parts irritation and impatience, Jorgen bit his lip. He’d heard that runes only manifested in one’s teenage years, with fourteen through sixteen being the most likely. “I’m already seventeen, dammit! I don’t have time for this crap!”

Runes were said to be blessings from the gods, offered only to those whose efforts they acknowledged. He had no idea if that was actually true or just some horseshit someone had made up, but right now, it was all he had to go on. That was why, instead of wasting his time with these menial domestic tasks, he truly believed that he ought to be out polishing his combat skills and currying favor with a god of war! The frustration was driving him mad.

“I really should’ve declined Father’s Chalice back then and tried to persuade Uncle Helblindi to offer me his instead. ” Helblindi was one of the Wolf Clan’s most elite warriors, having racked up accolade after accolade against the ever-persistent Horn Clan, and despite being an outsider from far to the west, he had risen through the ranks to become an important adviser to the Wolf Clan. If Jorgen had been under him instead, he was sure he would’ve also gained accolades and notoriety, and he probably would’ve earned Farbauti’s Chalice by now. Yet the harsh reality was that under Bruno, he didn’t even have a specific position —he was just a gofer. He didn’t feel hke his talents were being utilized at all. “My place isn’t here under Bruno’s thumb! At this rate, I’m going to waste away, and everyone else is gonna leave me in the dust!”

And as it turned out, Jorgen’s fears were not unfounded. Because one day...

“Jorgen, come here.”

“Yes? How can I be of assistance, Father?” The moment Bruno called for him, Jorgen quashed the mounting dissatisfaction in his heart and responded as politely as he could muster. Seeing that, Bruno gave a satisfied grin.

“Heh heh, looks like you’ve finally learned some manners.”

“Thanks to you, Father,” Jorgen replied. “Really... Even a monkey could pick this stuff up if they were subjected to what I’ve been put through the last three years,” the young man thought to himself. Of course, he took great care not to allow his expression to change as he did so. By now, he’d learned the subtleties of body language and how it could often communicate more than words.

“We’ve got a newcomer. I want you to show him the ropes.” Bruno patted the shoulder of the young boy beside him.

“You want me to?” Jorgen asked incredulously as he sized up the boy. He looked to be around twelve or thirteen, perhaps. He was skinny and didn’t look hke much, but his sharp eyes were unmistakably those of a wolf.

“That’s right. His name’s Skavidr, and he’s the first Einherjar the Wolf Clan’s been blessed with in ten years,” Bruno replied.

Jorgen’s eyes went wide. This boy was clearly much younger than him, yet he’d already awakened to a rune?! He wouldn’t have believed it—were it not for the faint, yet undeniable aura of a warrior emanating from the boy. It had to be the truth.

At the time, even if someone had explained to the young Jorgen the emotion he’d felt in his heart right then, he would’ve vehemently denied it. But now, in his twilight years, Jorgen smiled as he recalled that moment—he’d felt burning jealousy toward the boy who’d become an Einherjar at such a young age, as well as fear and anxiety about that boy surpassing him.

“It’s nice to meet you, Big Brother Jorgen. I look forward to your guidance from here on out.” The boy named Skavidr bowed his head once more.

“Sure,” Jorgen replied dismissively. He didn’t know why, but he was getting more and more irritated by the minute. His pride wouldn’t allow him to let it show, of course, but his aggravation had already mounted to the point that he could barely contain it. This boy had seemed to rouse an instinctive response within Jorgen.

“You said you were an Einherjar?” Jorgen muttered.

“Yes, sir. I received ‘Dainsleif, The Bloody Blade’ from Angrboda.”

“That so? Dainsleif... Then you’re probably pretty good with a sword, I reckon.” An Einherjar’s area of expertise depended on the rune they’d received, but with a name like that, there was no doubt that it was combat-oriented.

“Well, more or less,” Skavidr answered.

“Really now? Then to commemorate your induction, how about we head over there, and you can show me exactly how good you are.” Jorgen jabbed a finger over at the courtyard nearby. He wanted to see that one-in- a-million power for himself—no, truthfully he just wanted to beat this annoying kid senseless. That was it, really.

“That’s perfect. I’ve actually been wanting to spar with you ever since I first saw you, you know.” The corners of Skavidr’s mouth turned up in a daring grin. That pissed Jorgen off even more. Was he insinuating that he didn’t even see the runeless Jorgen as a threat?! Perhaps he intended to assert his superiority once and for all by defeating his so-called “big brother” right here.

“You tittle shit!” Of course, Jorgen had had the exact same intention, but this child was looking down on him as the kind of weakling he could easily beat. To Jorgen, there was no greater humiliation—and no greater justification to make him kneel.

“Then it’s decided. Follow me.” With a jerk of his chin, Jorgen headed to the courtyard.

Bruno’s mansion was just as spacious as his position might suggest, and his gardens were no exception. When they reached the courtyard, several of his subordinates had just finished sweeping up the fallen leaves strewn on the ground.

“Yo, Jorgen,” said one of his sworn older brothers, Brimir, as soon as he approached. “This the newbie?”

“Yeah, his name’s Skavidr, and he’s an Einherjar, apparently,” Jorgen replied with a shrug. If he had to evaluate Brimir honestly, he’d have said he was an ordinary man who was as lacking in intelligence as he was in skill with the blade, but he’d received Bruno’s Chalice half a year before Jorgen had, thus Jorgen had to call him “Big Brother” even though they were the same age. “Under the Chalice, shouldn’t ability take precedence over everything else?!” he wanted to argue, but he knew if he didn’t comply, he’d get an earful, so he begrudgingly went along with it. Being in Bruno’s Chalice family was more trouble than it was worth.

“Whoaaa! An Einherjar?! Oh yeah, come to think of it, I did hear something through the grapevine,” Brimir replied in a shocked tone.

“Oh yeah?” Jorgen was always polishing up his sword and bow techniques whenever he had a spare moment, so he didn’t concern himself with gossip.

“You didn’t know?! Well, it’s just a rumor, but the palace is all abuzz. They say he’s our first Einherjar in ten years!”

“Interesting,” Jorgen lied.

“I was sure that he’d be assigned to Uncle Helblindi’s family instead of here!”

“You’d normally think that, wouldn’t you?” On this point alone, Jorgen was in agreement. Talented warriors ought to be sent to the battlefield instead—including warriors hke himself. It was a waste of precious resources to keep them relegated to the sidelines. It even made Jorgen wonder if perhaps Farbauti just didn’t know how to use his subordinates efficiently, as disrespectful a notion as that was.

“So, what are you doing leading around the Einherjar, little bro? Showing him around the mansion?”

“Nah, I figured I’d give Mister Einherjar here a chance to show what he’s made of.”

“Oooh...” Brimir’s eyes sparkled with excitement. The other subordinates on cleanup duty had the same expectant looks on their faces. They were all impressionable young men, so naturally, they’d want to see an Einherjar in action.

“The strongest of our group against a young Einherjar, huh? Now that sounds hke fun. Hey, you guys, go call everyone else over here! An event hke this needs a bigger crowd than just us!”

“R-Roger!” The subordinates lowest on the totem pole scattered to spread the word, and in no time at all, the courtyard was filled to the brim with spectators. For Jorgen, that was just perfect. It didn’t matter whether this kid was an Einherjar or not—the more people that witnessed Jorgen pound him into the ground, the better. Everyone, even the gods above, would finally see his true potential!