Hyakuren no Haou to Seiyaku no Valkyria - Volume 24 - Chapter 3.4

“Everyone made their peace?” He looked around at his sworn children. They all wore determined faces as they nodded. They would follow him dutifully to the grave. He wanted to apologize, but at the same time, their unwavering loyalty warmed his heart.

“All right, boys, this is our last stand! Let’s fight until the very end and drink together once more when we meet in Valhalla!”

The entire faction erupted in vigorous cries and charged toward the enemy lines.

“Your head’s mine!” Jorgen roared as he immediately cut down the nearest enemy.

“Haa!”

“Guh!”

After taking out several more, he cursed inwardly. His body practically refused to listen to his commands. His bronze sword, normally so light in his hands, felt several times heavier.

“Haa...ugh...” He’d hardly even begun, and he was already winded. His exhaustion was reaching its peak. His stamina was at its limit. He was running purely on a combat high at this point.

“Out of the way, grunts.” A man who looked to be around forty shoved an enemy soldier aside and stepped up to the front lines. “You guys are only good for building a wall of corpses.”

One glance and Jorgen knew that he was no pushover. The aura he exuded dwarfed all the other enemy soldiers present. There was only one man Jorgen knew of who could give off such presence.

“Commander of the Three Flames, Rasmus...” He was the strongest of the three Einherjar the Horn Clan possessed, known collectively as the “Three Flames.” He was also the person Jorgen least wanted to encounter right now.

“Oh, so you’ve heard of me, have you?” The moment those words left Rasmus’s mouth, his figure vanished from Jorgen’s vision.

Ting!

It was entirely due to luck that Jorgen managed to block the attack. He’d chosen to guard his neck based on pure instinct, and it just happened to be the correct move. If Rasmus had gone for his torso instead, Jorgen would’ve been making his way to Valhalla right about now. Rasmus’s approach had been terrifyingly fast.

“Not bad. Then how about this?” A flurry of attacks came without a moment’s reprieve, one after another. Every one of them was blindingly fast. It didn’t just seem that way due to Jorgen’s exhaustion—each of the attacks really were on a level he’d never experienced. Not to mention...

“Damn, they’re powerful too!" Each of Rasmus’s blows was strong enough to make Jorgen’s hands go numb, leaving him barely able to maintain a grip on his sword. He’d managed to block them by focusing solely on the trajectory of the sword, but his shot nerves wouldn’t allow him to keep that up for much longer.

“Gaah!” Finally, Rasmus’s sword grazed Jorgen’s right brow. The wound itself wasn’t deep, but its location couldn’t be worse—the blood flowing from the wound got in his eyes, rendering him unable to see. For an opponent as strong as Rasmus, that made all the difference between life and death.

“Hmph, you’ve put up quite the fight against me so far. Are you the ‘Skavidr’ I’ve heard so much about?” Rasmus grinned in amusement as he held his sword at the ready once more. Jorgen merely spat in disgust, partly from how casually his opponent was treating him, and above all, from being mistaken for that boy. It felt like he was seriously being underestimated.

“Jorgen. That’s my name.”

“Jorgen? Ah, the sixth-ranked. For you to possess that level of skill without a rune, I’m impressed.” His surprise seemed genuine enough, and maybe he’d thought that was a compliment, but all it did was irritate Jorgen further.

“How dare you look down on me! I’ll wipe that grin off your face!” Fueled by his anger, Jorgen roused his tired body to action. He probably only had one more attack left in him, but he’d be damned if he wasn’t going to make that one attack count.

“I like the fire in your eyes. It lets me know that now I can get serious.” Rasmus narrowed his eyes like a beast.

“Give me a break,” Jorgen thought. “You’re telling me he’s just as impenetrable mentally as he is physically? How am I supposed to fight against someone with no openings?!”

“Here I come!” Rasmus approached. Once again, his advance was so fast Jorgen didn’t have time to think of a plan.

Ting! Ting! Tingtingting!

Just like last time, Jorgen was forced on the defensive instantly. But he couldn’t give up.

“Dammit!” Cursing and gritting his teeth in desperation, he withstood the onslaught of attacks. Though Jorgen was loath to admit it, Rasmus was more skilled. However, there were no absolutes in war, and there was no guarantee that the strongest would always win. Jorgen had learned that firsthand in his battle with Skavidr ten years ago.

A strike from Rasmus repelled Jorgen’s sword, and Rasmus prepared a follow-up strike while Jorgen was open. It was the same technique he’d used to graze Jorgen’s eyebrow earlier, so it was probably a signature move of his. Out of all of Rasmus’s practiced movements, it was also the sharpest—he executed it with perfect timing.

“I can’t avoid it—but what if I take it on purpose?!”

Slish!

Severe pain shot through Jorgen’s left shoulder as the sword stabbed through him. Contrary to expectations, however, he ignored it and sliced at Rasmus with all his might. An eye for an eye—against an enemy as overwhelmingly powerful as Rasmus, the only way to win was to strike at the same time he did.

“Wha?!”

“Agh?!” Rasmus quickly let go of the hilt of his sword and crouched down on the spot, evading Jorgen’s last-ditch attack. If he’d taken the time to yank the sword out of Jorgen’s shoulder first, he would’ve been too late. However, the decision to let go of his lifeline during a life-or-death battle likely wasn’t one a normal person would’ve been able to make.

Slish!

“Gahh?!” A shock ran through Jorgen’s solar plexus, rendering him unable to breathe. Pain didn’t even begin to describe the sensation. It was pure agony. Unable to stand any longer, Jorgen crumpled to the ground.

“Ha ha... You surprised me there for a moment, Jorgen.” Rasmus’s voice came from above. Jorgen couldn’t budge an inch, but he had no regrets. He’d staked everything he had on that last attack, and if that didn’t do the trick, then that was just the gulf between them. Dying at the hands of such a powerful opponent was honestly all a warrior could ever ask for.

“Hmph.” Jorgen’s response was indignant.

Rasmus forcefully yanked out the sword lodged in Jorgen’s shoulder and sent a powerful kick to his jaw, flipping him over on his back. “Any last words?” he asked.

“None. Just get it over with.”

“Then let us meet again in Valhalla. Farewell.” With those cold parting words, Rasmus brought his sword down on top of Jorgen.

Just before Jorgen was run through, however, something sliced through the air. A single arrow pierced through the space where Rasmus had just been. A second, then a third arrow followed.

“Tch!” Clicking his tongue, Rasmus leaped backward. Jorgen could see a Wolf Clan flag flying atop the nearby cliff, and underneath that flag stood a young, blond-haired, blue-eyed boy. Several hundred soldiers were gathered behind him.

“Shit. Looks like we’ve got company. All right, Jorgen, I’ll concede victory to you this time. Let’s meet again on the battlefield soon.” With that, Rasmus and the Horn Clan Army were gone as quickly as they had arrived. It seemed he’d immediately realized he was outmatched and had made a swift decision—with a sizable Wolf Clan force joining in from the side and having the high ground, the Horn Clan Army was at a clear disadvantage. However, that ability to judge the situation quickly only proved how formidable an opponent he was. If he’d taken but a moment later to make his decision, the Horn Clan Army might have suffered many more casualties. As one would expect from the Commander of the Three Flames, his judgment was as sharp as his skill with a sword.

Jorgen had lost this battle on all counts. But he wasn’t the type to mope about his losses either.

“One day, I’ll return the favor, Rasmus.” Looking up at the sky, he swore to himself that he would get his revenge. He would never have imagined in his wildest dreams that later, the two would become amicable rivals, crossing blades not only on the battlefield but in the world of politics, and eventually they’d become drinking buddies who laughed and joked about the past they’d shared.

“I’m glad to see you safe and sound, Uncle Jorgen.” Once the battle was over and his shoulder had been tended to, the boy from earlier, Loptr, came over and spoke to Jorgen. As far as Jorgen had heard, Loptr was still only eighteen—but a young lad, by all accounts. His face still retained traces of his boyhood, but deep in his eyes, Jorgen felt a chill, as if the boy was observing every move Jorgen made.

“Yeah, thanks for your help back there. But Loptr, why are you here, anyway?” The Wolf Clan Army should’ve all been on their way back to Iarnvidr right now, so it was odd for him to be here instead.

“I got permission from dad to stay here for just today. Upon calculating your thought patterns, Uncle Jorgen, and the likely thought patterns of Rasmus, of whom I’ve heard many stories, I determined that there would likely be a battle in this area.”

“What the...?!” Jorgen sat there open-mouthed, unable to speak. Loptr might’ve said it like it was no big deal, but it was preposterous. That would mean that all this time, both Jorgen and Rasmus had been dancing in the palm of this boy’s hand. . .no, not just him and Rasmus, but the Horn Clan Army supreme commander and patriarch Hrungnir as well! If that were true, the boy possessed a frightening tactical eye.

“No matter how good you think someone is, there’s always someone better.” Jorgen heaved a sigh. Back in his youth, he hadn’t doubted for a single second that he had the stuff to be a hero of legend. But by now, he’d encountered so many freakishly powerful people that his pride was already in tatters.

“So this is the true strength of an Einherjar. ” Every day seemed to hammer home the point further that he was just a regular guy. Unlike the Einherjar, he could never be a flower that bloomed on the battlefield, no matter how hard he tried. Reluctant as he was to admit it, he knew it all too well.

Having performed splendidly as rear guard, allowing the Wolf Clan Army to beat a safe retreat, he came back to Iarnvidr that day as a hero. However, ironically enough, that was also the day that he gave up on being a hero for good.

The days and years that followed were one hardship after another. The territory the Wolf Clan possessed dwindled to a third of its original size. Oppressed on both the east and west flanks, the Wolf Clan’s flame was all but snuffed out. Though no one had dared say so, everyone was despairing in their hearts, convinced that the Wolf Clan was finished and that they’d be wiped off the map soon enough.

Just as things were looking their worst, a savior appeared before them. He was the true hero. When Jorgen watched him in action, he felt the excitement he’d felt back in his youth. Even now, Jorgen was convinced that he’d been put on this earth to support this savior. He was also now grateful to Bruno from the bottom of his heart. Without those days of harsh guidance and discipline, he would’ve been ill-prepared for the days that were to come.

But now, even those days were far behind him. Farbauti, Bruno, Skavidr, Rasmus—and most likely Loptr as well—had all already made their journey to Valhalla. He alone remained, idly wasting away the days. Part of him still wished he could’ve gone out in a blaze of glory like them. But the longer he lived, the more stories he’d have under his belt. That was why when it was finally his time, he wouldn’t be afraid. He’d look forward to sharing all those stories with his comrades in Valhalla when they reunited once more.