* * *

An operational map lay spread across a large table inside the tent. Several people were present, and Valeri was looking down at the map, working out strategies, tactics, and operations.

Outside came the sounds peculiar to a military camp: senior soldiers and noncommissioned officers shouting in the distance, cartwheels rattling along, hooves clopping, and weapons clattering against one another.

Still, the tent’s thick canvas provided some insulation, muffling all those sounds.

Then the entrance flap lifted, and the noise rushed into the tent. The flap fell again, shutting it out.

A man had entered. He looked to be just entering middle age, with short blond hair, blue eyes, and a powerful build that suggested typical Nord ancestry.

He looked deeply shocked. More precisely, his face reflected a mixture of anger, disappointment, and other emotions.

“Why would you make that decision? It was never even discussed at the meeting! You didn’t say a word to me!”

“Lower your voice. I don’t want to hear it.”

Something surged up inside the blond man at Valeri’s cold words. He barely swallowed it back before lowering his voice.

“... But, Your Highness. If you burn cities and massacre their people, who will surrender to you after this?”

“The tide has already turned. If they refuse to surrender, I’ll kill them all.”

“H-how can you... Your Highness, five thousand people live in that city...”

“And? I gave them a chance. I told them to hand over the Fifth Prince’s son. They were the ones who tried to deceive me by putting forward innocent children. They intended to betray me from the beginning.”

“Even so... even so, give me just five hundred soldiers, and I’ll find him within a week. Whatever the circumstances, burning the entire city—please reconsider...”

“I can’t waste a whole week hunting down one little brat. Time is everything when moving an army. Wasting time puts us at a disadvantage, and a disadvantage means needless losses. Don’t make promises you can’t answer for.”

Nothing Valeri said was wrong. That left the man with less and less to say.

“... Are you really going to do it?”

“Listen carefully. I would sooner burn a city and massacre its people than sacrifice a single soldier of mine. If this happens again, I’ll do the same. That’s who I am. This isn’t simply how I think. It’s the kind of person I’ve always been, Arne.”

The man named Arne seemed to realize that words would never persuade Valeri. Conflicting emotions crossed his face, changing his expression from moment to moment.

Then, with an utterly calm face and a bitter smile, he spoke.

“Hey, Valeri.”

“...”

“Do you really have no heart, just like people say? A person shouldn’t behave like that. How can anyone do such a thing?”

Arne seemed to have been holding a great deal inside. In truth, Valeri had known, but had coldly ignored it all this time. Now it seemed to have erupted.

“Eight whole years. For eight years, I’ve given you all my loyalty and followed no one but you. Yes, you’ll become king. You don’t know defeat. But someone like you is supposed to lead people to paradise? I don’t want to go to that kind of paradise.”

Arne seemed to have made a firm resolve. Yet Valeri’s gaze as he watched him remained utterly merciless, without the slightest flicker.

That unwavering gaze filled Arne with despair. He drew a dagger from inside his clothes. It was one Valeri had given him.

Valeri’s closest aides rose to intervene, but Valeri himself lifted a hand to stop them.

Arne spoke.

“You’ve done nothing wrong. You’re a prince of the sacred House Vǫlsungr, after all. I’m the one at fault. I misjudged you. But... please, don’t burn the city. I’m begging you. I’ll be watching from beyond the grave.”

With that, Arne slit his own throat without hesitation, using the very dagger Valeri had given him.

He crumpled to the ground, blood spurting from his neck. The wound was so grave that first aid would have been useless. He died within moments.

Valeri remained still for a while before speaking.

“Clear that away.”

A short time later, he burned the city. Screams and cries seemed to fill the entire sky as raging flames swallowed it whole.

The roaring of the blaze sounded like a waterfall crashing down.

Those hot, hate-filled flames were reflected in Valeri’s cold, sky-blue eyes.

Valeri opened his eyes. The room was dark, though a little light filtered in. It was dawn, the first day of his stay with the ducal House Viðing.

The room was furnished quite well. There was a chest of drawers, a desk, a chair, and even a clean brass mirror.

It had been an unpleasant dream, but he quickly shook it off and rose. As always, he first put his bedding in order, then opened the window shutters.

The window was very small. The annex served a military purpose, forming part of the citadel’s outer wall.

The view outside was not as pleasant as the one at Winslow. Still, looking out over the city beyond the moat had its own modest appeal.

Here and there across the city, white smoke curled up from chimneys.

He poured water from a pitcher into a basin and gave himself a quick wash. Sweeping back his hair, he looked in the mirror. Valeri disliked the sight of himself in it, so he took the mirror down and laid it facedown on the chest of drawers.

He left his room and headed to the dining hall on the ground floor. Meat from the animals slaughtered for yesterday’s feast, freshly baked bread, fresh ham and cheese, and soup were being served. With the feast having ended early, there was food to spare.

There were a few people there, though not many, and all looked much older than Valeri—at least in their thirties.

Some had bushy beards; others had scars all over their faces and hands. These were knights with the air of seasoned veterans—the sort who, properly armed, could slaughter an entire village single-handedly.

No one tried to pick a fight, but they stared at Valeri openly. One of them spoke.

“The bowls are over there.”

Valeri gave him a slight bow of the head, then took a bowl and plate and helped himself to food.

That was the difference between the barracks and the annex. In the barracks, rations were dished out; in the annex, one could eat as much fresh food as one pleased.

He found a suitable seat and began eating. His only utensils were his hands and a dagger. Even the solid bits in the soup he picked out with his fingers.

No one spoke to him. In time, even the lingering stares turned away.

Those who knew one another might have talked among themselves, leaving Valeri out of it, but they did not do that either. It was early, and by nature they all tended to keep to themselves.

“How old are you?”

The man who had pointed out the tableware earlier asked from a seat some distance away.

“Fourteen.”

The man showed no particular surprise. He merely nodded.

“Fine horse you have. What breed?”

“I don’t know.”

Again, the man simply nodded. That ended the conversation, without so much as an exchange of names.

Those who had finished eating rose and left, while others came in.

Each had his own duties. The duke’s knights managed their horses, squires, and soldiers, patrolled the city’s surroundings, dealt with incidents and accidents, and carried out whatever orders the duke gave them.

Even when there was nothing to do, remaining on standby for orders was a duty in itself.

Valeri had no immediate duties. He was not one of the duke’s knights, nor did he quite seem to be a guest making a brief visit. And if he was staying in the annex, he was no ordinary household guest either.

Did that leave him uneasy about his position? Valeri did not concern himself with such things. For now, he intended to look around the city.

He finished his meal and rose. Draping his short cloak around himself and strapping his sword to his waist, he left the annex. He had drawn little attention inside, but now he felt eyes on him from every direction.

They belonged to servants crossing the courtyard, other employees, household guests, and the like.

Normally he would have paid them no mind, but this time Valeri examined each of them carefully, as though searching for someone. No one caught his eye.

Just then, the drawbridge lowered and the gates opened. Those assigned to guard duty left the citadel to relieve the previous shift. Valeri followed them out.

The relief guards scattered toward their respective posts. Rather than follow any of them, Valeri walked along the canal.

A quick look around revealed that Torvik had many wooden buildings in the Nord style, with peaked roofs whose edges extended far downward.

Some houses had painted round shields hanging on their outer walls, indicating that freemen lived there.

After following the canal for a while, Valeri changed direction and took a main street. If there was a market, he intended to look around it.

Many people were already beginning their work in the early morning. He followed some people hauling carts, and sure enough, he came upon a market.

Stalls crowded around a square. Several large stone buildings stood nearby, along with a tall, narrow wooden temple in the distinctive Nord style.

Many people went to the temple to present offerings and mourn the dead gods.

Valeri had no particular intention of mourning them, but he stopped inside briefly to look around.

In the center of the temple stood a long hearth enclosed by large stones. Since the building was wooden, the fire was kept low, its gentle flames spreading warmth.

Around it lay offerings of all kinds of food, flowers, copper coins, and assorted other objects. Priests came and went, tidying them and collecting them.

Suddenly, Valeri remembered his dream that morning: Arne pleading desperately, the flames swallowing the city.

He left a little money beside the hearth and walked out of the temple.

Not particularly fond of crowds, Valeri turned into an alley before the market got fully underway.

Following it all the way through brought him to another canal, with a water gate nearby. He could see guards.

They seemed to have just changed shifts and were about to open the water gate, but something appeared to be wrong. There seemed to be a dispute among them.

He had not meant to eavesdrop, but their raised voices carried all the way to where he stood.

“Hey, you fucking bastard. You really think everything I say is bullshit, don’t you?”

“... No. I just don’t want to harass people for no reason.”

“A reason? You little shit. Don’t play word games with me.”

One large soldier grabbed a fellow soldier by the collar and repeatedly struck his helmet in a deliberately insulting manner. It might not hurt, but having someone hit your helmet was deeply unpleasant.

“You little shit! You little shit! How many! How many! Chances! Have I! Given you! And you! Fucking! Ignore me! What! Makes you! So! Damn! Special?!”

He punctuated his words with blows to the helmet, knocking it askew. The other soldier offered no resistance, occupied entirely with straightening it, only to have it knocked crooked again.

Then the large soldier delivered a hard upward blow, much like a slap across the face. The chin strap came loose, and the helmet flew off entirely.

It struck the ground and rolled to Valeri’s feet.

CLANG! CLANG! CLATTER...

Everyone’s gaze naturally turned to Valeri, meeting his eyes as he watched them.

“Hey! You there! Enjoying the show?!”

“W-wait. Skard, isn’t that the bastard? From last night...”

“What?”

The bareheaded soldier, still held by the collar, turned toward Valeri as well. Valeri’s eyes were fixed on him alone.

Quietly, Valeri picked up the helmet and approached. Holding it out, he spoke.

“Would you believe me if I said I came here just for you, Arne?”

“?”

Everyone’s eyes widened in bewilderment. They kept looking back and forth between Valeri and Arne.

Before his return to the past, the king had died when Valeri was twenty. He had lived in hiding with a thieves’ guild for about three years before meeting Arne. And then there had been those eight years.

Now Valeri was fourteen. Naturally, Arne was younger too, and with the helmet on, Valeri had not recognized him at once.

“H-how...”

Arne was about to ask how Valeri knew his name, but Valeri turned to Skard and his gang.

“Give us some room to talk alone.”

So bewildered was Skard that he unwittingly released Arne’s collar and stepped aside. The group headed toward the citadel, glancing back again and again.

Paying them no mind, Valeri straightened Arne’s clothes and placed the helmet in his hands.

“Are people giving you trouble?”

“W-well... But how do you know me?”

Valeri considered what to say. Yet no explanation came to mind. Instead, words buried deep in his chest began to emerge, like a seedling putting forth shoots.

Perhaps the heart he thought he had killed himself was not entirely devoid of life after all.

“Well, perhaps I should just say that I know you. Your honesty is something I truly admire. But if you’d turned a blind eye just once—just one last time—I would never have done it again.”

“What... are you talking about?”

“Nothing, really. Let’s be friends from now on.”

“... Pardon?”

Valeri smiled and held out his hand. Perhaps because he had put things to rest at Winslow before leaving, smiling came quite naturally to him now.

But Arne was so baffled that he did not know what to do. So Valeri took his hand and forced it into a handshake.

It was an extremely awkward handshake. From Arne’s perspective, it could hardly have been anything else.

Astonishing rumors carried on the wind, a shocking first glimpse the night before, and now an incomprehensible first encounter. For Arne, that was who Valeri was at this moment.

Part 4 — A Reunion for One Alone. End.