It was Valeri’s second day in Cliffden. He was staying in the temple, which had no priest; the villagers took turns looking after it. As a result, he had a space large enough to accommodate dozens of people all to himself.

Like Nord buildings in general, the temple was made entirely of wood, its timbers fitted together without a single nail. In the center, charcoal glowed red in a long hearth, giving off heat. Its faint crackling sounded rather like rain.

Beyond the door came the faint sound of waves, washing onto the shore and receding in a steady, repeating rhythm. Like any temple, the place felt quiet, solemn, and reverent.

It was dawn. Valeri lay beside the hearth beneath a blanket. He was fully awake, but his mind was empty as he stared at a single spot. Carvings on the pillars and their bases caught his eye: a dragon breathing fire, and a warrior standing against it.

When he turned his head, he could see the altar. Pictures adorned the walls, along with spears, swords, axes, helmets, shields, and other fighting gear, either hanging up or neatly arranged. In the faint glow of the charcoal, it all looked a little eerie.

They hardly seemed suitable offerings for an altar, but it occurred to him that they were probably equipment once used by the fallen. Having been defeated by the king, these people could not offer him their allegiance even if they wished to. Perhaps this was a form of solace for those who could never reach heaven.

Valeri got up. He folded his blanket, rolled it up and tied it with a cord, then left the temple in his shirt.

Quite a few of the village’s buildings were newly built. What had once been an outpost was now being transformed into a place for people to live. Although the villagers had cultivated vegetable gardens, they lived mainly by gathering, hunting, and fishing, so no one was up at dawn. All was quiet.

Valeri went outside the village to the nearby river, where he washed his face and gave his body a cursory wipe-down. The bitterly cold water cleared his head. After returning to the temple to warm himself, he put on his clothes and equipment. Then he went to the cowshed and brought Snow out, intending to leave alone without anyone knowing.

“Valeri.”

Someone had called his name. Not Wid, but his real name.

He turned to find Thorvald, who threw something at him without warning. It flew almost straight toward him. Valeri caught it one-handed, but its weight made him lean slightly to one side. It was a kind of felling axe, though the Nord patterns engraved on its blade suggested it was meant for battle.

“That was my axe. I have no use for it anymore.”

It had only been two days, but Valeri had worked in this village as both a logger and a carpenter. Having come as a patrol officer, he should really have done no more than inspect the place and move on. For various reasons, however, he had stayed two days and helped with their work. Still, did that mean he could wield an axe like this properly?

Thorvald approached and handed him a small pouch as well. He had thrown the axe, yet he delivered this by hand. Once Valeri heard what it was, though, the reason became clear.

“This is dragon’s blood. Not just any dragon’s, but the magically infused blood of the infamous evil dragon Fafnir. Your great-grandfather slew it himself and took this blood. After founding the kingdom, the founding king bestowed it upon only the five clans honored for their service.”

Of the many tribes that had fought in the War of Conquest, those five clans had made the greatest contributions and wielded the most influence. They were Elding, Wylfing, Starling, Bathung, and Jording. Two had fallen in the War of Beasts, leaving only three.

Thorvald belonged to the Elding clan. Tracing Valeri’s ancestry back, the wife of his forebear Vǫlsungr had also been an Elding. In other words, Valeri’s great-great-great-grandmother had belonged to the clan.

But dragon’s blood... Valeri had heard of it, yet this was his first time seeing it. Drinking it had one of two outcomes: superhuman strength, or death.

Not all Einheri had done so, but some had drawn forth superhuman power by drinking dragon’s blood. Those people had not lived long. Whether their bodies could not withstand that immense power, or whether it was the evil dragon’s curse, as the legends claimed, no one knew. In short, dragon’s blood forced power out rather than awakening it by normal means.

Had Thorvald drunk this to wield thunder and lightning before Valeri’s return?

“I have no more battles to fight. It belongs with its original owner—or rather, his descendant.”

“You’ve already helped me a great deal. The axe is one thing, but this is too much.”

“Take it all the same. You never know what life will bring. Sometimes there are things you must do, even at the cost of your heart. Use it with care. I hope it serves you well.”

At the cost of his heart...

Valeri looked down at the small porcelain bottle inside the pouch. It held blood. The blood of the dragon his ancestor had slain.

“By the way, don’t you use a carpenter’s hammer in battle?”

“What are you talking about? I’ve used axes and swords all my life. I guarantee you, once you can wield a felling axe freely with one hand, you won’t have an equal in this world.”

A felling axe could be used in battle, but it was far too heavy to wield one-handed. Battle-axes were made lighter for precisely that reason. Yet in Valeri’s memory, Thorvald had fought with a short-handled carpenter’s hammer.

In truth, someone of Thorvald’s caliber could wield any weapon. Still, Valeri suspected he had chosen the hammer as a symbol of vengeance because the villages he had built had been destroyed. Now, none of that was necessary. Neither thunder and lightning, nor using a hammer as a weapon.

“... Very well. I gratefully accept. Give Gudrun my regards. Tell her I hope she grows up healthy and wise.”

“Mm.”

Valeri mounted his horse and left the village, taking the road north. When he looked back, Thorvald was standing tall as the trees of Thunder Forest, watching him. Valeri raised a hand, and Thorvald raised his in return. Beyond the village at the eastern edge of the land, the sun was just rising over the distant horizon.

First he had stopped at Belfort, then met a ranger, spent a night in Hemsley village, and stayed two days after arriving in Cliffden. His next destination was Moltontower, home to a frontier knight.

From a distance, he could see an ancient stone defensive tower atop a mountain, half of it collapsed. A small village lay below, with a waterwheel turning at its mill. People had planted vegetables, and sheep grazed in the fields.

When Valeri appeared on horseback on a hillside in the full afternoon sun, a young shepherd was the first to spot him. Sitting in the field with the sheep roaming free, the shepherd merely stared. Even when Valeri rode over, the child did not get up.

“Is this Moltontower?” Valeri asked.

The young shepherd only nodded.

“I’m the territorial patrol officer. Where is the frontier knight?”

The shepherd raised a hand and pointed toward the village.

“Can’t you speak?”

The shepherd shook their head.

“Then speak.”

“Yes...”

“Where in the village is the frontier knight?”

“At this time of day... I think he’ll be working in the fields.”

“Doing what?”

“Farmwork, of course. You have to work the fields to eat. Don’t you farm, sir?”

The shepherd looked up at Valeri as though he were the strange one. What more was there to say to a little country bumpkin? Valeri ended the conversation and rode across the gently sloping field.

As he neared the village, people straightened from their work and watched him. He rode over to a large field and addressed the people there.

“I’m the territorial patrol officer. Which of you is the frontier knight?”

They looked at one another before one man raised his hand.

“Me. I’m the frontier knight.”

Valeri looked at him. He was a typical peasant, not remotely like a man who trained in combat. Momentarily bewildered, Valeri glanced at the defensive tower on the mountain, then back at the peasant-like knight.

“What about the tower? Why are you down here farming?”

“What about it?”

“I mean, why are you doing this instead of guarding the tower?”

“Why should I guard the tower?”

What was he talking about? More bewildered than ever, Valeri calmly laid out the proper argument.

“... Isn’t a frontier knight supposed to watch and guard the border, and ride out to fight the enemy when necessary? The tower serves that purpose. Surely you ought to maintain and guard it.”

“Oh, come now, don’t be absurd. Just getting up and down that rough terrain is misery enough. And the tower’s so dilapidated that staying inside is an ordeal. We do all this to put food on the table. Why would I go to a place like that? My father stopped going up there, and I’ve only been a handful of times in my entire life.”

“...”

For a moment, Valeri’s brain nearly stopped working. Neglecting his duty was outrageous enough, but the man was so shameless about it that Valeri was left speechless.

Rather than lose his temper, however, he considered the matter carefully. This place had originally been meant to guard against Viking raids. Long before the War of Conquest, Vikings had carried out sporadic raids. The tower had probably been built to stop them, or to watch for them. Now that the Vikings would no longer come, the villagers apparently just lived like this.

In principle, the frontier knight before him was failing in his duty. In practical terms, he was a man doggedly making a living. Valeri wondered why he needed to be a frontier knight at all—but then again, was there any need to strip him of his position? Here, the title seemed to mean something like village headman. He concluded that this was a matter for Duke Sven to judge, not him.

“Where’s your horse?”

“Horse? You thought I’d have one because I’m a knight? My father sold it when I was little. He used the money to buy livestock and farm tools, plows and hoes and the like. See those sheep over there? We started with five lambs. Raised them on women’s milk. Some died, some survived, and they multiplied into that flock. If we hadn’t sold the horse, we’d have starved first. If you’re going to hold me to account, tell His Grace exactly what I’ve told you.”

For a knight, a horse was his pride and his status. Valeri could hardly imagine how it must have felt to sell it, but the proceeds seemed to have been put to good use. Still, if this was the reality, Duke Sven’s much-vaunted force of forty-two knights was probably smaller than he claimed. Around twenty knights stayed in the annex at Torvik Castle. The rest were viscounts, barons, the knights serving under them, and frontier knights like this man.

And levying troops from a place like this? Valeri could see little point in it.

“I wasn’t asking to hold you to account.”

“Then can I get back to work?”

“Who am I to stop you? I merely asked what I needed to ask. I understand your circumstances.”

“Don’t take offense. It’s not often, but we do get patrol officers who make trouble for us now and then. Thank you for understanding. If you need somewhere to stay, make yourself at home in any house.”

“How many people are in your family?”

“Why?”

“If there are too many, I’ll just stay at the mill.”

“Let’s see... How many was it? Hey, how many are there in our family?”

“Twenty-four,” answered a young man who might have been his son or grandson. The family was so large because cousins lived together with the immediate family.

“I’ll stay at the mill. Please provide me with hay and food.”

“All right.”

Valeri turned his horse around. At the mill, he dismounted and went inside, only to find a man and woman hastily pulling on their clothes after hearing the hoofbeats.

“Well, isn’t this just perfect.”

“Wh-who are you?”

“The patrol officer. I’m staying here, so take your business elsewhere.”

“Ah... Yes, sir.”

The couple hurried out of the mill in a fluster. Having destroyed their romance, Valeri spent the night there. The villagers considerately blocked the channel that drove the waterwheel, so it was not noisy. All he could hear was the gentle burbling of the nearby stream.

The next day, Valeri replenished his supplies of cheese, dried mutton, vegetables, hay, and the like, then set off. He had visited everywhere he needed to. All that remained was to return to Torvik.

Staying in the city all the time had felt stifling, but venturing into the countryside had proved rather bewildering in its own ways. Even so, he felt that many good things had happened. He revisited those memories and reflected on Thorvald’s words.

Then, just as he was almost back at Torvik, he caught sight of the citadel’s high watchtower in the distance. An iron cage for prisoners hung from it, and someone was locked inside.

It was Knut.