Only now did it occur to him that loneliness was not an emotion, but a kind of pain.

If it were merely an emotion, surely he could manage it on his own. Yet he could not.

Loneliness, then, was not something to soothe and forget. It was something that needed healing.

To heal a wound, one applied the proper medicine, ate fresh food, and rested well. What, then, could heal loneliness?

The answer required little thought. Clearly, it was the love of family and the friendship of companions.

But a prince, a king, could have no friends, just as summer and winter could not exist at once.

And the Vǫlsungr clan was not even permitted a family.

The loneliness and sense of loss Valeri had carried since birth ate away at his heart. Still, they no longer turned to rage.

Once, he had answered the question of why he should live by ending his own life.

Now, however, as he had often told his friends, he was searching for another answer.

That was why he could not stay here long and bring harm to others. Once his identity as a prince became known, most people would bow their heads and obey—but not everyone.

Being a prince meant being someone to revere, and at the same time, someone who had to be eliminated.

Valeri did not mind if his own life was threatened. But his enemies would use every means at their disposal, inevitably bringing misfortune upon those around him.

So he decided to leave quietly.

Late that night, in a dark room lit only by a solitary candle burning quietly on the table, Valeri took up his pen.

He began writing a farewell letter to his friends. To my dear friends...

<... Arne, I believe your honesty is a truly rare quality. Gringen has settled down, but wherever many people live, conflicts great and small naturally arise. I am certain that if you use your honesty to set things right, you will be a light to many. The company's building is yours, and I think you should take over as commander...>

<... Skard, I know you will not let it trouble you. Still, there is one small burden on my heart, so forgive me for trying to ease it, even in this way. I am sorry for insulting your parents before. Never again in my life will I insult anyone's parents. Please accept this as sincere repentance and atonement...>

Valeri also wrote down what he wished to say personally to Knut and Yorik.

After filling several sheets, he finished and hesitated as he went to sign his name at the bottom. But a moment later, he wrote it.

Vǫlsungar Valery Helgisson.

He folded the letter, slipped it into an envelope, and dripped red wax onto it to seal it. With nothing suitable to use as a seal, he simply pressed his cloak clasp, bearing the Valknutr emblem of an Einheri, into the wax. It was too large, leaving only part of the design impressed.

Valeri set down his pen and thought for a moment, then left a letter for House Winslow as well, thanking the earl, the countess, and Harald.

Once again, he melted red wax, let it drip, and stamped it with his cloak clasp.

Was that everything? Had he forgotten anything? Ah, there was still some lingering regret.

Valeri savored that small handful of regret, then rose.

He put on the navy-blue gambeson Lady Sibild had made him, his leather belt and gloves, and his boots. He armed himself with Wound, his dwarven steel sword, Thorvald's axe, and several utility daggers.

Travel rations, a waterskin, a few pieces of firewood and a flint, a little money for the road—he rolled these and his other supplies in a blanket and tied the bundle tight.

Lastly, before leaving the room, he blew out the candle. Darkness settled over everything, leaving nothing visible.

Though Valeri made no particular use of stealth, his footsteps made no sound.

Outside the castle, the moonless night was pitch-dark. Yet he descended the hill without hesitation, as though he could see his surroundings clearly, and went straight to the stable.

He fitted Snow with tack, loaded his travel gear, and took plenty of fodder and other supplies before leading the horse outside.

The gate was closed and the drawbridge raised. Valeri approached a guard.

“I have somewhere to go. Open the gate.”

The guard, who had been nodding off, jerked awake. He looked Valeri over, then started in astonishment and hurried to open the gate.

There was a little noise, but not enough to wake anyone from a deep sleep.

The gate opened and the drawbridge came down. Valeri mounted Snow at once. For now, he rode slowly, following the river around the edge of the city.

After some time, he reached the western gate and again asked for it to be opened. Guards were on duty there too, but what could they say when a prince ordered them to open it? The gate swung open, and at last Valeri left the city of Torvik.

Outside the city, even the scent of the wind seemed different. Fresher, perhaps. There was little wind at this hour of night.

He looked up. Without the moon, countless stars glittered as though they filled the entire sky. He could see the long sweep of the Milky Way, too, seeming to plunge diagonally into the horizon.

Travelers still asked the stars to guide them, or so it was said, but Valeri did not bother.

After admiring them for a moment, he continued along the dark road. Only the clop of hooves broke the silence. It felt as though everything else was asleep.

How far had he gone when he spotted a torch burning near a distant fork in the road?

He wondered who would be outside the city at this hour. Perhaps they were criminals.

Keeping somewhat on his guard, he rode slowly closer and found two unexpected people waiting for him. One sat on a horse; the other stood holding its reins.

Knut and Yorik.

“I knew you'd do this,” Knut said, looking at Valeri.

As soon as Valeri recognized them, emotion swelled in his chest so sharply that his heart ached. At the same time, he was bewildered.

“How did you know?”

“It was written all over your face. Just kidding. You always try to shoulder everything alone, so I knew you'd do this. I don't know much about it, but being a prince can't be all good, can it? It must be dangerous, for one thing, and that could put the people around you in danger too. I knew you'd take all of that into account. Besides, we're already in the north. You wouldn't have any reason to go farther north, so I figured you'd head south.”

Whether he had developed it from spending time with Valeri or had always possessed it, Knut had remarkable powers of deduction.

Valeri wondered if he had been that obvious. At the same time, the feeling of being understood made his heart flutter.

“Travel is several times harder without someone to attend to you, Your Highness. I don't know how to fight, but I can help you and the young master conserve your strength. Going through a war taught me that. In a fight, conserving your strength matters more than skill.”

“...”

Valeri gazed at the two of them, then gave a hollow little laugh, almost in disbelief. Yet his heart was full, brimming with an inexplicable happiness, like the stars filling the night sky above.

“... You don't even know where I'm going.”

“Wherever it is, people will live there.”

“The legend in my journal isn't finished yet, Your Highness.”

Whenever Knut spoke, Yorik invariably followed. For some reason, Valeri found it rather funny.

“By the way... I'm going to call you Valeri. Any objections?” Knut said.

From his mischievous smile, he seemed to be imitating something Valeri had said when they first met.

Valeri answered with a playful smile of his own.

“What if I do?”

“Well, should I get off my horse and bow my head, even now?”

“Hold on a moment,” Yorik said.

Valeri and Knut both turned toward him. A commoner had dared interrupt a conversation between a prince and a duke's son. Of course, neither of them minded in the slightest.

“Then... are you two cousins?”

Knut's mother had been a princess, a daughter of the previous king and Valeri's paternal aunt. So they were indeed cousins.

“Oh? We are, aren't we?”

Apparently the thought had never occurred to Knut; he reacted as though he had only just realized it. He did not seem to attach much importance to it, though.

“I thought there was something oddly similar about you two.”

“In what way?”

“How should I put it? You're both a little cold. You give the impression you look down on people.”

The two exchanged a look and laughed, both struck by how freely this fellow said whatever came into his head.

“If I really looked down on people, you wouldn't be able to talk like that.”

“Exactly. That's what makes it strange. You're alike in that way, too. To be more precise, you don't even treat anyone who falls short of your standards as human, but if they meet those standards, you seem to treat them well.”

It was a fairly accurate analysis.

“I can't really argue with that. It's a little irritating, actually.”

“What are those standards?” Valeri asked.

“Well, people who try to make something of their lives, I suppose. Whether they're living in the gutter like me, or whether they're good or bad, you seem to treat them well so long as they're trying. But you despise liars as though they were bugs.”

“You've been watching us uncomfortably closely.”

“That's how people like me survive.”

“By the way, weren't you seeing a maid?”

“How could a true man let a woman hold him back when he's setting out on a grand path?”

“What are you talking about...?”

“You're getting more glib by the day. Never at a loss for words. Never.”

“It's a little frightening. Anyway, let's get going.”

“Where are we going?”

“South.”

“Where in the south?”

“The royal capital, Valden. More precisely, a place near Valden called Ringstre.”

It was the place Earl Æthelred had mentioned before, where he said the rune mage Sigrún had entrusted Valeri to him. For now, Valeri was setting out to find his mother with that single lead to rely on.

“Valden? That's awfully far. How long will it take?”

“If the way is as free of obstacles as Yorik's tongue, about a week? Otherwise, it could take a month, or longer.”

It was a journey from almost the northernmost tip of the kingdom to its southernmost end. And unexpected things always happened on the road.

Above all, winter made travel difficult. Taking that into account, it could take six months, even a year.

Valeri turned his horse onto the left-hand road, heading south. Naturally, Knut and Yorik went with him.

“Why Valden in particular?”

Yorik looked up at Valeri as he walked, holding the reins of Knut's horse. The torchlight made Valeri's hair look red.

“To find my mother. I heard she's somewhere near there.”

“Hmm... I don't know.”

“Why?”

“Sometimes I think there are parents you're better off without. To my eyes, you're already a complete person, Your Highness.”

“Your rudeness surpasses Wid's—no, Valeri's swordsmanship,” Knut said.

It was not really a rebuke. He simply found it remarkable how Yorik could casually say things that left him flabbergasted now and then.

Of course, Valeri did not mind. If anything, that was precisely why they could call each other friends despite their difference in rank. Valeri was someone who could see Yorik's true worth, the light within him.

“Thank you. I understand what you mean, but I can't move on without finding out for myself. Even if it hurts me.”

From his bloodline to his birth and his very destiny, Valeri was covered in wounds. Resentment and vengeance flowed through his veins; loneliness and loss filled his heart.

But what of now? Like a weed that lived on to the bitter end, though broken and trampled, he needed only the slightest warmth, the smallest bit of moisture, to find the strength not to be ruled by rage.

Just as the stars shone all the brighter on the darkest nights, there was nothing to fear even on a midnight road, so long as friends walked beside him.

The pain of loneliness and the deepest wounds would one day heal, even if they left scars.

“By the way, what about Arne and Skard? I feel a little bad,” Knut said.

They could have come along if they wanted, but in truth, he had not thought of them. He could be rather thoughtless in some ways.

Perhaps because it was nighttime, the memory of Arne taking his own life before Valeri's return briefly flashed through his mind. Having a new city to call his own might be something of a gift to him. Valeri hoped it would.

“I left a letter telling Arne to run the company. With Skard helping him, it shouldn't be too difficult. He has both the ability and the character for it. What was the name of that man from the jewelers' guild? Anyway, I think they could work with him, too...”

“Since things have turned out this way, may I talk a little shit behind their backs?” Yorik asked.

“Where did that come from?”

“That Arne fellow, you know, I think he's a bit inflexible. He picks at every little thing in the strangest places. I mean, Your Highness and the young master don't say anything, so why does he have to butt in? And Skard's ignorant, but he doesn't even try to learn. If I'm going to be dealing with someone ignorant anyway, I'd rather it be Lord Gunnar—no, His Grace.”

Valeri and Knut burst out laughing at the sheer absurdity of it.

“Wow. You're the scariest of all, Yorik. If I step away, will you talk shit about me too?”

“Well... just remember that I'm the one holding the pen. It might be preserved for generations to come.”

He meant the journal he was keeping.

“Now that's truly chilling.”

“Let me see your journal sometime.”

“Absolutely not. No matter how exalted you are, you can't read someone else's journal.”

“Is there an edict to that effect?”

“No, but that's how it is. A journal has to belong to you alone to be a journal.”

“That's true.”

The three of them never stopped talking.

Alone, he would have traveled a road of utter loneliness through the deep night. Now, he was too busy talking to have a moment to feel lonely.