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HELHEIM SCANS
[Translator - Pot]
[Proofreader - Kawaii]
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Chapter 117: Have You Ever Resented the Young Master?
"A proper welcome for a guest must include alcohol. Anything less would be improper."
"Indeed. Otherwise, it would be a disgrace to the mountain’s customs."
Following this logic, Balthazar served Zizek and Rob a strong liquor.
"My god, what the hell is this?"
Zizek stuck out his tongue in shock, his throat burning.
"Ever heard of snake-infused liquor?"
Ptooey! Ptooey!
Zizek spat out the drink in horror.
"You put a snake in the liquor?"
"A venomous one, at that."
"I must have misheard you."
"You just don’t know good stuff. Whether it's medicine or liquor, poison used properly can have remarkable effects. That one over there has hornets, the next one has centipedes, and the one beside it—"
"If you're going to poison me, just do it painlessly, I beg you."
"Hahaha!"
Balthazar roared with laughter at Zizek’s reaction before pointing to the bottle on the far right.
"This one's mead."
"Please, for the love of all that’s holy, give me that one."
"Even my granddaughter thinks it’s too mild to drink."
At that, Tara, who had been sipping water, scoffed loudly.
"And they call you lowland folk tough."
"Son of a—"
But Zizek’s survival instincts won out over his pride.
"Gah! You call this mead? It’s strong as hell!"
He had downed the drink in one go, only to contort his face in disgust.
"What, did you think it would be as sweet as honey?"
"Dammit, I actually did."
"Just because the ingredient is sweet doesn’t mean the liquor will be."
"Then what about the ones made with venom?"
"Those are bitter too."
"Bloody hell."
Still, it was better than drinking something with snakes and centipedes floating in it.
So Zizek drank. And drank again.
.
.
.
"Huh?"
Zizek blinked. He had only closed his eyes for a second, yet the scene before him was sheer chaos.
"What the hell is going on?"
"Ah, you're awake? You were sleeping soundly, even drooling."
Amidst the half-shirtless mountain folk, Rob was drunkenly dancing with his arms slung over their shoulders.
"What the hell is he doing?"
"He’s been going on about how we're all friends now."
Balthazar chuckled.
"By the way, I heard your story. Turns out you’ve got a fiery heart too, huh?"
"Huh? What are you—?"
Balthazar pointed at Rob.
"Rob told me about you. You’ve taken in those with nowhere else to go and saved children who were on the brink of being sold off."
"Oh, that…"
Zizek scratched his head awkwardly, his vision spinning slightly.
"I just did what needed to be done."
"Not everyone feels that sense of duty, and even fewer act on it. Your actions alone are worthy of praise."
Zizek fell silent, embarrassed.
"To think that even in the underworld, there's a man who understands honor."
Balthazar mused with a satisfied smile.
"Sir, I realize now that I, too, had my own prejudices about the mountain peoples."
Zizek admitted honestly.
"Hmm. My great-uncle is a rare breed—an unusually wise man."
Knut remarked, calmly drinking his liquor without a change in expression.
"Were it not for his wisdom, our skulls would have long since been turned into our enemies' drinking cups."
He spoke of such grim matters with an unsettling composure.
"That’s right, Knut. Being alive is a good thing."
Balthazar said.
"Because as long as we're alive, we can drink like this, dream of revenge, and even reunite with people we never expected to meet again."
"My great-uncle speaks the truth."
Knut raised his cup.
"A toast."
"To survival!"
At their leader’s call, the mountain peoples lifted their cups in unison. The very same Eisenach warriors who had once aimed their blades and arrows at Zizek now looked at him and Rob with genuine smiles, as if they were old friends.
"…"
To Zizek, it was a strange sight indeed.
"Hmm. I'm starting to feel it."
Knut muttered.
Zizek stared at him in shock.
"Wait—you mean you've been getting drunk this whole time?"
"I never show it when I am."
Knut set down his cup with the same unreadable expression.
"Zizek."
"Yes?"
"I have a drinking habit. Will you indulge me?"
Zizek tilted his head slightly.
"Well, as long as you’re not planning to hit me, I don’t see why not."
"Nothing like that. I simply have a habit of telling old stories."
Zizek swallowed hard, noticing the way Balthazar and Tara's expressions grew heavy.
"I'm listening."
"…There was a boy. A year older than Allen, whom everyone adored."
Knut’s gaze drifted into the distance, lost in memory.
"He was my younger brother. A kind soul who would carry Tara on his back when she was still a baby."
Zizek didn’t dare ask what had happened to him. But the answer came soon enough.
"The day Angantyr’s forces attacked us, that boy was beheaded in my place."
Knut’s fingers trembled slightly around his cup, as though resisting the urge to crush it.
"Even now, I still see his face, the fear in his eyes, the forced smile he gave me as he pushed me away."
Zizek felt a lump in his throat as Knut continued.
"As his small head was sent flying into the sky, I nearly screamed. But my great-uncle held me back."
"…"
"I’ve grown strong enough now that I could tear those bastards apart with my bare hands. But I’m still in no position to take revenge."
His voice was quiet, but the weight of it was suffocating.
"The thing that fills me with the deepest despair… is knowing that even if I do get my revenge, my beloved brother will never come back."
Zizek realized that a person could weep without shedding a single tear.
"Knut."
Balthazar placed a reassuring hand on his grandnephew’s shoulder.
"One day, we will all become stars and meet again. When that time comes, we must be able to tell him how fiercely we lived and how thoroughly we avenged our people, don’t you think?"
Knut exhaled a long breath before finally responding.
"You are right, Great-Uncle."
Balthazar nodded, then suddenly muttered,
"…But the more I think about it, the more unbelievable it is. That Allenvert actually sent someone to find us. He’s changed—far too much. Then again, with the blood of the Duke running through his veins, combined with Lusatia’s brilliance, it’s only natural he would turn out so resourceful."
Zizek cautiously asked,
"What kind of person was the Young Master’s mother?"
"Truly extraordinary. If it weren’t for her marriage to the duke, I could have long since retired and spent my days as an old man in the back room."
"That much?"
"She was a woman of innate wisdom. And not just that—her eyes held the very stars within them."
Zizek was amazed. This elderly man, someone he deeply respected, held Lusatia in such high regard.
"She must have been a remarkable person."
"Remarkable? That’s an understatement!"
Balthazar let out a hearty laugh.
"There was no woman as beautiful as her, not in the Virgenhrid Mountains, not even in all of Grunewald. At times, we even wondered if she was a child of the fae."
"Well, I’ve heard that Young Master Allenvert himself is an exceptionally handsome man."
"He is boy so beautiful it is almost surreal. But more than that, I could hardly believe that such a face came from my brother’s bloodline. Hah!"
Balthazar erupted into laughter, but before long, tears welled at the corners of his eyes.
"…If Lusatia had never married, none of this would have happened."
His voice carried a deep, lingering sorrow.
"Even if that wretch had still dared to dream of treason, if Lusatia and I had put our heads together, would such a crushing defeat ever have come to pass?"
"…!"
"But without that marriage, Allenvert would never have been born."
Zizek could sense the turmoil in his words and hesitated before speaking.
"Sir… May I ask you something, though it may be an unforgivable question?"
Balthazar nodded.
"Alcohol allows us to bring up the words we’d otherwise never dare to say—that is its magic. I won’t rebuke you, so speak freely."
Zizek looked at Balthazar, Knut, and finally Tara before carefully voicing his question.
"Have you… ever resented Young Master Allenvert? If he had never been born, if that marriage had never taken place, your people would have been safe. Have you never thought of it that way?"
Knowing how insolent his words were, Zizek quickly added.
"I ask because, to be honest… if I were in your place, I might have had such thoughts, even if just a little."
"So that’s what you wanted to ask."
Balthazar let out a bitter smile.
"Then allow me to answer with the help of a little drink as well."
Though Zizek was already too drunk to sit properly, he forced himself to straighten his posture.
"I’m listening."
The old man stated singing a song.
“When I fell into the depths of despair,
Lost it all, left with nothing there.
My pride and convictions, they crumbled away,
Like dust in the wind, they just slipped away.
Though my body grew tired, my spirit held on,
For the children who needed me, I had to be strong.
I stood in the shadows, where the darkness would hide,
In the heart of Grunewald, where the memories reside.
Oh, we scavenged like rats, we crawled like spiders,
In the corners of this land, we were survivors.
Gnawing on scraps, trembling in fear,
But we held on tight, year after year.
I looked back at the home I could never reclaim,
A flicker of light, now just a name.
In the shadows we lingered, in the silence we stayed,
Dreams of the past in the night slowly fade.
When I fell into the depths of despair,
I found a reason to rise, a reason to care.
In the shadows of Grunewald, we made our stand,
With trembling hands, but hearts that still fanned the flame.”
Within those words lay the full weight of the suffering they had endured.
"How could I say that not even once did I feel resentment toward that child? That would be a lie."
But then, Balthazar asked.
"What crime did Allenvert ever commit? A child is never guilty simply for being born. Wouldn’t you agree?"
Zizek silently bowed his head.
"That is the truth."
"A boy once called a blessing to all… yet because of a tragedy that was never his fault, he was hated and resented by his own kin. Is that not too cruel a fate?"
"…"
"And then I heard Allenvert was suffering, terminal, undone… He broke, withdrew, into seclusion, his battle lost, his setting sun.."
Balthazar gently stroked his granddaughter Tara’s head.
"Poor thing. Cast into that vast castle, alone, with neither mother nor kin to protect him… How frightened and weary he must have been?"
"…"
Zizek, who had never known true familial love himself, felt a quiet admiration for Balthazar’s character. Without realizing it, a small smile crept onto his face.
"Why are you smiling?"
"Apologies. It’s just… I found this rather moving."
"Bah, moving, you say."
"No, really… Actually, I—"
Zizek trailed off mid-sentence, suddenly lowering his head.
"What is it? Speak up."
Knut urged him, but the only response he received was the sound of steady snoring.
"He’s out."
"Well, he lasted longer than I expected."
Balthazar let out a quiet chuckle.
"Take him to bed."
"Understood."
Without hesitation, Knut slung Zizek over his shoulder like a sack of grain and carried him off.
"I suppose I, too, said more than I should have under the influence of drink."
The old man murmured, but a faint smile remained on his lips.
***
"…Heh heh."
Zizek, draped over Knut’s shoulder on the way to his room, suddenly grinned.
"This one laughs to himself when he’s drunk?"
Knut muttered under his breath.
Then Zizek called out to him.
"Knut."
"What is it?"
"I'm really curious now. What kind of person is Young Master Allenvert, exactly?"
A man with the strength and charisma to command the loyalty of even someone as hot-tempered and unreasonable as Karzan.
A man so kind-hearted that the surviving members of Eisenach still longed for him, still worried about him.
A man rumored to be so beautiful that his looks were nearly otherworldly.
Surely, he must be the perfect combination of breathtaking beauty and a heart as pure as an angel’s—truly, a god among men.
"I’d love to meet him one day."
Knut nodded.
"Yes. I, too, am very curious about how Allen has changed."
Zizek, of course, had no idea that he had already met that noble Young Master Allenvert—had already been smacked, cursed at, and relentlessly scolded by him.
…Even if Karzan were to take off his mask right in front of him, he probably still wouldn’t believe it.
***
As Rudgarda and I stepped out together, Harold, who had been standing at a distance guarding the private chamber, flinched in surprise and asked.
"Young Master, Sixth Commander—did your conversation go well?"
We exchanged glances before answering at the same time.
"Of course."
"It went well enough."
"Ah, that’s a relief."
Harold let out a sigh of relief before continuing,
"The Second Commander is waiting. Would you like to meet with her?"
Rudgarda declined.
"I’ll speak with her another time. For now, it’s best that the siblings have their conversation first."
"Understood."
I gave Rudgarda a slight nod.
"Then, until next time."
Turning to Harold, who was practically dying of curiosity, I spoke in a deliberately teasing tone.
"What are you standing around for? Hurry up and show me the way."
"Ahem."
I had revealed my secret to Rudgarda to build trust between us.
‘If that’s the case…’
Then it was only right that I be just as honest with Ulbhild.
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HELHEIM SCANS
[Translator - Pot]
[Proofreader - Kawaii]
Join our Discord for release updates!
https://discord.com/invite/dbdMDhzWa2
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