Chapter 61: Ottilie’s Nephew

On the fourth afternoon of Helheim’s entrance examination, an argument broke out along a narrow mountain trail in the eastern section of Grauwald.

Four applicants had surrounded a boy carrying a hunting spear and a leather pouch filled with examination markers

The boy was Emil Rainer, a ten-year-old from a household that had served House Grandel for generations. His brown hair was disheveled, his clothes were covered in dirt, and a shallow cut ran across his forehead.

Despite his circumstances, he appeared more offended than frightened by the four boys blocking his escape.

"I already told you, those markers belong to me," Emil protested, clutching his pouch against his chest. "I spent three days collecting them. You can’t just walk up and demand everything because there are four of you."

The largest applicant, a broad-shouldered boy named Severin, rested his axe against his shoulder and grinned. "Actually, that’s exactly what we can do. The examination rules allow applicants to steal markers. You should have paid more attention during the explanation."

Emil frowned. "I paid attention. I just assumed people would have enough decency not to behave like roadside bandits."

Severin stared at him before bursting into laughter. His companions joined him, exchanging amused looks at the boy’s expression.

"Did you hear that?" Severin asked, wiping his eyes. "He thought everyone would behave decently. Someone should have explained what kind of examination this is."

Emil tightened his grip on his spear. He understood that the rules permitted stealing, but understanding something and accepting it were entirely different matters.

He had worked hard for his markers, fighting Ferocious Beasts and searching difficult terrain for prey carrying Helheim’s black inscriptions. Surrendering everything without resistance was unacceptable, regardless of how badly outnumbered he was.

One of Severin’s companions stepped forward with a short sword. Emil immediately raised his spear, keeping the weapon pointed toward the approaching boy while backing toward a large boulder.

Unfortunately, another applicant had already moved behind him, cutting off his retreat.

Severin sighed impatiently. "Last chance, Rainer. Give us the pouch, and nobody needs to get hurt."

Emil glanced between his opponents. "You know my name?" he asked, suddenly looking confused.

"Your registration badge, idiot," Severin replied, pointing toward the identification token hanging from Emil’s belt. "Now hand over the markers."

Emil looked down at the token and grimaced. That explained how they had addressed him so confidently.

He had briefly wondered whether one of them knew his family, which would have made their behavior considerably more disappointing.

Before Severin could repeat his demand, a voice came from the trees above the trail.

"Four against one? You’re certainly making efficient use of your numbers."

Everyone turned.

Sigurd stood on a thick branch overlooking the path, his sword hanging at his waist.

He had been following the mountain trail when the shouting attracted his attention, and recognizing the surrounded boy had given him a reason to stop.

Emil’s face brightened immediately. "Young Master Sigurd!" he exclaimed, waving so enthusiastically that he nearly struck one of his opponents with his spear. "What a relief! I was beginning to think I’d have to fight all four of them!"

Sigurd looked at the spear before raising an eyebrow. "Judging by that greeting, you might have started with yourself."

Emil lowered the weapon, looking embarrassed.

Severin studied Sigurd’s ash-white hair and distinctive iron-grey eyes before taking a cautious step backward. He recognized the Main Line descendant immediately, although his expression suggested he was still considering whether the situation could be salvaged.

"This doesn’t concern you, Young Master Sigurd," Severin said carefully. "We’re simply exercising our rights under the examination rules."

Sigurd jumped down from the branch and landed between Emil and the four applicants.

"You’re correct. Taking another applicant’s markers is permitted," he replied, resting one hand against his sword hilt. "So is preventing you from taking them."

Severin’s expression hardened. "Are you saying you’ll fight all four of us over him?"

Sigurd glanced toward Emil. "Unfortunately, I know his aunt. If I returned home and told her I’d watched him get robbed without helping, I’d probably never hear the end of it."

Emil nodded solemnly. "Aunt Ottilie can be very persistent, Young Master. Last winter, she made my uncle apologize three separate times for breaking her favorite teapot."

Sigurd sighed. "Emil, you’re not helping."

The exchange distracted Severin long enough for Sigurd to move. His sword left its sheath, and before the closest applicant could react, the weapon struck the boy’s wrist with its flat.

His short sword fell onto the rocky trail. Sigurd immediately turned, intercepted a spear thrust from the second attacker and redirected it toward the ground before striking the boy’s shoulder with his pommel.

Both applicants stumbled backward.

Severin charged with his axe raised, attempting to exploit the opening. Sigurd stepped inside the descending weapon, caught the axe handle beneath his sword guard and twisted sharply. Severin lost his grip, and a kick to his stomach sent him crashing against the boulder behind Emil.

The fourth applicant hesitated.

Sigurd turned toward him, sword resting comfortably in his hand.

"You can still make a sensible decision," he observed, glancing at the three boys struggling to recover.

The applicant immediately lowered his weapon.

"I’m withdrawing," he announced, raising both hands.

Severin groaned as he pushed himself upright. His expression twisted with humiliation, but he made no attempt to attack again. After collecting their fallen weapons, the four applicants retreated along the trail, leaving Emil’s markers untouched.

Emil watched them disappear before releasing a relieved breath. "Thank you, Young Master Sigurd. I was fairly certain I could defeat one of them, but the other three were becoming a problem."

Sigurd sheathed his sword and looked at him. "Only the other three?"

Emil scratched his cheek. "Possibly all four. I hadn’t reached a final conclusion."

Despite himself, Sigurd chuckled. He remembered Ottilie mentioning her nephew several times, usually while complaining that the boy possessed more enthusiasm than caution.

Seeing Emil surrounded by four applicants because he had expected strangers to behave honorably suggested that her assessment had been remarkably accurate.

"How many markers have you collected?" Sigurd asked, glancing toward the pouch at Emil’s waist.

"Seventeen," Emil answered proudly. "I had nineteen earlier, but I traded two for medicinal supplies after injuring my ankle yesterday. I’ve been trying to find another three before the examination ends."

Sigurd nodded. Seventeen points was respectable, particularly for an applicant without the advantages enjoyed by the Main Line and Great Branches.

Emil might have been na?ve, but surviving four days in Grauwald while collecting that many markers required genuine ability.

Emil suddenly brightened. "Actually, Young Master, there’s something you might find interesting. I’ve been exploring the eastern ridges since the examination began, and I discovered a valley that isn’t marked properly on the maps we received."

Sigurd’s attention sharpened. "What kind of valley?"

Emil crouched beside the trail and picked up a small stone. Using its pointed edge, he began drawing a rough map in the dirt, marking the surrounding mountains, streams and narrow passages.

His earlier nervousness disappeared as he explained the terrain, describing several routes that connected the eastern hunting grounds to the northern slopes.

"The maps show this ridge continuing for another two miles," Emil explained, tracing a curved line through the dirt. "But there’s actually a narrow passage here. It runs between two cliffs and leads into a sheltered basin. I found it yesterday while avoiding a pack of Ferocious Beasts."

Sigurd examined the drawing. "And what’s inside the basin?"

Emil’s expression became serious. "Demonic Beasts. At least three, possibly more. I saw two fighting near a pool, and another moving through the trees farther uphill. I couldn’t identify all of them, but they were definitely Common Rank."

Sigurd studied the map more carefully. Three Common Rank Demonic Beasts represented thirty potential points, provided their cores could be obtained.

More importantly, the passage Emil had discovered offered a considerably shorter route into the northern hunting grounds.

"Why didn’t you tell anyone?" Sigurd asked.

Emil looked genuinely surprised. "Because they’d hunt the beasts before I could find someone strong enough to help me. I was hoping to meet another applicant willing to cooperate."

Sigurd smiled faintly. "So you do understand competition after all."

Emil grinned. "Aunt Ottilie says I’m trusting, not stupid. Although she sometimes changes her mind depending on what I’ve done."

Sigurd considered the map before looking toward the northern mountains. The hidden passage could save several hours of travel, and Emil’s knowledge of the terrain was far more useful than another handful of examination markers.

"Show me the entrance," Sigurd instructed, rising to his feet. "If the basin contains what you described, we can investigate it together."

Emil stood immediately, excitement spreading across his face. "Really? You want me to come along?"

"You discovered the route," Sigurd replied. "It would be rather unreasonable to leave you behind."

Emil hurriedly collected his belongings, then pointed toward a narrow trail climbing between the trees. "This way, Young Master. There’s a stream crossing ahead, but I know where the stones are shallow enough to cross safely."

Sigurd followed him uphill, listening as Emil explained the landmarks he had memorized during his exploration.

The boy knew which slopes became slippery after rain, where Ferocious Beasts gathered near water, and which ravines could be crossed without climbing equipment.

For someone who had nearly lost his examination markers to four ordinary applicants, Emil possessed an unexpectedly valuable talent for navigating unfamiliar terrain.

And as they disappeared into the forest, Sigurd found himself reconsidering Ottilie’s frequent complaints about her nephew.

Perhaps the boy wasn’t quite as hopeless as she made him sound.