Jörgen, former patriarch of the Wolf Clan and peerless advisor to the reginarch of the Steel Clan, was not skilled in combat by any means, but the fact that Yuuto would often leave him in charge in his absence showed how capable he was nonetheless. He was particularly adept when it came to politics. From the days of the Wolf Clan to arriving in the New World, he had continued to support Yuuto from the shadows—truly the unsung hero of the clan.
That same hero, now over sixty, had recently hung up his advisor hat for good, preferring instead to spend his days warmly watching over his grandsons as they frolicked in the park. One day, he was doing exactly that when he heard a voice.
“Long time no see, Big Bro.” A familiar face to match the voice appeared before him.
Jörgen sighed and gave a small shrug. “No matter how much time passes, I doubt I’ll ever get used to you calling me that. How many years has it been, I wonder? Little Bro.”
“Yeesh. Calling an old geezer like me ‘Little Bro’ is way worse, if you ask me.” The wispy-haired elderly man had a crooked grin on his face as he spoke. He was hunched over, and his face had far more wrinkles than when he and Jörgen had last spoken—a typical development for a man of his age—but the wily glint in his fox-like eyes was unmistakable and just as sharp as ever. The old man was none other than Botvid. He was the patriarch of the Claw Clan—one of the clans under the Steel Clan’s umbrella—as well as the Steel Clan’s current leader of subordinates.
“So, to what do I owe the pleasure? I doubt you’re here to enlist my aid because something happened at Tarshish. I’ve long since stepped off that stage, and we never had that kind of relationship in the first place, did we?” Jörgen said with a smirk. Since joining the Steel Clan, the Wolf Clan and Claw Clan had become family, but there had been a time when the two clans had fought one another as mortal enemies. Their relationship within the Steel Clan hadn’t been all that rosy either—while they’d both deferred to the Steel Clan as fellow allies, they’d remained ruthless rivals from a political standpoint. If Botvid had gone out of his way to see Jörgen in the twilight of his retirement, there had to be a good reason, but he couldn’t imagine what it would be.
“I suppose not,” Botvid said with a grin. “Would you believe me if I said I just wanted to wax sentimental about the good old days?”
“‘The good old days’?” Jörgen parroted, not sure what Botvid was getting at. “Why?”
Botvid’s grin became wistful. “Well, you see, at my age, all my other conversation partners have long since passed on.”
“...Right.” Jörgen sighed and nodded. In this era, even living much beyond around fifty years was considered quite fortunate. Out of the friends he’d made that were similar in age, hardly any remained. Even Rasmus had passed away unexpectedly last year. He still recalled the tranquil expression on the old man’s face—no doubt one of satisfaction, having lived long enough to see his grandchildren and Linnea grow and mature to adulthood. “So, I suppose I’m the only one left then?”
“Indeed, as I am no doubt the only one left for you to reminisce about those days.”
“Ha ha, so it seems.” Jörgen let out a humorless laugh. It was just as Botvid said—everyone else he’d known in the days of the Wolf Clan had long since passed.
“Maybe it’s just my old age getting to me,” Botvid began, “but lately, my mind seems preoccupied with those days—back before Father descended upon Yggdrasil, and I was still young and spry.”
“What a coincidence. Me too. Though I seem to remember differently—I only recall you being a huge pain in the ass,” Jörgen replied.
“That’s funny, because I remember the same about you. But, well, I’ve been finding myself looking upon even those memories with fondness nowadays. I’ve no idea why that is...” Botvid sighed, his smile tinged with melancholy.
“Yeah, I know what you mean,” Jörgen said. Yuuto’s arrival in Yggdrasil and subsequent exploits had been tumultuous and thrilling in ways that had made Jörgen feel like he was a kid again. Yuuto aside, young folk in general had given Jörgen’s hard work purpose. He’d always felt it was his role to support the youth from the shadows—and he was confident that during his tenure as advisor of the Steel Clan, he’d done so with aplomb. Yet, although he was satisfied, he had merely been a spectator watching a legend unfold from the sidelines. He hadn’t been the hero of this tale—Suoh Yuuto, the young man who’d saved Yggdrasil from a terrible fate, had been the real main character. Jörgen had been young once too, and he used to have loftier aspirations. Back when Fárbauti, Bruno, Olof, and Skáviðr were still alive, Jörgen had been confident that he would be the legendary hero who’d rescue the Wolf Clan from ruin...
Jörgen was born in a quaint village on the base of the Himinbjörg Mountains, just north of Iárnviðr. It was a village of hunters, so during his youth, he spent most of his days racing around the mountains, chasing rabbits and deer with his minuscule bow in hand. When he wasn’t doing that, he trained with a wooden sword, sparring with the local kids his age. Thinking back on it now, those experiences had been precious—since he didn’t possess a rune, without all that mock fighting and training, he might never have grown strong enough to rival an Einherjar.
When he turned fourteen, everything changed, however. “We’ve gotten word that the Horn Clan Army is headed our way,” the envoy from Iárnviðr told his father, the village chief. “We need you to join the fight.”
That in itself wasn’t anything unusual. Even in the times before Yuuto’s arrival, it was common knowledge that bows were the most useful weapons on the battlefield, surpassing even swords or spears, and Jörgen’s village was full of hunters whose archery skills were second to none. The Wolf Clan patriarch would pay handsomely for their work, and by selling the weapons and armor they looted from their enemies, they’d make even more of a profit. The villagers figured it’d be a perfect opportunity to reap rather handsome rewards.