The Hunter of Hawk and Wolf-Chapter 31 : Chapter 31

In a remote room of Rasseu Castle, Teresse sat before a table and briefly summarized the situation.
“It’s proceeding as planned. For now.”
Sevha barely listened. His distraction was the room itself.
Teresse had received the storeroom from Eshu a few days ago, claiming she would create a ‘medicine for the Marquis.’
But it was no longer a storeroom. Unnamed herbs and animal parts, apothecary tools, and a large cauldron filled the space.
It was, for all intents and purposes, a witch’s workshop.
Sevha thought he should her to a Papal Inquisitor at once, then caught himself and broke the silence.
“But why ‘for now’?”
“Because of all people, it’s the First Prince who’s coming.”
“So now it’s ‘of all people’.”
The royal visitor to Rasseu was indeed the First Prince. Upon hearing the news, Eshu and the Blanc Knights had been instantly enraged.
“What kind of man is this First Prince, anyway? If he’s the First Prince, he’s the heir, isn’t he? The best of the best. Shouldn’t the knights be pleased?”
Teresse answered as she collected an unidentifiable liquid dripping from a still into a bottle.
“The First Prince is the king’s eldest son, but he is not the heir. And he is no knight.”
“What?”
“The First Prince... is a clown.”
“A clown?”
“To say more would be to spread rumors and create pointless prejudice. See him for yourself and judge what kind of man he is.”
“Do I really have to judge him?”
“If you aim for the Marquisate of Blanc, you should. The Knight Kingdom, right now, is—”
Legra burst into the room, cutting her off.
He cried, “Lord Sevha! The First Prince’s party will arrive soon!”
“I’m going. Magus, what about you?”
“I’m busy.”
“Right.”
Sevha didn’t try to persuade her and left the room with Legra.
Hearing the door close, Teresse tried to focus on her work again. Then, her eyes caught her own reflection in a potion vial.
“Yes. It’s not ‘for now,’ and it’s not ‘of all people.’ It’s ‘just in time’.”
She was smiling like a witch, as if anticipating the chaos to come.
***
In a Corridor of Rasseu Castle
Legra asked, “So... I just need to pretend to be a squire knight?”
Sevha nodded.
The boy sighed. “We don’t have that rank in Anse, so I’m not sure what to do. How do I look like a squire knight?”
“Acting like a Hunter’s apprentice, I guess?”
“You mean smear myself with blood to act as bait and do the beast-calling dance?”
Legra began to perform the beast-calling dance passed down through generations in Anse, chanting, “Ooh! Ah! Ooh!”
Sevha watched him seriously, then spoke in an equally serious tone.
“Hm... if you do that, I think anyone would take you for a squire knight.”
“Right? All that hard practice with my father paid off.”
As Sevha and Legra were exchanging this bizarre banter, they reached the stairs and found Eshu waiting.
“Young Master Sevha.”
“I heard. The First Prince’s party is arriving.”
“Yes. And... the Count is here as well.”
“And Tito?”
“He isn’t here. Tito and his bastards are too... unseemly to be presented to a member of the royal family.”
“Those degenerates know my face. It’s a relief they’re not here.”
At Sevha’s bluntness, Eshu gave a short laugh and led the way.
They arrived at the castle’s front yard, where the Blanc Knights were lined up.
Bishop Piétang stood among them, along with a man in his fifties with a mustache.
That man must be...
The moment he saw Eshu, the mustached man’s face contorted.
“Eshu Libertine!”
“Count. It has been a long time. Though I cannot say why it has been so long since I’ve seen the acting lord, who should be attending to his duties in the castle.”
At Eshu’s barb, the Count bellowed, “Stay in your place, you leader of orphans!”
Orphans.
Every member of the Blanc Knights clenched their jaws at the insult.
The Count noticed their reaction but ignored them, as if to say,
What can you do about it?
He continued to shout at Eshu. “Why did you leak news of the Marquis’s illness to the royal court?”
“Pardon? I don’t know what you mean.”
“Don’t play innocent!”
“I truly have no idea what you’re talking about.”
As Eshu feigned ignorance, the Count moved close and loomed over him.
“Struggle all you want. Nothing you do will change the fact that I am the closest bloodline to the Marquis.”
Eshu glanced at the
true
closest bloodline standing behind him, and his lips twitched.
Then he broke into a full smile. “Yes. I agree. The closest bloodline to the Marquis should inherit the title.”
The Count sensed something amiss in Eshu’s meaningful tone and hesitated.
Just then, Bishop Piétang cleared his throat. “That will be enough. They are coming.”
Beyond the open castle gates, a carriage and mounted knights were approaching.
Sevha’s first thought upon seeing the silhouettes of the escort was one of admiration.
Strong.
Even on horseback, their outlines were nearly unshakable. Their sturdiness and resolve made them seem like warhorses in heavy armor.
Even better trained than the Blanc Knights...
But Sevha’s admiration vanished as the knights drew closer and their attire became clear.
Their garb was ridiculous. Their armor was slathered with paints of every color, as if they were canvases. Gaudy feathered tassels were attached here and there.
They looked less like knights and more like a troupe of actors performing a scene from a chivalric romance.
It’s like watching well-trained warhorses being used as circus animals.
The carriage stopped in the yard, and a knight whose face was obscured by garish makeup opened the door. A man emerged from within.
Sevha drew a sharp breath.
The one who stepped out of the carriage was a man about Edgar’s age. He was strikingly handsome, with long, platinum-blond hair like silk and blue eyes like jewels.
At the same time, he was a hunchback with a severely bent spine.
“Welcome, Prince Duce.”
Count Bernard offered his greeting, and the Blanc Knights paid their respects.
Prince Duce walked toward the Count, leaning on a cane. He surveyed his surroundings, then with an elegant, noble, and exaggerated flourish of his hair, he spoke.
“Ah! The midday sun is as bright as a maiden’s laugh, yet my heart, knowing the veteran’s fate, is shrouded in darkness!”
His tone and words were straight out of a play.
Not just Sevha, but everyone stared blankly at Prince Duce, as if trying to process what they had just heard.
But Duce did not stop.
“O, vassals of the veteran! O, knights! Answer me! Has the old warrior surrendered to his illness? Or does he still resist?”
As Duce continued his theatrical speech, Count Bernard’s expression shifted to one of utter bewilderment.
Eshu and the Blanc Knights furrowed their brows, angered that such a ridiculous man had been sent to pay respects.
“If he resists, O Master of the Judgment Hall! Tell the one who guards your gate not to call the old warrior’s name just yet!”
When Duce finished his aside, the Prince’s knights applauded enthusiastically, like a well-rehearsed chorus.
The Count followed with a forced smile. “W-Wonderful words. The Marquis would surely be pleased to hear them. Let us go to him.”
Duce followed the Count into the castle.
Bringing up the rear of the procession, Sevha and Legra summed up their impression of Duce.
Legra muttered, “He’s a strange one.”
“A clown, through and through.”
Sevha looked past the people ahead of him at the prince’s back.
He had the noblest face Sevha had ever seen among the royalty, and the most deformed body he had ever seen on any human.
How bizarre.
Then, the prince’s back vanished from Sevha’s line of sight.
The knight with the garish makeup, the one who had opened the carriage door, had subtly blocked his view.
The knight didn’t stop there. He turned, his cold eyes locking onto Sevha.
Sevha immediately blended back into the procession, observing the knight who stood guard.
He felt my gaze...
Sevha couldn’t understand why the prince’s knights, who were clearly so skilled, would dress in such a ridiculous fashion.
Then he hazarded a guess.
They obey loyally even when ordered to look so ridiculous... Is there more to this prince than meets the eye?
At that moment, Duce’s party arrived before the Marquis’s room.
The Count opened the door, and the prince stepped inside.
The Marquis, as usual, seemed to be out of his mind. He was sitting on the floor, playing with toys.
Duce faltered at the sight of the Marquis’s broken state. Then, as if mastering his emotions, he slowly closed his eyes for a moment before approaching the Marquis.
“Old warrior. Knight who rode across the battlefields with the Lion King. My... master.”
As Duce spoke again in his theatrical tone, the Marquis looked up at him, drool running down his chin.
“Retard,” the Marquis said.
The Count and the Blanc Knights couldn’t contain their laughter.
The Prince’s knights scowled at their master being made a laughingstock.
One of them could not hold back. “How dare you insult the—!”
Duce turned to the knight and silently shook his head, as if to say it was fine.
He turned back to the Marquis. “I remember the man who cared for me, but I do not know how to care for you.”
“Retard!”
As Duce continued his performance, the Marquis cackled as if he might die from amusement.
The Count and the Blanc Knights did not laugh as loudly as before, but their lips continued to twitch.
“Ahh! Someone, anyone, please save my pitiful master!”
In this dark room, where only faint light filtered through thick curtains, Duce stood and received the full force of the Marquis’s mockery and the sneers of those around him.
“Please... save the man who was... who was like a father to me!”
To Sevha, he truly did look like a clown.
But there was something strangely impressive about Duce, who did not stop speaking even while being subjected to such scorn.
“Re...! Hahaha!”
When the Marquis began to gasp for breath from laughing so hard, Duce turned his back as if that was enough.
“I will come again, Knight of the Shield.”
And with that, the Prince left the room with his party.
As the Count and the Blanc Knights also filed out, Sevha moved to follow.
It was then he heard a presence behind him.
Thump.
A presence so heavy it sent a chill down his spine.
Like a hunter caught from behind, Sevha spun around to see the Marquis standing.
“Grandfather...?”
It was too dark in the room to see clearly, but the Marquis was standing ramrod straight.
Only then did Sevha realize how massive the man was.
“...Sevha.”
The moment he heard the Marquis’s deep, commanding voice, Sevha felt as if he were being crushed under the foreleg of a heavy warhorse.
A single word came to mind.
Knight.
Immediately after, the Marquis continued, asked, “Is it true... that your brother is dead?”
Sevha paused, then answered, “Yes.”
“I see... I failed to protect them again. Now... only you are left.”
Was he angry at himself for failing to protect his family?
The sound of grinding teeth came from the gloom where the Marquis stood.
“Even so... it is enough that you, at least, remain.”
Footsteps sounded from the gloom, and the Marquis’s hand emerged.
His hand clasped Sevha’s shoulder, and the Marquis’s face loomed out of the darkness.
“Order the knights to live parentless. Tell the clown: be reborn a knight. Let the father… die a knight.”
The Marquis met Sevha’s eyes, his gaze unwavering.
“Do this, and I will give you Blanc.”