The Hunter of Hawk and Wolf-Chapter 33 : Chapter 33

Clump, clump, clump...
Sevha walked through the deserted castle town. Night had fallen while he was at the inn.
The people of Rasseu are clever. They know the men who guard their nights are just a band of thieves masquerading as watchmen.
Sevha sneered inwardly at the thought of Tito and his men.
He glanced around.
The castle town was vast, a hint of Blanc’s former glory.
Now it was just desolate, as if to display its current misfortune. The air was so thick with menace that if he relaxed his guard for even a moment, he felt a beast would leap from an alley.
But amidst this atmosphere, Sevha felt not fear, but comfort.
It’s like being back in the Labyrinth Forest.
Sevha understood why he felt at ease and, in the same breath, why he had felt so suffocated since coming to Rasseu.
Was it homesickness?
He had left his home with a purpose, but it was not one he had chosen. It was not a home he had wanted to leave.
Am I... doing the right thing?
As if crushed by the weight of his own question, Sevha slowly closed his eyes.
Immediately, a voice sounded in his ear.
“Run, Sevha.”
A voice he could hear, but shouldn’t.
“Sevha dan Anse! You are hereby the Count of Anse!”
A voice he wanted to hear, but shouldn’t.
“That’s right.”
And amidst those phantom echoes, Sevha heard
her
voice.
“The Hunters are gone.”
His eyes shot open.
The scenery before him blurred and turned red. The darkness on the ground swelled into slick pools of blood. The shadows in the alleys writhed like blood-soaked corpses.
And from within the pools of blood, from the mouths of the blood-soaked corpses, different yet identical calls poured out.
Lord Sevha. Sevha. Young Master. The First Hunter. Leader. Sevha. My brother. My love. Sevha. Lord Sevha. Brother. Sevha.
The end of those countless calls culminated in a single, solitary wish.
Take revenge.
Sevha squeezed his eyes shut. His face twisted with hatred as he answered the wishes, the pleas, the curses hurled at him.
“I... know.”
When his eyes opened, there was no vengeance in them, nor on his face. There was only a coldness, like an iron mask hiding something unknown.
As the crimson staining his world ebbed away, Sevha exhaled and looked ahead.
He was standing in a small plaza.
In the center of the brick-paved square stood a statue of Jestika, the Goddess of Knights and Justice.
Sevha had been wondering where he might find traces of his mother here. But the moment he saw the statue, that thought vanished, and he burst out laughing.
“Talk about blasphemy!”
The statue’s face, unlike the one in the temple, bore a resemblance to Sevha’s own.
“Which lunatic carved another man’s mother’s face onto a goddess?”
Just then, he heard footsteps. Familiar footsteps. A faint but unwavering presence.
“That statue is said to have been made by the continent’s greatest eccentric artist, Vinn Athe, in his youth.”
“Thanks for the kind explanation... Fernoka.”
Sevha turned and saw the priest walking into the plaza.
He asked, “Should a priest be out enjoying the night air?”
“As a servant of the God of Light, I have all the more reason to. The darker the night, the more light is needed.”
Fernoka easily deflected the sarcasm and stood beside the young man.
Gazing at the statue, he asked, “Do you understand what Vinn Athe was trying to say with this sculpture?”
“Anse’s prized artist, Toto, was a fantastic taxidermist. His skill at pulling out entrails was second to none.”
“So you’re saying that a lifetime of appreciating Anse’s unique artistry has left you unable to understand Vinn Athe.”
“That’s right. This Vinn-whatever’s art is much too... symbolic. There’s no blood, no guts, no fun.”
Fernoka chuckled at the jest. “Then shall we think it through? Did you know that there is no one in this world without faith?”
“Are you admitting that the faithless, whom the Papal See so eagerly burns, were not, in fact, without faith?”
“In a sense, yes. Even the faithless have faith. For all things in the world have been symbolized in the name of a god.”
Sevha held his breath. “Are you... sane?”
“Does it sound to you as if I am saying justice does not exist because there is a Goddess of Justice... but that the Goddess of Justice exists
because
there is justice?”
Sevha did not answer.
But it certainly sounded not as though God created man, but as though man created God.
He muttered, “That sounds like something a university scholar would say, not a priest.”
“The Papal See and the universities are the finest centers of education on the continent.”
“I doubt the Papal See teaches words that would make a god recoil.”
“The gods would not recoil upon hearing what I just said.”
Fernoka gazed at Sevha, his eyes narrowing into cool slits, more evocative of the moon than the sun.
“Would beings who do not answer prayers respond to blasphemy? And if they ignore prayers but respond only to blasphemy... should they still be called gods?”
“Then what should they be called?”
Fernoka stared at Sevha in silence, then shrugged.
“It seems we’ve strayed from the topic. Let’s return to it. Why are Diaka and Jestika twin goddesses?”
“Right. I’ve often wondered the same about my brother and me, being born of the same parents.”
“Was my question too difficult? I believe I explained that Diaka, Goddess of Hunters and Moderation who guards the front of the Hall of Judgment, signifies Relative Justice, while Jestika, Goddess of Knights and Justice who presides within, signifies Absolute Justice.”
“If our story were a novel, no reader would remember that part.”
Ignoring Sevha’s jab, Fernoka approached the statue.
“The reason Diaka and Jestika are twin goddesses is because until a person enters the Hall of Judgment… until they die… each lives by their own kind of justice.”
Fernoka finished his words, staring at the statue’s face.
“What Vinn Athe wanted to say with this statue was... ‘To hell with whatever rules you’ve decided on.’”
The priest seemed relieved to have said his piece.
Fernoka turned to Sevha and smiled. “Something like that.”
“So? When does the fun part of the story start? The dragon and the knight? When are you going to tell me about the captured princess?”
“A fun story... I did hear a rumor. They say when Vinn Athe made this statue, the woman whose face it bears was so embarrassed she went on a rampage.”
Fernoka pointed to the brick floor of the plaza, adding, “
Quite
the rampage.”
“What?”
“This is all I have to say. I heard of your plan from Bishop Piétang. May the selfish justice that remains here light the path before you.”
Fernoka gave Sevha a slight smile and turned his back.
Just as Sevha was thinking,
Why the hell did that bastard show up just to say his piece and leave?
Fernoka, half-swallowed by the darkness, said, nonchalantly, “As a bit more help... shall I offer a prophecy?”
“A prophecy? A magus, a prophet... are a demon king and a hero next to appear on the continent?”
Fernoka laughed aloud and drifted deeper into the dark.
When the laughter abruptly stopped, his clear voice echoed out: “The hawk will learn the name of the land it flies over.”
The priest’s prophecy dissolved into the empty air, his footsteps fading away.
“Honestly... is there a single person around me who can speak plainly?”
Sevha lowered his head and let out a deep sigh.
That’s when he saw them. The plaza’s bricks were covered in hoofprints.
Mother really did go on a rampage.
The tracks were proof that Sevha’s mother, embarrassed by the statue, had ridden her horse wildly around it.
It was a chaotic mess of tracks that Sevha’s limited vocabulary could not begin to describe.
But a horse was still a beast. Seeing the direction and depth of the hoofprints, he could immediately imagine the scene of his mother’s tantrum long ago.
Starting here... to there.
As Sevha began to trace the past, a vision appeared before his eyes.
A horse gallops wildly across the plaza floor before the mortar has fully set. It was nothing like the riding style Eshu had taught him.
Not a straight line, but a spiral. Not order, but chaos.
Yet watching this vision of the past, Sevha felt no discomfort, no dizziness. Rather, he wanted to keep watching.
Chasing the source of this feeling, Sevha raised his head. He saw the face of the statue. At the same time, he saw a vision of his mother, riding the phantom horse.
Sevha’s mother was laughing. As if something was just that delightful.
He continued to watch the vision of his mother, laughing as she rode.
On, and on, and on.
And then…
“You look tired, Young Master,” Eshu remarked.
The day of the jousting tournament. Noon.
The tournament grounds were set up outside Rasseu Castle.
On the stage and in the surrounding seats, the nobles of Blanc milled about, chatting.
“There’s a rumor that once the tournament is over, the Count will be formally recognized as the successor...”
Opposite the stage and stands, beyond the fenced-in track, the people of Rasseu and the refugees had gathered, murmuring amongst themselves.
“Did you hear that rumor? That the Marquis has a hidden child...”
Eavesdropping on the conversations, Sevha explained, “I’ve been... busy these past few days.”
“I heard from the knights at the castle gates. You’ve been going out every day. What were you doing?”
“Sightseeing?”
Just then, the Count, Tito, and a man in his thirties stepped onto the stage.
The nobles on and near the stage all bowed their heads to the Count. The commoners, as soon as they saw him, began to whisper insults under their breath.
But Sevha paid the Count no mind, his eyes fixed on the man standing beside Tito.
He observed, “A well-maintained tool, badly suited for the Count.”
“You have a sharp eye, Young Master. That is Sir Dalton, the Count’s knight. A flawless knight, save for the fact that he is loyal to the Count.”
“So he’s the one I have to beat.”
Eshu nodded, then gestured with his chin toward the nobles.
“There are thirty-two participants. Eight are from the Blanc Knights, and the rest are knights representing the nobles who support the Count.”
“Substitute participation?”
“Would the trash that supports the Count ever show up in person for a tournament where they could be injured or killed?”
After venting a little, Eshu continued, “The participants from the Blanc Knights will throw the match if they are paired against you, Young Master.”
“A disgustingly kind consideration.”
“For you to win the tournament and reveal yourself as the heir… that is our purpose and our honor. You need not worry.”
Sevha wanted to retort,
And what about my honor? Did some dog eat it?
but he held his tongue and nodded.
Just then, his eyes fell on a woman among the commoners. A woman with her face wrapped in bandages, a hood pulled over her head.
It was Teresse.
Her eyes curved the moment she met Sevha’s gaze.
Today, she looks even more like a witch... or a magus.
Sevha looked away, feeling as though he might catch bad luck from her.
At Duce’s appearance, both noble and commoner fell silent, the corners of their mouths twitching upward.
Silence to hold back a sneer is still silence, I guess.
Duce, either knowing or not knowing the meaning of the crowd’s silence, spoke in a clear, resonant voice.
“On the day the Holy Emperor’s line was broken, the last Knight Commander of the Holy Emperor, Barsh, said to his men: ‘Ah! Knights of the masterless white steed, what now must we protect!’”
As the speech continued, Sevha and Duce’s eyes met.
“Only four knights answered. The Knight of the Sword said, ‘God.’ The Knight of the Lance said, ‘Honor.’ The Knight of the Dagger said, ‘You.’ Lastly, the Knight of the Shield said, ‘The people.’”
Duce continued, his eyes never leaving Sevha.
“To the words of the four knights, Barsh replied, ‘Then I shall protect you, the knights! And in so doing, I shall protect all that you seek to protect!’”
Duce raised his voice to its fullest.
“I, Duce of House Barsh, do hereby declare in accordance with that oath! O, knights! To prove what it is you protect... take your seats in the Hall of Just Judgment!”
What followed the end of the speech was not cheers, but dead silence.
As Duce smiled bitterly, as if to say that fine words from a hunchback make him no less a hunchback, Sevha kicked Eshu’s leg.
Eshu immediately roared, “Take your seats in the Hall of Just Judgment!”
Only then did the crowd erupt in cheers, and the jousting tournament began.