The Hunter of Hawk and Wolf-Chapter 34 : Chapter 34

CRASH!
A knight in heavy armor was unhorsed, and all the onlookers, noble and commoner alike, roared their approval.
The victor, Sir Dalton, raised his shield in response to the cheers.
Sevha had watched the match in front of a tent some distance from the tournament grounds, clad in heavy armor of his own.
A thought suddenly struck him.
I could win…
Just as the idea was forming, Eshu approached.
“It is your turn, Young Master. This match is for real.”
For real.
Sevha had fought twice so far, both times against members of the Blanc Knights. The result had been two easy victories.
He had no desire to dwell on why they had been so easy.
“Who is my opponent?”
“Viscount Tillong’s knight. A knight in name only… really just a rich young master.”
Eshu had just begun to explain when they were interrupted.
“Eshu!”
The Count and Tito were approaching.
“Young Master…”
“What took you so long?” the Count shouted the moment he stood before Eshu. “Why is your squire in the jousting tournament?”
To the people of the Knight Kingdom, a jousting tournament was an event where a knight’s honor was on the line.
The participation of a squire who had not yet been knighted was unheard of.
“To only notice a squire has entered after half the competitors have been eliminated… you must be taking a profound interest in the proceedings, my lord Count.”
“How dare a knight mock a count…! Tito?”
The Count glanced at Tito, who stood behind him. Tito’s eyes were wide, his recognition of Sevha plain.
“What is it?”
Tito bit his lip hard, recalling the fear Sevha had instilled in him.
“I will… tell you later, my lord.”
As Tito held his tongue, the Count resumed his interrogation of Eshu.
“Answer me. Why is this squire in the tournament?”
“That is an internal matter of the Blanc Knights. I am not at liberty to say.”
“You insolent…!”
Just then, a horn sounded from the lists, signaling the next match.
Without so much as a glance at the Count, Sevha picked up his helm and headed for the field.
Legra caught up to him, leading an ugly horse. In Legra’s other arm, Sevha saw Shri fluttering its wings.
“Why does Shri keep fluttering? Did you feed it something bad?”
“It’s been like this lately. I think it’s practicing how to fly. Strange, isn’t it? With no mother bird to teach it.”
“There’s nothing strange about it. It’s natural for a hawk to fly.”
When they reached the grounds, Legra helped Sevha mount.
As Sevha donned his helm and took up his shield and lance, the horse shifted restlessly, as if eager to get this tedious business over with.
Facing his opponent across the tilt, Sevha sized him up.
He’s nothing special. Still…
The problem wasn’t the opponent. It was Sevha himself.
The heavy armor felt like a prison. The helm, a blindfold. The lance and shield, shackles.
But this was no time for complaints.
The various jousting techniques Eshu had taught him were brutally simplified in his mind:
Charge. Thrust. Unhorse.
The crowd fell silent then. A horn echoed in the quiet.
Immediately, Sevha and the other knight charged.
The sound of their horses’ hooves thundered against the earth, growing louder and faster.
They closed the distance until they could see each other’s eyes through the slits of their helms.
WHAM!
They thrust their lances simultaneously.
Sevha caught his opponent’s lance on his shield. The other knight, however, skillfully deflected Sevha’s.
After the exchange, they rode to the ends of the lists and slowly turned their horses.
This is who I am. Someone who can’t even beat a fool like this easily.
The last pass had made the difference in their skills painfully clear.
The knight had used technique to deflect Sevha’s attack. Sevha, on the other hand, had just absorbed the blow with his body.
Guess I should thank Mother and Father for this body.
But it wasn’t as if his jousting skills would suddenly blossom now.
Sevha shook off the idle thoughts. They charged again.
CRASH!
The result was the same.
CRASH!
The unskilled knight’s lance could not break Sevha’s posture. And Sevha’s lance, wielded with even less skill, could not unhorse his opponent.
CRASH!
But to the crowd, and indeed to all but the most seasoned knights, the exchange looked fierce.
THUD!
After three passes, they were given fresh lances and shields and began again.
As they entered their ninth pass, Sevha’s ugly horse suddenly slammed its head into its rival’s nose.
The other horse faltered, and with it, the knight’s shield dropped.
Sevha immediately thrust his lance into the opening. It struck the knight’s chest, sending him flying from his saddle.
Cheers erupted from the stands. Sevha gave a half-hearted wave to the crowd and looked down at his ugly horse.
The horse seemed to look back, as if to ask why he was wasting its time on such a worthless opponent.
“My thoughts exactly. So shut up.”
Sevha rode to the edge of the field and dismounted, where Legra and Eshu were waiting.
“I knew you’d win!” Legra, no knight himself, praised him like any other spectator.
Eshu, however, only smiled.
Sevha knew why and began quietly, “Eshu.”
“Yes.”
“Could I beat Dalton…?” Sevha stopped, changing the subject. “The next match is you and me, yes? I don’t mind you losing on purpose. But before you let me win, show me your true strength.”
Eshu did not ask why. He simply nodded.
And so, the next match began.
Sevha and Eshu, armed and armored, faced each other on the field.
The outcome was already decided… and yet, the moment Eshu raised his lance, a chill ran down Sevha’s spine.
Before he could comprehend why, the horn sounded.
They charged.
Unlike the previous match, the only hoofbeats Sevha could hear were Eshu’s. A heavy, one-sided thunder that drowned out the drumming of his own horse.
The sound of Eshu’s mount enveloped him.
WHAM!
Before Sevha could even thrust his lance, Eshu’s struck his shield.
He endured the impact with his body, a sharp pain lancing through his back as if it were about to break. His head swam, and his vision went white.
When he came to his senses, he was at the other end of the list, gasping for breath.
Sevha forced himself to calm down and looked at Eshu.
Across the field, the sight of the knight in his heavy armor, lance leveled, radiated an overwhelming pressure, a palpable sense of fear.
A knight…
Sevha could not understand honor, or glory, or chivalry. But he could now define the beast that was a knight.
A knight was one who wore the overconfidence of his own strength as armor. A knight was one who wielded the arrogance that anyone could be trampled underfoot as a weapon.
A true knight.
Sevha glanced at his shield. It was already bent from a single blow.
Just as he wondered if he could withstand the next attack, the second horn blew.
They charged again, leveling their lances.
WHAM!
Again, Eshu’s lance struck his shield.
This time, the shield splintered. The impact shook his body, and the lance he thrust stabbed at the empty air beside Eshu.
Can’t…!
Sevha could not finish the thought as he reached the end of the field.
He tossed the shattered shield to the ground and looked at Eshu.
The knight commander sat upon his horse, as impassive as before. And yet, a fear greater than any he had felt yet washed over Sevha.
A fear that, for a moment, made him forget the match was fixed.
The horn sounded again.
Regardless of Sevha’s state of mind, his horse charged, as if wanting to get this foregone conclusion over with.
As he closed the distance, he finally completed the thought he hadn’t dared to finish.
I can’t… win.
Acknowledging the gulf in their skills, Sevha thrust his lance wildly.
THUD!
His lance struck Eshu’s chest, and the knight fell to the ground.
To those who were not true knights, it was a stunning comeback.
The crowd cheered wildly.
His blanked mind slowly returned amid the roaring cheers. He stared numbly at the spectators praising him, then quietly rode his horse away from the field.
The moment he dismounted by the tents, he hurled his helm to the ground.
“Shit…!”
He didn’t stop there, kicking violently at the dirt.
“Shit! Shit! Damned shit!”
Just then, he heard the sound of hoofbeats from behind. Sevha turned to see Sir Dalton on horseback, looking down at him.
“How long do you intend to defile the honor of knighthood?”
“Don’t spit bull and get—!”
“I am curious about who you are. Who in the world could make Sir Eshu throw a match so blatantly?”
Exposed by Sir Dalton, Sevha bit his lip in frustration.
“Do not defile the honor of knighthood any further, outsider,” Sir Dalton said with contempt. With those words, he left to prepare for his match.
Sevha watched him go, then tried to kick the ground again. But his foot met only air, and he fell, landing hard on his backside.
“Damn… it.”
Just then, Legra ran up to him. “Lord… Sevha?”
The boy saw Sevha’s expression and immediately fell silent.
Sevha knew what a mess he must look like.
Still, he asked, “What kind of expression am I making?”
“Well, it’s…”
As Legra hesitated, a voice came from behind.
“The face of ten thousand tails.”
It was Teresse. She stood beside Legra, gazing down at Sevha.
“My turn to ask a question, isn’t it? Why are you making that face?”
Sevha looked away, toward the pharmacist’s tent. The knight he had beaten, thanks to his horse, was just emerging.
“If he weren’t on horseback, I could kill a man like that in an instant.”
“And?”
“If that bastard wasn’t wearing that heavy lump of iron, I could beat him in the blink of an eye.”
“And?”
“Of all the ways to fight…!”
“And so? You’re frustrated because you’re fumbling with what should be easy prey?”
Teresse’s mockery was sharp.
“That’s right. I’m sure the beasts you’ve hunted all this time would have gladly let you pull their claws before you fought them.”
At her taunt, Sevha glared. Teresse did not retract her sneer.
The blood rushed to Sevha’s head, and he roared, “I don’t care how many claws those arrogant bastards have! The problem is that I’m fighting with my own claws pulled out!”
His control snapped. He couldn’t stop himself, howling at everything in sight.
“I feel like I’m suffocating!” he yelled, looking at Sir Dalton, who had just won his semifinal match in an instant.
“These lumps of iron pretending to be so noble!” he yelled, looking at the innkeeper in the crowd.
“These nameless fools who just demand my help!” he yelled, looking at the horizon, a sea of grass.
“This plain without a single forest in sight! All of it! All of it! All of it! What… what am I doing here? Huh? What the hell am I doing?”
Sevha’s roar shrunk into a vulnerable question, and Teresse’s sneer vanished.
She spoke in a gentle, ever so slightly gentle voice.
“I don’t know if this is homesickness or a sense of defeat. But I know a magic spell that can cure that nameless illness.”
Teresse took a breath.
“Hup!”
And mercilessly kicked Sevha’s jaw.
Legra flinched. Sevha made a choked sound as his head snapped back.
Startled by the sudden movement, Shri let out a squeak and took flight.
In that instant, all Sevha saw was the endless blue sky and a young hawk, fluttering against it. The sight was seared into his eyes as he fell backward.
Shri then dropped right onto his face.
Stunned, Sevha pulled the hawk off, letting it perch on his hand.
He looked up at Teresse.
She wasn’t looking at him, but at the sky.
“It’s all the same sky.” She turned her head, a smile touching her lips. “Where else does a hawk belong but under the sky?”
Sevha remembered, then.
The goddess statue he visited every night, and his mother’s legendary rampage.
He finally understood why the sculptor had chosen his mother, of all people, as his model.
Causing a rampage like that… she was nothing like a marquis’s daughter.
She didn’t fit her station, yet the innkeeper and all the commoners had accepted her as one.
To hell with the rules you people made.
The moment he understood, he recalled the faint smile on the statue.
And then, he smiled that very same smile.
“Ah… I’m… still so young.”
Sevha tossed Shri from his hand into the air.
Shri flew. Though not yet fully grown, it did not fall, as if to say it was no longer a child.
Watching the hawk, Sevha murmured, “In the end, it’s all the same sky.”
Shri circled once above him, then landed softly on his shoulder.
Sevha closed his eyes gently.
“A hawk… only flies.”
And then, the final match.
Sir Dalton took his place on the list. Whatever one thought of his lord, Dalton was undoubtedly one of the finest knights in Blanc.
The spectators marveled at his majestic presence.
Then, from the opposite end of the list, came the sound of hoofbeats—a sound different from any they had heard so far.
As the crowd turned to see, a collective gasp went through them.
“What in the…!”
The nobles, the commoners, the Blanc Knights, even the First Prince himself, were all aghast.
The reason was plain to see.
“Where is his armor?”
Sevha wore no armor. He carried no lance, no shield, no helm.
All he had on was a simple tunic.
All he held was a single short spear.
“What is the meaning of this, you cur!” the Count screamed.
Sevha twirled his spear and yelled back, “There’s no rule that says I can’t fight like this, is there?”
As everyone fell silent at his insane but technically correct statement, Sir Dalton roared, “You would defile the honor of knighthood to the very end!”
Sevha barked a short laugh and leveled his gaze at the knight.
“I don’t know a thing about a knight’s honor. To me, honor is decided by the value of the prey. So…”
For an instant, Sevha’s expression sharpened, becoming the face of a hunter.
“Show me your worth, Knight.”
Suddenly, every horse in the tournament grounds whinnied in fear, their bodies trembling.