The Hunter of Hawk and Wolf-Chapter 76 : Chapter 76

As befitted a founding family of the kingdom, House Blanc had possessed a grand villa in the Royal Capital.
Sevha had intended to stay there with the soldiers he’d brought to the capital, but there was something he had overlooked.
“I didn’t expect it to have become a haunted house.”
Neglected since the fall of House Blanc, the villa was a ruin, no better than a ghost story. Thus, Sevha and his soldiers had made camp in front of it, unable to set foot inside.
“Hunter,” Teresse said, stirring a stew in a field cauldron. “I’ll take the soldiers and handle the cleanup. You focus on what’s important.”
Sevha nodded. He slumped onto a patch of ground where lawn was indistinguishable from weeds and brought up a matter more pressing than cleaning. “What’s the schedule?”
“There will be a few events before the Great Hunt begins. The first is a ball to celebrate the king’s birthday.”
“A ball? Hell.”
Teresse let out a small, amused laugh, pleased by his genuine disgust. “You have to attend, so you’d best learn the steps quickly.”
“Damn it. If that’s all there is to it, I don’t need to learn. I already know them.”
“You’ve learned to dance before?”
When Teresse voiced her disbelief, Sevha recalled a childhood memory. “The Anse are still one of the continent’s prominent families. By my father’s order, I was taught as a child by a traveling nobleman we’d invited from the Great Road.”
“And the result?”
“He fled in the middle of the night. His bones were later found in the Labyrinth Forest.”
Teresse burst out laughing, picturing his dancing prowess without needing a demonstration. “Well, you know the steps. All you need is a partner.”
Men and women were not permitted to attend a ball unescorted; such was the etiquette of the continent. Sevha acknowledged the need to observe it, but the thought of finding a partner was a nuisance.
He stared at Teresse, the implication clear.
“I refuse.”
“Why? Your status shouldn’t matter.” Sevha swallowed the words
I don’t even know what your status is.
Teresse repeated herself, more forcefully this time. “I refuse.”
Whatever her reasons, there was no persuading her.
Sevha moved to his next option. “Then, Leytia?”
“Have you forgotten why Prince Duce’s family is staying at a separate inn?”
“If Duce’s enemies think we’re close, they’ll see me as an enemy, too.”
“And you want to take his daughter as your partner?”
Sevha gave up on Leytia with a sigh.
Then what am I supposed to do?
Teresse considered this for a moment. “After you eat, perhaps you should go out for some nightly games.”
“Nightly games?”
“In a large city like Jerom, there are... specialists skilled in the art of adorning the upper class.”
Sevha immediately understood and grimaced. “For one of the Anse to find a partner in such a place is blasphemy.”
“Straighten your face.” Teresse ladled a bowl of stew for Sevha. “This isn’t just about finding a companion for the night or a partner for the ball. We are outsiders in this Knight Kingdom. We need someone who can guide us through Jerom—and the kingdom—as it is now.”
“Find an informant?”
“Yes. And who is better suited to be an informant than one who lives by night?”
***
And so, late that night, dressed in plain clothes, Sevha stood at the entrance to one of Jerom’s pleasure districts.
He observed the street before him. Red-roofed houses stood in rows, the light from lanterns hung before each one pooling together, illuminating the street as if it were day.
Through that light, people walked in pairs and sometimes in larger groups.
This is uncomfortable. I don’t even know where to begin.
Sevha had no idea how he was supposed to find a ball partner, let alone an informant, here. As he scratched his head in frustration, a familiar voice spoke.
“You look like you need help. Shall I offer my assistance?”
It was Fernoka. He was not in his priestly robes but dressed casually, much like Sevha.
“Why are you in Jerom, Fernoka?”
“I am here on business.”
“Is there business for a priest here?” Sevha eyed him with suspicion.
Fernoka simply chuckled, as he always did.
“In any case, shall I help you? A man of the Anse would not have come to an entertainment district for mere pleasure. Which means you are looking for something...”
He seemed to divine Sevha’s intentions and held out an invitation.
“If you continue straight, you will find a shop… no, a large manor called the Widow’s Garden. I believe what you seek will be there. I was planning to go myself, but I shall yield the opportunity to you.”
“On what grounds do you believe what I want is there?”
Fernoka answered with shameless confidence. “It is a revelation from God.”
Sevha felt he was being played, but with no other options, he took the invitation.
“Very well. I shall be on my way now. We will... meet again.” Fernoka stepped into the crowd and, in an instant, vanished.
Who is that man, really?
His suspicion of Fernoka grew daily, but this was not the time to unravel it. Sevha walked on, searching for the place Fernoka had mentioned.
He arrived after shaking off several hawkers.
Strange atmosphere.
It was a large manor with a red roof, like the other buildings on the street, but unlike the others, there were no touts at the entrance. Instead, women armed with daggers stood guard.
Those women are even stranger. Their movements... they’ve learned the art of killing, not just combat.
Sevha’s suspicion of the Widow’s Garden deepened, but having come this far, he decided to see it through.
When he approached the women and presented the invitation, they checked its contents and immediately opened the door. Then, they bowed their heads slightly. “Welcome, milord.”
Their voices were like grinding metal.
That voice...
It was similar to the voice of the troupe leader he had fought at the festival in Rasseu.
Sevha pushed the thought aside and stepped inside.
Upon entering the hall, the first thought that came to mind was
nobleman’s manor
. The furniture, the decorations, the wallpaper—all things one would only find in a true noble house.
What was unusual were the many long, slightly translucent cloths hanging from the ceiling. They draped down to just above the floor, and behind them, nestled in alcoves, were sofas.
People sat on every one, engaged in conversation.
The guests, noble or commoner, all seem well-off. And the workers... they’re of various races.
Sevha listened closely. Their conversations reached him, but their topics were abstruse.
Music, art, history... Talk about being cultured.
Just as Sevha finished his analysis, someone approached him. A woman in a black dress and a black hat, her face veiled by the hat’s lace trim.
She stood before Sevha and curtsied gracefully. “I do not believe we have met. I am the mistress of this garden, Sherry Welhem.”
Sevha was inwardly surprised that she introduced herself with a surname, but he concealed his expression.
Sherry let out a short, admiring sigh. “You are not surprised that a noble with a surname runs an establishment like this. You are a gentleman with a heart of steel... or perhaps a mask of steel.”
“An establishment like this? It’s not clear to me what is being sold here.”
At Sevha’s words, Sherry chuckled as though he had made a good point. “To noble gentlemen and ladies, we sell the opportunity to display their culture. To commoners, we sell the chance to experience it.”
“A place for just talking?”
“If you do not believe me, then please, experience it for yourself.”
Just then, the sound of shattering glass was followed by an enraged voice.
Crash!
“So you were a non-human after all!”
A woman of one of the other races was crumpled on the floor, bleeding from her head. Four well-dressed men stood before her, one of them holding a broken bottle.
Before Sevha could process the situation, the woman knelt and apologized.
“I... I don’t know what I did to offend you, but I am sorry, Sir Knight.”
“What offended me? You, a non-human, presumed to know of art!”
Sevha listened to their exchange and understood.
He was going to beat her with that bottle from the start.
If the Widow’s Garden was a place for cultured pastimes, conversation between men and women was to be expected. To take issue with it now meant they had come with this intention from the beginning.
Sherry, beside him, seemed to have reached the same conclusion and sighed in annoyance. “Purificationist knights. They must have come to my establishment simply to torment a girl of the other races.”
Sevha recalled the “Purificationist” ideology and asked Sherry, “Purificationists see the other races as filth. Aren’t you going to stop them?”
“Stop them? Surely you know what happens when a non-knight interferes with the duties of a knight.”
As Sevha was about to ask what she meant, the knight who had been persecuting the woman unbuckled his belt and wrapped it around his hand. “You tried to defy the order set by Lusha. You must be punished.”
“I-I’m sorry! Please, have mercy!”
The knight ignored the woman’s pleas and struck her.
Crack!
The woman screamed, but the knight paid her no mind and continued to beat her.
Crack!
Again and again. Realizing her pleas were useless, the woman curled into a ball, her screams the only sound as she endured the blows.
Everyone in the establishment watched, but no one intervened.
The staff and commoner guests just muttered, “You can’t defy a knight.”
The noble guests watched as if it were amusing entertainment, some of them laughing.
Sevha was no different. He felt a pang of pity for the woman, but he had no reason to make an enemy of the knights, so he resolved to simply watch.
But as soon as he made that decision, a cry echoed from within, chasing the thought away.
Be someone’s hero!
His promise to Marden.
To be honest, Sevha had no desire to be a hero. But they were his grandfather’s dying words, and besides, there might be some benefit to it.
He decided to act.
Sevha walked toward the knight and snatched the belt from his hand. The knight’s eyes widened in outrage. “How dare you! Do you know which family I serve—!”
The words of a petty man. Sevha felt that answering would make him just as petty, so he simply yanked the belt.
The knight stumbled forward, and Sevha drove his right knee into the man’s face.
The moment his knee connected, the knight lost consciousness and collapsed. His companions immediately rose to their feet.
“Insolence! By your appearance, you are no knight and—!”
Before the knights could say anything more, Sevha grabbed a bottle and smashed it over another knight’s head. The man staggered and then fell backward.
Sevha was inwardly disgusted.
Can’t even take a bottle to the head as well as the woman he’d been beating.
He glanced to the side and saw a knight charging at him, fist raised. Sevha dodged the punch and kicked the knight squarely in the shin.
As the man’s body pitched forward, Sevha drove a fist into his stomach, followed by an uppercut to the chin.
When the knight’s head snapped back, Sevha brought his fist down on the man’s face.
The knight he had struck also passed out. One remained.
“D-don’t move!”
When Sevha turned, the last knight had grabbed the beaten woman and was holding a sword to her throat. Having kept silent until now, Sevha could no longer tolerate the man’s cowardice.
“After all that talk of being a knight, you take a hostage?”
At Sevha’s mockery, the knight shrieked to hide his shame. “Silence! Kneel at once, or I will kill this woman!”
Sevha immediately shot back, “Why would I?”
“You... you were trying to save this woman...”
“Do I lose anything if I can’t? No. Do I?”
With those words, Sevha started walking toward them. The knight saw the expression on his approaching face. He was sincere—utterly sincere.
It was the face of someone saying,
That woman means nothing to me, so kill her if you want.
While the knight was frozen with indecision, Sevha reached them and flicked a shard of glass he was holding. The shard sliced across the knight’s wrist. His grip loosened, and the sword fell.
Clang!
Simultaneously, Sevha pulled the woman away and drove his fist into the knight’s bewildered face. The man flew backward, rolled across the floor, and lay still.
With all the knights incapacitated, the woman began to cry from the pain, but she smiled through her tears with gratitude. “Thank you, milord. Thank you so much.”
Receiving the woman’s thanks, Sevha wondered if it had been worth it.
Still, it hadn’t been entirely without value. That was all.
Just then, the knight who had been hit with the bottle staggered to his feet. “Attacking a knight? Commoner... You will regret this.”
Sevha was sick of hearing these petty men go on about being knights. “And if I’m not a commoner?”
“Lying in those clothes—!”
“Dan le Blanc.”
The moment Sevha revealed his name, terror struck the noble guests. The staff and commoners, even the woman he had just saved, now looked at him with that same fear.
And the knight...
“F-forgive me! Forgive me! I have been disrespectful! P-p-please, I beg your forgiveness!”
He suddenly dropped to his knees, his face contorted in a terror that bordered on madness.
“N-no. You don’t have to forgive me. I... I will die. Please, just keep the disrespect I have shown you a secret from His Majesty.”
Sevha, not understanding the sudden subservience, simply watched. The knight seemed to take his silence as an affirmation.
“Th-thank you for sparing my family! Glory to the Knight Kingdom!”
He drew his sword and slit his own throat. Blood spurted, and the knight collapsed.
Sevha could not comprehend the sudden turn of events. He looked to the woman he had saved, as if seeking an explanation, but even she, though she tried to hide it, was looking at him with fear.
Sensing the terror that now flooded the establishment, Sevha wondered,
What about me is so terrifying?
With that question in his mind, he turned to Sherry. She watched him for a moment, as if trying to gauge what kind of man he was, then extended a hand.
“Merciful Sir Dan le Blanc, would you be so kind as to escort me for a moment? I believe I can tell you what you wish to know.”