How to Honor The Goddess

༺ 𓆩 Chapter 15 𓆪 ༻

「Translator — Creator」

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘᠂ ⚘᠃

By the time they descended the mountain, night had already fallen.

Hunbish, accompanied by the two outsiders, slipped into the long shadows of dusk, making their way toward a secluded cabin. No one had come here in days. Even if they were uninvited strangers, it was the sort of place where one could quietly pass a night out of sight, safe from the dew and watchful eyes of others.

“We should rest here tonight.”

As Hunbish lit the wick of a candle, its flickering glow filled the small cabin. The two outsiders dropped their packs in suitable corners. It wasn’t spacious, certainly not enough for three grown men and a wolf the size of one, but for Davitte and Norman, it was the first time in a long while that they would sleep under a roof.

Hunbish’s first concern upon entering had been the wolf. Fortunately, it didn’t appear to have suffered any fractures. While numerous shallow gashes from blades marred its body, the bleeding seemed to have stopped for now.

“The regenerative power of beasts is truly astounding. It must’ve blacked out for a moment, but it doesn’t look like its life is in any danger,” Davitte remarked after inspecting it.

Only then did Hunbish allow himself a sigh of relief.

“That’s good to hear.”

“You must have been terribly worried.”

With a less furrowed brow, Hunbish sank into the chair beside the round table, allowing his weary body to rest at last.

“I don’t fully understand it myself, but… this wolf warms my heart. It feels so familiar, like I’ve known it for a very long time. That’s why I keep being drawn to it, I think.”

“Hm…”

Davitte, lost in thought, studied Hunbish with a curious gaze.

“W-What is it? Why are you staring at me like that?”

The intensity of Davitte’s eyes made Hunbish uneasy enough to speak up. Only then did Davitte blink and reply.

“Ah, I’m sorry. I was just… lost in thought.”

“What were you thinking about so deeply?”

"Ah, well... That spell cast upon you, Hunbish - it's actually used quite frequently during wartime."

Davitte settled into the chair across from Hunbish, clearly preparing for a proper explanation.

“You understand? It’s a spell designed to let someone fight until their limbs are completely torn off, even if their body’s been catastrophically damaged. It's usually administered alongside powerful neural suppressants.”

“..............”

Hunbish listened silently, eyes narrowing almost imperceptibly at Davitte’s words.

“It does turn people into berserkers, unyielding even to serious injury, but the practice was soon outlawed.”

“For ethical reasons?”

Davitte gave a slight smile.

In the dim confines of the cabin, the candlelight cast dancing shadows under his jaw, making his burn-scarred face look somewhat grotesque.

“That’s one reason. But the greater issue is this — most people can’t endure the time it takes for a body shredded on the battlefield to recover.”

It was a topic briefly touched on earlier that day.

Hunbish recalled the memory from back then.

“…You said before that ‘wounds carved into the soul’ never fully heal, didn’t you?”

“That is correct. To put it simply, imagine a person who remains tethered to their body by the soul, forced to live through the exact moment their flesh is torn apart, over and over again.”

Davitte paused briefly before continuing, his voice grave.

“Even if the body heals, the trauma etched into the soul festers. The pain returns again and again, and to endure it, the person becomes increasingly dependent on drugs. Eventually, they end up as little more than a husk.”

It explained why Hunbish still limped to this day — the moment he fell from that cliff had imprinted itself deep within him.

“But the thing is… my memory of that moment isn’t nearly as vivid as you’re describing. And its effects feel limited. Could it be that the soul magic I received is different from the usual kind?”

“That was precisely what puzzled me,” Davitte admitted. “I’ve been observing you closely, but there’s nothing significantly different in the spell itself.”

“Then…?”

“If there is something that sets your case apart from others, Hunbish, it’s that wolf.”

Davitte pointed toward the wolf now slumbering peacefully, wrapped in Norman’s cloak.

“That wolf?”

“I heard it was the one who found you after you fell off the cliff, when you were gravely injured. My guess is, it did something then.”

Hunbish turned his eyes toward the beast.

A wolf that healed a wounded soul.

Through all the long years of rehabilitation, what had sustained him had not been willpower alone. It had been the quiet, steadfast presence of this wolf, its unwavering kindness.

“So that’s why I survived.”

“Of course, it’s still just a hypothesis. But regardless, this can’t be left unattended any longer. I’ll now dispel the spell.”

Davitte extended his right hand toward Hunbish’s forehead.

Watching the approaching hand, Hunbish instinctively swallowed hard, tension coiling in his gut.

“My apologies for the intrusion.”

As Davitte rested his palm against Hunbish’s head and began murmuring words in an unfamiliar tongue, Hunbish felt a wave of dizziness wash over him.

“To clear the blockage, I’ll have to use a slightly forceful method.”

“Ugh…”

It felt like a hammer had struck his skull, again and again. Only after enduring several such shocks did Davitte finally withdraw his hand.

“It’s done. The spell has been completely unraveled. Rest for a while, and you’ll feel a significant difference.”

“…I feel really nauseous,” Hunbish muttered, his voice thin.

A dryness began to creep down his throat, followed quickly by a searing heat that spread through his chest and gut.

“Cough, cough. Ugh…”

Cold sweat poured from his skin, and soon, fever bloomed across his body.

Davitte and Norman, quick to notice the sudden change, leapt to their feet in alarm.

“Damn it! Norman, fetch me the water flask from the baggage!"

“On it!”

Hunbish, now overwhelmed with nausea, collapsed onto the table, his breath ragged and shallow. Overhead, the candle’s flame flickered violently.

“..............?”

Troubled, Hunbish slowly lifted his gaze. The flame, once steady, had grown wild and unruly — then in a flash, it leapt outward, setting the interior of the cabin ablaze.

“Aaagh!”

Thrashing in panic, he tumbled to the floor.

“Get a hold of yourself!”

Norman rushed over, face drawn tight with urgency. He grabbed Hunbish by the collar and forced the water canteen into his mouth.

“What you’re seeing, what you’re feeling, it isn’t real! Focus! Look around you, slowly and carefully!”

Half the water spilled out the corners of Hunbish’s mouth, and the rest he promptly vomited. But it was enough — he slowly rose to his feet, panting.

“Huff… huff…”

As his mind cleared, he looked up again. The candle at the center of the table burned quietly, unremarkable, as though nothing had happened.

“What… what the hell was that?”

A hallucination. That was all it had been.

The sweat soaking his body and the spilled water that drenched his furs made him feel clammy and miserable.

“…Today’s been full of surprises,” he muttered.

Davitte, who had been silently observing, struggled to find the right words.

“What exactly just happened?”

“Well… it seems that the long-blocked flow suddenly burst open and in doing so, devoured a great deal of what was around it.”

“‘Devoured’? What do you mean by that?”

“…It took quite a bit of my soul with it. More than a bit, honestly.”

The burn scars on Davitte’s face seemed to stand out even more starkly as he spoke, troubled.

“Normally, the reaction isn’t this intense. But I’m starting to think you might have an unusually sensitive constitution, Hunbish.”

“Hold on.”

Their conversation was abruptly cut short by Norman’s interjection.

Raising one finger to his lips, he gestured for silence, then pointed to the hut’s entrance with his other hand.

“A cart. And livestock. I hear them.”

Hunbish turned pale. Moving quietly to the wooden lattice window, he opened it just a sliver and peeked out.

Outside stood his father, Uhule, returning from a hunt.

“Of all times…!”

The cabin was a resting place for hunters.

It just so happened this was the day his father was due to return.

How Uhule would react to the presence of strangers was anyone’s guess, but Hunbish could hardly imagine it going over smoothly.

“The body! Where did you put the body?”

“Wrapped it well in burlap and slid it under the outer porch.”

Thankfully, the two outsiders, travelers from the central continent, had not left the corpse exposed. Their culture did not allow for such disrespectful treatment of the dead.

Had Uhule stumbled upon a mutilated corpse, regardless of the circumstances, he would not have taken kindly to these outsiders.

Still, there was another issue: Alak, along with the other two horses, remained tied up outside in plain view.

It was impossible to conceal the presence of people in the cabin entirely.

Creaaak—!!!

Hunbish stepped outside before his father could come face-to-face with Davitte, hoping to explain the situation in advance.

“Father…”

Uhule, who had just arrived at the cabin and was tying up his horse, turned at the sound of Hunbish’s voice.

“What are you doing here? And whose horses are these?”

The horses Davitte and Norman had ridden were noticeably larger than the typical stock from Olus. Even someone unfamiliar with horses would instantly recognize the difference. Hunbish, having spent the entire day with them, had grown used to their presence and hadn’t thought much of it.

“They’re guests… from another domain,” he replied carefully. Follow current novels on NoveI(F)ire.net

“Is that so? Then you should have taken them to see the Lord, not brought them to a place like this.”

Uhule secured the reins to the railing and began unloading the supply cart that had been strapped to a yak.

"They're not guests who came to see the Lord."

“Oh? Then what for?”

“A few days ago… I asked you about the goddess.”

At that, Uhule’s gaze narrowed as he paused in the middle of unloading.

He had once served the goddess.

Perhaps, Hunbish thought, there was still room to reason with him.

“They’re people connected to her. They’ve come looking for someone.”

“…Then I will meet them. You’re to return to the village immediately.”

Uhule’s voice turned sharp, his command laced with cold finality.

“…What?”

“This is not your concern. From this moment on, I don’t want you thinking about any of this again.”

“But—”

“No more. While you're in the territory, and even after you leave it, do not speak of the goddess. Not a word.”

His tone brooked no argument. His voice, stern and unyielding, silenced Hunbish.

“Did I not always tell you to know your place? Return home at once.”

Uhule couldn’t bear the thought of his son becoming entangled in matters of the goddess, just as he had once been. Perhaps, in his eyes, Hunbish’s exile was something of a blessing.

At the very least, in whatever place Hunbish chose to settle, no one would know that he was Uhule’s son. No one would think to link him with the goddess.

And yet, now, when he should have been planning for life after exile… Hunbish had begun asking questions about the goddess.

Uhule believed that cutting off his son’s curiosity about the goddess was the last duty he could fulfill as a father.

“How long do you plan on treating me like a child?!”

But the two men, father and son, couldn’t reach each other.

Hunbish, still too young, couldn’t fully grasp the weight behind his father’s intentions. And Uhule, in his brusque and reticent way, lacked the words to make a child understand.

“................”

“I have my own thoughts. I decide what I must do and act accordingly. I’m not asking you to accept everything I say — but can’t you at least hear me out, just once?”

A heavy silence settled between them.

And it was broken not by either of them, but by someone unexpected.

“I knew that voice sounded familiar, it’s Uncle Batar, isn’t it?”

Davitte stepped out from the hut, his voice hoarse and worn but unmistakably clear in the quiet of the night.

At the sound of an unfamiliar voice in the darkness, one that called him by a name long abandoned, Uhule turned sharply, startled.

“You… know me?”

“It’s been a long time, Uncle Batar. I’m Davitte Argento. Through many twists of fate, I’ve somehow managed to survive, clinging to life as best I could.”

Uhule’s eyes widened in disbelief at the name. His legs trembled as he took slow, uncertain steps toward Davitte, peering into his face.

The burns covered much of his skin, but there it was — the same curly brown hair, the vivid, intelligent blue eyes.

And if he had survived… he would indeed be about this age.

“The goddess was not to blame. Nor the world. Nor mankind,” Davitte said, his voice calm. “Everyone was merely trying to survive in their own way. I still remember your words, ‘You, too, must survive.’ It’s because of those words that I made it this far.”

Goosebumps prickled across Uhule’s body. He knew now, it was true.

And with a blank, dazed expression, he collapsed onto the ground, sinking slowly into the silence.

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