The Hunter of Hawk and Wolf

When Sevha and Duce appeared, the crowd in the square drew back, forming a dueling ground where the two men faced each other alone.

Tension and resolve warred on Duce’s face.

Seeing his expression, Sevha thought, Like an actor on the stage of his life.

It was understandable. For Duce, this was the moment he became the knight from the novels he had so admired and envied.

And though Sevha did not show it, he was at a loss.

Uh… what now?

He had stalled for as long as he could, using the duel as an excuse. Having already achieved his goal, Sevha had no idea how to end it.

Just then, Fernoka emerged from the crowd.

“My apologies. It seems I am late.”

“…I asked Piétang to be the witness.”

“The Bishop was occupied today, so I have come in his stead.”

Sevha gave him a look that asked what he was scheming, but Fernoka just chuckled and changed the subject. “Bare-handed? Will you be all right without a weapon?”

“Is there a rule that says I can’t be?”

Fernoka shrugged. “Do as you please.”

Then his expression grew grave.

“Then… Though there are as many laws as there are nations, a duel acknowledged by both parties is protected by the law of the Papal See. State the names of the gods you believe in.”

Sevha answered, “Diaka.”

Duce answered, “Jestika.”

Fernoka spread his arms and cried out to the crowd.

“Hear this! The names of the thirty-six gods hold a weight equal to this world itself. Any who defile this duel shall not be judged in the Hall of Just Judgment! They shall not even be permitted to stand in line before its gates!”

Fernoka signaled the start. “Let the duel begin!”

Sevha kicked off the ground.

To hell with it. I’ll just end this.

He closed the distance in a blur of motion Duce’s eyes couldn’t follow and threw a front kick.

CRACK!

Duce blocked it with his sword but was sent flying backward, tumbling across the ground.

The entire crowd was stunned into silence. Sevha spoke curtly.

“It’s over,” Sevha declared.

Fernoka glanced toward Duce and smiled faintly. “The end of a duel is not for one man to decide.”

“He’s unconscious.”

“It seems you do not know the nature of Jestika, Prince Duce’s god.”

When Sevha turned his head, Duce was already on his feet.

“Come.”

Sevha clicked his tongue, realizing this wasn’t over.

Again, he kicked off the ground. The moment he reached Duce, he kicked.

This time, too, Duce blocked with his sword, but he was sent flying back to roll across the ground.

But again, Duce rose.

“Come.”

Sevha kept kicking Duce.

Each time, Duce was slammed to the ground, and each time, he rose. Though Sevha was holding back, he kept getting up.

After Duce had been knocked down and risen again enough times to be caked in filth…

I have no choice.

Deciding he had to truly finish it, Sevha dodged Duce’s sword and aimed a kick at his stomach.

Duce’s eyes widened. He threw himself into a roll, evading the blow, and as he moved, he scored a shallow cut across Sevha’s leg with his sword.

A few drops of blood trickled down Sevha’s trouser leg to the ground.

A meaningless wound, little more than a scratch.

But the moment Duce saw it, he burst into laughter.

It was the laughter of pure joy, of finally having done it.

Sevha watched him, then sighed, suggesting, “If you’re satisfied, shall we stop?”

Duce, still laughing, shouted, “And why should I?”

“You know this duel is meaning—”

“—less it is not!”

Without a single tear, Duce raised his voice, his face lit with a brilliant smile.

“I have dreamt my entire life of being a knight, yet I have lived my entire life as a clown! And what am I doing now?”

He shouted for all to hear, holding nothing back.

“I am dueling like a knight from a novel! I am standing my ground, like a knight who confronts adversity! I am landing a decisive blow, like a knight who is ultimately victorious!”

He howled, heedless of a throat that might be ruined forever.

“My admiration! My envy! My dream! You tell me to abandon this moment, the very instant they are all being realized? I refuse!”

Duce let out a cry that was nearly a roar and drove his sword hard into the ground.

Then, with eyes full of not admiration or envy, but pure passion, he gazed at Sevha and declared, “I would rather die than give up.”

I would rather die than give up.

Sevha’s eyes widened.

But Duce paid him no mind, spreading one arm like an actor and shouting, “Knights! What is Jestika!”

The prince’s knights were flustered by the sudden cry.

But the Knight of Ornament saw Duce’s smiling face and, with a slight smile of his own, shouted back, “Jestika is the Mother of Knights!”

Once the Knight of Ornament began the chant, Duce’s other knights came to their senses and shouted, “She does not take her place in the wrong! She does not waver where she has taken her place! She does not forgive those who would try to sway her!”

And then, all of Duce’s knights cried out in unison, “Therefore, sinner! Take your seat in the Hall of Just Judgment!”

When the knights’ shouts died down, the crowd stared at Duce.

The hunchback, caked in blood, sweat, and dirt, should have been a wretched sight. And yet, as he stood there, he had the faint, dazzling air of a knight from the novels.

He’s fine with dying, then.

To Sevha’s eyes, however, Duce did not look like a knight from a novel. He was not dazzling.

Instead, someone else’s image overlapped with his.

Sevha dan Anse! You are now the Count of Anse!

It was Sevha’s brother, Edgar.

Though Sevha had not seen Edgar die, he was certain of it.

My brother had more Dan le Blanc blood than Dan Anse. He was more suited to be a knight than a hunter…

That was how he must have died.

A death in endurance.

And still, he must have gone with a smile.

To Sevha, that was…

“Truly, awful.”

A dark stain of blood spread across his shirt.

“Duce. I finally understand now. What makes you and I different. Why I felt so frustrated every time I looked at you.”

His wound had opened. He was done holding back.

“And so, I also know what it is I want to say to you.”

His killing intent washed over Duce.

Duce blinked, and in that instant, Sevha was before him.

Sevha aimed not a simple kick, but a full-force blow at Duce.

Duce blocked with his sword, but unlike before, his body was lifted vertically into the air.

Sevha grabbed Duce by the collar in midair and threw him straight back over his shoulder.

CRASH!

The instant he was slammed into the ground, Duce let out a shout and got back up.

He stared directly at Sevha, his eyes burning with defiance. “Come!”

But unlike before, Sevha did not move.

The stillness was proof he was finally taking this duel seriously.

Duce was gladdened by this, and with a feverish smile, he shouted, “If you won’t come, I will!”

He approached Sevha with the stumbling gait of a hunchback, then rolled across the ground, aiming his sword at Sevha’s legs.

This was the way of fighting Sevha had taught him.

Since his hunched back made his center of gravity fall forward, he should use it to roll faster.

Roll to evade, roll to approach, and while rolling, aim only for the lower body, where an upright opponent would find it difficult to react.

Sevha watched the movements he himself had taught, then stomped on the sword, pinning it to the ground before it could reach his leg.

Duce paused, then looked up and asked, “You said you had something to say. Why are you silent?”

Without a word, Sevha kicked Duce’s face with the same foot that was pinning the sword.

Duce rolled backward and shouted, “Then I will speak first!”

Drunk on the excitement of the duel, he cried, “Why did you drive my knights into a death trap and offer no apology?!”

Without a word, Sevha launched another kick.

Duce blocked it with his sword and tried to roll forward.

But as the kick was blocked, Sevha immediately used that same foot to kick Duce’s own foot.

As Duce’s posture broke and he started to pitch forward, Sevha grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and hurled him sideways.

Duce rolled across the ground, then grit his teeth and got up.

“That’s not all! Who do you think you are to treat me like a dog?!”

He roared all his pent-up frustrations at Sevha, rolling continuously, swinging his sword.

Sevha met his every move, a fluid dance of dodging, suppressing, and countering each attack.

This repeated a dozen more times.

“And… what is it you really want to say to me?”

Sevha grabbed Duce’s leg and threw him with all his might.

Duce crashed through the window of a nearby building and landed inside.

As Sevha followed him in, Duce burst out laughing on the floor.

“Ah! This is enough! Now… I can die with no regrets.”

Duce spoke of dying again, and something in Sevha finally broke.

“Why are you trying to die?”

Duce answered with a smile, “I told you. To die in this duel is a good death for me. Why don’t you understand my—”

“There’s no such thing as a good death!” Sevha screamed.

Duce was startled.

Sevha’s eyes were telling him.

He was thinking of someone else, not Duce. That he couldn’t stand Duce being satisfied with dying because he couldn’t stand that other person.

“Can’t you just live? So what if it’s shameful? So what if it’s agonizing? Anything is better than dying! Better than… making the people you leave behind feel like shit!”

Duce’s admiration and envy were for Sevha.

But the Sevha before him now was just an ordinary man, struggling to contain an eruption of grief.

He looked so pitiable that Duce felt compelled to tell him something he clearly did not understand.

“I do not know who it was that died for you. But if he and I are alike in this moment, then I can tell you this much.”

Duce rose to his feet.

“The one who died for you would have been smiling when he died. Not because he was happy to die, but because he had fulfilled his dream.”

Duce smiled as he finished his words.

“You, whom he saved, are his dream.”

For a moment, Sevha saw Edgar in his mind’s eye.

“I had… a dream. It was of a young hawk taking its first flight, leaving the forest.”

Edgar’s face was not the wretched one that had screamed curses. He was smiling, as if proud of Sevha.

“The dream I had was a good omen. I believe it.”

Sevha could not know what Edgar had dreamt through him.

But Edgar’s smile was peaceful, and so he thought, simply, I’ll understand someday.

And so…

“Then you have even less reason to die.”

He threw Duce out of the building.

As Duce landed spread-eagled on the ground, Sevha followed him out and said, “If you die without fulfilling your dream of becoming a knight from a novel, you won’t be able to die smiling, will you?”

“A knight? How can one who cannot even see the sky—!”

Just as Duce was about to shout that he was speaking nonsense, Sevha nudged Duce’s chin with his foot.

“I only realized it recently myself, but you should be able to see the sky.”

“Ah.”

The night sky, the sun having already set, came into view. The source of this content ɪs novel·fiɾe·net

“Ahh.”

Because he had fallen flat on his back, wretchedly, he could see the night sky.

“Ahhh… Hahaha!”

He had never known. All his life, he had bowed his head to the king, to his family.

He had never known because he had never once fought against them, never once been knocked flat on his back.

“I could have done it too? I can become a knight from a novel?”

Sevha clicked his tongue. “Is there some rule that says you need someone’s permission to become one?”

Duce couldn’t hold back his laughter, knowing now that he could achieve his dream. He couldn’t hold back his tears, either.

“Right! That’s right! I know it well! What one needs to become a knight from a novel isn’t someone’s permission!”

Duce rose to his feet.

His hands were empty.

But Duce, as if it didn’t matter, walked toward Sevha. He had no staff, no sword, and he stumbled, but he got right back up and approached.

And when he stood before Sevha, he threw a punch at his chest.

“I just have to live like a knight from a novel.”

Thump.

The moment Duce’s fist landed, Sevha said, “Honestly? You’re a hundred years too early.”

He planted his fist in Duce’s face.

Immediately after, a slugfest began between Sevha and Duce.

Neither man dodged the other’s punches. They just took the hits, using the time they would have spent dodging to land another blow.

A blood-boiling fight. So heated that, one by one, the crowd began to cheer.

As if in response, Sevha and Duce struck each other even more fiercely.

When the crowd’s roar reached its peak, Fernoka murmured softly to himself.

“Diaka and Jestika fought. They were so different from each other that they had never fought before. Only after fighting did they realize.”

The end of the mythical battle.

“That being so very different, when joined, they were perfect.”

CRASH!

Duce was thrown backward.

“I’ve lost.”

As Duce wiped the blood from his eyes, the night sky came into view.

“This time, I’ve lost!”

The crowd roared its approval.

Amidst the cheers, Sevha extended a hand.

Duce took his hand, got to his feet, and said, “I lost this time, so this time, I must follow your will.”

At once, Duce’s eyes sharpened, and he said to Pashon, “The investigation of the Great Underground Road is halted.”

Pashon shouted back, “You clown, are you defying the Third Prince’s—!”

“I am!” Duce cut him off with a roar and finished his sentence. “No matter what anyone says, the First Prince of the Lion King.”

At Duce’s fierce declaration, Pashon trembled slightly. But he soon sneered and shouted, “What do you think His Majesty will say when he finds out a hunchback said such a thing! You’ll die! And not just you! That bastard, too, for treason—!”

Fernoka turned his head toward the inner castle.

Then, as if witnessing a miracle, his eyes widened and he spoke.

“When Diaka and Jestika ceased their fight, Gerda spoke, saying, ‘If that is your choice, then you two shall divide the judgment between you. Thus, it shall be a perfect judgment. And since you have defied me, the Goddess of Fate…’”

He spoke the true lesson of the battle between Diaka and Jestika.

“‘From this day forth, fate shall be something that can be defied.’”

A shout descended upon the square.

“Who dares cause a disturbance in my castle!”

Sevha turned his head in the direction of the shout.

An old man was approaching from the inner castle. A giant, ramrod-straight old man with clear eyes.

“Grandfather.”