The Hunter of Hawk and Wolf

Sevha could neither move nor make a sound.

An aura emanated from Marden, one that felt impossible to overcome.

A resolve emanated from him, one that felt impossible to break.

Crushed by that aura and resolve, Sevha froze.

“The first Blanc was a common man. He could wield neither sword, nor lance, nor dagger. He had no skill, no talent, no wisdom. All he knew was the shield. All he had was his large frame.”

Marden began a story, a song.

“And so the first Blanc swore an oath: to protect his people. The Knight of the Sword, the Knight of the Lance, the Knight of the Dagger, even the king—they all laughed.”

The title of that song was the Song of Knight Blanc.

“The king asked, ‘From the slave to the king himself, all are my people. From this spot to the horizon’s edge, all are my people. How can you claim to protect them all?’ And the first Blanc answered.”

It was the song of a man who was nothing more than common.

“‘Then I will protect even one of them. And for any I fail to protect, the one who inherits this shield will go in my stead.’”

The song of one who, though merely human, dared to dream of being a hero.

“And in time, the king and his knights fought a great war. In defeat, the Knight of the Sword, the Knight of the Lance, and the Knight of the Dagger retreated, leaving the king. But the Knight of the Shield… he protected his king to the very end, and died.”

And the song of the one who made that dream a reality.

“He died a hero, protecting the king… one of the very people he had sworn to protect!”

Eshu pounded his breastplate with a fist and cried, “Knight of the Shield!”

Marden continued the song.

“The second Blanc swore an oath to protect the people. He defended the king’s princess from the northern giants. He became the princess’s hero.”

Again, Eshu struck his breastplate. And this time, not only Eshu, but all the Blanc Knights in the hall cried out with him. Follow current ɴᴏᴠᴇʟs on novｅlfire.net

“Knight of the Shield!”

Marden sang on, never pausing.

“The third Blanc swore an oath to protect the people. He died defending the domain from the monsters of the Frost Mountains. And so he became the hero of the commoners.”

From the banquet hall to the corridors, countless Blanc Knights struck their breastplates and cried out.

“Knight of the Shield!”

“The fourth Blanc…!”

Marden’s song did not cease.

The chant of the Blanc Knights did not cease.

Knight of the Shield!

In the Song of Blanc, every generation of Blanc inherited the oath and passed it on.

Knight of the Shield!

In the Song of Blanc, every generation of Blanc swore to protect the people, and they kept that oath.

Knight of the Shield!

In the Song of Blanc, every generation of Blanc became a hero.

Knight of the Shield!

A hero to one, a hero to many, a hero to someone.

Knight of the Shield!

When not only the Blanc Knights but all who served in the castle began to chant the name of the Knight of the Shield, their voices filling the fortress.

Marden fixed his eyes on Sevha and roared.

“Do you hear me? To be a Knight of the Shield is to become someone’s hero! The shield’s mission is to carry on that will!”

Eyes fixed, he roared.

“Do you not understand, my blood? If you do not, then think of your mother! Your mother gave her life to bring you into this world—she was your hero! By giving birth to you, your mother fulfilled the mission of the Knight of the Shield!”

Sevha’s eyes widened. Marden roared with a triumphant laugh, as if to say, Now do you see?

“Now, it is your turn! Live like a hawk, if you wish! Live like a wolf! Be consumed by vengeance! Be drunk on love! However…!”

And Marden made a request of Sevha… or perhaps it was a command, one that could not be defied.

“You must become someone’s hero!”

Silence fell following that final roar.

Sevha slowly approached Marden.

He knew he should stop him. But he also knew that what Marden was doing was right.

Because Marden was smiling, just as Edgar had, as if Sevha himself was his dream.

He could not stop him. He asked, his voice small and weak, audible only to Marden.

“Whose hero will you become, Grandfather?”

Seeing that Sevha would not stop him, Marden rejoiced that his will had been accepted, and his smile grew wider, and wider, and wider still.

“I… the knight, Marden le Blanc… shall become your hero, and a verse in the song!”

He cried out one last time.

“Even in death, I will not relinquish this shield!”

Marden drank the wine from his cup.

He spewed blood.

He collapsed to the floor.

Every vassal in the hall shot to their feet, staring in stunned silence.

Eshu and Duce rushed to Marden’s side in shock.

Sevha quietly knelt beside him.

“Sevha.”

“Yes, Grandfather.”

“As a knight, I have said all I wished to say. But as family, there are words I have yet to speak.”

“What is it?”

Marden gazed at his grandson, blood trickling from his lips.

“Cry.”

Sevha smiled faintly at the command.

“I do not cry. I am a Hunter of Anse, and we do not reveal what lies within.”

“You are also a child of Blanc, for whom such rules do not exist.”

“Even so, I will not cry. I am a Hawk of Diaka, and restraint is our virtue.”

“How is it restraint to harbor so much longing, sorrow, and vengeance that it causes you pain? That is not restraint. That is greed.”

Sevha’s mouth worked silently for a moment.

Then, his face twisting, he asked, “Grandfather? I have no more excuses. What am I to do?”

Marden summoned all his remaining strength to force his lips into a smile. He stroked Sevha’s hair.

“Cry.”

Tears began to stream from Sevha's eyes.

“You're... too cruel. My mother, my father, my brother, my friends… they’re all dead. For you to do this too, Grandfather… isn’t it too much?”

Sevha revealed his true heart, almost like a child throwing a tantrum.

His was the heart of one who had never been allowed to be a child, a heart that had been buried, layer by layer, never seeing the light of day.

Marden’s smile widened to hear his grandson’s complaint. He stroked the lad’s head more gently.

“If you find it so unjust, then go find a woman or two and sire some children. You need only make a new family.”

At Marden’s jest, Sevha smiled through his tears, unable to help himself.

In that moment, Marden saw Sevha, and something beyond Sevha.

Marden's eyes widened. Tears filled them. And then Marden, like Sevha, smiled through his own tears as he spoke.

“Seeing you smile, I understand now. You truly are… more like your mother…”

Then he murmured, “Isn’t that right, Carna?”

Marden’s hand slid from Sevha’s head and fell limply to the floor.

Sevha looked at the still form of his grandfather, then gently closed his grandfather’s eyes. He buried his face in Marden’s chest.

A few sobs escaped.

A score of tremors wracked his frame.

Sevha rose, whispering, “Yes, I am, Grandfather.”

He turned his head toward the vassals.

His eyes were still wet with tears, but his gaze was ice.

“Assassination. Close the castle gates.”

Several knights ran out.

The vassals could only stare, dumbfounded.

The scene made no sense. Who would assassinate the marquis? The contest for succession had ended long ago.

Sevha turned and said, “Duce. Read the names of those who offered the wine.”

Duce did not understand the meaning in Sevha’s words at first. But then he looked at Marden’s still body and understood.

“So Marden chose to become your hero.”

Duce picked up the paper the Count had presented.

“I cannot let my master’s story be tarnished.”

And he recited the name of the Count written at the very top.

The instant the name was spoken, the Count fled the hall like a madman.

When Sevha did not move, Duce called the name of another noble.

The noble merely stood there, looking as if he had no idea what was happening or why the Count had fled.

Sevha turned to Eshu and said, “You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.”

Eshu knew immediately what Marden's plan had been, and what Sevha now wanted.

“I am your knight, My Lord Marquis.”

The knight approached the noble whose name had been called.

Dong…

The alarm bell tolled, its sound echoing through Rasseu Castle.

Sevha declared, “The Marquis has been assassinated by the wine offered by the Count, and by those who follow him.”

Every noble on the Count's list felt their jaws go slack.

“This is treason.”

Dong…

The bell’s toll bored into their ears. In that moment, they all saw Sevha, standing before the portrait of the First Knight of the Shield.

Sevha’s cold voice rang out.

“Kill the traitors, and all who follow them!”

Simultaneously, Eshu brought his sword down upon the head of the named noble.

Blood flew, and the noble’s body crashed onto a table.

And then all the vassals understood the meaning of this strange assassination.

It was the pretext for a purge.

The moment they realized it, the nobles on the list began to scream and flee the hall.

“Aaaargh!”

“Do not let a single traitor live!” Eshu barked.

Every Blanc Knight in the hall drew his sword.

They killed or pursued the nobles whose names Duce recited.

The banquet hall was instantly awash in blood, filled with the dying and the killers, the pursuers and the pursued.

“Eshu. I will go after the Count.”

Eshu immediately handed Sevha a sword.

Gripping the sword, Sevha crossed the banquet hall, now an execution ground.

In the corridor outside, knights were cutting down the entourages of the purged nobles.

Amidst it all, Baren stood doing nothing.

As Baren saw the tearstains on Sevha’s face, a woman collapsed at his feet.

“P-please, spare me! I don’t know anything! It was my husband who did it!”

Without sparing the woman a glance, Baren asked Sevha, “You haven’t washed away your vengeance with those tears, I trust?”

Sevha met Baren’s gaze, the coldness in his eyes all the sharper for the tears still wet on his cheeks.

“I’ve only just now admitted that what I lost was precious enough to cry for.”

Baren raised his handaxe. “I will trust you. Sevha dan Anse… Lord Marquis.”

At once, Baren mercilessly struck down the pleading woman with his handaxe.

Sevha walked past Baren and continued on.

He reached the hall with the grand staircase.

In the hall, Blanc Knights and Hunters were killing the knights who had accompanied the targets of the purge.

On the stairs, Tataka sat chewing on a steak.

A knight defending one of the targets screamed, “Dan le Blanc! What is the meaning of this, without investigation or trial! Jestika will not forgive you!”

Tataka glanced back at Sevha and said, “So he says. What is your reason for doing this without investigation or trial?”

Sevha observed the purge for a moment before replying.

“It’s revenge. Against the bastards who forced my grandfather to make such a choice.”

Tataka dropped the steak he was chewing and burst out laughing.

“A little honest, are we now!”

Tataka grabbed the iron spear at his side and threw it.

It pierced the knight who had just shouted.

“Do not forget that honesty. A sometimes-honest bastard is more trustworthy than a constant liar.”

Sevha walked past Tataka and continued on.

He came to a long corridor lined with windows.

Through the windows, in the castle courtyard below, Blanc Knights, Hunters, and members of the Tusk Tribe were slaughtering the soldiers and servants of the condemned.

Sevha watched the carnage, then turned his gaze to the end of the corridor.

There stood Tito, perfectly attired in heavy plate, holding a helm that would cover his face.

“I should’ve fled sooner. I’m finished. So finished I’ve even got a proposal to make…”

Tito’s eyes fell upon the madness outside the window, and he paused to give a hollow laugh.

“But after all this, I doubt you’d let me live, no matter what I say.”

Tito sighed and donned his helm. He drew his sword and leveled it at Sevha.

“I have no intention of dying easily, Brothel Lord.”

Sevha tightened his grip on his sword and corrected him.

“If you must call me something, use my proper name, mongrel. I am… Marquis Dan le Blanc.”