Chapter 70 : Chapter 70
A cellar lit by a few dim lamps.
The small knife in Sevha’s hand drank the light, spat it back out in slivers as it parted the corpse.
“Male. Four stomachs. Bovine-type other race.”
Sevha kept muttering, his small knife moving without hesitation.
Baren transcribed the muttered report onto a piece of paper.
“Multiple wounds on the bones. The tooth marks of a carnivore. He handled animals. A trainer.”
It was a gruesome sight, but Sevha’s skill was so brilliant that even Legra and Teresse were in awe. It was an awe-inspiring art of dissection, one of three skills perfected in Anse, alongside hunting itself.
“Stomach. Contents preserved. Apple pie. Eaten nearby, in Rasseu.”
Dissection was one of the taboos designated by the Papal See. Yet this Hunter of Anse dissected with an air of ease.
Beasts, monsters, races capable of speech—he studied them all. The number of bones, the position of organs, the patterns of muscle development. All of it. All for the sole purpose of advancing the art of the hunt.
“Next.”
Sevha continued, dissecting the other two corpses in succession. When he was finished, he had made all the corpses bloom. He placed the small knife on the table and gave his conclusion.
“All three were acrobats or members of a traveling troupe that arrived in Rasseu today.”
Baren said promptly, “I will find those who match the description.”
Teresse observed the bodies. “He said there were signs of carnivore bites, didn't he? A troupe that handles carnivores would be rare.”
For some reason, Legra’s face had darkened. Sevha assumed it was because he was seeing a dissection for the first time and patted the boy’s head to soothe him.
He went outside to the castle courtyard. Dawn was slowly breaking. Just as Sevha was about to return to his room, he spotted Duce sprawled on the ground.
When Duce didn't respond, Sevha crossed to his side and sat with a thud.
He snapped, “Would you mind not lying in someone else’s courtyard?”
Duce laughed. “So that's the only way you know how to show concern.”
“…Isn't it enough that it was conveyed?”
Duce smiled as if it were a wise answer, then explained, “I have been deliberating. Because I know who ordered the attempt on my daughter's life.”
“When will this deliberation end?”
“…You may call me a coward. Just give me a little more time. The past is not so easily shed.”
Sevha thought it only natural for him to deliberate, considering the opponent. He nodded, got up, and started back to his room.
Duce's voice came from behind him.
“I have a request.”
“What is it?”
Duce made his request in a voice like ice over fire. “The ones who tried to kill my daughter… kill them for me.”
Sevha snorted, as if wondering why he was stating the obvious.
“I never intended to forgive. The bastards interfered with a festival meant to fatten my future prey.”
***
The next day, at dusk, Sevha, Teresse, and Legra were walking the streets of Rasseu.
“Lord Sevha,” Legra said, “if we approach so openly, won't they realize we're on to them and flee?”
They were heading toward the location of the traveling troupe that matched the details gleaned from the dissection.
“They'll think we're just searching blindly,” Sevha said.
“Why is that?”
Teresse answered in a small voice, “How could they know we identified them by breaking a papal taboo?”
Just then, they saw a crowd ahead. Beyond them stood a makeshift outdoor stage.
As Sevha’s party stood at the back of the crowd, a girl walked onto the stage. It was the one they had seen before, with bandaged horns and a long, thin tail. A curious sight.
For some reason, Legra blushed upon seeing her.
And Teresse gasped, “De-De-De-De-Demonkin!”
Not wanting to draw attention, Sevha clamped a hand over her mouth.
The girl on stage spoke in a monotone so devoid of emotion one might wonder if she were alive at all. “I will tell you a story.”
As the audience’s gazes focused on her, the girl unwrapped the bandages on her horns. Black horns of crystal, like a night sky filled with stars. They were beautiful. Truly beautiful.
But the moment the audience saw them, they jeered.
“Cursed, hideous bitch!”
“Receive the Holy Emperor's punishment!”
Curses and insults rained down, but the girl, as if accustomed to it, remained expressionless and continued, “The story I will tell is of the devil… who defied the Holy Emperor.”
As she announced the theme, a male and a female actor walked onto the stage.
“Saintess! Let us go! To become the true king!”
The actors were performing the story of the Holy Emperor, a tale known to all on the continent.
In an age when light and darkness were intermingled, the Holy Emperor was chosen by the Saintess, the voice of the God of Light. Having already conquered half the continent, he went to seek out a certain race: the Demonkin.
In that age, they were the prophets who chose the kings of each race. The Holy Emperor asked the king of the Demonkin, “O chooser of kings! Answer me! Is it right for me to become the king of kings?”
The king of the Demonkin replied, “You must not become king.” And with that, he sought the Holy Emperor's life.
Fortunately, the Holy Emperor survived. He learned why the Demonkin refused to recognize him as king and had tried to kill him.
“The Demonkin are followers of darkness… they are evil.”
Thus began the war between the good who followed the Holy Emperor and the evil who followed the Demonkin.
The war ended in the Holy Emperor's victory. He was merciful and forgave those who had followed the Demonkin.
But the Demonkin alone, he did not forgive.
“For all eternity, the bloodline of demons shall not enjoy anything that was mine!”
After the Holy Emperor delivered his punishment, all the races of the continent he had unified came to shun them. They were made to wander, unable to stay anywhere.
“And now, the king shall be chosen not by you, but by the Saintess!”
As the actor shouted the line, the entire audience cheered. Amidst the cheers, the Demonkin girl knelt before the actor and prostrated herself.
Watching the scene, Teresse muttered, “Sometimes I think… that story is crude and strange.”
Sevha felt the same but didn't respond. He didn't even acknowledge he had heard. There were taboos in the world that not even he, not even the Anse Tribe, would break.
The play ended, and the actors, including the Demonkin girl, descended from the stage. Lively music rang out, and acrobats emerged from behind the stage, leading animals.
“Shall we make our way to the main stage?” Teresse asked.
“They'll be backstage,” Sevha said.
“Let's g—”
As Sevha was about to head backstage, something strange caught his eye. “What are you doing, Legra?”
Legra was shifting from foot to foot like an impatient child.
“Do you need to relieve yourself?”
At Sevha’s jibe, Legra smiled brightly as if to say, That’s it! and bolted in the direction the actors had gone. “Ye-yes! I'll go use the privy!”
“What? Hey! What’s with him?”
Sevha had more important things to do than chase Legra, so he and Teresse went backstage. Numerous cages, large and small, were arranged there, and troupe members were preparing for their acts.
“Who's the leader?” Sevha asked.
A troupe member pointed to a middle-aged man sitting in a chair with his eyes closed.
“Are you the leader?”
“And you are…?”
“Dan le Blanc.”
The leader looked surprised, and he hastily bowed. “Forgive me. I am blind and did not recognize you.”
Sevha had never heard the voice before. He got to the point. “A guest I invited was recently attacked.”
The leader’s expression turned serious. “You suspect us.”
“It's only natural to suspect outsiders first.”
“Indeed. But we are nothing but a lowly traveling troupe.”
“Is that so? Then tell me. Where were you before you came to Rasseu?”
“Before coming to Rasseu…”
The leader fluently recounted the places they had stopped and what had happened there. Sevha gripped his handaxe and swung it down toward the leader’s head.
“And the place we stopped before that was…”
The leader never stopped talking, even as Sevha’s handaxe froze an inch from the crown of his head.
“I remember no more. Now, will you believe me?”
After the leader finished, Sevha retracted his handaxe. “Of course.”
Just then, someone came running backstage. It was the Demonkin girl. Unlike on stage, she was not expressionless. Her face was one of confusion. Legra followed close behind her, his own face a deep red.
“W-wait! I just wanted to ta-talk…!”
Seeing that everyone was looking at him, Legra’s face flushed an even deeper red with embarrassment as he squeaked at the girl, “Legra! I'm Legra! And you are?”
The Demonkin girl studied him intently, then said softly, “Vanadia.”
Legra beamed as if her name were the greatest prize in the world. “Hello, Vanadia!”
The girl just nodded, as if she couldn't comprehend his behavior.
Sevha decided it was time to leave. “In any case, I'll be on my way.”
As Sevha, Teresse, and Legra were about to go, the leader spoke up, surprised. “Ah, forgive my boldness. I haven't yet said my name, My Lord Marquis.”
As he left the backstage area, Sevha replied curtly, “I'll hear it next time.”
A moment later, once they were far from the stage at the entrance to an alleyway, Sevha spoke.
“They're assassins.”
Legra froze.
Teresse, though she shared Sevha's opinion, asked, “Your reasoning?”
“That one. He's not blind.” Sevha explained. “I swung the axe so it would whistle past his ear. But he didn't react. A blind man has sharp hearing.”
“So he's just pretending to be,” Teresse said, nodding. “There are surely others besides that troupe who have infiltrated the city for the festival.”
“There will be,” Sevha agreed. “So we'll quietly take a few and make them talk.”
“And they'll answer?”
“Don't worry.” As Sevha stepped into the alley, Baren and the Hunters materialized from the darkness. “Besides hunting and dissection, do you know the third art perfected in Anse?”
Sevha led the Hunters deeper into the darkness as he spoke.
“The art of exploring pain and fear.”
***
Evening, a few days later.
The festival wouldn't begin until the moon rose higher, but everyone in Rasseu, dressed in animal costumes, was already eating, playing, and drinking.
And on the roof of a building tall enough to overlook it all, Sevha stood, clad in a beaked hood and a cloak adorned with hawk feathers.
A moment later, Baren came up and handed him a bow and a quiver.
“They are dead, but they told us everything.”
As Sevha fastened the quiver to his waist and took the bow, Baren continued, “The Hawk's Beak will point to those who face judgment today.”
With that, Baren donned a hawk-feathered cloak just like Sevha's. He then leaped from the roof, and from the street below, Shri shot into the sky.
Sevha watched the bird climb, then stood at the edge of the roof.
“It's been a long time… a proper hunt.”
Sevha nocked an arrow, looked out over the nightscape of Rasseu, and declared, “Let the hunt begin.”
Faint birdcalls echoed from all over Rasseu.
The calls of birds not native to the city.