Chapter 73 : Chapter 73
The festival was in full swing in Rasseu.
Drunken humans and Tusks roared through a drinking contest, downing still more liquor. A refugee from Anse took a bite of a sweet dish offered by a Rasseu native. Countless races gathered in the square, joyfully dancing in their own distinct styles.
Sevha walked through streets thick with the festive air and arrived near the stage of a traveling troupe.
The festive mood vanished. Baren greeted him grimly.
“It is finished.”
Behind Baren lay the corpses of assassins and beasts. Leytia, exhausted from fighting a wyvern, sat on the ground resting. Teresse was tending to Vanadia and Legra.
“One survivor remains,” Baren said, “but I will deal with her immediately.”
The moment Sevha understood, Baren drew his handaxe and advanced on Vanadia.
“The order was ‘no survivors,’ was it not?”
As Baren moved to kill Vanadia, Teresse tried to stop him. But Legra was faster, spreading his arms to shield the girl.
“No.”
Baren did not ask for a reason. He only stated why she had to die.
“She is an assassin who tried to kill one of the Dan Anse.”
“Vanadia won’t do that anymore.”
“That is your belief, not a fact. Step aside.”
Legra did not yield. The parts of Baren’s face visible between his bandages twisted with fury.
“Furthermore, that assassin is of the Demonkin.”
“So? Must all Demonkin be killed?”
“Yes. House Dan Anse is a loyal vassal of the Holy Emperor, blessed by the hand of his daughter in marriage. The enemies of the Holy Emperor are the enemies of the Anse.”
“That’s an old story! The Holy Emperor is no more!”
When Legra denied the Holy Emperor, not only Baren but the other Hunters stared at him in disbelief.
Sevha weighed the situation. All assassins had to die. If their master discovered Sevha had killed them, he could be framed for treason.
This problem, I can probably manage…
A greater obstacle was that Vanadia was Demonkin. They were a race eternally punished by the Holy Emperor, reviled by nearly every other race on the continent.
Protecting a Demonkin, leaving her limbs intact, would be seen as a denial of the Holy Emperor. I could be isolated.
To deny the Holy Emperor was a dangerous act, something even demon worshipers like the Eirang would not do. The few eccentrics who kept Demonkin with them would inflict punishments on their bodies to show they were not defying the old edicts.
As Sevha’s deliberation dragged on, Baren tightened his grip on his handaxe, his posture suggesting the consideration was needless.
“I will take your silence as consent.”
At once, Teresse pulled Vanadia and Legra into an embrace from behind. “A Hunter does not discard a useful tool, is that not so?”
“Are you saying this Demonkin will aid in our revenge?” Baren scoffed.
Teresse replied by gently stroking Vanadia’s hair. “Your name is Vanadia, isn’t it? What do you see when you look at that bandaged monster?”
Vanadia, unused to affection, twitched her lips, as if unsure whether to be pleased or uncomfortable. She looked at Baren and spoke.
“A burning village. A burning house. The bodies of a child and a woman. He weeps as he watches.”
Instantly, a pain his bandages could not hide contorted Baren’s face.
“He weeps even as his face burns,” Vanadia continued. “No matter how many tears he sheds, the fire on his face, in his heart, will not go out. And…”
“Are you reading my mind? You demonic thing!” Baren roared.
As he lunged, Teresse held Vanadia and Legra tighter to protect them.
“Well?” she said. “Will she not be of use?”
“You want us to keep a mind-reading demon by our side?”
Hearing Baren’s question, Sevha had a sudden realization. Long ago, when the Demonkin had declared the Holy Emperor unfit to be king, it was a conclusion they had reached after reading his mind.
The Holy Emperor’s true nature was unbefitting a king. Is that why he delivered an eternal punishment?
Did he have to annihilate the Demonkin to hide his true self? Did he ensure the survivors were reviled so that no one would ever believe their words?
“Sevha! I don’t know what you’re thinking, but it’s about time you helped!”
At Teresse’s cry, Sevha was shaken from his thoughts.
He looked at Vanadia. “Why were you with the assassins?”
“…I was at home. My mother and father died. The person who killed them took me. It hurt, and they said I had to do as I was told if I didn’t want it to hurt anymore.”
“When was this?”
“I don’t remember.”
Her memories were shattered. Sevha understood what the assassins had done to her.
The Anse deal harshly with their children, but not to the point of breaking their minds to make them tools.
Sevha studied Legra with a flicker of pity. In the boy’s eyes was the resolve to protect Vanadia at all costs.
Legra is acting this way because…
Sevha was not so naive as to miss the feelings Legra held for Vanadia.
Though, like me in the past, he doesn’t even know what those feelings are.
As Sevha’s contemplation lengthened, Vanadia suddenly stared at him intently.
“Within you, there is a hawk. Within you, there is also a wolf.”
Just as Sevha was about to warn her not to read his mind, her dark eyes grew vacant. The halo of light within her obsidian horns shone brighter. In that state, Vanadia spoke slowly, her voice transformed.
“Light and shadow. Order and chaos. The world is made of two sides, so any king who would embrace the world whole must house two gods within his heart. That is the qualification of a king.”
Her words, her voice, her aura—everything was like a prophet from legend. Everyone, even Baren, grew tense.
“We speak as those who decide the king.”
Vanadia finished, gazing at Sevha with eyes as deep as the cosmos.
“And you have the qualifications.”
Her head dropped, and she collapsed.
“Teresse? What was that…?” Legra whispered.
“Perhaps it was education, or maybe brainwashing drilled into her as a Demonkin from a young age,” Teresse mused. “That if she sees a certain potential, she must speak certain words.”
Sevha felt that the more he learned of the Demonkin, the less he understood. He scratched his head hard and barked, “Teresse. Is there a way to hide her identity?”
Teresse smiled brightly, as if Sevha had made the only choice that mattered. “There are many other races with horns and tails. We hide the horns and the markings… and we’ll say she’s a succubus.”
“Watching over her, caring for her… you do it.”
“Leave it to me.”
Legra beamed with joy. “Thank you, Lord Sevha!”
Baren, however, fixed Sevha with sharp eyes that rebuked him for once again making a choice unbecoming of a Hunter.
“Baren. I will use everything I can.”
“She is a double-edged sword that could bring us all to ruin.”
“If you know that, then do not speak carelessly of her identity. I will keep her well sheathed until she is needed.”
Tired of arguing, Sevha clapped his hands.
“Enough. Clean this up.”
Baren and the other Hunters reluctantly began to clear the bodies. Teresse once again tended to Vanadia and Legra.
Just then, Leytia approached Sevha, utterly exhausted. “Can I go back now?”
“Yes.”
“‘Yes’ is all?”
“Yes.”
“Escorting a delicate lady is a knight’s duty.”
“Delicate…? Who?”
When it was clear Sevha would not agree, Leytia told him the truth. “If I go back looking like this, my mother will scold me. Please, come with me and help me make an excuse.”
As Leytia pleaded desperately, Sevha had no choice but to nod.
They left the area near the stage and reentered the noisy streets. Both were exhausted, but they returned every greeting from the people they passed.
“My lord Marquis! You were magnificent at the start of the festival! But the lady next to you, her clothes are torn… Ah, you truly are the young master of the pleasure district. Playing rough indeed.”
“What? Hey! What kind of misunderstanding is—!”
“What does playing rough mean, Sevha? Eh?”
They also ate all the food that was handed to them.
“You really like sweets, don’t you?” Leytia observed.
“…Can you cook?”
“I can roast a wild boar well. My mother taught me.”
They even stopped to watch the occasional street performance.
“Look! It’s a play!”
“What play?”
“The title is The Frenzied Blanc!”
“Say what…?”
Exhausted but still enjoying the festival as they walked, the two came upon a familiar face.
“I am not sure how I should feel, seeing my daughter frolicking with a man.”
Duce was standing on the terrace of a fine, three-story restaurant. Seeing the disheveled state of Sevha and Leytia, he immediately understood.
“It seems my daughter was caught up in it as well.”
“I tried to stop her.”
“I have no intention of blaming you. I know her character.”
Just then, Charlotte came out of the restaurant and glanced coldly at the wounds on Leytia’s body.
“You’re injured, Leytia. Such unladylike behavior again…”
Leytia quickly hid behind Sevha, her eyes pleading for help.
Sevha began, “Let it go, Charlotte. Leytia didn’t mean to get involved so—”
“I don’t know what she fought, but getting injured is a disgrace for a lady.”
“Uh… the problem isn’t that she fought, but that she got hurt?”
Charlotte seized Leytia’s ear and began to drag her away. “It has been a while. I shall teach you again what is expected of a lady and a noblewoman.”
“M-Mother! I—I’m tired! Mother!”
As Charlotte mercilessly dragged Leytia off, Duce gestured for Sevha to come up. Sevha went to the room where Duce stood and joined him on the terrace.
“Sevha. Do you remember your promise to me?”
Sevha was about to make a joke, but Duce’s expression was serious, so he answered properly. “You said you would ask something of me after you had talked with your father.”
“Yes. The time has come for that talk. I must go… and demand that he stop this persecution toward me.”
“And if words do not work?”
The gentleness vanished from Duce’s face. “I have been humiliated my entire life. But I am not angry about that. It was a humiliation I earned as a coward who gave up resisting.”
His eyes widened, his mouth a thin line, his face suddenly fierce.
“But for him to attack my family, as he has this time—that I cannot forgive! Therefore, if the king does not accept my plea…!”
He was like an enraged lion.
“I will usurp the throne with every fang and claw I possess.”
Meeting Sevha’s eyes, he asked, “When that time comes, will you help me?”
Usurping a throne was a perilous affair. Sevha considered it. “What reason do I have to help you?”
“Is the fact that we are friends not enough?”
“It might be enough for me, but I cannot send those who follow me to their deaths for that reason alone.”
Duce nodded, conceding the point, then gestured toward the Frost Mountains. “When I become king, I will help you. Help you return beyond those mountains. Help you reclaim your homeland.”
The offer was a direct path, closing the distance between Sevha and the prey he hunted. Without hesitation, Sevha answered, his expression as cold as a hawk’s.
“Do not forget. The price for your request will be steep.”
***
In a corridor of the royal palace, so dark that faces were hard to see, the sky outside was thick with rain clouds. The Lion King was walking.
He had not gone far when someone spoke from the shadows. “Your Majesty. We have lost contact with all the daggers sent to Rasseu.”
The Lion King laughed, amused. “All of them?”
“Yes. It seems they used the Ghosts of Anse.”
His laughter grew. “Yes, that’s right. Marden’s daughter married into Anse.”
“Then Dan le Blanc’s identity is indeed…”
“What is needed now is not suspicion, but praise. Whatever Dan le Blanc’s identity may be, did he not perform a knightly deed?” The Lion King praised Sevha’s actions with chilling sincerity. “To kill all those who would not obey him… truly knightly.”
He opened the doors to the audience chamber. Light poured out, illuminating his face: hair like a lion’s mane, a powerful physique that betrayed his age of over fifty. The Lion King walked toward the throne, speaking to the vassals bowing before him.
“This year’s birth festival must be held on a grander scale. Summon my children, my four knights, and every lord and lady of the kingdom.”
Sitting upon the throne, the Lion King stated his reason for gathering all the nobles of Jershu.
“I will host a Great Hunt.”
The vassals looked from the Lion King on his throne to the large painting behind him. In it, Diaka with her bow and Jestika with her twin swords fought a figure who sought to escape the Hall of Just Judgment.
The figure was a knight in black, armored from head to toe, wielding twin swords. Those who believed in the thirty-six gods did not treat this knight as a deity, as they did Eirang, but called him by other names.
The Lawless One and Demon of Pride.
The Monarch Who Defies Judgment.
Akadi.
And the vassals, looking upon the painting, chanted not the demon’s name, but the Lion King’s.
“As Barsh II wills it!”