HEO 10

Wolf finally remembered. ‘Due to its long isolation in a natural environment, Stoll’s flora and fauna are unique in many ways. Hundreds of species not found in Atania have been discovered.’

“Shut up! Where’s all this chatter coming from?!”

Black Weasel turned around while scowling. He stared at the rabbit the boy held and pointed a finger.

[What’s that? You lazybones, you actually hunted?]

[You said there were only three servings of food stockpiled in the hideout.]

[……Hah.]

Exasperated, Black Weasel laughed hollowly. He waved a hand dismissively, and turned away. Wolf, unable to understand their conversation, grew gloomy. He regretted not learning Stoll’s language earlier, never expecting a day like this.

The boy shoved the rabbit into Wolf’s arms.

“You carry it.”

“Yes.”

Wolf turned around with the rabbit clutched to his chest. Before he could take more than a few steps, the boy tapped his shoulder.

“Here.”

Another rabbit.

“This one too.”

The third was a wild baby goat. But the goat’s appearance wasn’t much different from an Atania goat.

[This boat’s going to sink! Stop catching things, you bastard!]

Black Weasel yelled at the boy. Around then, the forest ended and the riverbank came into view. A small ferry boat was tied to a tree near the shore.

Wolf and Red Eagle couldn’t hide their astonishment as they gazed across. Layers upon layers of towering mountains stretched out, white streams flowing through the deep valleys. It was a spectacle even the journey through Atania hadn’t offered.

Mysterious and beautiful. Yet it was precisely those mysterious, beautiful mountains that had driven the Stolls to launch their invasion expedition all the way to distant Atania. It was said that due to the mountain range, whose massive bulk crushed most of their land, Stolls suffered from an absolute shortage of farmland. At this point, Wolf, who dreamed of becoming a baker, couldn’t help but feel his curiosity surge.

What was the staple food of the Stoll people? Barley? Rye? In gloomy Stoll, where most of the land was dark mountainous terrain, what grain yielded the highest harvest?

“Stop gawking at the scenery and hop in here!”

Black Weasel shouted as he sat down in the ferry. He seated Wolf and Red Eagle opposite him, then he and the boy rowed side by side. It was skillful work.

Wolf flipped through the pages in his mind. ‘The mountainous nation of Stoll has few paved roads,’ ‘Stoll’s roads are rivers, and horses are boats,’ ‘Even during the <Ill Omens’s Invasion> period, while sailing ship manufacturing technology was absent, small military vessels specialized for local warfare were being widely produced throughout Stoll.’ And then, and then, that boy… The flow of his thoughts unconsciously veered off the <Stoll Encyclopedia> and latched onto the boy.

The boy was watching Wolf while rowing from the opposite side. Perhaps because the pigment in his eyes was light, the more their gazes met, the more Wolf felt an indescribable sensation. Something like a sense of incongruity. Something special. Centripetal force. Those Alice blue eyes possessed a centripetal force that sucked people in.

Wolf’s cheeks gradually grew hot. Why is he staring at me like that? I’m staring right back, so it’s the same… but his gaze is intense. It’s natural for me to look at him, but it’s weird that he’s only looking at me.

I’m curious! What’s the reason?!

Could it be… he likes me? The prince said my face was likable too… At school, I was known as the funny guy… Right, I was even invited to the student council president’s birthday party? Definitely, I’m the type my peers like… No, no! Calm down! Calm down! What kind of feelings could a sword-wielding boy like that possibly have for a clumsy servant like me? He’s probably just staring across the way without any particular thoughts…

After sorting out his thoughts, he felt deflated. But Wolf couldn’t tear his gaze away and stared at the boy. His hood was pulled back, revealing the boy’s hair. To Wolf’s eyes, it looked like he’d been tossing and turning all night and had just woken up. To be recognized as a ‘man’ by the boys of this country, you have to walk around like that… Maybe even Black Weasel’s messy, shaggy hair counts as ‘masculinity’ in Stoll.

He wondered what the relationship was between Black Weasel and the boy. Father and son? Absolutely not. Friends who’d overcome the age gap? Just look at the nickname that kid gave the uncle – ‘Bingapsu’.

Every Atanian knew Bingapsu, even if they didn’t know long eared rabbits. A native animal of Stoll, Bingapsu lived up to its name ‘Bingap’ (meaning ‘hard shell’) as a bear with a thick, hard shell protruding from its back. It enjoyed immense popularity in traveling theater troupes across all of Atania.

Despite being extremely ferocious, it also had a bizarre side, startling at its own shadow reflected in a hearth fire and falling flat on its butt, or trembling at the sound of a bell. Because of this, they had long been established in Atania as the epitome of a “big talker who can’t walk the walk.” But that guy sure walks the walk.

“You. Why are you staring at my slave like that?”

Wolf flinched at the voice that suddenly cut through the air. Black Weasel was rowing furiously while glaring at him.

“Why aren’t you answering? I asked why you’re staring at my slave like that.”

“Well… you mean… he’s a slave? Him?”

It was unbelievable. That boy, who looked like he wouldn’t listen to anyone, a slave?

“Yes, a slave. I use him as an assistant when working. You’re seventeen, right? About the same age as my slave.”

“Ah…”

“Brat, surprised? Did you think that boy was my son? Strange. You can tell at a glance we’re complete strangers.”

“Yes, sir. He doesn’t resemble you at all, so I never even considered you father and son. I thought he might be your business partner. He seemed about my age, and I admired how impressive he was. But…”

Wolf subtly changed the subject.

“What’s his name? It feels awkward to keep calling him ‘him’.”

“Hmph.”

Black Weasel narrowed his eyes and scanned Wolf up and down. It was a gaze that seemed to search him over and over. Wolf inwardly flinched. Did I slip up again?

Black Weasel quickly averted his gaze and spoke.

“First question. The prince called you Wolf. Is your Stoll name Silver Wolf?”

“How did you know?”

Wolf asked in surprise. Black Weasel snorted as if to make sure he heard it.

“Didn’t you know, you Atania bumpkin? Silver Wolf is the most common name in Stoll. At your age, there must be as many of you with that name as stars in the night sky. I’ll answer your question now. Silver Wolf. That’s the name of my slave.”

“Ah…”

Wolf’s heart fluttered.

“I see. But I am Wolf Bell now. Please call me Wolf. I was born in Stoll, but I am an Atania person.”

“That’s easier. I call this slave boy Silver anyway. Silver hates his Stoll name.”

At that, Wolf looked at Silver. The latter lowered his eyes and stared down at his own feet.

So Silver was a prisoner of war?

In Atania and Stoll, slaves fell into three categories: prisoners from the Atania civil war; Stoll prisoners from defeated tribes in inter-tribal conflicts; and unlucky Atanians kidnapped.

Silver seemed to fit the second category. When Wolf asked if he was Atanian, Silver pointed to the tattoo on his face and sneered, “Me?” He was defining himself as a Stoll. But why did he hate his Stoll name? Just because it was common?

He wondered how long Silver had been a slave to Black Weasel. How he’d fallen into slavery. Whether he’d learned swordsmanship from Black Weasel. If he had any desire to become free…

Wait a minute?

Am I being way too relaxed?

Serious problems piled up like mountains: how to steal Red Eagle from White Deer, how to safely return to Atania, and so on. Yet here he was, completely absorbed in thoughts about Silver. Like iron filings helplessly drawn to a magnet. It was the first time he’d ever felt such persistent, intense fascination for someone.

Why am I acting like this? It’s weird. Really weird.

Plus, this low-grade fever won’t leave his body. It had been like this ever since his retinas first captured Silver’s face. Wolf was overwhelmed by bewilderment at this unfamiliar version of himself. His body felt like a broken stringed instrument. As if, mid-performance, the strings had snapped, transforming him into a useless wooden box with a handful of gut strings dangling uselessly.

No way.

Could it be…