HEO 35

A sturdy, muscular man walked in accompanied by a cold wind. His face, crisscrossed with scars like a spiderweb, appeared to be about the same age as Black Weasel, and coincidentally, he was dressed in a wolf pelt. In his rough hands was an axe, stained with dark red blood in places. Silver recognized him at first glance. He was the chief of the warriors causing a ruckus in the tavern.

The man scanned the room, a thick vein pulsing prominently in his temple.

“You fools!”

His loud voice echoed. The warriors, lost in their frenzy, flinched simultaneously.

“I told you not to touch the prisoners! Get dressed now! We’re leaving before sunset!”

The warriors scrambled to put on their clothes. The chief warrior surveyed the area. He stomped between the warriors.

“Lock the prisoners back in the stables! Hey, stop fighting over clothes! They’re all rags anyway! Hurry up and eat your food! Bring some ice water and pour it on these bastards!”

The chief warrior, who had been bellowing, suddenly glanced this way. Silver wasn’t particularly surprised, but the one that gaze was fixed on was Black Weasel.

Right now, Black Weasel probably cared about nothing but the cup of liquor in his hand, but the chief warrior was different. From their build to beard length, aura, and even attire, they were strikingly similar. The already fierce glare in his eyes grew even more menacing. In this situation, the only outcome Silver could hope for was one thing: those two men, who looked like twins, settling it with an arm-wrestling match.

“Hey. You there.”

The chief addressed him in a confrontational tone.

“Who are you? Which tribe do you belong to?”

“Huh?”

Black Weasel glanced over while sipping his drink.

“Tribe? What’s that?”

“Are you messing with me? What’s your name?”

“The Valiant Black Weasel.”

The human rock managed to remember the epithet before his name. The chief warrior’s eyes blazed.

“I am the ‘Charging’ Rock Racoon. Which tribe’s warrior are you? Are you the chief? Just hearing that ‘Valiant’ epithet tells me you’re no ordinary warrior.”

“Chief Warrior, please wait..”

Things were heading toward a real bloodbath. With no other choice, Silver stepped in.

“I am the slave of Black Weasel, Foolish Fox. I swear by the goddess Enidu, my master is absolutely not a warrior. He’s a pitiful widower who, since being wounded four months ago, spends every night smoking hallucinogenic herbs. The prolonged use of such herbs distorted his mind. He arbitrarily added the epithet ‘Valiant’, something he’d secretly desired for ages.”

“Lies! Just look at his face, he’s killed over a thousand!”

Spot on. Silver didn’t flinch. He smiled faintly.

“Let me show you proof. Hey, Bingapsu. What’s my name?”

“Silver.”

“Why can’t your sons sitting across the table speak a word?”

“I don’t know.”

“You saw that? Even though this slave was insolent, he didn’t cut my throat. He probably doesn’t remember his sons’ names, let alone mine.”

Silver shrugged. The chief warrior looked around in disbelief before speaking.

“What does your master do?”

“He’s a wanderer who does this and that. He reunited with his sons recently after a long separation when he was injured. He’s contemplating sending them back to Atania for their future.”

“His wife was an Atanian woman? Guess the boys grew up with their maternal family.”

“Yes. Despite appearances, he cares deeply for his family. It’s a delicate matter, but many commoner fathers wish their children could live in prosperous Atania.”

“Hmm.”

The chief warrior glanced at Wolf and Red Eagle with a noticeably softened expression. The prince and his servant kept their eyes lowered. The chief warrior asked, his tone tinged with suspicion.

“Is there an enemy hiding under the floorboards? Or are you playing dice with your toes? Answer me, you feathered swords.”

‘Feathered swords’ referred to cowards incapable of wielding weapons. Even upon hearing this curse, considered the ultimate insult in Stoll, the prince and his servant remained silent while staring obediently at their own feet. The chief warrior spat on the floor.

“The father is thunder, but the sons are mere drizzle. Now I see why your master wants to send his sons back to Atania.”

“At this rate, they won’t last a day in Stoll. Thank you for comparing my master to legendary thunder.”

“I favor a diligent father. But take my advice. The heavens are weeping. Half a year ago, a tribe near here was wiped out.”

With that, the old warrior left. Silver frowned, and propped his chin on one hand.

‘The heavens are weeping.’ An ancient adage passed down in Stoll. One day, a tribe was found exterminated. Adults and children, warriors and commoners, slaves, all dead. The corpses were all in horrific states. There was no looting. The perpetrators were never found.

Tribal conflicts were as common as eating meals in Stoll, but such a massacre without plunder was unprecedented. It was like a cow appeared and chewed on people instead of grass. After that, similar incidents occurred intermittently throughout Stoll. At some point, people began to accept these troubling events as the wrath of the gods…….

[Silver. Silver!]

Wolf tapped the table gently.

[Why the look? Did that man threaten you earlier or something?]

[Ah, well…]

Silver gave a vague reply and started to clear the table before stopping. He remembered the image of Wolf, excited by Stoll’s ‘mystery.’ The mass murder incident was mysterious (?) even by Stoll standards. If he told them about it, wouldn’t they jump in shock? The prince might even lose sleep over it.

[There’s a famous saying Stoll. Want to hear it?]

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Silver’s expectation went unmet. The civilized folk responded with indifference.

[Shouldn’t they suspect a beast attack first? Even as a foreigner, I can see Stoll is a harsh environment not just for people, but for beasts too.]

[I agree with Wolf. If it’s an incident where an entire village dies overnight, it happens often enough in Atania too.]

[Really? I’ve never heard that before, Your Highness.]

[Because there are no large beasts in Levenon. I picked up the story from foreign ambassadors at a royal banquet. They said it frequently happened in remote villages surrounded by forests.]

[How do they handle the incidents?]

[First, they deploy cavalry and hunters to the scene….]

The civilized folk chattered on for a while. Investigating the cause of the incident, establishing measures to prevent recurrence. Preparing victim support and post-incident procedures… To Silver’s ears, it sounded like ♣♩◑. Bird chirping was at least pleasant to hear, but ♥※ was just tedious. Silver snatched the wine glass from Black Weasel’s hand and jumped up abruptly.

[Let’s go wash up. Everyone, get up.]

Outside the inn was quite dark. Dark gray clouds obscured the sky. The inn’s young female employee was lighting a brazier in front of the stables. Dogs, cats, chickens, and geese wandered about here and there. In the distance, riffraffs, intoxicated by hallucinogenic herbs, danced in circles around a bonfire. A howling song tore through the darkness.

Silver, who had been shuffling along, stopped abruptly without thinking. A chill ran up his spine. Suddenly, it was quiet. The boisterous laughter and singing vanished as abruptly as coins dropped into a well. All the revelers lay sprawled on the ground. In the flickering light of the bonfire, their forms looked like long, black shadows cast by trees.

Before the vague unease could crystallize into a clear question, the incident occurred. Black Weasel’s head fell off.

Silver blinked. Once. Twice. In that moment, the light vanished from Black Weasel’s eyes. The figure that had once carried Silver on its shoulder, striding confidently, fell to the ground. Wolf fell to the ground as his waist broke in two. Red Eagle was split open from crown to crotch. Blood splattered everywhere.

Next was Silver. His chest was torn. All four became corpses. Very quickly. Without time to scream or feel terror.

Thumping sounds echoed from the inn’s tavern too. Bright red blood flowed down, staining the windows and doorsteps. In an old house a few steps from the inn, the light illuminating the window suddenly went out. It didn’t take long for only corpses to remain in the small riverside village.

Dogs gathered and sat barking at the inn door. Geese and chickens pecked at the ground, wandering aimlessly. A calico cat stepped over pools of blood spread like autumn leaves. The wind blew.