By Zephyria =======
Black Weasel took a deep breath and then swung his axe with all his might toward the empty air.
Now, let’s think like Silver. After burying his biological father’s head… what comes next? He’d run to rip out the guts of his enemy. Revenge!
No, no. That’s too crude.
He should have cut the Attendant’s throat first and then jumped into the river. With Silver’s skill, he could have easily snatched an axe from any warrior and ended the Attendant’s life. Yet, he stopped at recovering his father’s head. Why?
Because he didn’t particularly feel like getting revenge? Well, honestly, I haven’t done anything right either. Given Silver’s personality, it wouldn’t be strange for him to just scowl and think, ‘You got what you deserved. A fitting end for a bastard like you,’ and end it by just taking the head… No! They lived face-to-face for eleven years! Rule that out! There has to be another reason!
Only one possibility remains.
He judged that he was no match for the Attendant.
That was an accurate judgment. Even now, it was vivid in Black Weasel’s mind. Wolf’s greatsword, which had severed his own neck in a single stroke… At a glance, it looked like an ordinary greatsword. At least, that’s how it must have appeared to those around them. However, the impression Black Weasel received while facing the blade was entirely different. It was ominous, like a solar eclipse. As if the blade had been forged not with fire, but with a wicked darkness.
Above all, there was Wolf’s skill in handling the sword. He had blown away Black Weasel’s thick neck in a single strike. A human neck, with its seven cervical vertebrae and densely intertwined muscles and ligaments, is as tough as the base of a cedar tree. Even an average warrior cannot take off a human head in one go.
Was that strength a ‘reward’? What if the Attendant’s reward also activated when certain conditions were met, just like mine? Though I don’t know what those conditions are.
The logic fits together like clockwork. Black Weasel wrinkled his nose and brushed his beard with the back of his hand.
Alright. In that case, the first place Silver would head after his father’s death would probably be…
“Come forth, hunters!”
At the piercing shout, Black Weasel faltered and came to a stop. He had already reached the village square. People were crowded densely in the center of the square. At a glance, they were all warriors. Regardless of gender, their sides were shaved clean, and they wore studded leather bracelets on their left wrists. Axes and daggers hung from their waists. While the warriors surrounded the area, a man on horseback gripped a piece of parchment and shouted again.
“Step forward, hunters!”
Black Weasel continued walking with a sour expression. It was typical for winter when food was scarce. The warriors gathering in full force to plunder a nearby tribe. ‘Hunters,’ my ass.
But then came the next sentence.
“The Skeleton King awaits you!”
Black Weasel’s entire body turned cold.
“The unknown darkness where one never knows what might crawl out, a merciless monster! But to those who return alive, the Skeleton King shall grant a reward!”
Unknown.
Monster.
Skeleton.
Reward.
Every single word pierced his mind.
“The power to make the impossible possible! The authority to twist fate! Relics that turn hollow dreams into reality!”
The man’s voice cracked. The warriors, who had been silent, suddenly thrust their fists into the air all at once. They stomped the ground with their boots. Clouds of dust rose. The square was instantly engulfed in heat, as if it had been transformed into a furnace.
“Those who wish to leave a name, step forward! Those whose hearts beat, step forward! Those who would spit in the face of death, step forward! Hell calls for you!”
“Hunt! Hunt!”
“We hunt the monsters!”
“Strike back! Pay them back!”
The cheers exploded. Fists stirring the dim sky, the distorted faces of warriors, necks with thick veins throbbing, bloodshot eyes—everything flickered with raw, primal hatred. Black Weasel looked around in a daze and flinched. On a wall a few steps away, a graffiti painted in blood caught his eye. The face of a girl. Below it, a skeleton’s body.
Black Weasel stared blankly at the drawing. All sorts of curse symbols covered the skeleton wraith like maggots.
Five years.
The time of five vanished winters.
That void approached him with a different meaning.
What on earth happened during that time?
clock.rollback(y-2)
Two years ago.
A dark night.
Thump. Thump. Thump. The dull sound of the deck vibrating.
Someone pushed Wolf’s shoulder and leaped away. Grabbing the railing of the warship with one hand, they threw themselves into the darkness without hesitation. Wolf’s gaze followed the trajectory.
Splash. Pure white foam surged from the river, which was as black as dried pig blood. Laughter followed. A whistle.
‘Who is that? What are they doing?’
Wolf stared at the river as if looking at mold on wallpaper. A warrior draped an arm over Wolf’s shoulder and spoke.
‘They went to retrieve a head. People from Stohl believe that if you don’t bury a head in the ground, you cannot enter the underworld.’
‘Retrieve a head? That person’s…?’
Wolf could not take his eyes off the river. The undulating waves connected ridges endlessly. Suddenly, something like a rotten log popped up in the distance. It was a person. It was hard to see clearly through the thick darkness. They pushed through the water with both arms, moving toward somewhere. The trail of white foam following their movements was gradually erased by the black ridges.
They’re moving away. Don’t go.
Who is that guy? Well, do I need to know?
Why didn’t you choose me?
It’s someone else’s business. Tomorrow, I might be the one rolling around as a piece of corpse.
I only looked at you. But until the very end, you chose that person, not me.
Turn away now.
If I had resembled that person, would your choice have been different? Would you have liked me a little more?
Close your eyes. Stop caring.
Come back!
They’re a stranger.
Come back and look at me!
Screeeech. A sound cut through his thoughts. His vision distorted like oil floating on river water.
Wolf opened his eyes. Screech. Screech. The sound of the sail lines(1) rubbing against weathered wood was drifting in.
His head ached, perhaps because he had been plagued by nightmares while asleep. He couldn’t remember what the dream was, though.
He scanned his surroundings with just his eyes. A cabin as cramped as a wooden box. A top thrown haphazardly on the floor. Only a blackened wick remained in the oil lamp hanging from the ceiling. A white parrot, sleeping quietly on a metal perch in the corner of the cabin, remained motionless like a taxidermy specimen.
Wolf sat up abruptly. Beads of sweat ran down the contours of his upper body. The bedsheets were also soaked with sweat.
“Hey.”
〔What.〕
‘Flea’ answered.
“Time.”
〔11:21 AM.〕
Right on cue, the parrot snapped its eyes open. It fluttered up from the perch and landed on Wolf’s shoulder.
“Wolf! I’m hungry!”
“Me too, Prince.”
With a smooth motion, he picked up the top rolling on the floor and put it on. He kicked open the cabin door and stepped into the hallway. A warrior walking from the opposite direction quickly pressed his back against the hallway wall as soon as he saw Wolf.
On the deck, warriors were gathered in small groups, chatting. Greasy animal bones, hard bread crumbs, and wooden barrels filled with murky liquor rolled around the floor.
“Damn. How luxurious.”
Wolf grabbed a lump of bread, a piece of meat, and a cup of liquor, then headed toward the stern. As he handed over the bread, the parrot gripped it firmly with its claws and nibbled away.
Soon, the parrot pushed off Wolf’s shoulder and flew high. The moment it became faint, as if about to vanish from sight—stop. Change of direction. It gradually grew smaller, as if becoming one with the blue sky, becoming a dot, then a smaller dot, and finally disappearing completely.
Wolf stared at the sky while holding his cup in front of the railing. It was full of ashen clouds.
“Is it going to rain?”
〔Possible.〕
“I’m talking to myself.”
A chilly autumn breeze, the cries of seagulls, and the smell of salty sea air rushed in together. The sea was boring and dangerous. Aside from the fact that disposing of corpses was easy, it had nothing better than land.
When Wolf had emptied half his cup, a small dot reappeared in the sky. Growing larger and larger, it pivoted sharply and dove toward the warship at a fierce speed. Just before hitting the deck, it spread its wings wide and soared upward. Finally, it landed lightly on the tallest mast to finish.
The parrot’s white feathers fluttered in the wind. With its eyes closed softly, it looked beautiful and free, but Wolf frowned.
That Prince bastard really looks happy.
In fairy tales, princes and princesses cursed by witches were always miserable. They were trapped in towers or turned into beasts, spending their years in tears, waiting for someone to save them. But reality?
On the mast, Red Eagle was enjoying the sea breeze while preening his white feathers with his beak. The Prince, ‘reborn’ as a parrot at the most desperate moment of his life. Perhaps it was a blessing. Compared to the misery of having status, honor, a lover, and everything else ripped out by the roots.
No. This isn’t right.
You were smart. You were a kind and thoughtful guy. And now you’re going to spend your whole life flying between the sky and my shoulder? Nibbling on the bread I give you and pecking at millet?
Footnote:
Ropes used to raise and lower the sails.
72 – Hell Execution Order