Chapter 17
It was only right to say that.
He thought it was the proper thing for someone asking a hero for help to do.
“Please save her, Hero.”
Enya looked at her friend, who had bowed his head, in surprise.
“If you need payment, I'll give you anything.”
Tarmin had become the little kid he'd been when she first met him.
Instead of talking about his favorite games or toys, he'd introduced himself as a survivor.
He'd said he had to do whatever it took for revenge.
He'd been a child who could barely cry or smile.
“Taal.”
“Yes, Hero.”
Even as he answered, Tarmin kept his head bowed.
A manner of humbling oneself, acknowledging the other person's superior ability, and asking for help.
That attitude she'd seen far too often as a hero.
Praise them.
That way, when they passed the trial, there'd be something in it for us, wouldn't there?
That sight.
Tarmin with his head bowed,
“You idiot!”
-Whack!
Enya cursed and struck him.
She was angry.
How much she'd given up to come back.
If even you called me ‘Hero,’ where was I supposed to go?
“Ugh!”
Tarmin, caught off guard with his head bowed, was sent tumbling backward.
His slight fever was making him miserable, and the flash before his eyes left him too dazed to think.
Sitting on the floor, he looked up and saw Enya swinging another fist at him.
“Hero, why—ugh!”
Unable to just keep taking the blows, he grabbed Enya's arm.
Her arm was slow and frail enough for him to seize easily.
With her right arm caught first, and then her other arm as well, Enya struggled with all her might.
“Let go!”
“What's wrong? No, why are you calling me that?”
Enya glared at him, breathing hard from their struggle.
“Idiot! Who said I wouldn't help you? Do you think I came here just to hear you call me ‘Hero’?”
He couldn't tell why, but calling her Hero seemed to have gotten under her skin.
Though flustered, Tarmin's mouth moved on its own like it was alive.
The answer he'd been holding back spilled out.
“But Enya, there's nothing I can do in this situation. The most I can do is call you that.”
It had been the same when he'd left the hero's party.
When the hero worked a miracle, all he could do was watch.
It had been years since he'd run away from his own helplessness and inferiority.
“Who asked you to do anything? Why are you making assumptions?”
“But if you use your hero's power, I—”
“‘Thank you’ was enough, wasn't it?”
He remembered the conversation they'd had that morning.
He hesitated, but his mouth was already moving.
“Anyone can eat food they hate when they're in a difficult situation. Anyone can nurse someone who's sick. But you...”
You're special.
The rest of the words were held tightly back.
“…Did you really think that?”
Enya's red eyes, asking him in return, were wet.
Her eyes glimmered as if they might overflow, and for a moment he stopped breathing.
At that wounded reaction, he realized he'd run away again.
“Did you think it meant nothing?”
The sickening smell of food, and Enya trembling in fear.
Her pale face from the illness, and the time he'd wiped her snow-white back, damp with sweat.
Was it all to win her favor?
Had he lived next door to the hero because he could take advantage of her cheaply later?
“No, wait.”
Tarmin released the arm he'd been holding.
Then he punched himself in the face.
The sound was heavier than when Enya had hit him.
His mouth split, and blood ran between his lips.
He felt the pain push back the darkness surrounding him.
Without even wiping away the blood, he said,
“I must've lost my mind for a moment. Sorry.”
There was no cursed hunter in the one apologizing.
There was a hunter from the hero's party.
“Let me try again.”
Enya wiped at the corner of her eyes and stood straight.
Looking up at her, he said,
“Enya. This is a nasty, personal, ugly task that has nothing to do with a hero's job. Will you help me?”
Enya was smiling faintly.
His childhood friend answered with a tearful smile.
“Let's go.”
Let's go finish it.
The nightmare tied to the Garden Festival.
The tragedy of hunter and prey.
The curse that had tormented his friend.
**
After getting Tarmin ready, Enya took a sword from the chest beside her bed.
When she'd lost her body, she'd lost most of her blessings.
She no longer had senses that bordered on foreseeing the future, resistance to scorching flames, or immunity to every poison.
She didn't particularly miss them.
She couldn't foresee the future anymore, but she had someone watching over her.
She could drink cider and get drunk.
She could burn her lips on hot stew and have someone worry about her.
All the countless other blessings she'd lost had been things that resided in her body.
The hero's blessed arms and equipment hadn't disappeared.
For example, a talking holy sword.
Enya looked at the sword's white blade.
Made of a metal not found on earth, it had an otherworldly, pure-white edge.
The church said the holy sword was a blessing God had bestowed upon the hero.
But Enya knew better.
She'd just searched through the literature and confirmed it once more.
The holy sword had existed even before monotheistic faith developed.
In the name of the sun god.
Enya awakened her sword.
“White Scorch.”
The holy sword that burned white was named White Scorch.
**
When Sigona met his tearful eyes, she had a premonition.
She was his prey.
“...”
The werewolf opened her eyes.
Under the brilliantly shining moon, thick trees and brush filled her view.
This wasn't the hideout.
There were no bars separating her from the world.
She looked at her furry arm, smeared with blood, filth, and dust, and sighed.
I couldn't hold out.
I'd sent him back, smiling calmly and acting as if nothing was wrong.
I'd proudly told him I'd gotten used to suppressing it.
And then, as if to prove him wrong, I'd blacked out and woken up drenched in blood.
Contrary to what she'd thought, her insides must have been as precarious as a dam on the verge of bursting.
The cause was probably that little girl with blond hair and red eyes.
She'd presumptuously found herself envying the two of them, chatting so comfortably and even teasing each other.
If they hadn't met as hunter and prey.
If their relationship hadn't begun with distance between them.
If they'd met as childhood friends living next door.
“Uuuh.”
Her protruding muzzle could form no words, only an animal's cry.
Those were pointless what-ifs now that she was outside the cage.
If she left the hideout, she'd be disposed of.
That had been the promise years ago.
This was no time to indulge in fantasies.
If she couldn't go back, she should at least help him find relief as soon as possible.
Let's become a big wolf.
Let's become a big, bad wolf so he can hunt without guilt.
Whether that ended in his death or hers.
It was hard to remain Sigona, but easy to become a wolf.
All she had to do was fill her eyes with the great moon.
Just then.
She caught a scent.
She lifted her head and flared her nostrils toward the east.
Tarmin's scent.
The next moment, the werewolf was running on all fours.
She raced through the forest, chasing the faint scent.
Knocking down trees in her way and tearing up the ground, the werewolf charged onward.
As she stepped into the moonlight, strength surged through her.
What flowed through her overheated heart was a distinct feeling of pleasure.
Unable to contain her excitement, the werewolf howled.
**
-Awooooo...
A shiver ran through Tarmin at the howl as he drew an arrow from his belt and nocked it.
A cry that made no attempt to hide her presence.
As expected, she had come looking for Tarmin.
The forest was in an uproar from the destruction the werewolf wrought and the wild animals fleeing from her.
The frantic beating of birds' wings, frightened cries, and the sound of her trampling branches and brush.
Tarmin looked back one last time.
“Enya?”
Enya didn't answer.
She stood behind him with her eyes closed, holding a pure-white sword.
It was a weapon he'd never seen her use during their travels together.
“Buy me some time,” the hero had ordered.
In that case, all Tarmin had to do was buy as much time as possible.
Tarmin took a brief, deep breath, drew his bow, and released the arrow at the werewolf appearing beyond the brush.
**
-Boom!
The werewolf was sent rolling across the ground by the impact to her right flank.
As her massive body gouged through the earth, it left a devastating scar across the forest.
Amid the disorienting sight of sky and ground turning upside down, the werewolf thought.
She'd seen the hunter aim and fire his bow.
Taking the arrow's trajectory into account, she'd approached at an angle and weaved between the trees, only to be struck by an unexpected blow.
Had the arrow curved?
The wondrous adventures Tarmin had told her about.
Was this the sort of thing an archer in the hero's party could naturally do?
Thinking back, there was a reason he'd lured her with his bow in a forest full of trees and brush for cover.
He'd been confident.
Confident he could hit her through the dense undergrowth and thickets.
The trees she'd expected to block the arrows had become obstacles that only impeded the werewolf's charge.
A second arrow struck the werewolf as she rose.
This time, it hit the left side of her head.
**
Watching the werewolf's silhouette fall over once more, Tarmin nocked his next arrow.
Sigona's attempt to dodge the arrows had instead triggered a magical effect.
When the target disappeared from the line of fire, the arrow changed its trajectory.
Pursuing the werewolf's movements along an impossible path, the arrow gained momentum and struck with unexpected force.
The reason he had been able to make a name for himself in the hero's party—and the reason he'd had no choice but to retire.
The reason his clan had perished, overcome by fear.
The werewolf rising to her feet looked uninjured, despite the impact, which couldn't have been slight.
Was it Elinol's curse?
It certainly seemed to drive werewolves mad and make them stronger, too.
There was no need to worry about hurting her.
He might have had to worry if he used his father's powerful bow, but he had no intention of doing that.
The second arrow wasn't as destructive as the first.
All she had to do was not dodge.
That alone was enough to render his arrows harmless.
The werewolf slowly began adapting to the arrows' impact.
At some point, she stopped falling and began to endure them as she charged.
When she had drawn close enough to reach him with a single leap.
He called out to her.
“Enya.”
The holy sword blazed with light.
**
The young Tarmin charged at his father.
“Sigona, run!”
They were only about a day's journey from Quaalid.
His father hadn't expected his son to turn against him.
Watching Tarmin grab hold of him, the hunter had to suppress an ill-timed laugh.
“So that's your answer? You little bastard.”
“If I'm a bastard, what does that make the father who fathered one?”
Tarmin clung to his father's waist with all his strength, but the man didn't budge.
He might have grown a little, but he still wasn't strong enough to stop an adult like his father.
But Quaalid was close, and he had no time to think of another way.
He thought if he clung on with all his strength, he could at least buy Sigona enough time to escape.
He kept clinging to his father, sweating profusely.
“Is that girl's name Sigona?”
Instead of disposing of the girl, his son had asked her name.
“Yes. It's a pretty Western name, isn't it? Whew... How many people do you think will lose sleep at night repeating it?”
“What the hell are you talking about? You won't hurt her before then?”
“I'll stop you when the time comes.”
“How will you know when she goes mad?”
“I'll keep watching her.”
He looked at his son, who was willing to walk a difficult road, with pity.
“You're still young. You already know that girl's name, Tarmin. Later, you'll learn her favorite flowers and the way she smiles. Do you think you'll be able to shoot her then?”
“I don't know.”
“Then I'll tell you. You'll be in such unbearable pain...”
“I'll endure the pain.”
Shocked, as if his heart had sunk, Tarmin's father fell silent.
Sensing that his father wasn't using his full strength, Tarmin eased his grip and spoke.
He decided to tell him what he'd thought about over the days he'd spent returning with Sigona.
“I'll keep suffering. Damn it.”
He tried to speak calmly, but couldn't stop his voice from shaking at the end.
“I'll agonize over who to help. I'll cry when I see people I couldn't save. So even if I have to kill a girl who's barely ten, you can't make me your hunter, Father! Do you understand?”
His father fell silent.
“If you want to revoke my apprentice status, go ahead. I'll just become the hunter in the hero's party, won't I?”
The boy resembled his mother.
His father asked weakly,
“What if I stop you?”
“Even if you tell her I killed that girl and came back, there's no way she'd accept me. Do whatever you want. I'll do what I want, too.”
Tarmin backed away, wearing a triumphant smile.
“Come to think of it, this is my first time running away from home, isn't it? Thanks for everything. But by now Sigona must have gotten far enough away that you can't reach her!”
Seeing his son laugh, certain of victory, he thought he really did resemble his wife.
“Sigona is behind you, my son.”
Unlike Tarmin, who was nearly startled out of his wits, Sigona stood calmly with her hands clasped together.
It was a father's job to teach his foolish son.
“No, why?”
“My son, if this girl disappears like this, how will you keep watching over her? That makes no sense.”
Realization dawned on Tarmin's face, quickly followed by confusion.
“Uh... But why didn't you run?”
In any case, the most dangerous person here was his father.
If she wanted to live, she should get as far away from him as possible.
Once she saw everyone's eyes turn toward her, Sigona spoke to the elderly hunter.
“Father.”
“Why are you calling me that?”
“If I have to die, I'll let my big brother kill me. Would that be all right?”
Watching Sigona say that as she stood behind his son, the hunter burst out laughing.
The color of surprise slowly began to appear in Tarmin's eyes, too.
“What are you talking about? How could I... No, I see. She's my prey! Father can't touch her. You never said when I had to dispose of her, either. Right?”
There was such a code among hunters, but it wasn't meant to apply to a situation like this.
But he had no intention of splitting hairs.
He was the one who'd called Sigona his prey.
“Do as you please. Good grief. It's one surprise after another today.”
Having managed to save Sigona, Tarmin grabbed her hand and hopped up and down.
Sigona, whose hand he'd taken, was flustered too, but a smile slipped onto her lips.
He watched them quietly.
They had arrived in Quaalid battered and bruised, and several years had passed since then.
His grown son was looking farther ahead than his father.
He'd wanted to raise his son into a hunter who wouldn't get hurt, but his son had chosen to keep walking to the very end, even if it meant getting hurt.
Now that his son had made his decision, there was nothing more his father could do, even if all that awaited him at the end was a fall.
Was it time to leave?
But what had changed his son so much?
The hero?
“Just what is this thing called a hero?”
“Huh? Are you thinking of going on a pilgrimage too, Father? There's no age limit, you know.”
“Nonsense! ...Where does that girl, Enyaril, live?”
“It's amazing how little interest you have in your neighbors. You didn't know?”
Tarmin let go of Sigona's hand and said,
“The hero lives next door.”