Several more hours were required to complete the ritual in the cave. The air had been thick with the scent of the sacrificed woman’s blood, which trickled down the altar throughout the lengthy prayer. Dunmel had patiently waited for everyone to leave. Once the cave was empty and the torches extinguished, plunging it into total darkness, Dunmel made his move.
There were still matters to address in this cave, but Dunmel decided not to delve into them for now.
‘Not now. I’ll come back later. This is a problem I can’t solve on my own.’
As Dunmel was about to exit the empty cave, something entered. He retreated back to his hiding spot and laid low.
It was pitch black, and Dunmel couldn’t rely on sight or sound. Instead, he used another sense to detect the movement of the person who had entered.
‘Who is it? Someone here to clean up?’
The figure moved about in the absolute darkness as if it were broad daylight in a well-lit square. A familiar feeling struck Dunmel, and he strained to remember who this invisible person might be.
Something disrupted Dunmel’s intuition. It felt as if the figure was not alone, yet clearly was. It took Dunmel a considerable amount of observation to recognize the intruder.
‘It’s the Red Rose Count.’
Dunmel recalled a middle-aged man in red armor, who had been commanding the Black Lion Count at the party. Suddenly, something shattered. If one could hear, a sound would have filled the cave so overwhelmingly that it would require plugging one’s ears. A bone-chilling power resonated, raising every hair on his skin.
‘Did he break a rock? With what?’
Suddenly, light flooded the cave. Dunmel reflexively recoiled, but he didn’t seem to have been spotted. Cautiously, he peeked out from behind a rock.
Blue flames danced on the hands of a man with a red beard. He pointed his fiery hand toward the wall-mounted torch brackets, and the blue flame transferred to them, one after another. A spooky blue light filled the cave.
The loud noise had apparently been the Count striking the cave wall. For whatever reason, he was extremely angry. Another punch, and the cave reverberated as if it would collapse. A hole formed that looked like it would take half a day of hammering to create.
Dunmel had witnessed the limits of human capabilities, believing he had almost reached them himself. But this was something new.
The eerie sensation that the Count was not alone stemmed from the woman he had brought with him. Laid upon the flat rock used for sacrifices, the red-haired woman was none other than the Count’s daughter, Latilda. Under the blue light, she appeared incredibly pale. Nothing like the radiant person he had seen at the party. She was dead.
‘My God, Latilda is dead.’
Dunmel’s first worry was for Loyal, who had gone to Leang to rescue her.
The Red Rose Count knelt in front of his daughter, shedding tears. He got up, pacing and waving his arms in frustration, sometimes violently kicking the ground. Wherever his hand touched, a hot wind rose, and where his foot landed, the ground shattered.
Dunmel remained as quiet as he could, just observing.
It was unbelievable. Dunmel was paralyzed not because he felt obligated to watch but because he was genuinely terrified.
The Count seemed to be contemplating something. He would occasionally scream into the void or lower his head and sob. It was a horrific sight but, in a way, also a sad one. It would not be so strange to say it was simply the visage of a father who had lost his daughter.
Finally, the Count spread his arms wide. In a moment, his body began to burn like the blue flames that had transferred to the torch brackets, except now they turned black.
— I forsake my power.
Suddenly, a voice resounded. For Dunmel, who couldn’t hear, the sensation of hearing was shocking.
— I forsake my power. Do you hear me? I forsake my power!
Dunmel soon realized the voice was resonating within his mind. Holding his forehead, he wavered and sank down to his knees.
‘This isn’t sound. It’s meaning itself being transmitted. As if I could understand meaning just by hearing sound.’
Despite Dunmel’s wishes, the noise echoing within the cave kept pouring into his mind.
— Have you not said that you can prevent my daughter’s death with blood? I did as you asked. I was prepared to drench the whole Kingdom of Camort in blood if necessary. But my reach fell short. So, this power is unnecessary.
As the Count’s voice reverberated, black smoke appeared over the altar.
‘This is the same smoke that showed up when they sacrificed Liza. What on earth is that?’
The smoke faintly took form but did not solidify into a specific shape. Moments later, another voice responded to the voice just heard.
— Will you give up? If so, you’ll relinquish an immortal body that never dies.
‘Is the smoke speaking? Have I inhaled too much Zookhla?’
The Count replied to that voice.
— I give up. What I wanted was not my immortality, but my daughter’s life. I wanted the power to prevent Latilda’s death, which you predicted six years ago.
A sinister laugh grew louder.
— What are you saying, Knight of Darkness? As a loyal follower of the undying lord, aren’t you able to prevent it? Everything is according to the Lady’s will.
— Yes, according to my daughter’s will, so shall it be.
The Count’s strong voice overpowered the ominous voice within the smoke.
— I give up my power. I will give up my life. I will not participate in your plan.
— No dead can oppose my will. If you give up that power, you’ll be nothing more than cold meat. Your soul will wander in search of another victim, and you’ll resurrect through a body with greater ambitions than yours. You will endlessly wander this land, unable to die.
— Your power won’t last forever either.
This time, the Count laughed.
— I’ve seen the power that will ruin you. I’ve witnessed courage’s epitome twice, which my feeble mind could never replicate.
The Count’s form turned into that of a knight in black armor. Then the armor pieces began to fall to the ground. As if breaking, where the armor fell, nothing remained.
— That courage will be your downfall.
Dunmel felt a sense of unease. As if reliving a past experience, he felt a chill.
— That power will lead my soul to death.
Now all the black armor had fallen, and the figure of the Red Rose Count, composed of black smoke, began to disintegrate.
— My daughter will carry on my dwindling life.
— Then your daughter will also become my subordinate. Soon she’ll give up her will and come into my embrace. Then, a true Lady of Darkness will rise in Camort. The world’s destruction that I had predicted will be revealed alongside your daughter’s power.
The disintegrating black smoke of the Red Rose Count somehow seemed to be smiling, Dunmel thought.
— Whatever you predict, everything will be according to Latilda’s will.
Suddenly the entire cave started to shake. Dunmel looked up at the ceiling. Unstable as it was, a part of the cave crumbled, and rocks began to fall.
‘I need to escape.’
The black smoke disappeared. The voice also disappeared. All that remained were scattered pieces of black armor and Latilda’s body.
Dunmel hesitated as he moved toward the cave’s entrance.
‘Can I leave her behind? But that’s just a corpse. I can’t risk saving it.’
Dunmel thought. Yet, contrary to his thoughts, his body ran back to the altar.
Except for her pale face, Latilda looked as vibrant as any living person. As if in deep sleep.
Dunmel picked up her body.
A boulder the size of a house plummeted toward the altar where Latilda lay. Dunmel barely dodged it, leaping to the side. Then, another cascade of rocks followed, showering the area. He avoided the larger ones but couldn’t dodge the smaller debris. Despite being hit by a sharp rock on his head, Dunmel persevered. The blue flame on the wall started to dim, going out completely even before Dunmel could escape the cave.
Silence and darkness assaulted him. Now he couldn’t even see the rocks falling from the ceiling, making dodging impossible. It was too late to abandon the woman and flee. No, it would have been too late even if he’d left when he first heard that eerie voice.
The tremor intensified. Just when he thought he was going to be buried alive, he heard another voice. It was neither the sinister voice emitting from the black smoke nor the solemn tone of the Red Rose Count. It was a warm, gentle woman’s voice. The voice echoed in his mind once more.
— To the right.
Though Dunmel suspected this could be the devil’s trick, he had no other options but to follow.
— Straight ahead.
Dunmel continued to ascend the stairs, still holding the woman.
— Stop here for a moment.
Stop amid a collapsing ceiling? Still, Dunmel obeyed. In this pitch-black environment, that voice was all he could rely on.
The moment he stopped, something massive dropped where he intended to go. Though he couldn’t see what it was, it was clear that its weight would have crushed him.
— Proceed. Dodge to the right.
Dunmel avoided the fallen rock and continued his ascent. Soon, he saw a faint light, a sight so welcoming that nothing else could compare.
From that point on, no more voices guided him. Dunmel burst out of the cave’s back entrance and ran through the forest.
The quake wasn’t just confined to the cave. The entire castle was shaking violently. The sky was stained with thick clouds, spiraling around the fortress, hinting at an impending downpour.
‘This isn’t natural cloud formation.’
People inside the castle were fleeing outdoors. A section under construction collapsed. Lightning struck the towers on either side of the castle, igniting them with white flames. Incredibly, identical pillars of flame manifested in the empty spaces where towers would have been.
Four white columns of fire enveloped the castle. The ground tremors intensified until a portion of the castle crumbled. From a distance, Dunmel watched the entire process unfold. He saw a knight in shattered black armor rise on a winged horse, flying northward.
When the quake ceased, the dark clouds dispersed as if they’d never been there. Bewildered, Dunmel stood staring at the ruins for a long while. The destruction was due not to magic, but the geological instability caused by the cave’s collapse.
While Dunmel was pondering his next move, the body lying next to him suddenly took a deep breath. Startled, he jumped back. The woman slowly sat up and turned her vacant eyes toward him.
Dunmel could only widen his eyes in disbelief. Latilda was alive—as if she had never been dead to begin with.
☆ ☆ ☆
“Do we really have to leave so soon?”
“You need rest.”
Both Falcon and Janie tried to stop Kassel from departing at dawn.
Kassel gently declined, “I have to go. I’ve already wasted too much time.”
Though Janie pleaded with him to at least wait until sunrise, Kassel ultimately shook his head. With no other choice, Janie prepared a lunchbox and some high-quality bread for dinner. Falcon gave him the fastest horse he owned.
As Kassel descended the mountain, he paused to look back as if he’d left something behind…
Soon, Kassel turned the horse’s head and vanished from their sight.
Fiorendino watched the horizon where Kassel had disappeared and spoke with a tone of worry.
“Can he even make it to Normant in that condition?”
“He’s not one to crumble easily; don’t worry.”
Falcon responded.
Fiorendino frowned at Falcon.
“I knew you were always like this. I get that Captain Kassel is young, but your attitude towards him really rubs me the wrong way. After all, he represents a knight order of an entire nation! You were a captain yourself.”
“What’s the use of a bandit leader like me setting an example? Besides, he’s not even a real captain.”
“What do you mean, not a real captain?”
Fiorendino’s eyes widened in surprise.
“Do you think so too, Derick?”
Both men turned at the voice that came from behind them. Count Enoa was approaching, leaning on his cane. Fiorendino quickly moved to his lord’s side and aided him.
“You shouldn’t be walking around like this; you’re not fully recovered yet.”
Count Enoa chuckled.
“So, you’ve finally started scolding me, eh? Seems like getting old and injured has eroded my authority. Anyway, Derick.”
“Call me Falcon. If you can’t sleep, old man, why don’t you mutter to yourself instead of coming out to nag at this hour?”
Falcon spat out.
Count Enoa swung his cane at Falcon’s back, shouting.
“You’ve grown bold, haven’t you?”
“Why would I censor myself when talking to an old, ailing man like you, Jean?”
“Very well, eat me alive then. Imagine a bandit daring to call a count by his first name. The royal representatives would faint if they heard. By the way, did the leader of the Wolves seem disappointed I didn’t send reinforcements?”
“He was trying hard not to show it. But why did you tell me to hide the fact that you’re alive? Knowing you’re alive would relieve some worries.”
“What’s the use of showing my alive, yet helpless, state? Move aside, Waters. Janie, support me. It feels more comforting to have a young woman beside me. These two youngsters don’t know how to respect an elder.”
Janie smiled, offering her arm, which the count took.
“Both of you adore Count Enoa so much that you can’t help but act awkwardly. Men have a strange way of staking their pride.”
“Falcon, you’d better pay more attention to Janie. A man destined to be nothing but a bandit at least gains some dignity by being associated with her.”
Falcon shrugged as if it were an undeniable fact. Count Enoa, leaning on Janie’s arm, moved forward, and the two men slowly followed.
“Do you also think that Kassel isn’t the real Captain Wolf?”
“It’s not that I think he isn’t, he himself said he isn’t. But…”
Falcon seemed to envision Kassel’s vanished silhouette as he spoke.
“It would be better to say that he wasn’t in the past.”
“Oh? What about now?”
“Are you asking me to evaluate him? Forget it.”
“Then let me ask you something else. Would you help Captain Wolf?”
Falcon shook his head.
“Why would a former Excelon knight like me assist a knight order from Aranthia? But…”
“But?”
“I will help Kassel.”
“What a delightful answer.”
Falcon’s underlings, who had risen early, bowed deeply in greeting as they observed the men’s stroll. Falcon reciprocated each gesture with a wave of his hand.
“So why do you ask? With the little power I have, I can’t prevent the crisis unfolding in Normant. You, Jean, have also been left with nothing.”
The count struck again with his cane, but Falcon didn’t flinch, shielded by his sturdy muscles. Count Enoa handed the cane to Janie, who promptly whacked Falcon on the back. Falcon grunted and involuntarily reached for the spot.
Janie quickly returned the cane to the count, who cleared his throat and spoke.
“If a knight’s power lies in his sword, a noble’s power resides in his land. Ambrue hasn’t gone anywhere. I can start anew. And you, too, haven’t put down your sword.”
“Are you suggesting I become a knight again?”
Falcon glared at Janie, who turned her head away, avoiding his gaze.
“You’ve changed,” said the Duke.
“Is it not obvious? I’ve become nothing more than a bandit now.”
“That’s not what I mean. The old you would not have ignored Kassel like this.”
Falcon was at a loss for words.
“Last time I saw Kassel at the party, he was a young lad giving his all just to make an impression. It was an interesting experience, meeting a young man whose gaze didn’t waver even when engaging in a war of words with me. But back then, he was on the side that knew not fear. Now, he knows fear and yet he doesn’t step back.”
Falcon looked up at the distant sky, muttering, “For some reason, he reminds me of Meorix.”
Hearing the name, Janie looked back with sorrowful eyes.
Falcon then asked, “But what can I really do?”
“It’s not about what you do, it’s about the will to do anything,” Count Enoa said with a wry smile, addressing Fiorendino. “There’s a small village called Small Lake we should visit before heading to Normant.”
“Yes, I’m aware,” Waters promptly responded.
“Count Godimer will be at the wine shop there. He was actually the one who initially requested that we actively help Captain Wolf. He should be waiting for my message in Small Lake right now. Take this letter to him.”
“I will make preparations,” Waters immediately dashed off to his quarters.
“And Captain Derick, or should I say Falcon. There’s something I’d like you to do as well.”
Before Falcon could decide what to say, Janie erupted in anger.
“Why can’t you speak, Falcon? A man who’s always fought for this country thinking of His Majesty the King, now you’re dodging the opportunity given to you?”
Cornered by Janie’s intensity, Falcon hesitated before finally extending his hand.
“That’s not it. If I leave this village, you’ll be left alone, and that worries me…”
Janie’s face flushed red in an instant.
“Alright, Jean. I’ll do it,” Falcon finally conceded.
“I will need you to use the military force you’ve trained. Come with us to Normant.”
“Do we really have something to do in a battlefield like Normant? My men are well-trained but not up to the standards of a regular army.”
“We will find something to do. Otherwise, we’re in big trouble,” the Duke warned with concern.
☆ ☆ ☆
As Dunmel rode out of Denmoju, he looked back several times, as if someone might be chasing him.
It wasn’t the first time he’d heard a voice ringing in his head. He’d heard it when he first met the Queen of Aranthia and drew his sword against her.
Master Calsten had fallen to Quain Gant’s sword, but Dunmel fell to Sanadiel’s voice. Her soothing voice had shattered his will to fight completely.
But even that wasn’t his first experience. Dunmel had previously experienced the same magic.
‘There’s so much I have to do. But I can’t do it all.’
The most urgent matter was to bring Kassel to safety. However, running off to Ambrue now wouldn’t guarantee that he could meet Kassel.
Telling Loyal, the Count, and his daughter what had happened was also important. But going to Leang now wouldn’t necessarily mean he could meet Loyal.
And Normant was another place he needed to rush back to. His friends would be waiting for him, impatiently.
Ambrue, Leang, Normant. Dunmel didn’t choose any of the three cities.
‘If I can do just one thing right now, it’s to resolve the question in my mind first. Otherwise, I won’t be able to do anything going forward.’
Dunmel decided to seek out Blackfoot.
Upon leaving Denmoju, he dismounted and took out the ring he was wearing. It was a gift from Heder, the Blackfoot assassin, before they parted in Normant.
‘The ring will guide the way.’
Dunmel knew well how to use the ring. He struck it against a rock, and the jewel shattered like glass. A fist-sized ball of light rose from within and began to fly away at a rapid pace.
Dunmel immediately mounted his horse and chased after the light.
After riding for half a day, the light disappeared. Unbeknownst to him, Dunmel found himself deep within a treacherous mountain range. Soon, he was surrounded by numerous assassins. Losing sight of the light meant not that he had lost his way, but that he had arrived at his destination.
Dismounting from his horse, Dunmel raised his hands. One of the men approached and asked who he was. Using a tree branch, Dunmel wrote ‘Heder’ on the ground.
“How dare you? Who are you to seek an audience with her?”
Dunmel wrote his own name next to Heder’s.
‘Themar.’
The man who had asked his name was visibly surprised.
“Evidence?”
Dunmel shook his head.
“Then you must die.”
The man lunged forward with his blade. But before he even realized it, the blade was in Dunmel’s hand.
The surrounding assassins all drew their weapons at once.
“Stop.”
Another man commanded. It was Balak.
Dunmel swiftly tossed the seized blade to Balak.
“So, you finally appear.”
Balak returned the blade to the bewildered assassin and stepped in front of Dunmel. It wasn’t a courtesy, more like a warning.
“Weren’t my warnings worth listening to?”
Dunmel tried to write something on the ground, but Balak erased it with his foot.
“No need for conversation. If you’ve come here on your own, you must have something to say. But if it’s not what I want to hear, you won’t leave here alive.”
Dunmel tossed the branch aside. Then he drew all his weapons and stabbed them into the ground. Lastly, he handed over a short dagger, about a foot long, which had been strapped to his ankle, and raised both hands in surrender. Balak nodded to one of his subordinates to collect Dunmel’s weapons.
“Follow me. Master Gerard is waiting.”
Hidden deep within the wooded mountain was a barely visible cave. Dunmel was growing tired of caves, but he had no choice but to follow Balak inside.
As they ventured deeper into the cave, more people joined them. All were assassins, and the further they went, the more skilled they became. If a fight broke out, Dunmel wouldn’t stand a chance, let alone escape.
The deepest part of the cave housed four chambers. Its layout was similar to their former base in Lontamon. Balak led Dunmel into one of the chambers.
Inside sat an old man, so frail he was almost blind. To his left stood the sorceress Metzel, and to his right, Heder, who looked intensely flustered and couldn’t even greet Dunmel. The air inside was so thick it was stifling.
The door closed. Dim torches and lanterns faintly lit the quiet chamber.
“Themar has returned?”
Gerard, the Guild Master of Blackfoot, spoke slowly. Compared to the last time Dunmel had seen him, he now looked almost lifeless. The sight was nearly enough to bring tears to Dunmel’s eyes.
Dunmel gestured briefly in sign language to Heder. Since Gerard couldn’t see, Heder whispered in his ear after interpreting Dunmel’s signs.
“Themar wishes to propose a deal.”
Gerard let out a soft laugh.
“When did Themar learn to negotiate? Let’s hear it.”
Dunmel gestured again.
Heder, visibly surprised, relayed the message.
“He asks who the client behind the assassination of the White Wolves is.”
“You know our rules. Revealing a client would mean the end of Blackfoot.”
Dunmel signed again.
“He says he will pay an appropriate price.”
“And what does he consider of equal value to the future of Blackfoot?”
Heder, looking uneasy, translated Dunmel’s next gesture.
“Themar nodded.”
“I see. Then it’s one of two things. Either you return to Blackfoot, which is unlikely, or you do the other thing. Can you do it?”
“He nodded again,” Heder’s anxious voice echoed.
After pondering for a moment, Gerard gave his command.
“Balak, draw your weapon.”
“Yes.”
As if he had been waiting, Balak stepped forward.
Heder gasped in astonishment.
“Gerald, what are you saying? What is the second condition?”
“Heder, step back. This is something Themar has decided for himself.”
Gerald slowly rose to his feet, pointing at Dunmel as if to make it visible.
“It’s an order, Balak. Kill Themar right here.”
☆ ☆ ☆
Heder took a step forward, wanting to stop Balak. Just then, Gerald grabbed her wrist with his skeletal hand.
“After failing the mission to kidnap the king, Balak told me he wanted to be the successor to Master Calsten and learn all his techniques. I told him he couldn’t be the successor. Only someone of Themar’s caliber would suffice…”
“How can you say something so cruel?” Heder spoke resentfully.
“I’m sorry. I had no choice. The young prodigy who even the stern Calsten approvingly acknowledged had made a strong impression on me. That’s when Balak made me an offer. If Themar were to return, could he kill him in exchange for learning all the techniques of the Blackfoot?”
“You made such a promise?”
“I did. So, tell Themar my condition. If he defeats Balak, I’ll share all my knowledge.”
“Themar! Is this really the deal?”
Dunmel communicated his thoughts to Heder through sign language. Heder clenched her eyes tightly.
“What does Themar say?” Gerald urged.
“He agrees.”
“Good. Now, Heder, narrate the important parts of this battle for me.”
Balak looked somewhat weakened. Heder knew he hadn’t eaten or slept well since his failed kidnapping mission. However, his eyes were more ablaze than ever.
“At first, I was angry, but now I harbor no resentment. I just wanted to follow in Calsten’s footsteps. I’ll give it my all, thinking of you as the strongest opponent. So, you should also fight with all your might.”
Balak turned his Katar upside down and placed one hand on the ground, as if about to sprint. Dunmel asked Heder through sign language.
‘What’s this kid’s training background?’
“Since he was sixteen, for five years.”
Balak understood the sign language and answered directly, surprising Dunmel.
“I learned some basic signs from Heder. Once you know the rules, it’s not that difficult.”
Balak grinned, and Heder added an explanation.
“He’s surpassed me through five years of training. Be careful.”
Dunmel nodded and gripped his dagger upside down. Balak, no longer needing to lip-read, bowed his head. Then, he launched himself towards Dunmel.
The long blade of the Katar traced Dunmel’s face. Dunmel narrowly dodged, staggering to the side.
Balak came at him again from another angle. Dunmel blocked the Katar, but couldn’t dodge a kick.
“Heder, explain.”
Gerald spoke. Heder, too absorbed in the fight, finally opened her mouth.
“Themar is being pushed back. He even got scratched by the Katar. Balak is using very basic but accurate assassination techniques.”
“If he had poisoned the blade, one scratch would’ve won it for Balak. How is Themar responding?”
“He’s mainly on the defensive. Can’t easily counter-attack.”
“Is that so?”
For some reason, Gerald grinned.
“I hope Themar hasn’t dulled his skills, only knowing the sword techniques used by knights in armor.”
Balak’s attacks continued. His concise, lethal strikes were breathtaking even from the sidelines. Gerald, who couldn’t see, nonchalantly explained.
“The Themar I remember always ended his opponent’s life in one strike. Heder, watch Themar and Balak closely. That may be Themar’s last gift.”
Gerald wore an expression tinged with sadness.
Dunmel was already pushed back to a point of no return, and Balak even gave him a moment to catch his breath as he retreated.
“I know this isn’t your best. You’ll put me in a tight spot if you don’t show more skill than what I’ve anticipated,” Balak spoke coldly.
Dunmel paused, pondering before holding his dagger in a reverse grip and communicated briefly through hand signs.
‘You said you’ve been training for five years, so that means you haven’t been directly taught by Kasten. Then why do you act as though you’re Kasten’s disciple?’
“He showed me the world. Saved me from assassins of other organizations who wanted me dead just because I was the son of a wealthy man. He told me to join Blackfoot if I wanted revenge. Although it wasn’t formal, he even taught me some techniques…”
Dunmel lightly swept his blonde hair back with his hand, smiling faintly. Unlike Balak, who was already drenched in sweat, Dunmel’s hair still glistened dryly.
Again, Dunmel spoke through hand signs.
‘So you’re not yet Kasten’s disciple.’
Balak furrowed his eyebrows.
“I’ve seen a significant portion of the techniques and independently studied them with Heder. It’s just that Master Gerard hasn’t taught me Blackfoot’s ultimate assassination techniques yet.”
‘You don’t know. Gerard doesn’t know Blackfoot’s assassination techniques.’
“What?”
‘There were only two people in this world who knew Blackfoot’s secret techniques. Kasten and me. Now, only one remains.’
After that, Dunmel stopped using hand signs. He conveyed his next move with his eyes. Heder relayed Dunmel’s signs diligently, and Gerard, who had listened to their entire conversation, spoke in a somewhat pleased tone.
“Balak, watch carefully. Behold the genius who mastered all of Master Kasten’s techniques by the age of eighteen.”
Taking a few steps back, Dunmel took a deep breath. The chamber was well-lit due to the sunlight falling from the high ceiling. The walls cast deep shadows, and Dunmel disappeared into one.
Heder scanned the surroundings, but Dunmel was nowhere to be found. He reappeared behind Balak and lightly tapped the nape of his neck with the back of his blade. Had it been the edge, Balak’s artery would have been severed.
Spinning around, Balak swung his blade. Yet, at some point, Dunmel was again behind him, this time lightly poking his side with a dagger. Thereafter, like caressing a bare child’s body, the dagger traced his leg, chest, and belly. However, no real attack occurred. Only his clothing was cut.
“Are you going easy on me?” Balak yelled, agitated.
Gerard took over the conversation.
“Don’t get excited, Balak. Compare the image of Kasten you’re thinking of with what Themar is showing you now. Which seems superior?”
Dunmel walked expressionlessly toward Heder and extended his hand. She handed him her Katar. Dunmel slipped it on and briefly explained something to her. It was then that she understood what Gerard and Themar intended to do to Balak.
“Balak, Themar will now be using a Katar.”
Already feeling quite disregarded, Balak wasn’t particularly keen on absorbing her words.
“And so?”
Without waiting for Dunmel to turn around, Balak attacked his back.
Without even looking, Dunmel evaded and counter-struck with his Katar, lightly tapping Balak’s back and neck as he passed.
‘Ah, how did he do that just now?’
The angle and speed were unlike anything Heder had ever considered. It wasn’t incredibly fast, but shockingly slow.
The reason Heder had been devoted to the weapon known as the Katar was that Kasten had mainly used it. For the same reason, Balak used it as well. No other reason existed.
Up to this point, Heder had believed that Kasten’s invincibility with the Katar was due to some special technique. But the movements and force of Dunmel’s Katar were nothing special. It just came at unpredictable angles with unpredictable speed. If you thought it was coming from above, it came from below. If you thought it was fast, the attack came absurdly slow.
Busy tracking Dunmel’s attack, Heder spoke to Gerard.
“Do you think Balak understands? Just now, Themar used five different attacks simultaneously.”
“Balak wasn’t so foolish as to not understand that. And now, it’s time for Balak to set aside his pride. If he clings to his ego and stubbornly seeks victory here, he doesn’t deserve to be the master leading the Blackfoot.”
“From the beginning, you intended to raise Balak as your successor, didn’t you, Gerard?”
“Yes. However, I am already old, unable to even demonstrate Blackfoot’s assassination techniques. And as Themar pointed out, even I don’t know the ultimate technique. It’s not that I haven’t taught it; it’s that I couldn’t. I had a vague suspicion that Kalsten had died. He went to Aranthia to die, after all. But there was one person who knew all of his techniques—Themar. That’s right. I was waiting for Themar’s return more than anyone else.”
Gerard spoke weakly.
“It’s not to pass on the successor role to Themar. I wanted him to be the teacher for Balak, who would become the master of Blackfoot. And Themar, upon arriving here, knew what I wanted and proposed a deal.”
Balak couldn’t escape the Prison of Blades shown by Dunmel and finally fell. Dunmel stepped on Balak’s right hand, breaking the Katar’s blade entirely. Dunmel briefly pointed the Katar at Balak’s neck before stepping back.
Dunmel tossed his Katar to Heder and gestured toward Balak. It wasn’t a sign language, but the message was clear enough.
Casting aside his broken Katar, Balak stood before Dunmel empty-handed. The two took stances without weapons and engaged.
Hesitant, Balak spoke softly, “I have never learned hand-to-hand combat. So…”
He trailed off, but Dunmel nodded. Their hand-to-hand battle commenced. Dunmel absorbed several attacks before counter-attacking and knocking Balak down, who instantly rose to attack again.
Neither Gerard nor Heder interfered in the serious fight. The sound of their attacks slicing the air and the dull noise of bone meeting bone filled the chamber.
Heder tightly gripped Gerard’s hand, engraving every spectacle in her memory.
The fight ended when Balak was finally too exhausted to rise. Blackfoot agents hurried to give him emergency treatment.
Taking deep breaths, Dunmel stood before Gerard, who reached out his hand. Dunmel took it.
“Themar, did Kalsten die without regrets at the end of his fight?”
Dunmel simply patted the back of his hand. Gerard nodded in satisfaction.
“Thank you for granting an unreasonable request. No, perhaps you returned for this? Then I should rephrase.”
Gerard paused.
“Thanks for coming.”
Dunmel patted his hand once more.
“Themar, now it’s my turn to keep my promise. You asked who ordered the assassination of the White Wolves from Blackfoot, didn’t you? Who do you think it is?”
Dunmel wrote the name of the person he suspected on the back of Gerard’s hand.
“Then your guess is correct.”
Gerard smiled.
“And actually, this is our second task from him. His first request was to poison the Duke of Sheffield. If you put two and two together, the conclusion is easy.”
Dunmel rose without lingering. There was no need to risk uttering that name. Everyone else, except for Gerard, was still wary. But Gerard didn’t let go of his hand.
“Themar, what happened to the mission from eight years ago that led to Blackfoot’s downfall?”
Dunmel didn’t immediately understand what he meant. Gerard had asked if Kalsten had died without regrets, and Dunmel had answered. So hadn’t he already given the outcome of the mission from eight years ago? It didn’t seem like Gerard was confused or had asked a redundant question.
‘He considers Kalsten’s death and the mission from eight years ago as separate events,’ he thought.
Dunmel tightly gripped Gerald’s wrist. He could have gone to Leang, where Loyal was, or even to Ambrue for Kassel. But in the end, he came here.
‘I came here to hear this,’ Dunmel thought.
Recalling the black smoke in the Denmoju cave where he had rescued Latilda, Dunmel communicated with Heder through sign language.
‘The story isn’t over yet.’
As Heder relayed the message through sign language, Gerald nodded, as if he had already suspected as much.
“Then your fight isn’t over either.”
On the way back, Heder personally saw him off. Though assassins, who had mistakenly thought Dunmel killed Balak, were watching, neither of them seemed to care.
“If there’s anything you need, don’t hesitate to ask,” Heder offered.
Dunmel signed, ‘This won’t be a permanent farewell. I look forward to seeing how much you’ll have grown.’
“Of course. If Balak is Gerald’s son, then I am Themar’s daughter.”
Heder tried to smile, holding back her tears. Dunmel faintly smiled and stroked her hair, then slowly backed away.
“Take care.”
With those final words, Heder bid Dunmel farewell, who turned and waved his hand.
Dunmel climbed down from the rocky mountain and hurried to where he had left his horse.
‘The Count has been planning to seize this land ever since the Duke of Sheffield died. He had to eliminate the current protectorate family to become one. So the purpose of attempting to assassinate us is simple. To isolate the King. That’s why he supported the war of the Red Rose Count.’
Shaking his head in disbelief, Dunmel thought,
‘Did he also intend for Latilda and Regeni to be engaged? Giving a grand engagement gift and then picking a fight over a broken engagement? Am I getting ahead of myself?’
Riding toward Normant, his anger began to boil. What did evidence matter now?
‘Black Lion Count, you’ve messed with the White Wolves. I won’t let this go.’
☆ ☆ ☆
After parting with Falcon, Kassel rode nonstop.
‘I don’t need sleep! Just make it on time and I can sleep for days.’
Kassel didn’t stop. But by evening, his weakening stamina finally betrayed him. As he dismounted, he threw up everything he had eaten during the day. He washed his face and rinsed his mouth in a stream, but his stomach did not settle.
‘Should I rest? No, never mind.’
Without a second thought, Kassel spurred his horse on again.
It wasn’t until midnight that he changed his mind.
‘At this rate, I’ll collapse before even reaching Normant.’
Though Falcon had given him a fine horse, the animal also needed rest.
‘Do I need to push this hard? It’s not like I’m bringing reinforcements.’
Lying on a grassy field, Kassel looked up at the few stars peeking through the dark clouds and wondered,
‘Is it because I’m the Captain? Because I should be in command? Is that why I’m going?’
Upon reflection, anyone among the White Wolves could have been Captain. Azwin knew how to lead the team softly. When people thought of Gerald as the Captain, they thought of cheerful White Wolves. Sheyden was self-explanatory, and even Dunmel, who couldn’t speak, had the aura of a leader.
Anyone would be better than Kassel. He was just their spokesperson.
‘Don’t blame yourself. Don’t underestimate yourself. You have your own worth.’
Repeating Lumil’s words, Kassel fought the encroaching gloom. With these thoughts, he spent the night awake, finally falling asleep just before dawn.
When he woke up to the morning sun, Kassel mumbled,
“Let’s go.”
Dragging his heavy limbs, he walked to his horse and mounted.
He passed several villages but did not stop. After throwing up several times, he didn’t even feel like eating. Occasionally, he drank wine instead of water. While it kept the hunger at bay, it upset his stomach further.
By evening, dark clouds began to roll in. As the sun set, rain started pouring down. It began as a heavy downpour and showed no sign of stopping even as night fell.
Kassel had ultimately decided to spend the night under a large tree. However, he had to endure the thick streams of rain pouring from either side along with the wind. Wrapped in a blanket, he shivered as he waited for the night to pass.
He’d dozed off in the rain when he heard something odd and opened his eyes. For a moment, he couldn’t see anything; his eyes hadn’t yet adjusted to the darkness.
The rain had stopped, but the wind was still bitterly cold. Shivering, Kassel stood up.
His eyes caught the glint of animals circling him, their eyes ablaze. Falcon’s horse, neighed in fright, lifting its front hooves. They were wild dogs.
Still half-asleep, Kassel couldn’t quite comprehend why the dogs had surrounded him. In his mind, dogs had always been loyal pets to humans. But his thoughts quickly changed upon hearing their growls and seeing their bared teeth. He’d heard countless stories of war dogs, abandoned by their masters, forming packs to reclaim their wild instincts.
Fumbling at his waist, Kassel drew his dagger.
‘No, it’s not me they’re after. It’s the horse.’
He could probably avoid their attack by letting go of his horse and running away. But Kassel chose not to abandon his horse. He was only a half-day’s ride away from Normant; losing his horse here would significantly delay him.
“Back off, or else…”
Kassel closed his mouth, stifling a laugh.
“You stupid mutts can’t even understand me, can you? Fine. Let’s see what Captain Kassel can do. I’ve got a blade too. Time to show you what fighting with blood on the line really means. Come at me, you bastards!”
The dogs lunged at the horse. Startled, the horse reared its front legs.
Yelling, Kassel charged at the dogs. A dog hit by his dagger in its flank rolled away, and Kassel found himself tumbling into the mud as well. Rainwater pooled on the ground splashed into his mouth and eyes, drenching him instantly.
‘Stab and pull.’
Subconsciously, Kassel executed the advice Dunmel had given him. A feeling of tearing flesh reverberated up his arm as hot entrails splashed onto his face.
He hardly remembered what happened next. Amid being bitten on his arms and legs, Kassel swung his blade frantically. Initially, the sensation of splattering blood and flesh disgusted him, but later, it almost felt enjoyable.
When he came to his senses, he saw around seven dead dogs lying around him. One was even hanging from a tree, entangled by the rope on the horses hind leg. The horse too was bleeding from its thighs and legs.
Kassel found he couldn’t extend his leg—when he looked down, he saw a dog hanging by its bite on his thigh. He pried its jaw open and flung it aside.
Somehow, shedding blood made him feel better, as if it drained away his fatigue. Kassel burst into a senseless laughter and collapsed backward.
“See? I won! There’s no way the White Wolves could lose to a pack of dogs.”
Kassel kept laughing until, as his excitement faded, sleep rushed over him like a tidal wave.
He crawled to the tree and hugged his wet blanket.
“See? I can fight too, can’t I? I can fight… I can…”
Kassel closed his eyes and slept until morning.
When he woke up, his head throbbed and his vision was blurry. His body felt even heavier than the day before, his muscles knotted, and there was not a single joint that didn’t ache. Mounting the horse felt like climbing a cliff.
The intelligent horse moved on its own without any directional prompts.
‘Are we going the right way? We need to head to Normant. We can’t go back the way we came.’
Barely coming to his senses and looking up, he found a vast plain before him. Kassel belatedly worried he might have taken the wrong path. The signpost at the crossroads was muddied due to yesterday’s rain.
Dismounting, Kassel wiped away the dirt on the signpost. It read ‘Normant.’
‘Thank goodness. We’re on the right path. Just a little further now.’
Kassel mustered his last ounce of strength to spur his horse forward. As evening fell and he reached the mountain ridge, Normant came into view. The moment he saw the familiar sight of the castle, a desperate groan escaped Kassel’s lips.
‘Don’t cry. You can’t cry. A Captain of the Wolf Knights mustn’t weep.’
Normant was already under attack. Armies flying the flag of the Red Rose Count had advanced into Normant, and the castle’s watchtowers were ablaze. The castle gate was shattered inward, and the bodies of soldiers who had resisted to the end were strewn about.
“It’s too late. You fool, it’s too late.”
Kassel hugged his horse’s neck and finally let the tears flow.
–TL Notes–
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