The Lake Where the Moon Never Rises (2)
The night grew deep.
The old man had said as much, promising tomorrow.
I sat on the edge of the tavern terrace, staring up at the murky night sky.
A faint, hazy sunlight filtered down from behind the dark, heavy clouds.
The lake, without a single breath of wind, was as still as if covered by a thin film. In stark contrast, a crowd had gathered at the docks, their voices raised in song.
The mixture of high and low pitches blended together, weaving a bizarre, unsettling atmosphere.
Was it a sea shanty the fishermen used to sing?
Just as the song praying for a bountiful catch reached its crescendo, a small rowboat glided out toward the center of the lake.
A figure stood precariously atop the gunwale.
Then, without a sound, they slipped into the water.
"They've been chosen."
"The Great One is coming."
The murmurs of the crowd drifted over, sounding as if they were whispering right next to my ear.
Almost instantly, the lake began to churn.
The surface erupted.
The serpent beast's tail surged upward in an explosive burst, dragging the living sacrifice down into the depths of the lake before vanishing.
And then, the rain fell.
The villagers opened their mouths to catch the cascading lake water, wetting their parched tongues, and bowed their heads deeply.
"..."
A fishy stench seeped through the cracks of the window.
Shaking off these useless thoughts, I decided to focus on what lay ahead tomorrow.
The giant harpoon.
It was massive enough to rival the anchor of a decent-sized fishing vessel, its blade honed to a razor-sharp, gleaming edge.
The problem was whether we could actually pierce the beast's scales and embed it deep into its flesh.
The old man had insisted on throwing the harpoon himself, but it was obvious he wouldn't even be able to scratch the scales that way.
Thus, our roles were divided.
The harpooner and the helmsman.
Both of us would board the vessel and focus entirely on reeling the beast in.
We would pierce the creature with a harpoon infused with the beast's energy, then drag it all the way to the canal.
It sounded simple enough, but the reality was far from it.
No matter how skilled the old man was at handling the boat, there was no way we could match the beast's speed.
Moreover, trying to hold on with bare hands against a thrashing serpent beast desperate to escape to the lakebed was sheer folly.
These were the problems I had been grappling with ever since arriving in the village.
How could we drag the beast to the surface?
At first, I had thought of driving the villagers away to starve the serpent.
I figured that once it could no longer endure its hunger, it would raid the village in search of prey.
...But that's out of the question.
I couldn't control the entire village by myself.
And who knew if people willing to offer themselves as living sacrifices would even listen to me?
The lake was vast, and as long as I was only one man, I couldn't stop them all.
Fortunately, the old man had a plausible plan.
The old man hanging the sign on the bridge was all groundwork for that plan.
The idea was to anchor the other end of the chain connected to the harpoon—our fishing line—to the bridge, using its structure to hold the beast.
"Once the bastard wears himself out thrashing around, all we have to do is reel him in."
Easier said than done.
Even if the bridge could withstand the beast's struggles, it was highly uncertain whether a simple tug-of-war would actually tire it out.
It would be far better to pierce its heart with the harpoon in a single strike.
Before long, the crowd gathered at the docks began to disperse.
Not a single shadow could be seen on the streets.
We had barely three days left.
And so, our second day in Rahasha Village arrived.
"Tie it tight and hook the clasp! If it comes loose halfway through, we won't get a second chance!"
Rain was falling.
Not the spray kicked up by the serpent beast, but a genuine downpour.
"Like this?"
My voice was drowned out by the drumming rain, barely audible.
Even worse, a violent torrent was rushing beneath our feet.
The river had swollen so much that the water already reached up to my thighs, and it showed no signs of stopping.
"Securing it to just one pillar won't hold! You have to crisscross it around at least three or four!"
Just trying to communicate felt like it would tear my throat raw.
Unless we screamed at the top of our lungs, we couldn't understand each other, so it was easier to just shout from the start.
Of course, this was a lesson learned after several bouts of trial and error.
Following the old man's instructions, I dragged the heavy iron chains back and forth, somehow securing them to the bridge.
I gave it a few experimental tugs, and it didn't budge an inch.
It was a dreadful downpour.
I wanted to ask if it wouldn't be better to set off after the rain stopped, but since I was the one pressed for time, I silently obeyed the old man's orders.
Above all, I didn't want to ruin the mood when the old man looked so grimly determined before his grand "fishing trip."
He was so focused that he had completely forgotten to use polite speech again, ordering me around with practiced ease.
"Once the harpoon bites, the boat's going to capsize! This chain is our only lifeline!"
I recalled my recent life-or-death struggle with the beast.
The memory of losing all sense of direction, thrashing wildly just to escape.
I never wanted to experience that again. Fighting against the rushing current, I meticulously wrapped the chains around the pillars, ensuring there was absolutely no slack.
"I'm done!"
"Good! Let's set off before this damn rain gets any worse!"
Could it even get any worse?
Staring up at the sky, which looked as though a hole had been punched straight through it, I followed close behind the old man.
The moment the anchor was raised, the massive sail billowed, and the boat began to move.
As we neared the center of the lake, the chains piled on the deck uncoiled with a rhythmic, metallic clatter.
A short distance away.
The old man skillfully adjusted the sails to position the boat right at the mouth of the canal leading to the river.
"Pull it as hard as you can!"
I helped him, pulling and releasing the coarse, frayed ropes according to his commands.
I couldn't help but marvel at the old man's uncanny ability to catch only the wind he needed amidst the raging storm, but now was not the time to be distracted.
I strained my eyes, staring intently into the churning lake to catch any movement of the serpent beast.
The torrential rain pelted the once-placid surface, blurring our vision.
From here on, it was a race against time.
The old man lowered the sails, and our speed gradually decreased.
Without a word, we picked up our harpoons and peered down into the water.
A deafening silence.
The first to break that silence was the old man, his voice low.
"...Why are you trying to fight that thing?"
Fate, or perhaps a sense of duty.
Various reasons crossed my mind, but none of them could easily find their way past my throat.
At first, it was to survive.
Now, it was to hunt an even greater beast.
There were surely people who lived with a clear, singular purpose, but answering with that felt somewhat hollow even to me.
But my goal.
My goal of driving away the beasts that constantly coveted the lands of humanity and reclaiming peaceful days was clearer than anything else.
A soft, grassy field.
A landscape where the warm, shining sun dipped below the horizon, giving way to a cascading canopy of stars.
That scenery, which had once been someone else's dream, had somehow become the purpose of my own life.
How could I explain that in just a few words?
I chose the most trivial reason among the many and gave a brief reply.
"You asked for my help, didn't you?"
"Right. I did."
The old man let out a dry, self-deprecating chuckle.
There was nothing like idle chatter to kill time.
Contrary to the churning surface, the depths of the lake were quieter than ever.
I turned back to the old man, who had fallen silent again, and asked,
"Why didn't you run away?"
It was a question I had been harboring deep down.
I couldn't understand what kind of mindset allowed him to stay among those madmen, waiting for help that might never come, and devise such an absurd plan all on his own.
"...As for me,"
the old man began, the words dragging heavily from his throat.
"I had a daughter."
Hearing him speak of her in the past tense, I felt, for some reason, as if I already knew how the story ended.
I stole a glance at his face.
After uttering those words, the old man looked startled.
As if he hadn't expected himself to actually say it out loud.
"You don't have to talk about it if it's too painful."
Countless people had been devoured by beasts.
In the past, and in the future. More people than the falling raindrops would die, survive, and vow revenge.
And most of them would choose to forget or flee, terrified of meeting the same end.
So, just by standing here, the old man had already earned the right to be free from that curse.
"No. The sins I carry are too heavy to take to my grave."
"...I see."
If he wanted to unburden himself, I was more than willing to listen.
The old man continued.
"She was well past the age to start a family, which had me worried. But then, one day, she brought home a man."
"A man?"
"Yes. A pale, scrawny-looking fellow. I don't know how she managed to reel him in. He didn't look like he could pull his own weight, so I figured I'd put him to work on the boat for a few days to build up his strength. My daughter..."
The old man's lips twitched as he recalled the days when the village was still peaceful.
"..."
I waited for him to go on.
After a long silence, the old man spoke in a flat, hollow voice.
"That dawn, she drowned in the lake."
"...I see."
The image of the person who had willingly offered themselves to the beast last night flashed through my mind.
I remained silent.
"It was suicide. She was always a bit simple-minded, but to this day... I still can't understand why she made that choice."
The beast had appeared out of nowhere one day.
It just so happened that the very first victim was the old man's daughter.
I wanted to tell him it wasn't his fault, but his expression suggested there was more to the story.
I couldn't tell if his confession was meant for me, or if he was simply repeating it to himself.
The only thing I could do was pull the old man, who seemed to be drifting away, back to reality.
"...Revenge is close at hand."
"Revenge... Yes, revenge."
The old man, who had been staring down into the deep lake, raised his eyes to look at me.
His eyes were slightly bloodshot, but his voice did not tremble.
"After she died, the beast's eggs started getting caught in our nets. It must have been bloated with them, because we'd catch them just by casting and pulling the nets back up. At first, the vagrants started eating those discarded eggs. In a village where everyone was starving, they were the only ones walking around healthy. Soon, others began filling their empty bellies with the eggs, one by one."
The starting point of this entire catastrophe.
The old man's daughter, lured to her death by the serpent beast, and the eggs laid by the creature after devouring her corpse.
And finally, the villagers who had begun to worship the serpent, offering their own bodies to it.
The old man simply wanted to end it all.
A suffocating silence filled the empty space.
The old man turned back, resuming his watch over the depths of the lake.
Heavy raindrops pelted his frail back, drumming relentlessly.
His face was not reflected in the murky water.
In the distance, the sprawling forest swayed, whistling as if mocking us.
"Cunning bastard. You certainly know the perfect place to die."
The old man drew a worn dagger from his waist.
Then, without hesitation, he plunged it into his thigh, carving a wound.
The sharp, metallic scent of blood.
Before I could even try to stop him, he threw himself into the water. As I reached out after him—
Beneath the disturbed surface, the shadow of the serpent beast began to swell.