Winter Solstice (1)
Rumors had spread through Ket County like leaves turning in autumn. No one could pinpoint exactly when they began, but before long, everyone from every corner was talking about them.
"They say the eldest daughter brought home the man who's to be her husband."
"They say he's a very famous knight."
"They say he's the lord of Fountain Square."
[Look, master. So many voices praising you!]
"Is that really praise? It just feels like they're curious about who I am."
It was a rare place where people didn't pay him much mind even when he showed his face, so wandering the outer castle district of the county had become Kriel's hobby. As a bonus, folks occasionally approached with comments like "Nice Wraith King cosplay," letting him chat them up and gather local intel.
Something feels off.
He wasn't sensing any presence of abyss shards, but a vague, ominous unease lingered at the edge of his mind.
[Well, some call it superstition, but I prefer to think of it as quick, intuitive reasoning drawn from past experience. Seen anything weird around here?]
"Not right now. But last time, I spotted the Wild Hunt."
[That's definitely odd, but... no way it's coming back, right?]
Kriel shrugged. Maybe he was just overreacting after all the grief the Wraith King had put him through.
Already, crowds around the castle were lighting bonfires and tossing in odds and ends to burn. It wasn't quite the winter solstice yet, but festivals rarely stuck to strict schedules—they followed the mood of the day.
Among the kindling and trash crackling away, Kriel spotted a few shapes that looked familiar.
As he approached one of the bonfires, the people nearby welcomed him. He'd been strolling these streets for days, after all, putting faces to names.
"Oh, hey, Wraith King bro!"
"How's everyone doing?"
Kriel pointed with a fingertip at a small wooden figurine burning in the flames.
"That the Wild Hunt?"
Undead knights of the Wraith King and skeletal horses were going up in smoke.
The locals nodded.
"It's the perfect symbol of bad luck to burn away, ain't it? We've been torching these since the year the Wraith King got chased off."
They were too finely crafted for simple home handicrafts. Kriel asked where they'd come from.
"Hmm? Probably from the lord's castle. Even with threats like that, the county held strong, so they handed these out to rally the people—burn away the old dangers and all that."
"Does it bother you, Your Majesty, seeing your ghostly minions go up in flames?" one local teased with a grin.
Kriel chuckled it off.
"They call me king, but I don't have a single soldier under me. Figured I'd conscript these wooden troops instead."
"Haha, watch out, Your Majesty. Word is the knight who beat you is in town now!"
Kriel gave a wry smile. Even if I told them I lost, they'd think I won.
"What's this about being the lord of Fountain Square?"
"Huh. Didn't I mention it?"
Armed tilted her head as she explained the solstice festival procedures while helping him into the finished outfit from old man Judre.
"There's a plaza under the castle, right? With the knight statue on the fountain holding a sword."
"No way that's supposed to be me."
"That statue's named 'Sir Kriel, Foe of the Wraith King.'"
A bead of sweat trickled down Kriel's forehead. Basically a monument to my defeat. Nice they remembered, but...
"Hold on. When I revealed my name there—"
"You did. When you challenged the Wraith King to a duel."
The memory flashed through Kriel's mind. Hmm, yeah.
Armed cleared her throat and recited in a theatrical tone.
"'What is your name? By what right do you block the king's own expedition and dare stand armed before his throne?'"
"'I am Kriel. With no great fame or deeds to my name, I challenge you solely by the duty and right of a knight.'"
"Someone actually heard that...?"
Kriel wanted to bolt. The lines were cool—he'd vaguely borrowed them from some Tirnanog RPG duel scene—but he'd still lost.
Armed looked away from his regretful gaze. It was no secret she'd nursed and seen off the knight who'd repelled the Wraith King.
The duel had happened amid the storm whipped up by the Wild Hunt's descent—a poor environment for clear hearing. "Duty and right of a knight" was standard duel lingo, so folks agreed on that, but the name? Opinions varied.
In that mess, the sculptor boldly asked the lord's eldest daughter for the knight's name, and Armed provided it. She had a hand in etching Kriel's name into Fountain Square.
That said, the statue looked nothing like him. The artist's overflowing creativity had turned it into some fairy-tale prince—wielding not a brutal greatsword, but a holy-sword-looking longsword of ordinary length.
Kriel finally stood, resigning himself. The statue was done; if the locals loved it, good for them.
"By the way, Armed. Those Wild Hunt effigies they're burning—nothing weird about them, right?"
"Oh, those? Just wooden dolls, nothing special. The lord's got to comfort the people in all sorts of ways, and the countesses led it. Seemed like everyone was on board for once, but better than nothing."
The only flaw, she added, was the expense—using pricey ash wood that strained the county coffers. Ash wood, typically for spear shafts.
Winter solstice day. Kriel and Armed donned their formal attire.
Armed nodded in satisfaction.
"Spruced up like this, you actually look the part!"
Envious glares shot from all over the castle, but she ignored them.
Whatever. They're throwing us this huge engagement ceremony.
Sponsoring the venue earned a pass on the side-eye.
"How do I look? Matches okay?"
Kriel eyed Armed's dress. No fancy jewels—just pure tailoring skill. Yet it was elegant enough without them. Master craftsmanship.
The somewhat revealing design wasn't the tailor's doing, though. Old man Judre had wanted evening gloves up to the elbows plus warm lining for the weather, but Armed flat-out refused.
Armed's heart raced inwardly, awaiting his verdict. But Kriel was an incorrigible knight. He fixated on practicality.
"Won't it be cold for solstice?"
He meant it as concern for her health. Northern mountain winds would hit head-on, and her neck and shoulders had just a gossamer lace cape.
[Oh, master. That's...]
[Kriel... you're number one.]
Rare agreement from his two swords.
As Armed yelled "Pretty or not—pick one!" and Kriel replied "Then the former," the locals stuffed their bad-luck symbols into a massive straw effigy.
Unbeknownst to all, items secretly made by automaton hands were mixed in with the junk.
The crowd buzzed excitedly, awaiting the stars of the day: the eldest daughter and her fiancé. Even this short wait felt tiring from anticipation—then rumble.
The castle gates opened. Two silhouettes appeared.
One with hair tied up: the familiar top lady of Ket County. Beside her...
"Huh. Wraith King bro?"
Someone murmured, recognizing the pale hair.
They'd thought him some daily cosplaying loafer. That guy was Kriel?
Proving his knighthood, the pale-haired man wore a straight sword at his right hip.
Ignoring gasps from the throng, the ceremony proceeded. Details would come in the speech after burning the effigy.
Drunk on the festive vibe, locals sang bad-luck-banishing songs, marching after the eldest daughter.
With Kriel's escort, Armed approached the head of the cart-borne effigy. A thick rope was tied there for easy pulling.
Kriel gripped it wordlessly. Then strode forward.
The banner-bearer driving out resentment. The festival's center of attention.