Dawn (2)
Armed blinked twice. What was this about receiving something from whom? Was it that? Like the old tales where eating food from the underworld traps you there forever—did accepting this mean she'd unwittingly sign an enlistment contract for the Wild Hunt after death?
The knights Kriel had led performed the formal salute as soon as both stars of the ceremony were present. Hands opened and placed over the heart, followed by a bow. The open hand showed they were unarmed. The heart symbolized life—or more precisely, the will to life that opposed the abyss.
It was a somewhat peculiar greeting to receive from the Wild Hunt's wraiths. Even more so with a dullahan involved, whose head to bow with was held in its hand rather than atop its neck.
They opened the chest sent by the Wraith King. At the top lay an antique silk cloth. One wraith lifted it aside. Filling the chest like the canvas of a painting was a massive hoard of magic stones.
The Abyss Prevention Society's mages swallowed hard. How many years' worth of our society's budget is this?
Atop the bed of magic stones peeked ancient fabrics from bygone eras and the hides of nameless beasts imbued with ominous power. And above those lay glass cases containing something like ashen branches.
Armed turned to Kriel and whispered,
"…Are they for real?"
Kriel nodded, then added his concern.
"But Armed, think it over carefully. If this bizarre incident gets tangled up in our engagement announcement, it'll be remembered forever—and that much harder to break off the betrothal later."
Armed listened to Kriel's advice, nodded solemnly, then faced the Wild Hunt group and replied clearly.
"As a member of the bloodline that rules this territory, I cannot offer your lord unconditional gratitude. But I will engrave today's courtesy in my heart. I pray we never meet again in this mortal world, but reunite at the side of the Six Principles and the Pantheon of All Gods."
"Hey, Armed?!"
It was the perfect blend of caution and courtesy. Wishing never to cross paths with the Wild Hunt in the mortal realm was only natural for a ruler. The surprise was her phrasing about reuniting by the Six Principles and the Pantheon— a stock expression wishing peaceful rest.
Whether intentional or not, it aligned perfectly with what the Wraith King's Wild Hunt desired.
Kriel let out a soft "Ah" of realization and approached the dullahan who'd been with him since the lord's castle—to return the shadow steed's reins.
As Kriel approached holding the reins, a low voice emanated from the dullahan's helm.
"What…?"
Kriel was flustered. Hold on a second. I already decided my first mount would be some shiny, radiant warhorse—not this Wraith King special-edition Wild Hunt seasonal nightmare hose.
Objectively speaking, the shadow steed was the first horse he'd properly ridden. He'd galloped through the air on it to the lord's castle spire, then straight to the Wraith King's court, hadn't he? He'd just been rationalizing it away as "borrowed, so it doesn't count as my official mount" because its abyss-tainted looks creeped him out a bit—by his own reckoning.
Ignoring Kriel's bewilderment, the dullahan continued.
"No, wait a—"
Kriel recalled the cleanly severed neck stump of the shadow headless horse. No wonder it looked so neat. The Wraith King's handiwork, then. Rest or not, a horse whose owner had decapitated it? And filled with curses and agony to boot. Grim origins.
"What about its original spirit…?"
Orishin's inner thoughts blazed with jealousy. Cleaning off all that junk and frolicking pure in the heavens? And its earthly body still has perfectly attached legs? How dare it. It was as if the horse existed solely to mock Orishin.
Meanwhile, Kriel's mind reeled from the sales pitch: "Noble soul separately extracted, leaving a pure lump of curse—haha." No one had a chance to question the shadow headless horse's ownership.
The dullahan gauged the moment. Their time was ending. Far off, light approached. One corner of the pitch-black sky spread with red hues, like watercolor bleeding across the canvas.
As the envoy of the Wraith King, the dullahan offered final words.
The mountain peaks shattered the dawn light into fractured rays. The Wild Hunt's wraiths began dissolving from wherever the light touched.
First light broke. The year's longest night had ended.
Kriel and Orishin were in a strangely glum mood. Tuon was thrilled—"Rejoice, master! You've gained a mount that matches your armor perfectly!"—but the commoners had no way of knowing the protagonists' feelings. To them, it was an indelible spectacle.
Ghoulish wraiths emerging from shadowy nooks to present engagement gifts before the lord's castle? That alone was a lifetime tale. And the heart-stirring farewell at dawn! As the solstice night ended and morning broke, the spirits purified by sunlight and vanished. A vision of the couple's pure hearts cleansing the wraiths' grudges.
…In truth, the spectral legion hadn't been purified—they'd simply returned to the boundary between the abyss and Tirnanog. But that's how it looked to the commoners' eyes.
The future consort of Lady Armed might still be hard to get used to in looks, but what of it? He'd saved Ket County twice over.
As the commoners rejoiced at night's terror receding, even gladder tidings arrived. A messenger hastily sent by Countess Esarg.
"The count has regained consciousness!"
The count, who collapsed when the Wild Hunt came, awoke the very moment they departed. An old tale reborn: no curse, however mighty, can withstand pure hearts.
Hearing the unnatural cheers around him, Kriel thought of Mazur Gabi. So this is what it feels like… If they met again, he'd have to treat the guy kinder.
The count opened his eyes. It felt like wandering a deep darkness.
Memories surfaced of his brother's vile will seizing his body to tarnish his name. He'd meant to burn the territory as Miakh Ket, staging a mad count immolating himself in the blazing castle to blacken Miakh Ket's every honor and glory.
Brother, what grudge drove you to hate me so…?
Would that it had been a long nightmare. His gaunt arms, labored lungs, legs too weak to stand alone—all proved the nightmare real.
A grueling mental war. Sealing off his brother—who'd abandoned his name, calling himself the Toothwheel Count in obsession with the title—from claiming his body.
Body and mind lighter now, the count surveyed his family. Helbrinke, directly struck by Arunback's curse, couldn't come, but Esarg, Ermiha, and Hekedian were there.
"Arm…ed?"
Rushing footsteps echoed. Miakh Ket awaited his precious daughter, whom he wouldn't trade for the world in his eyes.
He vaguely recalled hearing her voice just before waking. Wait. There was some unfamiliar voice too?
The door burst open.
Armed cried out at the sight of her awake father.
"Dad!"
"It's been… too long, my daughter…."
As Miakh Ket laboriously greeted her, a pale, menacing man of oddly familiar build followed behind her.
"This is Kriel. The mercenary who hunted monsters in our territory before—remember?"
The last monster subjugation he'd commanded before collapsing. Miakh Ket nodded slowly.
But why's a mercenary at a family gathering?
As if answering the question filling Ket Count's mind, Armed spoke.
"He's, um… my fiancé."
She hemmed and hawed a bit, then blushed shyly as she said it.
Ket Count's thoughts froze.
Freed from the plot to possess his body and torch the territory, the first words upon waking were of his daughter's marriage?
A dream?
Miakh Ket closed his eyes. Then opened them.
Reality hadn't changed.