Dragon Season (4)
“How about the leg? Better now?”
“Just the same, really.”
“Yeah?”
That was all. He didn’t ask anything more about the leg. No worried platitudes about how it should heal perfectly, no fake fussing about how bad it was.
“It’s tough, huh?”
Of course he was worried. Still, he didn’t say it, afraid that even well-meaning concern might reopen old wounds.
The years spent in the arena had taught him that much. Sensitive subjects were no laughing matter.
“I’m resting at home, what hardship?”
“Resting is what you do when you actually feel like resting.”
The words were supposed to be rest, but his heart would never truly relax. He would still be shaking with leftover fear.
“If it were only me, it would’ve been rough. But I had someone on my side helping me through it.”
That someone had to be Asmur. She had indeed cared for Rahan with everything she had.
“I’m the one who suffered more than you.”
“Me? What do you mean?”
Was he genuinely asking, or just probing?
Among the common folk, nobody had missed Vesta’s exploits. The rumors had spread like wildfire.
“While I was resting, I handled every last thing that needed doing.”
“What, the desert trip?”
“Not just a trip. I finished everything there.”
Rahan had wanted to ask anyway, but the question slipped out.
“You dropped a worm that big?”
“A worm?”
Shockingly huge, sure, but was it really only a hump? Rumor had exaggerated it, like so many others.
“Not that big.”
“You fought a beetle the size of the Khan’s tent?”
“That tent? Yeah. Big enough. No, bigger?”
“Really? Whoa…”
“I didn’t even fight alone.”
Thanks to Ahor, the excellent commander, Ushun, the reliable assault leader, and the flawless archers who covered every angle. It had all come together.
“Of course I was flying around too.”
“Ushun said that. Said you were the best fighter.”
“She said that? What’s with that auntie?”
Ahor had clearly decided to boost his ego. Given Ushun’s personality, it made perfect sense.
She was overflowing with pride and loved bragging about herself, but she would never tear down someone else’s glory. If anything, she would lift them up.
“Auntie?”
“Just a slip. We’ve been too comfortable with each other lately.”
If it reached Ushun’s ears, she would probably flash that tongue at him.
“What? What did you say?”
“Flick.”
“Secret. Don’t tell Ushun.”
Vesta said it with a touch of desperation in his eyes. Rahan nodded slowly, his expression uneasy.
“And don’t tell Asmur either.”
“We don’t have secrets from each other…”
“What?”
It was impossible to look too worried about Rahan’s half-hearted promise.
“Hey, even if there’s nothing, there should be at least one thing.”
“Well…”
He couldn’t think of a single one.
“You didn’t say anything to me when we first met. All that talk about tying down a family and stuff.”
Rahan’s mouth fell open.
“Got it. I won’t say a word.”
“You should’ve said that from the start.”
Rahan had surrendered first, so Vesta didn’t dig any deeper.
Still, he was startled by Rahan’s casual claim that they shared no secrets. It was so natural for two people who were so deeply connected.
They really are husband and wife.
A scene from before flashed through Vesta’s mind: Asmur pulling Rahan down from the horse.
…That was intimate.
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Nothing.”
“What?”
In some ways, he might even be more mature than me.
Rahan couldn’t read Vesta’s thoughts at all.
Vesta fell silent, and Rahan picked up on it.
“Vesta. I heard from Asmur that you told me to come for sword practice?”
It was the line he had said after standing up the visitor from Ashtien. Rahan had clearly understood.
“That’s right.”
Rahan hesitated, words stuck. Was Vesta’s offer too heavy a burden?
“Rahan, you don’t have to force it.”
Vesta spoke clearly. He wouldn’t force someone who truly hated it.
Rahan answered with difficulty.
“With this leg… can I even swing a sword?”
“Impossible isn’t the word, but it will be a hard road.”
No hedging.
“I figured.”
“You’ll have no choice but to try.”
Vesta looked straight into Rahan’s eyes.
“Rahan. Do you want to become a warrior?”
Vesta’s gaze was unwavering.
Rahan felt himself shrinking in that stare. With no room to hide his weakness, he spoke plainly.
“I can’t be a warrior. I’m too scared, too weak.”
“So?”
Vesta didn’t look down on Rahan. Admitting one’s own weakness wasn’t easy.
And most of all, the eyes weren’t those of someone who had given up.
“But I will try. I’ll protect the warriors who protect me from now on. That’s what I want.”
The answer pleased him.
“Brave. I like it.”
Maybe I don’t need to tell him to come for sword practice anymore.
He had found a power greater than the sword.
Even if it wasn’t right now, Vesta was certain Rahan would overcome his wounds.
People overcame hardships when they wanted to protect someone more than they wanted to be protected.
“Sorry, but I have to go. Something came up.”
“What?”
Vesta stood. He had spotted Ushun, sent to fetch him.
She had been called by Ashtien.
Rahan nodded belatedly.
“You’re off to write another legend.”
His tone was half-certain.
Vesta chuckled and clapped Rahan on the shoulder.
“Compared to what you’re about to do.”
Yes. Protecting that silence would be the harder part.
“I’m going.”
They said nothing more. No backward glances, no unnecessary calls.
From that alone, one could tell they were friends forged in the steppe.
Steppe men didn’t chase winds that led nowhere.
*
The man wore fur the color of twilight, shimmering gray.
He was unmistakably the orc called the Blue Wolf.
At his feet lay a massive beast, clearly killed by arrows and spears.
“Narinhoon did it.”
The other orcs murmured in the distance. They didn’t dare approach.
“He really hunted the spirit creature?”
“A feat.”
The orcs sounded both awed and drunk. They hailed Narinhoon’s name and praised his exploits.
Blazing one. The one who never dies. Leader wolf. Spirit hunter.
—Wolf King.
Even amid the orcs’ cheers, the man’s face remained indifferent. He wasn’t satisfied. He rose from his place and left the pack.
Following him was something else.
“You?”
He was enormous, with fur of beautiful luster, an aura that transcended a mere beast.
A pureblood werewolf who had once hidden his tracks.
[Excellent technique.]
“Indeed.”
Receiving the legendary being’s praise, he showed no trace of excitement.
[It doesn’t satisfy you?]
“Boring.”
[Boring?]
Narinhoon didn’t answer. He swept the burn scars across his entire body.
“Ah, you’re here?”
The human woman greeted him.
“……”
Narinhoon’s human “teacher” was sprawled comfortably, snoring.
— Woof!
The werewolf beside the woman looked at Narinhoon and instinctively shrank back. He hid behind the weaker human woman.
Weakness. What Narinhoon despised. His instinct flared. The werewolf’s tail tucked.
— Even though he had grown, he couldn’t leave his mother’s arms.
“What’s this right after you arrive? You’re hopeless.”
The woman blocking Narinhoon was Leah.
— A woman who tried to protect weakness.
She thought and acted in the exact opposite way from Narinhoon.
Narinhoon didn’t understand her, but he let her be.
[Narinhoon. Wolves who mingle with people become weak.]
“Mingle? I’m curious.”
He was curious about the existence called human.
They were weak, yet stubbornly alive. It seemed they forged something new from their own weakness.
— That guy was like that.
He hadn’t run. He had charged into the worst battlefield. Foolish. The instincts of a predator should have prevented it.
Smaller frame, less muscle. One kick and he would fall.
He had thought it could be done.
— He saw only a weak, dull creature.
Narinhoon’s judgment had been wrong. The boy had extracted something different from his weakness and ultimately brought the wolf king down.
What name should be given to a creature that could die again and again?
— Warrior.
[What do you see? Where are you going? I will guide you on the path you seek.]
“The battlefield.”
[What will you find there?]
I left something behind. I am going to seek my death.
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