The Gnoll's Grudge
The border village we reached after a full day of hard riding lay against the foot of the mountains, home to roughly a hundred households of the domain.
Most of the people who lived there were herb-gatherers and hunters — folk who depended on the forest to survive.
Two guards in shabby gear stood at the village entrance. As we drew near, they recognized the crest of the Roenheim ducal house borne by the soldiers and cried out in a rush.
"Sir knight! The knights are here!"
They dropped to their knees on the spot and paid their respects. There was something a little clumsy about it. Then again, a ducal knight order rarely came all the way out to a border village like this, so it was hardly strange.
"We ought to meet the village chief first," Walter suggested quietly.
He was an old knight who had served the house for a long time. Field investigations and inspections of the common folk were probably second nature to him by now. I saw no reason to be stubborn about it and nodded.
"Fine. You two — take us to where the chief is."
The chief's house stood near the center of the village, a two-story wooden building that was, if nothing else, the most presentable structure around. When we arrived, a white-haired old man came out to meet us, his face pale.
"Welcome. We have been waiting for you. But... this gentleman, might he be...?"
The chief glanced at Walter as he asked. He seemed to know Walter's face already, but he clearly had no confidence about who I was.
Walter answered briefly in my place.
"He is the one I serve."
"Then... surely not — the young master? Aigoo, I've committed a sin worthy of death!"
As if failing to recognize my face were some grave crime, the chief bowed his head low. But what village chief stuck out in a corner of the domain would know the face of the wastrel eldest son? I skipped the pleasantries and went straight to the point.
"Enough. I want to see the damage. Lead the way."
"Ah, yes, yes! This way."
Following the chief, we came to a shabby hut on the outskirts of the village. Part of the door had been smashed in, and the walls were covered in strange claw marks and deep gouges — the wreckage of the attack left exactly as it had been. The sharp, metallic reek of blood made several of the soldiers wrinkle their noses.
"The victim was a hunter who lived alone in this house," the chief explained, his voice heavy.
The victim had been a man in his mid-thirties. Even the day before he died, he had gone out hunting and only returned around sunset.
"We have already recovered the body, but... will you be all right?"
"I'm fine. I'll look around myself."
I sent the chief back and examined the scene. On the creaking floorboards, bloodstains remained, and clear footprints were pressed into the blood. I bent down to study them closely.
This is...
Claw marks, large and sharp, unmistakably different from a human footprint — four toes, and the impression of hard keratin at the heel. If I had to compare it to anything, it resembled the print of a canid.
By the size... a direwolf? Or something in the werewolf line?
A few monster names I knew came to mind at once, but it was too early to be certain. I shifted my gaze to the ruined door. Something hard and sharp had struck it again and again.
There are claw marks. But whatever actually broke the door looks more like a weapon.
I looked around further, and among the broken furniture and household goods I found something unusual.
Fur?
A few strands of stiff brown fur lay in a corner of the floor, caught between bloodstained splinters of wood. I carefully picked one up and rubbed it between my fingertips. The texture was tough and coarse. Direwolf fur was softer than this, and a werewolf's coat, by contrast, was hard enough to turn a blade. Which meant this was...
"...A gnoll?"
As far as I knew, it resembled gnoll fur. Gnolls were bipedal monsters that looked like a dog and a human stitched together. Crude as they were, they knew how to wear weapons and armor, and they even possessed a language of their own. Their size varied wildly, from specimens smaller than a man to ones larger than a troll. Whatever had hit this hut seemed to be a brown gnoll, roughly human-sized.
But.
"Something's off."
Even so, there was a corner of it that didn't sit right. Gnolls were pack creatures by nature, so when they trespassed into human territory they almost always moved as a group rather than alone. Striking a single hut in a village like this was anything but their usual method.
One driven out of the pack?
At last I turned my eyes toward the bloodstains left in the inner room. The victim's body must have been torn to shreds; scraps of flesh that hadn't been fully cleared away were scattered here and there.
Too extreme for a simple raid, or for killing something to eat.
It wasn't that gnolls weren't cruel, but even at a glance this was no kill made for food. The corpse had been mutilated with an almost obsessive thoroughness, as if the killer had been looking at a hated enemy bound to them by a grudge.
A grudge...
"Young master."
While I was lost in thought, Walter, who had been waiting outside the hut, approached.
"You should rest now. We will handle the rest of the investigation."
He said it as if there were no point in my being here. At that, I deliberately put on an arrogant expression.
"Rest? I've already figured the whole thing out."
"Pardon? What do you mean?"
"I mean I've identified the monster that attacked this place."
At my words, Walter's brow creased ever so slightly. A familiar distrust and exasperation flickered through his eyes. But perhaps because of the near-bizarre changes I had shown over the past week, he did not sigh and withdraw as he once would have. He asked a question instead.
"May I ask what it is?"
I held up the strand of brown fur I had picked up.
"A gnoll, I believe. The fur, the footprints, the marks of destruction — taken together, it's nearly certain."
Surprise and doubt crossed Walter's eyes in equal measure.
"A gnoll... that is possible. But how is it that the young master knows the traits of a gnoll so well?"
He asked it puzzled, and more than a little suspicious. I was briefly considering how to answer when a convenient excuse surfaced from Lucas's memories.
"I once had the knights bring me monsters. Among the ones they caught back then, there was a creature with fur like this."
At what followed, Walter squeezed his eyes shut. Simply because he had wanted to see demons, Lucas had intimidated the knights into turning several low-grade monsters loose inside the ducal house itself. It was one of the countless outrages he had committed, and one that had thoroughly sickened the ducal knights, Walter included.
"Father gave you a severe reprimand over that whole affair. But I learned something from it, so isn't it only natural that it comes in handy now?"
I added the last part shamelessly.
"Young master. Even so, to do the same thing again—"
"Don't worry. Father simply fails to grasp my grand design, so I'll be the one who has to endure."
Walter let out a short sigh. I watched with some interest as he reacted to every word I said, then went on.
"More to the point, what do you think, Sir? Does it seem like a gnoll to you?"
"...Yes. I am of the same mind as the young master. These traces are certainly a gnoll's. However..."
"However?"
"It is extremely rare for a gnoll to attack a commoner's home alone, and so brutally at that. There is likely some other reason."
"I find that strange as well. Which is why I say this was no simple raid. It's highly likely to be revenge."
Doubt rose on Walter's face.
"Revenge? Are you saying a mere monster would harbor a desire for vengeance against a human?"
He looked genuinely unable to comprehend it. Well, the monsters one met on the battlefield seemed like nothing more than creatures rampaging on instinct. That they possessed emotions, or anything like a society beneath the surface, was a fact revealed only after a great deal of research into monsters — even in the modern world. A knight whose work was nothing but fighting could spend a lifetime and still never know.
"A monster isn't without feelings just because it's a monster. More to the point... doesn't this place feel a bit bare?"
I looked around the hut and changed the subject. The hunter's house had been horribly destroyed, and yet, strangely, among the wreckage there was almost nothing that could have been turned into money. Furs, herbs — the bare minimum — were nearly nowhere to be seen, as if someone had swept the place clean.
"That is..."
Walter let the words trail off. He already seemed to have guessed the culprit, but he couldn't bring himself to say it aloud — probably because, had this been the old Lucas, the tantrum was easy to picture, complete with some outburst about how anyone dared touch a scene the young master himself was meant to inspect. But I was not that man anymore.
"Let's step outside for now."
I left the hut with Walter and approached the chief. He was still glancing nervously at the soldiers, uneasy.
"Chief."
When I called, he startled and bowed his head.
"Yes, young master."
"Who was the first to find this place and report it?"
"Th-that was me. I found it and contacted the knights at once..."
"I see. But it looks as though some of the things inside the house have gone missing. Any idea where they went?"
"What? Th-that is..."
His eyes wavered anxiously. Walter, too, looked plainly worried about what I might say next. But I had no intention of threatening the chief. The belongings of the dead, if there were no surviving family, were customarily handled by the village in any case — and more than anything, I needed the chief's cooperation if I wanted the matter settled quickly. I went on in an even tone.
"I imagine the chief cleared away anything that might get in the way of the investigation. Herbs and hides left lying around would only be a nuisance, wouldn't they?"
Color returned to the chief's face as he caught my meaning.
"Y-yes, that's right! The young master's insight is astonishing! I feared the evidence might be damaged, so I stored them elsewhere for a—"
"Good. I'll need to see those things, so bring them here. Ah — and don't leave even one behind by accident."
"Y-yes, sir!"
The chief dashed off and returned from his own house with a single chest. Inside, sure enough, were a few herbs, animal hides, and byproducts such as horns — exactly the sort of things a country hunter would own, most of them looking like they weren't worth much. But one item among them stood out.
"...So this was the problem."
What I picked up was a small pelt. Hide from a beast, and yet a golden fur with a luster soft as silk.
"Do you know what that is?" Walter asked.
I gave a light nod.
"The hide of a gnoll pup, isn't it?"
Before they reach adulthood, brown gnolls have fine golden fur like this, and that fur is incomparably softer than an adult's — soft enough that, for the byproduct of a low-grade monster, it had seen fair demand even in the modern world.
"It seems the mother came to avenge her child."
At my words, Walter's face hardened.
"I knew a mother who loses her young can turn violent, but... you are saying she came all this way for revenge?"
"That's what I think. Do you disagree?"
"Not that. Only... I had no idea the young master possessed insight of this kind."
Walter's manner was still stiff, but the way he looked at me had shifted, subtly. I didn't mind the reaction, so I deliberately smiled with even more arrogance. Better to push forward shamelessly than to play at being incompetent.
"See? Haven't I always said it? I simply hadn't bothered until now. Once I set my mind to something, I can do it better than anyone."
"......"
Walter couldn't find a word in answer and shut his mouth. He was probably grumbling inwardly that he had heard that line dozens of times already — but what could he do? I had just proved I really could do it well. I turned my gaze back to the chief.
"That being the case, Chief."
"Yes! Only say the word."
"There seems to be a gnoll pack in the forest, so call me a hunter who knows the paths well."
"Understood!"
A short while later, the man the chief brought was a young fellow by the name of Jerret — a solid build, and sharp eyes.
"Go on, pay your respects. This is the young master of House Roenheim."
"It is an honor to meet you, young master."
Jerret knelt before me alongside the chief.
"Enough of the greetings. He can actually do the job, I take it?"
"Of course. He may not match the hunter who died, but his skill is excellent."
The chief answered at once. I asked Jerret directly.
"Jerret, is that true?"
"Yes. Among the hunters of our village, there is no one who can match me."
His face was tense, but his eyes didn't waver, and his answer came clear. I nodded and told him what his task would be.
"Your job is to find the gnolls' traces in the forest and guide us to their den."
"Gnolls? You mean... monsters?"
Bewilderment flickered across his face. Hunters, after all, hunted beasts, and to them a monster was always dangerous — something to be avoided. Being told to track such creatures down instead, fear was only natural. And the surest way to erase that fear and stir up a little motivation was, as always, money.
"Complete the task and you'll be rewarded. So..."
But how much should I pay? Even in Lucas's memories, there was nothing about the going daily rate for a country hunter. When I hesitated, the quick-witted Walter stepped in.
"Two silver coins should be sufficient."
At that, Jerret's eyes went wide.
"If you would only entrust it to me, I will do my utmost!"
It must have been more than enough for him; eagerness filled his voice.
"Good. Then we leave at once."
And so I set out with Walter, twenty soldiers, and the hunter Jerret, now our guide.