The Stance of One Who Steps into the Trap (2)
Nathan blinked at the words. Shall we walk? He had expected to be dragged away the moment he stepped outside, gasping for breath. He never imagined the other side would open a conversation instead. No, more important than that was—
“Uh, if you could just take me into custody quickly…?”
The faint commotion leaking from inside the hospital. “Yaaaaah! You—!” And the curses drawing nearer. If a tongue were truly stronger than a sword, those words would surely have been forbidden by every law of war. It was Benny’s voice, boiling with rage. Nathan drew a deep breath. Then he sprinted toward the far end of the alley, paying no attention to the Protector Lord who laughed dryly as he spoke.
“To be honest, when I received the request for just two days, I was certain you would run…”
The Protector Lord, who had frozen mid-sentence, stared blankly at the Sapiens disappearing down the alley.
“…He’s running.”
The abrupt chase ended when Nathan stopped of his own accord. He turned around and held out both hands like a fugitive who had already given up.
“That’s enough. Take me away.”
Protector Lord Morbi asked, tone thick with suspicion. “You’re really not going to run?”
“I won’t run. Really.”
“…That’s fortunate. My joints haven’t been kind to me lately.”
The Protector Lord, still catching his breath from the pursuit, rubbed his eyes wearily. If not for the white hair and long ears, he would have looked like any overworked civil servant from the Federation. Nathan was growing more confused by the second. Was this frail-looking man truly the same person from yesterday? The one who had thrust a dragon forward with terrifying threats, the ruler before whom Nilly trembled like a leaf.
The Protector Lord did not clamp manacles around the hands Nathan offered. “Running is too exhausting. As I said before, let’s simply walk a little.” Instead he fell into step beside Nathan, shoulder to shoulder.
Nathan found that far more frightening. To want conversation at a time like this? The man might be every bit as insane as the Winter King.
“You thought I would run? Leaving everyone to be slaughtered?”
“Yes. I would leave the Eleims to their massacre. To you, the most important thing has never been our detestable race—it has always been your own safety. What has the Heavens ever given you? Kidnapping, injury, curses, mockery. Is there anything else?”
The words were bitterly sharp, as if he held his own kind in contempt. Nathan scratched his head uncomfortably. It wasn’t only because speaking with the man felt awkward. The watchful stares pricking the back of his neck didn’t help. Behind the Protector Lord and Nathan limped the bruised, battered remnants of the berserker warriors.
No. The true reason for his unease wasn’t those bloodthirsty lunatics. With every step that carried him farther from the Graveyard House, the uproar behind him only grew louder. He could already picture Benny in a fury, demanding how he could leave after nothing but a single letter. Out of nowhere, memories of the times he had shared with Benny at the Graveyard House rose as well.
Nathan tried to empty his mind.
“If a life built on borrowing the lives of others was acceptable, I would never have become a knight.” And if those lives belonged to the people of the Graveyard House, it was even less acceptable. Could he survive if he ran? The answer was uncertain. Running together with them would become a gamble—staking the lives of those who had saved him. He had no intention of placing bets on such a gamble. That much was clear.
“To wear the badge and receive the appointment means I have chosen to stand in front of many, not hide behind their backs.”
The Protector Lord smiled faintly. “You come from a world where an honorable death is considered a privilege.”
“What privilege is there in bleeding out and dying? I don’t want to go to the afterlife either.”
Nathan looked around with a sour expression. They were retracing the path the berserkers had carved through chaos. Charred planks still holding embers, unfortunate corpses strewn haphazardly between them. For some reason he had imagined Elves living in harmony and balance—like ancient trees in a forest that had stood together for eons, or constellations in the sky. At least he had believed they would not view their own kind as prey.
That misconception had probably arisen because they had vanished from history. They, too, were creatures that lived, ate, and died, and their own evil and contradictions overflowed from every sleeve. Then how much absurdity must have accumulated inside the head of that Winter King who had lived for more than a thousand years?
“Still, there should have been another way. You said, ‘The Winter King wishes to see you.’ That he wanted to watch how I—the one who ‘rescued his companion at the risk of his own life’—would react to your invasion.”
In other words, they already knew he had killed Mornid. Benny’s painstaking effort to erase the evidence left on the channel had been pointless. No matter how much else she deceived, she could not deceive the Winter King’s family.
Nathan kicked a stone for no reason. The jagged rock, as if refusing to be banished, struck the wall and bounced straight back.
“And you also said I ‘spilled royal blood.’ Yes, I’ll confess. I killed Mornid and saved Nilly. I couldn’t stand to leave a bastard like that alive. This is all old news to you, isn’t it?”
The Protector Lord gave a small nod of confirmation. Nathan continued.
“But your king isn’t trying to punish me. He wants to know my motive. Even though his own son’s death is entangled in it. Running won’t let me escape.”
The man’s intention was probably to toy with him. Nathan had walked into the game of his own free will, yet the thought filled him with revulsion. The honest words slipped out before he could stop them.
“There’s no way a psychopath like that would let me go easily.”
“Er… so you just called His Majesty a psychopath?”
The slip had come from pure resentment. Realizing his mistake, Nathan tensed. Both men stopped walking at the same instant.
Morbi, who had been staring in blank astonishment, soon let out a hollow laugh.
“In front of the northern Protector Lord? This is a new experience.”
“The warriors behind us are also shocked. Since the cup of insolence overflows, perhaps you should cut out his tongue. I have heard the northern royal family has done so since ancient times.”
The voice carried more flattery than genuine loyal anger. Nathan glanced to his left.
“Ulukabo.”
“You remembered. Well, you knew I would return and prepared accordingly.”
The abyss sorcerer had been walking behind them in utter silence. Beneath the slowly brightening dawn his face was finally visible. Without the deep hood, the meaning of his painted mask became clear: a black spider painted over a white base. The spider’s legs stretching across his cheeks twisted into a smile.
“But you never expected me to appear like this, did you?”
“Like this?” The Protector Lord calmly explained for Nathan’s benefit. “He gave a very detailed testimony that you are Mornid’s killer. He urged His Majesty to punish you.”
Nathan was impressed. Then he felt rage boil up. He truly had not seen it coming. That an abyss sorcerer whose goal was the destruction of civilized society would conspire with the secular world, or that he would aim a messy dragon head like a cannon and threaten to drag him out.
“What the hell do you want?”
“You.”
“Me? You’re raising this much commotion just to drag one person out?”
“I was impatient. I learned I am not the only one aiming for you. So I borrowed the authority of His Majesty the Winter King in haste—so no one could interfere with my purpose.”
Aiming for me? Who else? Nathan felt the urge to turn away from reality. The Elves were obsessed. Not the seductive beauties from thin books that made one’s heart flutter, but insane old men who could not bear to watch another’s breath be cut short. Suddenly he longed desperately to see Benny’s face.
“Which other bastard is aiming for me?”
“Ah, you still haven’t met Santra? Then you wouldn’t know what that bitch wants from you either. In that case there’s no need for me to tell you.”
“What don’t you need to tell me?”
“There is no need to tell you, nor any need for you to wonder. You will learn it naturally when the end comes for you. When I take your lowly blood with my own hands—”
“Pay respect to the warrior who stepped into the trap with his own two feet, you pathetic sorcerer.”
At the Protector Lord’s low warning, the abyss sorcerer retreated a step. Nathan raised an eyebrow. Had this man just shielded him? Even after Nathan had insulted his father moments ago?
“The North does not welcome chatterboxes. This is the Protector Lord’s advice.”
“With all due respect, His Majesty seemed rather fond of my counsel.”
The Protector Lord gave a short laugh. Suddenly the dawn wind grew oppressively heavy. The instant Nathan felt he could not breathe, Ulukabo’s body rose into the air. Nathan drew his sword in alarm. But it was not the sorcerer’s doing. No demon was summoned, no limbs elongated.
“The forests of the snowfields no longer grow by feeding on those who can be no more foolish.” Once reduced to a corpse, one lost even the capacity for foolishness.
The abyss sorcerer choked and gasped. His head and limbs were gripped tight by something invisible. Only when Nathan narrowed his eyes could he make it out: thin ice biting into the neck like a collar. Black blood welled over the transparent crystals.
Nathan thought he finally understood why Nilly feared this man.
“Just because you briefly caught His Majesty’s attention, you think you have become a member of the royal family? You who hurriedly spout half-baked etiquette—what exactly do you think you are saying about His Majesty?”
“This… let… kuhuk.”
“Once I bury you who sees nothing beneath the perennial snow, I wonder if His Majesty will even remember the lost toy for half a day.”
Only after the abyss sorcerer let out a pleading groan was the restraint released. The Protector Lord gestured without another word. Ulukabo lowered his eyes as if swallowing his fury and vanished back into the shadows.
“So that’s how the fact that I killed Mornid was exposed,” Nathan said, resting the two-hander on his shoulder only after the man’s presence had completely disappeared. “Damn bastard. I should never have let him live.”
The Protector Lord nodded with a sour expression. “Yes, he is literally a damned bastard. The one who keeps dragging the Heavens—meant to be a paradise freed from the abyss—closer to the abyss itself. Thank you for rescuing my younger sibling from the grasp of such a creature, Sapiens.”
Nathan was caught off guard. “Younger sibling? Which one? Weren’t you hostile toward Nilly?”
“It was the siblings younger than me who tried to eliminate Nilly. A Baeleim like her would need at least several hundred years to grow strong enough to rival a Protector Lord such as myself. Just because we may cross blades in that distant future, how could I hate my current blood?”
“Uh… I think I understand what you mean.”
But he had not only saved. He had saved one and smashed the other’s skull. When Nathan began watching Morbi’s mood, the Protector Lord gave a small chuckle.
“Mornid… had already sold his soul to the far side of the abyss. A warrior from the surface would understand what that means. He was no longer my blood. So let me correct myself. Thank you for saving my younger siblings.”
“If you’re thankful, releasing me would be one way.”
The words had not come from Nathan. A voice dripping with frivolity spoke instead.
“It is not only you who wishes to express gratitude to that fellow.”
From the shadowed section of the long concrete pipe leading out of the Graveyard Valley, Hrozka stepped forward. Despite his great height and the bow slung across his back, Nathan had not noticed him at all. Apparently the Protector Lord had not either.
The Protector Lord, caught off guard, froze. He did not show his empty hands. Against a magician, even that could be interpreted as an intent to attack.
“Calm yourself. If I die, this place will be destroyed by dragon fire.”
No matter how powerful a magician of bloodline, a shattered head meant the end. Hrozka grinned.
“I am already calm. That insane bastard ignored my warning and rushed out without a single word of consent, but I have overcome it.”
“Then lower the bow and let us talk.”
“I cannot. How can I drop my guard against a magician? If you don’t want to whistle through your brainstem, remain still for a moment.”
Hrozka turned to Nathan. “There are things Nathan must hear before he goes.”
From Kilika and Hodric: Thank you for avenging us in our stead, and for giving us the chance to take revenge ourselves.
From Tuzetey: Thank you for granting my husband rest.
What Hrozka had brought was a message from the residents of the Graveyard House—protests, regrets, or farewells. Hrozka, who had meant to recite them one by one, gaped from the very first word. Nathan tensed. Was he trying to convey some code through lip movements? Surely not.
“Uh… well… I wrote it down. Someone take the note out of my pocket.”
Protector Lord Morbi proved more proactive than expected. He started forward without thinking, but when the bowstring drew tighter he quietly retreated again.
“Not you. Nathan can simply take it out and read it himself.”
“Now that you mention it, that would be best.”
The two men glanced at Nathan. But Nathan did not move a muscle.
“I’d rather not.”
A brief silence. The Protector Lord asked in a dry voice, “Why?”
“Why would I put my hand in a man’s pants pocket?”
The Protector Lord, now thoroughly exasperated, looked at Nathan. Nathan stared back at the Protector Lord as if he were the ridiculous one.
“Does the person who actually brought the letter have any intention of lowering his bow and retrieving it?”
“Do you take me for a fool, magician?”
Even after answering, Hrozka hesitated. If this standoff continued, all three of them would simply look like fools. In the end, the one who retrieved the letter was a berserker who stepped forward at the Protector Lord’s command.
Nathan unfolded the note with a scowl and began to read. He could somehow decipher the characters of the Heavens. The Heavenly God’s pattern branded onto his brain with a hot iron had forcibly planted the language there.
“Ki…lika? Hod…ric? Ah, Kilika and Hodric.”
The first senders were the Niko siblings. The twins, who had fled in fear upon hearing that northerners were descending, had not known the Graveyard House would turn into a battlefield. Nathan had no intention of blaming them, but they seemed embarrassed in their own way; the letter showed several erased attempts at apology.
“Thank you not only for taking revenge in our place but for letting us take revenge ourselves?”
Hrozka supplied the explanation. “When those siblings were young, Kada Sakano was not yet the arena owner but a pathetic thug. The young Niko twins picked his pocket. Not wanting to appear weak, Sakano did terrible things to the children.”
For Kilika, who had committed the crime of theft, her hands. For Hodric, who had not spoken the truth, his mouth. The habit of cutting off others’ wrists had apparently been an old one. Nathan felt an indescribable revulsion—and a trace of refreshing satisfaction. Kada Sakano, revived and dangling from Ulukabo’s sorcery, had met his second death at the scythe swings of the twins who knew nothing.
It’s karma, you idiot.
The second message came from an unexpected person: the Lizardian doctor Tuzetey.
“Thank you for giving my husband rest? What does this mean?”
When Nathan asked in a low voice, Hrozka shook his head, gaze and bow still fixed on Morbi. “This is not the place to speak personal stories aloud, Nathan.”
“No, I need to know who it is.”
“You already know. You simply haven’t connected the pieces.”
Nathan mulled over his memories in a daze. Husband. Husband. The only other Lizardian he had met recently was Arqueba. It could not be about Arqueba. For that fellow to be Tuzetey’s husband he would have to overcome three barriers. First, the age difference. Judging by Tuzetey’s size, Arqueba was young enough to be his son. Second, the species difference. Snake Lizardians and crocodile Lizardians were as distant as humans and pigs. Third, Arqueba had survived. Whether he still lived was uncertain, but given that regenerative power he was probably far from eternal rest. He had been fine even after a chimera nearly bit him in half.
But besides that guy there aren’t any other reptile-like…
The realization hit like a wave. His vision swam for a moment. Among all the opponents to whom he had granted rest so far, only one had possessed the head of a crocodile.