The Resolve to Face Execution (3)
Nathan’s mouth opened, then closed again. His mind wandered, unable to find the words. After stammering, he finally managed a few syllables.
“I—”
“Don’t make excuses, Nathan.”
“An apology—”
“Don’t apologize either. Don’t try to shoulder blame that isn’t yours. The one who stole a companion from good people wasn’t you—it was those arrogant fools who refuse to see a shorter life as life at all.”
Hrozka’s voice remained calm, yet the veins on the hand gripping his bowstring stood out more sharply with every word.
“Shall I return and tell them you knelt and begged forgiveness? Do you think our doctor friend would clap his hands in delight? Tuzetey sent you gratitude, not resentment.”
After a brief silence, Nathan nodded once and lifted the paper again. The memo he had unconsciously clenched was now crumpled and creased.
“He apparently didn’t intend to say everything until the very end. He figured you already had enough to deal with just looking out for yourself. But when I told him this might be his only chance to speak, he finally asked me to pass it on.”
Hrozka had already guessed Nathan would bolt. That was why he had spent the entire night seeking out every member of the Graveyard House, questioning them one by one and writing everything down—as a farewell, asking if anyone had words for Nathan.
The next name written in the letter was Nilly. Evnilly left word that the promise made in the arena still held. If he intended to enter the Punishment Arena, she would not stop him. But he must wait there for six years. Once she secured power in the Winter Kingdom, she would return without fail to rescue him. Nathan wondered whether that gentle girl could truly keep such a vow. He found himself hoping she would be too busy surviving to remember it at all. ‘It would be a miracle if both of us are still breathing until then.’
After that came the children. From some shelter outside Graveyard Valley, their voices had been sent through the tablet channel. The stenographer’s skill was remarkable; one could feel the effort to capture every word that must have spilled out in a jumble.
Nathan pressed every character into his eyes. The writing continued for a long while, and the Protector Lord waited with unexpected patience. Unfolding the many-layered paper one crease at a time, Nathan read everything—the words of regret and gratitude from patients he had barely exchanged a few sentences with.
“Graveyard Valley has always been a place where the abandoned and wounded wash up. In my view, it is no coincidence you landed here. In the Elkay worldview, nothing happens without reason. Knight, protector of the weak—take pride in what you have done. And for their sake as well, fight even more fiercely to survive from now on. You have erased many debts in this world; surely it owes you a chance to be repaid.”
Nathan affirmed with a heavy heart, then flinched at the final section of the letter.
“This is…?”
It was not the language of the Heavens. It was the script of the Kelsa, a minority tribe of the Empire. The handwriting differed from Hrozka’s. Someone had evidently snatched the paper and written directly upon it. The main body, pressed so hard the strokes were thick, began with striking force.
Hey, you—
—bastard.
‘Benny.’
The curses were identical to those Benny had hurled the moment Nathan escaped. She had clearly guessed his flight. Nathan’s vision swam; he wiped his forehead once. He hadn’t expected another woman with a tongue as sharp as Aspen’s.
…Since someone might peek, I’ll write this in a script only you can read. Few Eleim care about human affairs as much as I do, so it should be safer. But security isn’t perfect, so once you finish reading, this letter will burn itself away. Read carefully.
There’s no avoiding punishment, but there may be a way to survive. I have a plan.
A moment later, the letter truly burned away, clean and silent. The Protector Lord stared at the flames in the air, dumbfounded, then spoke.
“It must have been an important message. I won’t ask its contents. However—”
“However?”
“You live quite an interesting life. This may sound dreadful,” the Protector Lord scratched his neck, unsure how to phrase it. The gesture was startlingly human. “I think I understand why Father takes an interest in you.”
With the news of the Sapiens’ arrest, the eastern Heavens quickly regained stability. Having achieved its stated purpose, the Winter’s Spear—also called the Trembling Spear—returned to its original orbit. Once more it aimed at the Heavens’ true enemy. That enemy’s name was the Lower World.
The Winter’s Spear had originally been a weapon prepared against a possible future invasion. Should the foolish yet wicked Lower World one day challenge the Heavens, it existed to teach them their place. Now that it repeatedly targeted the Heavens instead, it was only natural that other districts recoiled in horror. Only after the suffocating, sphincter-tightening fear of immediate catastrophe faded did the citizens begin to chatter breathlessly about how absurd the situation had been.
“Has the Winter’s Spear ever aimed at our city before?”
“No, it hasn’t. I never imagined it would. I thought it wouldn’t actually fire, but apparently not. I told you worrying was pointless. Heh.”
The citizens, using laughter as a defense mechanism to dispel their disbelief, soon turned their burning eyes toward finding someone to blame. Who should become the target? The ancient ruler who had held the shaft of the Trembling Spear for over a thousand years? Or the short-lived species that could not last even fifty years? In the Heavens—an island with no place to flee—their deeply rooted habits guided their tongues toward the safer direction. Nathan was a safe, consequence-free target.
Curses and debris flew from every direction. The Celestial Guard escorting Nathan to the tribunal recoiled at the swelling crowd. If they let their guard down, they would all be swept into a lynching. Captain Empato, gripping the rope binding Nathan, clenched his teeth. The moment he received Nathan from the northerners, orders had come from above: parade the prisoner along the most visible route. Since the authorities had failed to resolve the crisis themselves, they apparently needed a clear spectacle to vent the citizens’ fury. Empato understood the decision, yet could not accept it.
“Keep your head down and cover your ears, Sapi— no. Knight.”
“Knight. Thank you. That sounds far better than Sapiens.”
The guards surrounding Nathan split into two groups. Half tried to keep their distance, glancing nervously about, terrified of magical sniping far deadlier than hurled insults or drink cans. The other half formed a tight defensive cordon around him, walking with clear—if imperfect—sense of duty. Most of them were from Graveyard Valley, the very guards whose escape to the upper levels had been made possible when the Graveyard House drew the berserkers’ attention.
“I was almost feeling sorry for myself on the way to die, but it’s nice to have someone on my side.”
Empato felt an indescribable emotion. This insane ground-dweller was actually smiling and joking, fully aware he was being led to certain death. Was it because his allotted time was so short that he could wield life so recklessly? Was that why he could remain composed even while being dragged to the execution ground? No. Even flies and ants feared death; a Sapiens would be no different.
“I heard you turned yourself in instead of running. Is that true?”
“It is. But what difference does it make?”
What difference indeed? It was a question Empato could not answer. That judgment belonged to those in power, and regardless of any confession, a heavy sentence was almost certain. Just as the Winter King desired Nathan’s death in the arena, the citizens craved to see him fight for his life. They wanted the man who had terrified them all torn apart in a thousand ways. Of course, not everyone wished for that. A few days earlier Empato himself would have said killing him outright was preferable, but opinions changed with experience. His fingers kept brushing the wallet in his pocket—the habit born from the family photograph inside. It was a safe way to revisit memories without wearing the corners.
“Your name was Nathan, wasn’t it?”
Inside the photograph were the two Eleim he loved most in the world. One was his wife, long ago taken by a Sapiens rampage. The other was his daughter, alive because of this very Sapiens.
“Win,” Empato muttered under his breath, so quietly no one would hear and take offense. “Win and survive.”
“He won’t be able to win.”
Santra, owner of the Great Arena, spoke flatly.
“Prisoners in the Punishment Arena must keep fighting opponents hired by their accusers. The greater the accuser’s power, the lower the chance of survival. Damn fool. If he had managed to escape somehow, the other rulers might have restrained the Winter King. They couldn’t have tolerated the Trembling Spear plunging the Heavens into chaos forever.”
She waved her secretary away and rose with a groan. The pain shooting through her nerves was severe. It seemed she would not have many days left when she could move as freely as before.
“When Benny invoked the name of Hedonic to make her request, I should have silenced her even if it meant turning the entire Hedonic society against me. I don’t dislike children who desire with all their might while still fresh. But there are limits to youth.”
Santra closed her eyes tightly, then opened them and murmured quietly.
“It was a mistake to respect him and give him time. I loosened the leash, and already he’s spreading conflict. Sharpen your blade, Andau Peres. We must secure Nathan Maia at all costs.”
“Understood.”
A sudden, clear voice answered. Santra tilted her head, then frowned and looked up. It could not be Andau rejuvenated by time. Standing before the Arena Master who had summoned Andau was Aspen, her nose bridge torn and lips cracked. The woman, failing to grasp the situation, demanded an explanation. Aspen answered in only three words.
“This is how the Peres do things.”
The Arena Master sighed and pressed her forehead. Ignoring her reaction, Aspen continued speaking what she had come to say, then added a few more razor-sharp sentences moments later. The Arena Master’s worries deepened further.
“By the way, who is Benny?”