༺ 𓆩 Chapter 11 𓆪 ༻
「Translator — Creator」
᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘᠂ ⚘᠃
Every morning, Hunbish would make his way to the village pond, where he would retrieve a scrap of parchment hidden behind a rock.
In a remote cabin where no one else ventured, he would then spread out his maps and parchments, meticulously analyzing the data piece by piece.
The intelligence he received from Decurion Sansar was of exceptional quality, detailed enough to not only track the movements of the entire scouting party, but also to estimate the numbers of Forestmen encountered across various regions.
Just as the lord had suspected, sightings of the Forestmen had been reported in a surprisingly wide range of locations.
This, naturally, meant that clashes had become more frequent, though thankfully, there had been no major human casualties, at least not yet.
On the map, Hunbish marked each sighting of the Forestmen with an X and traced the paths commonly traveled by the scouts in dotted lines.
“They don’t seem to come out into the open plains much.”
It appeared the Forestmen had an aversion to the wide, unobstructed fields.
The people of Olus seemed to understand this too, as there was rarely any scouting done in the plains.
“Well then. Let’s get to work for today.”
Gripping his axe, Hunbish headed into the mountains.
He had discovered a way out of the village by following in his father’s footsteps, and with the help of the shepherds, moving beyond the village had become much easier.
However, clearing the mountain paths, that was a challenge he had to face alone.
His hands were blistered and raw.
The higher he climbed, the thicker the branches became, sometimes forcing him to chop them out from the root with his axe.
After about three days of cutting his way through, the path had cleared enough for horseback travel to become manageable.
“At last, the ridge!”
On the fourth day, Hunbish finally reached the ridge and collapsed, arms splayed wide.
From the ridge onward, there was a trail, no more chopping necessary.
Sprawled out on the ground, Hunbish suddenly felt a gaze.
It was that creature again.
The same unknown beast he had seen on the first day.
Though it never came too close, it would occasionally watch him from a distance.
Once, at Melduk’s insistence, he had tried blowing a small whistle meant to scare off foxes, but it elicited no response.
Still, the beast caused no harm.
Whenever Hunbish sensed its gaze, he would simply toss it some dried meat before heading back down the mountain.
Then one day, on the path he normally took, he found a neat pile of wild raspberries and acorns arranged atop a suitable rock.
It seemed the mountain creature wanted to maintain a friendly relationship with him.
Hunbish had come to enjoy the quiet distance they shared.
Thanks to its occasional presence, he never truly felt alone while working in the mountains with his axe.
He no longer felt any need to be on guard around it.
“The real question now is whether the marten’s been caught…”
Today marked the fifth day since he had set the traps.
It was just about time to expect results.
He finished his rest and rose from where he lay.
Though his body ached, curiosity about what might have been caught in the traps made it impossible to endure any longer.
"Come on, Alak! Let's go!"
Hunbish mounted his horse and galloped along the path that stretched out across the ridge.
𓇗
“One pheasant… and one mountain rabbit…”
The day’s haul wasn’t impressive.
Though he had managed to catch one rabbit and one pheasant, the real target, the golden-furred marten, remained elusive.
Out of the seven traps he’d set, two were broken, two had caught rabbits, and the remaining three showed no signs of disturbance at all.
One of the rabbits had been partially devoured, likely by a mountain beast.
Hunbish knelt down and inspected the torn flesh carefully.
“At this size… could it have been a marten?”
Clinging to a thread of hope, he made a few speculative guesses, though he gave up soon enough and moved on to repairing the damaged traps.
Still, there was one promising takeaway: the traps were working.
More importantly, they seemed effective at catching small animals the size of a marten.
“I could pluck this one and make a brush out of the feathers.”
Pheasant-quill pens were considered luxury items.
Melduk would surely be pleased to receive one as a gift.
Hunbish tied the game to his saddle and settled down in a spot hidden from view below the ridgeline to take a quick rest and quiet his hunger.
With more than half of his traps rendered useless after just five days, he resolved to return a little earlier next time for maintenance.
“Let’s just hope it doesn’t overlap with patrol duty.”
There was still some time before sunset, but the day’s tasks were done.
He lay back on the earth, staring up at the sky, a hollow feeling washing over him.
Could he really catch that golden-furred marten like this?
“..............”
'What reason do you have to stay in the village? What do you want to accomplish by remaining?'
The words that Jab had thrown at him not long ago returned with a weight that pressed against his chest.
Truth was, for all his efforts to avoid being exiled from the territory, Hunbish hadn’t really figured out what he’d do if he did get to stay.
Who really thinks about things like that at his age, anyway?
"...I suppose something will come up as I live."
'Even if this banishment is waived, Tamir will try to drive you out somehow.'
Tamir was all but guaranteed to become the next Lord unless something drastic happened.
With someone like him in charge, life in the village would never be easy.
Despite having spent his entire life in Olus, Hunbish had never truly been allowed even a sliver of land to call his own.
“You’re still trying to push me off the cliff, aren’t you…”
“Hihihihing!”
Just then, a horse’s whinny rang out in the distance.
It came from the direction of the ridgeline.
Hunbish sprang to his feet, senses sharpening in an instant.
Based on the information he received from the shepherds, no search parties were supposed to come to this location.
Wild horses wouldn't be in such mountainous terrain, and among the villagers, he couldn't think of anyone who would venture to such a place.
"...Who on earth could it be?"
Moving to a different position to carefully observe the ridge area, he saw something moving back and forth.
They were forest men.
And they were attacking humans.
Though it was too distant and obscured by trees to identify who was being attacked, the human side was clearly at a severe disadvantage.
'Forest men have come this far!'
Without time to think, Hunbish threw himself onto his horse.
Whatever the consequences might be, he had to save those people first.
"Hyah!"
He gripped the reins tightly and galloped toward the ridge, fearing he might be too late.
𓇗
By the time Hunbish reached the ridgeline, a couple of forest men were already lying motionless on the ground.
And yet, a sizeable group still remained, surrounding a single human, watching and waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike.
But something about the lone figure standing at the center, brimming with unshaken confidence, seemed… off.
He was a massive man, built like a war god — thick cords of muscle coiled around his entire frame. He wore a sleeveless leather cuirass and wielded a colossal, straight-edged greatsword that looked like it could stand shoulder-high if rested on the ground.
And most striking of all, his long, curly hair, swept back with a natural ease, was a brilliant shade of golden yellow.
'An outsider?'
Hunbish blinked in pure astonishment.
He had never considered the possibility that human hair could come in colors other than black, or the silver-white of the elderly.
“Haaah!”
With a sharp cry, the golden-haired man swung his greatsword toward a forest men attacking from behind.
The creature had lunged in with a crude wooden shield, but it was no match for the man’s sheer strength. The sword crashed into it with crushing force, sending both shield and creature hurtling backward. The forest-folk’s head slammed into a tree trunk with a sickening thud.
“Kreeegh…”
The creature let out a rasping wheeze before going limp, its limbs collapsing like a puppet with its strings cut.
The others froze for a moment, then began to shriek at one another in alarm, retreating several paces from the man.
One against ten — and yet he was utterly overwhelming them.
‘He’s incredible.’
Even across the whole of Olus territory, warriors of that caliber were a rarity.
Calmly, methodically, the golden-haired man continued to swing his sword, felling another two forest men with practiced efficiency.
As Hunbish urged his horse forward, he spotted two more horses stationed behind the warrior.
One of them bore another man on its back.
This second man held no weapons and, even from a distance, looked far more frail.
Then, the forest men began to move strangely.
“...................!”
They scattered — then suddenly charged not at the swordsman, but at the unarmed man in the rear.
They had realized the warrior was far too strong to confront directly… so they shifted targets.
The golden-haired man swung his blade to intercept them, but it was clear even he couldn’t protect the rear alone.
“Davitte!”
He shouted a warning, but the man, Davitte, stood frozen, unresponsive.
Hunbish, now in position, loosed an arrow to intercept the attackers.
The forest men faltered momentarily as one of their own collapsed under the sudden strike, caught off guard but they didn’t stop running.
“It’s too late!”
“Uwaaaargh!”
Just as the forestmen’s claws were about to tear into the defenseless figure, Hunbish saw something, something that made him question his own eyes.
The forestmen’s blades hadn’t been aimed at the defenseless man at all.
Instead, they turned on one another, stabbing, slashing, and collapsing into a grotesque tangle of impaled limbs and twisted bodies.
“…What?”
Even those who had already been sprawled lifeless on the ground suddenly rose, only to thrust their blades into their own kind.
And then, as the golden-haired warrior cleaved through the last remaining forest men with a final, precise swing, the others — those that had been moving awkwardly, as if puppeteered — crumpled to the ground all at once, as though their strings had been cut.
“..................”
A chill ran down Hunbish’s spine.
There were no words in his vocabulary that could explain what he had just witnessed.
Had that mountain beast that occasionally followed him begun to show him hallucinations now?
Should he flee this place?
Or should he approach these strangers and ask if they meant harm?
He couldn’t even tell if these two outsiders were enemies or simply… otherworldly.
While Hunbish wrestled with thoughts he had no tools to comprehend, the two strangers had taken notice of him and were beginning to approach.
They raised both hands to chest level, weapons sheathed, their movements measured and respectful.
Thanks to that, Hunbish was able to hold his ground and wait, though not without tension tightening every nerve in his body.
“Thank you for the help. We mean you no harm, would it be alright if we came a little closer?”
Hunbish, unknowingly, had already placed a hand on the hilt of his sword.
“…Before that, I need to know who you are.”
His grip tightened.
He still didn’t know how they had made corpses move like that, but whatever it was, it hadn't been pleasant.
“We're just here looking for someone. My name is Davitte Argento. This here is Norman Dyke.”
The man who introduced himself in a hoarse voice as Davitte Argento dismounted and approached slowly.
He pulled back the hood of his worn, brown cloak, revealing short chestnut hair and piercing blue eyes.
Judging from the thick beard lining his jaw and the faint crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes, both men seemed at least a decade older than Hunbish.
But it was the face — scarred, mottled with old burns — that unsettled Hunbish the most. He couldn’t fully hide the discomfort in his expression.
“That’s not what I meant. I want to know, how did you make the dead forest men move?”
The moment the question left his lips, something subtle shifted between the two men.
“So, you did see it.”
They had sensed from the moment that unexpected arrow had flown that things had taken a turn and not one in their favor.
Norman gave Davitte a subtle glance, silently asking how he should respond.
And Davitte gave a small shake of his head, a quiet warning not to do anything foolish.
“I deal in souls,” he said hoarsely. “What you saw was me using the soul of a dead body to strike down our enemies.”
That rasping voice grated on Hunbish’s nerves.
Everything about these two men — their hair, their eyes, their voices, their weapons, their clothing — was alien, a string of unfamiliar details that didn’t belong.
And now they were claiming they could manipulate the dead at will?
How could anyone not be on edge?
“…Hmm?”
Suddenly, Davitte’s expression changed.
A flicker of curiosity passed over his face, and he took a step forward.
“Don’t come any closer!”
Schring—!!!
Hunbish’s instincts kicked in.
He drew his curved blade in one swift motion, holding it between himself and Davitte like a barrier.
But Davitte, undeterred by the weapon pointed directly at him, simply stood there, staring intently at Hunbish.
Then, slowly, something in his gaze shifted.
Curiosity gave way to realization, and then, unmistakably, to delight.
A broad smile broke across his face.
“I see now. You’ve had contact with soul arts as well, haven’t you? That must mean the person we’re looking for is the same one who used that magic on you.”
Davitte now looked like a child who had stumbled upon a rare, wondrous toy — too thrilled to contain himself.
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