༺ 𓆩 Chapter 3 𓆪 ༻
「Translator — Creator」
᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘᠂ ⚘᠃
Jaya and Hunbish entered the village along a path that stretched straight through, following the stone wall.
Supporting a full-grown man for such a long walk would have been exhausting for most, but Jaya walked steadily, without the slightest hint of strain.
Their shoulders appeared roughly the same height.
Hunbish was a little shorter than other boys his age, while Jaya was slightly taller than the average girl.
Her long hair, braided in two thick plaits, swayed with each step she took.
Whenever villagers glanced their way, Hunbish would flush red with embarrassment, casting his gaze to the ground. But Jaya didn’t seem to care in the slightest.
She likely thought of Hunbish as a younger brother, someone she had to look after. She had always been that way — overly concerned, with a heart too big for her own good.
When they were younger, she had once visited him while he was bedridden and burst into tears, sobbing so uncontrollably that Hunbish, the one who was sick, had ended up trying to comfort her.
Since then, she had taken it upon herself to care for him like family.
And yet, she was impossibly stubborn. Even Hunbish had long since given up trying to argue with her.
“So, what’s going on with that whole marten-hunting plan?”
“I’m heading into the mountains soon. I’ve learned their patterns. I’ll be setting traps. It’ll be fine.”
“But, you know… My family works with leather, and even we’ve never seen a golden-furred marten hide before. And are you sure bringing those back means you won’t get banished?”
“Well…”
Jaya had struck a nerve, and Hunbish faltered.
He had only heard the story — that someone, long ago, had avoided the banishment by offering up three golden-furred martens.
But whether the current Lord would honor that precedent? No one could say.
Still, it was the only hope Hunbish had left.
Even if he ended up being exiled anyway, he needed to try. It was better than doing nothing — better than living with the regret of not trying.
A brief silence passed between them before they arrived at the building the villagers referred to as the “hospital.”
Its walls were a patchwork of stone and mud, filled in between wooden supports.
From the outside, it looked much like any other house in the village.
They stopped in front of the hospital and tied the horse to a post nearby.
“You can get inside on your own now, right? I’ve got chores to help with at home, so I’ll be off.”
“Yeah, I got it.”
Jaya gathered the hides she’d laid across Alak’s saddle.
“Hun, I really hope you get to stay in the village. I’m rooting for you.”
“Yeah.”
And with that, she turned on her heel and marched away, as resolute as ever.
“...........”
Hunbish stood in front of the hospital door, swallowing hard.
It wasn’t the hospital itself he was afraid of. It was the person inside.
There were three adults in this village that Hunbish found hard to face: the Lord, his father, and the doctor who ran the clinic.
Each of them had, at different times and places, given him a reason to feel betrayed.
After the fall — when he woke up from that nightmare—
The Lord had silenced him.
His father hadn’t lifted a finger to stop it.
And the doctor had seen everything, yet said nothing.
Even though Hunbish had depended on that doctor for years after the incident, he had never once felt at ease in his care.
‘Hoo…’
He finally stepped inside.
And a wave of dry, herbal scent hit him as he entered.
Lining the walls were various medicines — some rare enough that he hadn’t seen them anywhere else in the region.
They were expensive imports, brought in once every couple of months by traders from the continent’s interior. The doctor had bought them, but they were so precious he barely used them.
“You again?”
“…I fell off a horse.”
The doctor narrowed his eyes.
“You don’t look like someone who just fell off a horse.”
This village wasn’t large.
And Hunbish, a frequent visitor to the hospital, wasn’t exactly a mystery.
Hunbish didn’t bother explaining. He figured there was no point.
The doctor, in turn, didn’t press. That had always been their unspoken agreement.
A child born to a disgraced man would never be allowed to live an ordinary life.
Despite his seemingly indifferent reception, the doctor moved with practiced ease, beginning the examination.
In a village full of hot-blooded youths who couldn’t distinguish courage from recklessness, the hospital’s regulars were usually brawlers.
Even if Hunbish tried to hide the truth, the doctor could read it all on his face.
He led Hunbish to the examination table, little more than a wooden plank covered with a white cloth, and gently laid him down.
The doctor massaged along the pressure points of Hunbish’s leg and lower back, then disinfected the wounds and applied a poultice of herbs effective against bruising.
“This should help reduce the swelling.”
“..................”
“I hear you’ve been devoting yourself to martial training lately. I’d hoped that once you started walking again, your limp would ease on its own but I suppose that was wishful thinking. I’ve told you before, there’s nothing physically wrong with you. It’s all in your head. I know it’s hard, but you have to push through it.”
“I know.”
“And don’t hate your father too much. Living as a warrior means eventually getting dragged into war and having to bear its consequences. He just backed the wrong side, that’s all.”
“…I know that too.”
Of course, knowing something and accepting it were two very different things.
The doctor repeated the same lines every time he saw Hunbish.
Repetition might help him remember the words, but they never quite reached his heart.
The doctor was well aware that Hunbish barely listened anymore—that the boy let his words slide right past him.
Still, he chose to be patient. To give it time.
“Good. You say you know, then fine. Someday, you’ll understand. More importantly, the day you come of age is just around the corner. Any luck with the marten hunting?”
“I’m setting traps soon. If I keep expanding the area, I’m bound to catch one eventually.”
“Good. If you bring one back, I’ll put in a word on your behalf. Can’t say whether they’ll listen—but a voice is better than silence.”
He said it casually, but this man was the only doctor in the entire Olus Territory.
Over a thousand people relied on him. His words weren’t so easily ignored.
To Hunbish, that was no small reassurance.
“Thank you.”
“Well, that’s everything. You should rest for a while.”
There were no broken bones or serious injuries, so the treatment ended with a salve and some bandages.
He’d smell of bitter herbs for a few days, but Hunbish didn’t mind.
“And stop putting so much weight on the meaning of your name. It’s an old saying — most people don’t even know what it means anymore. There’s no need to live your life like it defines you.”
As Hunbish finished dressing, the doctor couldn’t resist one last piece of unsolicited advice.
People often acted this way around those weaker than themselves.
Some crushed others underfoot to flaunt their power; others cloaked themselves in sympathy and veiled self-righteousness.
Neither was particularly welcome.
Of course, sometimes such meddling could be helpful — but when unsolicited, it only made things worse.
People who stuck their noses in where they didn’t belong often ended up twisting someone’s thoughts or making them seem obstinate for not accepting kindness they hadn’t asked for.
Hunbish still found it hard to handle such situations with grace.
True kindness, in his eyes, should be something one could accept or reject without pressure. Otherwise, it wasn’t kindness at all.
The doctor’s unsolicited advice left him feeling deeply uncomfortable.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” he muttered.
The doctor didn’t look too pleased with the response, but there wasn’t much to be done. That’s just how far apart the two of them were.
And with that, Hunbish stepped out of the hospital.
He still limped, but he felt noticeably better than when he’d gone in.
Loosening Alak’s reins, he mulled over the events of the day.
Shooting from horseback had been something to feel proud of. But nearly falling off, the scuffle with Tamir, and the doctor’s persistent nagging left a bitter aftertaste.
He mounted his horse and headed home at a slow, tired pace.
The sun had already dipped toward the mountaintops, and the golden light blanketed the slopes and birch woods — now tinged yellow with the onset of autumn.
As Alak’s hooves clattered over the path, memories long buried stirred with the rhythm of the ride.
When he had woken up after falling from the cliff…
He’d opened his eyes to see his father, the Lord, and the doctor standing at his bedside.
Still unable to move, he had been told by the Lord to keep silent. The fall, he declared, had been a mere accident, and nothing more.
Hunbish had tried to speak, to protest but he was immediately silenced for being ‘disrespectful.’
And the one who silenced him… was none other than his father.
That betrayal hurt most of all.
The Lord had left, satisfied with the outcome. The doctor examined him quietly and followed suit without a word.
Once they were gone, his father spoke of the meaning of Hunbish’s name, and the disgrace of defeat, with a dispassionate tone that stung worse than any wound.
At first, none of it made sense.
Everything he had been told in that moment — right at death’s doorstep — felt like the fever-dream of someone teetering on the edge of existence.
But over the years, responsible adults had never let him forget.
“You're better off not passing the rite.”
“We took in a criminal's son and he dares insult the Lord's boy?”
“Just live quietly like a corpse until you disappear. That’s better for everyone.”
Thanks to their persistent care and attention, even someone like Hunbish — who had never been particularly bright — eventually got the message.
Uhule.
A name marking someone who should have died in disgrace on the battlefield.
Hunbish.
It meant he was not human because he was subordinate to his dead father.
Uhule Hunbish.
The name bestowed upon him was like shackles passed down through generations to bind both father and son.
He thought of Borjigin Tamir: a noble son born into privilege, a name of honor he’d inherited without question.
‘The doctor… he must pity me. He saw everything back then.’
Indeed, the doctor offered sympathy — not the same as contempt. No wonder Hunbish recoiled from him.
The sound of hooves ceased. Hunbish snapped back from his thoughts to see Alak standing still.
A herd of sheep was drifting into the village ahead but something was wrong.
He rubbed his eyes, chalking it up to exhaustion but when he looked again, the oddness remained.
Where were the shepherd and Dawaa?
And why did the sheep tremble like hunted prey?
As the flock approached like a living wave, he squinted at their incoming movement.
Then he spotted it.
No shepherd. No Dawaa.
His heart clenched. This wasn’t his friend’s careless style.
Something had attacked the flock. Maybe Dawaa was fighting now.
He pushed forward through the sheep, seeking Dawaa.
Then, over the stone wall in the distance, a shape dropped into view.
“…A monkey?”
It was indeed a monkey, but unlike any he’d seen. Nearly human-sized, draped in leather armor and clutching a heavy axe.
єη∂ σƒ ¢нαρƭєя