Chapter 9

༺ 𓆩  Chapter 9  𓆪 ༻

「Translator — Creator」

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘᠂ ⚘᠃

Uhule had not only aided the Goddess in her escape, but had also drawn his sword in defense of the priests who followed her.

His resistance was swiftly crushed by the newly crowned King’s men.

But the escaped Goddess, in turn, unleashed the forest men upon mankind in an attempt to annihilate them.

The war that followed spared no one — men, women, and children all fell. The golden age of mankind was swiftly cut down to less than half its former strength.

Countless cultures and civilizations were lost to the devastation.

The newly established King, deeming Uhule a collaborator in this horrific war crime, severed his right wrist so that he could never wield a sword again, then exiled him to his homeland in the territory of Olus.

‘That’s as much as I know.’

Hunbish had learned to read under the tutelage of the village doctor.

Confined to bed for so long, books had been his sole connection to the outside world.

What wasn’t written in texts, he had fleshed out with the help of the doctor’s stories and the fragmented memories of nearby adults.

Still, some questions had remained beyond his reach.

“Why did you help the goddess?”

After much deliberation, Hunbish decided to confront the question head-on.

The reason Uhule had helped the Goddess was something only he could know.

Uhule was behind the house, in the dry shed, slicing the hunted meat into thin strips to hang and cure after feeding the golden eagles.

His hand stopped mid-motion at his son’s question.

It had been a long time since the two had shared any real conversation.

So long, in fact, that Hunbish couldn’t even remember when it had last happened — beyond brief greetings, there had been little else.

Uhule turned silently, wondering if he had misheard.

“The Goddess sought to destroy mankind. Why did you help her?”

It was a question that had lingered for so long, heavy in his thoughts.

A question that had echoed in dreams, in whispers, in hallucinations.

And now, at last, it had been spoken aloud — by the one person he had most dreaded hearing it from.

Uhule’s brow furrowed sharply.

“…You’ve taken interest in something you shouldn’t.”

Curiosity about the Goddess was dangerous.

Even possessing knowledge about her could be enough to get someone marked as a threat.

No parent would willingly endanger their child.

“This isn’t some idle curiosity. The forest men have made it all the way to this territory.”

“It wasn’t something I could stop, nor something I chose to begin. I was simply swept along.”

He had repeated that excuse to himself for years — an alibi to protect what was left of his peace.

And now, he used it to shut down his son’s curiosity.

“Everything that matters is recorded in the histories. Don’t try to layer it with needless imagination.”

Curiosity kills the cat.

All Hunbish needed to understand was that the forest men were now mankind’s enemies.

Even if another truth lay behind the pages of a history written by the victors — challenging that truth would require power enough to rewrite it.

The father was teaching his son how the powerless survived in this world.

“A few days ago, there were rumors in the square that you were colluding with the forest men. If the damage continues, someone will eventually come demanding answers.”

“Let Lord Borjigin make that judgment. Our duty is only to follow his commands.”

Uhule resumed hanging the remaining cuts of meat on the drying line.

Ever since the Goddess escaped and the priests who served her were executed, Uhule had relinquished any attachment to his pitiful life.

He could do nothing but lament his own helplessness and submit to the decrees of the King and the Lord.

But Hunbish couldn’t understand his father’s detachment, his resignation in the face of everything.

No; he didn’t want to understand it.

“Is it because I’m crippled?”

“............”

Uhule hadn’t always been this passive.

Ten years ago, when Hunbish was around eight, his father had tried to teach him everything he knew.

How to ride, how to care for horses, and how to wield all manner of weapons — sword, bow, spear.

He had trained Hunbish in secret, intending to raise him into a warrior.

The lessons had been tough for a child, but they were the only memories Hunbish could call true father-son moments.

Days when he could sense, even dimly, that his father had once been a formidable warrior.

Looking back now, Hunbish realized there had been hope and expectation in his father's eyes then.

But after the accident, Uhule’s interest in him had vanished as cleanly as a thread cut by a blade.

“One must know their place. Reaching beyond one’s capabilities always brings ruin. Remember that.”

“So when the Lord exiles us, we go. When he tells us to shut our mouths, we stay silent. When he forbids us from leaving the village, we obey. Is that how it works?”

Hunbish’s resentment burst forth in a torrent.

It was sorrow long buried, emotions built up over years of silence.

Bitterness toward a father who had expected too much, then abandoned him just as suddenly.

Uhule had heard many words of blame in his life, but never had he been so caught off guard.

Before he realized it, his head turned — and their eyes met.

Seeing the shock in his father’s gaze, Hunbish looked down, startled.

He hadn’t meant to push this far.

“…I didn’t plan on asking all this. Things haven’t been going well lately, and I guess I took it out on you. I’m sorry.”

Surprised by this rare show of defiance, Uhule took a moment to collect himself, then resumed slicing and hanging the meat with steady hands.

“You can always catch a runaway horse, but once words are spoken, they can’t be taken back. If you ever leave this territory, forget everything that happened here. Especially anything about the Goddess — or me. Never speak of them again. That’s the only way you’ll survive.”

“...............”

In the end, Hunbish couldn’t get his father to truly speak.

Yet once, Uhule had been the warrior Hunbish admired most in the world.

This rare exchange between father and son had stirred a long-lost nostalgia.

He didn’t want to end their first real conversation in so long with such a strained silence.

“If you’ve said all you needed to say, then you should go.”

“I’ll help you with the rest of the work.”

“There’s no need. There’s not much left.”

Most of the meat had already been sliced and strung up in neat rows. Only a little remained.

Hunbish hesitated, fumbling for something — anything — to keep the conversation going.

“…Have you eaten? If not, I can prepare dinner.”

Uhule paused, once again doubting his ears.

It had been so long since either of them had asked or offered anything about a shared meal.

“I’ve already eaten.”

“…Alright.”

With those words, silence flowed between them once more.

Hunbish could no longer think of topics to continue the conversation with his father.

“Then… I’ll be going now.”

Forcing the conversation any further wouldn’t change a thing.

Resigned, Hunbish turned to leave the shed.

“I’ll be going out hunting early tomorrow. Not sure how long I’ll be gone this time… but if I come back, let’s share a meal.”

“..............!”

Hunbish turned quickly, startled — but all he could see was his father’s back.

𓇗

At dawn the next morning, Uhule finished preparing for his hunt and left the house.

With him were Mundru and Tenger, the golden eagles that would soar freely over the plains and strike down prey, as well as the horse he would ride and a yak to pull the supply cart.

There was much to bring for a multi-day stay in the wilderness.

The dirt path, still damp with morning dew, bore the faint tracks of wagon wheels.

Some time later, Hunbish roused his horse in an attempt to follow after his father.

“Whoa, easy.”

“Neeeeigh!”

But Alak, who hadn’t been taken out early in the morning for quite some time, resisted with a stubborn snort.

“This isn’t the time for this — we need to go now!”

Frustrated by Alak’s refusal to move, Hunbish shoved at its hindquarters, but the horse wouldn’t budge.

“Come on!”

He tried every trick he could think of to get the lazy beast moving, but in the end, they were delayed by nearly an hour.

At one point, Alak even nearly kicked him while he was pushing its flank, leaving both of them in a sour mood.

“Seriously? Even you aren’t listening to me now?”

Grumbling to himself, Hunbish finally managed to leave the house.

He examined the dirt path, scanning it for signs of his father’s trail.

Fortunately, there were scattered hoofprints and wagon tracks left behind, enough for him to guess the direction Uhule had gone.

‘How could Father even think of going out hunting today…?’

Whenever he went hunting, Uhule would pitch a tent on the steppe and live there for days at a time, usually out of touch with village news.

But as far as Hunbish knew, every road was now under constant guard, with patrols rotating throughout the day.

Even just the previous evening, when he returned through the South Gate, the guards were stacking firewood and lighting it for visibility.

They’d swarmed him at the mere sight of a silhouette, demanding identification and barking questions until he finally used Jab’s name to get through.

On top of that, Uhule wasn’t officially registered as a hunter in the village. There was no way the guards would just let him pass.

Maybe in ordinary times they might turn a blind eye — but not under current conditions.

So how did Uhule slip out?

‘There must be a road without patrols.’

Uhule was one of the village’s rare golden eagle tamers.

Hunters who relied on golden eagles vastly preferred the open plains to the forests and mountains.

Recently, as interactions with neighboring territories dwindled, the southwestern plains had seen less and less traffic.

That meant a few of the old paths, once used for travel, had been left abandoned.

From all this, Hunbish concluded that Uhule must be using one of the abandoned paths where no guards were stationed.

“Hyah!”

Once he reached the outskirts of the village, the grass had grown tall, making it harder to find any trace of his father’s passing.

However, Hunbish didn't stop and continued forward.

He faintly remembered this road. It was a route he had once taken, years ago, during the time he used to train under Uhule.

The memories were hazy, buried deep, but now that he was riding along the trail, he found himself wondering how he could’ve forgotten it for so long.

As he continued down the path, not a single guard came into view.

“We’re outside,” he murmured.

Past a small forested hill just beyond the village, the land opened up — and a vast plain spread out before him.

Having spent so long surrounded by the narrow confines of mountains and valleys encasing the village, the sudden sight of the open steppe made his nose sting with emotion.

The broad horizon stretched out on either side, a sweeping panorama that made his heart beat faster.

Ancient texts described the people of Olus like this:

Though their range had since dwindled to a fraction of what it once was, there was no doubt that the blood of those continent-spanning warriors ran through Hunbish as well.

His chest swelled, the feeling impossible to contain.

With that fire in his veins, Hunbish spurred his horse into a full gallop.

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