The glistening river, and the windblown branches, all freeze when she hears that venomous, murderous voice. The turned back of the villain gripping a hunter's sword radiated fury and disgust.
She knows how this ends all too well.
Perhaps it would be better if this moment passed quickly. It was as if someone was winding the clockwork, torturously slow. Her father was turning just as slowly, sensing movement.
The sword held by the villain plunges deep into her father's chest, piercing his heart. Through her father's distorted expression, Calia could read his pain clearly. The killer draws the blade from her father's body and a thick stream of blood gushes out. Then he holds the sword horizontally and raises it to shoulder height. Calia knows the stance.
Her heart drums louder and louder in her ears. If it beats any faster, it'll burst.
The killer's sword glides toward her father's throat.
...
Calia opened her eyes and let out a short scream. It was still dark. The fierce winds from the depths of Castrum's canyon blew away the night to make way for dawn.
Calia sat up in the bed, gasping for air. She thought for a moment that her rapidly beating heart would be the death of her.
She left the room like a woman possessed. She slowly opened the solid oak door at the end of the hall. It had only been a few days; Of having the same nightmare every night. Of the room behind the door being uninhabited.
Within a few days, a thin layer of dust had settled on her father's belongings, and throughout the entire room, the smell of dust mingled with a faint, bloody odor.
Calia's eyes, which had been slowly scanning the room, came to rest on one spot.
A portrait of her father, Brenok, on the windowsill. Next to it, a half claymore, the signature weapon of the Fomor hunters. In his portrait, Brenok smiled. The brooch of the Fiamor, Castrum's premier Fomor hunters, was pinned to his left breast.
As she dusted off the portrait, her father's deep blond hair and blue eyes came into sharp focus. The events of that day flooded back into Calia's mind.
...
After finishing Calia's swordsmanship training, Brenok asked her to walk along the river with him. He usually never allowed her to go upstream, yet today he led her there himself.
A fierce wind blew through the gorge. The people of Castrum thought it to be an ill omen, likening its howl blowing through the canyon every day to wailing.
"Do not fear the wind. You can learn a lot from it. Smell the scents of what it carries to you. If you're lucky, you might catch bits of fur or leather, even pieces of armor to track your quarry."
Because of her father's teachings, Calia learned not to fear the wind. Against a strong breeze, she could recognize the trace of someone who had gone before her, while a fierce gale from behind could push her to travel faster.
Calia stretched out her hands, letting the wind caress her as she ran behind Brenok, her mentor and father.
"Dad! You said we shouldn't go out too far! It's close to the gnoll camp!"
"We don't have to worry about that anymore. The gnolls have shown themselves to be a neutral party between the Fomors and us Humans. We were able to strike up a deal. The people of Castrum have nothing to fear."
"Can we really trust the gnolls? What about that guy at the outpost from the other day? He said his parents were killed by gnolls, so he wants to kill them all. He's gonna go against you, dad, even though you're Fiamor."
Brenok gave a faint smile and squeezed Calia's hand.
"So you've met Eschar, then. I know the situation with him and his brother, Bechar is complex, but the gnolls we negotiated with are different from the ones who killed their parents. I know it's hard for those two to understand but..."
"Losing family hurts. They are going through a lot, so I'll try to help, but I am responsible for more than just the two of them. The safety of the Castrum people comes before everything else. We can't do anything about them right now. We'll have to figure it out later."
Calia liked that her father would talk to her seriously about things like this. When she asked him about the past, he spoke honestly about that too. Even when she asked about her mother's death, he didn't hide anything.
Her father told her how a political struggle erupted in the royal army of his hometown, back when Calia was very young. At that time, those who wanted to expel her father from the knights falsely accused Calia's mother of being a witch.
Calia could perfectly recall what happened next.
After the tragedy that befell her mother, her father locked himself in his room for days before one day, his door swung open.
Instead of the mourning clothes he had worn at the funeral, her father was clad in knight's armor, a sword in one hand. His eyes were filled with murderous intent.
But when her father saw her, on the brink of starvation with no one caring for her, he dropped his sword in shock. Crawling to the bed, he hugged Calia tightly and wept bitterly.
The hatred left his eyes.
"Calia, please forgive me, for my weakness. I will live the rest of my life to protect you. I will never leave you alone."
That night, Brenok and Calia fled their home and settled in Castrum, a place they had not even heard of before. Brenok always told Calia that it was his love for her that kept him from slitting the throats of his enemies.
So Calia came to understand love as the bond between father and daughter. That they would protect each other.
"Let's go further upstream."
At that moment, a strange sound came from deep within the forest.
The father and daughter looked towards it. As the clamor of shouts and grinding metal grew louder, the two sprinted toward the forest at the same time.
"Calia! Don't follow me, go back!"
"No!"
Brenok, who had just arrived in Castrum, a town beset by Fomors, had proven himself worthy of the title of Fiamor. Calia had inherited her father's talents and was showing great promise through her training.
She was well aware of her exceptional abilities and always believed she could be of help to her father. That opportunity had now arrived.
The two encountered a massive gnoll, its snow-white fur stained with blood, and a young Fomor hunter parrying his axe.
"Damn it, Eschar... Attacking the gnoll chieftain...?!"
"Dad! We have to help that person!"
"Calia."
Calia drew her half claymore that was still too large for her. Brenok called her name in a low, stern voice.
It was the terrifying voice Calia might hear when she or a Fomor hunter committed a grave offense. Calia's feet, poised to dash forward, froze.
"What would you even do if you went over there?"
"...But I have to help."
"Help who? That gnoll is the chieftain. Coming between an angry gnoll chieftain and a hunter would only endanger you. You'll only get in the way. Go home! Now!"
Calia turned away with a look of indignation. She could see her father running toward the gnoll and Eschar.
But she didn't want to go back. She wondered how her father would handle with those two. Disobeying his command, she turned around and saw a large rock with thick bushes for her to hide behind, near enough to the gnoll and two hunters.
She crouched low and hid herself behind the rock, out of sight. No one noticed her presence.
"Eschar! Stay your hand at once!"
Despite Brenok's shouts, Eschar glared at the white gnoll and continued to swing his half claymore. Calia swallowed hard. Now she understood why he had said she'd only get in the way.
Even to Calia, who was not yet a full-fledged Fomor hunter, it was clear that Eschar, consumed by rage, was wildly swinging his sword.
Clearly flustered by the sudden attack from the humans he had negotiated with, the gnoll was only dodging Eschar's sword. But the white gnoll's patience had finally reached its limit.
The gnoll, who had been muttering to himself, now actively parried Eschar's sword. Eschar was pushed back, faced with the reality of the towering gnoll's overwhelming strength. Brenok clutched the white gnoll from behind, pulling him back, but it seemed difficult to restrain him.
The white gnoll was now after Eschar.
"There's your true colors! You see that, Captain? You still call these gnolls neutral after that?!"
Calia fretted over her father. She wondered if she should rush out at once and grab Eschar herself, but doing so would surely make her a burden. Calia trembled and bit her lip.
Realizing he couldn't stop the gnoll's blows by himself, Brenok grabbed Eschar's arm and waist. Eschar screamed as Brenok yanked him backward.
"Let go! Let go of me!"
"Calm down! This gnoll has only been blocking your attacks! There is no reason to fight!"
As Brenok dragged Eschar away from the gnoll, the fighting briefly stopped. Suddenly, Eschar hurled his half claymore into the gnoll's shoulder. The gnoll howled in agony.
From afar, another voice called out Eschar's name.
"Brother! I got him! I caught the gnoll chieftain!"
Eschar pushed Brenok aside and turned his back on the gnoll to call out to his brother at the top of his lungs. The white gnoll pulled the sword from his shoulder and grimaced at Eschar's turned back.
"Damn it all. Eschar!"
Brenok, seeing the gnoll's movement, shoved Eschar aside, but the gnoll was quicker. The gnoll knocked Brenok down, then swung his axe at Eschar.
"Eschar! No!"
A man clad in Fomor hunter attire sprinted across the gorge, halting before the motionless Eschar. His worst nightmare confirmed, he turned to kick the gnoll in the chest. Struck by the blow, the gnoll staggered, unable to regain his bearings from the pain.
The man did not hesitate. He swung his sword, slicing through gnoll's white chest.
Had the distance been even a little shorter, the white gnoll would have died instantly. Red blood spread across gnoll's white mane out from the man's shallow cut. Barely standing, the gnoll parried the sword with force, sending it flying far from the man's hands. While the man rushed to retrieve his sword, the gnoll dashed out of the forest.
Calia, who had forgotten to breathe, finally exhaled after the gnoll's figure disappeared. Just as she was about to stand from her hiding spot, pondering if it was truly safe to reveal herself...
"Bechar... This... What happened to Eschar was..."
"Shut your mouth. We've told you countless times how foolish it was to negotiate with those gnolls, but you wouldn't listen. Now look what's happened!"
The man's voice trembled with rage. He gripped his sword so tightly that the thick veins on his hand were bulging.
"I tried to stop Eschar! To save him! If Eschar had succeeded in slaying the gnoll chieftain, it would have led to all-out war. I understand how you feel, but I told you we needed to find a solution togeth—"
Before Brenok could finish speaking, Bechar thrust his sword deep into Brenok's chest.
Calia gasped a sharp breath. Her legs gave, and she fell to the ground. She should have rushed out right then, but her whole body froze. She couldn't do anything. Her father's expression, contorted with pain, was clearly visible through the thicket.
Bechar slowly drew his sword from Brenok's body as he spoke.
"Even if you didn't kill Eschar, you've stolen too much. I was supposed to be Fiamor. I was supposed to avenge my parents' deaths. You stole both from me."
"...And now, I'm meant to watch you forge a peace treaty with those vile gnolls atop my brother's corpse? Go to hell."
Bechar skillfully positioned his sword horizontally and raised it to shoulder height.
...
Calia stood before the portrait, blinking rapidly.
"All of you here in Castrum remember my parents were murdered by gnolls. My brother and I were deeply aware of their treacherous cunning. So when Fiamor Brenok said he'd negotiate with the gnolls, we tried to stop him!"
"But strangely, he didn't listen to us and even negotiated neutrality with them. Today I learned why. Brenok had secretly made a deal with the gnolls, then worked together with the gnoll chieftain to kill Eschar, who was pursuing them.
"Brenok's reward? Murder at the hands of the gnoll chieftain he slew my brother to appease! That is the truth! So much for negotiations!"
Even those who had respected Brenok fell for Bechar's lies after seeing the corpses of Eschar and Brenok. Brenok was branded a traitor, while Bechar was praised as a hero who had labored to save Castrum, even after losing his family to the gnolls.
The hunters, who had fallen into disarray, hastily made Bechar the next Fiamor. Negotiations with the gnolls were abandoned.
Calia knew fully well that her life was spared only because Bechar was unaware she had witnessed everything firsthand.
As the thought came to her, Calia's blood felt like it was boiling. She rose from her seat and looked out the window into the backyard. Brenok's small gravestone stood beside the large oak tree he'd loved in life.
Calia felt a stabbing pain in her chest, as if she'd been the one pierced by Bechar's sword. Eventually, the tears finally made their way down her cheeks. After crying herself to exhaustion, Calia was leaning wearily against the bed when suddenly, Bechar's sword flashed across her mind. The sword that had spilled her father's blood.
Calia felt her face, contorted from weeping, relax. Her tears dried, and even her boiling blood cooled. Bechar had extinguished her father's life, smashing something precious within Calia's heart to pieces.
Now he had to pay the price.
Calia returned to her room and put on her training clothes. Then she went back to her father's room and picked up his half claymore. She would ensure Bechar's blood painted her father's sword before she offered it up to his grave.
But just as she was about to leave the room, she saw her father's portrait. The blue eyes in the portrait were still gazing at her earnestly.
Soon, a familiar sound reached Calia's ears. It was her father's voice, sounding as if he were speaking right beside her.
Calia, never take your eyes off of the one you must defeat.
You are a swordsman first and Fomor hunter second. As such, there's something important you should remember.
Those who wield a sword must also bear its weight. You must never forget your convictions while carrying a blade.
And remember this: To kill another with a sword is to cleave away your own soul.
Calia stopped in her tracks at her father's fading voice. He had emphasized it every time they trained. Calia had always been annoyed when she heard it, saying she'd become a Fomor hunter, so she wouldn't ever have to kill humans. Yet her father paid no heed.
"Whether Fomor hunter or knight, anyone who honed their skills for killing had to engrave this truth upon their heart," he had said. In his view, those who wielded swords had to understand the weight of the lives attached to them, and carry their convictions within their hearts.
Calia swallowed, her throat dry.
Every time he had spoken those words, her father's face seemed to be pained, and only now did she understand why.
After her mother died, her father had taken up the sword for vengeance, even if it meant destroying his own soul. But upon seeing his young daughter, he could not betray his own convictions.
All the strength drained from her body, and Calia collapsed onto the dusty bed. She was ready to cry again, but that wouldn't help her current situation.
Figuring she needed to clear her head a bit more, Calia gazed at her father's sword and fell into deep thought.
'Would Dad want me to kill Bechar? No. He would have been against it. This is nothing but revenge for my own catharsis.'
'What do I gain from killing Bechar? If what Dad says is true, he'll simply die, and I'll live out the rest of my days with a broken soul.'
Calia bit her lip.
'It's a loss no matter what. Besides, death is brief, and the pain even more so. It is always the ones left behind who have to live with the pain, suffer the longest. It is Bechar, not I, who should be left alone to wallow in despair and darkness.'
Calia placed her father's half claymore back upon the windowsill. Lifting her head, she saw the reflection of a youthful girl in the window. She was still young, small in stature, and not fully trained. Calia stared intently at her own reflection as a plan came together in her mind.
It would take time, but the impact would more than make up for it. It was a simple, yet a challenging plan, even for her.
Calia traced her face with her hand in the window's reflection. Just days ago, people would say Calia's smile was the spitting image of her father's. Her father often said she had her mother's eyes.
Now, people would not find a trace of either's likeness in her face. The image of the young girl's reflection vanished into the darkness as the fierce canyon wind rattled the windowpane.
"No. Leave. I cannot accept Brenok's daughter. Do you really think I'd be able to trust that traitor's own kin?"
The moment she met Bechar, Calia knelt before him, but he mocked her and Brenok, then cast her out.
Yet Calia sought after Bechar every day. Even when driven away each time, she found a way to reappear before him, begging him to accept her into the Fomor hunters. Even in the torrential rain, even when buckets of water and filth were dumped on her, Calia would return to kneel before Bechar's tent every single day.
Some time passed, and finally the day arrived when Bechar summoned her inside his tent.
"Why do you go to such mad lengths to become a Fomor hunter?"
"My father foolishly believed the gnolls were neutral despite being Fomors, and chose to negotiate with them. He died because of their betrayal. Worse still, he committed the sin of slaying your younger brother. I want to become a Fomor hunter to protect Castrum from the gnolls and make amends for my father's sins."
Though the absurd lie made her stomach churn, Calia kept her head bowed as if seeking penitence. Bechar stood for a while with his arms crossed, eyes narrowed as he stared at Calia.
"Do you truly believe your father sinned?"
"Yes. If he hadn't sought peace with the gnolls, neither of us would have had to suffer the loss of our kin."
Bechar stared intently at Calia, as if trying to glean something from her cold, expressionless face. Then a smile touched his lips, and he spoke.
"For Brenok's daughter, you speak with surprising wisdom. I will accept you for now. But don't think for a second that this place will be as cozy as it was when your father was Fiamor. I look forward to seeing just how much you can endure."
Bechar patted Calia's shoulder and left the outpost.
And so began Calia's life as a hunter. As Bechar had said, the life of a Fomor hunter was not an easy one. After grueling training all morning, the other hunters would head out on missions.
However, with not a single mission assigned to her, Calia was left behind every day to handle chores like weapon maintenance, laundry, cleaning the latrines and even the outpost itself. The hunters tormented Calia daily. Bechar turned a blind eye to it all.
Calia endured all the injustice and harassment without a word. Even when she was sick or injured, she never skipped training or neglected her duties.
Bechar knew that Calia managed all these tasks while also training alone at dawn, yet he still did not assign her any duties beyond menial chores.
Then one day, Bechar called upon Calia. It had been several years since she joined the hunters.
"The kobolds keep trying to enter the gorge on the opposite side of Castrum. It seems they've discovered some valuable ore deposits in that valley, leading to frequent incursions. I have a mission for you. Scout out their location, hunt down their leader, and bring back proof you succeeded."
Everyone seemed genuinely surprised at the difficulty of the mission. But Calia, ever composed, didn't bat an eye. She simply nodded and left the outpost.
The sun was already setting. Soon the canyon would be cast in darkness. But Calia, with her half claymore in tow, vanished from the hunters' sight in an instant.
Calia reappeared at the outpost less than twelve hours later.
Whisking past the surprised hunters staring at her, Calia entered Bechar's quarters holding the blood-stained, horned helmet of the kobold leader.
She placed it before Bechar. She reported that she had located the kobold camp near their mineral mining site and eliminated them all in their sleep.
Bechar sent other hunters to the location to verify her words. Though he was impressed by her skills, he didn't show it.
He began to assign her increasingly harder tasks. She was often assigned missions to scout gnoll territory, since relations had deteriorated after Brenok's murder. Sometimes she was dispatched to hunt in lands inhabited by goblins or ogres.
In truth, every time Calia succeeded on a difficult mission, Bechar's perception of her changed without him even realizing it. He continued to monitor the results of the missions she carried out, and soon enough, he began assigning her tasks of great importance.
"Once the sun sets, we'll head out on reconnaissance into gnoll territory. There's been sightings of the white gnoll that I want to verify. I'll be bringing a team of elite hunters. You shall accompany us. Prepare immediately."
Calia was slightly startled by the sudden orders. How could Bechar, who had made her life miserable until now, willingly decide to include her among this elite team?
"No matter what, I have to keep my cool."
Calia composed herself quietly and soon stepped exited the outpost.
The night sky was clear. The view was well-illuminated, so much so that the stars scattered around the slender crescent moon were clearly visible.
As the four-man team ran along the forest path, a strong wind blew up from deep within the canyon. Calia felt the wind with her fingertips, reading its direction and the information it carried.
"Here. I've found their tracks."
A hunter scanning the muddy path behind Calia called out. Bechar and the others approached the spot he indicated. Long, rounded footprints were imprinted in the damp earth.
"This must have been made by the fleshy pad of the foot. See the three deeply carved marks in front as well. Judging by the overall foot size, this one's at least 50% bigger than the average gnoll. The size alone screams 'leader,' and it looks like it's headed toward the river."
"Anything else, Capitan? If not, let's hurry and give chase!"
Two of the elite hunters grew impatient, but Bechar glanced at Calia. Noticing his gaze, she quickly spoke up.
"No. You will not find the white gnoll that way."
"What did you just say?"
The hunter who had found the tracks flew into a rage, but Calia paid him no heed and continued.
"Recent reconnaissance revealed the gnoll chieftain has changed. The white gnoll who killed Eschar was ousted quite some time ago. Gnolls here establish a new chief after the previous one dies, or by killing or expelling a weakened chief. Even so, I heard rumors that a white gnoll was spotted in the area. I wondered what brought him here after losing his role, so I investigated the gnoll tribe further and found several more white gnolls among them. Our white gnoll seems to be staying nearby because it has a family within the group."
"So we head towards the river. Wouldn't he have gone towards the tribe to see his family? And what proof do you have that you're right?"
Calia snorted softly. The hunter who had asked the question scowled, but she didn't bat an eye.
"Of course. But if he went there rashly and happened to meet the current chief, a fight would break out. Why risk death?"
This white gnoll is clever. Clever enough to form an alliance with my father and then betray him. He's trying to shake us off. Let's investigate the gorge across the river instead. The only place around here where he could hide is the canyon with its many caves. I'll find his trail."
The two elite hunters turned to Bechar. Bechar nodded to Calia. Calia immediately scanned her surroundings and headed toward the gorge. While the other hunters grumbled about seeing no tracks, Calia found the gnoll's trail.
Bechar approached the patch of grass where she stood. Her fingers pointed to a flattened tuft of grass, its surface slightly muddy unlike the surrounding blades.
"He tried his best to tread lightly. If you look over there, there are signs that he moved by grabbing onto the tree. See that broken branch? There are large claw marks on it. And there's a bit of white fur visible in the cracks of the trunk."
A strange expression of joy and anger appeared on Bechar's face at the prospect of finally being able to slay his brother's killer. Calia turned her head away after seeing Bechar's face.
A strong headwind blew. She paused briefly before choosing the narrower path at a fork in the road ahead. Now, the gnoll's trail was obvious enough to be visible to the others.
A loud crackling sound echoed overhead. A massive boulder was tumbling down. Calia instinctively grabbed Beshar and yanked him out of its path.
The boulder split the group in two.
"You lot, clear away the boulder so we can get out later. I will keep following the trail with Calia."
Now Calia could smell the unmistakable scent of the gnoll in the wind very clearly.
As she followed it, a pitch-black cave finally revealed itself. Before any of them could step inside, a roar erupted as a massive axe blade shot forward. Calia didn't panic, leaning her upper body backward to dodge it. Glancing over, she confirmed the gnoll's hand was covered in white fur and promptly took a step back to lure him out.
Finally confronted with the white gnoll, Bechar lost all his previous composure. Drawing his sword with both hands, he growled and charged into the dark cavern. Calia rolled her eyes in exasperation and shouted.
"Captain! We need to draw the gnoll out of the cave! Please come out!"
Instead of an answer, the only reply she could hear was the clash of weapons.
"He's dumber than I thought."
Calia sighed as she drew her half claymore. Stepping into the dark cave, she stayed close to the wall, as far from the noise as possible. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she could make out Bechar locked in a fierce struggle with the gnoll. Calia waited for her chance, not rushing into the fray just yet.
As expected, the opportunity came quickly. Bechar, who had forgotten Calia's existence in his rush to attack the gnoll, stumbled. Falling backward, he even made the grave error of dropping his weapon. The gnoll would not miss his opportunity. He raised his foot to stomp on the unarmed Bechar's throat.
"Damn it!"
At that moment, Calia threw herself forward, shoving the gnoll away. But the gnoll only staggered briefly, before regaining his balance. He kicked Calia's torso in retaliation. Rolling sideways, Calia let out a low curse. Several ribs felt broken.
She struggled to get up through the pain, until she saw the gnoll about to cleave Bechar's head in two as he searched for his sword.
Calia swiftly darted between them. The moment the gnoll raised his arms to lift his axe above his head presented the perfect opportunity to thrust her blade into his chest. Gritting her teeth against pain that threatened to knock her unconscious, Calia gripped her half claymore and charged towards the gnoll.
Her half claymore drove through tough leather and thick bones towards the gnoll's heart. The sensation coursed through Calia's entire body vividly. In that fleeting moment, she recalled how the white gnoll had only defended himself despite Eschar's attacks, and how her father had tried to stop the fight.
Calia shook the memory from her mind. There was a pained groan from the gnoll followed by the dull thud of an axe hitting the ground. She pulled her sword from his chest. His massive body collapsed onto the floor. In the now silent cave, only the heavy breathing of Bechar and Calia could be heard.
"...He's dead. Let's leave."
The elite hunters cleared the rocks to one side of the path and dragged the corpse of the white gnoll out of the cave. The gnoll's snow-white chest was stained crimson with blood. Bechar approached Calia, who couldn't stand up straight due to her injuries.
"Thanks to you, I’ve avenged Eschar. Well done."
Calia silently bowed her head to Bechar.
"Can you walk?"
At Bechar's words, everyone, including Calia, was astonished. After all, Bechar's policy was that anyone who could walk back on their own should do so, short of losing a limb or perishing.
"I can manage on my own."
After that day, Calia became Bechar's trusted confidant. She now devised strategies with Bechar and only accompanied him on important missions. None of the Fomor hunters could bully Calia as they had before.
Calia spent most of her time at Bechar's tent, where she engaged in lengthy discussions with him about strategy, combat and the eradication of the gnolls.
That wasn't all. At some point, Bechar began telling Calia stories about his childhood. Each time, Calia would listen silently.
The story of how he would help his parents, who had long been tanners in Castrum, as well as Eschar, the younger brother who had showed a knack for combat, and promised to become a hunter alongside him. He shared happy memories, like how he and Eschar roamed the canyons together despite being warned against it.
But the deep wrinkles and dark shadows, the traces of pain and suffering, did not vanish from Bechar's face even after the white gnoll's demise. The darkness he had sought to extinguish did not fade. Calia wondered why it lingered there, even though everything had unfolded exactly as he desired.
Then, the day after they returned from dealing with a group of kobolds who had infiltrated the gorge. In the midst of discussions on how there must be a path somewhere upstream that the kobolds were using, Calia suddenly spoke up.
"...However, I believe that eliminating the gnoll tribe in the valley across the river is the top priority. If they were gone, wouldn’t you feel a little more at ease, captain?"
The words were too painful to utter. Calia remembered how her father spoke of the gnoll tribe's neutrality.
But as if in recompense for her anguish, Bechar's face, usually rigid, visibly softened at Calia's words.
"... Eliminate the gnoll tribe, you say."
"...Captain. The gnolls were also my father's enemies. I wish to help."
The slowly setting sun cast its light into the Fiamor's tent. Standing before an enormous wooden table with a map of the canyon spread on, Bechar stroked his beard thoughtfully.
"Brenok was my contemporary. If I had a daughter, she would have been around your age."
"..."
"Despite your age, you control yourself well. You don't fluster easily, and you're unusually calm for all your youth. I couldn't do that when I was your age. I had the talent to be the next Fiamor, but I was so full of youthful recklessness, that I constantly crossed the line."
"...Like when I killed the gnolls that appeared near the town."
"I must've been exactly your age then. Nowadays, Fomors only appear deep in the canyon, but back then, wandering gnolls would show up near the town and threaten people."
"One day, a pack of wandering black gnolls appeared in the eastern forest that many villagers, including my parents, used to frequent. My parents made their livelihood tanning the skins of animals that were trapped there, so they could not avoid the place."
"The Fiamor warned us not to fight the wandering gnolls and told us to simply monitor the situation. They were words unbefitting a Fomor hunter. Knowing the gnolls were an untrustworthy lot, I ambushed them in the dead of night. There were only five of them, but they fought with fierce determination. It was a nighttime ambush, so I took out two of them in an instant."
"I took down a third in no time. The remaining two fled. Letting them go was my downfall. Just when I'd grown complacent, thinking it was fine since I hadn't seen them around, they crept their way back into the woods."
"Coincidentally, my parents and two employees from their leather shop went into the forest that very day to set traps. And so, the four of them became victims of the wandering black gnolls."
"Captain. You are like a father to me. I too understand the pain of living after losing family. I will find those black gnolls, no matter what."
The words disgusted her, yet she needed to say them. At Calia's words, Bechar's dark eyes looked into hers. A faint, warm smile spread across his face. Just like her father had when he first watched Calia pick up a half claymore and begin her training.
"...Thank you. Take care not to get hurt."
The warm smile on Bechar's face vanished instantly, leaving only a dark and hollow expression. Calia bowed her head and slipped out of the tent.
'Why isn't he rejoicing freely? Why do his eyes look so hollow, his face so pained?'
Calia brushed her face with both hands, then straightened her shoulders. Her enemy was a murderer who had killed her father and slandered everything he stood for. All useless thoughts needed to be buried. The time had come to end her long, arduous quest for vengeance.
The sky was packed with pitch-black clouds, and rain poured down so hard it was impossible to see ahead. The river in the canyon swelled with such force it threatened to uproot the nearby trees. Calia pressed onward, undaunted by the fierce gale as she headed deep into the heart of the canyon.
"Calia! I don't know what you hope to accomplish, but can we please stop and go home! It's a miracle we even made it this far!"
The voice of the youngest hunter following Calia trembled. He looked like a drowned rat that would be swept away in the wind if it weren't for the weight of his half claymore.
"I-I'm going back! I don't care what you say! I'm leaving! Going to the upper canyon in this weather is suicide!"
Calia, who had been so far ahead she had been barely visible to her underling's eyes, was suddenly right before him. She placed her hand on his shoulder. Even through the rain, her cold voice rang out clearly.
"Kid, you made it here safely because I led the way. If I don't show you the way back, the moment you turn around, you'll stumble around lost in these woods, unable to see even an inch ahead of you."
"One wrong step, and you'll be swept away by the rapids, or fall and break something. If you're lucky, you might die quickly, but maybe you'll suffer through the night with hypothermia, only to finally draw your last breath after the storm has passed."
"Either way, I'd wager my sword on you dying to one or the other. Go back or follow me—it's up to you."
Calia finished speaking and promptly vanished back into the rain. The youngest hunter swallowed hard. This was a side of her he had never known before today. He ran after her, calling out her name.
How long had she walked through the storm along this treacherous gorge path? Calia stopped. A large cave entrance was visible ahead. Even in the rain, the stench of rot and a pungent odor wafted up from it. She did not enter the cave but slowly surveyed the area. She saw discarded armor and bones scattered about.
"Kid."
"Y-Yes?!"
"Look at the path we've traveled. What do you see?"
"N-Nothing."
"...You may be a little greenhorn who can’t do anything, but I brought you here because I heard you have excellent eyesight. Did I hear wrong?"
"Ah. Y-Yes! You're right! About the eyesight..."
"Then look again at the path we've traveled. What do you see?"
"Uh... Um...ah. There's... a sparkling, green bead?"
"So you're not entirely useless. Following the beads should lead straight to the hunters' outpost. Tell Captain Bechar to come here. Tell him you've found the wanderers. He'll understand."
"Wanderers?"
Calia silently stared at the youngest hunter. Even in the storm, the intensity of her frosty gaze made him hurriedly retrace his steps, following the green beads scattered along the narrow gorge path.
...
The torrential rain had not let up, but Bechar soon appeared before the cave.
He found a spot just outside the cave where he could shelter from the rain and gathered dry wood from his surroundings to start a fire.
He tossed the burning wood inside and peered into the cave. Neither Calia nor the black gnolls could be seen.
Finally, Bechar drew his half claymore and cautiously stepped into the cave.
"Calia?"
Inside, bones of unknown origin lay scattered here and there, along with old boxes, torn cloth, and armor adorned with unrecognizable patterns.
As the last remaining spark faded, he sensed movement behind him. Thinking his time had finally come, Bechar swung his sword.
The sound of two blades clashing echoed through the cave. The black gnoll was incredibly agile. Bechar was barely holding his own against their movements, a far cry from the usual gnoll swordplay. He was soon hit by a bolt of realization.
"This...isn't a gnoll?"
The moment Bechar realized this, the figure attacking him revealed itself in the fire light. Long, slender limbs, braided golden hair, and terrifyingly pale skin. A face so cold it could've turned everything to ice.
"Calia? What are you—?"
She did not respond.
The heavy arc of Calia's half claymore swept past Bechar's nose. He couldn't hide his bewilderment as he parried Calia's attack. Where were the black gnolls? Why was she doing this? Just as Bechar was about to ask, he gripped his sword firmly and assumed an attacking stance as if he had just realized something.
Bechar began to push Calia back. For the first time, Calia felt out of her depth against the assault of heavy blows that exploited her every opening. The stories that Bechar had been a shoo-in for the next Fiamor were no exaggeration.
All Bechar had to do was thrust and swing. Before she knew it, his attacks had driven Calia flat against the cave wall. The moment she staggered briefly while blocking a strike from above, Bechar's swung his sword again in an instant, and the blade dropped from her hands.
The cold metal of Bechar's blade grazed against Calia's throat.
"What the hell are you doing? What is the meaning of this?"
Betrayal and rage made Bechar's voice tremble. Calia smiled. Seeing Calia's icy smile for the first time, Bechar's blood turned to ice water.
"I haven't heard your voice so shaken since that day."
"What?"
"Even if you didn't kill Eschar, you've stolen too much. I was supposed to be Fiamor. I was supposed to avenge my parents' deaths. You stole both from me. ...And now, I'm meant to watch you forge a peace treaty with those vile gnolls atop my brother's corpse? Go to hell."
Calia recited what he had said verbatim, not a single word out of place. Bechar's lips quivered. She felt the sword slip ever so slightly from her throat.
"My father was trying to stop your brother. But your brother defied his Fiamor's orders and hurled his sword at the gnoll, who had done naught but defend himself. Struck by the blade, the enraged gnoll killed your brother before my father could intervene. And then you arrived."
"Even after hearing my father's explanation, you brutally murdered him while he was unarmed. I'm sure with that lie of yours, you thought no one would ever find out. You must have thought you could hide it forever. But I was there. I saw everything. That day still haunts me every night in my dreams. I guess that makes me the perfect witness!"
Bechar's face clouded over with confusion. His eyes, fixed on Calia, wavered. The tip of his sword hit the floor with a small clank.
A moment of silence passed.
The confusion vanished from Bechar's face, replaced once again with its usual expression of anger and pain.
"...You have quite the imagination, Calia. I understand wanting to restore your father’s honor, but do not lie. Brenok was betrayed and killed by the white gnoll, not me."
"I'm sorry, but your father was the worst kind of Fiamor. One who negotiated with gnolls, threatened Castrum's safety, and got his own men killed. Yet, in spite of all that, I still recognized your talent. Treated you like my own daughter, even!"
Bechar, who had been speaking calmly, raised his voice then suddenly trailed off. His words were soon drowned out by the rain crashing against the canyon floor, the roar of the rushing river, and the howling wind.
Calia blinked slowly, her eyelids fluttering.
Calia slipped away from Bechar and began circling him slowly.
"...So you thought you could twist a lie into the truth? Oh. Did you think I saw you as my new father? That we would be a real family, where I believed everything you told me?"
Calia let out a small laugh.
"You tried to comfort yourself by treating your enemy's daughter as your own. You really thought I would believe your lies and look up to a murderer like you... Were you that lonely? ...Maybe you're more naive than I thought."
Calia's barbs made Bechar's hands shake. He gritted his teeth, staring at the cave wall. Standing behind Bechar, Calia whispered to him.
"Father was a brilliant, highly skilled captain. He always prioritized the safety of Castrum. He was a Fiamor worthy of respect. A traitor and liar like you has no place comparing yourself to the likes of him."
"Ever since I fell to my knees before you, I never once was honest with you. I was merely waiting for you to finally trust me. How does it feel to be utterly alone? To lose Eschar, your parents, and now me. No, to be precise, I wasn't yours to lose in the first place."
Bechar's breathing grew increasingly ragged. His face twisted. He swung the sword he had been holding toward Calia. Calia narrowly parried Bechar's attack with her own blade, which she had picked up again.
Bechar, having lost all composure, rushed Calia, as if his sword swings would bring him catharsis. He swung his heavy half claymore up. Retreating, Calia struggled to block Bechar's sword as it approached in a swift, heavy arc.
But the struggle was equally intense for him.
His body still drenched from the downpour, he swung his heavy sword again and again. Calia didn't miss the moment his strength faltered.
Calia knocked Bechar's sword aside with all her might, then kicked him square in the stomach. Though he fell back with a pained groan, Bechar did not let go of the blade. Lying prone, he parried Calia's flurry of downward strikes, then kicked her arm with both legs before springing back to his feet.
The two stood facing each other, gripping their swords. On one side, pitch-black eyes burned with the sting of betrayal, while on the other, blue eyes stared back colder than ice. The tension was shattered by a flash of lightning that flooded the cave with blinding brilliance.
The moment the flash blinded them, a thunderous roar that felt like it could shatter their hearts boomed. The two hunters charged at each other. Sparks flew with every clash of their swords.
Bechar raised his sword to shoulder height then charged straight toward Calia. It was the exact same stance he had used to thrust his blade into Brenok's chest.
In the split second before Bechar's sword hit, Calia pulled her right foot back and swiveled her body sideways. A fierce wind swept into the cave, enveloping her body. As a result, Bechar lost his balance and lurched forward. Swiftly circling behind Bechar, Calia kicked him with all her might, sending him tumbling straight forward onto his knees.
As Bechar groaned in pain, searching for his half claymore, Calia threw her sword overhead with the last of her strength.
The blade spun rapidly as it flew up to the cave ceiling. Bechar was rising to his feet, sword aimed at Calia. Her half claymore continued to spin as it descended down.
"No. Kneel."
Before she had even finished speaking these words, Calia leapt into the air. She flipped upside down in an instant and kicked the falling half claymore's hilt precisely.
Bechar's scream echoed, louder than the thunder. The blade had precisely embedded itself in his left shoulder. Before Calia, Bechar's knees and sword once again fell to the ground.
Calia kicked Bechar's sword aside and drew her own blade from his shoulder. The stream of blood from the wound flowed over the Fiamor's brooch.
Calia slowly brought her sword to Bechar's throat.
"There's still one thing I'm curious about."
"..."
"When you killed my father who you hated so much, when you got revenge on the white gnoll, even when I said I would search for and deal with the black gnolls, your face was always eclipsed with pain. Why?"
Bechar burst out laughing in disbelief.
"My face? In pain? I exacted vengeance for my family and meted out justice to a traitor who poisoned Castrum! I became a respected Fiamor!"
"I have accomplished feats to be proud of. I am proud! And you claim I'm in pain? What nonsense!"
"You're lying again. ...Ah. Just a moment."
"Now I understand. You can't live without lying. They're what allow you to endure your pain."
"...I think I finally grasp what Father was always trying to tell me. The crucial thing a swordsman must know. He would say it all the time."
"You are responsible for what your sword cuts. Do not wield it recklessly. Those who wield a sword have to understand the weight of the lives attached to them. They must carry their convictions within their hearts. To kill another with a sword is to cleave away your own soul."
A terrifying silence fell.
An indescribable emptiness appeared on Bechar's face. Nothing, not even a glimmer of murderous intent, shone within his dark eyes.
"...No."
"..."
"That isn't true..."
Bechar bowed his head and made a quiet, ugly sound. It was impossible to tell whether he was laughing or sobbing. When he raised his head again, his face bore a mixture of despair, agony, and a smile tinged with madness.
"Heh, hahaha... What poetic nonsense are you spouting? I only endured my agonized soul being cleaved in two because of some lie. Bullshit! Then again, I'd expect no less from one sharing the daughter of a delusional traitor who prattled on about the gnolls' neutrality!"
"But if you're so curious about that, why don't you kill me and avenge your father? Then you'll know for sure, right?"
"Oh dear. Do you really think I'm so self-pitying that I'd give into misfortune and do something foolish like you?"
"You've blamed all your suffering on others. Even killing the man who desperately tried to save your foolish brother and then slandering his name."
"All fueled solely by your blind anger, catharsis masquerading as revenge. No justification, no gain, and you still left with nothing."
"You hacked your own soul to pieces, and to endure it, you rationalized your evil with lies. But despite that, in the end... What else is left for you now, but despair?"
Bechar raised his head. Calia stared back silently. The Fiamor's brooch that had once adorned her father's chest now hung from Bechar's left breast. This vile creature had stolen everything from her. This liar, who even faced with his own contradictions, clung to his hollow pride until the very end.
Calia's face bore no expression as she gripped her half claymore tightly. It was a shame her father lost his life to such a wretch. She missed him terribly, longed to see him so much it made her shudder. Goosebumps rose up on her skin as her cold fury heated to a boil inside her.
As she adjusted her grip again, preparing to strike his throat, Bechar smiled and closed his eyes.
"But I guess you've chosen the same path as me. The darkness that swallowed me, will now be yours forever."
At that moment, Brenok's portrait flashed into Calia's mind. The face of her father, with his warm blonde hair and blue eyes. The Fiamor brooch on his chest as he gazed straight ahead with the dignified poise of a knight.
Brenok's warm, deep voice echoed in her mind.
"I will live the rest of my life to protect you. I will never leave you alone."
Alongside her father's voice, a breeze swept through the cave.
Calia raised her sword high with the wind and swung it with all her might. Bechar's body fell limp to the floor.
Yet Calia's blade was clean. Wiping the blood from the hilt, she stared down at the unconscious Bechar. Blood flowed down one cheek from a long tear on his temple.
Calia ripped the Fiamor brooch from his chest.
"No. That darkness will reside within your dead soul forever."
The wind and rain slowly subsided. When Calia returned home, she headed for the backyard. As she opened the door, she saw the mound and the small headstone beneath the large oak tree.
Calia stood before the grave with her father's half claymore and portrait in her hands. Planting the sword before the grave, she pulled out the Fiamor's brooch and fastened it to the hilt. She gazed at her father's portrait, then folded it, and tucked it into her bosom.
What father tried to protect, I protected.
She never returned to Castrum again.
...
"Oh, what a fine sword! That's a rare sight around here. What do you do for a living?"
Calia didn't answer, and instead wandered around the forge, her eyes fixed on the weapons.
"Hey there. I've never seen a beauty like you in Colhen or Rocheste. Where'd you come from?"
The amicable-looking blacksmith and the brown-haired woman beside him took turns asking Calia questions.
"...From far away."
After giving the woman a perfunctory reply, Calia gazed through the window at the town.
It was a simple town with a bright and warm atmosphere. After leaving Castrum, Calia had wandered for a long time. The nightmares she hoped would vanish after crushing Bechar's spirit still haunted her.
Like her father, who had to overcome the pain of losing her mother through his resolve to protect his daughter, she too needed to find something to live for. Perhaps then she could finally be free of the shadow that terrorized her night after night.
But no matter what she did or how far she wandered, she still couldn't find her answer. Eventually, Calia decided to leave the continent. She had arrived in Colhen only to board a ship and had briefly stopped by the forge for weapon maintenance.
Just as the brown-haired woman was about to ask another question, the forge door opened.
"Ah. You're here? You look refreshed. Seems you performed your duties well today."
A mercenary with orange hair tied up in a ponytail entered the forge. She smiled brightly and thrust the enormous lance she was holding at the blacksmith.
"Could you fix this for me? Phew. I did well on today's task, but I still haven't completed my mission!"
"Still? Did the target of this mission disappear or something?"
"Ah, no... not quite... What I mean is I still haven't completed the mission that my god gave me!"
The brown-haired woman giggled at the mercenary's words. The blacksmith took the mercenary's lance, examined it briefly, then handed it back to her, declaring it was in fine shape.
"Well, better luck tomorrow."
"Yes! I will complete my mission to find Orkha, no matter what."
The mercenary picked up her lance and left the forge. Calia found herself staring blankly at her back, thinking about the mercenary's words, that the path she must take was nowhere to be found.
"Well, I'm finished with your sword. Where do you plan to go from here?"
Calia's gaze remained fixed on the back of the mercenary with orange hair. The blacksmith continued speaking, paying no heed to Calia's silence.
"From the way you stand and that sword you carry, you seem quite skilled in combat. The Mercenary Outpost up ahead is recruiting. If you've nothing better to do, it might be worth checking out. That person who came in earlier also works there..."
"Thanks."
Calia placed her payment before the blacksmith, who hadn't even finished speaking, then opened the door and left. Without realizing it, she was searching for the mercenary with orange hair. She glimpsed her walking toward a weathered building that appeared to be the Mercenary Outpost.
Could this small town have the answer that's eluded me everywhere else on the continent?
... Then again, this is the last town before leaving the continent, isn't it? If I don't find my answer here, I can always leave.
It had been a long time since she willingly followed someone's lead after the day she raced into the gorge with her father. A cool breeze blew in from somewhere. Calia swept her hair back. It felt as if a warm, deep voice was riding the wind, telling her to live for herself.
