Chapter Four: Avril

“Dang… dang…”

The sound of the saddle striking armor echoed in his ears. When Loran woke up groggily, he felt a sharp, burning pain in his abdomen and palms and couldn’t help but let out a low groan. His eyes, however, were wrapped in a piece of damp cloth; all he could hear was the sound of hooves hitting the wet ground and the patter of drizzle on the grass.

From the sounds he could make out that it was a cavalry unit, numbering around a hundred. The hoofbeats were rather disorderly, and curses rose in waves from ahead—

“Damn it, this endless rainy weather has started again! Hmph, if the rain delays our return to the cages, I bet the higher-ups will start scolding us again!”

“Shh, keep your voice down! If those adults in the Blood Castle hear us, we might be in trouble.”

“Hurry up and move, we must reach the town ahead before nightfall. If we don’t make it, we’ll have to camp in this rain.”

“March faster!”

…

The scent of earth and rain reached his nostrils, and Loran regained a little strength. His hands were bound behind him. Under the soaking rain, a sharp pain throbbed in his shoulder—the result of the knight’s sword hilt blow. With a bit of luck it was only soft tissue injury, not a broken bone.

He didn’t know how long passed. Amid a string of curses, Loran was suddenly hauled off the horse, then his body spun and he was thrown to the ground. Wet grass and rain pressed against his backside. Around him came the sounds of people being flung down, accompanied by the groans of boys and girls.

“Camp out here. Servants, pitch the tents at once!”

A rough shout came to his ears, and then someone stepped forward. With a “swish” he ripped off the black cloth that had been tied over Loran’s eyes and tossed it aside. Looking at Loran’s disheveled state, he sneered, “Kid, I thought you were dead. That would have made my efforts for nothing!”

The man had sword scars crisscrossing his face—scars Loran would never forget. He was the murderer of his mother!

“Whu…”

A cloth had been stuffed into Loran’s mouth. He struggled to get up, but a knight delivered a heavy kick to his knee. With a thud he fell to the ground, the pain nearly making him pass out.

At that moment, a servant dressed in coarse linen came up, cradling a saddle in his hands, wearing a fawning smile. He said to the knight, “Lord Grey, your tent will be set up in this bamboo grove—does that suit you?”

“Okay.”

Gray smiled calmly, “Prepare some honey-roasted ham and strong wine, I want to drink a bit.”

“Yes, my lord!”

At that moment, Loran widened his eyes, staring at the knight and the servant before him, and remembered that name—Gray. He silently vowed that in this life he would surely slay this fiend.

Rainwater pattered down her face. In the distance, Gray’s three servants had already tended to the warhorses, armor, and swords; they were now erecting a simple tent. Alongside Loran, sitting at the edge of the bamboo grove, were several boys and girls—none familiar, apparently all from other villages.

One boy, his clothes splattered with blood, trembled all over, his eyes vacant—completely stunned, likely having watched his family die and suffering deep emotional trauma. A little further off sat a girl in a beige dress, the skirt streaked with mud, her face smeared as well, her skin marked by thorn scratches. Her flaxen hair, weighed down by rain, clung together and looked disheveled, but that did nothing to diminish her clear, beautiful eyes—she was an exceptionally pretty girl.

Roland cast a glance; Gray had abducted eleven children in total, carried on several warhorses. By now they had been riding for almost an entire day, and those children were perhaps taken from different villages. Roland didn’t know how many civilians from the outlying hamlets Gray had slain on this ride. From a distance he could see Gray’s sword—the hilt bore a clear cross symbol, the emblem of the knights under the Radiant Church, the legendary Order of the Radiant Knights—yet his battle blade was stained with civilian blood.

The group of children looked bewildered; most of them were shivering from the cold, their lips pale.

“Gurgle gurgle…”

A soft sound came from Lolan’s stomach; almost all the children were the same—cold and hungry, their strength nearing its limit. Fortunately, the rain stopped after a while and night fell. Clusters of fires were lit at the edge of the woods, the servants roasting a ham and brushing it with honey and cumin; the aroma spread everywhere.

“Hey…”

Gray stood up, used the sword that was still stained with blood to slice off a large piece of ham onto a plate, then grabbed a wine skin and walked toward another nearby tent, laughing heartily: “Lord Tuka, your haul this time isn’t small at all, tsk tsk tsk… fourteen prey in total—when you return to the Blood Castle, I reckon you won’t be without some rewards!”

Another knight with a big beard stood up, holding a roast chicken, and laughed, “Lord Grey’s haul isn’t small either, haha… We’re really born to toil—those knights sent away can’t compare to the big folks in the Crimson Castle. They just have to drill those little brats all day, nothing like us. We eat on the road and sleep in the open, and if we finish a task late, we never escape a scolding.”

Graham Hushed, smiling, “Shh,” he said, “Aren’t you worried those words might be heard by the Templars inside the Crimson Castle? If they find out, it’s not just scolding—we might even see violence. Don’t forget, we’re all just a band of dispatched grand knights.”

Tuka smiled knowingly: “Now that you mention it, I suddenly thought of Lady Katherine in the Crimson Castle, heh heh heh… A few days without seeing her has left me a bit nostalgic — even if it’s just to catch a glimpse of her back!”

“Katherine?”

Gray snorted, bit into a ham, his mouth greased, and laughed: “You dare fancy that little wildcat? Heh… Lady Katherine is the hottest little kitty in the Prison Camp. I hear her Stella power has been trained up to the peak of Rank Seven — she’s only one step from breaking through. Once she does, she’ll join the ranks of the Radiant Knights. Have you, Lord Tuka, grown tired of living, daring to set your sights on a female Radiant Knight instructor?”

“Hahaha…”

Tuka gave a few awkward laughs and said, “I merely admired her, never had any improper thoughts. Lord Gray, please don’t worry.”

“Hahaha, come on, let’s have a drink. There aren’t any women in this bitter cold land; tonight is bound to be a lonely night.”

“Is that so?”

Tuka poked his head forward, his gaze falling on the flaxen-haired girl not far from Loran. His eyes brightened and he said, “Lord Gray, it seems your prey includes a delightful morsel. Since no one here knows what happened, why don’t you enjoy it first? If you don’t want her, you can leave her to me…”

“Tuka!”

Gray jolted, his expression turning grave. Frowning, he said, “Have you forgotten what Lord Luke told us before we left? These prey belong solely to the training camp of the Crimson Castle. Until they’re brought back to the cages, the Hunt Knights have no right to ‘touch’ them. Think that through.”

Tuka seemed to be chilled by the remark as well; he brought the roast chicken to his lips and bit down hard, sneering, “Getting all high and mighty for a moment and actually forgetting about this—thanks for the reminder, Lord Grey.”

“Hmph.”

Grey turned, looking at the shivering children, and said to several servants, “Erect a makeshift shed in the bamboo grove and have them stay there for the night. Then boil some meat broth and give it with flatbread so they can eat. Don’t let them die like this before they’re brought back to the cages and the adults have finished choosing.”

“Yes, my lord!”

Not long after, a servant set a pot down nearby, boiled the contents for a while, then threw in a few chunks of meat. It was bear meat—extremely coarse and rough, not at all appetizing to look at—but to these ravenous children, the meat was as good as dragon meat from the heavens. Paired with the cold flatbreads set to the side, each of them couldn’t help swallowing hard.

Loran sat quietly on a patch of dry ground, arms wrapped around his knees, while checking the wounds on his shoulder. A large bruise: thankfully it didn’t seem to have reached the bone. Though his arm burned when he moved it, at least the tendons and bones weren’t damaged. Only his right hand was a bit worse—cut by a sickle blade so the flesh was turned out; any touch sent searing pain through him.

When a pancake and a bowl of noodle soup were placed before him, Loran immediately began to gobble them down; after finishing the soup he even lifted the empty bowl slightly and looked at the middle-aged servant with pleading eyes.

“Sigh…”

The servant shook his head, then ladled him another bowl of soup, though this time there were only a few vegetable slices—no meat at all.

Loran still drank the whole bowl quickly. He needed the soup to warm him and to replenish energy so his wounds could heal faster; only then would he possibly have the strength to face what came next, perhaps even to escape!

Throughout, the girl with the flaxen hair kept watching Loran. Her gaze was very calm, even somewhat indifferent. After letting her eyes wander over him a few times, she looked away and never glanced at Loran again.

…

A crude grass hut had been erected in the bamboo grove, the ground strewn with freshly cut bamboo leaves that pricked the skin, but were still preferable to the damp earth. The servants had also sharpened some bamboo poles and driven them into the ground, forming a waist-high fence around the group of boys and girls. Grey stood before the barrier, sword in hand, and gave them a cold glance. He said lightly, “If any of you try to run, I will not hesitate to cut off your head.”

The children trembled and didn’t dare to speak.

Only after Gray had walked away and gone into the tent did the group of children finally stop being so frightened.

At this moment, the flaxen-haired girl finally looked toward Loran again, her voice barely more than a whisper.

“My name is Aivelle, what’s yours?”