Chapter 31: Chapter 31 — The Festival of the Hunt II
We continued enjoying the festival, wandering through game stalls and sampling more strange food (including a skewer of caramelized insects that Dorko would have devoured in one bite). The afternoon was advancing and the sun was beginning to dye the sky in shades of orange when, turning a corner, we came across a hunched old woman struggling to walk, leaning on a gnarled wooden cane.
She looked exhausted. Her steps were slow, shaky, and her breathing slightly labored.
I approached immediately.
"Excuse me, ma’am. Do you need help?"
The old woman lifted her head. Beneath a worn straw hat, tired but lucid eyes examined me with gratitude.
"Yes, young man. Could you take me to the hero’s statue?" she asked in a brittle voice. "At my age, I no longer have the strength to walk that far. And today is an important day."
"Of course," I replied without hesitation.
I bent down, lifted her carefully, and settled her in my arms as if she were a feather. She weighed so little that I felt a lump in my throat. Samira smiled at me with pride, and even Chimera nodded approvingly.
"Well done, Daddy," Lia said, trotting beside me.
"I learned from the best," I replied, winking at her.
We asked a passerby for the exact location and headed toward the town’s central square. As we got closer, the music became more intense and the number of stalls increased, until we finally reached an esplanade where an imposing statue of a knight in full armor stood.
It was a majestic figure, carved from gray stone, with its sword driven into the ground and its hands resting on the hilt. The helmet covered its face, but the posture conveyed a mix of weariness and dignity. At the foot of the statue, a marble tombstone rested beside a small garden of white flowers.
I had never noticed that statue before. Perhaps they had placed it for the festival. Or perhaps it had always been there and my recycled office-worker mind had simply never paid attention to it.
I lowered the old woman gently and helped her sit on a bench next to the tombstone.
"Thank you, young man," she said, catching her breath. Then, with trembling hands, she began to wipe away the dust accumulated on the tomb.
I moved a little closer to read the inscription engraved on the stone:
"Here lies the representation of the hero. He saved many and did the impossible for love."
"Wow, that’s impressive," I murmured.
"Yes," the old woman replied, caressing the tombstone with a tenderness that could only come from a very dear memory. "Very impressive."
"And what exactly did this hero do to be so adored?" I asked, letting my curiosity take over.
The old woman turned her head toward me. Her tired eyes lit up with a spark of life, as if someone had lit a candle inside her.
"Tell me, boy... would you like to hear the story of a knight and his lady?"
Samira came to my side and entwined her arm with mine. Lia sat on the ground, hugging her bear plushie with wide eyes. Chimera leaned against a nearby post, her stitched arms crossed over her chest, but it was obvious she was also interested.
"Say yes, love," Samira whispered, her violet eyes lit up with the excitement of a girl about to hear her favorite bedtime story.
"Of course," I replied, returning her smile. "I’d love to hear it."
The old woman nodded, settled herself on the bench, and let her gaze drift to the knight’s statue. Then, in a slow, melodious voice, she began to narrate.
---
Long, long ago, when this place was nothing more than a small village called Naza...
A wandering knight arrived at its gates. His armor was dirty and neglected, covered in dust and dried mud. His hair was black as night, his features strange, very different from those of the locals, and his eyes, deeply wrinkled, reflected an empty gaze, as if he had seen too much and nothing could surprise him anymore.
At first, the villagers looked at him with distrust. He was a foreigner, and in those times, the newly independent Kingdom of Mouka still harbored resentment toward anyone who came from the other side of the mountains. They had just fought a war against the Great Marlong Empire, and the wounds were still open.
Many thought he was a retired soldier. Or, worse, a deserter who had fled the battlefield.
He didn’t talk much. He barely let out a few words a day, always in a deep and curt voice, and spent most of his time alone, sharpening his sword under the great oak that grew on the outskirts of the village.
But despite the initial coldness, the knight began to win the hearts of the people. He did it with actions, not words.
Every time a pack of monsters threatened the livestock, he was there. Every time a mischievous child got lost in the thick of the forest, he ventured into the darkness, defeated the creatures that lurked there, and returned with the little one safe on his shoulders and the heads of the monsters tied to his belt. Always patient. Always loyal.
He never complained about the initial disdain. He demanded no gratitude or reward. He simply helped, over and over, until people stopped seeing a stranger and began to see a protector.
---
One day, the village chief’s daughter was attacked by a giant serpent while picking flowers near the river.
The beast was monstrous: a serpent of green scales as long as three horses, with venom-dripping fangs and yellow eyes that gleamed with predatory intelligence. The maiden screamed with all her might, but the river roared too loudly and the houses were too far away.
Then, from among the trees, he emerged.
Without a trace of fear, the hero took the maiden in his arms and rolled to the side just as the serpent’s fangs closed on the spot where she had been a second before. He left her safe behind some rocks, turned toward the beast, and drew his sword.
The serpent attacked. He dodged. The serpent attacked again. He rolled, jumped, and when the beast lunged with its mouth open, he drove his blade directly into its palate, piercing through the skull to the hilt. The creature’s blood splattered his armor, staining it a dark, viscous green.
The hero straightened up, wiped his sword with a frayed handkerchief, and sheathed it with the same calm with which one puts away an umbrella after a storm.
Comments