Chapter 32: Chapter 32 — The Festival of the Hunt Part III
From that day on, the maiden visited him often. At first, the hero, true to his cold and reserved nature, barely spoke to her. But with the constant visits and the long conversations under the oak, something began to soften inside him.
One afternoon, while she braided flowers and he sharpened his sword, the hero broke the silence.
"Why do you visit me so often?"
The maiden looked at him, a little surprised by the question.
"Is it wrong for a woman to visit a friend?"
"No," he replied.
And then, to the maiden’s surprise, the hero smiled. It was a small smile, clumsy, almost forgotten, but real.
"Did you just smile?" she asked, incredulous.
"No," he said again, looking away.
But the maiden had already seen it. And from that day on, her visits became even more frequent.
Over time, the hero began to talk more. He told her old stories of distant lands, of battles he had fought in another world, of fears he had never confessed to anyone, and of desires he thought impossible. He opened his heart for the first time in years, and she returned the feeling with the same intensity.
A year later, during a hunt with the men of the village, the hero asked an unexpected question.
"How difficult is it to declare your love to a woman?"
The men laughed.
"My lord, declaring yourself isn’t the hard part," one replied, adjusting his bow. "The hard part is not feeling like your heart is going to burst out of your chest while you do it."
"There’s also the matter of asking the father for her hand," added a second. "Now that is terrifying."
"Especially when the mother is a troll with a temper," joked a third, provoking laughter from the group.
The hero didn’t laugh. He remained silent, absorbing the words.
The next day, he appeared at the village chief’s house and asked for his daughter’s hand in marriage.
The chief, a stern, gray-bearded man known for nipping any romance involving his daughters in the bud, looked at him coldly.
"If you hunt the three most powerful kings who control the wild territories of the mountain range," he said in a grave voice, "then I will give you my blessing. If you fail, you will leave immediately and never approach her again."
The three kings he spoke of were legends made flesh: the giant Holuk of Nubill, a ten-meter beast that crushed trees with its bare hands; the dragon Damun of Saruk, whose black scales repelled magic and whose breath melted rock; and the titan Kima of Soluk, a creature so ancient that the gods themselves had tried to exterminate it without success.
It was an impossible task. As strong as the hero was, no one believed he could achieve such a feat.
The maiden, upon learning of it, became furious with her father and screamed that he was a heartless monster. But the hero, in silence, nodded. That very night he put on his silver armor, now clean and shining, took up his sword and shield, and left the village without saying goodbye.
---
Days passed. Many in the village whispered that the hero had fled, that he would never return. But the maiden kept the faith. Every morning she sat beside the great oak and gazed toward the horizon, waiting.
Weeks passed. Months passed. The field flowers withered and bloomed again, and still there was no sign of him.
Until, in the fourth month, when the first snowflakes began to fall, the maiden spotted a figure at the village entrance.
It was a skewed, broken, half-destroyed armor. The metal was covered in dried blood, dents, and battle scars. The figure walked with difficulty, dragging one leg, but in its free hand it held three monstrous heads tied by the hair: that of a one-eyed giant, that of a dragon with gaping jaws, and that of a titan with a cadaverous face.
It was the hero.
The maiden ran to him, heedless of the snow, heedless of the blood staining her dress. She threw herself into his arms, hugged him with all her strength, and stole a passionate kiss in front of the entire village.
"I have returned, Prusna," said the hero, his voice weary but firm.
"Welcome back, my love," she replied, tears of happiness rolling down her cheeks.
The villagers came out of their houses upon hearing the commotion. At first they fell silent, incredulous. Then, when they saw the three colossal heads the hero had thrown to the ground, they burst into cheers and applause. No one had had faith in him. No one believed it was possible. But he had done it.
The village chief came out upon hearing the scandal. He saw with his own eyes the heads of the three kings, and his stern expression crumbled. For the first time in his life, the old man cracked a smile. Then he let out a brief sigh and spoke the words that would seal his daughter’s fate:
"Yes."
The hero kissed his beloved Prusna in the middle of the square, and all the villagers chanted his name:
"Kirishima! Kirishima Satou!"
---
"And that was the first legend of the hero Kirishima Satou and his beloved Prusna," the old woman concluded, her gaze still fixed on the statue.
Silence fell. The wind stirred the festival banners in the distance, and the sun, already low on the horizon, bathed the square in golden light.
"Ah, I see," I said slowly, digesting what I had just heard. "So that’s why this town is called Prusna."
I looked at my companions. Samira was discreetly drying a tear, but her damp eyes gave her away. Chimera was blinking rapidly, trying to keep her composure, though her expression betrayed genuine emotion. Lia, with her childlike innocence, was simply entranced.
"It was a beautiful story," Samira said in a soft voice.
"A true love story," Chimera added, and for once, there was no sarcasm in her tone.
But something itched at the back of my mind. Something related to what I had just heard. The hero’s name... Kirishima Satou. Kirishima. I knew that surname from somewhere. And the name structure, Satou, was too familiar to be a coincidence.
"Excuse me, ma’am," I asked, turning to the old woman. "Does this mean the hunting festival is about strengthening love through the hunt? Hunting a powerful prey and delivering it to your partner, as the hero did with the three kings?"
The old woman looked at me with a warm, approving smile.
"Exactly, young man. This festival is not just to earn money or perform strange rituals. It is a tribute to love. To the courage of proving, through actions, what you feel for the person you love. Just as Kirishima Satou did for his Prusna."
I nodded slowly. Wow. And here I thought it was just a medieval excuse to line the guild’s pockets.
"And the hunts... when exactly do they start?" I asked with renewed interest.
"Tomorrow at dawn," the old woman replied. "Participants must choose a strong beast, hunt it, and bring back its head as proof. But remember, boy: good fortune only smiles upon the brave, not the fearful. If you’re going to do it, do it with all your heart."
"I’ll keep that in mind," I replied, clenching my fist.
My objective was clear. Tomorrow I would participate in that hunt. I wanted to win the hearts of my MILFs—Samira, the woman who had guided and loved me since day one, and Chimera, the stitched warrior who hid a passionate soul beneath her gothic exterior. And while I was at it, fix the little problem I’d had with Samira for forgetting about the festival. Nothing said "I’m sorry, I’m an idiot" like bringing back the head of a legendary beast.
Besides, if the hunt offered monetary rewards, a little extra cash never hurt. Maintaining two waifus and an adopted daughter required a budget.
"Thank you for the story, ma’am," I said, bowing respectfully. "By the way... you haven’t told us your name."
The old woman smiled enigmatically.
"Kirishima Mara," she replied with pride. "Direct descendant of that legendary hero."
The world stopped for me.
"No fucking way," I muttered to myself, feeling all the pieces click together in my head.
Kirishima. Like the Japanese surname. Satou. Like the most generic and common name an author can give a light novel isekai protagonist. And now, an old woman with the surname Kirishima telling the legend of a hero with foreign features who arrived out of nowhere, defeated impossible monsters, and married the chief’s daughter.
It couldn’t be a coincidence. It definitely couldn’t be.
"Is something wrong, young man?" the old woman asked, seeing my expression.
"No, no... nothing," I replied, recovering as best I could. "It’s just... that’s a fascinating story. Thank you so much for sharing it with us, Mrs. Mara."
"The pleasure has been mine," she said, bowing her head.
As we walked away from the statue, my mind kept spinning. Kirishima Satou. A Japanese man. An isekai. In this world. Four thousand years before me.
"What are you thinking about, love?" Samira asked, taking my arm.
"That tomorrow I’m going to hunt the biggest beast I can find," I replied, saving my reflections for later. "And I’m going to bring its head to you and Chimera."
Samira blushed visibly and looked away.
"Idiot."
Chimera, for her part, let out a low, guttural laugh.
"I like it when the master gets wild."
Lia, still hugging her bear plushie, looked up at me with a radiant smile.
"Daddy, are you going to be a hero like the one in the story?"
I ruffled her hair affectionately.
"I don’t know, princess. But at least I’m going to try."
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