1. Winter Hunt
The Duke of Ikanus's winter hunt had begun.
That meant access to the Snow Leopard Forest was forbidden for the duration of the hunt. If you valued your life, you would not so much as set a single hair inside those woods during that time.
They said that in the grip of his madness, the Duke saw everything as prey. For this reason, a state of emergency would be declared in the nearby villages during this period.
"Never, ever enter that forest."
Arishte quickened her pace, reciting the warning she had heard countless times again today. The northern winter was bitterly cold and harsh. To survive this long, relentless season, thorough preparation was essential.
With the Duke embarked on his winter hunt, she would not be able to go anywhere near the forest for a while. A stray bullet would be a fine way to bid farewell to the world.
Though the Duke's hunting grounds were far removed from the communal forests where the hunters' villages pursued their game, hunters would occasionally slip in and hunt there anyway. This was possible because, except for winter, the forest—while belonging to the Duke—was left largely unattended.
Of course, she had no particular reason to enter that forest. If she were a hunter short on game, it would be a different story, but she merely gathered medicinal herbs. All she needed to do was wait for the winter hunt to end. Then she could venture in to gather the precious herbs that grew there to her heart's content.
Arishte walked across the snow, each step sinking deep. In the basket she carried in one hand were rare herbs that grew only in the snow. They were extremely useful, possessing pain-relieving and anti-inflammatory properties.
Her father, a physician, had learned of them from an herbalist he traded with, so these plants were not widely known among others.
I was lucky.
Arishte smiled, stroking the cloth-covered basket. If she made ointment from these and sold it, she could get by for a while. It was a crucial item for hunters, who frequently suffered various injuries.
Instead of the emergency food supplies the village required in winter, she provided medicinal herbs and ointments. It was a special consideration from the village head.
The village she lived in, Vito, was a small settlement nestled in the mountains.
Most villagers were hunters or lumberjacks; the women made a living crafting and selling handmade goods. Grain was primarily obtained through trading game, hides, meat, and the like.
The harshest trial in such a village was surviving the winter. Even if you went hunting, game was hard to find. Competition with other villages only made it worse, leading to constant theft of each other's prey, and occasionally, guns were aimed not at beasts, but at men.
If only they could enter the Snow Leopard Forest.
All the villagers thought this. The forest was rich with animals bearing valuable pelts.
Strictly speaking, the forest belonged to the Duke, so it wasn't unjust for access to be prohibited during this period. Yet, being denied what they normally enjoyed drove the villagers to near madness.
"Give us the hangover cure! We're going hunting!"
These were people who lived constantly with blood on their hands; being confined had left them on edge these past few days. Fights broke out over the slightest things. Some, drunk, had even come to Arishte's house, bellowing for her to hand over medicinal incense. Those nights, she had gone without sleep, staying up the entire time.
This year, in particular, had been a poor harvest, and grain prices had more than doubled from the previous year, making the situation even worse.
With the whole village simmering with barely restrained anger, an "outsider" like Arishte had to keep her head down more than ever.
Eight years. Despite all that time having passed since they settled in this village, she was still called an outsider. It was a peculiar custom of this village: if you weren't born here, you were considered an outsider, always.
"Arishte, we must survive here."
But her father had always said they should be grateful simply for being accepted. It was nearing a year since her father had passed away, and in that time, Arishte had been acting as the village healer in his stead. Though she wasn't a properly trained physician, she was quite skilled at handling medicinal herbs.
Being useful to the village was of paramount importance. While there were many others who gathered herbs in the village, none were as knowledgeable about medicinal properties as she. Her father had taught her everything: where herbs grew in the dead of winter, and about the plants others did not know. Arishte was making good use of that knowledge.
As long as she had a role that the village needed, she held onto the hope that she would not be cast out.
As she entered the village outskirts, she was met with an unusual sight. Normally, few people were outdoors during this season. There was no reason to brave the harsh blizzards.
Especially during a bitter cold spell like this one. With food already scarce, everyone was loath to waste energy on unnecessary movement. So the scene before her now was all the more strange.
"What's happening?"
Everywhere she looked, people were bustling. Groups of villagers were gathered, each busy with their assigned tasks. Smoke rose from chimneys; the smells of roasting and steaming meat mingled with the scent of baking bread.
In winter, elaborate cooking was avoided to conserve food. This scene was highly unusual for the season. There was only one place where such rich, nutritious foods would appear.
The village's emergency food storehouse.
In this village, the storehouse was more than just a warehouse; it was a symbol of the village's very survival. Normally, its doors were kept tightly shut, opened only in the gravest of circumstances.
To prepare for times of famine, the village head required each household to contribute a set amount of grain and meat. These provisions were stored in the communal storehouse, for emergencies. Everyone understood the terror of famine and complied strictly. Arishte was no exception.
Unlike other households, which typically had three or four members, at least two, and sometimes as many as ten, Arishte struggled to meet her quota. The contribution was determined not per person, but per household.
If she didn't like it, she could marry, start a family, have children. This custom was what kept the village's population from dwindling significantly despite its small size.
Arishte had come to this village with her father seven years ago. She had lived with just him all that time. While her father was alive, meeting the village head's food contributions hadn't been so difficult.
But now that her father was gone, Arishte found the required provisions burdensome.
Under no circumstances could the storehouse be empty. It always had to be stocked with food. The supplies were typically preserved foods like jerky made from dried meat, dried fruits, and the like. Thick cuts of frozen meat were also piled high.
But that storehouse had been opened.
The pile of firewood stacked in the village square suggested how much meat would be roasted today. That amount of firewood was something usually seen only during the summer village festival.
When meat, alcohol, and bread were abundant. Yet clearly, this was not such a time.
Arishte stood motionless for a while, watching the smoke rise from the firewood.
Suddenly, she felt a gaze upon her and turned her head. Her eyes met those of a red-nosed man holding an axe in one hand and a bottle of alcohol in the other.
"......"
Arishte instinctively stepped back. The man's eyes crawled over her from head to toe with unsettling persistence.
He grinned, bringing the bottle to his lips. He drank greedily as if it were water, some of it spilling down to soak his collar.
Hans, the village head's son, was perpetually half-drunk and a womanizer. His daily routine consisted of drinking and harassing the village women. Since her father's passing, he had particularly circled around Arishte, making lewd remarks. She had lost count of how many times she had fled, disgusted, when he tried to force an embrace or a kiss.
The village head, while disapproving of his son, never imposed any real sanctions. With the village's absolute power on his side, Hans ran wild without restraint.
Arishte recalled those unpleasant memories and retreated further. He was a man best avoided—entangling with him offered no benefits. As the village head's only son, she could neither rashly fight him nor humiliate him. Avoiding him was the best course.
Just as she was about to pull her hat down and hurry home, eager to leave.
"Arishte!"
Her friend Mira, having spotted her from a distance, came running in a quick shuffle.
"You're back? Did you find anything?"
"Yes, I was lucky. Herbs that only grow in the snow."
Arishte lifted the cloth covering her basket slightly to show the contents. Mira's face lit up as she looked inside.
"This means you can make plenty of medicine and ointment. Father was just asking when you'd be making the ointment again. And that too..."
Mira glanced at her tentatively. Arishte knew what she was referring to but pretended not to notice.
"I'll share some if I make the burn ointment."
Arishte replied with a smile. It would be expensive if bought. Mira often obtained the costly ointment with a few friendly words, but Arishte didn't particularly mind.
"Really?"
Mira laughed excitedly.
"They say your ointment is the most effective, that wounds heal faster. Oh, by the way, here."
Mira opened her own basket and pulled out a few potatoes with sprouting eyes. Arishte accepted them without concern.
"Thanks."
In these times of scarcity, even sprouting potatoes were welcome. Once the sprouts were cut out, little would remain to eat anyway.
"But what's all this about?"
Arishte looked around again.
"Oh, some special hunters are going to stay in the village, apparently."
"Special hunters?"
"Since we can't hunt during the Duke's winter hunt, they'll stay in the village until the forest reopens. Father says there's no game those men can't catch."
Special hunters were wanderers who moved constantly, hunting wherever they went. Rather than rabbits or foxes, they targeted high-value game, which meant they frequently faced danger.
They also took on other jobs—tracking people, finding lost items, delivering goods to distant regions... There were even whispers they sometimes killed.
"Is that okay?"
"What do you mean?"
Mira's eyes widened as if she didn't understand Arishte's implication.
"You know what kind of work they do. Besides..."
They're outsiders.
Arishte bit her lip before finishing the sentence. She was in no position to say such things. The moment she spoke those words, someone would surely retort, "Aren't you an outsider too?"
"...They're rough people, aren't they? I've heard they do more than just hunt."
"Oh, don't worry. Apparently the village head knows them."
"He knows them?"
"Yes. They stayed here a long time ago, I hear."
"I see."
Arishte didn't recall that, so it must have been quite a while ago.
"The village head even let them use the community hall. They're spending a fortune. They paid handsomely for the cooking. You should have seen everyone's eyes when those pouches of gold coins came out..."
Mira formed a circle with her thumb and forefinger.
"Gold coins?"
"Yes. I think they'll camp here overnight. They said they can't enter the forest during the winter hunt either."
Only then did Arishte understand the peculiar excitement permeating the village. A ray of light had appeared when everyone was despairing over how to survive the winter. With food and money circulating, hearts would naturally ease, providing some relief.
"Mmm, that smell... It's been so long."
Mira smacked her lips repeatedly.
"So that's why they opened the storehouse."
Arishte remarked, and Mira nodded.
"Good timing, right? I can't remember the last time I smelled cooking meat like this."
Mira chattered excitedly. The scent of food spreading through the village had everyone, children and adults alike, in high spirits. The atmosphere was almost festive.
"The village head must be in a good mood too. He's declared a festival for today."
Surviving winter was a matter of life and death for everyone. As the one responsible for the villagers' livelihoods, the village head was particularly sensitive to this issue. Ever since winter began, not once had his expression been anything but grim.
"So that's why."
Indeed, firewood was stacked high in the village square.
The frozen meat that had been stockpiled in the storehouse as emergency provisions was being loaded onto carts and moved outside. Several barrels of alcohol were also brought out, one by one, finding their places.
All the villagers watched the scene, swallowing their saliva.
"Let's dance and have fun all night, okay? Ah, Dad."
Mira chattered excitedly, then stopped smiling when she spotted her father waving at her from a distance. His expression, glimpsed briefly, was frighteningly hard—so much so that Arishte wondered if he was angry at her for talking to her daughter.
Mira glanced around cautiously, then whispered to her.
"See you later, Arishte."
"Yeah."
Arishte nodded. As she looked toward where Mira had run off, she saw Mira being practically dragged away by her father's hand. Even as she followed her father, bewildered, Mira still waved toward Arishte.
Mira's father, ushering his daughter inside, didn't forget to cast a sharp glance Arishte's way.
Watching this, Arishte felt a flicker of unease. Was there something she didn't know?
Hans's gaze, which had raked over her with that unpleasant, drunken leer, came to mind. It wasn't unusual for him to eye her like a marten stalking a chick, but today, his eyes held something even more sinister.
***
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