The Night of the Monsters - Chapter 20

“Doesn’t this remind you of the old days? When I was young and kept wandering off and getting lost, you tied a thread like this so you could always find me, no matter where I was.”

“…”

“I’ll brew some tea while your body warms up.”

That tea would, of course, contain drugs. Giselle knew this, but she couldn’t bring herself to say anything.

Once Ian disappeared from sight, she collapsed onto the ground as though her legs had given out. Tears streamed endlessly down her dazed face.

How had it come to this? Why had things turned out this way? Why?

“If only I had behaved a little more properly…”

Giselle believed all of this was her fault. In some ways, she was right, and in others, she was wrong. Even if she had done the right thing, there was no guarantee that her brothers would have followed suit.

As Giselle sobbed quietly, trying to stifle her cries, a sudden clatter broke the silence.

Startled, she instinctively flinched, her eyes widening as she looked around. The dusk had deepened, making it hard to see what was moving nearby.

“I didn’t imagine that…”

Moreover, there wasn’t even a breeze. As Giselle wiped her tears with the back of her hand and began to rise, the clattering noise came again, accompanied by young voices.

“Excuse me… Is anyone here?”

“I told you I heard a voice! See? This place really is haunted!”

“Shh, shhh! Be quiet.”

Beyond the iron bars overgrown with vines, there were children.

Could they be kids from the village down below? While Giselle stared blankly at the children visible through the narrow, dark gap, her eyes met one of theirs.

“Ahhh!”

“What is it? What happened? Wait for me!”

“Mommy!”

The child who had screamed ran away, and the others scrambled to follow. For a moment, the still, colorless space seemed to brighten as if by some illusion.

There was a time when Hugo and Ian had been like that too. Hugo was better at hiding his emotions, but Ian was completely transparent. The monsters of the forest were not only ferocious but also far from ordinary in appearance. Ian, who used to cry at the rustling of leaves, fainted on the spot the first time he saw an axe-wielding minotaur.

Perhaps it had left a scar on him, as Ian would hunt every minotaur he encountered after that, even though he ignored most other monsters in the forest. Whenever cottage pie appeared on the menu, Giselle would think, “Ah, he must have seen another minotaur in the woods today.”

Giselle let out an unintentional laugh as she recalled the past, but it was quickly followed by a hollow sense of emptiness. Those days had truly been happy, filled with joy each day. A pang of regret struck her heart as she thought that if she had been just a little more selfish and prioritized her own happiness, perhaps they could have continued living like that.

The twilight sky quickly gave way to darkness. Before long, Ian came out of the mansion and approached Giselle, who was standing still. He could tell that someone had been there.

“Giselle, did someone come by?”

“Some… children…”

“Really? Did they say anything?”

“They screamed and ran away.”

Ian chuckled knowingly. After all, if someone saw a pale woman from head to toe in an abandoned mansion, it was only natural for them to be scared. As he noticed her gaze fixed on the locked iron gate, Ian casually stepped in front of it, blocking her view.

“Let’s head back inside. It’s better to come out again tomorrow when it’s brighter.”

“…Do I have to water the flowers again tomorrow, like today?”

“Of course. Like I said earlier, they’re flowers that originally grow in dry regions.”

“Then… wouldn’t it be better to water them properly starting tomorrow…”

“But you did water them properly today.”

Though Ian knew exactly what she meant, he feigned confusion, tilting his head as if puzzled. The thought of having to endure the same humiliating ordeal tomorrow as she had today filled Giselle with despair. But all she could do was bite the inside of her lip to suppress her sorrow. Beneath it lay a deep resignation: no matter what she said, it wouldn’t matter; no matter how unreasonable the demands, she would have to endure them.

With a smile, Ian took Giselle’s hand and led her inside.

“I found some new tea with a strong bitter flavor, so I’ve prepared some sweet cookies to go with it.”

“I could just drink the tea…”

“You barely ate any of the stew earlier, didn’t you? Think of it as a replacement for dinner and have a few.”

“…Alright.”

“I’ve also prepared the bathwater. Since my brother’s not here today, the tub will feel nice and spacious.”

She hadn’t even washed off the traces of what had happened earlier before coming outside, and she’d gotten herself wet again. Her clothes and lower body were messy, yet she hadn’t even noticed, too detached to care. It was miserable and disheartening.

Giselle’s gaze began to blur as she followed Ian back inside.

* * *

“Should I just kill them all?”

The noise and commotion were grating. Hugo felt irritation prickling at him, amplified by the curious and wary gazes stabbing at him from all directions. He raked his hand through his hair in frustration, making no effort to conceal his displeasure, and called out to a knight standing tensely nearby.

“Hey.”

“Y-yes? P-please, speak!”

“How long do you intend to keep me standing here like this? Someone bothers to come all the way here, and your country’s royalty can’t even show basic courtesy?”

“T-that is…”

“You—you were one of the knights who came to the forest, weren’t you?”

The knight’s face turned deathly pale, completely unprepared for the possibility that Hugo might recognize him. His eyes darted nervously, and he replied in a barely audible voice.

“…Yes.”

“Looks like your bones healed well.”

The knight’s grip tightened on his spear—not out of anger or a desire for revenge, but pure fear. He had once prided himself on his skills as a knight, but that day, all his limbs had been broken in the blink of an eye by the monster standing before him, a man with the face of a human but the strength of a beast.

The young knight, staring at his feet with his head bowed, had to summon every ounce of his willpower to steady his trembling body.

Hugo had intended to kill all of them that day. In fact, of the twenty knights who ventured into the forest, four had died instantly with their necks snapped, and seven had their muscles completely torn, rendering them incapable of ever wielding a sword again.

Those who had only suffered broken bones were extraordinarily lucky. The young knight still remembered vividly the moment Hugo had grabbed his neck and the distant sound of a woman’s voice. As if reluctantly sparing them, Hugo had smiled—a chillingly serene smile—and told them to get lost immediately.

It was a feeling the knight had never experienced, not even on the battlefield. That day in the forest, he had learned what it meant to be utterly powerless before an overwhelming predator.

The king had promised wealth and honor beyond imagination to anyone who could convince the brothers to come to the royal court. But no amount of riches or prestige was worth more than one’s life. Despite multiple attempts to send carefully selected knights into the forest—numbering nearly a hundred by then—fewer than ten had returned unharmed.

Among them was one who had spoken directly to the woman who lived in the forest with the brothers. The man had returned safely from his first trip, emboldened by his success. But on his second expedition, he never came back. Though Hugo claimed he hadn’t killed the man, the thought of what might have happened afterward was even more terrifying.

“T-thanks to your concern, I-I’ve recovered… well…”

Desperate not to provoke him, the young knight forced out hollow words of gratitude. Hugo, reading the fear and dread radiating from him, narrowed his eyes and spoke.

“You were lucky to survive last time. What about the second time?”

A chill ran through the knight’s entire body, making his hair stand on end. His vision spun, and his hands, slick with cold sweat, struggled to hold onto his spear. The icy sensation spreading from his core made him shiver uncontrollably, while the despair and pain he had felt in the forest came rushing back, leaving his mind in turmoil.

In every country, there are always those who meet their end after falling out of favor with royalty or nobility. However, none of them would have died with their necks snapped barehanded.

As Hugo took a step forward, the knight instinctively fell to his knees. Although Hugo had been denied recognition as a royal, exiled, and had no official record of his birth, in the face of such overwhelming fear, rank meant nothing.

No one dared to approach him or his brother.

“S-spare me, my prince!”

“I’m not killing you right now. And what prince? Enough of that. Go and bring someone….”

Hugo, wearing a disgusted expression as he gave his order, suddenly stopped speaking and turned around. At the end of the vast corridor, an elderly man dressed in an ornate robe was approaching, flanked by others in similar attire. Though Hugo didn’t recognize the face, the attire alone was enough to deduce who the man was.

Fixing his dry, brittle gaze on the elder, Hugo spoke coldly.

“‘Twins born on a moonless night shall bring calamity to the kingdom.’”

“…”

“Does that prophecy still hold?”

“…It is truly a joy to see how well you’ve grown. Regrettably, the two Majesties who brought you into this world are in poor health and undergoing treatment…”

“I don’t care. I’m here to see the priest—you.”

“…Me, sir?”

The priest, Oswald, swallowed nervously as Hugo stared silently at him.

He remembered Hugo and Ian from the time they were exiled from the castle. Unlike the younger brother, who had cried in fear, Hugo had worn a face of pure ferocity, as though vowing to rip apart the limbs of those who had put him in that position. Even Oswald himself had felt fear at the sight of that expression.

So when he later learned that the brothers had survived in the monster-filled forest, he wasn’t surprised. Nor was he shocked when half the knights sent to the forest returned dead, and the other half came back with mangled bodies.

As Hugo’s inorganic golden eyes bore into him, Oswald lowered his head.

“…I’ll escort you to a quieter place. There are too many eyes and ears here.”

The fact that Hugo had come here of his own accord meant there was something he wanted. Oswald hadn’t expected to be directly involved, but if Hugo had come seeking vengeance, he would have acted the moment they met. This was, after all, the same man who had crushed the knights sent to the forest as if they were insects.

But since Hugo hadn’t, it meant he had something to say—something that required a living audience. The dead cannot speak.

As Oswald began walking, Hugo followed him in silence. The two headed toward an area on the outskirts of the grounds, eventually arriving at a small, secluded temple. Hugo scanned his surroundings and his expression hardened.

“Please, step inside.”

“…Isn’t there anywhere else?”

“There is no place more suitable for a quiet conversation than here. Surely, Hugo, you know that better than anyone.”

Of course, Hugo knew that painfully well. He and Ian had been raised in the basement of this very temple since the moment they were born. No matter how much they screamed, no sound ever escaped outside, and no one ever came by. When they were exiled from the castle, they saw the place they had been confined in for the first time—but they had never once forgotten it.

Oswald, after sending away the priests who had been following behind him, stepped inside first. Hugo muttered a short curse, checking the hidden daggers concealed in various parts of his clothing before stepping forward himself.

The oppressive air of this place, the site where the brothers had been turned into monsters before they ever met Giselle—or before they could have even had a chance at a normal life—wrapped itself around Hugo. He wasn’t the type to be traumatized by something as petty as this, but it was undeniably unpleasant.

Oswald stopped walking only after reaching the innermost room. The small, unadorned space contained nothing but a window, a table, and chairs.

Hugo looked around openly before finally sitting down in one of the chairs. Oswald took the seat across from him.

“Shall I have some tea brought in?”

“That’s not necessary. What I want is….”

“My name is Oswald, Hugo. I have served the royal family faithfully for exactly 30 years now. As you may already know, the prophecy about you and Ian also came from my lips.”

Unlike other members of the royal court, Oswald didn’t seem like someone Hugo could easily manipulate or deceive with flattery. If that was the case, there was no point in hiding anything.

As Oswald had predicted, Hugo smirked at the priest’s confident introduction. It wasn’t a smile of joy—it was closer to mockery.

“When I left the castle, I made a vow: I would survive no matter what. I would come back alive and slit the throats of everyone who had made me into this.”

“Then, will you do so now?”

Though the words seemed provocative, Oswald’s expression remained calm. His prophecies had never been wrong, and the decades of trust and confidence he had built in himself had stripped him of fear.

Hugo clicked his tongue as he stared at the wrinkled face before him. If the old man had shown fear or even a hint of trembling, like the knight earlier, Hugo might have at least feigned strangling him. But there was no trace of such fear.

That wasn’t what frustrated Hugo, though. At the very least, Oswald displayed more humanity than their heartless parents, who, after abandoning their own blood, sought to use their discarded children without even having the decency to meet them in person.

As Oswald met Hugo’s animal-like, predatory gaze without flinching, he finally parted his dry lips to speak.

“You said you had business with me. May I ask what that is?”

“So, the priest who sees the future couldn’t foresee that?”

“Prophecies aren’t so convenient. They don’t show me everything just because I want to know.”

“But you knew that Ian and I were alive.”

“That wasn’t a prophecy. It was magic, blood-based magic.”

“Magic, you say?”

“Yes. I can sense it in you as well, Hugo. It feels… unusual, but very pure.”

Unusual yet pure. It was a description that reminded Hugo of Giselle.

It was truly absurd. The priests who had once led the charge to ostracize witches now declared a witch’s power to be “pure.” Unless the gods had changed over the centuries, this could only mean that the witches recorded in history were not inherently immoral or corrupt beings as they had been depicted.

Thinking of Giselle—a memory he had tried to suppress—Hugo felt a sudden, burning impatience. It had only been half a day since he had been away from her, yet his body already longed for her. If he didn’t finish his business quickly and return, he felt as if he might wither away.

A faintly softer smile appeared on Hugo’s face, and Oswald raised his eyebrows slightly.

“Let me ask you something, Oswald.”