At the forefront of the riders rode a towering figure, far surpassing his peers in stature. His face was a canvas of brutality, marked by a deep scar that ran across his visage, lending him an aura of savagery. He was Tuku, the captain of the First Guard in Baron Rio's dark fortress, a man who reveled in severing his foes' heads and trampling them beneath his boot, characterized by a temperament as fierce as the storms themselves.
Yet at this moment, Tuku clenched his teeth, his gaze cast low upon the muddy path ahead, his countenance shadowed by foreboding dread over what awaited them. The very thought compelled him to glance back at the "something" bound upon his horse, a venomous spit escaping his lips as he cursed beneath his breath, before reluctantly directing his steed toward the Baron's castle.
With a clatter, as the cavalry approached, the drawbridge before the fortress lowered, the gates creaking open.
Tuku and his men surged into the heart of the castle, soon setting their sights upon a youth descending from the castle's tower, regarding him with a tightening in his chest. He hastily dismounted, eager to explain, but found that the young master spoke first.
"An hour earlier than I anticipated. It appears the worst of my assumptions hath come to fruition," Richard addressed, exhaling lightly, his face marred by disappointment.
"Master, I—" Tuku began, lowering his head.
"Speak, then. Though I surmised the rumor we received to be false, and the werewolves to be naught but a fabrication, I find it curious who spun such lies, and for what purpose. Pray tell, I hope thou hast captured the purveyor of these falsehoods, else I shall be even more dismayed," Richard implored.
At last, Tuku raised his gaze sharply, gesturing toward the figure lashed upon his mount. Bound securely was a weary man of some forty years. Richard, noting the calluses upon his weathered hands and the attire he donned, could readily discern that he was a hunter.
If so, might he be the one responsible for spinning this tale…?
"Milord, this man is a hunter from a village bordering the Black Forest. Fearing his fellow hunters would encroach upon his territory and pilfer his prey, he concocted that vile rumor," Tuku explained, his voice stoic.
A faint chuckle escaped Richard's lips as he shook his head in acknowledgement. "Indeed, just as I suspected."
"And how shall we deal with him, my lord?" Tuku questioned, a hint of concern in his tone.
"Deal with him?" Richard inquired, turning his gaze toward the trembling figure upon the horse. The hunter, quaking in fear, was utterly unprepared for the consequences of inciting the ire of the baron's heir.
In a swift motion, Richard turned back toward the tower and declared softly, "Dispose of him. Cleanly."
It was unimaginable to any soul that a lad so young would speak of murder with such ease, yet there he stood unwavering.
Tuku's brow furrowed slightly; while he did not harbor a dislike for bloodshed, he pondered the implications of executing the hunter without due process. After all, the man's sin was merely of spinning a rumor; a thrashing, or even a spell in the dungeons, might suffice. Yet, to execute him outright would invite discontent among the peasantry; fear would suffocate loyalty and foster dissent, which served to undermine the baron's dominion.
Yet the order had been given by the baron's second heir, and with both the baron and first heir absent, Richard's command bore the weight of a decree. Moreover, as the First Guard operated directly under Richard's oversight, they had no choice but to comply.
As Tuku gazed upon Richard's retreating figure, words danced upon his lips, but in the end, he remained silent. Grinding his teeth, he turned toward the hunter bound upon his mount. A flicker of cruelty ignited within his eyes as he seized the man and flung him forcefully to the mud below.
With a swift motion, Tuku unsheathed his heavy knight's sword, raising it high as he prepared to deliver the fatal blow to the prone figure.
At that instant, the hunter let forth a cry, not beseeching Tuku for mercy—oh no, for he understood that mere pleas would neither alter his fate nor delay the inevitable. Instead, he called out to Richard, exclaiming, "Young Master Richard! I have not encountered a werewolf, but I have seen the fire bear, the fabled beast said to be engulfed in flames! I know thou art intrigued by such strange creatures! Spare me, and I shall guide thee to it! I truly shall!"
"Clang!"
Tuku's knightly sword halted abruptly, wisps of breath distorting as it lingered just above the hunter's neck, trembling dangerously close to contact, yet frozen in midair.
For…Richard, stepping toward the tower, had halted, a glimmer of authority in his raised hand.
Such a modest gesture was enough to reign in the battle-hardened Tuku, who found himself compelled to sheath his weapon, turning his gaze toward Richard.
"Curious indeed," Richard mused, his demeanor calm as he pivoted to scrutinize the hunter more intently. "Thou sayest thou hast beheld this fire bear? Art thou certain…this time, thou speakest naught but the truth?"
"Nay, 'tis unerringly true—absolutely!" the hunter declared fervently.
Richard maintained a stoic expression, neither confirming nor dismissing his claim, instead locking his gaze with the hunter's, pressing further, "Pray tell, when didst thou observe the fire bear?"
"'Twas…some three or four days hence."
"Is it three days, or four?" Richard pressed, his tone insistent.
"Er…three days! Three days, I assure thee," the hunter stammered.
"What was the weather like that day? Morning or afternoon?" Richard queried, his voice steady.
"It was…" The hunter's eyes fluttered toward the right, as though searching the corners of memory. "A sunny afternoon, I believe."
"What did the fire bear appear as?" Richard continued.
"Similar to an ordinary black bear, albeit with a slight reddish hue to its fur," the hunter replied, his eyes wandering once more as he recollected, "And I witnessed flames engulfing its form, just as the tales foretold. Truly, I intended to inform others of its existence in the forest, but I thought the tale of a werewolf would be more easily believed, hence my fabrication."
The hunter, desperate for survival, implored, "Young Master Richard, grant me this boon! Spare my life this once, and I shall lead thee to the fire bear!"
"Is that so?" Richard mused noncommittally, then turned once more to stride toward the tower.
"Milord," Tuku queried, cold steel in his voice, "shall we execute him or...?"
At this moment, the hunter felt tension pervade his being, fearing Richard might utter a word that would seal his doom.
Finally, Richard spoke, his tone languid as he addressed Tuku, "For now, spare him, for he speaks true. He hath not lied. Bind him to the dungeons for the time being. When the weather clears and the air dries—a season suited for the fire bear—then take him with thee to capture this beast."
"Understood, Milord," Tuku affirmed, swiftly following Richard's command. He seized the hunter from the mud and marched toward the castle's dungeons, while Richard ascended into the tower above.
Lucy, the young serving girl, followed closely beside Richard, her silence broken at last as she inquired, "Milord, how didst thou know the hunter spoke true? What if…?"
"Nay," Richard interjected, shaking his head slightly, "I discerned naught but the truth from his eyes when he answered my queries; he gazed toward the upper right."