Night of the Blood Moon

Among hunters, there was one unspoken rule.

Never stay in one place.

When a hunter settles in an area, beasts no longer come near. Not goats, deer, rabbits, or even birds.

The grasslands became a haven for insects, while only a gentle murmur remained in the watering holes.

A world devoid of beasts was as hollow as a dish without salt.

Beasts that abandoned their homes to avoid hunters began appearing in villages and along roads.

Beasts and humans often meet in unfortunate ways. A child chasing a wild rabbit crashes face-first into a tree trunk, an ill-tempered boar bites an adult's thigh, and startled draft horses overturn their carts when deer leap into their path.

So hunters who thought they'd found a peaceful home end up being driven out to beast-infested lands yet again.

Or, they'll have no choice but to move of their own accord. A hunter can't make a living in lands where no beasts roam.

That's why the hunters of old created this unspoken rule.

Never stay in one place.

This may sound strange, but—

I cut myself off and looked around the room.

We hunters, it seems, must show even greater consideration for beasts than we do for humans.

No one said a word.

I waited about a minute for my meaning to sink in, then began to speak.

I'll pay my way and help with any odd jobs that need doing. Of course, I'll also handle pest and beast control. Even for a week at most, would you allow me to stay here in this village?

Having stated my request clearly and completely, I waited for their response.

The men gathered in the small meeting hall whispered among themselves with troubled faces. Their collective opinion probably didn't matter much. They were pretending to consider my proposal while waiting for one old man's decision.

This doesn't look good.

I could sense their inclination to refuse in the silence that filled the room.

Looking through the shutters, I could see the amber sunset sinking beyond the horizon.

The temperature was still high, but night would come soon. If they refused my request to stay, was there anywhere along the way here where I could spend the night?

As I pondered this, the old man seated in the jewel-encrusted chair spoke.

Hunter.

The leader of this rustic village wrinkled his weathered forehead with worry.

There are wolves in these parts.

Wolves?

I knew wolves well.

They're the hunter's enemy. They steal rabbits from traps, leaving only the feet behind, and their howling sends birds fleeing. In some regions, they attack livestock and poultry. They're despised second only to rats.

But wolves are cowardly and don't actively target larger or stronger prey. If you spot one, just stand tall and walk toward it with heavy steps. They'll literally turn tail and run. They're despised, but not troublesome.

A large pack?

Wolves generally move in packs. Pack size is usually five or six at most, but if it exceeds ten, extermination becomes necessary.

The villagers seemed to regard me with suspicion, but wasn't this exactly the kind of place where I, as a hunter, should be staying? Before I could voice this opportunistic thought, the old man spoke.

Just one.

Only one?

It's no ordinary wolf. A wolf larger than a raging bull, more savage than a mother bear with cubs, and more cunning than a human.

?!

Now I was the one waiting to understand. The villagers' eyes were cold as they waited for the outsider to comprehend.

Larger than a bull, more savage than a bear . . . ?

I felt something like a half-smile forming on my face.

There's no way such a wolf could—

It exists. Right here, in fact.

The old man, who resembled a withered tree, spoke with conviction.

Its name is—the Beast of Gévaudan.

The Beast of . . . Gévaudan.

I pressed my hand against the hood covering my head.

A monster more dangerous and massive than bulls or bears—the Beast of Gévaudan.

It sounded like a preposterous tale, but they didn't seem to be trying to drive me away with lies.

If they wanted to drive away a hunter, they wouldn't bother with elaborate lies.

It is the largest, most ferocious beast I've ever seen.

The monster they described was real. I could sense it instinctively.

Did you call the cavalry?

Yes . . . But they killed the wrong small wolf and went home satisfied.

I wasn't surprised. The cavalry's job is killing people, not beasts. They probably fabricated some results so they could withdraw quickly.

Just as I once did.

Either way, the cavalry's useless.

The man who spoke looked disgusted, while another gestured toward my rifle with his chin.

Guns and traps are meaningless. Even a couple dozen people couldn't hunt it down.

I felt afraid of this unknown monster, but I also had my doubts. Why did they continue living in a place where such a beast roamed?

With such a monster here, why do you all—

Once a year, and only at night. That's when Gévaudan awakens.

Once a . . . year?

Yes. On the night of the blood moon.

The blood moon of June . . .

In June, the full moon often takes on a reddish hue—not just here, but in many places. A blood red moon, like a rose or a ripe wild strawberry.

You're welcome to stay, but tonight is . . . the night of the blood moon.

The village elder's eyes were dark and lifeless, but they also held a suspicious light . . . as if he were proud of the loathsome monster's existence.

The Beast of Gévaudan will come.

A silence filled with certainty settled over us, and I felt a chill. The villagers looked like condemned prisoners waiting for the axe to fall.

Are you saying we might not survive?

No, you're safe, Hunter. It doesn't eat men. It doesn't eat adults either. As long as you don't harm it.

It doesn't attack people?

No, it does eat people.

But just now, you said—

Gévaudan only devours the young girls who live in the forest.

What?!

Large beasts require vast amounts of food. If a wolf larger than a bull existed, it would need to consume enormous quantities of meat to maintain its body. It made no sense that it would only target children.

Please stay in any house you like. But if you see Gévaudan attacking the Red Riding Hoods, do not fire your gun.

Red Riding Hoods?

A sense of dread was beginning to creep over me.

A wolf larger than a bull. A wolf that only ate girls. And the villagers' suspicious behavior.

This wasn't normal.

My hunter's instincts were telling me I shouldn't be here.

Should I turn back?

I turned on my heel without a word. The village elder said nothing, and the men whispered among themselves. I crossed the meeting hall and reached for the door handle when . . .

Knock knock.

Someone tapped lightly on the door from outside, and the men all turned around at once.

Hello!

Two girls stood there. They looked to be twelve or thirteen years old.

Their clothing was very similar. Skirts with simple frills, small baskets in their hands, and soft ribbons at their chests.

Red hoods covered their small heads. One girl had adorned her hood with roses, while the other wore a corsage shaped like tea leaves and a spoon.

!

The moment I saw the girls, my heart leaped in my chest. The lid of memory opened, and something bitter slowly spread across my tongue.

Rose! Tea!

The village elder's face, reminiscent of a dried lake bed, contorted and tensed. The men shuffled their feet roughly on the floor.

Why are you here?!

It was a roar that seemed to pierce the meeting hall's roof.

Eek!

The girl who had given the cheerful greeting pressed her hands over her ears and shot him a reproachful look.

You're so loud, you old geezer.

Stop talking like that, Rose! At this . . . at this hour, what are you doing here! Didn't I tell you not to leave the house!

But Tea said she was going!

Rose pouted and turned away, as if to say it wasn't her fault.

Tea, catching his gaze, nodded slightly and muttered quietly.

The elixir is ready.

Her expression was devoid of emotion, almost vacant.

Never mind that! Go underground quickly! If Gévaudan appears—

None of you will die though, will you?

Tea glanced at the men.

Even if the wolf comes here, only we will die . . . You won't help us anyway.

She spoke in an emotionless, matter-of-fact voice. The village elder choked on his words.

Apparently, the village elder had not shouted out of concern for the girls' safety, but from fear that the adults present might be dragged into danger.

Besides, if we don't deliver the elixir today, we'll miss the deadline and we won't get paid. Do you think that is okay?

That may be so, but . . .

Oh, a guest?

Rose, one of the Red Riding Hood girls, approached me with kitten-like steps.

Mister, why did you come to this village?

Rose's expression was bright and cheerful, with a charm that warmed the hearts of those who saw her.

Is that a gun? Can I touch it?

No, you can't.

Bitter memories resurfaced in my mind.

I had felt it from the moment I first saw her, but this girl resembled her.

Rose looked up at me with puzzled eyes as I held my breath.

Huh? What's wrong?

I'll put the elixir here.

Tea took out a smaller basket from her larger one and placed it on the table.

Well then, I'm going home.

Words are usually directed at someone, but Tea seemed to be speaking to herself.

Take the other children and get inside your houses quickly, or go to the underground bunkers. When the sun sets, the Beast of Gévaudan will emerge.

The village elder spoke with an authoritative voice, but it sounded like nothing more than bravado.

If you don't listen, the witch will skin your nose off!

Grabbing the sides of her hood that drooped like cat ears, Rose mimicked the village elder's voice.

Rose! This is no time for jokes—

But our house will just get destroyed anyway.

I could hear someone's heart skip a beat.

A hint of melancholy flickered beneath Rose's cheerful smile.

We found out last year that going underground doesn't work either . . . Since there's nowhere to run, all we can do is laugh.

Both the village elder and I started to speak at the same time, but Rose was faster.

I'm laughing now because I might die tonight, you know? I want everyone to remember my smiling face.

Neither I, an outsider, nor even the village elder said anything. No, we couldn't.

While everyone fell silent, Tea continued speaking matter-of-factly.

If we're alive, we'll come again. We'll tell you who died then.

Guilt hung in the air like a black fog.

Leaving the adults behind, the two Red Riding Hoods walked away side by side, their small shoulders nearly touching.

I watched Rose walk away, remembering her smile.

The innocent smile of a girl who knew death was coming for her.

Those are the Red Riding Hoods. Descendants of the Good Witch who dwells in the forest.

The village elder's voice snapped me back to reality.

Good Witch?

A witch who brews the most wonderful elixirs. Those children have enriched our lives.

The village elder gave me a warning look.

His message was clear: I shouldn't speak of this to outsiders.

Gévaudan targets those children as well. Every year, many Red Riding Hoods fall victim.

What did you say?

My voice came out strained and high.

Such young children . . . ?

Yes. They literally become Gévaudan's food. It tears their bodies apart—torsos, heads, everything.

He spoke as if it were someone else's problem. I leaned forward involuntarily.

You said it only happens once a year. Surely you've taken some countermeasures?

Rose just told you, didn't she? The beast easily destroys wooden houses.

What about brick or stone construction?

We tried that long ago. It dug holes and entered from underground.

Then what if you sealed the floors and ceilings?

This might sound hard to believe, but the beast sometimes breaks into houses and steals firewood.

What!

That beast first appeared decades ago. We've tried everything we can think of . . . For the past five years, we've been digging underground tunnel networks to survive, but last year it flooded them with water . . . The beast even devoured the Red Riding Hoods who drowned. We've racked our brains, but this year it seems we can't protect those children.

A wolf that steals firewood and floods underground tunnels. How could such a thing be possible?

Then take those children somewhere far away right now—

People have tried taking the Red Riding Hoods and fleeing to other lands . . . But every single one was tracked down by Gévaudan within a single night. Whether at sea or in the mountains, the outcome was always the same. The Red Riding Hoods were devoured, and those who interfered were torn to pieces.

In other words, the Red Riding Hoods could never escape the monster, no matter what they did.

I repeat—there is a wolf living in this land . . . You should leave.

I pressed my hand to my head through my hood.

One minute passed, then two.

I did not leave.

Well . . . as long as you don't interfere with the beast, you won't be attacked. And when morning comes, Gévaudan will disappear. Keep your head down until then.

As I listened to the old man's words, I was thinking.

The sound of those children's flesh being torn apart and their bones crunching will echo in your ears for the rest of your life. If you don't mind that, then feel free to live anywhere you like—for a year or two, if you wish.

I bit my lip and held back my words, then slowly asked.

Are you all . . . letting the Red Riding Hoods die every year?

If you had a friend who was dying of disease—

The village elder stared at me with agonizing deliberation.

What could you do if you can't make medicine? At best, you might offer kind words and wipe away their sweat. Would you call that letting them die?

His words flowed without hesitation. Words that smooth could only come from years of asking himself the same question. There were traces of anguish in the village elder's eyes, and in the men's eyes as well.

His argument was reasonable. There are things in this world that can't be helped, no matter how hard we try.

But that was merely the argument of those who survive. To those who die, it would feel like abandonment.

I pressed on.

Children are dying, aren't they? Are you going to just stand there twiddling your thumbs?!

People die every day.

His words hit me like cold water.

I knew this. People die. Children were no exception. No matter how much love you poured into raising them, no matter how much money you spent, people sometimes just died as easily as swatting flies.

From a single stab wound. From epidemic disease. From a single dog bite. From a single insect sting.

And from the hands of men who dreamed of military glory.

While staring at the old man, I found myself seeing visions from my past.

Flames consuming an immobile old man. The smell of burning children's flesh. The breathing of men who thrust blades into a mother who had died clutching her daughter "just to be sure."

At the time, I thought it couldn't be helped.

That if we didn't do this, there was no point in having come all this way on this expedition.

That people die every day.

***

Once upon a time—no, it was an event from just a few years ago, less than ten.

In a certain country, in a certain land, a unit of light cavalry tracked down a notorious bandit group for several months and captured them all.

At the time, I was full of ambition and hungry for honor and success. To put it crudely, I wanted to be fawned over. By anyone and everyone.

I wanted to become a man gazed upon with admiration and envy. I wanted to be loved and respected.

I never questioned that desire at all.

That was ultimately why I became a cavalryman.

So when I realized that the bandits we'd captured after such a long expedition had committed only minor crimes, I was shocked.

They were what you'd call noble thieves—targeting only despicable petty officials and unmanageable ruffians in their raids. The kind of people who would surely win public sympathy if brought to trial.

We were shaken.

Friends who had enlisted alongside us had already achieved various military feats and made names for themselves. Every one of us wanted to make our mark as quickly as possible and catch up to them.

And yet, the ones we caught were noble thieves.

Capturing noble thieves wouldn't earn us any recognition from ministers or generals. If anything, they might even reprimand us for earning the citizens' resentment.

At this rate, we'd remain stuck watching others succeed.

So.

So I agreed to my fellow cavalrymen's terrible proposal.

We decided to destroy a village. We scattered poison, set fires, and wielded our blades. We fabricated the noble thieves' crimes to enhance our own achievements.

At the last moment, cowardice struck me.

The plan was to kill everyone who escaped the fires indiscriminately, but when I actually witnessed the scene, I lost my nerve.

While I was vomiting repeatedly, away from my comrades, I encountered a girl.

A girl whose clothes were burned and charred, her hair in tatters.

I probably didn't look like one of the bandits to her. When she took my outstretched hand, she smiled through her tears.

Let's run.

Those were the words I spoke.

Under the flame-lit night sky, we ran together.

But we couldn't escape. An arrow from one of my comrades found its mark, piercing the girl's chest.

The girl died in my arms, her face twisted in agony.

Looking into her lifeless blue eyes, I saw my own anguished expression reflected back.

In the midst of an atrocity so terrible that even God would turn away, I told myself:

Don't let it trouble you. People living in such a backwater place probably weren't very happy anyway. They'd be happier dead and in heaven.

Besides, such a tiny village was destined to perish from plague or famine sooner or later anyway.

People die every day.

And so, we gained fleeting fame.

***

What's wrong?

The village elder's words brought me back to my senses.

The past landscapes that had filled my vision shimmered and faded like ripples on water, and the shabby meeting hall came back into focus.

No, nothing . . . I'd like to ask—why do you continue living in this land?

The Red Riding Hood elixirs are highly prized. People of status beyond your imagination flock to buy them.

So you're able to live without working thanks to that money?

I asked sharply while looking at the village elder's silver-embroidered vest, the unnaturally lustrous furnishings, and the healthy complexions of the men.

There were no traces of labor on their faces or hands.

It's the opposite. We're the ones supporting the Red Riding Hoods, who know no other way to make a living than creating elixirs. Those children have no parents.

After a pause, the old man exhaled dryly. His dried saliva had a sharp odor.

We coexist.

No. They had it wrong.

If they truly advocated coexistence, they wouldn't overlook the Red Riding Hoods' deaths. To them, those girls weren't worth risking their lives for.

That was no longer coexistence. They were supporting the Red Riding Hoods with the same mentality as raising silkworms.

That was exactly why their hearts reeked of guilt—because they knew it.

Traps. Poison. Swords, guns, bows, cannons. Fire, water, earth . . . We've tried everything . . . But no one has been able to kill Gévaudan. Even when we built walls that cannons couldn't penetrate, it always breaks through and devours the Red Riding Hoods.

Perhaps sensing something in my expression, the village elder spoke with irritated haste.

It's a storm that strikes this land every year. Wouldn't challenging a storm be foolish?

But if we don't challenge it, children die. So we have no choice but to keep trying.

Any society that sacrifices children for adults is doomed to perish.

Is challenging a storm really so foolish?

Farmers and sailors have faced storms for decades, for centuries. Where there are no storms, there are earthquakes. Where there are no earthquakes, there are plagues of insects. Just as no life is promised tranquility, no land is promised peace.

I slowly opened my mouth.

You said I could stay in any house I liked . . . didn't you?

Yes. Anywhere except the Red Riding Hoods' houses.

Then what about that—

I pointed at the structure visible beyond the shutters. It stretched toward the sky like an index finger growing from the ground.

I'd like to borrow the tower.

On the way to this meeting hall, I had spotted a tower standing in the forest.

From the high ground, I could see the tower standing alone in the open land, surrounded by moats on all sides.

My words stirred unease among the men.

Through hushed whispers, I caught fragments:

The witch.

The witch's tower.

The words drifted from the group. The village elder's eyes widened in alarm.

Absolutely not. That's the tower of an evil witch who once lived in these lands. Records show she kidnapped young girls and those who defied her, imprisoning them underground and subjecting them to terrible treatment. We've sealed it tight, but there's no telling what might be inside.

Have you ever used it for siege defense?

Of course not. Inside the tower, there are probably countless executed people who were never properly buried—

I let out a scoff.

Because a cruel witch lived there, there's no telling what might be inside? At most, there would be skeletons. Skeletons don't kill people.

So there's still a way to survive the monster, isn't there?

The old man fell silent, and I saw my opening.

I'll hold a siege defense there for one night. If it has underground chambers, no matter how much Gévaudan digs, it won't be able to get inside. If it's really larger than a bull, it probably can't even climb the walls.

If I can successfully survive the night . . .

I continued.

I'll gather skilled hunters and conduct a mountain hunt. The monster only appears once a year, and only at night, right? If I can get through tonight, I'll have a full year's reprieve. With a year, I can definitely take it down.

The monster we've sought out for years without ever finding?

That's our job.

I grasped the village elder's shoulder. There was hardly any muscle there.

I'd like your permission. Permission to use that tower.

A low groan escaped the old man's lips. Though barely audible, the words that followed were unmistakably words of consent.

Thank you.

After thanking him, I glanced at the setting sun and turned on my heel.

If I'm alive, I'll come back tomorrow morning. Then I'll tell you what happened to the Beast of Gévaudan.

How odd . . .

As I stepped through the doorway, cold words were hurled at my back.

Why do you go to such lengths for children you don't even know?

Indeed, the Red Riding Hoods were children I didn't know.

But for me, what mattered wasn't that I didn't know them—it was that they were children. No matter what reason there might be, adults must not use children as shields.

No, that's not right.

I had been seeking such an encounter all along.

Unable to bear the guilt any longer, we confessed to the staged attack, but it was ignored and covered up. To revoke honors once bestowed due to misunderstanding—no, due to falsehood—could damage the legitimacy of authority.

Since some of my companions at the time had been granted titles or were children of nobles, we escaped condemnation.

No, perhaps I should say we weren't allowed to be condemned.

We were expelled from the cavalry, but our sins remained.

My companions split into two groups: those who brazenly stood their ground, and those who quietly went into hiding. But eventually, they all began wandering the world as if by prior arrangement.

Some took up medicine to save as many lives as possible. Some became mercenaries, seeking places to die. One was deeply loved by a woman he saved in a foreign land, but couldn't bear the pangs of conscience and took his own life.

We who committed crimes for ambition, wandered the world seeking the place where we should be judged.

The place where we should be judged.

Of course, no such place existed. Sin cannot be settled by punishment. Judgment cannot grant forgiveness.

I understood. My sin cannot be forgiven. But that's fine. That's fine, so I want to move forward. As long as I'm alive, I'll keep moving forward.

For a sinner, moving forward doesn't mean finding peace of mind through momentary judgment. It's not about being crushed by guilt or dying to find relief.

Moving forward means risking body and soul for atonement. Pouring out the rest of one's life, wringing out every drop of existence to save someone, to make them happy. What I've sought all along isn't a place of judgment but a place of redemption.

And that place was probably here, now, in this moment, and nowhere else.

Today, I will achieve my redemption by saving the girls who face death and killing the monster.

At first glance, I was stunned. Rose looked exactly like the girl I had let die. I will not let her die.

Perhaps sensing something in my eyes, the village elder's clouded pupils showed a faint glimmer of hope.

But it flickered and vanished like moonlight reflected on a swamp.

What can a mere hunter accomplish? Do you think you're some kind of cavalry?

No. I am not cavalry. I'm just a coward. That's why I'll do anything.

After exchanging a few more words, I turned my back on the village elder.

There are six Red Riding Hoods.

The village elder's voice called out behind me.

I must protect six Red Riding Hoods. Back then, I couldn't even save a single girl.

I am not the same person I was that day.

Wind cold as a dead man's hand brushed my cheek. The waves rippling through the grass looked like mourners collapsing in grief at a funeral.

I was running at full speed through the world where shadows had begun to fall.

I had to join the Red Riding Hoods as quickly as possible and reach the tower before the Beast of Gévaudan appeared at sunset. A siege defense is meaningless unless you arrive before the enemy shows up.

While running, I spotted two small figures walking side by side.

Wait!

Two Red Riding Hoods—Rose and Tea—turned around.

Oh, Hunter.

Both girls eyed the outsider warily.

I stopped about ten steps away from them and softened my voice as much as possible.

Is it true that the wolf is coming tonight?

Yes.

Aren't you scared?

I am.

Tea looked up at me steadily with eyes like a pessimistic cleric's—the eyes of someone who would preach truth to a fool.

But, it can't be helped.

An emotion that was neither irritation nor anger welled up in my chest.

Have you thought about running away?

The soldiers are watching.

Soldiers?

The elixir . . . important people buy it. They are their soldiers.

!

The Red Riding Hoods that run to other countries, the soldiers kill them.

I didn't know exactly what kind of goods their elixirs were, but they were traded at such high prices that they could sustain an entire village's finances. Perhaps it was better to bury them in darkness than let the manufacturing methods and the Red Riding Hoods who made them escape to other countries.

If they sent many soldiers to subjugate the monster, there would be a risk of the elixirs' existence becoming known.

But it would be meaningless if the precious Red Riding Hoods died. The soldiers were truly shortsighted people who can only focus on what's right in front of them.

The wolf will catch up anyway. Running far away will just cause trouble for others.

Rose stared intently at me as I clenched my fist in response to Tea's words.

Hey. You're a hunter, right?

The girl probably said that based on my appearance. Boots without spurs, trousers, a plain vest, and a hunting rifle on my back.

Rose continued, her tone somewhat cheerful.

Did you come to defeat the wolf?

Yes. That's right.

When I answered immediately, Tea stared at me with eyes like the surface of a frozen lake.

Are you stupid?

Being stupid is fine. If abandoning children is wisdom, then I'll be as stupid as it takes.

How will you defeat the wolf?

I'll take shelter over there.

While pointing at the tower, I wondered about trivial things like whether the word siege defense was too difficult for them.

In the Witch's Tower?

Rose gasped.

No. That place is . . . you can't go there.

It must be a truly horrible place. The girl's face even showed disgust.

Then where can I go to save you? To a house that you know will be destroyed? Or to underground bunkers that have been flooded?

Tea fell silent, but I felt a small measure of happiness at that silence.

If they truly saw themselves as sacrifices, they would dismiss someone like me without a second thought.

They don't want to die.

If they don't want to die, then I can help them.

It's the same wherever we go. That's why we—

There's no righteousness in dying.

For the first time, Tea's expression wavered.

But we'll cause trouble for everyone.

Children are meant to trouble adults.

And those who run from troubles aren't really adults.

Are there Red Riding Hood graves, with the village elder adding flowers to them every year? There aren't any, are there? Your deaths go unremembered.

I paid careful attention not to let my tone become accusatory.

Come with me. I want to help you.

Tea's seemingly unfriendly expression wavered slightly.

She must have grown accustomed to calm resignation. Negative emotions like sadness, loneliness, and fear created ripples across her facial muscles.

Just as her small lips were about to open, Rose interrupted.

If you come with us, you might get eaten by the wolf too, you know?

Yeah, I know!

Liar.