Chapter 60: Two People at the Crossroads (13)
The old man took a rough breath. His dimmed eyes wavered.
His memories, almost gray and hazy, suddenly pulled him back decades. Men threatening with torches, fighting in such a tangle that no one could tell who was who on that chaotic night.
“So, what happened?”
Laila’s question snapped the old man out of his thoughts. He blinked, dazed, like someone just waking from a dream, then let his mouth twist into a weary smile.
“The child died.”
Yustar’s expression darkened slightly.
The old man continued.
“And about a month later, there was a time when the people of Vintoshees couldn’t leave the village. The mother who had lost her child set fire to several houses belonging to Vintoshees. No one knew how she had managed to sneak into the village.”
“A fire…?”
“They tried to put it out using the wells, but there wasn’t enough water—it was winter, after all. The flames spread, water was scarce. In the end, they had no choice but to fetch water from the river… and do you know what happened then?”
Laila answered.
“The people stopped her.”
The old man shook his head with a bitter laugh.
“Yes, that’s right. This time, the youths of Hoyerhees prevented the Vintoshees from stepping a single foot outside. In the end, twelve houses burned down, and twenty-one people died—including the mother who had lost her child.”
It was an unimaginably horrifying story. Laila shivered, overwhelmed by a malice beyond comprehension.
“But the real problem happened after that.”
Yustar and Laila furrowed their brows at the old man’s words.
“What do you mean, sir? What happened next?”
“After the fire incident, the relationship between Hoyerhees and Vintoshees became even more hostile. Any encounter would inevitably end in bloodshed. Yet fate is cruel—or perhaps Sercita, when creating humans, made some kind of mistake.”
After saying this, the old man let out a cough-like laugh, as if amused by his own words.
“For some reason, a young man from Hoyerhees fell in love with a young woman from Vintoshees.”
“Unbelievable.”
Yustar shook his head, while the old man squinted as if confirming the truth of it.
“The man came from a poor, penniless family, and the Vintoshees girl was the niece of the household head. Neither were nobles, so it might seem insignificant, but at that time, it was not. When the two eloped, the two villages blamed each other, almost erupting into war. No, it nearly happened…”
The old man’s gaze drifted away from the two, lost in some distant memory. His eyes seemed detached from reality, as if only the shell of the old man remained while his soul was pulled into the past.
“That night… it was truly terrifying…”
His voice trailed off.
Some sixty years ago.
The youths of Vintoshees sharpened their knives and farm tools, stacking them on carts. They wrapped cloth soaked in oil around poles and lit them, wearing makeshift armor of wood and iron.
Some insisted on bringing the horses from the stables to drink their blood, claiming that all warriors did so before going to war—a preposterous argument.
“Listen well!”
The head of the Vintoshees household, swollen with grief over his lost niece, climbed atop a haystack and shouted, shaking his belly. Under the burning torches, the youths’ faces were ghostly white, their eyes bloodshot, inhuman.
“We are going to wipe out the filthy Hoyerhees! Understand? We can no longer live on the same land as those wretches! From today, this land belongs to Vintoshees!”
“Exile them!”
“Drive them out!”
Sickles, knives, and hoes glittered in the firelight. They were ready to march on Hoyerhees, killing every single person. A dark cloud of murderous intent hung over the village.
“Capture the one who stole my niece alive! I’ll make him beg for death! Whoever brings him will receive gold!”
Gold in exchange for life—how dazzling, how heavy. Malice was sharp, greed unyielding.
Incited by bloodlust, the people grew crazed. They believed the Hoyerhees were not human, but monsters to be driven from the land.
At that time, the old man was not yet old. He was barely seventeen, too young to be called a man, but old enough to wield a well-sharpened sickle, given by his father.
His father stood beside the household head, swinging a massive pickaxe, a man who, when drunk, would shout that Hoyerhees should all be set ablaze.
The boy feared the growing intensity of hatred. Fires burned not only in Vintoshees, but in Hoyerhees as well, where madmen were shouting in chorus, flames dancing as if to consume the mountainside.
If I don’t run, I’ll die, the boy thought. He could not bring himself to swing a sickle at people. What did Vintoshees and Hoyerhees have to do with it? Why kill, take lives, and plunder?
“Hey, Simon! Where do you think you’re going?”
A friend’s gruff voice stopped the boy as he tried to sneak away. Only a year older, but taller and broader than Simon, he gripped the sickle and said,
“We’re about to carry out the plan. First, I need a quick stop.”
He raised his sickle high. The barely-bearded friend chuckled like an adult,
“Right. Go empty yourself before the deed.”
Simon nodded. The youths rallied in the center of the village, shouting blood, death, and exile.
Carts creaked with weapons, and the few horses—half-starved—snorted, spurred by the ominous air.
Simon slunk through bushes, crawling like a madman. Thorns and branches blocked his path; he slashed with his sickle, cutting his hands and arms, unaware of the pain or blood.
He ran deeper into the mountainside, exhausted, unaware of his exact location. Eventually, he collapsed on frozen, hard soil, clutching the sharpened sickle, and fell into a deathlike sleep.
When he awoke, he realized all the people of Vintoshees and Hoyerhees had vanished overnight.
A soft sigh escaped the old man’s lips as he murmured.
“No one knew what had happened. Those in the town… they just noticed the two villages had gone silent for days, only later realizing what had occurred. When they went to investigate, there was no trace of humans. No living thing remained, not even a dog. No signs of war, no corpses. On the streets, farm tools lay sharpened, and houses remained intact. As if everyone had simply flown away.”
Laila asked,
“The bodies? Were none found?”
The old man shook his head, staring at the damp ground.
“Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Not a corpse, not even a tiny bone fragment. After that, nobody from the town dared approach the villages. But foolish curiosity always exists.”
He pointed with his cane to the signpost at the crossroads. His wrinkled fingers trembled.
“A few young ones who wandered nearby disappeared. Whether they ran away or truly vanished, no one knows. In any case, they never returned. Rumors spread, and more fools came. Some came back, some didn’t.”
“What did those who returned say? Did they see something, or experience anything strange?”
Yustar asked. The old man lowered his cane, leaning back, exhaling slowly.
“Those who returned… were not truly alive. Their bodies lived, but their souls did not. They became fools. So no matter what they wanted to say, they couldn’t. Occasionally, some appeared who said they had circled the same area repeatedly. These were usually travelers passing through, looking bedraggled, wandering in the mountains for days, complaining about the endless crossroads.”
“Were they unharmed?”
This time Laila asked. The old man stared at her, seemingly lost in thought, then replied:
“At least until they reached the village. What happened after that… I don’t know.”
He paused, chewing his sunken cheek, then gripped his cane tightly and rose. Shooing an ant crawling up his ankle, he looked down at them.
“When you two came out of that village, I thought for a moment you were ghosts of the past. Listen carefully and take my words seriously. I lived seventeen years in the den of those madmen, so trust me. Whatever is in that village, whatever happened, leave it be. It is a cursed village. Justifiably so, given the sins committed.”
Before they could respond, he hobbled off along the road with his cane. Laila glanced at Yustar.
“I think I finally understand what those vines were.”
Yustar looked at her.
“You think they were used by the lovers who escaped?”
“Most likely. They would’ve been perfect for sneaking up the mansion unnoticed.”
Yustar glanced once more at the empty roadside where the old man had disappeared, dusted off his jacket, and rose. Laila followed suit.
Yustar said,
“The story between the two villages is more complicated than I thought. But I think I understand why Sync couldn’t be detected. Hearing the old man just now reminded me of something.”
Laila looked at him, puzzled.
“What is it?”
Yustar moved his mouth slightly, staring toward Vintoshees with a grim expression.
“A curse. The curse is hiding Sync.”
