Chapter 3 - Prince Red Riding Hood

Translator's Note:

Hello, I hope you've all been doing well

Here you go, and I wish you a good read.

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"That's quite the basket you're carrying, Your Highness. Where are you off to today?"

 

"I'm going to visit the former head chef who lives deeper in this forest. If I follow this carriage road straight ahead, I'll reach his home, correct?"

 

"Yes, just straight on—it's hard to miss. That old fellow used to serve at the castle, didn't he? I heard he still delivers something to the palace once a week."

 

"He does. Grandmother loves the hazelnut and apple biscuits he bakes. I'm visiting him now so I can learn to bake them myself—as a gift for her, to thank her for this new cloak."

 

Lil's hands stung from the weight of the basket, but even as the pain set in, his heart fluttered at the thought of surprising the Queen with a handmade gift—something that might make her truly happy.

 

He knew he still had a long way to walk. He knew he'd have to knead the dough, bake the biscuits, and carry them all the way back. And yet, the effort felt strangely distant, like someone else's task.

 

He found purpose in the act of doing it all himself—but the labor involved remained vague in his mind, as if the biscuits would appear by magic, ready and warm.

 

"Your Highness, it's quite a journey to the estate at the northern edge. There's still a fair bit of snow left up that way."

 

"If you're planning to bake when you arrive, you'll need to hurry. Or you'll get back late."

 

"You must return to the castle before sundown. The woods grow cold fast, and danger lurks in the shadows."

 

The woodsmen, young and old alike, offered their warnings in earnest.

 

It was warm and bright now, yes—but as evening approached, the cold wind would begin to sweep over the remaining patches of snow.

 

Snow sometimes fell even on summer nights in Vallcent, and when it did, it often stayed—so letting your guard down was never wise.

 

"...Then I'll hurry. Thank you for the warning."

 

"Be sure not to take any detours. You never know—there might be evil wolves out there."

 

"—Evil wolves? But surely there are none within the barrier?"

 

"They may not look like it, but they're crawling everywhere. All men are wolves, after all."

 

"Exactly. Some wear sheep's faces, then turn into wolves before you know it. Don't let your guard down."

 

Lil tilted his head, puzzled. The royal chef had said something similar to him earlier.

 

Only yesterday—when he was still fifteen and dressed like a child—no one had said anything of the sort. But now, at sixteen, wearing clothes that made him look more mature, he had heard the same warning from multiple people. It was strange.

 

All that's changed is the length of my red cloak. Am I really that different now?

 

He would be glad if people were finally treating him as an adult—but these cryptic, unsettling warnings that he alone didn't fully understand… left a strange chill behind.

 

After parting from the woodsmen, Lil did as they advised and picked up his pace.

 

But his hurry quickly exhausted him, and soon he found himself unable to keep going without rest.

 

He felt embarrassed, especially after seeing boys his own age working hard among the trees—but good intentions alone weren't enough to move weary legs.

 

He had promised not to stray from the main road—but the sweet fragrance of flowers lured him from the path before he even realized it.

 

"Wow… a whole meadow of flowers…"

 

It was an open glade, with no trees in sight and hardly any trace of lingering snow. The field was bursting with blossoms.

 

In winter, this place likely turned into a lonely, snow-blanketed plain—but now, it was a sea of color. It would be no exaggeration to call it a meadow in full bloom.

 

Delighted by the sight, Lil set down his basket and ran into the field.

 

He moved with care, avoiding the trailing hem of his cloak and the delicate summer blooms. He dashed ahead with light steps, careful not to trample anything underfoot. Reaching the center, he turned his face to the sky and spun in a circle, light as air.

 

Bathed in golden sunlight, he began to hum, stretching both arms skyward.

 

Between his slender fingers, light poured like spun gold, and even the warmth of the sun seemed to settle into his palms.

 

Ah, it's dazzling… This isn't like the rose garden at the palace. These wildflowers bloom freely. They're so small, but the scent is lovely… and there's the smell of grass and earth too. Just standing here makes me feel alive again.

 

Heart lifted by the hidden meadow, Lil knelt and began picking clover blossoms in full bloom.

 

He already knew they could be woven into flower crowns, and he thought perhaps one of the maids could teach him how.

 

If he could give his grandmother a flower crown to go along with the biscuits… how happy she would be.

 

Roses and lilies suited the proud, elegant Queen well—but surely, once in a while, she would find joy in the charm of simpler blooms.

 

Noblewomen, after all, could not stroll freely outside. A humble gift like this might bring her more happiness than one would expect.

 

"—Ah…"

 

He had become so absorbed in gathering clovers that he didn't notice the shadow falling over his hands.

 

The shadow he'd cast on the grass had been swallowed by something far larger.

 

For a moment, he imagined a dark cloud blotting out the sun—but no, the light still bathed the rest of the field. Only the space around him had dimmed.

 

"Wha—ah…!"

 

Even as the realization struck that someone was behind him, Lil's world went dark.

 

Not pitch black—he could see glimmers of light through the coarse, rough fibers. A sack had been pulled over his head.

 

The texture was foreign to his skin—rough and stiff. But he could tell: it was a burlap sack, the kind used for hauling goods.

 

"Wh-What…?! Who—?!"

 

Startled, Lil cried out, though his voice faltered into hesitation.

 

For a fleeting moment, he wondered if someone was playing a prank.

 

Perhaps it was a young girl from one of the villages near the northern woods. Adults would know better, and children were usually too afraid of his crimson eyes to approach. He wanted to believe it wasn't malicious.

 

"Ugh…!"

 

But he could no longer smile.

 

The sack tightened around his throat, something like a rope drawn tight. Rough hands—large and calloused, unmistakably a grown man's—gripped his shoulders and legs.

 

The moment he realized it wasn't the hand of a mischievous girl, but that of an adult man, disgust and terror exploded within him.

 

"Oi! Get the basket! There's gotta be something valuable inside!"

 

"Hurry it up! And don't drop it!"

 

Stop… no—! He wanted to scream, but the shock rooted his voice deep in his throat.

 

When three or four strong hands grabbed hold of him—hoisting him up like a sack of grain—only then did a fragment of his cry find its way out.

 

"Let… let go of me…!"

 

There were at least three men. Two of them carried Lil's body, while a third—of lower rank, perhaps—spoke from farther away.

 

It hurts… I'm scared… Someone, please… Someone help…!

 

A blinding light pierced through the fibers of the burlap sack.

 

Just as it dazzled his eyes, the world flipped upside down.

 

The men shouted something—"We're heading past the barrier!" "Hurry to the hut!"—but what Lil heard most clearly was the scratchy rasp of the sack against his ears and the pounding of heavy boots on the ground.

 

Outside the barrier? No… I don't want to go… That's where the wolves are!

 

Terrified, Lil flailed his limbs in desperate resistance.

 

Though it was human men who had seized him, it felt as though he were surrounded by a pack of wolves.

 

The grips on his limbs—were they really fingers and nails? Or were they sharp fangs, ready to tear into him?

 

The voices in his ears—were they human words, or the growls of beasts?

 

He felt as if his mind were rejecting the reality before him, convincing itself that these were not men but monsters.

 

After all, if they were human—if they were citizens of Vallcent—surely they wouldn't dare lay hands on a member of the royal family. That must be it. This must be the doing of wolves who had somehow slipped past the sacred barrier.

 

If that were true, then soon their fangs would tear through his flesh, ripping muscle from bone.

 

His red cloak would be soaked in blood—dripping red droplets, unchanged in hue.

 

And just as that thought took root—that he was about to be devoured, limb from limb—Lil's consciousness faded into black.

 

 

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