Chapter 7 - 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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"I've always known… that one man is chosen by lot each full moon to serve as the offering," Lil said, voice trembling. "But I only ever thought of it as an honor… something sacred, bestowed by the divine… I never imagined there was real danger, or that someone could refuse, let alone be punished for it…"

 

He meant to say, I didn't know, but the words faltered on his lips, his voice choked.

 

As far as Lil knew, those selected as sacrifices were taken beyond the barrier and left to face the fear of the wolves alone. But the ritual was largely symbolic now—he had heard that they always returned safely the next morning. In recent years, the wolves were said to be well-fed and didn't attack. Being chosen was considered a blessing. Even commoners longed for it. It was said to bring great honor to the family.

 

In fact, Lil personally knew several men who had served as sacrifices. They had come back smiling, welcomed into the castle, dined alongside their families, granted medals, gold, and livestock. He had seen it with his own eyes.

 

"Do people… really die from becoming the sacrifice?" Lil asked quietly.

 

He couldn't believe they were lying—their grief was too raw. But he had seen those men return alive. If what they said was true, then who were those proud, honored men he had seen?

 

"To be sixteen and still ignorant of this—you've no right to call yourself a prince of this land!" the eldest brother snapped. "Every single one of those chosen as sacrifices is attacked by the wolves! Their flesh may not be torn apart, but they are bitten, bled near to death! That's why they choose strong young men who can survive it. Most of them live through the night, barely clinging to life. By morning they're half-dead—but alive enough to be saved. They lose their memories out of terror, spend two weeks recovering, and then they're summoned to the castle. Given a feast, gold, praised like heroes—but some still die. That's the truth!"

 

"…Then… those who return," Lil murmured, "weren't truly unharmed at all…"

 

"Far from it!" the man barked. "None of them come back untouched! My brother may look strong, but his blood is weak. He's always been frail. He faints from the smallest strain! We told the bishop, the ministers, explained everything. They accepted his refusal right away. But it didn't end there. Word spread across the kingdom. They redrew the lot, chose someone else. But they never told the people why he had refused. Our family was branded cowards. We were shunned!"

 

"──That's… awful…"

 

"It started with our tools being stolen. Then someone smeared curses in animal blood across our walls. People threw stones when we walked by. Then they burned our crops and house, and we had nowhere to live. The harassment didn't stop—we were driven out of the western forest. We weren't allowed to cut trees anywhere else either. We couldn't even feed ourselves. My youngest brother's fiancée left him. My wife took our child and returned to her family. You talk of having a right to refuse—but in truth, there is none. If you're lucky, you survive the ritual and gain honor and wealth. If not—you die. That's the reality of the lot!"

 

Lil could only tremble in response to the woodcutter's plea, unable to say a word.

 

He wanted to ask, Is that really true?—but any hint of doubt would have trivialized their suffering. If it might hurt them further, it was better to remain silent.

 

He didn't want to believe it… but he had to admit, their words likely held the truth.

 

And the weight of his own ignorance—as royalty—pressed heavily on his chest.

 

"Prince. What do you intend to do with these three?" Klaus asked.

 

"…What…?"

 

Lil blinked at Klaus, not immediately grasping the meaning behind his words.

 

He had never known that those chosen as sacrifices suffered so deeply, or that some even lost their lives. How could he possibly feel any sense of judgment or condemnation toward these men?

 

If anything, all he felt was the sting of his own failure. Yes, he had been frightened. Yes, he had suffered. But he had not shed a drop of blood. He had been saved. What right did he have to condemn them?

 

"As prince, I beg your forgiveness… for not knowing the harsh reality you've endured. When I return to the castle, I promise I'll do whatever I can—anything I can—to make a difference. And I swear, I won't speak of this to anyone."

 

Lil's words left the brothers wide-eyed, stunned into silence.

 

Perhaps the pain of their injuries caused some of them to groan or wince as they exchanged glances, but without a word, they slowly rose to their feet. Supporting the youngest, who could barely walk, the elder two guided him toward the half-open door.

 

Lil didn't even have to ask them to leave—they understood.

 

Just before stepping outside and closing the door behind them, they looked back at Lil as if they wanted to say something.

 

There were no words, but from their expressions, Lil felt they were begging him—from the depths of their hearts—Please… speak to Her Majesty. Change this cruel custom.

 

At the same time, he felt as if they were trying to say, We're sorry… for what we did to you.

 

But perhaps that was only his wishful thinking. Maybe it was nothing more than a hopeful illusion, born from his own desire for reconciliation.

 

Even so, Lil understood. He had been ignorant of the truth. Nothing had changed yet. Wishing for a peaceful conclusion in such circumstances—that would be selfish.

 

Turning away from the closed door, Lil shifted his gaze to Klaus.

 

There was something he needed to do first.

 

He would start with expressing his gratitude.

 

"Um… Thank you—truly—for saving me from such danger. If you hadn't come when you did… I don't know what would have happened to me."

 

Lil tried to rise from the bed, but his legs were too weak to support him. Hunched in on himself, he bowed his head and gave his thanks.

 

He wanted to change the mood, to find a steadier footing—but the very words he'd just spoken only invited darker thoughts.

 

If he hadn't been saved… what might have happened to him? Though Lil lacked full knowledge of such things, he understood enough to know that acts resembling those between man and woman could also occur between men—or even with beasts. Such things were crimes. He would have been violated, defiled, reduced to something shameful. Left to die in agony, discarded like refuse in the forest. The thought made him shiver uncontrollably.

 

"...Hh…"

 

Lil curled in on himself, trembling in his red cloak as he rubbed at his skin.

 

The sensation of those men's hands still lingered all over him. He desperately wanted to bathe. But since that wasn't possible, he instead drew his knees close and rubbed at his arms, trying to erase the phantom touches.

 

His chest, in particular, still itched with discomfort. He reached subtly toward it, attempting to relieve the unpleasant sensation.

 

It was a useless act—but it felt as though poison insects were crawling over him, and he couldn't sit still.

 

"Are you all right?" Klaus asked gently.

 

"Y-yes… I'm sorry, I haven't even properly thanked you. Um… you're not from Vallcent, are you, Mr. Klaus?"

 

"That's right. My name is Klaus Grant. I'm a traveler, without rank or title. A hunter, by trade. And you are Prince Liladry—or should I say, Crown Prince?"

 

"There's no need for titles. Please, just call me Lil."

 

"Lil? Is that how you're usually called?"

 

"Yes, though… only my grandmother calls me that."

 

And just like that, Lil discovered something that eased the discomfort in both his body and soul.

 

Meeting Klaus's eyes made him feel refreshed—cleansed, as if bathed in sunlight. It was as though all the grime had been washed away, both from his body and his heart.

 

"Please… call me Lil."

 

He already knew—he was drawn to Klaus. Deeply.

 

If he were ever to meet his mother, if someday he gained a true friend or even a lover, he didn't want to be called "Your Highness" or "Prince." He wanted to be called Lil, with warmth and familiarity.

 

"A prince shouldn't let a foreigner without title speak his name so casually."

 

"That… may be true. But you're not from this country, so I think my status doesn't matter to you. Please, don't worry about it. Call me Lil. To have crossed the wolf-ridden mountains and reached the very edge of Vallcent's protective barrier… you must be a skilled hunter indeed. You're strong. I admire you greatly. And if I may… may I call you Klaus?"

 

Even as he kept himself cloaked in red, Lil couldn't take his eyes off Klaus.

 

His cheeks grew warm, and he could feel the blood coursing more freely through him again.

 

 

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