Chapter 4

As Isaac grumbled and swung his handkerchief, a stray cat that had been crouching in the nearby bushes, glaring at a fluttering butterfly, leaped back several steps. Since no one tormented them and the palace gardens were wide with plenty of places to hide, it was common to see a stray cat or two wandering around. The cat opened its round eyes and began yowling as if to say Isaac had startled it and therefore owed it food.

Isaac stared at it, thinking, What kind of cat has eyes that big? And why do I feel like I’ve seen it somewhere before?

“All right, everyone, watch your mouths unless you want to lose your heads. In the palace, you do not run your tongue however you like. We don’t need to get struck by lightning for meddling in things that don’t concern us. We just do what the higher-ups tell us to do.”

The squad leader concluded sternly, and the royal guards nodded in agreement.

Isaac rummaged through his pockets, withdrew a strip of dried chicken, and held it out, watching as the cat’s eyes widened with feral intensity at the sight of the meat. “Of course. Wise words,” he muttered under his breath. “My dream is simple: earn enough coin, retire early, return home in triumph, and settle into a quaint house with a lovely wife, raising nothing but beautiful chickens.”

“Even the chickens need to be beautiful? Honestly, you don’t look the type, but you possess this strange obsession with beauty. Do you honestly think that dream will ever manifest? Is your hometown beautiful too? Wait, remind me, where exactly is your hometown?”

One of the guards sitting nearby nudged the speaker with his boot, a silent warning to hold his tongue.

Those close to Isaac knew the history: his mother had abandoned him as a child, leaving him to scrape by alone from the age of ten. He had endured years of grueling labor before securing a position as a low-ranking royal guard, his swordplay being the only asset that had saved him from destitution.

Isaac never went out of his way to broadcast his past, yet he had never felt the need to shroud it in secrecy, either. He met the question with a nonchalant shrug. “A place becomes your hometown the moment you develop an attachment to it.”

Having spent his entire youth navigating the capital, Isaac lacked a specific place to call home. He had been born in some nameless countryside village, yet that memory was a phantom, and he felt no connection to it. Still, he harbored a quiet hope that once his coffers were full, he might finally retreat to the solace of a quiet, forgotten village.

SNAP

“…Aaah! You little bastard!”

While Isaac remained lost in his reverie, the cat lunged with surgical precision, snatching the chicken from his grip. Isaac instinctively jammed his scratched, bleeding finger into his mouth and glared at the creature, which stood a few paces away, looking back at him with an infuriatingly bright expression.

With a long, deflated sigh, he resigned himself to the loss. “Fine. Eat it, then. I don’t have much of an appetite anyway.”

As Isaac flopped back onto the grass, his companions—who were preparing to head toward the dining hall as the morning shift concluded—called out to him. “Get up. Let’s go grab a bite.”

“I’ll pass. I feel a bit sluggish today; I think I’ll just close my eyes for a while.”

“Suit yourself. You looked completely worn out during training, anyway. See you later.”

The starving guards mobilized in a collective bustle, drifting toward the dining hall until Isaac was left in complete solitude. Alone amidst the quiet grass, he shifted until he found the cool shade beneath a tree and pulled his handkerchief over his face to block out the glare. The shade provided a welcome respite for his sun-warmed skin.

He had afternoon duty to attend to, so he knew he should capitalize on the lunch hour for a proper nap. Despite the hollow ache of hunger in his stomach, the fatigue weighing down his limbs took precedence. “This is exactly why I despise the days around the full moon…”

He whispered the complaint to the earth, let out a weary breath, and slipped into a shallow, drifting sleep. It was a pleasant, hazy state, where he could still register the flicker of sunlight through the canopy, the rhythmic sway of the breeze, and the faint, distant song of birds.

「Is he sleeping? He is actually sleeping? Hey, how can you just doze off at a time like this, huh?」

「He is shameless. Truly, absolutely shameless. Sleeping peacefully in a place like this.」

「Leave him be. He is pathetic, really. He works day and night just to scrape together enough tribute for us.」

「Then he should wake up and offer that tribute immediately. Wake up, you little rat. I am starving. Give me food!」

A cacophony of chattering voices began to weave through his peaceful slumber. They sounded as if they were shouting from beyond a distant mountain range, yet simultaneously whispering against his very skin.

It was an unnerving, impossible sound.

The voices persisted, a relentless tickle against his ears, until Isaac, dazed and struggling against the pull of sleep, finally snapped his eyes open.

THUD

“Gah!”

Isaac surged to his feet. Simultaneously, whatever had been hovering directly before his face recoiled in alarm, darting backward in a blur of movement.

Clutching his hammering chest, Isaac stared ahead. A cat with eyes as oversized as windmill wheels stood frozen before him, its pupils wide with shock. It soon began to bark at him, a sharp, aggressive sound as if it were blaming Isaac for the interruption.

“What kind of cat has eyes that bulge like that…? Ugh, you scared the hell out of me.”

As he rubbed his racing heart, Isaac noticed a second cat a few paces away, meticulously grooming its front paw. When it ceased its grooming to fix him with a round-eyed stare, he realized it was the same thief who had stolen his chicken. The resemblance was undeniable; they shared the same lineage. Two pairs of lantern-like eyes fixed upon him were stiflingly oppressive.

One cat eventually returned to its grooming, but the other continued to bark at him, seemingly demanding some form of compensation for the fright he had caused. It held its ground, showing no intent to retreat.

Isaac gave the creature a sour look and reached into his pocket. His fingers brushed against a piece of jerky he had saved for the afternoon.

“I didn’t even eat lunch, so now I have to starve until dinner. And I don’t even like you damn cats that much in the first place…”

He muttered his grievances, held out the jerky, and watched the cat snatch it away in a flash. He would be going hungry until evening.

Recognition then struck him. The cat looked familiar. It was the spitting image of the black feline that had been slipping into his room, purloining his food whenever the mood struck. The pitch-black fur was identical, but those unnervingly large eyes were unmistakable.

Isaac rested his chin in his palm, staring vacantly at the pair as his stomach rumbled in protest. His schedule was grueling: work until evening, return home for a nap, then return for the night watch from midnight until dawn. Only after that would he have his day off. His body felt heavy, leaden with exhaustion, but if he could simply endure until dawn, he would find his rest.

With a heavy sigh, Isaac stood and began his trek toward the east gate. Passing through the central courtyard, he caught sight of the statue erected in its heart—a monument to the young hero, the prince who had been instrumental in the subjugation of the western monsters.

“…That face truly looks sculpted…”

The statue was magnificent, less a human likeness and more a manifestation of a dignified, ethereal god. A casual observer might have quipped that portraiture and sculpture often flattered the subject, but in this case, it was a masterpiece crafted by the finest sculptor in the realm, who had poured his soul into capturing the prince exactly as he was.

“With that pretty face… Haa.”

Isaac stalled, his feet rooted to the ground as he stared at the statue in a trance. After a long moment, he exhaled a heavy breath, let his shoulders slump, and trudged onward toward his shift.

***

The moment Isaac opened the door and stepped inside, a faint rustle stirred the stillness of the room.

The sound originated from the basket tucked beneath the table, his makeshift pantry for preserved goods. Had a rat infiltrated his home? Isaac snatched the iron poker leaning against the doorframe and approached the table with measured, cautious steps. As if anticipating his arrival, a small head snapped upward from the basket.

It was a cat.

A black cat with eyes as vast and luminous as lanterns fixed their gaze upon him.

With a piece of stolen cheese clamped in its jaws, the creature held an expression that clearly signaled, “Oh, damn it. I’ve been caught.”

Silence stretched between them.

“…”

God, these persistent pests, honestly.

Isaac strode forward, seized the cat by the scruff of its neck, and hoisted it into the air. Only then did the beast register its predicament, flailing wildly as it unleashed a tempest of meows. The pilfered cheese tumbled from its mouth, striking the floor with a soft, dull thud.

“I locked the window before I left. Where in hell do you keep finding a way inside?”

Isaac shoved the window upward, flung the cat into the overgrown bushes, hurled the piece of cheese after it, and slammed the latch shut once more.

“I’m absolutely famished and drained. To make matters worse, I’ve got to squeeze in a few hours of sleep before I head back out to stand guard tonight.”

Having eaten nothing since midday, Isaac retrieved a hunk of dry bread from the basket, took a ravenous bite, and collapsed onto his bed. Beyond the glass, the sky had surrendered to darkness, and the moon had ascended. Having been full just yesterday, the orb remained round and resplendent in the night sky.

He anticipated fatigue for the next two days, but he knew he would recover by the third. Isaac kneaded his temples, which throbbed with a heavy, dull ache—not quite pain, yet sufficiently draining to cloud his mind. His gaze drifted toward the window, where the cross necklace he had left on the sill caught the silver moonlight, shimmering brilliantly.

He reached out to stow it away, but the metal grazed his forearm.

“Ah, damn it…”

Isaac recoiled, snatching his arm back as if stung. He deposited the necklace onto Horden’s desk and rubbed his stinging skin. It had reddened, yet there was no true burn. Had it been the radiance of a full moon, the reaction would have been far more severe.

The full moon, an era said to strip witches of their vitality.

The cross, a relic said to strike terror into their hearts.

The common wisdom of the masses was rarely absolute truth, yet it was seldom entirely without foundation.

Isaac drew the heavy curtains, settled onto his mattress, and let out a weary sigh. “If even a half-blood like me suffers this much, the burden on pure-blooded witches in this land must have been unbearable… How did you ever manage it, Mom?”

He recalled his mother, who would often click her tongue when he was young and chide him, “How did you manage to inherit none of my blood? You are slow and absentminded, just like your late father.”

Fourteen years ago, on the night of the great new moon, his mother had departed on a vessel crafted from a shard of moonlight, bound for the Land of the New Moon. She had abandoned this kingdom, where witches were hunted upon discovery, in favor of a sanctuary where their kind could live in peace.

She had desperately sought to bring Isaac with her, but as a boy possessing human blood, he could not board the moon-shard boat. Only those of pure witch lineage could step aboard, the boatman had declared with a solemn shake of his head. His mother had refused to leave, swearing she would remain in this land to protect her son.

It was Isaac who had physically forced her onto that boat.

The witch hunts had been at their zenith. Only days prior, he had witnessed the neighbor butchered in the street after her nature was exposed, so Isaac had poured every ounce of his strength into shoving his mother toward salvation.

“Go! You’re a witch, Mom—you have to leave. I’m half-human; I can survive this. You have to go.”

“Isaac, I can’t. You’re still just a child.”

“If you’re caught and executed here, I’ll end up as a witch’s child regardless. If I live alone without you, like a human, life might be hard, but I won’t die.”

“Isaac.”

“Go, Mom. You must. Do it for your own sake as much as mine.”

The voyage to the Land of the New Moon took seven years to complete. If she missed the passage that night, she would be stranded for another seven years.

His mother had searched his face, slowly and carefully. Knowing the depth of her son’s resolve, she finally nodded.

“Yes, Isaac. It seems the time for parting has finally arrived. Then promise me this. Swear it upon the sacred River of the Moon: no matter what befalls you, you will be brave and live happily.”

Isaac had given his word, binding himself by the sacred River of the Moon—an oath that not even a god could dare to violate. Only after that vow was secured did his mother board the vessel.

That was how ten-year-old Isaac had bid his mother farewell.