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Victorique de Blois is a Gray Wolf – Part 07

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Translator: Kell

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It was the year 1511. I was lost in the mountains near the border between Sauville and Switzerland. I had not hired a guide, my compass was out of order, and I wandered aimlessly through the dark forest. Night came. Fearing the presence of beasts, I built a fire. Wild animals are afraid of fire. It was almost midnight when “he” appeared.

It was a young male wolf. A wolf with a silvery gray coat. Unlike other animals, he was not afraid of fire. He stepped on the fallen leaves and approached slowly.

Just when I prepared myself for the worst, something amazing happened.

The wolf opened its mouth, revealing a crimson tongue. But he wasn’t trying to eat me.

He was trying to talk.

The Gray Wolf was quiet, with an intelligence and calmness far beyond his age. Perhaps he had very few people to talk to, being deep in the mountains. He asked me questions, and I answered. Questions about the profound mysteries of this world, and the history of man and beast. Before I knew it, dawn was breaking, and he showed me the way out of the forest.

When we parted, I made a promise to the Gray Wolf.

“I will never tell anyone that I met a wolf who speaks human tongue.”

But I couldn’t keep my promise. When I returned safely, I couldn’t resist telling my wife, who told her brother. Eventually, it reached the ears of government officials, and they questioned me in detail about the place. They made me promise the same thing.

“Never speak of it.”

A year later, I visited the same mountains.

When I reached the place where I met the Gray Wolf, I found a small village nearby. I failed to notice it a year ago because it was nighttime. But the village was uninhabited. It had been burned to the ground, abandoned.

The faces of the government officials flashed through my mind.

Was it my fault for breaking my word?

I called out to the young male wolf.

There was no answer.

Then, I heard the crunch of fallen leaves.

I turned around and saw a silhouette disappearing into the depths of the forest. Through the trees, I glimpsed the color gray.

Howls rose in the distance, howls of countless wolves. I quickly descended the mountain. Suddenly I felt terrified. Terrified of the sin I’ve committed. But as I ran, all I could think about was one thing.

They were alive. They had escaped.

They were still in the mountains…

Kazuya managed to read the whole page. He took a deep breath and faced Victorique. “I’m done.”

Victorique looked stunned. “You just finished reading?”

“Well, I apologize for not being able to read as fast as you.”

“Your mediocrity amazes me. I thought you fell asleep with your eyes open.”

His brows furrowed. “Ugh… darn it…”

Paying no heed to Kazuya, Victorique took the book. “There used to be many folktales involving wolves in this kingdom,” she began, flipping through the pages. “Not the bloody kind, with man-eating wolves and werewolves who hunt people on moonlit nights. I’m talking about The Silent Gray Wolf, The Furry Philosopher, and so on. There are various theories about this. In my opinion, there are many things that can only be understood once you leave this kingdom and think with a broader perspective. So anyway, the problem is that legends involving the wolves began in recent centuries. If you read books from the 13th century, for example, you will find no mention of them. In other words…”

Kazuya stared blankly at Victorique as she continued talking. He couldn’t understand a word she was saying, so he was getting bored.

Speaking of which…

Suddenly, he recalled Victorique’s fall earlier. She kept saying it hurt.

I wonder… Is she sensitive to pain? I guess everyone hates pain, but she was acting like it was the end of the world or something.

Remembering the momentary high ground he had earlier, Kazuya smiled.

“What’s the matter?” Victorique asked. “You’re creeping me out.”

“Can you turn to me for a sec?”

“Hmm?”

Kazuya lightly flicked Victorique’s wise and brilliant white forehead, and chuckled. He meant it as a joke. He made sure that it didn’t hurt, but for some reason, tears began forming in her emerald eyes.

“Ahaha. I got you, didn’t I? Uh… V-Victorique?!”

“I-It hurts.”

“No way. It was just a light flick. You’re overreacting.”

“It hurts.”

“That can’t be right.”

Shielding her forehead with her small hands, Victorique backed away. She looked baffled and frightened, as though she were a small cat that had been suddenly kicked by her caring owner.

“Why are you looking at me like that?!”

“Kujou, I never thought you were that kind of man.”

“Huh? F-Fine. I apologize. I’m sorry, okay? Did it really hurt that bad? But… Okay, I’m sorry.”

“I will never speak to you ever again. We’re done!”

“You’re kidding, right?”

For a while, Kazuya chuckled at Victorique’s overreaction, but then he realized that no matter how much he tried to talk to her, she didn’t respond, completely ignoring him as if he wasn’t there. It made him sad at first and then angry.

This is just like Inspector Blois ignoring Victorique. I get it. If they don’t like someone, they ignore them.

Kazuya stood up, indignant. “If there’s anyone who’s being mean here, it’s you. I gave a proper apology, but your ego’s too big. Fine. I don’t care anymore.”

Victorique did not say anything back. Smoking her pipe, she immersed herself in her book as if there was no one else around.

“So you care more about your books than me.”

“…”

“Fine. I’m never coming back.”

“…”

“I mean it. I’m never, ever coming to the library again… you… you crybaby!” Leaving the newspaper behind, Kazuya shuffled down the narrow wooden staircase.

Down… Down he went…

Still going down.

He almost tumbled.

When he finally made it down to the hall on the first floor, he looked up at the ceiling regretfully. He glimpsed a small face looking down, but it disappeared the next moment.

“Seriously… What’s her deal?” Kazuya mumbled. “I’m never coming back.”

An iron bell rang in the distance, signaling the start of afternoon classes.

“I really mean it…”

When he opened the heavy door, he was greeted by warm sunlight and the chirping of birds. Kazuya left the library dejected. The doors slowly closed behind him. Filled with the smell of dust, and dirt, and intelligence, the library was blanketed in a dignified and tranquil atmosphere once more.

It was utterly quiet.

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St. Marguerite Academy at night was wrapped in dead stillness, as though the world had ended. The school building and dormitories stood quietly as if deserted, surrounded by a thickly-forested garden, the trees casting dark shadows on the ground. From time to time, pale moonlight filtered through the branches and leaves, only to be blocked out by clouds, leaving only a profound darkness.

At this time of night—it was only a little past seven, not exactly late—the students were studying in their rooms. The dormitory leader, a senior student, made regular rounds through the rooms of the underclassmen, while the housemaster, a school staff, monitored the comings and goings of students from their office at the entrance.

The dormitory leader, perhaps fearful of the rumors of the Reaper, usually passed by Kazuya’s room without checking inside. Not that there was any need to check on him. He always had his thick textbooks open to review the day’s lessons and prepare for the next day. He also studied English and French and Latin—especially Latin, which he was not very good at.

That night, Kazuya was studying at his desk by the window, mumbling Latin words to himself.

The wall-mounted gas lamp flickered.

Textbooks and stationery were lined up neatly on the thick desk. Kazuya’s face was the very picture of seriousness.

“Hmm?”

He lifted his head for a moment, but before he could turn his eyes back to his textbook, a puzzled expression flashed across his face, and he looked out the window again. Peered at the darkness outside.

The gobelin curtains were open to let the moonlight in, and the French windows were ajar.

He thought he saw something moving slowly along the dark pathway outside.

What?!

A little spooked, Kazuya opened the French window wide and peered down outside.

From his small room at the end of the second floor, he had a good, albeit distant, view of the grass-covered grounds and the dimly-lit pathway that meandered through the trees.

Whatever it was he saw was crawling very slowly along the path.

It was a huge suitcase.

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