3. The Rainy Season. Gilbert Grace

"Ugh."

Niksi let out a deep sigh after reading the letter.

Jackie had pressed so hard while writing that there were holes punched through at every period.

She had completely forgotten about sending a reply to Jackie. If today's letter hadn't arrived, she might have forgotten forever.

'I should send a reply before Jackie spends more than a month of summer vacation in Auvers.'

But she couldn't very well pressure the painter about it.

However, at this point, she didn't want to send a letter without the painter's artwork. If only for all the time she'd already spent waiting.

"Is something wrong, Niksi?"

Helen asked while cutting tomatoes.

Niksi had happened to visit her general store to buy a small lighter for burning weeds to make fertilizer, and also to check on Helen's condition, killing two birds with one stone.

Niksi picked out a palm-sized small lighter.

It was time to hold a cremation ceremony for those persistent weeds.

"No. An old friend sent me a letter, and I'm worried about when I'll be able to reply."

"Hmm?"

"It's nothing really. It's just that the path for sending letters is too treacherous."

She couldn't tell Helen about commissioning artwork from the painter, or that she needed it completed before she could send a reply. So Niksi mumbled vaguely.

In the end, Auvers' peaceful daily life all depended on the painter's hands.

"Hmm... I don't know what it is, but the roads have definitely gotten more dangerous lately."

Helen took her metaphor literally.

"The roads?"

"Yes. Like what happened to my foot. There are traps on perfectly good paths."

Helen pointed to her ankle wrapped in bandages.

'Ah, that road.' Niksi thought.

"Wild animals have really increased, and more livestock in the village have been dying. It's ominous in many ways."

"Wasn't that the work of wild dogs? I heard they found one dead on the mountain a few days ago."

"Apparently not. Just when things seemed to calm down after that, Pascal's foal disappeared from the stable. Now I'm starting to doubt whether it was really wild animals. Maybe there are hunters who steal other people's livestock?"

Hunters. Niksi shot up from her seat.

Come to think of it, she had forgotten to tell Gilbert about her house's basement.

She had remembered it until morning, but got distracted by the letter!

"Thank you, Helen! I'll leave the ointment here! Make sure to apply it morning and evening!"

"Oh my. You're leaving already? Well, thank you!"

Niksi rushed out of the general store.

There were signs that someone had lived in her house's basement.

From the circumstances, it seemed they had lived there until she moved in, and what that person had left behind in the basement was not ordinary.

It was identical to the hunter's traces hidden throughout the village.

If the hunter was indeed responsible for stealing the village's poor livestock, then the hunter was probably...

"Gilbert, Gilbert!"

...in Auvers.

Niksi burst open the door to the village hall.

Inside the hall, villagers had gathered. They all had serious expressions.

"Niksi? What's wrong?"

Gilbert, whom she was looking for, was among the villagers.

"Well, my house's basement..."

"Gilbert. Whether this is the work of beasts or whatever, this isn't something we can just let slide."

"That's right. Even animals like foals and sheep have been attacked. The villagers are getting anxious."

The atmosphere was serious.

Even Niksi, who wasn't particularly perceptive, sensed this wasn't the time to interrupt.

Among them, Gilbert had a face full of various thoughts.

"...Understood. For now, let's organize shifts to patrol the village at night for a few days. For today, I'll check things myself."

The meeting results were announced.

They would take turns patrolling the village from midnight until dawn.

Even though it was summer, they wouldn't leave doors open and would lock up properly at night.

For the time being, they wouldn't let livestock roam at night.

If fences or pens seemed flimsy, they would repair them.

Since the root of the problem wasn't being addressed, only lukewarm measures were decided upon.

The villagers seemed to find it unsatisfactory too. They all had rather disgruntled faces.

Pascal, the stable keeper who had lost his foal overnight, opened his mouth with a discontented expression.

"Wouldn't it be better to call the police officer?"

Then, quite remarkably, the atmosphere turned cold.

'The mood is strange.'

Niksi sat in a wooden chair in the corner, tapping her toes.

"Mr. Pascal. That's... later. When we really can't solve it ourselves..."

"Sigh, Gilbert. If we can't solve it ourselves, that means more livestock have to die before we call them. If that's the case, wouldn't it be better to call them now?"

"That's enough, Pascal."

Edgar from the seed & seedling shop stopped the stable keeper's grumbling.

Since he, who was usually quiet, had spoken up, the stable keeper just clicked his tongue without saying more.

When Gilbert took the stable keeper outside to appease him, the situation seemed to wrap up roughly.

After all the villagers had dispersed, Niksi thought she should head home too and got up from her seat.

Just then, Gilbert entered the hall.

"You haven't left yet?"

"I was waiting."

Gilbert sat on the table and let out a long sigh.

It wasn't even halfway through the day, but his face was drenched in sweat.

"You worked hard. Did you finish talking with the stable keeper?"

"No, it didn't go well. Mr. Pascal was quite angry. It's natural since it was a foal he cherished."

"Of course. The stable only had two horses to begin with, so how precious that foal must have been."

"He must be frustrated. Not knowing how it disappeared, not knowing if it's dead or alive."

The conversation with the stable keeper couldn't be considered to have ended well.

Gilbert had tried to calm Pascal's anger by explaining the villagers' circumstances and the difficulty of the situation, but Pascal's anger didn't easily subside.

As Niksi said, it was a stable that only had two horses to begin with.

To make a living from that, both he and the horses had to run around until their soles were worn thin, and now the foal had disappeared.

"It would be nice if we at least knew the cause..."

"Ah, Gilbert, about that."

Niksi told him about the suspicious room in her house's basement.

"The basement... I'll go take a look."

Perhaps hoping this might solve the current troublesome situation, Gilbert followed behind Niksi.

"But is there really a police officer in a small countryside place like this?"

"Ah."

Niksi mentioned the police officer and checked his expression.

As she expected, Gilbert's expression was unpleasant.

Given the cold atmosphere she'd felt when the villagers were meeting earlier, she figured there was something to it, and it seemed there really was.

"He's not a villager, but someone from a somewhat larger town about 10km away from our village... He's not a good person."

For someone like him who saw most people in a positive light to say someone wasn't good, it sounded to Niksi like he meant the person was complete human trash.

They arrived at Niksi's house.

She moved aside the thick mat she had laid at the entrance.

The floor appeared, repaired quite skillfully by the painter. The basement door that felt heavily patched.

She grabbed the handle, made large so it wouldn't lock by itself, and opened the door.

—Creeeeak.

A heavy sound echoed as the basement door opened.

"Here it is."

"So there was a place like this..."

Gilbert briefly looked around the small basement room.

"This is where I found those things. Wait, I put them in the drawer."

Niksi opened the drawer attached under the small table.

While Gilbert waited for her, he looked at something folded neatly in half beside the drawer.

It was a crutch.

He sucked in a sharp breath.

"Found it! This."

Niksi approached him holding the snare.

Gilbert was holding the crutch that had been leaning against the wall.

"Look at this. This snare is exactly the same as the one Helen had her accident with, right? And you know, I found the exact same thing at your hideout on the mountainside. It was a bit old though."

"..."

"And will you look at this too?"

Niksi pulled out a gun from the drawer. It was the shotgun she had used to blow open the basement door.

"It's a gun. The painter said it looks like it was modified to be good for hunting. Think about the chickens that disappeared from the village. It was clean without a single trace, right? Looking at that, the conclusion is either an IQ 130 mountain beast or someone with professional skills did it. In my opinion!"

Niksi rattled off her opinions rapid-fire and smiled proudly.

"I think the culprit hunter is hiding in our village."

Moreover! As the final decisive blow, Niksi showed Gilbert the moldy biscuit right in front of his eyes.

A butter biscuit with clear bite marks.

His olive-colored eyes widened greatly.

"Look at this. The owner of this crutch and gun secretly lived in the basement when this house was empty..."

"Niksi."

He called her name shortly.

Niksi looked up with a still proud face. And then...

After seeing his expression, she hardened her face.

"Is there anyone else who knows about this place besides you?"

He had an expression she had never seen before.

It was exactly that kind of expression.

After battle, carrying a rifle to search the mountains to clean up the remnants of defeated soldiers.

Then, finding those who couldn't escape because they were injured or terrified, writhing in the mud, and having to point guns at their foreheads.

The expression you would see then.

Hatred and fear. Resentment and denial of reality, desperately intertwined.

"There is."

"...Who?"

"The painter."

Damn it. He quietly cursed.

Gilbert shoved the rifle into the sack-like bag he had brought. Then with a surprisingly calm face, he turned his head.

"Niksi. This place... if I asked you not to tell anyone about it. Would you do that for me?"

The question 'Why?' came to mind first. Next was the instinctive 'NO' that arose from her contrary nature.

However, Niksi was quite patiently silent. At important moments like this, silence was better than hasty answers.

After a long silence, he gave a self-deprecating smile.

"No. Pretend you didn't hear that."

He went up the wooden stairs.

Why?

Left in the basement, Niksi looked at the snare in her hand to find the reason.

Gilbert had seemed shocked when he saw the gun, and after hearing her words, his face had hardened. Why?

Unable to find a single clue, Niksi came out of the basement.

"Um, Gilbert."

Niksi, with only her head poking out first, called to him.

He was already crossing the yard.

Swallowing the unpleasant doubt she didn't want to voice, she pondered what answer would be best for him.

"At midnight tonight. Can I patrol together too?"

"..."

Gilbert only smiled instead of answering.

Instead of going straight home, he turned his steps toward the north, across the river.

He couldn't know how his neighbor had interpreted the meaning of that smile. He had just smiled briefly and immediately turned his head away.

Niksi scratched her head.

'Is there anyone else who knows about this place besides you?'

'There is.'

'...Who?'

The painter.

Gilbert was on his way to find that man.

'...What am I going to do when I find him? Ask him the same thing I asked Niksi, to not tell anyone about that place?'

Gilbert pressed his throbbing head.

The past he had vaguely recalled over the past few days, seeing animals that had died or disappeared for unknown reasons.

The village had been maintained this past winter, so there couldn't have been anything like snares, but when the accident happened, he had dismissed it as 'probably just my imagination.'

'I think the culprit hunter is hiding in our village.'

'Look at this. The owner of this crutch and gun secretly lived in the basement when this house was empty...'

"Damn it."

'How. Why. What the hell.'

The crutch and shotgun found in the basement.

Those unforgettable days from back then.

The clear letter crudely carved into the wooden stock of the rifle tore his insides to shreds.

'If the one who harmed the livestock was really that bastard. If that bastard is really in Auvers.'

Find him and—

"Who might this be?"

A dark shadow stopped in front of him.

Gilbert grabbed his throbbing head and looked up.

A middle-aged man in a dull navy uniform on a white horse.

A police officer with long, narrow, hyena-like features.

"It's been a while since I've seen that face. You insolent brat."

"Officer... Karl."

Gilbert stared at the man with sharp eyes.

Karl, noticing his hostility, let out a hollow laugh.

"Your glare is still the same. Well. I heard about the recent incidents from Pascal roughly. Livestock have been disappearing?"

"..."

He had expected it since the mention of calling a police officer came up among the villagers.

For Gilbert, this was an unwelcome person.

First, because he didn't belong to the category of good people, and second, because Karl held extreme hostility toward Gilbert.

"What a strange town. Unpleasant incidents never stop, do they?"

There was nothing good to be gained from dragging out the conversation.

Gilbert tried to pass by him with just a slight bow of greeting.

"I really should have caught that arrogant murderer who was causing trouble ten years ago."

His steps stopped abruptly.

The officer blocked his path with a black baton.

"You remember too, right? We almost had him, but he slipped away right before our eyes. The trouble in this village started from that day. If we had caught that bastard, this place would have been quietly peaceful without these unpleasant incidents."

"....."

Ten years ago.

Auvers was a place that, despite being a remote rural village, was modestly popular for its blue wheat fields and purple violet fields.

Though it was a small rural village, it had everything it needed. Because tourists came in twos and threes without fail.

The strange incidents began in Auvers ten years ago. Right around this time.

On a hot, sticky day just before the midsummer rainy season.

There were consecutive disappearances of tourists in the small village.

That was when Carl Deon was first assigned to Auvers.

It was the day of the third disappearance.

"I believe human nature doesn't change. Everyone has an innate disposition. And this isn't something that can be easily fixed just because you want to fix it. You can hide it, but not cure it."

Carl remembered the boy he first met at the mountainside back then.

He couldn't forget.

The boy had the eyes of a well-sharpened predator, to the extent that he didn't want to know what kind of time he had spent.

"So it would be good to watch yourself."

"......"

"There's no kind Mr. Grace now either."

—Smack!

Gilbert struck away the baton blocking his path with a loud sound.

The startled horse neighed and backed away.

"Watch your mouth."

"You little bastard...!"

Carl, who had a quick temper, cursed and gripped his baton tightly.

Gilbert clenched his fists, ready to fight back if necessary.

The officer raised his hand with all his might.

Then, the sound of someone walking could be heard in the distance.

It was Benjamin, who had finished his painting and was returning home.

Benjamin looked at the situation before him as if observing something inorganic.

A police officer on horseback with a baton raised, apparently about to beat someone, and the village head gripping the horse's reins tightly, apparently ready to charge.

It was a situation that would make anyone fuss and scream, but he said nothing.

He just passed by them without any reaction.

"Tch."

The tense atmosphere dissolved because the painter had passed by the serious situation so nonchalantly.

The situation fizzled out with the appearance of a stranger, and the officer, unable to vent his anger, spat on the roadside.

"I'll let that insolence slide this time. If you act the same way next time, it won't be pleasant, Gilbert Grace."

He fastened the baton back to his waist and turned his horse around.

Gilbert stared intently at the officer's annoying back of the head, then turned away. It was a waste of time to spend on such a person.

He quickly caught up with the painter who had already walked quite a distance.

"Mr. Richter. Thank you."

The painter had no reason to receive that thanks. What was there to be grateful for? He had just gone his way.

So he didn't bother to respond to his words.

Gilbert had something to tell him. About the basement.

Not to tell anyone about what he saw there. Because...

They walked together on the gravel path where grass brushed their ankles.

Benjamin glanced at Gilbert, who continued to follow him even though his business was clearly finished.

He was looking down at the ground with an uncharacteristically anxious expression.

The painter suddenly noticed something familiar protruding from the bag Gilbert was carrying.

It was the gun he had seen in the basement.

"...Mark Richter."

At his words, Gilbert's head snapped up.

"That's the name written on the gun."

"......"

"Are you related to him?"

Gilbert slightly opened his mouth. But no words flowed from his lips.

He bit his lips tightly again and lowered his head.

Related? Of course he was.

Terribly and hatefully related.

A face that couldn't be erased even after ten years had passed. Voice. Name.

The air from back then. The rain and—

"I killed that bastard."

The smell of blood.