Ch.65Side Story – Avashina, the Last Blood Clan Leader (1)

The water in the pot came to a boil.

The elderly doctor spread a sterilized cloth on a silver tray. His assistant used tongs to pull out instruments from the pot. Two surgical scalpels for incisions. They were thoroughly heated now, but would cool enough to handle in about five minutes.

‘If only their stubborn hearts would cool as well.’

The doctor looked at ‘them.’

The livestock merchant and the rancher sat facing each other in the courtroom, following ancient custom. The rancher had declared that his wife had been carrying on with the livestock merchant, an insult that must be settled by duel, while the livestock merchant had filed a complaint that the rancher wasn’t paying him on time. It was unclear who had first called for the “Blood Judgment.”

What mattered was that they had gone to the village elder—the doctor’s half-brother—and sworn to undergo the “Blood Judgment.”

And now, most of the villagers from both the rancher’s and merchant’s communities were watching from the gallery. By rough count, there were well over fifty people. If one included those murmuring outside the courtroom, there would be even more.

It was a pitiful affair. There was no greater cause here. No sacrifice. No nobility. Just scandal. The doctor disliked that the Count had to preside over such matters. He also disliked that fifty people filled the gallery and another hundred gathered outside the courtroom just to witness someone’s disgraceful behavior in explicit detail.

‘Poor Count.’

The doctor felt sympathy for the Count. Seated in the judge’s chair, the Count already looked tired. He was a man with a youth’s body but a middle-aged appearance, with an old man’s eyes and a boy’s courage. Even when the doctor was young—when he had been caught climbing over someone’s fence and stealing—the Count had worn that same face.

‘Will you live your whole life as the village elder’s bastard? Or would you rather be remembered as a doctor who saves lives? The choice is yours, child.’

The doctor had chosen a new life, and the Count had sponsored him. He studied diligently and returned as a doctor. Though he could have become a successful physician in London, Dublin, or even Amsterdam, he returned to his hometown and his half-brother’s side to serve the Count.

The Count remained unchanged from then until now. It was the doctor and his half-brother who had aged. The Count might have looked the same even when the doctor’s father was a child.

It was certainly strange. But so far, no one had questioned it. The Count governed his lands wisely. When foreign invaders came, he fought at the forefront. In years of plenty, he stored grain; in years of famine, he opened the storehouses. He helped those who were wronged or treated unjustly and even reduced taxes during difficult times.

Yet he knew the territory he governed as well as a farmer knows his garden. Even the Tsar himself showed little interest in this land, but not the Count.

But change was coming.

It wasn’t just this village. In all five villages under the Count’s rule, change was occurring. It was a change not entirely welcome from a ruler’s perspective. There was an unspoken concern behind the Count’s decision to bring all his children with him. Two boys growing from youth to manhood. Two girls transitioning from young ladies to women.

And the youngest, still a little girl, hiding behind the curtain. All five children. When the time came, one of these five would inherit the title of Count—and the position of Blood Elder. A blessing and a curse, a heavy burden. They would sit on that cold stone chair, preserved in eternal youth, mourning as they watched their siblings beautifully wither away.

The Count wanted to leave all his children human if possible. As he had done until now. Such was the nature of the Blood Elder’s position.

‘Someday I must pass it on.’

The Count revisited a thought he had had hundreds, thousands of times before.

‘But not today.’

The Count looked at the doctor. The elderly doctor, who had been gazing fondly at the Count’s well-raised children, suddenly remembered himself and checked his watch. Six minutes had passed, and the scalpels had already cooled.

“Ahem. Hmm. We are ready, Count.”

The Count nodded gracefully. The village elder rose and went through the final confirmation procedure.

“Rancher Volkov. Livestock merchant Sidorov. I ask you both one last time. Have you been informed of the procedures and consequences of the Blood Judgment?”

Both men answered, “Yes.”

“And still you insist on receiving the Blood Judgment?”

Though the elder’s eyes reflected anger that seemed to say, “Stop this shameful behavior, please,” neither of the young men budged. Both affirmed their intention to proceed.

The Count nodded.

The doctor’s assistant approached them carrying a silver tray with the two scalpels. Two maids of the Count’s household also moved forward, each carefully holding a tray with a silver cup.

The doctor approached Volkov. The assistant bound the lower part of Volkov’s left shoulder with cloth. The doctor, holding the scalpel, made a slight incision on Volkov’s forearm. He knew how to make a minimal cut without damaging muscle, tendon, or blood vessel. The Count’s maid silently collected the flowing blood in the silver cup. When the cup was filled with about a mouthful, the assistant quickly tended to Volkov’s wound. The same procedure was performed on Sidorov.

The two maids presented the silver cups to the Count. The Count did not take them. Instead, he spread his palms.

“Master of Blood.”

It was time for worship.

Volkov, Sidorov, the village elder, the doctor and his assistant, and all the villagers in the gallery prostrated themselves in reverence. This was fortunate, in a way. People were accustomed to blood, but they couldn’t easily adapt to the sight of blood rising into the air and being swept into the Count’s body. So by bowing down with their heads lowered, they didn’t have to witness such a frightening spectacle.

While prostrated, the doctor slightly turned his head to look at the child behind the curtain. The child had wrapped her face with the curtain. The doctor’s smile deepened. With childlike curiosity, the doctor stole a glance at the Count’s face. Seeing the Count’s frown, he quickly lowered his eyes.

Fortunately, the Count didn’t notice the doctor’s gaze, distracted by annoyance tinged with a drop of sorrow and grief. The memories engraved in Volkov’s and Sidorov’s blood became one with the Count. The Count carefully compared and contrasted the two men’s memories, aligning their chronology. The facts were clear. What the Count couldn’t understand was why these two had gone this far.

He had always prided himself on governing this land in a way that left people wanting for nothing. Yet people still desired to have more and to take more. This tendency had grown stronger over time. Eventually, they came to prioritize gain “at any cost.”

In the past, merely suggesting a visit to the Count would resolve all matters. But now people entrusted judgment to the Count rather than understanding and accepting each other. The Count disliked this change. He wanted everyone to live as free farmers, not as serfs.

Yet people seemed to want to become voluntary slaves in some respects.

It couldn’t be helped. Philosophical issues could be postponed for later. Resolving to focus only on the matter at hand, the Count declared:

“Please, everyone be seated.”

A low, solemn voice. Following the Count’s command, everyone rose and sat.

“Before rendering judgment, I wish to say two things. First, there seems to be a tendency lately to take the Blood Judgment too lightly. In the past, a matter of this degree would have been resolved within the village itself. Yet you insisted on bringing it here. This gives me no pleasure whatsoever.”

The Count paused and observed the audience’s reaction. Everyone had lowered their eyes with guilty expressions.

“In the past, people valued the process of listening to each other, adjusting opinions, and reaching conclusions together. But nowadays, there seems to be a tendency to consider such processes troublesome and unnecessary. Rather than listening to each other, you immediately seek to rely on authority? Volkov, Sidorov, if you find my judgment unsatisfactory, do you plan to visit the Tsar’s palace next?”

The two men couldn’t raise their heads. They just looked down at the ground with reddened faces. The Count struck the armrest of his unadorned stone chair with his palm.

“Therefore, I am compelled to make my second point. Since you did not value each other, your lives will receive treatment of the same degree. Have you truly forgotten the words to love your neighbor as yourself? You find it difficult and troublesome to even accept your own bodies! To my eyes, this matter seems simple enough for even a child to judge. So, I will seek counsel for this judgment from my children.”

The Count rose from his stone chair. Four children gathered around him. The child behind the curtain only peeked out with her eyes, still concealing herself.

“Ahem.”

At the Count’s throat-clearing, the maids coaxed and soothed the child behind the curtain. With silver hair reaching her waist, white skin contrasting with dark eyes, and cheeks flushed red, the child stood beside the Count. Though her body kept shrinking back, her eyes sparkled with curiosity—the youngest child.

This wasn’t the first time the Count had seen such behavior, but he resolved to have a word with his youngest that evening. She was no longer a very small child. She had reached the age to learn about manners and proper conduct.

The Count gently placed his hand on each child’s forehead. The blood memories the Count had absorbed were now transmitted to the children.

The eldest son and second son nodded vigorously as if they understood everything, and the eldest and second daughters showed similar reactions. But the youngest fidgeted, twisting the hem of her dress with her fingers.

‘Who does this child take after?’

He wasn’t like this. Neither was the Countess who had given birth to his five children. If anything, his wife, who remained human, had a more choleric temperament than himself, the Blood Elder. Looking at his wife’s relatives or his own bloodline, there was no one like this child.

Not that there was anything wrong with her. She was simply too different. This child was completely unlike the others. That’s why both the Count and Countess worried whenever they looked at their youngest—not about her, but about how they should teach her.

As if trying to shake off these complicated thoughts, the Count shook his head. Then he declared to the public:

“Volkov and Sidorov, from this moment forward, you must willingly accept the judgment you will receive from the public. I believe you already know, but I will state it clearly. You have offered your blood to me, and I have read the memories engraved in that blood to examine and organize the facts, which I will now present before you all.

Everyone here will be advocate, prosecutor, and judge in this matter. Your affairs will become known to all the world and to me. Even to my five children. So please, I ask you to learn shame and lessons from hearing what you have done through my children’s mouths. Starting with my eldest son.”

The eldest son spoke in a clear voice:

“Rancher Volkov has not paid Livestock Merchant Sidorov for two bulls and three cows for three months. It is true that Volkov’s wife committed adultery with Sidorov, but the affair began only a month ago. Volkov’s claim that he withheld payment to Sidorov because of his wife’s affair is either deliberately or intentionally confusing the dates.”

Volkov’s face turned burning red. Next was the eldest daughter. She spoke with a firm voice:

“Volkov deliberately stayed away from home, and Sidorov was compelled to visit his house frequently. Volkov’s wife endured Sidorov’s irritation and anger with embarrassment, but soon they became confidants sharing their concerns. Their adultery is clear, but I believe Volkov’s irresponsibility was the background cause.”

Snickers erupted among the audience. The second son and daughter also spoke of Volkov’s irresponsibility, and Volkov’s face now turned almost purple, while Sidorov raised his head triumphantly.

The Count sighed softly and pointed to his youngest. Sure enough, the youngest hid behind her eldest sister. She peeked out slightly.

“Sidorov is bad.”

Someone made a sound like “Ack!” They must have bitten their tongue. The Count gave a hollow laugh, but gazed fondly at the youngest’s cherry-like lips as she carefully articulated her words from behind her sister.

“Sidorov sold bad livestock. They looked healthy on the outside, but they all had diseases. A disease that affects livestock, um, er, that…”

The youngest’s face flushed bright red. Thinking that this was when an adult should step in, the Count spoke for her:

“Venereal disease.”

“Yes! That’s it. That… thing. So the disease spread to Volkov’s cattle too. The cows miscarried and the bulls fell ill. That’s why Volkov had to tend to his livestock and be away from home often, but he never thought there might be a problem with Sidorov’s animals. Because…”

The youngest’s finger pointed at Sidorov.

“That man tried several times to spread disease to Volkov’s livestock. For quite some time.”

Sidorov’s eyes nearly popped out. The youngest continued without hesitation:

“He would place feed near the fence and make them contact infected animals. When livestock can’t, um, er, make love… they can’t have babies, and then people have to buy more animals from him.”

The youngest’s final words weren’t clearly audible as she had completely hidden behind her sister. But the Count looked at her with satisfaction.

“That’s why Volkov was often away from home. However, Sidorov falling in love with Volkov’s wife wasn’t his intention. Volkov didn’t know why his animals were sick, and not knowing how to express his anger, he took it out on his wife…”

A sobbing sound and someone collapsing was heard. It was probably Volkov’s wife. The Count smiled slightly and tapped the stone chair a couple of times with his finger.

The smile disappeared from the Count’s face. The same was true for everyone in the courtroom.

“Now, Mr. Sidorov. It’s time for you to defend yourself.”