Prologue: A Hunters Day

rebels hiding within. They found nothing in his home, but caught two guerrilla boys in a neighboring house, and, along with the homeowner, shot them on the spot. Before departing, they ripped up the belly of the young girl of that family with their bayonets.

However, this small young man before his eyes made it difficult for Lucas to associate him with those British soldiers. His features were comely, but his cheeks were sunken and sallow, and his uniform hung loosely on his frame, clearly indicating prolonged hunger. It was not hard to surmise that before fainting, he had attempted to make his way to the cottage seeking help, only to succumb just within reach. Strangely, there was no trace of anguish or despair on his face; one could even say a hint of pride still lingered in his expression.

Lucas hesitated only for a moment before lifting the young man into his arms, turning back towards his home.

He placed the soldier in a chair and brought forth a bowl of warm milk, pouring oats into it and offering it to the person''s lips. The youth quickly regained consciousness, lifting his head to cast a glance at Lucas. No words were spoken as he took the bowl from Lucas'' hands and devoured its contents ravenously. Lucas stood silently to the side, watching as the bowl gradually emptied, before offering the soldier a piece of bread to eat.

On the way back carrying this soldier, Lucas had already discerned that beneath this military attire was a woman. Her red hair, moistened by the foggy dew, clung damply to her forehead, now allowing him a clearer view.

After finishing her meal, she remained watchful, her gaze fixed upon the hunter, reluctant to speak easily.

"You''re Irish, aren''t you?" Lucas spoke first, without waiting for the woman''s response, continuing, "There are bloodstains on your outerwear, yet you bear no wounds."

"Fear not, I''m neither a rebel nor a loyalist. I am but an ordinary hunter," he added.

The woman remained silent, but Lucas could perceive that her wariness had diminished somewhat.

"You just stay hidden away at home?" she abruptly asked. Her voice was rough and husky, bearing little distinction from that of a man, perhaps owing to a habitual imitation.

Lucas arched an eyebrow, casting her a questioning gaze.

"You are a coward," she disdainfully uttered.

Lucas had once hunted bears single-handedly; only a few years ago, on the other side of the Channel, he had also witnessed battlefields drenched in rivers of blood. Perhaps it was just becau