“What proof do you have? Are you in your right mind? Are you not a suspect yourself for the murder of Chancellor Cornelius?”
To which Greylancer countered:
“I come with evidence and witnesses. I am quite sane. The root of the suspicion against me will become clear in the course of this inquiry.”
Then Greylancer’s vassals escorted the OSB captive, still in human form, and two members of the Privy Council, who’d vanished days before, to the witness stand. At once, all color drained out of the accused members’ faces.
After a medical adviser confirmed that the witnesses were not under the influence of drugs, spells, or other method of supernatural compulsion, each of the witnesses had a turn in confirming the conspiracy.
The testimony of the captured OSB, having no reason to lie, proved more effective in corroborating Greylancer’s allegations than those of the two council members.
“In view of these facts, it is evident the current members of the Privy Council have conspired to perpetrate the most heinous of betrayals—to relinquish control of the planet to the OSB.” After concluding in a low but forceful voice that shook not only the chambers but also the Privy Council Ministry, Greylancer called for the immediate sentencing of the traitors.
It was plain to anyone that the plaintiff’s request was justified. Yet when one of the Sub-Council members asked, “Are there any objections?” one of the defendants—Vice-Chancellor Pitaka—offered a surprising rebuttal.
“Lord Greylancer’s accusations in this matter are either all a sham or nothing more than a misunderstanding. No doubt my two colleagues here, much less the OSB, have testified under coercion because they fear for their lives. We are capable of providing ample evidence and testimony to refute the claims made here, but we require several days. But I should think it a waste of time and energy to have to defend ourselves against such preposterous allegations. Nevertheless, these charges, however flimsy, are matters of grave importance that affect the very survival and honor of the Privy Council. I propose, therefore, that our fates be decided by the Ultimate Mind, who has guided us these four thousand years.”
Murmurs of surprise erupted from the Sub-Council and judge advocates. Several nodded their approval.
The presiding members retreated to the inner chambers and returned from their deliberations within a minute. “We would like to approve Vice-Chancellor Pitaka’s proposal. Lord Greylancer, what say you?”
“I shall defer to your judgment.”
Within ten minutes, the Ultimate Mind emerged from an undisclosed location in the bowels of the central government building and entered the chambers unaided.
Though this surrogate of the Sacred Ancestor was a machine comprised of enormous red triangles stood on their points, it exuded a peculiar vitality like that of flesh and blood. “I will hear your statements,” it declared.
After the plaintiff and defendants repeated their claims and statements exactly as before, the Ultimate Mind fell silent.
Then, before a minute passed, it answered, “The plaintiff’s request is denied. I declare the defendants not guilty.”
†
No one dared voice shock or objection. The word of the Sacred Ancestor, even in his surrogate form, was absolute—it was a cardinal rule ingrained in every Noble’s bones.
Certainly not every Noble was capable of immortalizing his name in history. What Greylancer did next, however, would cement his already well-chronicled reputation in the annals of history.
“May I inquire the reason?” he asked calmly.
“That is hardly necessary!” shouted Vice-Chancellor Pitaka.
“That will not be necessary,” said the Ultimate Mind.
“But—”
“Enough, Lord Greylancer,” said the Sub-Council leader, stern. “The Sacred Ancestor’s decision is final.”
The Greater Noble rose to his feet. “I should like to request another ruling. This is a matter that concerns not only the Nobility but also humanity and the fate of this world.”
“A second ruling will change nothing, Lord Greylancer,” the Ultimate Mind answered fairly and evenly.
“I ask the Ultimate Mind to deliberate on another matter,” said Vice-Chancellor Pitaka, his tone triumphant. “We would like the Privy Council to assume control of the Frontier.”
“I see no objection to making it so.”
“Vice-Chancellor Pitaka.” Greylancer seethed with palpable anger. “I see you have tampered with the Ultimate Mind.”
A single wooden spike pierced Greylancer’s neck. It had come from the direction of the Ultimate Mind. “You insult me with your accusation, Lord Greylancer,” said the machine with the imposing shadow. “This council is now concluded. You are dismissed.”
Greylancer pulled the spike from his neck and bit his lip. It was at this moment the warrior vowed to eliminate the members of the Privy Council.
And then the voice added, “This council is declared null and void.”
†
It was a deep voice that resonated across the council chambers. Whence had the voice come? Not one Noble directed his attention toward the Ultimate Mind.
The Nobles all looked off in different directions. Heaven and earth.
Their bodies trembled, a phenomenon brought about by the mysterious voice.
It can’t be…
Would they utter the name that they had only several occasions to utter in a lifetime?
It can’t be…
“Someone has indeed tampered with the Ultimate Mind. Vice-Chancellor Pitaka, perhaps you discovered the operations manual I left behind.”
Such a sublime voice. This was no doubt the voice of a missionary from the depths of space.
“It is as you say,” acknowledged Pitaka, making no attempt to protest.
There was no outcry toward this admission. The Nobles present felt nothing yet sensed the presence of something extraordinary.
The voice continued, seeming to rain down over them from above. “Vice-Chancellor Pitaka, you have acted treacherously against my will to serve your self-interest. Thus the earlier ruling is null and void. The Frontier will remain under the discretionary powers of the overseers, as it always has. With regard to the war against the OSB, so long as the aliens contend that their invasion is the will of their god and believe that it is just, we must not yield an inch. This is my bidding unto you.” The Nobles present bowed their heads in silence. “The rest I leave in your hands. The treachery revealed here today is regrettable. However, the reality before us remains. There is but one path for us to walk.”
“Sacred Ancestor.” It was Greylancer who spoke up. “Whence have you come? And whence will you go?”
There was no answer.
The Nobles recognized that their venerated ancestor was gone. They stared vacantly as if the presence had retreated again to an unknown place, drawn back to the void inside their hearts. Hidden behind their blank faces was a childlike excitement at having laid eyes on the great man.
†
The traitorous members of the Privy Council were executed on the same day. Greylancer left his adjutants to deal with the aftermath and returned to his childhood home.
Laria greeted him at the door.
Greylancer entered the parlor.
Before he was upon his cherished sofa, his limbs froze. Suddenly, he felt enervated, an intense lethargy invading his bones. “Laria…”
Bathed in the moonlight before him, a gas mask covering his nose and mouth, was Brueghel, Laria’s husband.
“Poor Noble, who knew that his stringbean of a brother would be the one to take his life?”
“You stole…this blasted trickery…from Varossa…” said Greylancer through gritted teeth. The smoke screen and time-deceiving incense could both be traced back to Varossa.
“That’s right,” replied Brueghel. “In small portions, over time. I hired others to do my bidding, but perhaps Varossa grew wiser to my deceit.”
“He…protected you…to
the last.”
“He is a loyal retainer, such as he is. I expect he will continue to serve Laria and me, grief-stricken as we will be by your death.”
“Your backers…have all perished…the Investigation Bureau will soon come for you…”
“At which time, I shall ask Varossa to clone me, to act as a decoy. They will assume that they succeeded in destroying me.”
“You intend still…to join with the OSB?”
“Of course. When the OSB conquer this planet, they will hand over full managerial control to me. We have made a pact.”
Brueghel’s hips wobbled as he unsheathed his blade. Such was the skill of a government toad unpracticed in the ways of swordsmanship.
He inched timidly forward, stopped short of Greylancer’s reach, and raised the sword over his head.
In that instant, Greylancer whispered something into the badge on his collar, but Brueghel, too intoxicated by the taste of certain victory, paid no notice.
“Dear Brother, you have always looked down upon my station as civil officer. Perhaps it was you that drove me to conspire with the OSB.”
Brueghel swung the long sword.
The blade traced a path that missed wide of its mark. The sword flew out of his hands and skittered across the glass floor as Brueghel fell over on his back.
An unexpected savior had come to Greylancer’s aid. It was the swordsman Shizam.
“I came because Gallagher is vulnerable to the time-deceiving incense,” said the swordsman, helping the warrior to his feet.
“You…?” said Greylancer, unable to hide his surprise.
“I have been traveling with Gallagher, ever since Lord Mayerling bade me to serve as your retainer.”
“Then why did you not say so in the catacombs of Mayerling Castle?”
“I could not bring myself to serve a master who would think nothing of leaving behind a retainer suffering in agony.”
“Oh? Then why now?”
“I must carry out my master’s orders. As well Gallagher impressed upon me repeatedly that I must not form an opinion by your outward conduct alone.”
“Well said,” said Greylancer and looked down upon his brother-in-law lying at his feet. After hitting his head in the fall, the floor around Brueghel was smeared with brain matter. A peculiar emotion, one distinct from scorn, came across the warrior’s face. Forlornness.
“Brother…finish me…here…” rasped Brueghel as if he were wringing out his last breath. But brain trauma of this sort would not kill a Noble.
“No,” roared Greylancer. “You will be punished under Noble law.”
“Not that…the fate that awaits me is torture at the hands of half-humans. They harbor a deep-rooted hatred for the Nobility and will inflict that hatred upon my body. Brother…I beg for your mercy. Please, kill me now.”
Disregarding his brother-in-law’s entreaties and ignoring his bloody outstretched hand, Greylancer said into his comm, “Take this unpardonable traitor into custody.”
“My sympathies, Lord Greylancer,” said Shizam with a bow.
Before the swordsman could raise his head, an enormous hand shoved him aside. Reeling, Shizam quickly regained his footing and looked up. Greylancer had already vanished in a burst of blinding light.
Brueghel was also gone.
Shizam sent a ferocious glare upward. “A dimensional barrier?” That was the name of the weapon that could confine even immortal Nobles to another dimension for an eternity.
A pale-blue aircraft appeared overhead. Shizam reached for the sword behind his back. He unsheathed the blade and threw it at the enemy in one swift motion. The swordsman watched the sword disappear into the void, but not before cutting a red slash across the aircraft.
In the blink of an eye, the aircraft glowed white-hot, warped into an elongated, twisted shape, and then disappeared like a vision.
Shizam heaved a sigh of relief.
“Who brought me back?” asked Greylancer, suddenly standing next to the swordsman again.
“Lord Greylancer, how did you…?”
“I am armed with all manner of contingencies, thanks to a skilled weaponsmith.” Greylancer glanced down at the ground where Brueghel had lain. “Did the OSB come to save Brueghel or destroy him? Their arrival was a blessing in disguise for Brueghel, whichever the case.” Looking up at the air, Greylancer asked, “Who was it that brought me back? Have you any idea?”
“I’m afraid I do not,” answered Shizam, politely and respectfully. Above him, the vestiges of the brilliant light from whence the OSB came twinkled, then disappeared into the darkness. Then Shizam dropped to one knee and said, “You have saved my life. I shall repay this debt with my life. It would be my honor to serve as your retainer.”
“Do as you wish,” Greylancer grunted. The effects of the time-deceiving incense were beginning to wear off. “Even a plot to seize the whole world can come to naught in one night—such a pity.” Betraying these words, two fangs gleamed from beneath a cynical smile. “We fly for the Frontier tonight. To my territory. To home.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“After me, Shizam. Do not tarry.”
Greylancer strode off toward the Frontier, toward the battleground against the OSB.
The Noble’s path was unerring and true.
AFTERWORD
Writing this novel has been a long-cherished dream.
Ever since the Vampire Hunter D series began, I have yearned to depict D’s world from the perspective of the Noble vampire.
It was only natural, given how the world was created not by humanity, or by D, but by vampires.
In this world, humans are less than slaves—nothing more than livestock in the eyes of the Nobility. Noble vampires, on the other hand, are superior beings. In which case, the protagonist had to be a cold-blooded and arrogant SOB who doesn’t feel an ounce of sympathy for the lowly humans. “Ordinary” humans and “ordinary” vampires are not the stuff of heroes in my book.
This explains why, as I penned this story, Greylancer grew more arrogant toward his Noble compatriots. In fact, he draws a clear line between himself and his brethren, holding only the Sacred Ancestor in veneration. As for the rest of the Nobility, he regards them as nothing more than scum, regardless of rank, profession, intellect, or character.
As much as Greylancer, a military man, is forced to keep his destructive self-righteousness in check, he still manages to inspire fear in those around him. He might explode at any moment. Perhaps the only reason keeping Greylancer at his position as Frontier overseer is that he is always in the thick of the action.
The world is teeming with anti-Nobility groups, Noble haters, beasts and monsters roaming the Frontier, thieves and bandits. No friends or allies. To Greylancer, humans and Nobles alike are all enemies to be slaughtered.
Does that not make him a crazed murderer? Close, but not exactly. In fact, his compatriots hold him in awe, according him the appellation Noble Greylancer because he stoically refuses to allow others to rival him. This is manifested in his sense of duty as overseer to his subjects.
He is bound to protect the human weaklings.
It is Greylancer’s responsibility to defend humanity—beings that a vampire might typically trample on, tear to shreds, and feed upon—from the clutches of monsters, villainous humans, and wayward Nobles. In other words, Greylancer must protect humanity from himself.
Tragedy or comedy?
It doesn’t matter which. Either suits Greylancer just fine.
As Greylancer kills, feeds upon humans, turns savior, feels anger, laughs and cries, I believe readers experience his journey along with him. That is the kind of character the Noble Greylancer is.
—Hideyuki Kikuchi
December 2010,
while watching Dracula (1958)
BONUS:
AN IRREPLACEABLE
EXISTENCE
1
Lord Voyevoda’s request necessitated a trip to the scrap metal yard. Many of the orders I’d rec
eived of late had been troublesome, especially those coming from his lordship. Apparently he was on the battlefield, driving tanks in the armored cavalry.
There were scrap metal yards north and west of the city of Cité, but the one up north tended to yield better finds. The upper class was concentrated in the ghettoes north and south. Although I lived east, the pass issued to me by City Hall afforded me free passage.
I ambled beneath the steel framework towering diagonally over the entrance of the yard and felt my eyes sting.
I squeezed my eyes shut. When I managed to look up, countless plumes were rising up from the cityscape shaped like an inverted minimido into the gray-blue sky. The jagged protrusions comprising the skyline were the famed chimneystacks of Cité. The sky would lose its blue luster in no time.
Why was this scrap metal yard stretching three kilometers square even called a yard at all? It had been a subject of debate since the first metal fragments were cast away here. I believe this place would more accurately be called a dump.
Probably because the first scrap metals discarded here were still strewn about, though they were displayed with some meaning and sentiment.
Others must have followed suit, as the stairs, which took me down a hundred meters to the bottom, were fashioned from steel beams stacked one on top of the next.
I turned right at the junk pile of coils, rusted generators, cracked condensers, and walked a ways past the mounds of obsolete computer motherboards towering on either side of me like mountain ranges, until I spied an inky silhouette in the shadows on the right.
The figure was veiled in haze, so I could not make out its arms or legs. Doubtful that it was a fellow scavenger on the hunt for precious metals, I stopped and waited for him to make the first move. Man or woman? Probably neither. Certainly non-humans were capable of thieving and killing.
As I debated whether to walk past or call out, a blue hand emerged from somewhere about the dark figure’s chest. Its gaudy blue hue served to heighten the theatrical and surreal air. But my curiosity lay in whatever the wiry index finger pointed at.
Noble V: Greylancer Page 18