Record of the Blood Battle

by Hideyuki Kikuchi

  She stepped forward and picked it up instead. Raising it high, she said, “I shall dispose of him.”

  She walked over to the lord with a gait so smooth it didn’t seem that of an elderly woman. Black smoke and little flames still covered his upper body, but she took aim directly at his heart.

  “Let’s put an end to this now. Farewell, Lord!”

  She drove the stake forward.

  —

  III

  —

  The finely honed tip was caught between iron-like fingers and jerked aside. In the blink of an eye, the old woman was held fast in a man’s arms.

  “Lord Begley?” she cried out in astonishment. The baron hadn’t moved.

  The stake was held horizontally and pressed against the side of the old woman’s throat like a door bolt sliding closed, and a wicked grin formed on a pair of lips, revealing fangs—those of Lord Begley. The lord laughed aloud. Bordering on insane—but most certainly not crazy—his howling laughter shook that world of gloom.

  “Lord Begley, my good man, you were in your right mind all along?”

  “Ah, my friend, I remember you well. Have the years been kind to you, Baron Macula?”

  “I’ve managed to get by. It pleases me to no end to meet you here. Why, I feel like I have a legion of men to support me now.”

  “Ha, ha! As always, you’re a timid man, depending on others. But wait. Before you and I can begin five thousand years of prosperity, I shall rid myself of five millennia of animosity.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Once I’ve torn this woman limb from limb, we shall take this insipid little estate for our own and begin conquering the surrounding area.”

  “Oh, Lord, I don’t think that would be very . . .”

  Eyes ablaze with flaming vengeance shot right through the baron.

  “Do you have some objection?”

  The baron recoiled, saying, “No, not at all. Well, actually, a little bit.”

  “What is it?”

  “I wonder if the lowly humans might not have fairly good reasons for hating us.”

  Lord Begley had nothing to say to that.

  “Don’t get me wrong. What I’m trying to say is—couldn’t both sides let it go already?”

  As the baron was wringing his hands, Lord Begley gazed at him with eyes filled with scorn. “It was five thousand, three hundred long years ago that their kind attacked me while I slept and took me captive. From that day till this, I’ve been their plaything. I, who controlled seventy percent of the northern manors, a toy for the likes of humans! Can you fathom the humiliation of that?”

  “O-of course.”

  “How could you understand? Are you me?”

  “No need to twist my words.”

  “Then keep your unwarranted comments to yourself. For more than five thousand years, I’ve had stakes driven into my limbs, sunlight burning my face, and acid dissolving my flesh and bones just for their amusement. My manors were all burned, reduced to ashes. My daughter, my son, and my retainers were all destroyed. If it were you, what would you do now? Would you make peace with the humans as if nothing at all had happened?”

  “I don’t suppose I could.”

  The old woman’s body twisted and squirmed. “That was because you slaughtered people,” she said. “For no reason at all, you carried off girls from the village to use in cruel experiments, and when their families tried to stop you, they were viciously murdered.”

  “Such is the proper relationship between the Nobility and the human race.”

  The tip of the stake sank into the old woman’s chest, making fresh blood drip from it. She cried out as if the sounds were being crushed from her.

  “That’s not . . . I mean . . .” the baron said in haste. “When you think about it, both sides are to blame, aren’t they? In this case, we need to make some concessions—let’s reach a compromise.”

  “We cannot,” the lord said in a tone so severe it froze the hall. “I’ll hear no more of your interruptions, weakling. First, for the woman—watch as I show her what it really means to tear someone limb from limb.”

  Lord Begley raised the stake. The baron witnessed the death throes of the writhing old woman as she was run through the heart.

  “Arrrrrgh!” echoed a beastly cry of anguish. Lord Begley was trying to adjust his grip on the stake but the Noble never finished the task, with the weapon falling from his trembling fingers. A needle of rough wood stuck through the back of his hand and out through his palm. Eyes gleaming red with malice, Lord Begley turned. He still showed no signs of releasing the old woman.

  Three figures stood there in the gloom. Two were short—a boy and a girl—but the tall one was exquisite. Even in silhouette.

  “Who in blazes are you?” Lord Begley inquired, baring his teeth.

  “D,” the figure said, stepping forward. His right hand reached for the hilt of the longsword that adorned his back.

  Though Lord Begley focused bloodshot eyes on his new foe, his expression warped unexpectedly. “What a strange presence I sense. I know of only one other like it. But that is . . . the great one’s . . .”

  He backed away. Shock colored his unsightly face. His hands fell, drained of strength, and the old woman was dropped then and there.

  “I have heard things. It was . . . from you, Macula . . . And I only laughed. However . . . it was the truth . . . was it?”

  Without making a sound, the vision of beauty came right up to the lord.

  Stooping down, the lord picked up the long stake.

  “Could it be? Could you be his, my lord?”

  He held the stake up over his head with both hands, but it was chopped in half by the Hunter’s sword. The face of the Noble who’d been tortured by humans for five millennia was split down to the chin, and a heartbeat later a horizontal swipe of the blade danced through the air.

  Not even glancing at the body that sprayed a fountain of blood as it thudded to the floor, D went over to the old woman and knelt by her side. The smaller figures—Leda and Piron—rushed over, too. The two had been reunited thanks to D. He had been Leda’s customer back at the bordello—and Piron was with him.

  “Are you okay, lady?”

  At Leda’s query, the old woman opened her eyes and slowly shook her head. “It’s my heart . . . I’m not long for this world, now. What of the Noble?”

  Spying the ash-gray mound of dust spread across the floor, Piron said, “He’s gone.”

  “Really? That’s for the best . . . I really didn’t care for . . . what I did . . . to him.”

  “Is that so?” the baron cried out in surprise.

  “Even if he was a Noble . . . it’s not like he did anything terrible . . . to me. It’s merely that since long before I was born . . . he was in our house . . . And torturing him . . . was my job.”

  “Wow . . .” Leda and Piron mumbled, their expressions dazed.

  “Then why’d this go on for five thousand years?”

  “From animosity . . . Just as he said . . . I was controlled . . . by pure animosity . . . Strangely enough, I didn’t hate him . . . But somehow . . . I did those things . . .”

  The baron heaved a long sigh.

  “Please believe me . . . I . . . wanted to stop . . . But I couldn’t . . . Thinking back on it . . . it was anger over the people he’d killed . . . But that’s over now . . . Now I can rest at last . . . and he can . . . too . . . A grave . . . has been prepared . . . in the garden out back . . . Bury me there . . . and him . . . together.”

  That was all the old woman said before closing her mouth. After a short while, a rasping breath escaped her, a great shudder passed through her body, and the old woman was freed from the cares of the world.

  No one moved. Not a word was said.

  D turned his back to them, saying, “Let’s go.” Whether that was directed at the baron or Leda was unclear.

  The trio was rooted there, unable to do anything, but when they finally did follow after him, the
form of the gorgeous Hunter melted away in the darkness.

  —

  A pair of cyborg horses and an elegant carriage were waiting by the mansion’s foyer. While D was switching off the servoids, Piron and Leda had brought them from the stables.

  Climbing onto one of the steeds and riding out into the light, the baron looked up at the sun and groaned, “Damn, it’s bright. Perhaps brightness is all there is to this world.”

  “The same thing goes for the dark,” Leda spat. Then, in a soft, earnest tone she continued, “Maybe they’re the same. Maybe humans and Nobles are, too.”

  The baron fell silent. As did Piron, and D.

  When they reached the gate, Leda halted the carriage. “We’re going back to Toro. We’ll try to make a living there.”

  “Good journey to you,” the baron said.

  D merely gave them a small nod.

  Pulling a face, Leda stuck her tongue out at the Nobleman. “I hope we meet again some day,” the girl said, looking down at the ground. Her words were directed at D.

  D’s lips moved. Perhaps he’d even smiled.

  “I almost forgot. Here!” Piron cried, reaching under the carriage seat and pulling out something that he threw to the baron. It was his leather satchel, which had been reclaimed from the desert Hunters on the way there.

  “Off we go!” Leda nodded, cracking the reins. Drawn by a pair of horses, the carriage sped off toward town.

  By Leda’s side, Piron—who’d remained silent since they left—stood up and waved one arm with great, sweeping gestures. “See you later, little bald baron and cool dhampir!”

  “Little shit,” the baron cursed, but for some reason his voice was rather weak. It was time to say goodbye.

  “Let’s go,” D urged, and the two of them rode off in the opposite direction.

  “I didn’t mention it, did I?” the baron said stiffly.

  “What?” the hoarse voice inquired.

  The baron ignored it. Perhaps whatever weighed on his soul wouldn’t let him hear it. “Five thousand years ago, Lord Begley went to kidnap the village girls at my request.”

  Perhaps he wanted the Hunter to say something to him. However, there was no response, and the dhampir and the Nobleman went down the road with an endless expanse of blue sky above them and the afternoon light continuing to shine down divinely.

  NOBLEMAN ON THE STAND

  chapter 9

  I

  —

  It started raining the second morning after leaving Toro. Out in the middle of the plains, there was nowhere to take shelter from the rain. They ended up draping the waterproof coats from the saddlebags over their heads and pressing on. Still, when the wind came, the rain slapped their faces and pounded their hands. Dhampirs’ strength sprang from their Noble blood, and it was halved in the rain.

  “Curse you, you blasted imbecile. Couldn’t you have at least listened to a weather forecast?” the baron grumbled, but a malfunction in the weather satellite some three millennia earlier made weather forecasts extremely unreliable. In a world where cloudless skies could turn to driving rain in five minutes’ time, who could possibly predict the weather?

  “Damn it, can’t you do something? If this keeps up, I’ll have no strength left at all in an hour. Do you know what it’s like to be afraid of dissolving in the rain?”

  The baron’s words weren’t mere complaints. Even without being directly exposed to the rain, a Noble out in weather like this would see his biorhythms sink substantially. The core temperature would drop, the muscles would lose stamina, and the leaping and running abilities would be at half their normal level. Therefore, noontime on a rainy day was the best time for hunting the Nobility.

  “Would you just suck it up, already?” the hoarse voice responded, and it too sounded languid. “The rain will stop soon. Besides, in another two hours we’ll be off the plains.”

  “Hmph! That’s if we don’t drown in the saddle before then. Look!”

  Pursing his lips, the Nobleman ejected a stream of water with all the skill of a comedian.

  “Be sure to show ’em that little trick in the courthouse in Zappara. You might be better off trying to get laughs from the jury instead of sympathy.”

  “Oh, shut up, you meddling little ventriloquist.” Surprisingly enough, the baron still thought D was the source of that hoarse voice. “Speaking of which, there’s something I’d like to discuss,” the baron said, rubbing his hands together high in the saddle. “So, if we keep going and you bring me to Zappara, you’ll probably be paid a pittance. What’s more, it seems to me a bond of friendship has taken root in the five days we’ve spent traveling together. I’d like to see both of us come away satisfied. How about it? Would you be willing to let me get away for a cool hundred billion dalas?”

  “What hundred billion dalas?” said the hoarse voice. “You’re a tattered little two-bit Noble. Where are you supposed to get a hundred billion dalas? I bet you’ve got nothing but lint in your pockets.”

  “Those are the balls off a squid, actually,” the Greater Nobleman replied, laughing uproariously at his own attempt at humor. But he immediately glared at D, saying, “That was a joke. Why aren’t you laughing?”

  “You’re something else,” he said in a voice of cold steel. He must’ve been disgusted.

  Nevertheless, the baron seemed satisfied, replying, “Hmm, fair enough. How about your answer, then?”

  “When they’re done chopping your head off, I’ll give you a big, fat kiss on the lips.” This time it was the hoarse voice.

  The baron squirmed in the saddle. “You dolt. Give this some serious consideration. I’m talking about one hundred billion dalas. Tell you what—I’ll make it two hundred billion.”

  “Where have you got that kind of dough?”

  “Right here,” he said, giving his leather satchel a loud slap before wedging it in front of himself again. “All my aces are in here. Be thankful I haven’t broken them out. If I had a mind to, I could escape at any time.”

  “Then go ahead and do it. You’re all talk, Nobleman.”

  What ensued was bickering that almost blotted out the sound of the rain, but it was interrupted by the steely voice saying, “The day after tomorrow, we reach Zappara. That’s where we part company. And not before.”

  “D-d-don’t you want anything? Don’t you realize how beautiful friendship can be? Are you supposed to be a human with Noble blood, or—”

  “Or what?” the hoarse voice inquired, sounding intrigued.

  “No—never mind,” the baron said, hastily covering his mouth. “At any rate, just let me go. Please, let me escape. I don’t want to have my head chopped off.”

  “How about a stake then?” the hoarse voice asked.

  “Waaaaah!” the baron shrieked, having essentially fallen into a panic.

  D just stared at him quietly, but then he suddenly turned his face for a look behind them. The baron quickly turned his gaze that way, too. His Noble blood was at work.

  They could sense several things coming up behind them. Cyborg horses and riders. They could tell from the sound of the rain. There were three of them.

  “What in the world,” the baron said, his voice trembling. And it wasn’t due to the rain. It was on account of the ghastly aura billowing at them from those riders. “What the hell are they?” the baron asked, and then he swallowed hard.

  One of the shadowy figures had come from the rear and was riding right alongside them.

  “Evening,” he said in a gloomy voice. His gender was clear, but his age was masked by the sound of the rain.

  “E-e-e . . .” the baron stammered, only able to get that one sound out. At any rate, he’d apparently intended to respond in kind.

  The first one left. The second pulled up.

  “Evening,” said the rider. Another man.

  “E-e-e . . .”

  The third rode up and asked, “Where you headed?”

  “Zappara,” D replied.

  The rider ha
lted and turned. So did the other two.

  “How . . . frightening,” the third rider said. They could tell now it was a woman’s voice.

  The baron blinked his eyes.

  “To think there’s still anyone in the world with such an air about him—the town of Zappara will be quaking in its boots, I’m sure.”

  Rain. That was the only sound the baron heard. It was frightening. He noticed the horses and riders were growing hazy in the distant depths of the rain.

  Once they’d dissolved completely, the baron slumped forward and wrapped his arms around his steed’s neck, asking, “What was that?” He was physically and emotionally drained.

  “Even rain can’t wipe away the smell of blood and gunpowder,” the hoarse voice said. “Those were warriors. And the kind that specialize in killing, at that.”

  “You told them we were going to Zappara, right?” the baron said, quaking against his horse’s neck. “You don’t mean to tell me they’re gunning for me, do you?”

  “Why, can you think of any reason those killers would be after you?”

  “N-n-no reason at all!”

  “Then don’t be scared,” the hoarse voice jeered. “From what I’ve seen up till now, when it comes to humans’ hatred, five thousand years is a drop in the stinkin’ bucket. Those characters were probably hired by some humans with a bone to pick with you after all these years.”

  “Shiiiit!”

  “Hey, don’t worry about it. Once we’re in Zappara, there’ll be a sheriff around. The courthouse will have guards, too. When the trial gets started, your safety will be assured.”

  “And what about once it’s over?”

  “Don’t worry about that, either. After all, you don’t have a snowball’s chance in hell of being found completely innocent and released back into the light of day. They’ll haul you straight off to jail or your place of execution.”

  “E-e-execution?”

  “Whichever the case, nobody’s gonna lay a hand on you except for the official headsman and his ax. So relax.”