Record of the Blood Battle

by Hideyuki Kikuchi

  Even as the second one stood enraptured, he showed signs of poring over his memories. He quickly shrugged his shoulders.

  “Next?”

  “Next?”

  “Next?”

  Not one of them could give him a single name.

  “There are those who have a right to hate, and those who don’t,” D told them stoically. “All you have is anger and spite.”

  There in the gallery, even the sound of breathing had been stilled.

  Presently, the judge announced, “We find the defendant guilty. He’s sentenced to one hundred thousand years in the Capital’s antimatter prison—however, I grant a stay of five years’ time before he begins serving his sentence.”

  There was surprisingly little booing from the spectator gallery.

  “We’ve got trouble here,” the hoarse voice murmured. “If they’d thrown the book at him, that would’ve been one thing, but letting him off with a light sentence is practically inviting this mob to lynch him instead. Watch for it any minute now.”

  —

  It was an hour after the trial’s ending that the paperwork was finished and they exited the courthouse.

  When the baron got into the carriage, the sheriff slapped him on the shoulder and said to him, “I don’t know whether you’ve got the best luck in the world or the worst.”

  The carriage started off. In addition to D and the baron, it carried the sheriff and two guards. Two more guards were up on the coachman’s perch.

  Before five seconds had passed, D said, “Town’s in the opposite direction.”

  “What?” the sheriff exclaimed as he got to his feet, and through the window beside him the upside-down face of one of the guards peeked in. “What’s going on?” he asked the man.

  “It’s weird. The horses are doing their own thing—they won’t mind us at all.”

  The sheriff was about to say something when D laid his hand on the lawman’s shoulder, stopping him.

  “What’s up ahead?” the Hunter asked the guard.

  “Not a thing,” the man replied flatly.

  The guard pulled himself back up.

  Gazing out the window, the sheriff said, “The horses are under a spell. Should we bail out? The Noble would probably be fine.”

  “Let’s just keep going.”

  Listening to this exchange, the baron went pale. “What are you talking about? I’m gonna make a jump for it!”

  “Get out and they’ll still come after you,” D said. “We’ve got to finish this.”

  “No way!”

  The baron was still ready to leap out, but D pulled him back, forced him to sit, and took a seat right next to him.

  After about ten minutes, the carriage came to a halt. They were out in the middle of the wasteland. Yellow earth spread without end in all directions.

  Sticking his head out the window, the sheriff asked, “See anything?”

  There was no reply.

  Going over to the door, D told them, “Stay in here,” then left like a black wind.

  He climbed up into the coachmen’s perch. The two guards had breathed their last. There wasn’t a mark on them. He put his left hand to their faces.

  “Poison,” the hoarse voice told him. “But there’s no sign they were eating or drinking anything, and I don’t think there’s much chance both of them just died of a drug overdose. Where’d it come from?”

  At that point the carriage door opened and the sheriff and guards stepped out. Guns at the ready, they scanned all around them.

  “Stop!”

  Even before D’s shout, the sheriff had looked in front of the carriage, cried out in surprise, and readied his gun.

  It was at that moment that three figures fell to earth about thirty feet away. Before anyone knew it, the trio had fallen from the sky to smash into the ground feet first—only they didn’t. Stopping dead about a foot from the surface, the trio slowly settled on the ground. The sheriff looked up, but there was no sign of any kind of flying machine. The only conceivable answer was that at least one of the three had the ability to fly.

  “Freeze,” the sheriff ordered them. The guards had their guns at the ready, too.

  “I’m Gerard,” the man in the half coat said by way of introduction. He had a green muffler covering his mouth.

  “I’m Puff,” said the man in a commonplace shirt and pants, a rugged-looking machete and its sheath tucked through his belt.

  “I’m Vinne,” said the girl, who had a crimson scarf wound about her head. With her supple limbs and lovely countenance, it really seemed a pity she was there in the company of those sandy, bearded men. “Killing’s our job,” she continued. “Give us the Noble, and no harm will come to you.”

  The sheriff wagged his pistol from side to side. “Can’t do that. I’m gonna give you to the count of three to put your hands behind your heads and lie face down on the ground. If not, we’ll shoot you dead. One—”

  The three of them looked at each other. Vinne’s lips curled. She’d smiled.

  “Two . . .”

  Gerard reached for his muffler with his right hand.

  “Three!”

  The sheriff and the guards concentrated their gunfire on their three opponents.

  “They’re gone!”

  Staring at the spot where the trio had been, the sheriff and the guards found their field of vision violently rocked when they turned around. Even before they had time to claw at their own throats, there was bright blood spilling from their mouths, and then their convulsing bodies fell at length on the ground.

  Someone else writhed as well—the baron.

  From behind him, a stark wooden needle was launched toward the sky. D was certain he’d seen the trio about thirty feet in the air. However, they suddenly disappeared, and the needle of unfinished wood shot through empty space and out of sight.

  A wind blew down on him from overhead. Caught in it, the baron spat up blood again. There was poison mixed in that wind.

  Covering his mouth, D ran. He sensed a presence behind him. Making a backward thrust with his blade, he heard a harsh clang and deflected something. Limning a parabola, the dagger flew off, disappearing somewhere into the wasteland.

  The Hunter looked over his shoulder. The trio stood behind him on the ground. One of them moved with unholy speed, one expelled poison, and one used the wind to direct it at people. As he twisted around, D let the needles fly.

  The trio vanished, and at the same time male and female screams rang out behind D. Tangled together, the three of them fell. Judging from the way the group was balanced, Vinne was the flier. Stark wooden needles protruded from her chest and abdomen.

  Overhead or behind his back, their movements had always been within thirty feet—and D had read the pattern.

  Vinne fell. Streams of blood lent their vivid hue to the wasteland.

  That left two.

  D charged forward, all the while hearing the baron wailing about how he was dying.

  Gerard’s lips were pursed. There was a howl as a vortex formed.

  Being spun like a top, the Hunter was lifted into the air. Every bone in his body creaked. Ribs broke, and internal organs ruptured. With fresh blood spraying from his mouth and nose, D hurled his needles. Each and every one of them was blown back to pierce the Hunter.

  “What’s wrong, kid? This is where we’ll bury that Noble,” Gerard laughed. The Hunter could even make out his Adam’s apple. But suddenly, his voice changed. A different wind struck his face. He closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, he saw something. A shadowy form like a black bat was charging straight at him, tearing through his deadly air turbulence in the process. He saw D, the hem of his coat spread like a pair of unholy wings. All he could do was stand there, stock still, as the Hunter’s blade sank into his head, splitting it down to the chin.

  The third—Puff—let out a scream and started to flee. He’d only run about ten feet before a rough wooden needle penetrated the nape of his neck.

  After
watching Puff thud to the ground, D slumped forward, spitting blood. The turbulence Gerard had thrown at him had carried Puff’s poison. Bracing his longsword against the ground, D drew a succession of ragged breaths.

  “This is . . . some serious . . . poison,” the hoarse voice said. “It’s even got me . . . messed up . . . That Puff character . . . must’ve studied . . . the Nobility’s . . . pharmacology.”

  A face surfaced in the palm of his left hand. It was contorted with pain.

  “But we’ll . . . get over it . . . eventually. Just hang in there . . . about an hour. Lie down . . . and rest . . .”

  “Afraid not,” said the Hunter.

  “Wha . . .”

  D stood up straight. A streak, thin as a silk thread, shot past his eye. Rain. It instantly became a downpour that left a haze of raindrops bouncing off him.

  “Ooooh, that’s just rubbing salt in the wound. At times like this, having someone put us out of our misery wouldn’t be half bad!”

  “Every once in a while, you hit the nail on the head.”

  “Oh, don’t flatter me!” the hoarse voice said, laughing feebly. “Better hurry up and get the whereabouts of the Sacred Ancestor from the baron. I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”

  Pulling his blade out of the ground, D turned toward the baron.

  Pretentious laughter overlapped with the sound of the rain.

  “Bwahahaaa!”

  —

  IV

  —

  The baron was on his feet. When had he recuperated from the poison? Not even D could recover from it immediately.

  D’s gaze was drawn to the leather satchel the Nobleman carried in his right hand. It should’ve been back in the sheriff’s office, where the Hunter had left it.

  “You little bastard . . . How on earth did you . . . ?”

  In response to the groans of the hoarse voice, the baron chortled once more. “Who would’ve thought he would show himself at this of all times? D, you still don’t measure up to him yet. At any rate, I’m free. See you around!”

  Gossamer sheets of rain swallowed up the diminutive form. D tried to go after him, but for some reason his legs wouldn’t move.

  “Ah, yes—his whereabouts. It was quite some time ago, but I heard he was in the castle ruins section of the Capital. I suppose that’s better than not knowing anything. Be careful when you go there. I’m off to get myself a bath and the very finest Tokai wine. And I’ll thank you to never cross my path again. Bwaahaaahaaahaaaa!”

  And then the baron’s laughter and all other signs of him abruptly disappeared.

  Turning his head slightly to the right, D focused his gaze into the depths of the rain. A number of presences were coming. Before long, they formed a line in front of D.

  “You okay, brother?” The inquiry came from Mikado, high on the back of his steed. “We came to check up on you. Me and Delilah won the bet.”

  “I’m glad,” a female voice said, and she meant it from the bottom of her heart.

  “Truth is, I was hoping I’d lose,” Tong said, as if to make amends.

  “You lying sack of shit!” Enba shot back at him good-naturedly.

  “State your business,” said D.

  There was no chance the group being out there was a coincidence. Since mention had been made of checking up on him, they undoubtedly knew about the trio and what they’d planned to do.

  “Oh, yeah—the baron must’ve just disappeared,” Mikado said, sounding somewhat displeased. “That was thanks to the power of a certain great individual. And we happened to run into that same individual on our way out here just now.”

  “Oh, really?” the hoarse, rain-soaked voice gasped from the vicinity of D’s left hand.

  “Sorry, D, but we took the folks in town up on an offer, too. They asked us to get rid of the baron and you,” Delilah said in a voice that sounded like she was on the brink of tears.

  “But, you know, we want to do this strictly fair and square. No freakin’ tricks, we told ’em,” Enba added.

  “The folks in town went and hired that damned trio, too. We were there first, but the mayor told us to settle the order between us, and we ended up with the second turn,” said Mikado. “Getting back to what I mentioned a moment ago. We were given power by the Great One. Enough power to take you. In return, the Great One got to take the baron with him.”

  “Then you won’t be getting paid,” said D.

  It was the baron the townsfolk really wanted.

  “We considered that, but we decided we’d pass on a little income in favor of power that would stay with us. Now we could slay greater dragons, or even the toughest Nobles.”

  “So, you’re turning on your employers?”

  “Don’t put it like that,” Galil said, sounding mortified.

  “Come at me, then,” D said in a low tone that froze the rain. Even the sound of the raindrops died out. His ghastly aura had cowed it.

  “This might sound self-serving, but we at least want to do this fair and square,” Mikado said, and the shadowy figures in the rain nodded.

  The hoarse voice said, “Hope you don’t regret it.”

  “We’ll meet again.”

  Mikado turned around.

  “Later,” said Tong.

  “See you,” Galil said.

  “Farewell,” said what must’ve been Delilah.

  “So long, bro.”

  Enba vanished. The thunder of their hoofbeats took the longest time to fade into the sounds of the rain. All that remained was death and D.

  White clouds scampered around the blue sky like kittens. After bringing the bodies of the sheriff and the guards back to the lawman’s office, the Hunter left matters in the hands of the judge, who was still there. A doctor was called in, and three days later it was decided that it’d all gone as D said. Word of the baron’s disappearance had already spread through the town, and the people seemed to stab at D with their gazes as he left Zappara.

  After about thirty minutes, there was a black forest up ahead. The road was sucked right into the trees. Without warning, D gave a kick to his steed’s flanks. He galloped on, the wind swirling in his wake.

  The sunlight became dappled as it fell through the trees. A shadowy figure dropped from above. Silvery gleams crossed right above D’s head. A sharp ting! followed the small figure that was swallowed by the treetops to the left.

  Swinging like a pendulum from a rope tied to a tree on the opposite side of the road, his opponent had apparently enjoyed some success. With blood still spurting from his right side, D had already galloped another hundred yards. The shadowy figure’s weapons had been tegaki claws, and the bright blood dripping from the treetops where his opponent had vanished told D something. The lone blow he’d dealt the man had fatally wounded him.

  From up ahead, a horse and rider were approaching. More than his height, it was the rider’s buckteeth that made an impression. However, crossing the blades of the longswords he held in either hand, he was the very picture of heroism.

  D’s sword gleamed in his hand. The instant they passed each other, there was a hard clang! like a scream from D’s blade as it broke in two.

  A red trail streaming from him, D galloped off.

  Galil’s horse stopped. The broken blade was stuck through the right side of its neck and out the left. With his horse halted, the warrior turned and looked back at D.

  “That was mighty fine . . . Godspeed to you . . . brother.”

  And then the second assassin fell from his steed and moved no more.

  Blood still poured from the Hunter’s right side.

  “It’s pretty deep—but whatever, I’ll have it closed up in no time,” his left hand said.

  “Leave it.”

  “What?”

  “The next one’s coming.”

  Suddenly, his cyborg horse reared up like a vengeful god. The blob that’d appeared to one side of him had cut across the road just in front of the beast. The way D kept from being thrown without rely
ing on the reins, using just his legs to grip the barrel of his steed and stay on, was a testimony to the power of those legs.

  Above him, a sphere about six and a half feet in diameter flew down. From the ground it’d scurried up a nearby bole, then leapt out of the top of that tree. It made a gleaming thrust that D barely dodged, his left shoulder being split open in the process.

  Perhaps D was prepared for as much, because he didn’t even flinch, striking at the sphere with his broken sword, but the blade sank in only to spring back ineffectually.

  Bouncing back onto the road, the sphere made a rubbery twang! and turned into Tong with a sword gripped in one hand.

  “Did you think I was just a plain ol’ fatty, D? Forgive me, but I’ve gotta do this.”

  Puffing up, he became the sphere again—and then a red line streaked right into his throat. With ridiculous ease, it poked out again through the top of his head. The same rubbery ball of flesh that’d deflected his blade couldn’t stop a stake.

  “That’s something else,” the hoarse voice murmured from the horse’s back, sounding a little scared.

  “Looks can be deceiving, eh?” D replied as he gazed down at Tong rolling back and forth. For some reason, the fat man was smiling.

  “Not him. I’m talking about you. I was wondering what you were gonna use for a weapon . . .”

  The thing jammed through Tong’s throat was covered with both his blood and D’s own. The Hunter had stuck his hand into the wound in his side and snapped something off. The stark stake was one of D’s ribs.

  “Two to go,” the hoarse voice said rather wearily, “and here they are now!”

  At the far end of the road, two riders waited on their steeds. A lithe figure turned straight toward the Hunter. It was Delilah. D had already experienced her skill with the sword she held in her right hand. As they passed each other, would she attack him from a safe distance? Could D guard against an unseen sword with a ten-foot reach in his present condition? What’s more, Delilah had been given power by the Great One. D, on the other hand, had only a broken sword for a weapon.

  Each galloped toward the other in a cloud of dust until they were close enough to collide. A second later, Delilah and her steed hit him. A blade flashed out.