Throng of Heretics

by Hideyuki Kikuchi

  “Then you shall die for nothing!”

  “That ain’t true. I’ll protect you, ma’am. It’s just—well, if I don’t pull it off, I’m sorry.”

  Pikk gripped the dagger. He was no longer afraid. To defend a Noblewoman, he would do battle with a true Noble and an imitation. Though it was a somewhat odd sensation, the boy thought to himself, Sure, why not?

  Just then a hard sound began to ring out sharply. Braylow’s enchanted swords had descended into madness. At the same time, Barry Dawn spun around.

  A black form was bearing down on them from the same direction Pikk and Braylow had come. But how exquisite he was! The wide-brimmed traveler’s hat, the jet-black coat, and the longsword on his back all seemed faintly blurry, no doubt because even the lights were bashful around him. A symphony sprang back to life in Pikk’s head. There was a fanfare that resounded at the dramatic climax—yes, that was what truly suited this young man. Even the two demonic swordsmen had to admit it. Such beauty. It seemed enough to make the fighting spirit of even men such as these melt like lead. This man was entitled to be greeted with symphonies performed by the dead.

  “D,” said Xeno Braylow.

  “This is D?” Barry Dawn groaned.

  Yes—this was D. Not even glancing at Pikk or the countess, the Hunter walked over without fear of the two fiends, an icy sculpture of unearthly beauty. However, his left hand was missing and his complexion was as pale as paraffin. Would D be able to withstand the two unholy swordsmen when they cut loose with the magic swords Flare Soldier, Blue Soldier, and Gray Soldier?

  “I’ll take the child,” D told them in a low voice, a sword gleaming in his hand.

  That was the call to battle. Kicking off the floor as if he were gliding, Barry Dawn swiped at the Hunter. The blow came from directly overhead, and D’s blade shot up to parry it. No, it was actually an attack. Barry Dawn’s body reeled wildly back, and with it the sword that’d been deflected, while the deadly thrust aimed at the former Hunter’s throat made fresh blood spray from him like a mist. However, the foe with the lovely female face didn’t drop, didn’t decay, but rather he jumped back a good ten feet to escape the Vampire Hunter. D’s thrust probably hadn’t been very deep due to the blood he’d lost along with his left hand.

  Making no attempt to pursue Barry Dawn, D turned around. The magic swords of his second foe were no longer rattling together. Holding one blade in each hand, Braylow was slowly raising them high. In his right hand Blue Soldier had its blade slanting to the right, while Gray Soldier in his left dipped out to the left side.

  D closed the dozen feet between them in a single stride. One blade came down from overhead intending to cleave him, the other sweeping from the left side in less than the blink of an eye—and both were stopped in the form of an X.

  Pushing away, D changed his footing. His blade shifted to a forward position, aimed straight at his opponent. But the Hunter’s stance crumbled. The world had seemed to turn upside down. Along with him, Braylow’s blade leaned to the right. And then to the left—and once again the world spun, and D dropped to one knee. It was a second later that his back burst into flames.

  “Take that, Hunter!” Barry Dawn exclaimed. “But as a favor from someone who used to be in the same line of work, I’ll finish you with my blade.”

  Flare Soldier had sprayed D with the blood that could even melt iron, and now the blade was being brought down on D’s head with all Barry Dawn’s might. And though the Hunter should’ve dodged, his body was being held in place by the crossed magic swords.

  In a second that would determine life or death, Barry Dawn swung his enchanted blade to the right. Though the golden dagger Pikk had thrown was struck down with disappointing ease, this gave D enough time to hurl his blade. For Braylow’s concentration had also been broken.

  Whistling as it arced through the air, the stark blade was parried by the pair of crossed swords, but the Hunter’s steel pushed through the scissoring blades to behead Braylow spectacularly.

  Off to the left, Barry Dawn had already leapt into the air. D twisted around. A sword was bearing down on him from overhead. It was too late to dodge or to parry. Black cloth ripped. An anguished cry went up. The former Hunter landed again, his blade in the same position from the blow he’d executed. It was not the swung blade that D was beneath, but rather the arms that gripped it.

  Making a sound like he was going to vomit, Barry Dawn tumbled forward. And in return, D got to his feet. After adjusting the split brim of his traveler’s hat, D glanced over at Barry Dawn. From his foe’s back, in a spot directly behind the heart, there jutted a wooden needle. Narrowly evading Flare Soldier as it came slicing down at him, D had thrust a rough wooden needle through his foe’s heart. The cry of pain had been Barry Dawn’s.

  But how? D hadn’t been holding a needle. Both ends of the wooden needle had been honed and one end of it stuck in the stump of the Hunter’s left arm, transforming it into a deadly weapon.

  “That was awesome, D. Just awesome—I really respect you. I swear, someday I’ll be a Hunter just like you!” the boy exclaimed, his body trembling with excitement and intense emotion. Looking down at Braylow’s headless corpse, he said, “But this guy had a really great parry. Looks like it was no match for your power after all. Serves the bastard right!”

  Saying nothing, D went over to Braylow and opened the front of the Nobleman’s jacket with the tip of his sword. The right side of his chest was horribly caved in.

  “So, he was wounded?” said the boy. “That’s why he wanted blood so bad . . . But this is really something . . . Half his chest is busted in. Ah, it must’ve been that guy!”

  “What guy?”

  Pikk hurriedly told D all about the “failure” they’d encountered in the engine room. D didn’t say anything, and after hearing all that the boy had to say, he turned his gaze to Countess Genevieve, who was down on the floor staring up at him. Pikk spread his arms wide to protect her.

  “No, you can’t kill this lady. She helped me and the little lady a bunch of times. Hell, she even helped your left hand!”

  “And where is it?”

  “Damned if I know. It was with the little lady, but they weren’t where we were supposed to meet up. There was blood all over the place, and the lady here said it was the left hand’s.”

  “Where is the grand duke?” D asked the countess.

  “The laboratory. And I won’t tell you where that is. He’s important to me, after all.”

  D’s eyes gave off an eerie glow. The countess’s expression changed. Here was a young man so fierce he’d lop off her breasts or split her mouth from ear to ear if that’s what it took to loosen her tongue. However, the terrible light left his eyes all too easily. Perhaps he’d recalled the sight of her laying flowers at the graves.

  As D began to quietly walk away, Pikk said, “Wait. I’m going with you!”

  D didn’t even look back. Ever since they’d parted company in the desert, he and the boy had been complete strangers.

  When the Hunter had advanced about fifty yards, a red delta-wing aircraft appeared from the corridor on the left. On spotting D, it halted about twenty feet off the floor. Protruding from the center of the flying machine was the stocky upper body of a middle-aged man.

  “Now this is a surprise,” said the plump man, his eyes going wide. “Who knew any man in the world could be so handsome? I’m afraid just looking at you is making me funny in the head. You’re D, aren’t you? I heard about you from Lord Gillian. They call me the Confessor. Originally the mayor of Krishken hired me to guard his daughter, but then Lord Gillian gave me the kiss, so now I’m in his service. I’m due to meet up with Lord Gillian soon, and now I’ll have a nice souvenir for him. Your head.”

  D’s right hand whipped out. Halfway through the arc it limned; a silvery flash zipped against the side of the flying machine, rebounding with a melodic sound. What then imbedded itself in the floor was a steel bolt.

  “It’s no use,” said t
he Confessor. “This craft may be light, but it’s made of one of the Nobility’s supreme alloys. For all your might, not even you can break it. Now, answer my question.”

  The jeering laughter the pudgy man unleashed from up high halted unexpectedly. Although the Confessor nervously twisted around to scan in every direction, his gaze soon returned to D, but the shadow clinging to his face hadn’t been wiped away completely. As if to erase it, he began his bizarre “confession,” saying, “My name is D. My parents were—”

  Groaning, the Hunter’s airborne foe clutched his chest. Was this due to the strength of D’s psyche? Or had some defensive system guarding his past been activated?

  “This is just—?!” The Confessor’s eyes bugged, and his mouth spat up blood. “It . . . it can’t be . . . How could this . . .”

  The eyes that peered down at D spoke of horror and astonishment that pushed the man to the brink of lunacy.

  “I’m . . . Listen well, humans and Nobles! I . . . I am D, and my parents are . . .”

  Perhaps it was coincidence that the long blade was put against the man’s throat. A slight pull to the right and the Confessor’s throat split open, spraying blood wildly. At the same time the flying machine tilted, and all too quickly it crashed against the floor.

  As the Confessor stained the pilot’s seat with his blood, D walked over to him.

  “It was the scythe . . . His . . . Benelli’s great scythe . . . Benelli . . . means Grim Reaper . . . Said he’d just keep . . . coming . . .”

  Judging from his dazed monologue, the Confessor must’ve really been terrified. He’d probably located that flying machine just to escape the fearsome scythe that was coming for him. But the accursed weapon had been riding on the man’s back.

  Behind D, Pikk called out his name. The boy had followed after the Hunter. Shooting a quick glance that way and confirming that the countess was with him, D said to the Confessor, “If you don’t want to die, tell me that Noblewoman’s secret. I’ll bring you right to the examination room for treatment.”

  The Confessor raised his face. “Help me . . . Please . . .” he said.

  “Where is this so-called laboratory?”

  The Confessor only glanced once at Genevieve. “My name is . . . Genevieve Vasa. I am the wife of Count Cordon Vasa.”

  Pikk had the wind knocked out of him.

  “The laboratory . . . is in a secret location. It doesn’t appear in the blueprints or in any layouts . . . It was constructed as a ‘special car’ . . . that the grand duke and myself . . . and only a few other Nobles can enter.”

  “How do you reach it?”

  D’s tone hadn’t changed at all from the very first question, yet Pikk felt like he’d been dunked headfirst into icy waters.

  Less than a minute later, the Confessor breathed his last. Checking the man’s pupils to be sure that this was the case, the Hunter said, “That’ll do.”

  D started to walk off. His stride was so firm with resolve, it seemed to slice the very air. And as always, he left Pikk and Genevieve behind.

  Harsh fate was bearing down on Xeno Gorshin with its usual stealthy footsteps. After the battle in which they’d lost Benelli, he’d followed Pikk and the others, but he’d lost sight of them. When they’d stopped the train and boarded, Gillian had ordered everyone to split up. Knowing the legend of the Iron Castle, he intended to speak with Grand Duke Drago and make an ally of him, so that he might use the grand duke in his search for Annette. And what a coincidence! The girl was actually on the train. When Gorshin lost sight of her he should’ve sought out Gillian to inform him of such, but he realized his signal whistle would be of no use here. The layout of the train was so vast and complicated the sound would be twisted, reflected, and ultimately absorbed. They were all just children lost in a deep jungle.

  Still not knowing how to call up the schematics, Gorshin wandered through the train, walking in silence down corridors so spacious they seemed like halls. And up ahead he saw that man. He was right in the midst of battle. Nearly ten mechanical people surrounded the naked man, some of them blasting him with flames, some hammering him repeatedly with their iron fists, and still others slashing at him with lengthy blades. It looked more like a slaughter than a fight.

  However, before Gorshin’s eyes one mechanical person after another was destroyed. The man’s body seemed capable of rendering all their attacks ineffectual. Muscles and organs smashed, shot, and rent wide closed and regenerated in an instant. Gorshin himself witnessed an eyeball that’d been shot out swiftly returning to its original state. The man used chains with blocks of stone attached as his weapons. But those primitive arms truly demonstrated devilish power. He swung them around—that alone left the mechanical people exploding or belching flames. In less than a minute the man had reduced them all to twisted scrap metal.

  After the last of them was destroyed, the man began walking in the same direction Gorshin was headed. Instinctively Gorshin tailed him. The Nobleman got the feeling something decisive awaited them.

  After he’d advanced more than a hundred yards, the man swung his right arm to the rear. So great was the speed that even a Noble among Nobles like Gorshin wasn’t able to get completely out of the way. The iron chain and block of stone that flew at the Nobleman with supersonic speed took off the right half of his face. Gorshin immediately played dead. Though the Nobleman knew he’d be finished if his foe dealt him a coup de grace, the man just kept on walking. Gorshin of course started following him once again.

  After they’d walked another three-quarters of a mile, the door to another car appeared. The man vanished just in front of it. The way he disappeared, it was as if he’d been swallowed up by another dimension. By the time Gorshin had confirmed that the nearby door, walls, and floor contained no hidden passageway, he was ready to drop from pain and despair.

  Someone called out his name. Actually, the Nobleman recognized the pair of figures headed his way.

  “Lord Gillian—and Resden?!”

  The Noble who’d lured out Barry Dawn and his compatriots and turned them into vampires calmly walked over to Gorshin and asked him what had happened. Once Gorshin had told him everything, Gillian’s whole face twisted with delight and he said, “So, D, the Krishken girl, and the grand duke are all here—excellent. I shall rid us of the lot of them.”

  The trio went over to the door where the naked man had vanished. Gillian seemed to stroke the space lovingly. After doing so for about a minute, he returned to his normal demeanor. Seeing that sweat was forming on the brow of this Noble among Nobles, Gorshin was shocked. Tremendous mental powers were being called into play.

  “We may enter. I’m going in.”

  As Gillian pressed forward, first the end of his right foot vanished, followed by his leg, his torso, and then his face.

  “Next—you may pass, Quake,” Gillian’s voice said from an area of empty space. It had to have come from the naked man’s vanishing point.

  The rotund man was also swallowed up by thin air.

  Gorshin stepped forward, staggering all the while, but at that very moment a gleam of light shot from the empty space to pierce his heart. Knocked back by the force of the impact, he fell to the floor with an iron stake sticking out of his chest.

  “B-but why, Lord Gillian?”

  His stunned query drew a reply from the empty space.

  “The man you were following is a being on the level of the grand duke or myself. The reason your face hasn’t returned to normal after all this time, purebred Noble though you are, is because he did that to you. Against a man such as that, you would be no more than a hindrance. Rest well. Someday we shall meet again in the next world.”

  A split second before Gorshin turned to dust, the retinas of his decaying eyes were emblazoned with the grinning face of Xeno Gillian poking out of empty space.

  II

  Unlucky was the only way to describe a person who had twice known fear that reached down to the very pit of their heart. Annette was unquestio
nably one such person. As the girl was waiting for Pikk and the countess, a gigantic shadow had filled her field of view in a single heartbeat. The next thing she knew, she was back on that same operating table. And the grand duke was looking down at her, just as before. However, this time she had neither Countess Genevieve nor the left hand to aid her.

  “What are you doing?” Annette asked, surprising herself with how calmly the query came out. She must’ve had nerves of steel.

  “Experiments,” the grand duke replied. Oddly enough, as he looked down at Annette, his eyes were home to a boundless grief.

  “I heard about that from Miss Genevieve. She said you performed certain operations here, trying to make a bridge between mankind and the Nobility. But she said they were fearful experiments.”

  “Indeed.”

  “How long did this go on?”

  “Roughly five thousand years. Would you like to hear how many procedures I performed in that time?”

  “No. Were you successful?”

  “No,” the grand duke responded in a bitter tone.

  For no reason in particular Annette felt a sorely missed emotion sweep through her heart. It was compassion.

  “As far as I know, there was but a single success. And it wasn’t one of ours.”

  “Were your experiments really all that important?” she asked.

  “I believed so.”

  Annette saw the scalpel that gleamed in the grand duke’s right hand. Sweat poured from every inch of her. Though she thought herself composed, her body trembled faintly. And it seemed unlikely to stop.

  “And the great one said so, too. There may well be Nobles who would doubt that. I readily pledged my support. Although I never dreamt it would stretch over so many long, cruel years, I’m fine with that. Someday the great one’s ideal will be realized. The humans subjected to these experiments were glorious stepping stones, I thought.”

  Annette let out a scream. His scalpel had flashed into action. Flesh split open and bright blood gushed from a wound that seemed to smile.