But there was none of that. Before they were out of the forest again, there were thousands or tens of thousands of times when it wouldn’t have been at all strange for monsters to have attacked them, but those monsters never descended, as if they’d lost their nerve. Not only that, but from stands of trees where branches spread so wide they kept any beam of light from passing, fear and horror had emanated. They knew why. There could be only one reason. Just before they’d entered the forest, D had sat down in the driver’s seat. That was it. That alone had been enough to leave the ravenous, bloodthirsty monsters cowering, as if they’d been laid low by the Hunter’s handsome visage.

It was sometime after they emerged from the forest that Gordo let the word “incredible” slip from his mouth.

“I’m not scared of no monsters, but I can’t scare the damned things either. To do that so easily . . .” Juke said, his admiration showing what was really to be feared.

Up in the driver’s seat, D had the reins in his hands, his profile glowing palely even in the sunlight. They had to wonder if perhaps the supernatural creatures had remained silent because they were captivated by his beauty.

As noon approached, Gordo whispered to Juke, “Hey, aren’t the horses crazy fast? I’m positive they’re going nearly twice the usual speed.”

In addition to their fearsome bodyguard, they were joined on this trip by a lovely cook and songstress. Where transport-party meals were concerned, time and nutrition were the first considerations. If it was reasonably filling while providing sufficient nutrients and calories and could be done quickly enough to not keep them off the road too long, then the taste and appearance were, respectively, secondary and tertiary concerns. But in Rosaria’s pale and dainty hands, their meals became something else entirely. On seeing the food laid out on the table, the men’s eyes went wide, and they couldn’t even sit down.

“What are you doing?” a hoarse voice called out teasingly from where D leaned back against the wagon.

“Sh-shut your trap!” Gordo shouted, his face reddening. “You and your funny voices. H-how are we supposed to eat this f-f-food.⁷”

“Oh, is there some problem?” Rosaria said, bringing her hand to her mouth as if she’d done something wrong. The rifleman began to quake.

Looking at each other, the two men opened the folded pieces of cloth on the table and tied them around their necks. They tied them so tightly they looked like baby bibs.

“What’s your problem? Oh, my little baby, cant have you slobbering all over yourself now ...”

Just as they were about to come to blows, a sweet yet strangely stately cry struck both men full in the face and a hand slammed down on the table.

“Be quiet! I won’t have any commotion at mealtime! The next time you do this, you’ll go without!”

Certain situations arise that call for certain people. In this situation, that person was Rosaria.

“Okay,” Sergei said, following suit, and then the two of them began noisily working their cutlery.

“Are you dead set against this?” the matriarch asked the last insurgent. Her tone was gentle to the very end.

“W-well, of course I am. You won’t get me to cave. Out on the Frontier, we’ve got our own way of doing things,” he retorted, taking a rebellious stance.

As Gordo trembled, his mouth and nose twisted, and the other man told him, “Okay. Well, we’ll make something fit for you to eat. Have a seat.”

Juke quickly cleared away the knife and fork and colorful plate from before Gordo.

“This is for you, too,” he said, giving him a raw egg in a bowl. It was followed by a head of cabbage, whole bulbs of garlic, and potatoes with the skins still on.

Gordo was too old for this sort of nonsense, but now his dander was up, too. Treating the slab of bacon like it was a steak, he sliced off a thick piece and put it in his mouth, then clawed a chunk out of the cabbage and stuffed that in as well.

As he was going great guns, his colleague beside him commented, “Serves him right.” “Yeah. This is how civilized folks live. Oh, I almost forgot—what would you say to offering him a lemon?”

As the pair continued to harass him in this fashion, Gordo finally exploded. Having pulled off the apron he was using as a bib, he threw it at Juke and Sergei, shouting, “You traitors. Being won over by a little slip of a girl. Get ready to take what you got coming.” The pair looked at each other.

“Getting so worked up over a simple meal. I never wanna wind up one of those people.”

“How right you are, Juke,” Sergei replied, taking a piece of steak dripping with gravy and chewing it noisily.

“It’s not often you see a spread like this on the Frontier. There’s no way I could pass up tasting it.”

“You goddamn pretty boy—always acting like you’re from another world. But what you’re doing is no different from those thugs right there. Oh, this burns my britches!”

“In that case, why don’t you have some, too?” the Hunter said, pushing aside the plate of bacon and setting a steaming bowl of soup in its place.

As he grunted unintelligibly, the original plates were rearranged and Rosaria went so far as to personally wrap the napkin around his neck. There was nothing Gordo could do, and the next thing he knew he was holding a knife and a fork. On putting a piece of the steak in his mouth, the man got a different look in his eyes.

Seeing that this was no act, Rosaria inquired concernedly, “Does it taste okay?”

Giving no answer, Gordo swallowed what he had in his mouth and stared at his plate without moving a muscle. The gaze of his two colleagues—and that of D—was trained on his massive form.

“Don’t you like it?” Rosaria asked dolefully and, as expected, he still didn’t reply.

With a disappointed expression, he somewhat bashfully cut another piece of steak and put it in his mouth. After devouring the whole thing, he asked, “Is supper gonna be more of the same?”

“No. I’m sorry; this was just something I wanted to try. Next time, it’ll be back to the usual."

Snorting, Gordo turned away dejectedly and said, “Hold off till tomorrow on doing that.”

That night at their campsite, Juke muttered in a tone that was entirely too loud, “Damned if we won’t be there by tomorrow afternoon!”

“Seems when there’s a looker in the driver’s seat, even the horses go that extra mile,” Gordo said.

A short while earlier he’d been hanging around the back of the wagons and Juke, who was lying down, had asked him what he was thinking about. “Tonight’s menu,” he’d replied, only to be met with a glare. That meal had since been finished and the night had begun to grow deeper, so it was now time to decide who would stand watch this evening.

“That’d be setting a bad precedent,” Juke said, so they drew straws and Gordo lost.

Transporters had to get an early start. Juke and Sergei hastened to their beds while Gordo and D remained outside.

Watch duty consisted of circling the wagon a number of times and making sure the fire didn’t die out. Around the middle of the

night the understandably tired Gordo sat down by the campfire, poured a cup of coffee from what was over the embers, and began to drink it. The moon was so bright and pale it seemed to glow with its own light, and the wind that blew from the depths of the forest carried the baying of wolves.

“Sure,” D said, uncharacteristically taking the cup and downing the steaming-hot contents without another word.

“You gulped the whole thing down in one shot?” Gordo said, his eyes wide with amazement. “Sure as I live, you dhampirs are mighty different. I’m stunned. You know, I hear Nobility can drink molten lava and still be smiling just as pretty as you please, but is that really true?”

“Why would a dhampir wanna be a Hunter of all things? That’s like killing your own, in a manner of speaking.”

“Yeah, they give me the creeps. OP Juke likes to fight, so it’s his nature to respect someone when he hears they’re tough, but I just see things the way they really are. I don’t care if they hunt the Nobility; I don’t care what they do. Dhampirs are half Noble, and there’s no denying that. In other words, they’re half monster. You think someone like that can be trusted?”

Grimacing, Gordo said, “I’m begging you, knock if off with the ventriloquism. If you’ve gotta use a different voice, make it a sexy female one ...”

The man’s unreasonable demand dwindled and was swallowed by the darkness. A lovely singing voice had rung out in the night air from nowhere in particular.

No one had ever seen the source of those sad, sweet voices that flowed through the midnight air. The men they lured into leaving the land of the living were always found as withered corpses the next morning. However, whatever it was that they saw in their final seconds, the dead always wore smiles of supreme bliss. Fortunately, all that was needed to resist the unholy singers who tempted those who traveled by land or sea was nothing more than earplugs. At present, experienced travelers were able to pass the night in peace, enraptured by the faint song echoing in the depths of ears plugged with cloth or paper.

However, what this pair heard wasn’t the song of an unholy creature. Rosaria was standing in front of the door to the living quarters.

D was gazing at the girl who sang out in the moonlight. Gordo— and Juke and Sergei, who’d both poked their heads out of the open door—listened intently.

Her song finished, Rosaria gave a natural reaction to the applause she drew. Surprise flushed the girl’s cheeks. Going over by the campfire as if taking flight, she crinkled her brow and said, “Dear me, were you listening?”

“You’re something else. On top of your cooking, you had another weapon tucked away in your arsenal, did you ? ” Gordo said, sounding thoroughly enchanted. “Would you take a request next?”

Rosaria’s arched eyebrows got Gordo to hold his tongue, after which he said in a strangely pensive tone, “No, you’re right about that. It ain’t right to speak ill of someone’s father, sure enough.” The campfire crackled—D had thrown a branch on it. The flames transformed the faces of the trio into a stage for dancing shadows. Mournful. Laughing. Angry. Crying.

“My father was a huntsman,” Gordo began. “He was good at it. I thought he’d always be able to take care of me, my mom, and my three brothers and sisters all on his own.”

“We all had a future. It was a rough existence out in the middle of nowhere, but we all dreamed of becoming a huntsman, or marrying one.”

And then one winter’s day a woman had come and begged merely to stay the night. His mother insisted there was something strange about her, but his father thought the winter’s night was too cruel and invited her in.

“But the next day the woman didn’t leave. She said supernatural creatures had attacked her village, separating her from her parents and leaving her on her own. My father told her she should stay until the snow had melted.”

It was the evening of the fifth day that the woman showed her fangs. When Gordo and his father returned from hunting, there was blood spattered all over the house, inside and out, and they heard the screams of his little sister. Bursting into the house, Gordo and his father saw his mother and siblings lying on the floor, their faces frozen in death. The shock was so great that the two of them were locked in a daze when something suddenly slammed down at their feet, sending up a bloody spray. His little sister.

“My father fired right away. It was a gunpowder rifle. The woman was left with only half a face. The left half, I think. But she grinned

with that half and went for my father. Before she could tear his throat open with her claws, my father blew the other half of her face away. And do you think that was the end of it? No, the Hunter here knows different. Even with her whole head missing, the woman didn’t die. Reaching out with both hands, she started prowling around. Lucky for us she didn’t know which way she was headed. I grabbed a stake that was lying in the living room and jabbed it through the woman’s back.”

Gordo’s voice faltered. Apparently the memory remained sharp. Something glittered its way down his suntanned cheeks.

“The woman died. But she didn’t turn to dust, and she didn’t rot away either. She’d moved around by day, too, so she wasn’t no vampire. She was a victim. Bitten but not changed, she played innocent to get into my house, and then wiped out my family. You know, my mother was so kind. My little brother was smart, and my little sister was so sweet. And my father was strong.”

Roughly rubbing at his eyes with the backs of his hands, Gordo spread the fingers of both hands.

“Ever since that, I haven’t been able to handle a blade. See, in the palm of my hand, I can still feel what it was like stabbing into her. If you can’t carve your prey, you can’t be a huntsman. That much was clear, as a man can’t rightly live on the Frontier without being able to use a knife.”

This man who didn’t use blades had chosen a grueling career. Therein lay D’s question.

“Reverse psychology. I figured choosing a line of work where I’d be forced to use knives and swords against monsters might do the trick.”

“And if it doesn’t? What about those who have only you to rely on? Will you be able to pick up a knife when the time comes?”

“If you can’t, your colleagues will die. Then you’ll be a murderer. Don’t think getting yourself killed is the worst that can happen.”

Gordo’s body shook. D’s words had pierced his heart like a blade. “What you’re running away from isn’t blades, it’s fighting with blades. The Frontier doesn’t need anyone who’s going to freeze up in a situation like that. Maybe you should go to the Capital.” Letting out a long sigh, Gordo shook his head. Turning, he looked at Rosaria. His expression was kind.

“Your song got me talking some boring crap. Oh, I didn’t mean that as a complaint. Now I’ve gone and done it. You’re not gonna want to travel with us anymore, eh?”

“That’s not it at all,” Rosaria replied, wiping her eyes. As she’d listened to Gordo’s story, she’d been crying. “I’m sure you’ll get back to normal.”

“Really? Thank you,” Gordo said, smiling brightly. “If I do, I’ll become a huntsman.”

It was at that moment that part of the world was stained blue. The stillness was shattered by a high-pitched sound.

“Hide!” Gordo shouted to Rosaria. “Something tripped the warning sensors,” he cried into the living quarters as he ran to the back of the wagon.

During the night, electromagnetic waves coursed through an iron net that was set up around the wagon to defend against wild animals. A powerful but highly compact dynamo sent three hundred thousand volts of current through the net to fry any foes trying to get inside. Of course, it was of no use against heavily armored attackers or those with skin resistant to electricity. What’s more, from the showers of sparks, it had to be something big this time.

In front of the torn iron netting that was giving off purplish smoke stood D with sword in hand. At the point Gordo had started speaking to Rosaria instead of him, the Hunter had most likely noticed the presence of an intruder. Gordo’s body trembled with embarrassment and with amazement at the young man. “What happened?” he asked, coming to a dead stop from his run. Every inch of D radiated a ghastly aura that seemed to sear the man from head to toe. His blood and bones froze, yet Gordo realized he was catching only the tiniest bit. D’s aura was focused ahead of him—off to the right of Gordo. Though the man strained his eyes, he saw nothing.

An invisible beast1 he thought. No, this isn’t part of their range. They’re always found—

At that moment the world exploded and Gordo shielded his face. A shock wave hit him right in the kisser. The multishot rifle he carried grew strangely heavy. Aside from that, all that remained in the moonlight was the gorgeous Hunter.

“You okay?” he called to Gordo, but the man couldn’t move right away, for he’d noticed that the grass by his feet was matted down. Apparently it was an unseen monstrosity that only returned to its original state in death. And it had fallen without making a sound.

The first thing that became visible was a flow of bluish-green liquid. As it bubbled up like a fountain, around it a paler version of the same color spread, exposing the lines of what had fallen. It was a creature about six and a half feet tall. Although the body on the whole resembled that of a bear, it had no fur and was much slighter in build. The most disturbing part of all was that the head alone was just like a human’s, but that wasn’t what froze Gordo in his tracks. The creature’s body was pointed toward him with both arms reaching out. Each hand had three fingers with claws eight inches long, and those claws were within a yard of his toes. Clearly the creature had decided to go after not D, but Gordo.

From behind them, Sergei and Juke ran up with weapons in hand. Eyeing the beast that’d been killed instantly, one of them cocked an eyebrow and said, “But isn’t that a—”

“It sure is,” Gordo said with a nod. “A joffo dragon. They’re not supposed to be around here. These monsters only live further north—in Gaskell’s domain. Even with all the Nobility’s power, making transparent creatures was no easy task. That’s why he only used them inside his dominion, to strike down invaders. But now it’s the invader.”

“What’s this supposed to mean? Their control mechanisms can’t handle them anymore?” Juke asked, tilting his head.

At Gordo’s query, all eyes turned to D. His clear, deep eyes coolly drew in their gazes—and threatened to suck the very souls from them in the process.

“Tomorrow, you’ll understand when we reach the village of Krakow,” the exquisite Hunter said in the voice of the night. “Get some rest—it’s a long trip. And I believe I’ll stand watch tonight after all.”

D looked him straight in the eye and asked him, “If you’d seen it, would you have shot it?”

“Then you’ll have to wait until tomorrow. It’s all too easy to miss the mark when you haven’t had enough sleep.”

“Yeah, let’s do that, Gordo,” Juke said to him. “Something’s just not right about this area. It’s not like it usually is. More things we have no idea about might show up. Tonight we’ll leave it to D, and then tomorrow we’ll choose a guard for the night again.”

The three men started to walk back to their sleeping quarters. After they’d gone five or ten feet, Gordo turned around, pointed a finger at D, and said, “Don’t ever tell me what to do again. I don’t care if you’re a Vampire Hunter, I don’t care how tough you are—the gloves will come off!”

CHAPTER 7

There was fog early in the morning. The scenery just two or three yards away was enveloped in milky whiteness, so that nothing but outlines were visible. The mist was so heavy, it seemed like you’d hear the droplets fall if you brushed the grass or leaves.

As he pawed at his hair, which at some point had become drenched, Juke muttered in the driver’s seat, “Hell, even rain would be better than this.”

And saying this, he looked over at D, on his right. On horseback, Sergei ran along the left side of the wagon, while Gordo glared all around from atop the loading platform. Rosaria was in the living quarters.

“Thanks to you, no strange beasties have jumped us,” Juke told the Hunter, “but without these cyborg horses and their keen memories, we’d have long since lost our way.”

While there were a great many varieties of cyborg horse, they weren’t that different from ordinary horses. But what transporters found indispensable when hauling cargo was a cyborg horse’s innate ability to remember any road it’d traveled before. As these horses had been acquired out in the sticks, it was unavoidable that they weren’t as durable or sophisticated as those from the Capital, but the crone who’d taken care of them assured the transporters

their sensors were like new and the steeds were equipped with instinctive circuitry that could choose a path even where there was no road to speak of.

Actually, the horses had advanced unerringly even through the heavy fog, but in the last thirty minutes they’d begun to exhibit some strange behavior before finally halting completely.

“That hag sold us some lousy nags! Just you wait. On the return trip, I’m gonna give her a piece of my mind. What was all that talk about them being able to gallop at full speed through a moonless forest without so much as brushing a single leaf?”

As Juke gnashed his teeth, Sergei called over from beside him, “I wonder if it might be due to this fog? It’s so heavy and strangely humid.” Turning his gaze to the left shoulder of his jacket, Juke looked at the analysis plaque that was sewn to it. It was a flat piece of wood covered with a strip of paper that assessed the makeup of the atmosphere.

“It’s okay—it’s just regular mist. No weird components to it.” “Then what’s the deal?”

D said nothing as he took up the reins. The horses whinnied. The reins snapped into action, striking their necks. The horses advanced ever so slightly, then halted.

“They won’t go even for you? Just what the hell’s going on?” Juke said, tilting his head to one side as he looked at the animals. “What, is there something scary up ahead? It couldn’t seriously be worse than you—sorry, no offense intended. The freaking horses just don’t look like they’re spooked.”

“They’re bewildered,” D said. “Because what’s up ahead isn’t where they were supposed to go.”

“You’ve gotta be kidding me.” Juke rubbed his eyes, adding, “I can’t see it too well, but the road keeps right on going. From here it runs straight for the longest time, and even I know where it takes a turn.” “The horses don’t know that.”

Sergei cracked his reins. Then he gave a kick to his horse’s belly. Twice he repeated each of those actions. His horse didn’t move.

“What in the world?” Sergei muttered, but his words overlapped with a rustling in the forest.

The fog scattered in the wind, and Juke and Sergei turned their faces to avoid the gust. It soon abated. And as soon as they felt this happen, a hoarse voice declared, “A road’s been made ready.”

Turning their eyes forward and seeing the path that ran on through a break in the fog, Juke and Sergei looked at each other. Sure enough, there was the road that guided travelers to the village of Krakow.

Two hours later, the group arrived without incident at the stockade fence surrounding the village. In the lookout tower they saw a young man in a yellow shirt holding an old-fashioned gunpowder rifle.

Raising one hand, the man said, “Just a second.” His tone was youthful but coarse. Perhaps moving over to the communications system, the young man stepped back and disappeared from the group’s field of view.

“He should be here by now. Why the hell hasn’t he come over to check us out?” Gordo spat from the roof of the wagon.

Frontier villages never let visitors in without inspecting them first, especially in the case of things like wagons. They couldn’t be sure there weren’t robbers and bandits hiding in the vehicle to get at the wealth of the village.

Five minutes passed—and no one came. There wasn’t even a sign of anybody on the other side of the gates.

After calling out repeatedly, Juke muttered in an entirely different tone, “This is really weird. Did something happen?”

“What, in all of five minutes? The guy in the tower acted like everything was fine,” said Sergei. “Huh?”

D had climbed down from the wagon. Swiftly walking over to the great gates, he placed his left hand against one of them. For some reason, this gave the three men the creeps. D pulled his left hand away, and then took a big step back. Before he’d finished taking a second one, there was a silvery flash. The gates opened naturally.

Without waiting for the group, D pushed against the gates. As they opened easily right down the middle, the village came into view. Beneath the cloudy sky, quiet had settled over the houses and stands of trees.

“Weird,” Juke said, his eyes gleaming. “It’s midday, but there ain’t anyone here. I don’t even hear a single woman or kid.”

“Okay. Pardon us if we leave the checking to you, then. We can’t afford to let any harm come to this wagon.”

Before the man could finish speaking, D whistled softly. The cyborg horse tethered to the wagon tossed its head to free the lightly wrapped reins, and then galloped over to D. Getting into the saddle with a riveting grace, D rode through the gate without so much as a glance at the other men. The eight-inch-thick beam that’d barred the gate had been cleanly cut in two.

It wasn’t a terribly large village. At this hour, it should’ve been filled with people’s voices.

The scents of daytime filled the air. Fresh-baked bread, warm milk and coffee, fruit and vegetable juices, salted beef and pork steaks, the odor of vinegar in salad dressing, freshly ground pepper, white stew with a healthy dash of fennel—at the very least, the village had been alive a few minutes earlier.

To his rear, men and women talked, right behind his horse. D turned. There was no one there. Ahead, there was the laughter of children. He faced forward again—but there was nothing. There was no sign of anyone in the gardens or farmhouses he passed. Spades and sickles lay in the fields. White steam rose from lunchboxes left open ... as if someone had just now opened them.

He was almost to the square when there was the sound of footsteps closing on him from behind. Restless panting became a voice that called out, “D!”

It was Rosaria racing over to him. “I waited for a chance—and then I ran off. I wanna see, too. I hate just waiting around to find out what’s going on.”

Grabbing the pommel, Rosaria was up on the horse’s back in no time. The steed didn’t seem to mind at all.

“Used to it, eh?” Rosaria muttered, wrapping her arms around D’s waist exuberantly, as if it were something she’d always wanted to do.

They soon came to the square. Beneath a cloudy sky and without a single soul, the square had become perfectly still. Nothing was out of the ordinary, and there was no sign of anyone strange. There was simply no one and nothing there. They couldn’t hear anything. But that in itself was most unsettling.

That was the two-story building that stood to the right of the square. Rosaria closed her eyes, and then quickly opened them again.

“I hear people’s voices! You mean to tell me everyone’s hiding in there?”

Not answering her, D got off the horse. Rosaria followed suit D made no move to help her, and Rosaria wanted no such help.

The door to the building wasn’t locked. The instant D opened it— “It stopped,” Rosaria said, the phrase coming from her like a bursting soap bubble. But then she said, “Say, D.”

“I hear voices behind us. There are dozens of people. Talking, pulling wagons, drawing water. So, are they really there?”

Pushing the door open, D entered the meeting house. A dim light illuminated a hall filled with nothing but chairs—here was another empty building. Though the pair looked in every last room, they didn’t encounter a single person.

“What happened to this village?” Rosaria asked in a somewhat unsettled tone.

Not disputing the matter any further, D stepped outside. The village that’d been filled with people ten or so minutes earlier was turning into a monument to chest-tightening horror that threatened to envelop the pair.

“It’s not the same,” Rosaria muttered behind D. From the sound of her voice, you could tell she had goose bumps. “This isn’t the same square as before!”

Under the circumstances, she had no choice but to do as D said. As Rosaria straddled the front of the saddle, an arm in black that was like steel wrapped around her waist. In addition to surprise, Rosaria felt a slight excitement that she couldn’t fight.

“It certainly is odd,” said a hoarse voice from the end of the arm wrapped around her waist, making Rosaria’s body tense. “This is the village of Krakov, not Krakow. It’s Krakov, yet it’s also Krakow.”

“Hmm—then it’s just as I thought,” D said in a low voice, which Rosaria heard through a blissful haze.

“It was on that chip. The Sacred Ancestor gave Gaskell the right to take all his neighboring lands. But there was a condition. The total area of his territory was fixed—in other words, all he could do was shift his domain wherever he liked. People tried to flee the accursed lands, but that became impossible.”

“He’s come back to life.” It was the same thing the hoarse voice had said.

From beyond the palisade that encircled the village, a number of black streaks came flying, painting huge arcs against the backdrop of the sky. Having taken a kick to its belly, the horse galloped like mad. There was the sound of something flying overhead . . . and dropping toward them!

D’s blade carved a horizontal path above her head. Rosaria heard a strange sound as the merciless slash cut the air.

About a foot from the end of the terrified girl’s nose was a jutting black tree branch. The branch was a weapon.

It was a common ploy—the average sorcerer could turn a tree into an attacker easily enough. However, Rosaria was shocked when she realized the branch had come flying from beyond the palisade. And the fence wasn’t protecting a small fort, but rather the entire area that several hundred people called home. In the narrowest part, the community still had to be at least two miles across. Tree branches were striking at them from thousands of yards away.

“Yippee!” the girl exclaimed unconsciously. “Once we’re through there, we’ll be safe!”

At that moment, a tremendous impact struck them—D had activated the boosters. Almost simultaneously, the cyborg horse spun around, dispelling the shock stream. Rosaria held onto D’s arm for all she was worth. Surprisingly enough, she didn’t scream. The steely arm wound about her waist lent her support.

Turning his steed once again to the right, D spotted an obstacle lying across the road. It was a black coffin. Could D halt his steed?

Rather than leap over it, he chose to stop. Forestalled by an ordinary black coffin. Who was inside?

There was a rasping noise. The sound of hinges. With a peerlessly stern gaze trained on it from high in the saddle, the lid of the coffin slowly opened.

There wasn’t just one coffin. The inky black space was vast, unfathomable, and occupied by black shapes.

If the room belonged to anyone, it might’ve been gloom itself. At some point, a figure in black suddenly stood in the middle of the room—or rather, at the center of the coffins. Although it seemed impossible, his head reached as high as the unseen ceiling, and his shoulders were so broad they stretched to the unseen walls. The darkness seemed like an air that seeped from every inch of him.

In their midst, he continued to speak stoically, saying, “I don’t know how formidable this stripling may be, but it was insolent of him to run off with a woman I’d taken as my own. The occupant of that coffin is the least impressive of all those summoned to my domain. If that is enough to stop him, then, dhampir or not, he is nothing great. Or so I would assume.”

“Here I am, back among the living. So, what shall I do now? No, I know this, thanks to the memories bestowed on me by the Sacred Ancestor when I escaped my humiliating death. Well then, off I go. Off to claim that young lady for my clan. You should all take up your posts and wait once the sun has set.”

His black cape billowed out as he began to walk off. Solid as a wall, light as a breeze. As he climbed a spiral staircase that was like a vortex through the darkness, no one heard him mutter, “But why take the girl?”

There were Nobles who could walk about in cloudy weather. Although it wasn’t an astounding phenomenon, Rosaria’s heart was pounding like a steam piston going full blast.

Giving a final creak, the lid finished opening, and darkness like black water choked the coffin right up to the brim. Perhaps the corpse inside it had died by drowning. A shadow packed the occupant’s lungs and belly.

The darkness rose. Moving its head slowly, its movements weren’t those of a dead person who'd been given life, but rather those of a corpse merely imitating life. The darkness didn’t spill out. Instead, it hid its occupant like a robe as he or she rose from the coffin and stepped out onto the ground. Inside, it was still night. The Hunter’s foe was concealed within that night.

Light flashed out, for a sharp blade had erupted from the lower part of the darkness—approximately where the knee would be on a human being. It was about to sever the legs of the cyborg horse D was riding, and then double back for another swipe that would bisect its torso. It slashed—through empty space.

D was in midair, horse and all. A split second before the blade sprang from the darkness, he’d made his steed leap with but a single tug on the reins. However, his mount hadn’t taken even a step back, so the movement was impossible to predict. A gleam zipped after the Hunter. In midair it clashed against D’s sword, ringing out with the most glorious sound and giving off sparks before it bounced back.

The darkness didn’t move. The cyborg horse landed to its rear— if that was even the proper way to describe it—and D flew down from his mount like a black wind.

“Go!” he said, striking the horse on its hindquarters and sending it racing for the gates.

Fifteen feet separated him from the darkness. At this distance, one of them would have to take a leap before either could make an effective strike.

The gleam of light grew longer. Just as it looked as if it would go straight into the left side of the Hunter’s chest, another streak zipped at the right side of his neck.

Effortlessly deflecting the attacks, D kicked off the ground. Made without a sound, the leap seemed to surpass even stillness. Perhaps enthralled by the beauty of it, the darkness—or the person within the darkness—was motionless, as if paralyzed. Like an angry wave crashing home, D’s blade slashed down through it from the top of its head all the way to the crotch. Bright blood exploded like fireworks.

D leapt away. The silver blade that pierced him through the solar plexus and out through the back stuck with him like a curse, stretching to match his movements.

D’s deadly swipe had met with no resistance at all, as if he’d split the darkness itself, but the blade that’d shot from the darkness at the very same instant had dealt him a lethal wound. D retreated, and the blade followed him further still. It twisted wildly, making D convulse. A new blade followed after it. D’s sword met it in midair, locking together with it and stopping it cold.

Making a bizarre sound, the flash of light stopped by D’s shoulder. The tip of the blade had gone into the palm of his left hand ... and into the tiny mouth of the little face that’d popped up on it. Teeth like grains of rice had locked onto the blade. Now D had no way left to defend himself.

As the gleam shot right at him, D moved his head, narrowly avoiding it. A fog of blood erupted from his right cheek.

The darkness disgorged its flashing coup de grace. D made a great spin of his body. All of the dark one’s swords snapped in two, with one of them deflecting the blade headed straight for the Hunter.

As D turned to face the dark one once more, it saw that fresh blood streamed from his cheek to his lips—and for the first time, the surface of the darkness was visibly disturbed. Licking at the

blood around his mouth, stark white fangs poking from his lips, D pulled the blade from his abdomen and hurled it at the darkness. D wasn’t the same person he’d been as the blade he hurled pierced the darkness and left it standing still.

A cry of agony that transcended speech rang through the air, and the dark one staggered. As soon as the shadowy figure collapsed into its coffin, the lid shut. A needle of rough wood pierced the top as it grew clear as glass, leaving the missile stuck in the ground.

“GaskelFs giving it help, eh?” the hoarse voice groaned. “But he won’t raise a hand against you. Of course, that’s a trick he was given by the Sacred Ancestor. But why would he come back to life now? After all, there was nothing on that chip but the program for reviving him.”

Just then, they heard the sound of hoofbeats from two steeds approaching from the rear. It was Juke and Sergei.

As the pair got off their horses and approached him, D told them, “Keep away.” Like the edge of the wind, D’s voice made them stop. His back still to them, he wiped his lips with the back of his left hand. Whether or not the pair knew the reason why he’d stopped them, they halted.

“You all right?” they asked, but as soon as they spoke, they noticed the fresh blood splattered on the ground.

“She vanished. The same thing with the guy from the lookout tower. Everyone in the village did, I bet,” Sergei muttered uneasily as he surveyed their surroundings.

“There’s something funny about this, D,” Juke said, rubbing his left bicep with his right hand. The face of the stouthearted Frontier man was pale with naked fear. “Actually, I can recall visiting this village a number of times—but it’s different. This isn’t Krakow.”

“No, Juke—it’s the village of Krakov,” Sergei corrected him, suddenly adding, “Fog again.”

Arising from no distinct source, a silky white gauze was beginning to shroud the world. In it, the familiar houses looked the same as always and completely different at the same time.

D was no longer looking the other way; he was gazing straight ahead. Into the far reaches of the fog—and the castle that loomed on the side of a rocky mountain that hadn’t existed up until now, jagged as the back of a fire dragon. There was no cause for surprise. After all, this was the domain of General Gaskell. Deep within the haze, devoid of an iota of beauty, towered the foreboding fortress that was Castle Gaskell—the stronghold of a vampire lord second only to the Sacred Ancestor.

The ash gray clouds piled up so heavy and low they nearly touched the ground, and from time to time the purple luminescence became a thin thread stitching heaven and earth together. And each time it did, a section of the ether glowed faintly, the light fading in hue as it spread in the distance, and then vanishing again in no time. Then another section did the same. This time closer.

The light beyond the window gave General Gaskell’s face the pale glow of a saint’s.

Turning, Gaskell said, “Welcome. I’ve been waiting for you.” Luxurious was the only way to describe the reception hall, where no expense had been spared. If an artist or archaeologist from the Capital could see it, they’d cling to the intricate wall carvings and never let go for as long as they lived.

“Such was the agreement. I’m ever so grateful to have been brought back to life,” Baron Schuma said, his tone somewhat sarcastic as he raised the wineglass he held. “So, have the others arrived yet?”

“My apologies. So, when is the party where you introduce us all?” “There won’t be one.”

The baron’s crestfallen reply brought a grin from the general. Baron Schuma wanted to gasp aloud, but he desperately fought it back. When he first saw the general, his height and the breadth of his shoulders had seemed mountainous, but now he was normal size. But as a result, his impact had increased a hundredfold. On the right half of his face was a mask of silvery steel. While battling an expeditionary force from the Capital, he’d become too enamored of the slaughter and failed to notice the coming of dawn, and as a result half of his face was exposed to light shining from between the clouds. Though there was no choice but to read his atrocious nature from the remaining half of his countenance, there was no need to even observe that for long. Just a glance made it perfectly clear. His sharply rising eyes brimmed with malevolence, his nose was curved like an eagle’s beak, and the lips below it were so thick they looked like they alone would be enough to gnaw through bone. The occasionally glimpsed fangs seemed to have enough force to stop a monster in its tracks.

“My esteemed guests won’t be meeting face to face as long as you are in my castle, or even after your goal has been achieved.”

Whether the general noticed that or not, he continued in the same fierce tone, “All of you have been revived and have come here due to promises made in life. Your power must be focused against our foe. However, once that’s been done, what proof do I have that all of you won’t join forces?”

“Don’t tell me that’s wild speculation, Baron,” the general said, his lips twisting to leave his fangs exposed. It would’ve been enough to give a child a heart attack.

Spinning his black cape around, he stretched his right hand toward the window. Lightning flashed again.

“Where did it fall this time? Most likely near the Hunter called D. That’s probably where he is.”

“He’s something else,” the baron said, his expression growing serious. For he had squared off against D.

“There are seven Nobles to face him—that is no small number. Each is exceptionally powerful. And all of them have their sights set on my life, my position, and my property. Don’t look so surprised. If they weren’t so vicious, they’d be of no use to me.”

“Well, you may have something there,” the baron conceded. “But that would mean we’ll have to go against D one at a time.” “Precisely.”

“Forgive me for asking, but has the general ever done battle with that young man?”

“I thought not,” Schuma said, and as he nodded his head, his cold eyes never left Gaskell, piercing him. Before the general could say anything, the baron raised one hand and said, “I know what you’re going to tell me. However, all I wish to say is that having crossed steel with him once gives you an entirely different perspective. If you could sense the will he shows to slaughter, or better yet feel even the breeze off his blade with your fingertips, General, I believe your preconceptions would be wiped clean. If you are truly intent upon destroying him, you should have all of those you’ve summoned to your castle working in concert. Even then, I don’t know whether he would be defeated or not.”

Although the Nobleman thought an objection would hit him like the blast from a bomb, the general fell silent. He then quickly donned a wry grin and stared at the baron. Something cold crept up the baron’s neck.

“If you know the enemy and know yourself, you need not fear the result of a hundred battles. Indeed, I have no way of knowing precisely how strong our foe is.” “This is exactly what I would expect from General Gaskell,” the baron said, but as he bowed respectfully, his heart was filled with fear of his host.

“So, the rain came with the thirtieth, eh? Well, it’s dangerous, but there’s not much we can do about that,” Juke said, his words surviving the roar of the fierce downpour to reach the other two in the tent.

The tent that’d been pitched beside the wagon—which was easily spacious enough to accommodate ten or more people—was of the very latest style, and it set itself up at the pull of a single cord.

“This is a hell of a situation, isn’t it? What’s this ‘drifting domain’ D’s been talking about?”

In reply to Sergei’s question, Gordo said, “I suppose it means his territory can move to and fro. So we strayed into his domain without even knowing it.”

“Then you mean to tell me we can’t get out again? No matter how far we run, his territory will move after us!”

At Gordo’s reply, the eyes of all focused on the tent’s still-open door'—D had gone outside to check the area around the tent. As if in response, they heard another sound echoing out beyond the noisy patter of the rain. Footsteps.

“The wire net’s been strung,” Juke said, his voice tense. “Got juice flowing through it, too. See, that’s what D said to do.”

“Those footsteps—they’re not D’s!” Gordo said, pulling the gun by his side a little closer. The click of the safety releasing rang out unpleasantly loud.

The group closed up the fronts of the plastic raincoats they wore and put up the hoods. Covering them up past the mouth, the suits had pressurized gas cylinders built in to supply them with oxygen. These coats were indispensable when faced with creatures that gave off radiation, or when passing through areas choked with poisonous gases.

As soon as they stepped outside, Juke and Gordo noticed blurry figures off in the rain. There were three of them—and they were staggering closer. Women clad in rags.

Juke tried to draw up a list in his head of all the supernatural creatures that might appear on their route across the Frontier, and then stopped himself. This was General GaskelPs domain. Everything he knew no longer applied.

“Halt!” Juke shouted when the women had come to within twenty or so feet of them.

“Who are you?” Juke asked, drawing a bead on the second and largest of the women. From the air about her, he took it she was their leader.

“Help us!” the foremost woman cried, reaching out with both arms. Waterlogged as she was, the gesture seemed somewhat calculated.

“Sure, we’ll help you all right. Once you’ve been straight with us, that is.”

“We were locked up in that castle—Castle Gaskell. A lot of our friends are still there.”

And as soon as she spoke, the woman swooned. All of the feelings she’d repressed had burst free at once, and the physical and psychological balance she’d barely managed to maintain collapsed completely.

“Okay—show us your throats. We don’t have any proof you girls haven’t been bitten.”

The other two brushed away the hair that clung to their skin and turned first one side of their necks and then the other to the men. The pale flesh of both was free from injury.

“Okay, you check out,” Gordo said with apparent relish. Though he didn’t know exactly who these ladies were, they were young, curvaceous, and particularly attractive, which was wonderful since they didn’t have the mark of the vampire.

“Now, come right in! Don’t be shy!” Gordo told them in a leisurely manner in keeping with his nature.

Not surprisingly, Juke ordered him, “Check out the neck of the one that fell, too.”

“Oh, yeah. That’s right,” Gordo said, quickly going over to the young woman for a look at her throat. “No freaking wounds. She’s okay, I—”

“These are dangerous times. It’s easy enough to hypnotize yourself so you’ll have amnesia or take on a different personality. I’ve even heard you can make fang marks disappear,” he said.

“There’s only one way to find out for sure if someone’s a vampire. And it’s easy, at that.”

Juke’s hand flashed down to his belt, and a second later he pulled out something deep red. A crimson rose.

“This is the result of the latest research in the Capital. It’s just an ordinary flower that blooms all over the place, but if anyone with Noble blood touches it, it’s supposed to wilt in seconds.”

Bending over the fallen woman, Juke set the flower down on the nape of her neck.

It couldn’t have taken even three seconds for the crimson petals to lose their hue and wither away.

In his hand, Juke gripped a steel knife with a blade more than a foot long. As he bent over once more, he used the motion to bring down the knife at the same time.

The pale hand that shot up from below caught hold of his wrist— it was the young lady, who’d flipped over faster than the eye could follow. Her slanting eyes gave off a malevolent blood light, a pair of fangs protruded from her vermilion lips . . . and her pretty face had become that of a veritable demon.

Agony twisted Juke’s features, and from the wrist up the limb she clutched turned a deep purple.

If you get into a fight with a Noble, run. Failing that, don’t let them catch you—this saying was a perfect testimony to the brute strength they possessed. They could tear the limbs off a human in the span of a breath.

“Keep your eyes on the women!” Juke yelled back, swinging the gunpowder rifle in his left hand toward his own right hand.

A roar shook the heavens, and an orange gout of flame blew away the right hand—of the woman.

Juke took a massive leap back, the gun in his left hand bellowing once more. The woman had bounded as if the pain of her right hand meant nothing, but then her head blew apart, scattering contents the same hue as those of a watermelon.

Wielding a rifle with a serious kick with just his left hand and still hitting her square in the head would’ve been a difficult feat for even an expert marksman. Juke must’ve trained till his hands bled.

“How about those two?” Juke said, his expression distorted by pain as he brought his gun to bear on the remaining women.

“Come here. Scratch that—Sergei!” Juke called out, his eyes trained all the while on the women who looked frozen with fright.

Poking his head from the tent, Sergei too had a gun pointed at the visitors. Having read the situation from inside the tent was quite an accomplishment.

“Don’t take your eyes off these women. Gordo, there are some red capsules in the pouch on the back of my belt. Right near the middle. Take two and crack ’em open with your nails.”

Gordo swiftly went behind the other man and opened the flap on the pouch on his belt—it was crammed full of capsules and glass ampoules large and small. He soon located the crimson capsules. Pressing his finger down on one end of them, he pulled. Each capsule was transformed into a crimson rose. Apparently they’d undergone some manner of compression.

Without a word, Gordo threw them at the two women. Both struck them near the waist before falling. And as they fell, they decayed.

Baring their fangs, the woman attacked. Three guns belched fire. With blood streaming from where their heads had been, the women’s bodies dropped in the grass. The verdure changed to vermilion.

“Their heads were taken off. Look at that!” Sergei said, pointing to where the women’s corpses were collapsing in on themselves.

“That’ll work!” he declared with a nod before adding, “Hey, Juke—what do you wanna do?”

But when Gordo turned to look, the other man’s eyes were lower than he’d expected. He raced over to Juke, who was now on his knees.

Juke’s right hand was black and swollen. The cause was immediately apparent. The fingers of another hand were digging into his wrist—those of the woman’s severed limb.

“Goddamn freak!” Gordo spat, pulling the machete from his boot. With movements far more meticulous than would be expected from such a crude weapon, he chopped off the woman’s fingers. Though the hand fell to the ground, the fingers wouldn’t let go.

“She’s a persistent bitch, ain’t she?” Gordo said, wiping the sweat from his brow.

“Would you let me handle this?” Sergei said, having silently observed the situation up until now. He had a look in his eyes like he was watching something freakish.

“I read something in a book. This is what they call ‘the nails of the dead.’ Once they dig into someone, they won’t let go until that person’s dead.”

“Can’t we try something?” Juke asked this time. His complexion was nearly ashen.

“Hey, wouldn’t it just be quicker to cut his arm off?” Gordo asked, leaning forward. It might’ve sounded absurd, but the code of the Frontier said that losing an arm was preferable to dying.

“If all goes well, we can get through this without taking your arm off,” Sergei replied, but his expression seemed somewhat lacking in confidence.

Ignoring him, Juke said, “You always have been the scholarly one, haven’t you? I don’t know if you’re cut out for doctoring, but do what you can. Don’t leave me with one arm.” “Understood. Just relax,” Sergei told him, his chest puffing. Now he was ready, too.

It was just after they’d carried Juke into the tent that D came back. Sergei explained the situation.

“Good enough,” D said, deciding to stand back and watch what could only be described as a questionable operation.

“D—you’ve gotta know something about these ‘nails of the dead,’ too. From what I’ve seen, this guy’s a complete piker. I haven’t a clue whether trusting him to do this is the right thing to do or not. Tell me what to do.”

“That’s only right,” Juke called out, as if to soothe his colleague from where he was strapped down to the table. “Just you wait and see. Hell, I’ll be better in no time. I’ve got a good doctor here.” And after he’d spoken he inquired, “Is this Gaskell’s territory after all?”

“So the area will be crawling with monsters he released. Damn it all!” Gordo said, slapping his gun.

But Sergei told him, “No, actually there should hardly be any.” “How come?” Gordo snarled.

“He’s right,” D said softly. “Gaskell hated monsters. It seems that when creatures the other Nobles had spawned wandered into his territory, he slew them mercilessly, and then sent their remains back to their masters. The reason his battle against the Capital was such a lonely one was because he had no allies.”

“What a piece of work. So, you mean to tell me there were some who were even hated by their fellow Nobles?” Gordo said, tilting his head to one side.

The general consensus was that the Nobility had prided itself on a monolithic unity.

“But just now—” Gordo began, going on to relate the tale of the vampire women.

“If they were humanoid in shape, that was a different matter. Especially if they were female.”

“Say what? So, you mean to tell me he’s just a homy bastard?” “Could be,” D said. Because it came in his usual tone, Gordo and Sergei couldn’t hold in their laughter, and even Juke grinned wryly on the table.

“No, it’s a fact,” Sergei said as he began laying the contents of his own personal medical kit out on the table. “The more you look at General Gaskell, the more you see what a unique individual he was. Actually, when they take a survey of those studying the ancient Nobility, he always comes in second for ‘Noble of interest,’ with third place not even coming close. And that’s not all. In the category of‘Noble you’d most like to meet’ he also comes in second every time. Incidentally, there isn’t even a third place for that one. No one even wants to see any other Nobility.”

“Second place with a bullet, eh? Who got first?” Juke inquired in a low tone. It was immediately apparent he was fighting back pain.

Trying to keep his own expression from looking strained, Sergei answered, “The Sacred Ancestor in both cases.”

Seeming to accept that, Juke said, “I might’ve known. But he went to war with the Capital, which acted on the Sacred Ancestor’s will. Were they on bad terms or something?”

“Then those worthless books belong in the trash,” Gordo spat. Just then, an unpleasant sound escaped Juke’s throat and his entire body went into convulsions.

“Damn—‘the poison of the dead’ has reached his heart. It’s going too fast,” Sergei said, worrying his lip.

“Shut up! ” Sergei shouted, his eyes closed. Quickly opening them, he pulled two bottles out of his medicine case, took a high-pressure injector out of the autoclave, and filled it with liquid from both bottles. The swift and steady movements of his hands left Gordo gazing at his profile in amazement. Without even a momentary pause Sergei pressed the tip of a drug-filled syringe into the vein in Juke’s left arm, and less than two seconds after the high-pressure piston went into action the agony drained from the man’s face. His sharp, shallow breaths quickly returned to normal.

Bringing away the hand that’d been checking the man’s pulse, Sergei let out a deep breath and said, “That should hold him for the time being.” Apparently the breath wasn’t one of relief. “However, since it’s reached his heart, there’s nothing more I can do for him. So—”

As his colleague was about to sink into a sea of his own distress, Gordo hurled his rage at him like a boulder. “Then wouldn’t we have been better off taking his arm off from the start? Well?”

Sergei gave a firm shake of his head. “At that point, it wouldn’t have mattered. But the poison spreading that fast—that was my mistake.”

“If we could all get away with calling everything a mistake, we wouldn’t need lawmen!” Gordo said, recalling an old saying. “So, what did you plan on doing? We lose even one man now and we’ll be in a world of trouble. There’s a ton of folks out there waiting for us to deliver our goods.”

“There’s a kind of herb that has the same components as the antidote for the poison of the dead. If we could get hold of some—• but at this rate, Juke might only last a day.”

“It’s in the middle of the inner courtyard at Gaskell’s castle.” Gordo’s eyes bugged out.

“Sorry, but you two will have to look after Juke. I’ll go get it,” said Sergei.

“Oh, my!” a voice from the vicinity of D’s left hand exclaimed, but no one noticed.

“Are you an idiot or something? Just how in the hell do you plan on tackling the second most popular Noble? You’re not a reporter from the Capital going up there for an interview, you know!”

“You’ll just lose another man,” D said, his words drawing the eyes of both men.

“Rosaria’s also at Gaskell’s castle. If I get the herb for the antidote and destroy Gaskell, that’ll be the end of all of this.”

Though the turbaned man was astonished, Sergei’s face was suffused with joy. “That’s right—we’ve got D here. The greatest Vampire Hunter on the whole Frontier!”

Juke still wore an intense expression on his face as he said, “You gotta . . . save the girl. . . and me, too . . . I’m begging you ... In payment . . . I’ll give you my full wages from this run . . . How about it?”

And having been invested with their full trust, the Hunter said, “I’ve got one whole day, till noon tomorrow—but you two may have the harder part of this.”

Because many of the Nobility’s castles were based on those from Europe in the Middle Ages, the lay of the land and placement of the defenses could largely be determined by reading old plans and picture scrolls. During the millennia'spanning Human-Noble War, the human side had been served best during its daytime assaults by three-dimensional schematics created by analyzing those medieval strongholds. Years later, they were printed in a cheap paperback edition and distributed across the whole Frontier, and D kept a copy of this volume in his saddlebags.

Soon after he’d left the tent the rain had abated, but flashes of lightning occasionally lent the leaden sky a bluish tint.

When he took the book out and was about to flip through its pages, the hoarse voice needled him, saying, “GaskelPs castle ain’t in there. That’s one strange man, all right. Never attended any gatherings of the Nobility, never called any either, just kept above it all. Maybe that was why the Sacred Ancestor took a shine to him. GaskelPs eccentric behavior was most likely the Sacred Ancestor’s—”

Even without blueprints, the source of the hoarse voice apparently knew something.

The answer came quickly: “It’s no use. Its defenses were tight as a drum. No doubt they still are.”

Saying nothing, D tugged on the reins. His cyborg horse advanced through a bottleneck in the rocky mountains.

“So, you’re going right up to the front door after all? You’re a reckless cuss. That’s precisely what Gaskell wants!”

However, contrary to the left hand’s expectations, not a single attack came from the mountain fortress that loomed beneath the dark clouds. Had the general not taken notice, or was he simply going to draw them inside before tearing into them?

Through a world of thunder and lightning that would give pause even to one possessing greater-than-average courage, a young man of unearthly beauty rode in silence on his steed. The road remained a shabby, rock-strewn mess, but the way the Hunter handled his mount, he’d undoubtedly reach the castle in a quarter of the usual time—or in about two hours.

The interior of the castle was swimming in unrest. D’s approach was being transmitted via countless holographs and three-dimensional monitors to the guests who’d been called there that day.

While some innocently expressed their admiration, others expressed more violent views.

“He came to us all alone? This stripling is far too overconfident. I need no assistance. I shall tear him to ribbons and feed his entrails to the crows!”

Not surprisingly, in all of the conversations no one remained a voice of moderation, though one person did suggest, “Shall I go out and test him a bit before he arrives here?”

“Correct, milord. Why, this stripling has no more to offer than his good looks—though he is truly gorgeous. The very notion of him being a Hunter is ridiculous. He may be good, but he can’t be any more than a young upstart who’s slain two or three bumpkin Nobility. Once I’ve torn off one of his arms, he’s bound to scamper away with his tail between his legs.”

That was the name of the person in the darkness who’d fled from his battle with D.

“Well, that was Gillis. I, Mehmet, won’t allow such a shocking spectacle to be made of myself. I should like your permission to go toy with him a bit. Thanks to you, General, we’re able to walk in the sunlight, but the Noble blood that courses through him should leave him reluctant to do battle by day.”

“It isn’t my power that allows you to walk in the light of day,” the general spat. “But by the look of things, it is the power of his own blood that allows him to do so. Grand Duke Mehmet, wait here patiently for his arrival. Though he’s hardly a match for you, there’s no need to get flustered about this. He’s a strange young man.” Grand Duke Mehmet didn’t conceal the snicker in his voice as he said, “The great General Gaskell. Was it only two centuries ago that we trembled at your reputation?”

“General,” a different voice called out. That of a woman . .. and surely she was lovely and young. A heavenly beauty. “Allow Grand Duke Mehmet to go.”

Her voice, which had what some might call a supple ring to it, hinted at thorns that would make anyone’s eyes go wide.

“Madame Laurencin, is it?” General Gaskell said, his voice carrying a trace of fear. “I don’t know about that.”

“General, you couldn’t possibly be afraid of that young man, could you?” Madame Laurencin said, her voice carrying cool laughter.

“Don’t be ridiculous. In my lifetime, there was no end to the number of fools who tried to get into this castle and take my head. Although I spotted all of them well before the fact, I never let any of them be killed before they reached the castle. Each and every one was invited into the forecourt, where they were treated to my own special brand of hospitality. Not one of them made it in any further. That is the way I do things. And I will hear no objections to it.”

His declaration was firm. Every one of the voices opted for silence. After confirming as much, the general said, “Madame Laurencin, I have a request for you, my good lady.”

“Oh, me? It’s an honor, milord. Simply say the word,” she replied in a voice that made it easy to picture how lovely she’d look with

“I’ve abducted a certain young lady. One of those whom the lowly humans refer to as a victim. I should like you to take charge of her.”

“The fact of the matter is, I myself don’t fully understand why it is that I took the girl.”

This conversation was of the utmost secrecy and didn’t reach the ears of anyone aside from the two of them.

“You told me yourself but a few hours ago that you would make her an addition to your clan, General.”

“My intent was to make her an addition—it would seem.” Madame Laurencin’s voice fell silent for a while. “So, you brought her to this castle without even knowing why?” she finally asked.

“At first, I thought it was to restrict D’s movements. However, it seems that such is not the case.”

“I say this to you alone, milady. Why was I brought back to life?” Silence descended on a universe of amazement. The general had just stated quite plainly that all of his actions were guided by memories the Sacred Ancestor had imparted to him.

“What might that be?” After a brief pause, the Noblewoman continued, “How incredible. Could he really be so formidable?” Her amazement was tinged with just a hint of rapture.

There was no need for D to halt his horse when he reached the castle gates. Studded with black hobnails, the great iron doors made an unspoken threat that things would only get worse as

they split down the middle and swung open. Not hesitating in the slightest, D rode in.

“Impressive,” said the female voice that rang out as the gates shut themselves behind D and the Hunter continued on into the center of the forecourt garden.

While no expense had been spared, there wasn’t a trace of the medieval castle garden that had served as its model. Enormous trees had merely been planted haphazardly, turf had been laid, and a cobblestone path put through it, giving it a certain bluntness. It was clear at a glance: This was the castle of a soldier. More than anything, what caught the viewer’s eye were the fanglike castle walls, the countless arrow slits and loopholes for guns, the prism sights of heat rays concealed in innocuous'looking statues of beasts, and the murderous intent of wind-pressure sensors standing in a far'too'insistent gale.

“My name is Madame Laurencin. I’m one of those who were called here,” she said, her voice like a blossom—a blossom made of ice. “General Gaskell intended to meet you himself, but I managed to coax him into allowing me a taste of you first. Therefore, if you wish to go any further, you shall have to slay me first. The young lady you seek is in my custody.”

“Where is she?” D asked as he looked up at the sky, which had begun to take on a richer blue.

“On the top floor of the eastern tower—for what it’s worth. Getting to those stairs will prove no easy task. Not the sort of thing a lowly Hunter of Nobility could achieve as long as he lived.” Saying nothing, D continued forward. Here and there he spied the paths that led from the spacious forecourt to the various gardens in different parts of the castle.

“This was all for naught,” Madame Laurencin sneered. “Lasers, strike him down.”

D advanced mutely. The blue pendant on his chest was giving off a dazzling light.

“What’s wrong? Shoot him!” the Noblewoman cried, her voice full of surprise and anger. But it quickly became a spiteful laugh. “It would seem our machines are malfunctioning. In that case, how does this suit you?”

Suddenly, the scene in the forecourt shifted. The location of the trees and path remained the same, but everything was tinged vermilion. The ground and the castle walls were all coated with fresh blood—in fact, the ground couldn’t even be seen. Mounds of countless corpses filled D’s surroundings. The remains were those of fallen soldiers wearing helmets and armor and carrying longswords and chemical pistols. How many days had passed since the lifeblood had flowed from those bodies with their chests gouged, throats split, or heads torn off?

A maddening stench filled the forecourt. Those corpses at the bottom of the heap had already putrefied, the eyeballs rolling out on strings of goo and insects working the flesh free from the bones—it seemed that even the blue sky overhead would be corrupted by this rank scene, with its foul miasma and eye-watering stink.

But there were still some who would describe this tableau as beautiful, due solely to the presence of the young man in black astride his steed. All the ugliness and brutality of death was erased by D’s good looks. Before this young man, would death itself not blush?

The dead and their blood began to lose their color unexpectedly. As they lost their shape and hue, the stone walls and sculptures of the present became visible right through them, and in no time the scene was that of the garden where D had started.

“You possess a mysterious power,” Madame Laurencin remarked. This time her tone was much livelier and the direction was clear.

D’s face rose slightly. Thirty feet remained until the gate leading to the central courtyard. Atop the gatehouse, a lovely woman in a long white gown was looking down at him. Naturally, her visage was elegantly beautiful, but her skin in particular was every bit as stark white and smooth as her dress. Between fingers wrapped in long white gloves, a delicate pipe crafted from ivory let off swirls of purplish tobacco smoke.

From the black-gloved hand that gripped the reins, a voice whispered, “This Noblewoman was destroyed three thousand years ago! How interesting. She was so wicked and cruel, the Sacred Ancestor himself presided over her trial before carving her heart out. Looks like nothing but rebels have gathered here.”

“It would seem that the source of your power lies in that pendant and your left hand,” the woman said, grinning as if she’d found him out. From between her vermilion lips, there poked a pair of pearly fangs.

D lowered his eyes as if the woman didn’t interest him at all. Not an ugly hag like you.

Perhaps this was how Madame Laurencin took it, because her demeanor changed. Her long pipe turned toward D, and then a cloud of purplish smoke whooshed from it. In a matter of seconds it became a white fog that spread about six feet from D, engulfing the rider and his steed. The cloud was dense, more like smoke than fog. Only someone with D’s eyes would’ve caught the glittering specks of light dancing within it as it drew closer.

“Needles!” the Hunter’s left hand said in a tense tone, but D had already leapt from the saddle.

Behind him, his horse whinnied. Though the body of the steed actually looked rather beautiful flecked with the glittering particles, their gleam turned to crimson and the horse cried out once before falling on its side. Its artificial hide lost its color, wrinkles covered it, and it was ultimately fated to shrivel up like a mummy. The swarm of minute needles had drained the cyborg horse of its fluids like a school of piranhas.

“That door won’t open for anyone but the general,” Madame Laurencin jeered from overhead. “And I’ll have you know that all the technology in his castle was the Sacred Ancestor’s very own—oh!”

Letting out a gasp of astonishment, the Noblewoman launched herself into the air. She was a lovely white blossom in human form. As Madame Laurencin landed, she watched the deadly smoke and needles disappear through the doorway.

From a nearby stand of trees there appeared a white carriage shaped like a swan, and it halted beside the Noblewoman. It was drawn by a team of four black horses. Their manes glistened in the midday sun.

“Does he think I’d let him get away? This man has got the better of my deadly smoke and loving needles—but I’ll see to it he dies by my hand.”

After clinging to the white-gloved hand the driver extended and climbing into her seat, the beautiful demoness suddenly took the long needle she held in her right hand and drove it through the base of the driver’s skull. There was no reason for it—it merely served to vent some of her frustration. The man went into convulsions before he could utter a word, but as she kicked him from the driver’s seat and took up the reins, the face she wore was that of the devil himself.

One lash of the reins. The black horses dashed down the cobblestone path. Up ahead, the door was closing.

A plume of purple smoke stretched from her pipe, and when it struck the door, it became like mummified wood, collapsing at the mere tremors from the iron-shod hooves. Bursting through the dust that hung there like a cloudbank, Madame Laurencin entered the inner courtyard.

At the center of this vast if somewhat parched area was a plaza where combat units and weapons might be mustered, while off to the right was a verdant section adorned with lush plants. That’s what D now faced.

“So, in keeping with your looks, you’ve come to pick flowers? I can’t allow that!”

As if the Noblewoman’s tenacity had been conveyed to them, the horses galloped down the stone-paved path toward D. Their iron shoes sent sparks flying.

The darkness spun. When the carriage closed to within ten yards, D turned around. Both hands hung easily by his sides, as if he were receiving a visit from a friend, yet a chill went down the spine of the fiendish Madame Laurencin.

A semitransparent cover shielded both the driver’s seat and the area for passengers. A force field.

D didn’t move. He was a gorgeous statue, black and mysterious. The black horses surged forward like dark, angry waves—and ahead of them, D crouched down.

What Madame Laurencin saw was a momentary flash. The two lead animals went down abruptly. With no time to apply the emergency brake, the second pair of horses collided with the first, tripping and sending the carriage sailing into the air. A split second before the horses’ hooves could fall on him, D had leapt to the left. And in the process, he’d struck out with his sword. The blade had done a splendid job of severing the forelegs of the first two cyborg horses at the knees.

Ignoring the cries rising from the horses in their death throes, D looked up at the sky. Madame Laurencin’s laughter rained down from a height of some fifteen feet.

“It was said that making oneself stroll across the sky was something only country bumpkins did,” the Noblewoman said, closing her eyes absentmindedly. Reminiscence leant her elegant visage a vague wistfulness. “But I loved it so. Rivers flowing in the moonlight, strolling lovers, the rhythm of the waltzes, and dance parties that could go on forever—it was a good time.”

The thread of murderous intent that linked the two of them went slack for an instant. Suddenly, a soft voice spoke clear words in Madame Laurencin’s ear.

Eyes open wide with surprise reflected D’s face. High in the air, the Noblewoman who should’ve been sneering at him was thrown off balance.

“That song ... It was performed only for a chosen few among the Nobility at the Sacred Ancestor’s manse—and it was written by someone not even we ever saw . . . one who they say was his wife. How could you know it?”

Madame Laurencin closed her eyes. Even with them shut, the unearthly beauty of D’s countenance was burned into her retinas. Somewhere in the chaos that was her memory a tiny light sparked. The light grew no brighter, but the Noblewoman let what it’d revealed fall from her lips.

“Those eyes, that nose, those handsome features ... You ... Your highness is . . .”

D was right before her eyes. Neither the Noblewoman’s reminiscences nor the troubling mental state that caused her to call him “your highness” meant anything to the Hunter in black. Bringing his blade down from the high position as he bounded, he split Madame Laurencin lengthwise, then brought his sword around again to pierce her through the heart. Her golden hair and her dress soon turned to gray dust that crumbled in midair, but by then D had landed and was headed once again toward an area by the stand of trees.

“Ah, a medicinal herb garden,” the hoarse voice remarked, sounding impressed.

That section of the inner courtyard was in fact a vast expanse of trees and plants stretching so far in every direction that all of it couldn’t be taken in at the same time, with the blooms arranged into red, blue, yellow, purple, and white in a dazzling display that was both splendid and sweet.

“That’s jupon de la neel—a flower so poisonous it kills any creature that comes within three feet of it. Oh, are those bones

I see scattered all around it? Over there’s what they call gatgaya cherian, a kind of luring herb with a scent that controls the minds of living creatures. I hear it played quite a large role in the battle with the Capital. And across from that—”

Paying no attention, D stepped into the center of the flower garden, entered a part where the dense green growth was nearly knee high, and after looking around pulled up a few of the plants at his feet.

As D put them in one of his coat’s inner pockets, the voice continued, “At any rate, you’ve got what you came for. Now you just have to rescue Rosaria, so—”

Blurs of silver came to an unexpected stop—one in each of his eyes. They were glittering silver roses. In a heartbeat they were batted down, shattering into countless silver needles when they struck the ground.

Though not even D had taken notice, Madame Laurencin’s ashes had risen on the wind, eddying in midair to form a pair of roses. Perhaps they were a manifestation of the Noblewoman’s last bit of will, for they drifted through the air, closing to within an inch or two of D.

He covered both eyes with one hand. From between his fingers, streams of blood appeared.

“Did she get your eyes?” the hoarse voice inquired, and it was little wonder it couldn’t disguise how surprised and shaken it was. After all, the handsome Vampire Hunter had been robbed of his vision just as he was about to embark on the most difficult of rescues.

“I’ll get rid of the poison. But as for your sight—that’ll take three whole days to fix even using the purifying flame. No choice in this situation but to fall back.”

D’s character didn’t drive him to do it—it was debatable whether D’s character ever moved him at all. But he’d taken a job. Whether he could see or not, he’d get it done. And his left hand was merely acknowledging his cold code of ethics as a professional.

“Then, shall we go? Just be real damn careful not to let me get lopped off.”

“It is I, Gaskell. Madame Laurencin has been slain,” the voice quickly continued.

“I see,” replied a man who was naked aside from a pair of white briefs. He’d been standing by the window for some time with arms and legs outstretched, basking in the sunlight—since just after daybreak. Though he’d come to the castle the previous evening, he’d essentially spent the entire night awaiting the dawn, then disrobed.

True to the manner in which the general had addressed him, his name was Roland, Duke of Xenon. He appeared to be thirty-four or thirty-five years old, but his actual age was in excess of three thousand years.

While toying with his golden chest hair, he said, “That old bag was defeated by this man called D—it seems he’s not a Hunter in name alone. So, what do you want?”

By all appearances, this was a man not prone to nervousness. In fact, for a Noble, his lack of refinement was a far cry from both the elegance of the Capital and the dauntlessness of the Frontier, as was manifest by his sagging belly and his demeanor toward the general. Seeing that he was a sunbathing Noble, there really could be no mistake.

“Well, I must choose who will go next, and I should like to ask you to do it, sir.”

GaskelFs words came less as a request and more as pure coercion, yet the Duke of Xenon scratched his head and asked, “Does it really have to be me?”

“No, there’s no special reason why it must be you, sir,” the general said, bewilderment in his voice. Apparently the great general found this middle-aged Nobleman difficult to manage.

“Then could you maybe have one of the others do it instead? As you can see, I’m really enjoying myself in this stuff they call ‘sunlight.’ My, but it feels wonderful. Indeed, I wish to thank you, my good general, for so graciously making this opportunity possible.”

“That is all well and good, but if you decline the request, sir, I shall be forced to send someone else. For instance, the holy knight Lady Ann.”

There must’ve been something crafty about the general’s tone as he said that name, for his voice had a despicable ring to it, and sure enough the duke, in nothing save his briefs, sat right up.

“That won’t do—that won’t do at all, General! Oh, this is a dirty trick. Very well, if you would send that child into battle, then I shall go.”

When Baron Schuma said this from where he lay on a nearby couch, General Gaskell let his distaste show on his face. No matter how urbane the speech of these Nobles was, each and every word bristled with venomous barbs. Those he’d assembled had proven themselves exceptional individuals in the past—each with the kind of power that might be found in perhaps one out of ten thousand—yet it appeared they didn’t care a whit about Gaskell. Though they didn’t commit any overtly hostile acts, the looks they gave him, the way they addressed him, and their overall bearing had given Gaskell a glimpse of them in two short days that drove him mad with rage, but also left him rather melancholy.

In the past—actually, even at present'—the mere perception of derision or provocation directed at him would’ve been enough to make him tear the perpetrator limb from limb on the very spot. Although it might not prove so easy as doing so to his own vassals, Gaskell was confident that he could indeed manage. However, this time things just weren’t going right. More accurately, he simply couldn’t do it. And he knew the reason why. The only power that could force him to do anything was at work. But toward what end?

At the sight of Gaskell about to plunge into an uncharacteristic confusion, Baron Schuma donned a malicious grin, but as if just making sure, he asked, “Incidentally, you do intend to use the holy knight, don’t you?”

Warped with suffering as it was, Gaskell’s face formed a devilish smile. Finally he had returned to his old self—a fiend who feasted on the pain of others and delighted in screams for mercy more than the most heavenly music.

“That goes without saying,” the general replied, giving a stately bow entirely in keeping with his infamous, bloodcurdling tone of voice.

Going from the inner courtyard to the tower where Rosaria was imprisoned was simple enough, as there weren’t any soldiers or other obstacles.

At this show of complete indifference the left hand cursed, saying, “He’s a cunning bastard.”

Along the way, a tiny mouth in the Hunter’s left hand had sucked in air and drunk D’s blood. And each time it consumed one of those elements, a pale blue flame blazed deep in its maw. With the energy it received, it replenished D’s stamina and set about healing his wounds—at present, it was working on his eyes. However, the poison the millennia-spanning sorceress Madame Laurencin had used was indeed virulent beyond all compare, and it would take extended care to undo the damage. For three more days, D would be forced to meet the foes descending on him in his blinded state, with nothing to rely on but his left hand and his own instincts.

D had begun to ascend a spiraling stone staircase. Climbing to a height of roughly fifty yards, he reached the highest floor . . . but there wasn’t even a guard posted. On one wall was a crude circular window, and across from it was a stone wall with a door in it. D effortlessly tore off its old-fashioned but sturdy lock. Although all attacks by electronic devices and automated security systems could be averted—and there were few of them to begin with—old-fashioned trapdoors or dropping ceilings were still a concern as D quietly opened the door.

Though as much could be told from outside, the room was fairly spacious. Light streamed in through a small window in the wall and a skylight in the ceiling, announcing that it was nearly dusk. Rosaria lay on a bed in the center of the room. This was not the time for her to sleep.

“Rosaria,” D called to her, but still she didn’t move a muscle. Some spell or drug had put her to sleep.

From around the bed came the sound of running water. It coursed through a channel about six feet wide. It was more like a small river than a ditch.

“Oh, my,” the left hand groaned. “It figures a Greater Noble would use a handy trick like this.”

The fact that vampires couldn’t cross running water was common knowledge, passed down since time immemorial. There were examples of drunken Nobles falling into rivers where children could play in safety and subsequently drowning in the knee-deep water. One of the simplest ways to keep the Nobility away, it was utilized far and wide across the Frontier, but up until now there’d been no known case of a Noble using it in his own home. For that alone, General Gaskell could be said to possess a bold and frightening vision.

Halting at the door, D turned his face toward the circulating water, quickly extended his right hand, and rubbed his thumb against the first joint of his index finger. Perhaps due to the strength of his nails, the skin broke on his index finger and fresh blood instantly welled to the surface. He swung the finger.

The drop of blood didn’t leave a trail behind it as it fell into the center of the flow. The instant it made contact, the water’s surface seemed to boil and a number of what looked to be two-and-a-half-foot-thick eels raised their black, snakelike heads. Their mouths couldn’t be discerned, but near the end of heads that tapered seamlessly back into their bodies were a pair of gleams— apparently their eyes, shining like twin lights. Seemingly possessed of the ability to catch the scent of blood in the air, they turned in unison toward the Hunter. In the depths of those gleaming eyes a fiercer spark was born, flickering restlessly. The eyes had originally served to lure prey to them in the lightless depths of the water, but it seemed they’d undergone certain modifications, as the left hand promptly said, “Oh, so they can use hypnotism, can they?”

D had already stepped forward. With a quiet gait he headed toward the flowing water.

The glowing, blinking eyes awaited him—waiting for the arrival of their mesmerized prey. When D’s feet came within a yard of the water’s edge, the faces of the black pseudo-eels split lengthwise, revealing pink maws and tiny white fangs. Already three feet out of the water, the heads rose higher and higher. At a height of fifteen feet, they halted. Did the saliva drip from their mouths due to hunger, or did they comprehend D’s beauty?

A heartbeat later, they hissed like snakes and struck down at him from above. Their mouths appeared to tear into D’s face, head, shoulders, and abdomen—but at that moment a silvery glint flashed out. The sight of the eels sinking their fangs into D’s body had been nothing more than an illusion. Every one of their heads passed through D’s form or missed him entirely, hitting the floor still poised to attack. Following this, bright blood fell like rain.

D had moved by them at an unbelievable speed. Now the headless bodies twisted weakly, and then quickly grew motionless. Though creatures of this ilk usually lasted quite a long time even after being fatally wounded, the blind D’s swordplay didn’t allow for that.

The running water had already been stained red, but it seemed that no other guardians remained there.

D reached the water’s edge. Since starting his advance, he hadn’t paused for a second. What’s more, in severing over a dozen heads, he hadn’t been hit by even a drop of their blood. In light of the fact that he was currently blind, it was a hint of how utterly fearsome this young man was.

“Thirty feet deep,” his left hand said. “Swimming it’d be tough. Jump it.”

Before it had even finished speaking, D’s body was sailing through the air. Although he’d undoubtedly kicked off the floor, no sound had rung out, and he’d showed no signs of bending his knees before making what could be described as an unholy leap.

A distance of six or so feet was nothing to him. However, right over the center of the flow, something went wrong. The hem of his coat and the brim of his traveler’s hat turned down rapidly. The running water was refusing to allow a Noble to pass. His graceful arc and great speed were thrown into disarray, but half of D’s boots narrowly managed to land on the far side as he stood once more on the floor.

“Well, I’ll be—she’s under a powerful spell. And drugs, to boot,” the hoarse voice groaned. “But luckily, that kind of drug can be treated with the same herb we just got for the antidote. Should I fix her up here?”

“No,” D said, putting Rosaria over his shoulder. In light of the deadly battles that might take place during their escape, having her asleep would keep her from getting in the way.

On this side there was a collapsible metal gangway for crossing the flow. It was set up so it could be triggered by remote control from the opposite bank. Laying it across the water with what seemed like an easy one-handed toss, D made his escape from the tower less than a minute later.

Though the thunder had subsided, the wind had grown stronger, and the air itself seemed to have taken on more of a chill. Juke’s condition was only deteriorating, with his breathing more labored and his body burning hot as a flame.

“Where the hell has he got to?” Gordo cursed, though it wasn’t D he was referring to, but rather Sergei.

He wasn’t sure exactly when his other companion had disappeared, but he hadn’t seen any sign of him for over three hours. The man had been pretty scrawny for a transporter from the start, but he hadn’t struck him as being irresponsible enough to take off at a time like this, and only a true idiot would run around these parts all alone. At any rate, Gordo couldn’t leave his post now since he had to watch both Juke and their cargo all by himself, but it would be evening soon.

He was just smacking his fist into the opposite hand when off to his left he heard the pattering of something walking closer through the grass.

It couldn’t be D. There would’ve been the sound of the Hunter’s horse. If it wasn’t Sergei, then it was likely some kind of demon or monster. Juke had been moved into the cargo wagon, but that wouldn’t withstand more than one blow from a monster’s fangs or claws, and there were also spirits that could pass right through high-polymer steel. No matter what the case, Gordo would have to deal with it alone.

“Suit yourself then,” he said, ready to do whatever was necessary. In case of emergency, he’d given Juke an incendiary grenade. It went without saying that it wasn’t intended for self-defense.

When a human form appeared from a stand of trees, he pulled his six-shooter’s hammer back almost all the way.

Trampling a path through the grass was a girl who looked like she couldn’t have been a day over ten, her golden hair in braids. With clear blue eyes, she wore a neat pink dress of a kind that only suited small girls, and the legs protruding from its knee-length skirt wore gray knee socks and white shoes. A gold bracelet studded with red and blue gems adorned the arm carrying a gray flower basket chock full of blossoms. Even Gordo, who’d been so tense he was ready to explode, got the impression that the whole area around the little girl had suddenly been transformed into a splendorous flower garden.

While the man remained silent, the girl said softly, “Move and I’ll shoot,” then halted and raised both hands of her own volition. Her tone and her gestures were terribly endearing.

He didn’t know why he didn’t shoot. There was no way any decent young lady would be out in a place like this.

“In a situation like this, it’s customary to give your own name first,” she said, little angelic lips releasing an equally angelic tone.

“You’ll have to pardon me. The name’s Gordo. I’m a transporter, you see.”

“I see. Well, you certainly are a little lady. But what are you doing out here?”

“That castle!” she said, her voice changed now. White teeth peeked from between ruby red lips. They were tapered like an awl. “Shiiiit!”

Don’t let appearances deceive you—that was an ironclad rule for survival on the Frontier.

Gordo pulled the trigger, and his six-shooter howled. Six thunder balls knocked the girl backward. Black earth kicked up from the ground behind her.

Despite the fact that, in an objective sense, Gordo had just dealt with her in a horrible fashion, he didn’t lower the muzzle of his weapon. The greatest tension rolled over him in a wave. He’d shot an innocent little girl. Even knowing that he was dealing with a monster, her outward appearance left him with unavoidable feelings of remorse and self-reproach. Nonetheless, the instant a great hollowness filled his heart, the monster would strike back at him. That was the wisdom of the Frontier, gained from the deaths of tens of thousands.

“What happened, Gordo?” Juke called out from the cargo wagon in a thread-thin voice. Standing there on the narrow line between life and death, the other man didn’t even notice.

The hem of Lady Ann’s skirt rustled faintly, but on realizing that this was the wind’s doing, Gordo lowered his weapon. Sweat soaked every inch of his body and his breathing was ragged. Still, he’d recovered enough presence of mind to turn around and shout, “I shot someone. Don’t come out here.”

Wiping off his sweat, he raised his six-shooter again and walked over to the corpse. On reaching her tattered feet, Gordo gasped.

Hair so golden you could practically smell it, clear blue eyes, plump arms and legs—all of them were fake. The hair was metallic fiber, the eyes glass beads, and the face was made of wood. So how had she seemed so full of life a minute ago? Even the demonic expression she’d worn when she bared her fangs had been that of a living creature.

As Gordo stood stock still, feeling like someone had just removed his brain, an innocent chime rang in his ears—a singing voice like golden blossoms raining down from the heavens.

You shot Lady Ann, the voice told him. But you can’t crush me. Please, hurry and save me.

The way the girl’s voice made the blood in Gordo’s veins run cold, it was as if all his will and his life were sending a message from his brain to his body, and he grew tense. Like his body, his eyes had frozen in place on a single spot, so the sight of that hole-riddled doll rising spryly burned itself into his retinas. The right eye had been blown out of the doll’s face, but the innocent face of the girl was superimposed on it, becoming the doll’s, then the girl’s, by turns.

‘Til give you a flower—leech grass freshly picked from Lady Ann’s own flower garden.”

A childishly plump hand took a pure white blossom from the basket of flowers hanging from the opposite arm and hurled it at Gordo’s chest. In the blink of an eye, the white blossom was stained a vivid vermilion, and Gordo bent backward in hellish agony. His six-shooter barked off in completely the wrong direction as he sprawled on the ground with arms and legs spread. The now-crimson blossom was sending roots deep into his body. That much he was certain he could feel.

“What a powerful specimen you are,” Lady Ann said with glee from beside his head. “So full of blood. You’re ready for a second one, aren’t you?”

The grim reaper’s hand reached into her deadly flower basket. And as it took hold of another lovely white bloom, someone called out from behind her, “Lady Ann.”

Whoever said this had undoubtedly made their throw before she could turn. The instant her blue irises reflected Sergei, a white flower pierced her right between the eyes—a blossom of leech grass just like the one the girl held.

“Ah!” Lady Ann cried out, backing away. As she’d prepared to throw the flower she held at her new foe, the white bloom against her brow had swiftly turned red. The figure that staggered and fell was beyond a doubt the real Lady Ann.

Racing over, Sergei bound her with the rope every good transporter wore on his belt, then went over to Gordo and reached for the flower stuck in his chest. The bloom looked to have swollen to twice its previous size. In his hand, it felt like a damp sponge— when he tightened his grip on it, there was a squeak. The flower had squealed. On drinking Gordo’s blood, it’d been transformed into a different form of life.

“Damn it!” Sergei cursed, giving it a hard pull. Loosing a shriek, it came out of Gordo, its roots still embedded. Getting to his feet, Sergei yanked. Dripping lifeblood like mud, the roots came out. They were a good fifteen feet long.

Discarding the plant, Sergei turned his gaze back to Gordo’s pale-as-a-sheet face and grumbled, “Damn, you’re gonna need a transfusion, aren’t you?”

Nevertheless, Sergei turned around—looking back the way he’d come—and struck his chest in a confident manner, saying, “You’re a lucky man, Gordo. You should thank me.”

“There’s something funny about this,” the hoarse voice said in a tone no one save D could hear. He was in the inner courtyard with Rosaria on his back.

“This has all been too easy. That just doesn’t seem right in the castle of a man like Gaskell. There’s definitely a trap of some kind.”

Going straight through the courtyard, they would cross the forecourt and go out through the gates—retracing the exact same course by which they’d entered.

“No, at the moment I don’t have a clue,” the hoarse voice replied. Every time the tiny lips opened, pale blue flames danced in the depths of its throat. It burned with energy for healing D’s eyes. For earth it’d eaten the soil from the flowerbeds, and there was wind as well. The water was D’s blood. They lacked fire, but then that might’ve been asking too much.

The sky was a dusky blue-the creatures of the night would soon be awakening. Or in the case of this castle, perhaps it would’ve been better to say they’d be reclaiming their old lives. Nevertheless, there was no way Gaskell hadn’t long since noticed D’s intrusion and Rosaria’s rescue, though it was strange that there hadn’t been any further obstacles.

“You seriously thinking of charging right down the middle? This should be fun.”

Common sense dictated that if you knew your presence had been detected and you had to cross such a large area, you’d creep along the edges, using trees and buildings for cover as you went.

But running straight down the middle of the courtyard—while in keeping with D’s character, it could also be described as the epitome of recklessness. Considering that he had Rosaria on his back, it was particularly rash of him. If someone had accused him of using her as a shield against bullets and arrows, he wouldn’t have been able to protest.

But did D know what was going to happen? That was precisely how it seemed. For he cut across the courtyard, through the forecourt, and escaped the castle without any harm befalling him.

“Funny,” the hoarse voice muttered, but D seemed to pay it no mind as he raced down the road. “Did you know you weren’t gonna be attacked?”

“If any attacks were going to happen, they’d have come before I reached the tower,” D said, offering a rare explanation.

“Is Gaskell soft in the head? No, there’s no way that could be the case with a man known as such a great general. Which means—” “He’s being stopped—”

“Who’d stop Gaskell?” the hoarse voice said, its tone making it clear it was already looking within itself for the answer. The wait wasn’t terribly long.

“There’s no point giving it much thought. There’s only one person it could be. But why would he do that?”

As the vast blue twilight spread, D dashed off down the steep incline. Thanks to his ungodly skill, Rosaria wasn’t jarred in the least.

He was halfway down the slope when a voice called from far off in the distance, “Heeeey!”

An instant later—and not ten feet in front of him—there was a vicious crash as a purplish figure dropped from the sky. In the

several seconds it took for the ground to finish quaking, D sensed that it was a person garbed in something like an enormous chitinous exoskeleton—or rather, that it really was an exoskeleton. It definitely wasn’t a traditional suit of armor. Standing ten feet tall, with arms and torso swollen to grotesque proportions, the rough design was far different from the elegant work the Nobility had produced in their later years. It may have even dated back to the chaotic times of territorial disputes between different Noble factions and fighting off extraterrestrial invaders. But rough though it might have been, the one within it had come to the castle to serve the general, and the knight’s exoskeleton didn’t have so much as a crack in it when he got up without a single mechanical sound.

“Were you a bit surprised?” the man quickly inquired in a deep, rich tone. This alone would be enough to make many a young lady’s heart beat faster. “When I called out just now, I purposely made it sound like I was much further away. And then, all of a sudden, here I am right in front of you. How was that?”

“No, no!” the man replied, waving his right hand as if his suit were out of control. Being a device made by the Nobility, its movements were every bit as smooth as a human being’s. “It’s more correct to say I was originally a Noble. You see, I was banished by the Sacred Ancestor.”

“The fact of the matter is, I womanized a little too much, to the point where I even worked my way through all the court ladies assembled in the Capital. But as it happened, one of them was the apple of the Sacred Ancestor’s eye—on account of which I wound up sealed away in a coffin for more than two millennia. My brain was set so that all I could do was remain conscious, and let me tell you, that was hard. I was so bored I thought I’d lose my mind! If my daughter hadn’t saved me, right now I’d—well, I shudder just thinking about it. At any rate, while I was buried deep in the earth,

I was stripped of my Noble standing. Now I’m just a plain-old man of leisure. My original name was Roland, Duke of Xenon.”

“The Duke of Xenon?” a surprised tone called out from the vicinity of D’s left fist. “Roland? That bastard Gaskell’s called in a heavy hitter.”

“I don’t know,” he said, shrugging his armored shoulders. When executed by a ten-foot-tall robotic figure, the act was simply humorous. “If I thought about it for a while, I might remember. Come to mention it, I get the feeling there was a reason, but it’s all in a fog now. But as a soldier from the Capital, I fought against General Gaskell to a deadlock. And now I take orders from him. It seems even Gaskell himself doesn’t know the reason. Yeah, it’s pretty interesting.”

“Madame Laurencin; Roland, the Duke of Xenon—he’s collected the Nobility’s greatest warriors. Wonder who else he’s got?”

The muttering from the Hunter’s left hand made the armored form stand up a little straighter.

“Oh, your left hand talks?” he asked with admiration. “I hear that’s the source of your life, and I can’t say I’m not tempted to cut it off and find out. Now, don’t get worked up into a murderous rage. Even through this exoskeleton your aura gives me goose bumps. You’re no average Hunter. You’re not even like ordinary dhampirs.”

“Have you said your piece?” D asked him. Anyone who heard this would know it was a quiet declaration of war. Suddenly, even the wind died down.

“No, not yet. However, I have to slay you. If I don’t, my dear daughter will be put in harm’s way. Lady Ann’s her name-—do you know her? Hmm, don’t suppose you would. Though I have nothing against you, I’ll slay you for my daughter’s sake. Forgive me!”

And as he spoke, his right fist assailed the Hunter. A punch moving in excess of Mach 1 blistered through the air, and the smell of ozone immediately prickled in D’s nose.

D narrowly dodged the blow by a fist twice the size of the average person’s face. As he leapt back fifteen feet, his sword glittered in his right hand.

The armored fist spouted blue fire. It was the work of the blow D’s sword had dealt it while the Hunter was on the move.

The armored giant pressed his left hand to his fist. Pale sparks shot from between his fingers, and tendrils of electricity snaked out. “Impressive. This is what you can do when you can’t see? You’re not an average person after all. This suit is made of superdense dupronium. Ah!” he gasped, as D bounded, looking like a haunting black bird as he descended in the twilight. His blade flashed out. However, this second attack struck the right arm the Nobleman had raised to shield his head and was deflected.

“That’s what happens when I’m ready for you. It’s dupronium to start with, but it’s been treated so that I can will it to be even stronger. And I won’t let my guard down again.”

And then the duke dashed into action. Over five tons of armor closed on D with all the speed of a swallow in flight. His left hand threw a hook. When the punch was halfway to impacting on D’s face, a three-foot blade slipped from the duke’s arm from wrist to elbow and the hook became a horizontal slash. There was a sharp cutting sound in the air—and in a copse far beyond the reach of the blade, five or six neatly severed trees fell across the road. The speed was so great it created a vacuum, and anything that touched it would split open like the famous slice of the monstrous Kamaitachi.

II