The bottom of D’s coat suddenly opened like a mouth. The duke’s blade was coming back—but a split second before it did, the Hunter kicked off the ground. Becoming a bolt of black lightning, he flew at Roland’s chest.

“Aaaargh!” the giant bellowed, his cry accompanied by blue electrical discharge.

The enormous armored combatant staggered back smoothly. Perhaps the thrust at his chest didn’t suffice, as the Hunter’s blade came around for a second attack.

Roland’s massive, five-ton form sailed easily through the air. A great branch thirty feet up in an enormous tree by the side of the road bent under his weight as he stood straight up on it. Undoubtedly this exoskeleton could walk across a damp sheet of paper without tearing it.

“So, does this mean your own will’s grown stronger, too?” the armored figure asked, pressing a hand against his chest. There were no streaks of blood to be seen with the pale sparks. “Perhaps I’d have been better off going with a regular metal suit of armor after all. At any rate, I’ll take my leave here. But my daughter’s life depends on this. You’ll see me again, and soon.”

The gigantic form left the branch—and as the Hunter stood there, his foe flew off into a stand of trees in a manner that suggested nothing short of antigravity. He hadn’t made a single sound.

“Capitalizing on your injury—or should I say, your blindness? The only reason you were able to block his attack was because you couldn’t see!” the hoarse voice said, its tone carrying a sigh of relief.

In a battle to the death, combatants used their own two eyes to follow the movements of their foe. But even D wouldn’t have been able to follow the speed of the exoskeleton. Only by relying on blind instinct had he deflected the swift and deadly blow, then counterattacked.

“You really gonna be blind like this for a while? I suppose it’s better for that guy, at least,” the Hunter’s left hand said to him in

all seriousness while, moving as if he could actually see, D went over to where he’d set Rosaria down by the side of the road and scooped her up.

The exoskeleton was equipped with automatic repair circuits. They would work to restore not only the armor, but also the person using it.

D’s sword had narrowly missed Roland’s heart, instead piercing his right lung clean through to his back. The laws of physics said it was impossible to penetrate the armor, yet the swordsman had come within a fraction of an inch of skewering the man within it— thanks to his peerless skill with a blade. What’s more, Roland’s cellular tissue wouldn’t knit back together. An injury from an ordinary sword or spear—or even from a bullet—could be healed by the ageless and immortal flesh of the Nobility in the blink of an eye, with the wound closing immediately. Even nerve-cell damage that human beings never recovered from could be repaired by an ability on par with the mythical Hydra. It wasn’t a special sword. And this hadn’t been some bizarre sword technique that could bend three-dimensional space. It was just an ordinary thrust. And yet, the ravaged cells gave the duke searing pain, and the lifeblood gushing out required immediate medical attention.

Coming from a Noble’s lips, it seemed like a joke. However, shock and fear supported the truth of his words. The medical systems had told him it would take a full year for him to recover completely.

“I can’t wait that long. At any rate, just give me makeshift aid. Once repairs to the suit are finished, I’m moving out.”

For travelers on the Noble-infested Frontier, transfusion equipment was an absolute necessity. In addition to bites from vampires, wounds

from the teeth and claws of monsters required quick treatment to staunch the bleeding, disinfect the wounds, and replace the lost blood. From kits even a child could use to the artificial blood synthesizers normally carried by large-scale caravans and transport parties, there were easily several hundred varieties crafted by businesses in the Capital and out on the Frontier or even by private physicians. The procedure Sergei had performed on Gordo had involved one of the simple kits, but it had kept him alive, at any rate.

After putting him to sleep in the wagon along with Juke, Sergei went over to the villain lying in the grass. Seeing the innocent face with a crimson flower sticking out of her forehead, Sergei got the feeling he’d become a merciless killer.

“So, what do I do now?” he mused, head tilting to one side as he looked down at the girl.

The ironclad rule of the Frontier was that monsters were to be disposed of, by burning whenever possible. There was no need to dig them a grave.

“Out of my own interest, I’d really love to keep this one alive and bring her with us, but I’ve got those two and all our cargo to look after. Even supposing D came back, we’d still be too short handed to do it. I guess I’ll have to get rid of her after all, won’t I?”

What had become of his cyborg horse? There were a million things the man wanted to ask, but the second he saw Rosaria over the Hunter’s shoulder, none of them mattered anymore. She’d been saved.

As usual, D didn’t reply to Sergei’s question but said instead, “That girl has a father. A Noble of preeminent skill even among those summoned by the general.”

“What, take her as a hostage? That’s underhanded, and I want no part of it.”

“Staying alive is your primary concern,” D said. “You can think about what’s right or wrong later. If you survive, that is.”

“The sky’s getting stormy again,” D said, putting one hand to the brim of his traveler’s hat and looking down at Lady Ann.

The Hunter probably knew how badly he’d wounded Roland, as well as his recuperative abilities and the effect of the automated repair system.

A rumble from the earth swallowed Sergei’s cry of surprise—it was a violent quaking. Though the man reached out in desperation, there was nothing to grab hold of, and he was down on his ass in less than a second.

D made a great leap back. In the spot where he’d been, the ground rose up. And what appeared in a shower of black earth was the same gigantic exoskeleton that D had wounded a short time earlier.

“You said you were concerned about your daughter, didn’t you?” D asked, the quaking of the earth having already given way to calm.

“Precisely. My daughter was one of those summoned. And if I don’t slay you, my daughter will be the next sent out here.”

As D spoke, both his hands hung easily by his side, making no move toward the hilt of his weapon.

“Your daughter’s right there,” D said, pointing down by the feet of the toppled Sergei.

The electronic eyes set in the exoskeleton pivoted around in that direction, and Roland let out a little startled cry of “Lady Ann!”

Hurrying back to his feet, Sergei took what looked like a nail from his belt and pressed it against the girl’s forehead.

Sergei shouted, “Get the hell out of here, and be quick about it! If not, I’ll drive this thing smack into the middle of your daughter’s brain. I know exactly how you mourned your daughter before.” “How could you?” Roland said, his tone heavy.

“Because I’m the best damn archaeologist on the highways! This is where you fought Gaskell’s army. Which is why—”

Eyes that were supposedly lenses gave off a red glow, but the crimson beams of light were intercepted a foot shy of striking Sergei right between the eyes. D’s blade had been thrust out horizontally to deflect them.

The beams assailed the armored figure, who narrowly escaped them with a move at ungodly speed, suffering no more than some melting to the top of his head.

Before the giant finished speaking, the figure in black seemed to be drawn right into his chest. The giant dashed to the left. D swung his blade whistling through the air in the same direction. His hand had grasped it up at the guard, but slid all the way down to the end of the hilt. But wasn’t he blind? What allowed him to move with such speed and attack with such precision?

The arc limned by his blade followed the leaping giant closely, making contact with the abdominal plates. And in a frightening display, the steel shredded like paper.

His fluid movements showing their first disruption, the giant landed some twenty-five feet away and fell to one knee, his balance thrown off. The earth shook. Ordinarily, he landed as light as a feather. As he looked upward with his electronic eyes, he caught a handsome form flying through the air. With his sword raised to strike, he looked so beautiful, so deadly. When that blade came whistling down, it would effortlessly cleave the heavy head in two, and bisect the rest of the unit as well.

With a mellifluous sound, D’s body bounced upward. All of the power he’d put into that blow had been channeled back at him. Twisting his body lithely as he landed and raising his blade to eye level, D realized that the giant was holding a long spear straight out over his head. Bracing it with both hands, Roland, the Duke of Xenon, had managed to parry D’s sword. But where in the world had he kept the more than twenty-foot-long weapon? What’s more, D’s blow had been calculated to kill. Given the Hunter’s location, his power, and his force of will, what kind of weapon could resist being cut by him?

“This spear is special. It’s a combination of ions and suspended molecules. When it materializes, it has five thousand times the strength of dupronium steel. Even the man known as D can’t cut through it,” Roland said, his words crafted of pure confidence. “What’s more, I have this little trick—watch!”

The armored figure raised the spear by his side. It promptly vanished. Only the armored hand stretched toward D. It was a second later that the long spear pierced the figure in black through the chest and out the back. No, it didn’t actually pierce him—where D’s chest and back were impaled, they eddied as if space had been distorted. Nuclear fusion—the long spear had suddenly appeared, occupying part of the same space as D’s body. Accordingly, rather than pierce him, it was more accurate to say it grew out of him.

As D tumbled forward, he braced his sword against the ground, clinging to it as he breathed his last.

Roland’s right arm rose in the air, and a spear appeared in his hand. His left rose, and there was another one. A third appeared and he made a swing of the bunch, following which they vanished in an instant.

“As you can see, I can make as many as I like wherever I like, and make them disappear whenever I wish. So,” the giant said, swiveling his head to focus on Sergei’s location, “are you going to give me back my daughter?”

“Not a chance,” Sergei replied, wiping once at the cold sweat on his face. “You’d kill me as soon as I returned her. But I’ve taken precautions against that.”

“You and General Gaskell fought on this battlefield. The records say so. Everything was recorded, about the way you fought, how you looked for each other’s weak points, and what you discovered. I found this earlier not far from here. I don’t know which of you left it in the repository, but it’s sure gonna come in handy.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” the massive armored figure said as he drew closer.

Once the duke was about ten feet away, Sergei pulled his right hand out of his jacket and raised it high. It held a tiny, withered leaf. But it had a startling effect.

The armored figure backed away, shielding both eyes. Its ungodly weightlessness was lost. Its heels dug at the earth, and the ground quaked ferociously.

“You little bastard—I can’t believe you . . .” Roland said, nearly panting the words.

“This is no time to stand around threatening me. Here you go!” Sergei threw the leaf, and while it hung weakly in the air, the exoskeleton spun around and dashed off into the woods. More than the dwindling rumble, the movement of the falling trees told Sergei that the threat had passed.

Sinking right on the spot, he said, “I wasn’t really sure that would work—I must’ve been out of my mind!”

And the second he spoke, his brow was covered with sweat. For the next full minute he took deep breaths, slowly picking himself up and collecting the leaf in question from a spot on the ground about six feet away. The way he stared at it said quite clearly he still couldn’t believe it.

The short stalk he grasped between two fingers and held up to quiver in the wind was aconite—more commonly known as “wolfsbane.”

Slumped forward on the ground, D did indeed have a long spear running through his chest and out his back. Despite the fact that dhampirs were as close as possible to the Nobility, or perhaps precisely because of it, everyone on the Frontier knew that a stake right through their heart was a hopeless situation.

“You know, I thought D was this incredible freak, but I guess there’s always someone tougher. And to think that guy’s weakness is one little leaf. The world’s just full of contradictions, I suppose.”

That familiar hoarse tone made Sergei tense up. Though he looked around in astonishment, there was no sign of anybody. So who’d been speaking with that voice all along? As ridiculous as it sounded, Sergei had figured D had been using ventriloquism all that time. Needless to say, he didn’t know why the Hunter would do such a thing. However, D had expired, but the voice was there.

“What are you standing around for? Hey! Pull the spear out!” the voice ordered him as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Looking around him, Sergei inquired in a tremulous tone, “Wh-where are you?”

“Don’t ask stupid questions. Are you gonna hurry up and remove this thing or not?”

“I could, but I’ve got other, bigger things to attend to. So, are you gonna pull it out or what? If you don’t, I’ll tell D you refused to cooperate!” “Tell D—what do you mean?”

Sergei was stunned. What quickly brought him back to normal was something he’d read in a book while boning up on archaeology. The third volume of Domitius Browning’s Lore of the Nobility described exactly the situation that was before him—-among the Nobility, there were rare individuals who could be pierced through the heart with a wooden stake yet come back to life again if that stake were removed.

This time he walked over to D’s corpse like a man under a spell and grabbed the shaft of the spear protruding from the Hunter’s back. It was a fearful undertaking. The spear was gripped by the unnatural strength of D’s muscles, and even pulling with all his might, Sergei couldn’t free more than an inch of it at a time. Out of breath and dripping sweat, Sergei was half dead by the time he jerked the last inch free. As he let out a sigh that was close to a death rattle, he told the disembodied voice, “I got it out.”

Even on hearing this snotty reply, he didn’t feel angry. Discarding the spear, Sergei collapsed on the grass, but he still kept a watchful eye on D’s condition. Nothing had changed about the way the Hunter was slumped forward. The way his left hand was positioned under his chest suggested a natural reflex he’d had to try to pull the spear out the instant it’d been put through him.

From the area where the left hand vanished under the Hunter the man saw something strange. It had glowed. A pale light was shining by D’s chest. Though he was curious to see what it was, at the same time an unsettling feeling had come over him that left him unable to move. After this, he saw no more of the blue light. Silence continued to stain the twilit forest a dusky blue.

This time, Sergei didn’t have to be told twice. He was curious to start with—all he’d needed was an opportunity. He crawled over on his knees. When he reached D’s side, the left hand came right up from the corpse’s chest to rest on Sergei’s right knee.

“Shit! ” he cried, but not because the hand that came to rest on him was palm up. Rather, the surface of the palm had rippled and twisted, and what could only be described as a human face had risen to the surface.

“What about me?” the countenanced carbuncle spat back at him from its tiny mouth. Seeing how pale blue flames blazed in the depths of its maw, Sergei almost fell over backward. Its fingers closed tightly on Sergei’s fingertips.

Human beings couldn’t help but be horrified by the word blood— it was inextricably linked to the Nobility. This was particularly true when something was asking you to give it your blood.

“You damn sissy! Have you forgotten he’s a dhampir? To him, it’s just like you eating bacon and eggs. So hurry up and open a vein. He needs a lot of it.”

Before Sergei could avoid it, D’s left hand had seized his right, and a sharp pain shot through the underside of his wrist. As he cried out, the warm fluid flowed from him. Or rather, what he felt was it being sucked out! His body was swiftly overcome by an indescribable floating sensation. Everything faded into the distance, and he fell at a terrific speed.

Just as his consciousness was about to be swallowed by the darkness, he clearly heard the hoarse voice say, “Okay, that’ll do.”

And when Sergei opened his eyes less than ten seconds later, a strapping man in black stood by his side looking down at him.

“But it’s getting dark now,” the man started to say, but then he recalled D’s heritage. This was his time. That he recalled—and one more thing.

“Not to worry. With my instructions and his instincts, we’ll manage somehow.”

“Just so you know, I’m the only one who’s still mobile,” the transporter said.

“That herb is the antidote. Make a tea with it and have them drink it. And here’s one more for you,” the hoarse voice said.

As Sergei boiled the herbs, D came over to him. His movements were so smooth, he didn’t look blind at all. Around them hung a stench to turn anyone’s nose up.

“I’ll thank you not to get in the way now since this is the trickiest part.”

“Huh?” Sergei said, his suspicious gaze wandering through space for a second, but he soon understood. “Oh, that? As you probably know, pretty close to here there’s a buried supply depot that the Capital’s forces used during their campaign against Gaskell. That’s where I appropriated it. And the flower I stuck in that little girl, as well.”

Drained to the brink of death by Lady Ann’s vampire bloom, the fallen Gordo had been saved by the Noble device that rested next to him.

“Sure,” Sergei replied, bringing a spoonful of the medicine he’d just brewed up to his lips.

“Jeez,” he sputtered, spitting it out again. “That’s some potent stuff!” he said with a grimace.

Looking right at him, the blind D told him, “Then after you’ve had the other two drink it, you’ll have to show me the way.”

The medicine had a dramatic effect—one or two mouthfuls was all it took. Sergei held their mouths closed so they were forced to swallow it instead of spitting it out, and as he watched, the flushed hue left Juke’s face and his agonized expression faded. Sergei’s eyes nearly popped out at the way the man’s incredibly shallow breathing instantly returned to normal.

After the medicine had been administered but before the Hunter and his guide could leave, Juke sat up on his cot. On hearing from D what they were up to, he told them, “Yeah, I’ll look after things here. Get going already.”

With Sergei in the lead, D headed further into the forest. After advancing about three hundred yards, Sergei halted. “There it is,” he said, pointing at the towering accumulation of rock and soil up ahead. It looked like a high, sprawling fortification.

“Getting through it’s a little tough, but the entrance is over here,” Sergei said, though for some reason he looked somewhat jaded as he guided D over to the crack running up the right side of the door. From where the two of them stood it looked like no more than a thin thread of a crevasse, but circling over to the right showed it to be wide enough that an adult should be able to fit through it.

“It was originally sealed up, but at some point it cracked open. The Nobility sure are a strange race,” Sergei sighed.

In a sense, Sergei’s observation was correct. The contradiction most vividly demonstrated by the actions of the Nobility was their love of all things medieval. Their architecture, clothing, decorations, paintings—every field of artistic endeavor had a Gothic flavor. The Nobility were so immersed in it, it occasionally caused them to do the strangest things. Although they could probably erect a metropolis along the lines of the Capital anywhere if given three days’ time, they left the desolate mountains, wild rivers, and shadowy forests of the Frontier just as they found them, raising old-fashioned castles covered with pinnacles and gables instead of modern buildings and domes. All of their roads were paved with stone, although highways were occasionally built exclusively for ultra-high-speed transportation.

And here was a prime example of this contradiction. This installation could easily withstand a direct hit by a hydrogen bomb, yet its entrance was sealed not by doors of some supersteel alloy but instead by a colossal stone slab. Long years had weathered the great stone and cracked it. And that was an open invitation to intruders.

“I’ll go first,” Sergei said, turning sideways to slip through the crack. The giant slab was a good thirty feet across.

The place he managed to enter was a spot left scarred by the legacy of a horrible destruction. The ceiling and walls buckled in as if they’d taken a great blast from outside, and Sergei actually trembled. And yet, thanks to a light that radiated from nowhere in particular, he had no trouble seeing. He sensed D behind him.

“When I first saw this, I was heartbroken, but I went in a little further anyway. And then—”

After they cut through an area where pillars that looked to be as big as buildings supported the crumbling walls, the passageway took a hard right, and Sergei then led the Hunter to a golden door. There was a switch for it. Once Sergei pushed it, the door opened with a grinding sound.

The only way to describe what lay inside was to call it an enormous warehouse. Innumerable metal shelves stretched in rows for as far as the eye could see, and on them objects of various shapes were systematically laid out so they might be seen from afar. Devices large and small, wooden boxes, iron crates, things that seemed to be metallic containers—some of these were only the size of a ring box, yet they were grouped together with enormous machines that looked like construction equipment and towered to the heavens. Off in the distance, there even lay a multicolored field of flowers with what looked like leech grass. It seemed like it would take more than a thousand years to try everything here.

“According to some data, there’s enough synthetic blood stockpiled here to sustain a million Nobles for a millennium. And that doesn’t even take into account the million blood synthesizers here.” Satisfied at finally having someone with whom he might share his knowledge, Sergei had become quite garrulous.

“This one machine alone could supply enough blood for ten thousand people indefinitely. Incredible, isn’t it? Apparently it tastes like muddy water, but if that’d been enough for them, things might’ve gone better between them and the human race.”

Going over to the nearest shelf, Sergei slapped one of the machines on it. It was the same kind of transfusion device he’d got for Gordo. A small blood-synthesizing tank and the transfusion equipment were combined in a single unit.

Sergei threw a switch at one end of its base, and the complicated-looking device instantly folded in on itself, compacting down to the size of a lunch bag.

“At this size, you can haul a whole bunch of these out at once. It’s just like the pictures in the account I read. Leave it to the Nobility to have these closest to the door—that sure came in handy.”

Perhaps overwhelmed by the sheer volume collected here, Sergei felt surprisingly good.

The man turned around. On realizing that it wasn’t D who stood there, it took about a second for the expression to leave his face.

So thin he called to mind a scarecrow, the man wore a helmet and combat suit. Even without seeing the bloodless visage, eyes dim and cloudy as a dead fish’s made his nature clear. He was one of the Nobility’s warriors. Nearly as immortal as the vampires themselves but like mindless automatons, these creatures had been chosen by the Nobility as highly valued soldiers.

Without time to ponder these questions, Sergei stared at the ghostly pale hand stretching toward his throat. Its fingers sank into his neck. The flesh snapped open under its nails. Sergei was conscious of the blood trickling from him. His throat was seized roughly. Terror seared his brain, but at that instant, the undead soldier before him convulsed for a second, then stood bolt upright. Sergei had seen a gleaming white tip burst through the creature’s heart.

The soldier crumbled, helmet, clothes and all, but without looking at the blue-gray detritus it left, Sergei turned his gaze instead to the handsome youth who was sheathing his sword.

At the question he’d finally managed to pose, D raised his left hand and pointed to a relatively close shelf.

With the transfusion equipment over one shoulder, Sergei had taken a white china urn from the shelf and opened its lid. However, nothing had appeared. The urn had been filled with what looked like white salt crystals. Spilling some on the floor, Sergei had watched it for a while, but after there was no change he’d just let it be.

Where they’d been or what they’d been doing was a mystery, but from between the shelves and from the far reaches of the room pale figures were now closing on them with swaying steps.

In ancient times, some had thought the essence of a human being was salt. The Nobility had probably pursued that line of thinking with a savage diligence.

“What’ll we do, D?” Sergei asked, his own face growing as pale as those of the undead soldiers as he drew the rivet gun from his hip.

Now that he mentioned it, D had a silver container dangling from his left hand. Though a curiosity was building in him that threatened to make him forget all else, the faces of the pale undead that’d started to come into view brought Sergei back to reality.

“Down,” D said just as soon as the man had decided to do whatever the Hunter told him. He hit the ground as fast as he could, and a wave of crimson raced overhead, scoring a direct hit on the wall with the door. It was a particle cannon. The wall took the blistering ray of accelerated particles without even changing color.

The air whistled; an undead soldier in the back collapsed. D’s needle of rough wood had pierced him through the heart.

Apparently, none of the other soldiers carried weapons. Unconcerned by their compatriot’s demise, they mutely closed on D and Sergei.

Sergei had been about to run for the door, but he’d twisted his ankle. If he couldn’t stand, he was finished. He fell over.

“Waaaah!” he screamed as he spun around. One of the faces was right in front of him.

It was pure reflex and survival instinct that brought his rivet gun up to the soldier’s forehead.

Blam! The pressurized gas cap burst, firing off a three-and-a-half-ounce iron rivet at a thousand feet per second and blowing the whole back of the dead man’s head out with it. Long ago, Sergei had been in a similar situation and dispatched a zombie in the exact same manner.

Feeling like he could actually hear the bones creaking under the pressure from the fingers digging into his shoulders, Sergei let out a scream. Unexpectedly, the pain abated. Wildly shaking his shoulder free and leaping forward, Sergei turned and spied the naked blade that protruded from the chest of the undead soldier.

“Go,” the Hunter said, pointing toward the door, then squaring off against another of the approaching soldiers. He was a placid figure with his sword lowered.

The living dead didn’t know what fear was—it was just the way they’d been created. And that was why they were the ideal soldiers. However, before this powerful man standing there, quiet and beautiful, the dead grew tense. Perhaps they glimpsed in the figure of D something more fearful than death. Nonetheless, they prepared to advance.

Sergei had just reached the door and was turning back for a look. He saw D’s right hand paint a gleaming arc. It mowed right through the neck of the nearest soldier and went on to remove the head of another behind him before sliding back into its sheath. The crisp clack of its guard against the scabbard seemed poorly matched to the sound of those heads rolling around on the floor. Was that the power of the source of the hoarse voice, or skillful swordsmanship based on D’s superhuman instincts?

As D came running over to him, Sergei got the feeling the Hunter might lop off his own head as well, and he dove out through the open door. Crossing the rubble-strewn chamber, he squeezed out

again through the crack in the giant stone. But just before doing so, he saw D lob a silver cylinder into the center of the chamber.

No sooner was he through the suffocating bottleneck than he was grabbed around the waist and carried a good fifteen feet. And as his feet touched the ground, a rumbling in the earth shook him.

Fire spouted from the giant stone. Virulent, oily flames split the rock, and the earthen fortification itself started to swell out. The instant the molecules lost their cohesion, flames shot from the ground, and stones and earth were broken into even finer pieces that erupted into the void.

Having made two more leaps that carried them into the depths of the forest, D and Sergei were soon cloaked in the dark shadows of trees cast on them by the pale glow.

“Don’t tell me the whole warehouse is gonna—” Sergei began, breaking off but gazing at D with terror-filled eyes. “If you did that, it’d blow this whole neighborhood sky high!”

And soon enough, true to what he’d said, the light faded and the rumblings dwindled in the distance.

Roughly forty seconds later, white hot rubble and other material sent up by the flames from that atomic grenade came back down in the section of forest the pair had fled, instantly transforming it into a sea of flames.

Arriving at the campsite, Sergei found D, who’d gotten there just a little bit earlier.

Wondering if they had the wrong spot, Sergei looked all around, finding tracks from their wheels on the ground and signs of their camp. Nearby, a chunk of scorched stone fell, sending up white smoke. Little flames sprang up here and there.

“His job is transporting that cargo. He only did the natural thing,” D said, sending the hem of his coat fluttering out as he deflected a piece of burning iron.

“That way,” the hoarse voice responded, but Sergei didn’t notice anything weird about its tone. With all the swiftness of a wild beast he started running in the direction D’s left hand had pointed.

CHAPTER 4

How fared the Duke of Xenon?” Baron Schuma inquired, his jeering tone drifting through the intense darkness that dominated the space.

“He botched the assignment. Not only that, but his daughter fell into the humans’ hands.”

The groan that bore down on the inky blackness was like the roar of a lion. However, the speaker was undoubtedly a million times fiercer than any lion, and a billion times more malevolent.

“Isn’t that something,” Schuma said, his voice carrying neither regret about the results nor sympathy for the duke. Naturally, what became of his daughter was no concern of the baron’s. “Madame Laurencin has been slain and the Duke of Xenon’s beloved daughter taken captive, all without scoring a single victory—a sad state of affairs.” “Will you go out, Baron?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

In the darkness where the shapes of people couldn’t even be seen—or perhaps didn’t even exist—Schuma could almost be pictured frantically waving his hands.

“Still, that’s quite an embarrassing showing for someone like the Duke of Xenon. General—naturally you must’ve sent his daughter after the humans to exterminate them, didn’t you, sir?”

“Knowing that his daughter had been sent into battle, the Duke of Xenon would fight like a man possessed. You are truly wise, General,” he said in a needling fashion.

“But why didn’t you slay D within the castle’s walls?” the baron inquired with honest puzzlement, his head tilted to one side. “He’s certainly possessed of a monstrous power ill suited to his good looks. But you didn’t appear to entertain an iota of interest in finishing him here, General.”

“If I were to slay the Hunter in my castle, that would put an end to the festivities for which you were all assembled.”

“In that case—good,” the baron said in a tone that was satisfied and relieved. However, whether or not he truly meant what he said was unclear. “So, do you intend to leave the next move to the Duke of Xenon as well? At this rate, might those rascals not leave your territory?” “They can’t get out,” the general said, his voice filled with a confidence as vast as the universe. “There’s no one on earth who can escape my mobile domain—-‘the drifting land’—unless I wish it.” “Excuse me, sir,” a different voice interrupted. It was Grand Duke Mehmet. “Has the general forgotten what the Hunter took from the warehouse?” It seemed that regardless of where they were, the Nobles could keep tabs on D and Sergei’s actions. “That happens to be a—”

“I know!” General Gaskell bellowed, his roar shredding the darkness. “But if you think a toy like that will work in Gaskell’s domain, I suggest all of you sit back and watch the show a while longer.”

Though Juke had set the wagon in motion to avoid the hail of deadly shrapnel from the sky, a forest fire had now replaced that

threat. Flames rose on all sides as he narrowly slipped between them, but the next thing he knew, both the road ahead and the way he’d come were blocked by walls of orange.

“Got no choice now but to use the fireproof shield. But how long will it hold?”

The shield could be thought of as a kind of shroud of fireproof and heatproof fibers. Though it would envelop the wagon at the touch of a single button, it would last perhaps thirty minutes at best.

As Juke was about to press that button up in the driver’s seat, a voice from inside the wagon called out, “What are you doing? Hurry up and untie me, you nasty louts!” As demanding as it was, the female voice that reached his ears was oddly sweet.

“Oh, is our little flower-picker up? According to what Sergei said, she was supposed to sleep for another full day.”

In the time it took Juke’s jaw to drop, a tremendous impact and sounds of destruction were transmitted through his body.

As he was turning to look, she drifted down from above with a splendid bouquet of colors and sat right beside him. The leech-grass blossom she pulled from her brow was thrown down on the ground. Juke’s hand was too slow in going for his pistol, and the girl’s cute little fingers drove right against his throat. Her fingernails were sharp as razors. One flick of them would slice his head clean off—Juke was certain of that much.

“Sorry, but that just ain’t possible,” Juke replied. “I’m not like the Nobility. I don’t have any powers or gadgets to put out a wildfire like this at the drop of a hat. Do you?”

“Foolish human,” the lovely little girl spat endearingly before muttering, “Where is Father? Will he not come to my rescue?”

“It’d be nice if he did, but let’s consider the possibility he doesn’t. Get back in the wagon.”

“Consider for a moment your station. Are you in any position to give me orders?”

The tips of her fingernails pressed a little deeper into his throat. Juke could feel the blood trickling down his skin.

“Point taken. But if you kill me, you think you could make it out of this blaze alone? There’s already a sea of flames all around us.”

The girl fell silent. The same countenance from which dignity had fairly wafted was now clearly shaken, with waves of terror rippling across it.

“Are you really a little Noble girl?” Juke asked, but as soon as he spoke, he wished he hadn’t.

Driving her pretty little nails in even deeper, the girl trembled with rage. “You shall regret that affront—while your body burns in the flames!”

An arm that seemed so fragile it would break at the merest touch easily hoisted Juke into the air. With such strength, she could undoubtedly hurl him out into the depths of the fiery inferno with no effort at all.

However, she wasn’t able to throw him. Her tiny frame had been pierced by a terribly eerie aura—every inch of her ached as if she’d been impaled. The pain was only imagined, but Ann sensed something, and the fingertips she touched to her cheek came away covered in fresh crimson blood. This person possessed a supernatural aura so strong it had an effect on her body that was physically impossible.

Still holding Juke up high, Lady Ann leapt down to the ground. Standing in the grass, the girl turned and saw a pair of silhouettes backed by the blistering heat of the crimson flames.

Lady Ann was left speechless. It wasn’t due to the ghastly aura radiating from one of the two figures—a young man in black who held a bizarre, polelike device. Even with his eyes shut, his beauty had stolen her soul.

Ann didn’t move. She didn’t even intend to offer him any resistance. Her foe’s handsome features still had her entranced.

Said foe quickly moved forward. The instant she noticed this and prepared to counterattack, the lovely Noble girl took a lightning' swift blow to the side that knocked her unconscious on the spot.

“Tie her up,” D ordered Sergei, who was behind him. He then pointed the device in his right hand at the flames before them.

Although it looked just like a metallic pole, its end suddenly sent out new, thinner pipes that spread out like a parabolic antenna. If it was an antenna, it lacked the outer skin—it was merely the frame. Anyone who looked straight into that skeletal projection would’ve blinked at the bizarre scene they saw there.

A scene? Yes, a scene is exactly what it was. The whole interior of the antenna was spread with darkness. And glittering in the depths of that darkness were stars.

From where Sergei and Juke were, the antenna merely looked like a casing, but turning it toward the roaring flames, D threw a lever on its handle. Flames burned in the darkness of that tiny universe—an exact duplicate of the raging inferno that lay before the group. Without warning, the miniature flames disappeared, as did those on the ground.

In an area a hundred feet wide, the flames had vanished, trees, soil, and all. Although the remaining fire burned out of control, any trees and grass the deadly tongues of flame might’ve spread to had vanished without a trace.

“Is that a ‘vacuum cleaner’?” Sergei asked in amazement, but no one answered him.

To be more precise, it was called a “teleportation disposal system.” With this simple device, Nobles could exercise their characteristic fastidiousness after a battle was done, using it to hurl the sprawling corpses of their fallen troops and the wreckage of their weapons into the vacuum of outer space.

“Look at him go, General,” Baron Schuma said teasingly. “With that, he’ll whisk your entire domain away to make his escape. It’s hard to believe he’s blind. Indeed, there’s something different about this man called D. Something fearful.”

“I suspect this would be a good time to dispatch someone important to slay D, wouldn’t it?” Grand Duke Mehmet solemnly said.

“May I intrude?” a female voice suddenly interrupted, her tone draining the darkness itself of its hues.

“If it isn’t Dr. Gretchen!” Baron Schuma and Grand Duke Mehmet both exclaimed, not only due to the ring in her voice, but also because they were overwhelmed by the gorgeous image it conjured up. Although they’d referred to her as “Doctor,” she sounded like a grand diva at an opera in the Capital.

“Up until now I’ve been watching quite intently, but I feel my time has finally come.”

Perhaps her dazzling voice overwhelmed the fiends, for none of them spoke. No, that wasn’t exactly right—through the darkness, they broadcast shock and fear by turns. But what could frighten these monsters that even D’s left hand had to admire? There was only one answer—this woman. Dr. Gretchen.

“Dear me, it’s grown so quiet. Am I to believe, then, that none of you has any objections?”

The doctor’s voice was bright, like a flower, as she said, “I shall take that as a no, then. Off I go, General.”

“So, you’re finally taking the field? I get the feeling it’s still a bit too early for that,” said Grand Duke Mehmet.

“Indeed. It looks like the rest of us will have been brought back to life for nothing.”

Out in the darkness, a presence was felt. General Gaskell had risen. That in itself was enough to draw cries of pain from the woman and the men—the air about him was that intense.

A wounded lion still lurked outside in the form of the Duke of Xenon. Lady Ann was also the Hunter’s foe.

The wagon ignored the fire as it raced forward. Every time D’s vacuum cleaner sucked up the flames, their safety zone grew steadily. And when they finally reached the road, D raced down it on his horse.

Seeing D riding right beside them, Juke clucked his tongue as he worked the reins. Even the flames themselves were afraid to fall near the gorgeous Hunter—and he was blind. The man had finally realized this while watching the Hunter, who made no move to brush away the burning leaves and branches raining down all around them.

“Looks like we’ll make it out, eh?” the transporter remarked, allowing some wishful thinking to escape because they had such a man on their side.

“We’re still in his domain,” D said, the distant flames reflecting off his face.

“But we’ll probably get out of it soon. Domain of the great General Gaskell or not, it can’t go on forever.” “Don’t forget that his territory can shift.”

“Then we should be fine. Before long we’ll get through this, and sooner or later we’ll get out. All our cargo is vacuum sealed, at any rate.”

“Hey!” Juke said with a scowl. “Sometimes I have to wonder about you. Whose side are you on, anyway?”

Realizing how that might be taken, the man grew pale a second later. But D didn’t seem to mind at all.

“You probably know this already,” the same tone continued, “but an incredibly powerful opponent is closing on you. Odds are it’s the lord of the land.”

Baited by the hoarse voice, Juke got a strange expression on his face as he replied, “You could say that.”

“He’s not that scary. After all, you came into his lands and you’ll be leaving again. You can’t know how scared those who’ve laid down roots here are.”

The shock of the sudden stop made Sergei stick his head out the window and ask what’d happened, but on seeing D jump down, he too fell silent.

The fire had lost some of its strength, but flames burned on all sides of them. Riding up thirty feet ahead of the wagon, D took the vacuum cleaner and pointed it all around, quickly creating a clearing about fifty yards in diameter. He then swung his right arm and the cleaner, which looked like it would blow away on the first gust of wind, went sailing thirty feet right on target, landing on Juke’s lap in the driver’s seat.

At D’s quiet but forceful declaration, both Juke and Sergei merely nodded. No matter what happened next, they realized they wouldn’t be able to so much as lift a finger.

It was perhaps a minute later that there was the thunder of approaching hoofbeats from nowhere in particular. D turned to the left.

“Ah, so he’s coming by a road that doesn’t exist? Just what you’d expect from the master of the domain.”

The flames vanished instantly. Stands of trees bent to either side as if they were made of rubber. And between them a team of six black horses clomped into the clearing, pulling a carriage behind them.

Everything about them was huge. The black horses were twice as big as normal ones, standing about ten feet tall from the ground up to the top of their manes. If used in combat, they would’ve been fearsome weapons. And the carriage drawn by these massive steeds was proportioned accordingly. Reflecting the distant flames on its surface, its body was made of steel. There wasn’t a single unadorned part on it—the steel was completely covered with fiendish carvings. To be more precise, they included the faces of the deceased still wearing clearly agonized expressions. Each was an incredible rictus, eyes bulging in search of the salvation that would never come and tongues hanging out. To the common person, this carriage looked like the trusty vehicle the grim reaper used to carry off the deceased, or perhaps a reflection of the living fires of hell that awaited them.

Stillness held sway in the world. Off in the distance, the flames continued to burn out of control, coupled with the sound of trees splitting. The howling of winds brought by the fire never died down. Yet Juke and Sergei both realized they were in the midst of a perfect silence. All five of their senses had been numbed and were beginning to play tricks on them. Or perhaps the world itself was going mad.

“Well, I’ll be . . .” D’s left hand groaned. It could’ve just as easily been taken for a cry of pain. “Such a ghastly aura ... It flies in the face of nature. So this is General Gaskell—a Greater Noble second only to the Sacred Ancestor?”

It was almost as if it knew how the carriage’s occupant would make his entrance.

The creak of old-fashioned hinges broke the silence. And yet there was no sound. Such a quiet battlefield. At the moment the carriage door opened, a broad step came out under the portal, which was over three feet off the ground. And what then leaned out could only be described as a black cloud.

The first thing that came into view was an enormous head— which didn’t have a single hair on it. A silver mask hid half of the face. And perhaps to ward off the deadly rays of the sun, the remainder of the face and head was shrouded in black. From the neck down he wore a pitch-black cape, but beneath it the shape of his powerful shoulders was distinctly visible, like a minor mountain. Half of his cape was tossed aside, revealing a black jacket embroidered in bizarre patterns with golden thread. His right hand was held behind his back, out of sight, but from it stretched the hilt of an all-black longsword—though it might’ve been better to call it a greatsword.

As a black pillar of a leg came down on it, the iron step creaked. The gigantic form was gradually revealed in a manner reminiscent of the way genies appeared from bottles in ancient legends. Treading the last step, the giant lumbered down to the ground. As the massive figure standing more than six and a half feet tall stared down at D, less than fifteen feet lay between them.

Was this the same Greater Noble that Baron Schuma and the others had mocked back at his castle? What stood before D was

indeed nothing less than a genie, impossibly huge and with the whole world in his grip. And what should that genie do but bend over with his right hand against his chest in a respectful bow, like a vassal paying homage to his king.

“So, you are D, I take it? I’ve heard of you. I am General Gaskell,” he said, his tone equally courteous.

In response, the blind young warrior also adorned in the color of the darkness replied in his usual fearless tone, “I’m D.”

“Ah!” Gaskell said, for now it was his turn to gasp. “You’re everything I’ve heard and more. It stands to reason that Madame Laurencin was slain and the Duke of Xenon failed to measure up. Your average country Nobility could come at you in packs and still not have the slightest effect.”

“My job right now is guarding that wagon,” D said. “Stand back and let us pass—-or else.”

If anyone else had been there to hear it, the threat would’ve sounded so reckless it wouldn’t have been surprising for them to go mad out of sheer despair. It was essentially a declaration of war.

However, the instant the words reached the ears of the paralyzed Juke and Sergei, involuntary cries of appreciation rang out in the depths of their hearts. They understood. D, the gorgeous warrior, was not afraid. For he, too, was a fiend.

“I shall not let you pass,” General Gaskell replied after some consideration. “As for why that is, it appears the goal of those of us who’ve been brought back to life is to slay you.”

“You come after me without even knowing why?” asked D. His eyes were still closed.

Gaskell’s expression—or the half of it that was visible—was tinged with suffering.

“Yes. I can’t recall it too well, but before I was destroyed, the Sacred Ancestor and I made an agreement about my revival. My stipulation was that he would be sure to bring me back to the world of the living. The timing of that revival I left to the Sacred Ancestor. However, at that time, the Sacred Ancestor added his own condition. Aha!” he exclaimed, his already intense expression twisting with glee. Just one look at it would be enough to make birds fall from the sky and lions faint dead away. “Now I remember! Yes, the Sacred Ancestor placed a condition on my revival. That after I’d been brought back to life, I had to do one task for him. Ah, now, for the first time, I understand. That’s what this is. Surely it must be to dispose of you.”

Sheathed in black, the general’s right hand went for the hilt of his longsword. Then he knit his brow.

“I had heard General Gaskell had discovered a way to return to life through his own power,” D said as if offering the words he sought. “Why did you rely on the Sacred Ancestor’s power instead of using that?”

Perhaps he was searching for the answer to D’s query, or he might’ve sought the solution to some puzzle of his own, but Gaskell was covered in a tense silence from head to toe. Lips thick enough to crush a rock finally spat the words that came from him like a creak. “Ah, yes. By my own power, I wasn’t able to determine the timing of my revival... I had no idea when I might come back to life. However, the Sacred Ancestor could have it occur whenever he wished. When I agreed to this, it was with the wish that I come back as soon as possible—within a millennium at least.”

“Probably, although I haven’t asked them about it. But none of them would’ve known how to revive themselves.”

Nevertheless, Baron Schuma, Madame Laurencin, and the Duke of Xenon had all come back to life, assembled under Gaskell, and were now fighting tooth and nail over who would face D. Had all of them also received promises from the Sacred Ancestor, with slaying D as the condition?

“I’m not entirely sure,” Gaskell replied, folding his arms. “And I can’t think of a reason why. Why would that be?”

A faint, pained grin flashed across D’s lips. He’d never had anyone who was trying to kill him agonize over not knowing the reason for doing so.

“I’m afraid I can’t do that. I have a promise to uphold. Particularly to him, of all people. Well, so be it. Once I’ve dealt with you, I suppose the reason for all this shall come to me.”

There was the sound of steel skimming by his chest. The general’s long, long blade reflected the distant flames, yet gleamed starkly white.

Despite the situation, D’s hand didn’t go for the sword on his back. What did his closed eyes behold?

The general moved forward. Although the step seemed to carry his entire weight, surprisingly enough it didn’t make a sound.

The blade of his sword fell. D met it head on. No one had seen him draw—not even the general. But with the most exquisite sound in the world the general’s longsword and D’s blade locked together.

“Ah!” someone cried out in surprise. Did that gasp escape from Juke or Sergei, or was it the Hunter’s left hand?

The general’s black face grinned. This wasn’t about technique. He simply pushed with all his might, trying to overwhelm D with sheer strength like some primitive combatant.

III

However, within the general’s grin was an astonishment even he couldn’t hide.

“You’ve done well to withstand a blow from General Gaskell,” he said, and the surprise came out in his voice. From the very bottom of his heart he praised the young man he wished to slice in two. “Every swordsman, every knight, every single warrior who ever came from the Capital I reduced to dust with a single blow. No one ever stopped me. D, your name will not be forgotten!”

As he spoke, his right arm bulged. With the power of just one arm, the general intended to bisect both D and his sword.

Rising a bit on his toes, he put more weight behind the weapon. His expression became one of clear surprise. He hadn’t cut through D’s blade. And D wasn’t even being pushed down. To the contrary, the pressure he was exerting on the massive blade from below was gradually but unmistakably driving the general’s enormous form back to its starting position. It simply wasn’t possible that a mere blind hunter of Nobility could match him in strength!

It was Juke and Sergei who cried out, their eyes bulging, but Gaskell himself was thinking the very same thing.

It was at precisely that instant that the voice and the massive sword flew upward. The giant had taken a huge leap back. A flash of light closed on him. Just as it skimmed across his chest and pulled away, the general made the earth tremble with his landing. He’d lost his former lightness. And by way of compensation, he’d been left with a gash through the chest of his jacket.

“You are truly a monster,” General Gaskell muttered. Who could’ve ever imagined him saying such a thing? “You pose a

The sky darkened. The bolt of lightning that came down from the heavens without any foreshadowing roar brought a white streak right down on top of D. Fifty million volts should’ve been enough to char even a member of the vampiric Nobility right to the bone.

The world became white, then blue. And in that light, an even stronger blue glittered—the pendant on D’s chest as he charged forward.

The enormous sword he brought down with that cry rebounded high, and the general didn’t even have time to flee the follow-up blow, which pierced his heart.

D had already pulled his sword back. He realized the general had narrowly managed to block it with his body, but he was in no position to parry the coup de grâce.

The ground quaked. Although D’s stance wasn’t disrupted at all, the general staggered badly. Flames erupted from the depths of the forest.

When the tip of D’s sword shot forward after a second’s hesitation, General Gaskell was already sailing through the air. Once he’d landed in the driver’s seat of his carriage, his six black horses tore up the ground. Picking up speed, they ran for dear life back the way they’d come.

“How embarrassing for our general,” someone’s voice said. “A bit more and he’d have broken through that lightproof armor. Such fearsome swordsmanship!”

Having already turned to look, General Gaskell realized as much. For all the vaunted speed of his synthetic horses, D was closing on

them with his eyes shut. Even as searing pain wracked Gaskell’s chest, his heart was bleached by fear and awe. Taking up the whip, he lashed away. The horses rapidly increased their speed.

So close he could’ve reached out and touched the back of the carriage, D rapidly began to fall further and further back. Leaving the now-halted D behind it, the black-as-night carriage raced off with the wind swirling in its wake.

Returning to the wagon, D was greeted by the pale faces of Juke and Sergei. Having watched a battle that aroused reactions beyond the normal human range—such as being glad that he’d survived or congratulating him on a good fight—their brains had been numbed.

“W-would you like a back rub or something?” Sergei finally managed to say as D was reaching for the handle to climb up into the driver’s seat.

“No, I shall see to his back,” said a luminescent tone that caused even D to turn.

There by the side of the wagon, looking up at D, was Lady Ann. Juke and Sergei knew what fate lay in store for them-—they gleaned it from the surpassingly feverish gaze she trained on D. And they also decided to take a certain course of action on seeing how the love-struck girl melted in rapture, while her eyes still burned like a flame.

“I was awakened by the general’s aura,” said Lady Ann. The way she spoke was so cute and even carefree without being showy, it made her sound all the more earnest. “And I was treated to quite a show. A display of your fighting prowess. Dealing the great Gaskell a wound while blinded—that’s most impressive.”

This seemed like a brusque way to reply to a profession of love; it was directed, of course, at Sergei. He was just about to pull back the trigger on the pistol he had trained on Lady Ann.

“Keep out of this, D,” Juke said, trying to mediate. But after having spoken, he had to wonder if the Hunter was merely pretending to be blind. “If we bring this little girl along with us, I think it’ll mean nothing but trouble. We’d be a whole hell of a lot better off getting rid of her right now.”

“But she’s dangerous!” Sergei said. “You must’ve seen the look in her eyes, right? Uh, sorry, I mean we can see it. She’s completely in love with you. And that’s sure to cause problems!”

“Oh, that I am,” the innocent girl sneered at the two grown men. “I’ve merely fallen in love with him. The two of you are my enemies—that much is unchanged. However, please feel at ease. I won’t do anything—if that is D’s bidding.”

“Do as you wish. There’s only one person in the whole world I need to believe in me.”

Ignoring her, the Hunter continued, “You’re still of use to us. But let me be clear—you’re not to interfere in any way. Do anything at all to slow our progress, and I’ll destroy you on the spot.”

“And I shall be too happy to be cut down,” the girl said, swathed in such an aura of joy that even death itself was no longer distasteful. This girl of less than ten would gladly welcome death if the one she loved delivered it.

As Juke and Sergei looked at each other, D called over to them in a quiet tone, “Then it’s settled. Let’s go.”

“They’ll be out of your territory soon,” Grand Duke Mehmet said, referring to D and the others. “Though the Duke of Xenon remains, his beloved daughter has been taken hostage, and that must substantially restrict his course of action. All the more so because she’s fallen in love with D.”

“What he says is true,” Dr. Gretchen said in a somewhat high tone, as if she’d known all along something like this would happen. “A woman blinded by love belongs to the object of her affection. There is neither friend nor foe. We’ve made a new enemy.”

“The Duke of Xenon will have to take responsibility,” General Gaskell said, his tone almost a groan.

He lay at length on a sofa. The doctors and nurses who’d slavishly seen to his treatment until a few minutes earlier had left with their medical equipment. As for the effects of the treatment—there were almost none. It was as if D’s deadly blade had utterly robbed the gigantic General Gaskell’s cells of their regenerative abilities, with his wound refusing to close and searing pain assailing him relentlessly. Yet for all this, his voice was calm. And though sweat welled on his parchment-pale face, his black sun protection hid it from the eyes of others. Yet he remained sprawled on the sofa.

No sooner had he replied than a slim figure stood beside his sofa like a wraith.

“Don’t talk nonsense,” Gaskell said, turning his face away in a snit. While his defeat might be common knowledge, he couldn’t very well show any weakness. And this woman in particular didn’t seem to suit General Gaskell’s nature.

“You mustn’t try to hide it from me. I am a specialist in that field, General.” “I am well aware of that. You are one of God’s mistakes—a woman who never should’ve been born. How many of the millions you were supposed to save did you send instead to their reward?”

“How uncouth of you,” the shadowy figure replied, putting her hand to her mouth as she laughed. “All of that was part of an effort to make the world of the Nobility even better. What are a million humans or two in comparison?”

“Too true,” the general said, smiling wryly. “But after you fled, the bodies of Nobility who should’ve died but couldn’t were discovered in your discarded research facility. Roughly fifty thousand of them—it came as little surprise you were sentenced to the most excruciating punishment.”

“Ah, if only I’d burned that facility down,” the shadowy figure laughed. “It was only right the Sacred Ancestor executed that painful death sentence himself. Even my own techniques of euthanasia wouldn’t serve me. I still shudder to think back on that torment. Ah!”

The shadowy figure began to quake. It took about a minute before her struggles with those memories were at an end.

“Is it not time that I had a turn, General?” the one they called Doctor asked in a tone choked with cruelty.

“Do you think that once I’ve caught that little traitor I’ll perform vivisection on her?”

“I don’t care if you dissect her, but I can’t have you turning the Duke of Xenon against us.”

“Goodness! Do you think I would ever embark on such a foolish course? Just watch. I shall take care of that little witch and earn the thanks of the Duke of Xenon, and then slay D and the other troublemakers with my own two hands. Just between the two of us, do you think any of the others can do the same things I can?”

They could probably never match your cruelty, the general muttered in his heart of hearts, but he said nothing. On further consideration, he added, And that is probably for the best.

“Oh, but I want to do this so badly. I wonder if you might allow me to try something. I should like to tear that Hunter to pieces with my bare hands. If you were to give me your permission, I would show you my gratitude.”

The pain from the wound D’s sword had dealt him had suddenly vanished without a trace.

Up ahead of the wagon they saw a new stand of trees and a trail through the forest that was clearly another road.

“How about it, D? Is that it?” Juke asked from where he sat in the driver’s seat holding the reins, and his voice was taut with expectation.

D’s reply carried two meanings at once—this was a road made by human hands, and they’d exited Gaskell’s domain.

“Yippee!” Juke exclaimed, swinging the reins wildly and letting Sergei know back in the living quarters that their escape had been successful.

However, they’d been racing nonstop through the forest for three hours, guided by D’s instinct alone. Dusk had already begun to settle over the world.

This time the horses didn’t seem afraid, their iron-shod hooves pounding the earth, and before long they arrived at the palisade of a village they all recognized. Leaning out of the wooden watchtower to see who was doing what was the same yellow-shirted young man with a rifle that they’d met before.

“We’re transporters,” Juke said by way of introduction, and the man showed him a pearly smile.

“Hold on a minute. It’s just—” he began, knitting his brow. “Haven’t I met you somewhere before? And fairly recently, too?” “Could be,” Juke said, shooting him a wry grin.

The palisade gates opened without any problem and the wagon was met by the cries of villagers. Children came running out of houses that’d been shrouded in fog before, and carts loaded with villagers and crops bustled incessantly up and down the street.

Having given him the reins, D sat motionless with his eyes shut, but once the wagon had pulled into the central square and impatient villagers pressed in on all sides, he climbed down from the vehicle with a grace inconceivable from a blind man.

“Take me with you!” a sweet but earnest tone cried out from the wagon’s interior.

“A little help, D,” was the appeal that came in due course from Sergei, who was keeping an eye on Lady Ann. “Gordo’s no good to us now, so I’ll have to assist Juke. Would you keep an eye on this little she-devil?”

D turned around quickly, as if to say, Just leave her be. “Somebody, please help me!” a shrill voice suddenly shouted. “I’m from the village of Ushki. These transport-party men abducted me!”

A stir went through the foremost rank of villagers. Many of the gazes that fell on Juke and D were clearly tinged with suspicion.

“Hey! Shut up, you little idiot!” Sergei said in an attempt to get her to stop.

“Ah! What are you doing?” the girl cried. “How disgusting! Take your hands off of me!”

D turned and knocked on the door to the living quarters, saying, “Get down here.” “Gladly!” Lady Ann cried out, her tone so contented, in fact, that she seemed to have missed the sternness in the Hunter’s tone.

Given the crowd’s distrust, if she had emerged from the wagon tied up, the party would surely have been attacked as the worst sort of deviants.

“What?” Sergei shouted angrily, but a second later, that anger turned to surprise. “Why, you little devil—you snapped our ropes!”

“I could’ve escaped at any time. After killing you, that is. The only reason I didn’t do so was because I didn’t wish to be parted from my love.”

From the door of the living quarters the little girl dressed in a gorgeous array of colors leapt down next to D, while the villagers let out what could’ve been either gasps or sighs. The sounds spread through the crowd like ripples across the water’s surface, and all the villagers appeared spellbound. As innocent as ever, the girl—Lady Ann—looked around at the foolish people and smiled dazzlingly.

“Everyone looks upon us with such envy, beloved,” she laughed. “Now, shall we retire to the refreshing shade of a stand of trees or a bed of green grass stroked by the evening breeze?”

To all appearances she was a girl of ten. However, no one laughed when she spoke like a grown temptress. But look. A new expression was rising on the faces of the villagers—a dark shadow of terror. For they had guessed what Lady Ann really was.

As they repeated the same words over and over, the villagers tried to convince themselves. Spears and scythes kept stashed for use against invaders were surreptitiously passed around, and stake'launching guns were cocked. The gray-haired crone, the housewife in the baggy apron, the children in the patchwork clothing all chanted their certainty with weapons in hand and stared at the pair.

The mob inched forward. Neither Juke nor Sergei could move. They knew the slightest provocation could send ordinary villagers into a crazed frenzy.

A gust of admiration and fear sailed across the faces of Juke and Sergei, for D had gone into motion at the same time. This alone had been enough to freeze the movements of more than a hundred villagers. D walked along as if nothing had happened, and just as he was about to collide with the foremost rank of villagers—the mob split right down the middle. Villagers who’d just programmed themselves for slaughter forgot all about it and stepped aside. D went without a word down the path they made for him. Lovely as a blossom, the girl followed along behind him, and before long they’d gone off into the twilight, though the exquisite sight didn’t fade from the villagers’ eyes for the longest time.

Not far to the east of the square was a little forest. A narrow brook flowed through it. The faint light of evening lent a final hint of blue to the water that flowed there.

“It looks like it’s going to be a wonderful night, don’t you think?” Ann said, following about fifteen feet behind D. Multicolored wildflowers were clutched to her chest. Stopping to pick every one she found was what’d put her so far behind him.

“I hope a lot of stars come out,” she continued. “So many more than usual. Oh, dear!”

Without so much as a glance at the jubilant Ann, D had lain down in the deepest part of the forest.

Quickly running over, Ann’s color changed as she peered down at the handsome young man.

“If you’re gonna make a run for it, now’s your chance. He can’t move.”

Descending from the Nobility, dhampirs could operate by day or night, though occasionally the bill for that came due in precisely this form. They were both human and Noble—and those two bloodlines were at war, suddenly sending fatigue far beyond what was ordinary through their whole body. They would lose consciousness, their limbs would grow motionless, and all their vital signs would drop to their absolute lowest limits. They would essentially be comatose. Not even the dhampir in question knew how long it would last. It was up to fate.

“Excuse me—but who are you?” Ann inquired in a sharp tone. Needless to say, her query was aimed at the source of the hoarse voice.

“Now, this is a surprise. You’re more interested in me than you are in getting away?”

“I have no intention of fleeing. I’m now doing everything in my power for that man . . . though he’s terribly frightening. Even having come this far with him, I couldn’t hold his hand. There is no way he could ever love me. But that matters not, as I love him. At any rate, who are you?”

Trying to get a peek at D’s left hand, Lady Ann leaned forward. She’d knelt down on his right side.

Though she landed on her derrière, she quickly righted herself. Not surprisingly, anger burned in her eyes, but the moment she looked at D it immediately faded.

“Why are you so callous? I mean you no harm at all. I merely wished to learn where that unpleasant voice is coming from.”

“Dear me!” Ann said, her eyes going wide. “It’s some kind of unknown monstrosity, just as I suspected. That must be most troubling. I shall rid you of it now.”

“Hey! Knock it off. It’d be in your best interest to just forget it and get the hell out of here as fast as you can. He’s using you to keep your father in check, you know.”

“I already knew as much,” Ann said, circling around to D’s feet. “And it doesn’t bother me a whit. If my beloved can make use of me, that’s all I could ever want. Could it be that you take exception to being linked to my love?”

“How ungrateful of you,” Ann said, her whole face flushed with anger. “He won’t have anything to do with me—though my heart burns for him—yet you, who don’t even like him, have attached yourself to him and cause him all manner of trouble! I simply must separate the two of you.”

Ann’s right hand approached D’s left. In it she clutched a yellow wildflower.

While it was unclear whether or not D heard this bizarre exchange, he remained motionless and kept his eyes shut. It didn’t even seem like he was breathing.

Staring intently at the talking left hand, Ann soon gave a decisive nod, saying, “Here!”

The cut end of the stalk stuck out of the back of the hand. And although it was an ordinary flower, it was driven so deep into D’s hand it seemed like it would poke right out the other side.

“What’ve you done, you little bitch? Don’t you know what I do for him? Oh, the pain! All my strength is leaving me!”

“I enjoyed doing that,” Ann said, putting one hand over her mouth for a conceited laugh. She was indeed a daughter of the Nobility—that and nothing less.

As she stood with a smile that would’ve left anyone staring in rapture, the yellow bloom before her swiftly took on another hue. First light brown, then red—actually, crimson.

Another roar of agony went up, and as if in response, a change came over the left hand. Its healthy skin tone faded, leaving it a color reminiscent of wax. Something like white steam erupted from its pores.

When that had finished Lady Ann smiled thinly. From the wrist up D’s left hand was withered and desiccated, having been transformed into a veritable mummy’s hand.

“The flower I just picked was another variety of parasitic plant. And now the interloper is no more.”

Smiling lovingly at the slumbering D, the girl said, “You are mine now. Tee-hee, I wonder what Father would do if only he could see us.”

“Ah, that’s right! If Father were to come now—no! My love must be hidden.”

Ann quickly looked all around, her cute little face colored by fretfulness. Before long she nodded to herself, and with a tense expression she hadn’t exhibited up until now, she left D’s side, went about six feet away, and began to plant the flowers clutched to her chest one by one all around the Hunter. Just like a barrier to shield his body.

After she’d finished planting about twenty of them, she snuggled by D’s side. There was a gleam of passion in her eyes.

“I am about to betray my father for your sake. I believe I’m entitled to receive at least this much by way of compensation.”

If someone possessing a balanced mind had seen it, it would’ve looked like a scene of sweet love. However, Ann’s wish was not to be fulfilled.

The earth moved with rapid tremors, and before she knew it, it rose in waves in a spot some twenty to thirty feet away. Suddenly, an armored individual pushed his way up through rock-laden, thick black soil.

Though the microphone ruined his voice somewhat, it was still filled with his feelings for his daughter.

“All I could think about was rescuing you as soon as possible, but considering that young man’s abilities, I had to proceed with great caution. This is the same man who even managed to cut through my armor! Are you surprised to learn there was something that could make even your father faint hearted?”

“No,” Ann replied, shaking her head. She, too, was speaking from the heart. “That’s only natural when dealing with him. Even if you had fled with your tail between your legs, Father, I still wouldn’t have been surprised.”

The Duke of Xenon’s reaction was terribly ambiguous. He sensed that his daughter wasn’t the same girl he had known.

“Ann, are you—” “Might I ask you to be so good as to leave, Father?” Ann said, gazing intently at the area corresponding to the duke’s eyes. “If possible, I’d like you to kindly swear to never again appear before me or him.”

“Yes, there would be trouble. Even though you are my father.” “Would you destroy me?”

Such an easy conversation it was. And at the same time, such a mind-numbing one.

The man in the exoskeleton was stunned by her flat reply. No, he was positively dumbfounded.

“Yes. I watched him do battle as he fought off the great general blinded. Could it be that you also had a similar encounter unbeknownst to me, Father?”

“I might’ve guessed—oh, but he’s such an awesome individual,” Ann said, her voice trembling. No, her whole body quaked. And the young girl congratulated herself on her feelings of love. She hadn’t yet noticed the desire those same feelings carried.

“Lady Ann, won’t you come to your senses?” The Duke of Xenon’s voice suddenly dropped as he continued, “You are my treasure. If someone else is going to take you from me—”

“You’d rather destroy me yourself? Oh, ho! Could you do that, Father? After the way you loved me so?”

Ann’s words were launched like arrows of derision. Apparently they struck the Duke of Xenon in a vital point, for he let out a low groan and then fell silent.

Just then, there was the sound ofvoices and footsteps approaching from off in the distance. Suspicious of the rumbling in the earth the duke had caused, the villagers had come running.

“And I will only tell you this once more—I respectfully decline.” Her hand rose, and a pure white bloom flew at her armored father. Almost all of her flowers had been planted around D, but it was one of three she had left. Astonishingly enough, it didn’t bounce off when it struck the armor, but rather adhered to it. And in the blink of an eye, what should run across the surface of the armor but something like roots!

It was a second later that the armored giant dropped to one knee. “Lady Ann!” the Duke of Xenon cried out in despair, for up until that moment he hadn’t thought her capable of such a thing.

“Every flower I touch, regardless of type, can suck up any kind of energy,” the girl said, smiling silently. “Be it a person’s lifeblood or the power from a combat suit, a bolt of lightning or the force of a river. And who made me this way, Father? Was it not you? The very thought of it ever being used against you must’ve seemed preposterous.”

“I shall say no more,” said the voice over the microphone, rapidly moving away and mixed with static. “I won’t ask you to return with me, nor to step aside. Lady Ann, accept your father’s tears as he destroys you!”

A second blossom flew, this one yellow, and it jabbed in by the right side of the white flower. Already down on one knee, the armored giant tilted forward even more.

“Father, you have always been kind to me. However, it only stands to reason that a parent should love their child. It doesn’t stand to reason that the child love the parent in turn.”

The sweet but disturbing little girl took a third bloom—a pale purple one—and raised her right hand high.

At that instant, Ann realized that the voice of the armored giant—the voice of her father—had all of its normal intensity.

The pale purple flower flew. A terrible gleam limned an arc, and before it could even split the bloom, the force of the wind shredded it and the flower blew away.

As if to accompany Lady Ann’s cry of pain, bright blood erupted from her left shoulder and the girl bent backward.

“I won’t let you perish. You must suffer a while as punishment for your rebelliousness. D, your life is mine for the taking!” the duke exclaimed.

Ann’s blood fell in drops from the steely blade projecting from the elbow of his armor. It was over ten feet long—could D possibly survive if it removed his head from his torso?

However, just as the duke was about to strike, an unexpected hindrance stopped him. Ann lay supine on top of D, and around the girl all the colors of the rainbow began to writhe before clinging to every part of the armored form. It was the flowers Ann had planted. The way the roots shot across the length and breadth of the armor’s smooth surface was a sight to behold.

Once again, the armored giant staggered. He hadn’t even recovered from the damage dealt to him by Ann’s first two flowers... and now there were nearly twenty of them.

All the while, the voices and the footsteps of the villagers grew steadily closer.

“The humans of this village mean nothing to me; I shall depart for the time being. When next we meet, Ann, your loving father shall drink your blood!”

And then the Duke of Xenon smoothly dropped feet first back into the hole in the ground from which he’d appeared. The dull whir of a motor rang out and the armor rotated as it sank into the bowels of the earth.

At the forefront of the villagers racing to the scene was Juke. Leaving Sergei and Gordo by Rosaria’s side, he’d hurried there.

Seeing the great hole in the ground and D and Lady Ann lying next to it took the villagers’ breaths away. Who among them could’ve imagined that the bloody young girl with her left shoulder split open had fallen fighting to defend the young man of unearthly beauty from her own father? All they felt was a fear of the Nobility and an incomprehensible horror, and they sensed as only the people of the Frontier could that this pair and those they attracted would threaten their peaceful existence.

It didn’t take long at all for those repeated cries to work like hypnosis, creating a great and abiding purpose. The will to slaughter still burned in their hearts—Juke was powerless to stop them. Even if he were to try to halt them by force, a single firearm wouldn’t do much to deter the villagers plowing forward like a machine bent on murder.

Just before the mob could crush the pair on the ground, a shower of sparks flashed in the transporter’s wildly spinning brain. Jumping out in front of the villagers, he spread his arms and said, “Just hold on! The young guy’s a Vampire Hunter who’s been working as our escort. He’s a dhampir, but he was keeping an eye on that girl. She’s a little Noble. No doubt they must’ve had it out here. Now I’ll finish the girl off for good. I’m hoping that’ll be enough for all of you.”

A glint of reason returned to the crazed and bloodshot eyes of the villagers. Based on the present situation, they could understand a little Noble girl being cut down by a Hunter. And though the great hole in the ground was a mystery, it was something beyond their comprehension.

What worried him was that in cases like this, the final decision rested with the mayor, and he would’ve done well to turn to that person, but he’d heard that this village’s mayor and an assistant had set off for a neighboring community three days earlier and wouldn’t be back until tomorrow. There were a number of people he recognized, but Juke couldn’t decide if any of them were up to acting as a leader.

“If you like, I’ll also throw in a little something extra in addition to what you’ve ordered, as a gift to the village.”

That had come to him in a desperate flash, and it proved far more effective than anything he’d said up until now.

Nearly all the villagers wore an expression as if they’d just been exorcised of some demon as they exchanged glances with one another.

“What should we do?” voices whispered here and there, and then they gave way to quiet remarks that quickly built into a chorus.

“Kill the Noble girl. And once you’re done, unload your goods and get out of town. You got that?” one of them said, and he wasn’t alone. A number of others voiced their agreement.

“Understood,” Juke replied, turning then to face D—and Ann. He was ready to do what needed to be done. In order to save D, there was nothing he could do except dispose of an innocent little girl. Granted, the girl had originally come to kill them all.

A number of the lengthy weapons were instantly tossed down at his feet. Taking one of them in hand, Juke grabbed Lady Ann by the ankle and pulled her away from D. Straightening up again, he glanced down at the girl to take aim with his spear. He tried to avoid looking at her face.

Ignoring the thought that skimmed for a heartbeat through his brain, he prepared to drive the iron tip of the weapon through the chest that was just a little too well formed for its age.

“Wait just a minute!” a low, calm female voice called out, making the whole group turn and look.

Due to the stir she created, it was only too clear that the speaker had the trust of the villagers. The mob split down the middle, and a short woman in her fifties came with a composed gait through the crowd to stand before Juke. Though her hair was gray, her blue eyes were filled to overflowing with purpose and intellect.

“I’m Yutta Camus, mayor of the village,” she said with a courteous bow to Juke. “What’s all this commotion?”

Each and every villager started talking at once. One voice blotted out the next, leaving nothing but pure noise.

“Quiet down!” the mayor roared in a voice like the edge of the wind, and silence returned.

At this directive—in a tone that’d grown calm with staggering speed—a middle-aged man with a long, horselike face stepped forward from the crowd and explained the situation to Mayor Camus. As parts of it were fairly one sided, Juke tried to interrupt, at which point the mayor told him she’d hear his side later.

And after she’d actually listened to what he had to say, she turned to the group and said, “Maybe it was a premonition? It’s fortunate I came back a day early. If I hadn’t, an innocent young girl would’ve been lost without having a chance to explain herself.”

When she then turned back to Juke, her face was so mild she seemed like a completely different person.

“And you,” she continued. “I don’t care if you’re trying to save your friend; I don’t care if she’s a Noble—I don’t want you to ever think about raising a hand against a child like this. From the look of it, that young man needs medical attention. Why don’t you stay in the assembly hall until he’s better.”