So, it’s positively no use?”
“Essentially,” Greylancer said in a voice like creaking iron.
Not disguising her disappointment, the duchess said, “In that case, I most definitely want him. What if we were to threaten to kill the hostages one by one if D doesn’t turn himself over to us?”
Her question was directed not at Greylancer, but at the thing on the floor.
“Now that is what you’d really call useless. The only reason he protects humans is because it’s his job. When it’s not, he’s the kind of guy who could have a massacre happening right in front of him and walk by without raising an eyebrow.”
“Well, isn’t that something,” Greylancer said with a sarcastic grin. “I don’t believe it though. But if a part of his body says so, there’s no reason for me to say otherwise.”
“Then we have no choice. We shall go with our last resort,” the duchess said, her tone changed.
Realizing that her remarks were directed toward itself, the left hand trembled. In fact, it backed away a good foot.
The time finally came when the others knew for sure that, even shut behind the clouds, day had still existed. The hues of the village were being tinged with blue, and the light was failing.
D was gazing out one of the hall’s windows at the rain, which had let up just a bit. Naturally, not only his eyes, but his ears and his very skin had undoubtedly been honed to deal with the threat of the Nobility, but as he gave off his ghastly air—or rather the jewel-like radiance of his uniquely heaven-sent beauty—those who’d just returned from another room melted away in rapture.
Arbuckle and even Bligh were entranced by the Hunter, while Josette reflexively turned her face away, making no attempt to even look at him. Finally, she looked out the window and said to him in a somewhat absent-minded tone, “It’s not going to stop raining, is it?”
“What about your husband?” D asked.
“Huh?” she blurted out at the completely unexpected query. But she immediately realized he wasn’t inquiring as to the health of her husband or her own state of mind. “You’re wondering whether or not he’s been attacked by the Nobility, aren’t you? I’ve been to see him since we got here, but he says he doesn’t want to throw in with the rest of us. That’s just the sort of person he is.”
“Surely he realizes it was the Nobility that constructed this village. Why isn’t he concerned for his own well-being?”
“I don’t know. But he’s a born misanthrope.”
“He was with you.”
“Somehow or other, we got along. I used to work in a saloon. He came in one day. When I heard he was a warrior, I asked him to take me away with him. After a job in that saloon, I thought I could stand anything.”
“Why’d you let him go his own way?”