Ion's face twisted at Radu's mocking voice. Will I be killed here? By the hand of the man I used to believe was my friend? Is this it?
The naked blade flashed under the light of the two moons that floated in the southern sky. The sword thrust down forcefully. Darkness covered Ion, but both shock and pain were absent, and death showed no signs of arrival.
Timidly opening his eyes, Ion wondered, Why am I alive? He couldn't understand why Radu's sword hadn't pierced his body. The answer to that was before his eyes. Still holding the sword downward, Radu's body was frozen stiff. His face was warped in agony, and his hands, faintly trembling, appeared as though they were on the verge of breaking.
"I ... on," said Radu.
The quiet voice struck Ion's ears, as his face grew tense with suspicion.
"Run ... I ... on," Radu repeated.
Was this the same person who was brimming with evil self-confidence moments earlier?
' His face dripping with greasy sweat, the blue-haired traitor squeaked out a voice. "Run . . . Stop Her Majesty. This is a trap."
"Trap?" asked Ion. Forgetting to run away, he stared at his old friend who had changed completely. Where at first Radu seemed triumphant over his certain victory, now he was telling Ion to run. Was he taunting him? Or was this some kind of trick?
Radu's lips trembled as he tried to speak. "They... The Orden was mistaken... About what I was thinking... Terrible... They—"
<That's enough talk, Flanberg.>
A beautiful, but hostile, voice broke in.
<I know you're worried about your friend, but I need you to stop. You're already dead. A regretful man is pitiful.>
"Ion, run . . . escape!" It was Radu, holding the sword high over his head, who spoke in two opposing voices as Ion looked on in disbelief.
"Radu, wh-what in the world are you?" asked Ion.
A strange light wavered in Radu's eyes. "Ion, sorry. I ... failed—"
<I thought I told you to knock it off!>
As the irate voice spoke, Radu's eyelids fell as though some switch had been cut off. When he opened them again, the light that had been shining in them had disappeared as if lacking electricity.
"Sorry to keep you waiting, Count of Memphis," said Radu. His tortured expression was all but gone. Wearing his standard sarcastic smile, Radu pointed the sword at the boy's heart. "It would be a problem if you were captured alive, so I'll have you die here."
A moment later, the explosive sound of gunpowder roared. "Your Excellency the Count!" shouted Esther. Nine shots fired from the sawed-off shotgun hit Radu's short sword. The white blade burst into fragments of light, causing Baron of Luxor to stumble backward holding his wounded shoulder in agony.
"Please run, Your Excellency!" said Esther as she packed the second volley into the chamber. She fixed her aim on the Methuselah, his blue hair fluttering, when out of nowhere, a strong force grabbed the gun from her hands.
Baybars, who'd taken the shotgun from Esther, firmly thrust its barrel at her neck. "Coward," he mocked.
"Esther!" cried Ion as he watched his companion's body be thrown to the ground. Of course, if Baybars had been serious, he would've broken the Terran's slender neck. But Ion didn't have time to ponder what-ifs. Half-dazed, he pushed up his body and tried to run to her. "Esther! Esther! "Unfortunately, a miraculously timed sweep to his feet made Ion hit the dirt.
"Worry about yourself before you worry about other people, Count of Memphis," said Radu. With his left foot on Ion's leg, treading on the fallen boy's back, Radu cracked a thin smile. Throwing away the short sword, he waved his hand in the air. The blue- white sheen of raw napalm filled the air.
"Come, it's time for the traitor to leave," said Radu. His weight still on Ion's back, as the boy twisted in pain and despair, the Efreet gripped the fire in his fist that reached three thousand degrees. "You should die as miserably as possible. I hope you gnash your teeth at your own powerlessness."
The brightness of the flames dyed Ion's face a faint blue color. Their searing heat only added to the Methuselah's uncanny strength. If Ion were hit directly, nothing would remain of the boy but ash. Miraculously, Radu's fist stopped a few centimeters shy of Ion's horrified face.
<Wait, Baron of Luxor. You must not kill him.>
The burning hand immediately lowered before Ion's eyes. A small shadow had stepped between the two nobles and had grasped Radu's arm.
"Your Majesty, it's dangerous. Please withdraw!" Baybars pleaded. He'd left he unconscious Esther to the Ienichieri.
The girl in green didn't budge. She just stared through her veil at the boy writhing on the ground. <Ion Fortuna, Count of Memphis. There are many things I need to ask this person, particularly concerning that Terran there. Until I have done that, you must not kill him.>
"But, Your Majesty," said Radu. When he lifted his head discontentedly, he noticed the Empress peering into his face.
<But what?> There was no emotion in the modulated voice, and there was no way to guess her expression, shrouded by the veil. Still, it was hard to deny the frosty air about her. <I said you must not kill him. Are you dissatisfied with that, Baron?>
"No. Do as you will," Radu replied, bowing deeply.
The Empress turned on her heel as if she'd suddenly lost interest in the two assassins, and in the assassination plot itself. <Then, lords, let us continue the mourning ceremony. There isn't much time until dawn. Baybars, I'm entrusting those two to you. After we've taken them back to the Celestial Imperial Palace, confine them until you receive instruction from me.>
"Very well," said Baybars. He neglected to look at the Chief of the Palace Guards as he placed his hand over his heart and bowed.
Without further adieu, the Empress resettled into the ranks of her entourage. There really wasn't much time left before dawn. Considering the time it would take to go to the mausoleum, and for the Empress to enshrine the remains of the departed, the schedule was tight. Because of the urgency, nobody noticed that the blue-haired Methuselah had been left behind in the confusion, watching the scores of attendants leave with a wicked smile.
III
"It's quite noisy outside," said Astharoshe serenely as she gazed at the waves crashing below the window. Having called at the Duke of Tigris's family mausoleum, she had already spent close to half an hour being entertained in the grand reception hall. And the building's owner still showed no sign of appearing.
Because the owner was acting as chief mourner, this building seemed to have become the funeral's makeshift management headquarters. The mansion's interior bustled, and the sound of private citizens walking quickly could be heard everywhere.
Standing next to the sofa, Abel commented, "It does seem busy. Are we in the way?"
"No, that's not what I meant," said Astharoshe. Trying to sniff out something in the night air, Aste pointed her well-turned nose upward. She smelled something burning but couldn't detect what it was.
The Duke of Tigris's family mausoleum was on the opposite side of the island from the Marquise of Kiev's. Because the inlet where the Empress would arrive was over the hill, there was no way to see it from where she stood.
"The Duke of Tigris is keeping us waiting," noted Astharoshe. Calm down, she told herself. As her heartbeat accelerated due to a bad premonition, she put the previously warm milk on the table to her mouth, drinking it down in one gulp. "I wonder if Count of Memphis is behaving himself right now? It's fine to be assertive, but I'm a little worried, because that brat is short-tempered."
"You do know people well, don't you?" said Abel.
"What did you say?" asked Astharoshe. She shot him a dangerous look, but Abel shrugged and looked off into the distance.
Picking his nose, he asked back casually, "Well, Esther's with him, so there's no need to worry, right? That girl is sturdy for her age. They'11 be fine if you leave them alone."
"It's true Esther is strong for a Terran, but that's just it. It's rare for an Outer Terran girl, especially a nun from the Vatican, to be that unafraid of us," said Astharoshe.
Abel finally stopped picking his nose. "Well, she's had to overcome all kinds of things." Looking agreeable, he added, "Until now, she's been an unwavering; stubborn person. She's still a bit inexperienced, but I think there's no harm in trusting her."
"Hmmm. You trust that girl a lot, don't you?" asked Astharoshe. She gave a restrained, wry smile in response to the priest's face, which resembled that of a father who was proud of his daughter. She opened her mouth, about to tease him about something, but then suddenly closed it. The guest room door opened one beat later, and a very tall figure came into the room.
"Very sorry for keeping you waiting," said Sulayman. The great man with the swarthy face—Sulayman, Duke of Tigris— traversed the room with a broad stride, saw Aste's face, and smiled sociably. "I'm busy tonight. I haven't hurt your feelings, have I, Marquise of Kiev?"
Aste was stiff and formal as she quickly rose. "Of course not! I'm sorry for having to impose on you when you're busy," she said. "Please forgive my rudeness, but it's an emergency. The truth is, danger threatens Her Majesty the Empress. We came to tell you that."
"Her Majesty? That's a very disconcerting thing to say," said Sulayman. His countenance hardened at the very mention of the Empress's name, his razor-sharp eyes honing in on Aste's face. While gesturing for his guests to sit down, the Imperial Second Privy Counselor questioned the Directly Reporting Chief Inspector. "Is this accurate information, princess?"
"Yes," said Astharoshe. She spoke as if she were telling a lie she'd rehearsed many times. "My citizen, Abel Nightroad, here, saw Count of Memphis on this island. That time, the Count was dressed as a citizen."
"Count of Memphis? Is that true, Citizen Abel?" Sulayman asked.
"Yes. I-I swear it's true," said Abel. He released a timid sigh as he held his hand against his heart. "It was a little while ago—about an hour, I believe—when I went down to the beach on my mistress's orders. It was then that I saw a short citizen. I glanced at his face as we passed each other, and was surprised to find that it was unmistakably Count of Memphis. Oh, and the citizen's uniform belonged to the Baron of Luxor's family."
"Baron of Luxor, you say?" said Sulayman, unable to hide his surprise as his elliptical eyes opened wide.
Aste began to suffer from inner turmoil. She had written this scenario of lies. But with this, she should be able to find out whether or not Radu was on the island, and ascertain his whereabouts. "So, Duke of Tigris ..." Cautious not to let her guilty conscience show on her face, Aste picked up the story before Abel could give them away"... where is Baron of Luxor now? Because Count of Memphis is pretending to be a citizen belonging to his family, do you think we can get his help to search for him?"
"I asked the Baron to attend to Her Majesty," said Sulayman. His hand still on his chin, Duke of Tigris continued, "I'll send someone at once to summon him here. He should explain why Count of Memphis is on this island, pretending to be his citizen."
"Alternatively, we could go to the Baron. That would be the fastest way." Without waiting for an answer, Aste stood up and nodded. The blood in her face had gone from what Sulayman had said: "I asked the Baron to accompany Her Majesty." Of all people, the assassin was by Her Majesty's side. Suppressing the impulse to run, Aste did her best to explain away her hastiness with a plausible excuse. "We'll come back with the Baron right away, so please wait here, Your Excellency. Let's go, Abel!"
A contrastingly calm voice stopped her as she stood up hurriedly. "Please wait, Marquise of Kiev. There's one thing I'd like to confirm," said Sulayman, rubbing his ring as he sat on the sofa. "Citizen Abel, when you saw Count of Memphis, was he alone? According to the Palace Guards' report, two Terrans, a man and a woman, were accompanying him."
"Terrans? No, I didn't see any. Although maybe I just didn't notice that they were nearby," said Abel.
"Even the girl?" asked Sulayman.
"Urn, yes. Eh?" Abel replied. At first, he was nodding as . affably as ever, but all of a sudden, his face froze.
In the Palace Guards' report, two Terrans, a man and a woman, had accompanied Count of Memphis. But how did he know that one of them was a girl?
Astharoshe turned to face Sulayman. "Duke of Tigris, y-you — "
"Look out,' Aste!" Abel shouted. The lanky priest suddenly pushed Aste's body down before she could ask. If he'd been a half second later, her life would have ended at that instant. Some unknown force grazed the air where her head had been, continuing until they could hear the sound of the wall crumbling behind them.
"What the . . . ?" Aste twirled around to find a big hole had been gouged into the wall. Its diameter was at least ten feet. The perimeter of the hole, a circle so perfect it looked as though it were cut from a pattern, was powdered in white frost. Frozen air rose from the opening like steam.
While examining the hole, Aste felt her body lift into the air as Abel carried her off. Deep holes formed one after the other at Abel's feet as he leapt back, still carrying Aste's body. The invisible menace trailing Abel pursued the pair to the edge of the wall.
Sulayman stood up from the sofa with studied calmness. "Marquise of Kiev, I wanted you, a true 'Terran-lover,' to play the role of villain in the event that this plot failed. You would be the evil one who colluded with the Vatican and assassinated the Empress with Count of Memphis. I would be the one to discover that, and impeach you before the lords. That was my plot."
The Ring of Solomon, with its uncanny design that combined an alloy of iron and brass into two spirals, shone on Sulayman's right hand. While fixing the aim of the "device" that had been passed down among the Duke of Tigris family on the beautiful woman and priest, the Second Privy Counselor shook his head regretfully. "The world is full of vexations. The truth is, a little while ago, I discovered that girl in a rather uninviting situation."
It wasn't Aste's expression that tightened at Sulayman's admission. Holding her, Abel went pale and began to tremble. "E-Esther? Impossible, D-Duke of Tigris . . .You, to her . . ."
"Ahhh, don't worry, Citizen Abel. There was an unforeseeable interference, and she got away. Thanks to that, I had to rewrite the scenario like this," said Sulayman, keeping the sparkling ring on his finger pointed straight at them.
The Ring of Solomon, handed down in the Duke of Tigris's family for generations, was a device that shot infinitesimal magnetic fields at high speed. The discharged magnetic fields rapidly lower their internal pressure as they approach their target, until a lump of air sealed into the magnetic field expands, creating the most basic physical phenomenon, adiabatic expansion. The sudden lowering of air pressure instantaneously freezes the air inside the magnetic field, and the explosive inflow of air resulting from the low air pressure slices the fragile intermolecular union, leading to destruction of the target in one blow. It could pulverize steel to atomic level. Needless to say, not even a scrap of a fragile human body would remain.
"Well, I think I'd better leave the chitchat at that. If we affect the time of the opening curtain too much, it might alter the main event. Ah, don't move, Marquise of Kiev," said Sulayman. He noticed that she had stealthily reached for the spear hanging at her hip. "As for my ring, Marquise of Kiev, you should know it well. The Spear of Gei Borg is an excellent weapon, but it certainly isn't any match for this. Be brave and give up."
Sulayman's tone wasn't self-assured, like that of somebody who was certain of victory. The fact that he didn't summon one of his citizens meant that either he was going to deal with the two of them secretly, or that he was confident enough in their difference in strength. He narrowed his eyes slightly as he held up the ring, which began to flicker again.
"We've gotten a little behind schedule, but it's fine. I'll ask you to leave the stage now. After I found out about the plot to assassinate the Empress, I killed a miserable would-be avenger who tried to silence me. It's a shame it's a common plot. I hope you'll forgive me," said Sulayman.
Aste's confidence in avoiding the next attack was little to none. In an attempt to buy time, she said in a trembling voice, "I-I want to ask you something, Duke of Tigris. Why are you, the highest noble in this Empire, involved in this kind of rebellious plot?"
"Even if I explain, a young person like you wouldn't understand, princess," said Sulayman. There was a bitter tinge to his voice. His face suddenly appeared aged beyond his years, which numbered in the thirties at most if he were a Terran. "I've lived in this Empire for close to three hundred years beside Her Majesty, the great Empress. But there's no way you could understand how that was every day. She is too great, too mighty. She sees everything."
"Great? We respect her because she is great! What harm is there in that?" asked Ashtaroshe.
Sulayman offered a sour smile. "Yes, it's good that she is great. But the problem is, she is too great. And I found out..." His voiced sounded pained as grasped the air."... She ... she is not a person who belongs in this world."
"What?" asked Ashtaroshe. "Not a person who belongs in this world?" she thought to herself, frowning at the mysterious words. "What does that mean, Duke of Tigris?"
"Hmmm, it seems I've said a little too much," said Sulayman. Laughing as if scolding himself, the previous look of bloodthirstiness returned to Sulayman's eyes. The Duke of Tigris raised one cheek as he pointed the pulsating ring at Aste and the priest holding her. "I won't miss this time, Marquise of Kiev. I have no grudge against you, but I want you to die quietly."
What happened the moment before the ring flashed was completely unexpected to the Methuselahs involved in the standoff.
"Hold on, Aste!" said Abel. Previously ignored by the two Methuselahs, the silver-haired young man suddenly began to run like a rabbit, still holding Aste. But he wasn't running away from the ring; he was running toward Sulayman, who held the ring aloft.
"What?" Sulayman gasped.
"Aste, the spear!" said Abel.
Sulayman hesitated to fire the ring, and the young man, darting on his spindly legs, passed by Sulayman's side with unexpected swiftness. Behind Sulayman was a large window that faced the night sea.
"Argh!" Sulayman grumbled.
Suddenly, a burst of red light shot from the white-haired beauty's hand and completely shattered the glass. The glistening shards plunged toward the sea, revolving under the moonlight on their descent. Then, the young man holding the woman jumped as if chasing the broken glass.
"No!" Sulayman shouted. By the time he ran to the window, a tall pillar of water was rising on the ocean's surface. He used his Methuselah sight to scan the surface of the dark ocean, but he couldn't find two human forms anywhere. Did they dive deep into the sea?
"Hmph, they got away," said Sulayman, miffed. He figured that the white-haired man would perish but that Aste, a Methuselah, probably wouldn't have died after jumping from such a height. Still, he had to acknowledge failure. "Well, fine. What can one little girl do anyway?"
A faint smile swept over the swarthy face of the man who'd become the greatest noble in the Empire, now that the Duchess of Moldova was dead. His smile widened. Yes, the plan is already entering its final stages. Who can stop it now?
Empress of the Night
And Adorn lived a hundred and thirty years,
and begat a son in his own likeness, and after his image;
and called his name Seth
—Genesis 5:3
I
Fully armed citizens were passing by the "Fountain of p Criminals." Likely some nobles' private citizens, their faces were pale with stress as they passed through the main gate of the Outer Court.
It was already seventeen hundred hours, but the sky was the same as if the sun had just risen from beyond the horizon. Typically at this hour, the Celestial Imperial Palace would've fallen silent. But for some reason, this morning, the sound of armor and swords clanking resounded. This was the day when all the lords residing in Imperial territory were in attendance. A very observant person would have noticed nobles with anxious expressions inhabiting the Outer Court, conversing privately about the greatest disaster since the founding of the Empire.
The disaster that occurred the previous evening was the assassination of the Empress by a traitor, someone abetted by the Vatican. The murderer had blown up the Empress along with the Duchess of Moldova's family mausoleum when she'd entered it.
The only thing that could console the lords was the fact that just before the accident, the ringleader of the incident, Ion Fortuna, Count of Memphis, and a Terran girl of unknown origin, had been captured by the Palace Guards. However, despite the authorities' desperate search, they had not yet caught their apparent co-conspirators, Ashtaroshe Asran, Marquise of Kiev, and another Terran, who had quickly disappeared. In actuality, not that many people knew about the situation.
The Terran district had been placed under martial law, and was still quiet. Its citizens were unaware of what had happened, but if the truth were to leak out, the scene would turn into an uproar. Even most of the nobles assembling in the Celestial Imperial Palace would've gone about their usual business had the State Secrets Institution not issued an edict to convene in two hours.
"You don't look too well, Your Excellency the Duke," said Radu. Wearing a kind smile that always made other people uneasy, the blue-haired young man looked into the Second Privy Counselor's face. "Are you feeling ill?"
"No, it's nothing. I just think it's strange," said Sulayman, glancing up from the Outer Court at the worried voice. After he drew the curtain, he looked back at the young man standing in front of the desk. "Someone who's always been there since I was born has suddenly disappeared. I can't seem to calm down." Sulayman's eyes as he laughed weren't those of a man who'd attained his ambitions. Rather, they were the eyes of a child who had strayed from his mother. "It's stupid sentimentality. But you probably don't understand, because you're still young. For as long as I can remember, close to three hundred years—no, even longer—someone who's existed, unchanging, since the founding of the Empire, doesn't exist this morning. So I can't be calm."
"That's something you'll just have to get used to," said Radu. The young Methuselah's answer to the great man's lamentation was far too casual. Staring at the Second Privy Counselor with smoky eyes, he added dryly, "I'm sorry, but her existence was harmful to the Empire. Not merely avoiding war with the Outer, but planning for appeasement and so forth, can only be called irresponsible. Between us Methuselahs and the Terrans, there is subjugation and subordination. If we don't have that, then we only have death. Coexistence is absolutely not feasible. Isn't that why Your Excellency dared to stand against it?"
"Yes," said Sulayman, lowering his eyes. Decisiveness and hesitation, relief and regret all crossed his handsome face at once. Countless shades of emotion vied with each other. But when his black eyes opened again, a spark of volition turned them the color of red-hot steel."! can't go back now. Now that Her Majesty and the Duchess of Moldova are dead, there is nobody to lead this nation except me. For the sake of all Methuselahs, I can't stop walking. Radu?"
"Yes!" Radu answered.
The Second Privy Counselor penetrated the eyes of the young man who suddenly straightened up. "Those two people, Count of Memphis and the Terran girl, where are they now?"
"After they were taken from Her Majesty the Empress by the Ienichieri, they were imprisoned in the underground dungeon. That's the situation. We still haven't begun to interrogate them," said Radu.
"Hmmm," said Sulayman as he laced his ringers under his chin.
Last night, he'd expected that person to shoulder all of the blame for assassinating the Empress. Radu killing them on the spot of the attack, or strategically blaming the Vatican's participation afterward — that hadn't happened, because Baybars and the Empress herself had interfered.
"It isn't good for those two to be alive, imprisoned in this castle, for reasons other than the escape of the Marquise of Kiev and the other Terran," said Sulayman.
They couldn't do anything about the Marquise of Kiev. Due to Sulayman's indictment, the State Secrets Institution had named Astharoshe Asran and Count of Memphis as accomplices throughout Imperial territory. Aste didn't seem to have returned to the capital and was probably hiding somewhere, but her discovery would only be a matter of time. The only thing that worried Sulayman was if she managed to return and counter-indict him in the presence of the lords. But the Celestial Imperial Palace was currently under strict watch; so re-entering should prove impossible. In that sense, there was no difference if she lived or died.
"It's very problematic that Count of Memphis and she are alive. The Privy Counselors will certainly question them and investigate the truth about the Empress's assassination. It would be bad if we let them talk. Of course there's no proof; it has to do with the nobles' impressions," said Sulayman.
"Right now, you don't want the lords to have doubts. Is that what you're saying?" asked Radu. He let out a low chuckle, but he tweaked his expression upon seeing Sulayman's dissatisfied face. Standing up straight, he took on a more respectful tone. "They can't make dead people say anything, so let's get rid of them. If we do, you'll have peace of mind, right?"
"I want to avoid putting a hand on those two right now. This palace is completely isolated from the outside. If they're killed by somebody during a time like that, the Privy Counselors will begin to suspect insiders," said Sulayman.
A meaningful light illuminated the Efreet's eyes. Looking down at the Second Privy Counselor's rather suspicious face, Radu smiled. "If they were killed, it certainly might be suspicious. But what if those two killed each other? If they take each other's lives, there should be no problem."
"Do you have some plan, Baron?" asked Sulayman.
"Of course! Please leave it to me. I'll show you how we can deal with those two without getting our hands dirty," said Radu. Brimming with self-confidence, the Efreet elegantly turned on his heel. "I'll take the dirty work. Meanwhile, please get your hands on the throne, Your Majesty."
***
"Ugh!" said Esther. Despite putting her whole body's strength into it, she couldn't budge the shining, gold-colored lattice.
The density of the amorphous composite aluminum equaled three thousand mega-Pascals. Even if Esther had been a Methuselah, it would have been impossible for her to wrench off the super-hard alloy, thirty times the density of steel.
"UNNNNNNNNNGH. Ahhh, this is no use," said Esther. If she tried any longer, the wound on her shoulder would reopen. After trying eight times, Esther finally let go of the latticework door. She sank down and sighed deeply.
The brightly lit white interior of the room was about three times as big as her bedroom at the nunnery. The dry atmosphere maintained a suitable temperature. There was no window, but there also wasn't one speck of dust within the room, which was the picture of cleanliness. If not for the clumsy lattice fitted in for a door, she could even live here.
After lowering her gaze from the ceiling, which didn't even have a ventilation port, Esther turned around to the boy who had remained silent. She timidly put a hand on his back, as he sat, rounded, holding his knees. "Um, how are you, Your Excellency?" she asked. "Please don't be so depressed. It can't be helped. We tried our best. The Empress's assassination couldn't be avoided."
"Everything is my fault," said Ion. Last night's aura of hatred had dissipated from his face, but now, his head hung so low it looked as if it might break. The crestfallen boy's voice was barely audible. "If I'd listened to your warning . . . I'm sorry, Esther. Everything is my fault. My stupid behavior even got you involved!" His eyes glistened with repentance and regret.
With her hand still on Ion's back, Esther quietly shook her head, wearing a wry smile. Her eyes revealed that she didn't know how to give up on saving the soul of her companion. "A long time ago, when I was very depressed, somebody said to me that 'rather than lament your own powerlessness, do what you can.' It sounds very heady, and when I think about it now, I feel nauseous, you know? But what he said was right. Rather than regret something you can't change, let's think of a way to escape from here. That would be more constructive." The nun's voice was kind, but firm. "You're strong, aren't you, Esther?" said Ion. He regarded Esther, who'd begun to push and pull at the lattice again, as if he were looking up at something dazzling. The first sign of spirit swept across his face. "Why do you try so hard to encourage me like that? I'm a Methuselah. Don't you hate Methuselahs, who killed your family?"
"But it wasn't Your Excellency who killed the Bishop and everybody else," said Esther. She had absolutely no idea what material that white wall was made of. As she tapped around on it with the back of her hand, she shrugged. "Besides, just as there are many kinds of Terrans, there must be all kinds of Methuselahs. Whether Terran or Methuselah, good people are good, and bad people are bad. Isn't it wrong to lump people together as Terrans or Methuselahs? Although, I'm not very wise, so I don't really understand."
"No, you're a wise girl, Esther," said Ion, smiling for the first time since last night. He spoke carefully, gazing lovingly at the girl, her hair grungy with blood and dust and sweat, and her face filthy, and without any makeup. "After all, you — "
"Hey, the two of you look fine," said Radu enthusiastically. The young man stood beyond the lattice door. From beneath his blue hair, bronze eyes gazed at the boy and girl, as if looking at something charming.
"Y-you, Radu?" said Ion. His face looked grim, like a completely different person's. Grabbing the lattice, he bared his fangs and roared. "How dare you appear before me, you cad!"
"Hey, hey, don't say awful things, Ion," said Radu. With the same eerie smile still pasted on, Radu deliberately looked up at the ceiling. "You shouldn't call your childhood friend a cad when he's willingly come to a place like this to visit you, should you? Although I'm sorry I interfered during the time you're enjoying with that girl."
The barb embedded in the mocking words didn't seem to reach the boy's ears, carried away by anger as he was. The joints in Ion's hands turned white as he gripped the lattice. "Radu, do you know what you've done? You . . .You murdered Her Majesty!"
"It couldn't be helped. Anyway, it was on a certain person's orders. Sulayman, Duke of Tigris. He's the leader of us hard-liners. An underling like me could do nothing but obey," said Radu.
"Duke of Tigris?" said Ion. The Second Privy Counselor's face froze when he heard the name of the greatest noble in the Empire after his grandmother. "S-so he's the one pulling your strings!"
"And all of the vampires called hard-liners. Yes, Ion, Tovarisch. He used you," said Radu. The young man shrugged as if he'd cracked a joke. Ultimately, he decided to tell Ion the truth. "After I blundered in Carthage, Duke of Tigris used your return to the Empire and decided to enact his plan to usurp the throne, He would kill the Empress, putting all of the blame on you and the Vatican. He first killed the Chief Privy Counselor, because she was popular and therefore in his way, but also to prevent you from contacting the Empress. You've been dancing in our hands from the start, Ion."
Ion, who had gone pale, reeled at the sadistic words. If Esther hadn't supported him, he might have collapsed right there. Yet the boy, who barely managed to stand, glared at his former friend with bloodshot eyes. "Radu, why in the world did you go that far? Why have you fallen so low? You, who were so proud. How could you do this kind of thing?"
"Radu? Oh, now that you mention it, I still haven't introduced myself to Your Excellency the Count. I'm not Radu. It's unpleasant to be mistaken for such a people-pleasing coward," said the man.
"What?" asked Ion, his face twisted in suspicion. He stared at the Baron, who'd spoken so mysteriously, as though he were looking at a strange creature. "What are you saying, Radu? What in the world are you — "
"Your Excellency, he's telling the truth. He's not Baron of Luxor," said Esther in a respectful but certain tone. "If he were an Imperial noble, he absolutely wouldn't refer to his group as vampires. Who are you? You're absolutely not Baron of Luxor. You're—"
"As discerning as ever," said "Radu." The young man smiled, peering into the girl's face as she felt an ominous premonition coming on. "After all, you're the best, Esther . . . including that halfway good head"
"Halfway good head" — those words jogged Esther's memory. She'd been given that exact same valuation, in the same words. How could I forget? That cold underground tunnel, she thought to herself. "Dietrich?" she said.
"Correct answer! I'm glad you remember me," said Puppeteer. The Methuselah's face looked just like Radu's as he nodded happily. "You've completely neglected to write. Have you been well, Star?"
For the first time since entering the cell, Esther had lost her composure. Carried away by fear and shock, she involuntarily slid backward. Ion, who still hadn't wrapped his head around the situation, peered into her face, which looked as though she'd just met the devil.
"Wh-what's the matter, Esther?" Ion asked. "What does this mean? What is Radu — "
"You're very slow to understand. Didn't she just tell you? I'm not Radu," said Puppeteer. Perhaps displeased that he'd bowed at the waist to apologize, Radu — or the person pretending to be him — shot daggers from his eyes as he stared at Ion. "My name is Dietrich von Lohengrin. Rosenkreuz Orden level 8=3, code name Puppeteer. I'm simply borrowing your friend's body for a little while. His corpse, rather. Radu Barvon, who was your friend, died a long time ago. I'm using his repaired corpse. Yes, just like a puppet show!"
After "Radu" explained the situation in one breath and gave an exaggerated shrug, he winked like it was all a joke. His movements were so smooth, they didn't seem at all like those of a corpse. However, his clownish behavior was absolutely not that of Radu, who was too serious.
"Puppet... show?" asked Ion blankly. Then, that time — his strange behavior on the Island of Beloved Children . . . "D-damn you!" A high-pitched metallic noise, mixed with a ferocious roar, echoed. Ion threw his body against the lattice with explosive force, and thrust his arms through its gaps. "I won't forgive you! I absolutely won't forgive you!"
"Uh-oh. Your Excellency the Count has a very hasty temper. Esther, this boy is like you. His short temper is just like you," said Puppeteer.
Ion shook the lattice and shouted, but his long talons barely scraped his opponent's blue clothing. The smiling face of the young man staring down at him was completely at ease.
"Besides, you enjoy this kind of useless effort. Somehow, I'm worried you might be enjoying it too much," said Puppeteer.
As if he didn't hear the young man's mocking, Ion violently shook the lattice again and howled. His sharp fangs were making a high-pitched screech, as if greedy for blood. "I'll kill you!" he said. "I'll kill you two hundred times. How dare you do such a terrible thing to my friend!"
"Terrible thing?" asked Puppeteer. Sneering at the boy's rage, Dietrich crossed his arms very casually. "It's no use saying it's so terrible, because I came here to do an even more terrible thing."
Dietrich raised his arm as he laughed mockingly. By the time Esther noticed the faint sparkle inside his sleeve and pushed Ion down, it was already too late. A sharp sparkle had blasted from Puppeteer's sleeve following the sound of compressed air.
The flechette fired from the miniature needle gun drilled into the pit of Ion's stomach and split into thousands of tiny needles inside his body.
Ion's body doubled over and then collapsed face up. The scattered needles were shredding his blood vessels to ribbons. Black blood gushed out of control, creating a strange pattern on the floor.
"Your Excellency!" said Esther. Running to Ion with a high-pitched scream, Esther held him as he repeatedly twitched. But his face had already changed to the color of paper, and only thin, rough breathing leaked from his mouth, which hung open. "Your Excellency, hang on. Please hang on!"
"You needn't be so upset, Esther. He's a vampire, right? He won't die from that much," said Puppeteer.
As Dietrich pointed out with a devilish smile, Ion's wound, which would be fatal to a Terran, was well within the tolerable range for a Methuselah—or more accurately, to the Bacillus Kudrak in a Methuselah's body. Because the projectiles passed through the liver, where the blood vessels of the internal organs were concentrated, a large quantity of blood loss could not be avoided; but in two or three hours, not even a scar should remain.
Ion surveyed his wound, shaking his head worriedly. Watching his blood continue to hemorrhage, his eyes widened as if he'd witnessed something unspeakably frightening. "Blood . . . My blood ... Oh, no!".
The bacillus had sensed its host's wound, and was already beginning to activate. Blocking the damaged area instead of platelets, they prevented infection by preying on bacteria invading from outside. But as Dietrich pointed out, this wouldn't endanger Ion's life. He should recover in a few hours. Regardless, Ion's face twisted in fear when he saw the blood leaking out onto the floor. It was such a large quantity of blood lost. The bacillus activated by his previous anger and the wound. It meant—-
"Esther, k-kill me!" Ion shouted hastily as he lifted his pale face. "What are you doing? I'm telling you to kill me quickly! Hurry!"
"Wh-what are you saying, Your Excellency?" asked Esther. Is he deranged from the shock of the wound? she asked herself. "Please calm down. I'll give you first aid right away."
"There's no time. Please, kill me! If you don't, I won't be myself. Ugh!" said Ion.
"Wh-what s the matter, Your Excellency?" asked Esther. She hugged the boy, whose body had begun to writhe. His body was trembling faintly, and sweat began to pour out all over his body.
Meanwhile, Dietrich's eyes danced happily as he gazed down at the boy twisting in agony and the girl beside him. "Ahhh, this is the first time you've witnessed it, Esther. That's the famous 'thirst,' the Methuselahs' blood anemia." The young man's voice sounded truly happy. While gloating like the devil gazing at a signed contract, he explained for the ignorant girl. "The Kudrak Bacillus in their blood feeds on red blood cells. They go crazy from desire for the hemoglobin in it. Look, he's already not himself."
At the sound of Dietrich's voice, Ion glanced up at Esther with weak eyes. His fangs, which had noticeably increased in sharpness, glinted as they protruded from the edges of his lips. "It's no use. Run . . . Esther," said Ion. "The bacillus, I ... I ... GWAH!"
"Y-your Excellency!" said Esther as she tried to press down on Ion's shoulders, which had bent back into a contorted shape. He was probably in a state of shock due to blood loss. For now, she had to keep him from biting his tongue. Esther held the handkerchief in her hand to the boy's mouth, but her hand was gripped by something with inexplicable strength. It wasn't because of self-control that Esther didn't scream from the pain, which felt like her bones had broken.
Completely silent, Ion raised his head. His eyes, blood red, locked with Esther's.
"Y-your Excellency?" Esther asked hesitantly.
With a calm face, as though his previous torment was a bluff, Ion remained silent. Without responding to Esther's calls, he pushed up his body slowly.
"Your Excellency, my hand . . . Let go of my hand!" said Esther.
Instinctive warning signals were going off in Esther's head telling her something was terribly wrong. She tried to edge backward, but the Methuselah's uncanny strength didn't permit that. Without speaking, Ion drew the girl's body closer as she tried to escape. While drawing her in, he parted his lips and dripped a large quantity of saliva from his long fangs.
"Y-your Excellency ... It can't be — "
"It's no use saying anything, Esther. He isn't the person you know any longer," said Puppeteer. Ion's blood-hungry eyes bored into Esther's neck. The face of the young man watching from beyond the lattice remained composed, like a scientist's. "He now belongs to the bacillus. Acute anemia and the impulse to suck blood that follows are controlling him. I'm sorry, but he can no longer hear your voice."
***
The Kudrak Bacillus, microscopic parasites that live in the blood of all Methuselahs, change into a variety of forms and amplify their host's strength. If they slip into muscle cells and activate them, they then assist their host's shape-shifting. Or when wounded, they stop blood loss and close up wounds instead of platelets, and actually contribute to their host's existence in many ways.
But in return, they consume their host's red blood cells. The bacillus couldn't breathe oxygen on their own; by melting their terror, Dietrich didn't boast further, but quietly turned on his heel. "Well, I really wanted to watch until the end, but I'm leaving now. Unfortunately, I have one important job left. I have to finish it before Duke of Tigris or the other Imperial nobles notice. Therefore, I have no time to watch your demise."
It was nearly impossible to tell if his parting words as he opened the iron door to the underground dungeon were sincere.
Grinning like a mischievous cat, the young man said farewell one last time. "Good luck, Esther. I love you," said Puppeteer.
"Y-you vicious . . ."The girl shouted something at the end, but it got lost in the echo of the massive iron door slamming shut and never reached Puppeteer's ears.
II
The chemical luminescence of the light stick fastened to the gondola's prow cast a blue-white light on the water's surface, which flowed like India ink. Submerging her pole in the water, Astharoshe Asran voiced her regrets. "When you came tumbling in, I should have deliberated more," she said.
A line of huge columns, each standing nearly thirty feet in the air, and continuing into arches, cast dark shadows on the small boat moving along the canal. The arches, towering in the darkness, gave off a blue glow; there was nothing more eerie.
"You're a man who always exceeds my worst expectations," said Astharoshe. "I completely forgot about that. It was the blunder of my lifetime.
Sitting beside her was a silver-haired young man, taller than Aste, who laughed optimistically. The sound of the pole slicing through the water was unusually loud in the underground space. "Aste, what are you saying? Now I really don't know," said Abel, still giddy. "Don't blame yourself too much. It's fine to have a strong sense of responsibility, but won't that give you ulcers?"
"Who's blaming herself?" Astharoshe yelled. She grabbed the priest's chest and shook him. "I'm blaming you!"
"Ohhh, you were?" asked Abel. He looked at Aste with a stupefied face as she bared her fangs, but then he clapped his hands as if he were convinced. Grinning as if to make light of the situation, he said, "If that's true, I wish you'd said so clearly. Aste, you're always in a foul mood, so I've been worried the whole time."
My brain is going to melt, Aste thought. Fed up, she took her hands off the priest's chest. Deeply inhaling the odor that wafted around her while shaking her head in the same rhythm, she grimaced. Their surroundings had stunk as if something were rotten for a while now.
"Argh! First off, why do I, the Marquise of Kiev, and Imperial Directly Reporting Chief Inspector, have to prowl around this kind of dark, smelly place? Even if we are sneaking in, there must be better places," said Astharoshe.
"Maybe there are, but all of them are full of guards. So even if we did get close, we wouldn't get in. On this occasion, luxury is the enemy," said Abel.
"Well, maybe so, but it's strangely irritating to be told that by you," said Astharoshe. Suppressing the urge to knock down her companion, who lectured her with a triumphant face, Aste moved the pole along the canal.
Because the Empress had been assassinated, the interior of the Celestial Imperial Palace was being strictly guarded. After the nobles who visited the palace during the emergency entered, the Hall of the Great Dome had been completely sealed, its periphery locked down so that even water couldn't leak out, and nobody could get in.
However, unlike Aste, who had half given up on invading the Celestial Imperial Palace, the priest had pointed out a different route. In some old document relating to the Imperial capital that he'd seen in the Outer, there 'd been a description of an ancient underground aqueduct.
Even Aste hadn't known about the existence of this "underground palace." The priest had prattled on about "ancient Byzantine Empire" and "Constantine I" and other nonsensical words, but who really cared about that? As for Aste, who had exhausted all ideas, it seemed like betting on a drowning man grasping at straws. In the end, though, a straw was a straw.
"Father, does this canal really connect to the Celestial Imperial Palace?" asked Astharoshe suspiciously. They'd been rowing for close to an hour, but no matter how far they went, the dark water's surface just continued, with nothing resembling an exit in sight. "It wouldn't be funny if we came this far and got lost," said Astharoshe.
"Hmmm, it's probably fine, although there's no way to be sure," said Abel.
"You truly are reliable," Astharoshe replied sarcastically. Still wearing an icy expression, the Marquise of Kiev put her hand in her pocket. She took out a small bottle filled with red liquid. If Abel's information was correct, they should be at the Celestial Imperial Palace soon. Because of the bacillus that had sensed its host's stress and begun to activate, she'd been feeling a slight "thirst" in her throat for a while. Before she completely opened the bottle's lid, Aste s hand suddenly stopped. Her amber eyes penetrated the darkness, and the hairs on the back of her neck were standing on end. She knew somebody was watching them.
"What's wrong, Aste? You're getting silent all of a sudden. Do you have to go to the bathroom?" asked Abel.
"Shut up, idiot," said Astharoshe. Discreetly casting her eyes left and right, Aste threw the bottle at the obnoxious priest. Taking a direct hit to the face, Abel bent backward, his nose spouting blood, but he still managed to drop his empty hand to his hip. There were no enemy-like shapes in his field of vision, but he got the sense that a battle was about to begin.
"It seems your street information was correct, Father," said Astharoshe.
"I told you so. So, why is it correct?" asked Abel.
"That's ..." said Astharoshe.
The splendid row of pillars released their shadows onto the water's surface. The Marquise of Kiev slowly drew the spear at her hip.
"... because we've been ambushed!" she continued.
It seemed as though the darkness had exploded. Aste pointed the spear at the water's surface and suddenly pulled its switch. The water's surface instantly evaporated at the touch of the few-thousand-degree plasma and gave off a ghastly white smoke. Abel's eyes nearly popped out, but it wasn't because of the beautiful woman's seemingly deranged behavior. Inside the white fog were large shadows sinking to the water's bottom, skewered by the plasma spear.
Abel's voice grew shrill after seeing the huge shadows in military overcoats. "What are—"
"Look out, Father! We're surrounded!" said Astharoshe.
One after the other, menacing shadows floated up around the gondola, concealed by the opaque mist. They numbered about twenty, and there wasn't a bit of disarray in the ring that surrounded them.
"Uh-oh, there are too many!" said Abel.
The priest drew his percussion revolver with a click of his tongue, and the battle began. The enemy crept along the walls and pillars like monkeys, attacking the gondola, which shook like a tree leaf, at close range. Abel and Aste, back to back on the narrow boat, fought off their attackers with bullets and the spear, but there was only so much they could handle.
"Man, these guys are fast!" said Astharoshe.
Aste was taken aback by the number of enemy figures approaching, slipping past the plasma whip. Because they were originally Methuselah corpses, their movements were very fast. Fascinated by their movements and the way they seemed to be unified by a single force, it was very difficult for Aste to aim.
The gap of safety began to close as bullets and the spear gouged the air aimlessly.
"Father, we have to get out of here!" Astharoshe bellowed while barely managing to deflect the flash of a battleaxe with the hilt of her spear. "We have no chance of beating this many. Let's get out!"
But Aste's plea was rejected by a stern voice. The priest, glaring into the canal, shook his head resolutely. "I can't do that! I can't abandon them, Aste! I'll break through here. While they're following me, you escape outside, I'm really sorry I got you involved."
"Idiot!" Astharoshe said angrily. Her white hair flexing like a whip, Aste took one big step in. A flash of the spear she brandished in the opposite hand drew an arc in the air, and a gas-mask-covered head flung across the sky trailing a band of red. "I am honored to be relied upon by a friend! I never once thought that you got me involved. I will fortify this place. While I'm fending them off, you go to the Celestial Imperial Palace!"
Abel looked surprised. "But — "
"No buts! If we waste more time, the brat and Esther will be in danger. Move it!" said Astharoshe. She didn't think she could beat this many opponents, but she had no intention of dying alone without resisting. If I can take even one of them with me, I'll buy a second more time.' "Marquise of Kiev, Astharoshe Asran is coming!"
She abnormally stimulated her nerve cells with a low roar, and launched herself off the edge of the boat. With the range of her spear set to maximum, her figure appeared as though it were evolving into a hurricane.
"Aste!" cried Abel. But his scream reached Aste's ears the instant she went into haste mode. Aste barely recognized the black shadow charging toward her in the corner of her range of vision. The blade of the battleaxe he brandished drew a smooth arc over the top of her head. All of a sudden, a severed head, with the sharply cut edge revealed, bounced up and then plunged into the water, creating a loud splash.
"Aste!" Abel shouted, horrified.
Leaning on the crying priest's outstretched arms, Aste blinked. Why am I still alive? How in the world . . .
"Aste, look!" said Abel.
The red shadows where he was pointing answered Aste's question.
"Lord Baybars?" Astharoshe said, drawing in a large breath.
Baybars, Baron of Khartoum, was the giant wrapped in scarlet armor who glared at the battlefield from next to a pillar. Bright red blood was dripping from the tip of the seven-pronged sword he carried. Had he saved her just now? Or was it the red, soldiers lined up behind him?
"Ienichieri? Why are they in a place like this?" asked Astharoshe.
"I see Lady Astharoshe Asran, Directly Reporting Chief Inspector, there," said the Chief of the Palace Guards in a low voice. "The great meeting has already begun. You had better go quickly to the Hall of the Great Dome."
"B-but ... why?" asked Astharoshe. Aste's suspicion was only natural. According to Count of Memphis, wasn't Baybars on the enemy's side? "Why are you helping us, Baron?" asked Astharoshe.
Baybars remained silent, checking the enemy shadows. Aste tried to repeat her question, but somebody was pulling on her sleeve from behind.
"Let's hurry, Aste. They aren't our enemies. You're Baybars, right?" Abel hastily asked the Methuselah in red as he grasped onto the woman's hand. "Where is my companion? The Terran girl?"
"In the underground dungeon," Baybars answered at once. "Once you get above ground, descend from the 'Dead Man's Gate.' It's right there."
"Thanks for your kindness," said Abel.
Not showing any particular reaction to the oddly polite response, Aste bowed her head.
"That's that... Well, let's hurry, Aste. There isn't much time," said Abel.
"Y-yeah," said Astharoshe.
Abel jumped out of the boat, dragging along Aste, as he ran off into the canal. Meanwhile, the masked soldiers who remained turned back as a group toward the invaders. The enemies began to take steps backward as though they were terrified. Pointing at them with "He Who Breaks Spinal Cords", The Chief of the Palace Guards gave a short order: "Annihilate them!"
III
Citizens were not allowed to enter the Hall of the Great Dome for the entire day. After the Methuselahs were admitted into the Celestial Imperial Palace, its entrance was tightly sealed, and connections with the outside world were severed.
The sight of the nobles seated in a fan shape around the throne appeared no different than in the Diwan the other day— except for only one thing. The pivot of the fan, cast downward toward those assembled, and the vacant beryl throne.
The meeting began with Marquise of Damascus, Feron Lin, speaking first. As the yellow-skinned, black-haired Privy Counselor stood up gracefully, she scanned the faces of the lords with narrowed eyes. "Assembled lords," she began, "I am very grateful that you responded to the invitation despite your fatigue. I thank you on behalf of the State Secrets Institution."
"I'm sorry, but we'd like you to omit the unnecessary greetings, Marquise," said a voice from outside the nine-fold circle. In a chiding tone, the voice continued. "We're assembled here in order to find out the facts. First, I'd like an explanation of what happened on the Island of Beloved Children."
"That is under investigation at present," answered Nazim, Count of Gaza, the giant seated next to the Marquise of Damascus. A Privy Counselor never would have accepted this kind of rude utterance — until yesterday. "From now on, we will establish a committee to investigate the facts. I'd like you to leave the method of selecting its members to the State Secrets Institution. After the members are decided on, they will ascertain how to investigate, and after that — "
"That's rather circuitous, isn't it?" asked Sulayman. The low voice's remark was curt, but it echoed throughout the Hall of the Great Dome like thunder.
Shocked, Lin, Nazim, and the other Privy Counselors' eyes peered at the person sitting next to them.
"Lord Sulayman, what did you just say?" asked Lin.
"It's circuitous, that's what I said," the Second Privy Counselor, Duke of Tigris, answered casually, his arms still crossed. His eyes closed in his deeply chiseled face.
They were probably confused, because the plan that the Privy Counselors thought they had earnestly discussed and decided on the night before was being overturned. The youngest of the six Privy Counselors, Reyard, Duke of Macedonia, rapped hard on the desk. "You've called our decision circuitous, but what other plan is there? Isn't it our job to investigate what happened last night, and report back to the lords?"
"What we must first do is choose our new leader, Duke of Macedonia," said Sulayman in a gentle tone. But the meaning of what he said was weighty. "Our leader, Her Majesty the Empress, is gone. Last night, she was killed by Outer agents. Yes, killed. First of all, we have to acknowledge that fact."
The Second Privy Counselor's comment was followed by unanimous silence.
"There is nothing else to do but choose a new leader, and have that person inherit the will of Her Majesty the late Empress. Am I wrong?" asked Sulayman.
Her Majesty the late Empress? At the sound of those words, multiple voices jumbled throughout the meeting hall. Everyone believed that the Empress was the eternal, indestructible ruler of the Empire. Until last night. Now that the illusion had been shattered, the unfamiliar words "late Empress" weighed heavily on the attendees' shoulders. The Empress was dead. The one they'd considered indestructible and immortal had been moved to the world of memory and reminiscence. Those who survived must continue living in this world, and they needed a new leader.
"That's true. We must choose a new Empress!" said a voice.
Young lords, seated far in the back, raised their impassioned voices. In the hall, where confusion and chaos had taken over, no matter how small in number, the group that spoke in unison could take reign easily. The whispers grew louder, and began to fill the meeting hall.
Carefully considering his timing, Sulayman muttered in his heart: Soon . . . Among his supporters, only Radu was entirely informed about the plan. The other members didn't know what Sulayman and Radu had done last night. If they had, even those who were dissatisfied with the Empress's outlook toward the Outer might have been seized with fear. The spell of the Empress had been that strong. But now that spell was gone.
With an expression that almost appeared maudlin, Sulayman made his final move. "I think it's clear what we must do now, but..."
But it was absolutely forbidden to go too far. The final choice required everybody's consensus. The Duchess of Moldova, who would have been Sulayman s most powerful rival if she were there, was no longer in this world. Each of the Privy Counselors besides her was also powerful, but as long as it was one against one, he had nothing to fear. In the end, there was nothing to worry about. As soon as he stood up slowly, Sulayman extended his sturdy arms toward the assembly hall. "Lords, I ask you, who should we welcome as our next ruler?"
Sulayman's fervent speech, which might have made history, was rudely interrupted. "Wait, Duke of Tigris!" said Astharoshe, her voice filled with ambition and courage.
The doors to the meeting hall were violently thrown open. Standing beyond the rectangle of light was the outline of a slender, tall woman. "I am here to inform the assembled lords! I am Directly Reporting Chief Inspector Astharoshe Asran!" Peering down the length of the meeting hall with ferocious eyes, the white-haired beauty spoke as if declaring war. "Today, I have come to accuse Duke of Tigris of treason!"
***
"Ah ... Ka ..." Ion struggled to breath, choking on the ever-present stench of blood. His handsome face contorted with each breath, and it looked as though his eyes, his reason, and his desire were battling it out with the true personality of Ion Fortuna. "Kill me, Esther."
The groan sounded closer to a plea than a wish. Biting his own lips with his fangs as they descended toward Esther's neck, Ion dropped his bloodshot eyes to the dagger on the floor. "I don't want to suck your blood. Esther, please . . . before I kill you . . . Please kill me!"
"Your E-excellency..." said Esther.
Vampire. Esther didn't know how to respond to the pleas of that race. What answer should I give the boy who refuses to steal blood, and begs me to end his life? she wondered. There's no answer I can possibly give!
"Esther . . . h-hurry" said Ion.
As Esther hesitated, the tremors that had taken over Ion's entire body were getting more and more severe. Second by second, he knew he was losing his sanity. He glanced at the silver sparkle radiating on the floor. Hot breath leaked from his mouth. The light of reason was already vanishing from his copper eyes, and an unquenchable thirst began to take hold of him.
Even if Esther gave Ion blood, it was obvious it wouldn't end with merely blood loss. In order to satisfy his thirst, Ion would have to drain Esther's life completely. There was only one way to avoid that — to pierce his heart with the dagger beside her. It wouldn't only save Esther's life, but Ion's soul, as well.
Esther softly patted Ion's hair with an affectionate smile. "It's fine, Your Excellency." As she gently stroked his smooth hair there was no sign of fear in Esther's face. She defenselessly exposed her pale throat, sweating a little from stress. Ignoring the dagger on the floor, Esther whispered in the vampire's ear. "It's fine if you do, Your Excellency. In exchange — I'm begging you — please don't cry anymore. It isn't your fault."
"Ahhh . . ." Ion moaned.
A faint light shone in Ion's eyes. Was God taking pity on their wretched lives? Or was it a trick of the devil? Either way, it was miraculous that a Methuselah could, even slightly, regain his sanity after suffering an outbreak of thirst.
"Esther . . . I . . ."Tears of blood flowed down Ion's cheeks as he called her name. Retaining just a sliver of sanity had never been so cruel. The boy gazed, his eyes full of despair, at where his talons had bitten into Esther's shoulder as his lips trembled with the sweet joy of touching her white throat. All of a sudden, a gush of blood shot upward followed by a strangled cry.
"Your Excellency?" said Esther, opening her eyes at the sound of the scream. Crimson blood drenched her face. But it wasn't Esther's blood. The silver dagger had been thrust into Ion's thigh. "Count of Memphis! Wh-what have you — "
"Thank you, Esther," said Ion.
His sanity, provoked by the severe pain, had driven away the bacillus's desire. Ion smiled peacefully as he gouged his own thigh. He withdrew the deadly weapon, trailing blood, and aimed for his heart.
"It's a pity I don't have a soul. If I had, I could be by your side forever. I'm eternally thankful I met you," said Ion. A burst of strength that turned his joints white overcame the boy's hand. Taking the hilt firmly, Ion pointed the tip of the blade directly at his heart. "Farewell!"
"Nooo, st-stop!" Esther cried.
Ion appeared strangely content. But the next moment, the dangerous weapon cut deeply into the boy's chest with a brutal-sounding noise.
"Eh?" said Ion and Esther simultaneously.
The smile disappeared from Ion's face, as did the scream from Esther's throat. They stared at each other, perplexed. The dagger Ion had grabbed lay deep within his chest, but not one drop of blood oozed from the wound.
Suddenly, a relaxed voice echoed from beyond the lattice door. "Phew, it seems I made it in time." A tall figure holding a smoking percussion revolver in his right hand and a glass bottle with some red liquid in it in his left hand was standing outside the cell. His face beneath the silver hair was smiling kindly, like an angel who'd found lost children. "Hey, you two, are you all right? Sorry I'm late. I got a little sidetracked along the way," said Abel.
"Ahhh!" Staring at the man who'd just provided an unsolicited excuse, Esther couldn't stop herself from shouting joyfully. "Father Nightroad!"
IV
"The traitor's accomplice... What honor is there in coming here?" asked Vashmar, Marquis of Navarino, sharply rebuking the white-haired beauty. He was the oldest among the Privy Counselors, after the late Duchess of Moldova and Sulayman, but although he was old, his ardent spirit was incomparable. The young lords, who'd been observing the situation, reflexively ducked their heads at the loud voice.
"Marquise of Kiev! Although you are a courtier, you'd better be prepared to die for the crimes of conspiring with Outer Terrans and killing Her Majesty!" Vashmar bellowed.
"I will gladly accept the blame for arriving late at this important gathering. But, Marquis of Navarino, concerning the matter of treason, I have an objection," said Astharoshe.
Looking over at the Marquis of Navarino, who was still trying to scold his opponent, the Marquise of Damascus interjected. "Now that you mention it, you said something strange," said Lin. Her hair waving like black silk, Feron Lin blinked her oval eyes. "You mentioned that you came to accuse Duke of Tigris of treason. What do you mean by that?"
"I mean exactly what I said. In my official duty as Directly Reporting Chief Inspector, I accuse Sulayman, Duke of Tigris, here and now. The charge is treason," Astharoshe replied astutely.
A sound that howled like the winter wind resounded throughout the hall. The lords watching on all held their breath. Everyone who'd just agreed with Sulayman regarded one another with suspicious glances. Was the scene that was unfolding before their eyes merely a part of the play crafted by Duke of Tigris, or was it a dream?
Inwardly cursing the naiveté of the guards who'd let in the intruder, Sulayman slowly glanced up. "Then I will ask, Marquise of Kiev," he said, "What is the proof with which I'm accused? If it isn't a false accusation, can I get you to show me the proof?"
"There are witnesses," Astharoshe said assuredly. "I request the imprisoned Count of Memphis and his Terran companion be summoned. Please hear the circumstances from their mouths, and compare their testimony. When they come, you will see that my accusation is true."
There was no sweetness left in Aste's voice. The amber eyes peering down at the Second Privy Counselor resembled icy blades. However, Sulayman's gaze was still colder as he argued the woman's point. "I'm sorry, Marquise of Kiev, but that's impossible." The so-called greatest noble in the Empire shook his head sadly. ''The two people you speak of are already dead. Just now, there was a report that their lifeless bodies were found in the cell."
Aste's face blanched, but a raspy voice burst from her lips. "Sulayman, you silenced them. You killed them!"
"It isn't proper to call it silencing," said Sulayman. He smiled mockingly, but inwardly, his boiling anger was threatening to explode. He imagined strangling Aste with his own hands, but he wasn't Emperor yet. In this kind of situation, it wouldn't be a good idea to invite the lords' suspicions for such a small thing. Swapping his cold, bitter smile for a tolerant, affectionate one, the man said, "They killed each other in the cell. I don't know why, but that's what I heard. Shall we have an autopsy performed on the bodies?"
"Interesting. If you say you want an autopsy, let's do it immediately." It wasn't Aste who interrupted Sulayman's speech. Everyone turned toward the weak, but confident, voice. Two new figures appeared beside the door. "As you can see, I'm unharmed, Sulayman!" said Ion, held up by the redhead girl. "I know all about your plot. It's already obvious that you killed my grandmother and murdered Her Majesty. If you're really an Imperial noble, you should surrender bravely and accept arrest!"
Ion Fortuna, Count of Memphis, bared his fangs mercilessly. His face was dirtied with blood, but his courage, like that of a young lion, awed the inhabitants of the meeting hall.
A soft gasp escaped Sulayman's mouth as he was struck by Ion's gaze. "Count of Memphis! Why is he alive? Radu, you incompetent . . ." It was a completely unexpected situation. Ignoring the blood dripping from his bitten lip, he roared angrily, "You're the one who'll give up, Count of Memphis, you disgusting traitor! What are you doing, lords? Arrest this traitor at once!"
Responding to Sulayman's call, a few of the young lords stood up. They each reached for the hilt of their sword belt, and prepared to enter haste mode.
Meanwhile, Aste stood at attention, waiting to block their attack. "Withdraw, Count of Memphis!" she shouted. Not showing any sign of fear about the difference in manpower, she hefted her spear to shield the boy and girl. Nobles bearing weapons also stood up, trying to stop the potential bloodbath. The situation grew critical as hostility threatened to boil over.
<Stop, Sulayman. >
A droning voice momentarily silenced the rage inside the hall.
<You should stop this mockery. I can't stand to witness what you've become any longer. >
It was a voice that everybody in attendance had heard before, and it was the most natural voice to hear here. Despite that, all onlookers were frozen in shock. Staring, dumbfounded, at the gossamer green curtain that slowly began to flit above the stairs, the packed hall remained perfectly quiet.
Finally, among the quietude, somebody's fiercely shaking voice arose from nowhere. "Her Majesty the Empress!"
V
Sulayman was beside himself. "Your Majesty? Why are you—"
<Why am I safe? You say that like it's unfortunate that I'm unharmed, Duke of Tigris. >
Beyond the veil, the Empress seemed to be smiling ironically, and there were traces of sarcasm in the mechanical voice.
<Certainly, when you tried to kill me on the Island of Beloved Children, I wavered a little, but as you see, I am unharmed. >
"T-tried to kill you?" said Sulayman, shaking his pale face. A moment later, his tough psychological strength overpowered his weakness, and his voice in reply sounded calm and unafraid, "Your Majesty, are you also going to accept what these fools say is true? How can you believe that I would murder Your Majesty with a bomb?"
<Murder with a bomb?>
The girl in the veil tilted her head slightly, but there was an affected ring in her voice.
<I'm not talking about when you blew up the Duchess of Moldova's mausoleum, because I didn't happen to be there just then. You should come.>
One more figure appeared at the top of the stairs as the Empress spoke, causing a new stir among the meeting hall. Another Empress appeared, covered with the veil and wearing the Empress's green clothing; a girl who so closely resembled the real Empress in height and build that they could be twins.
<She is my shadow. I've asked her to represent me at times when I've been away from the Celestial Imperial Palace. You may take off the veil, and show them your face>
Nodding silently at the Empress, the other Empress carefully removed her hat and veil, and lifted off the black wig. A lovely woman's face peeked out from under her damp, shining, long blonde hair. But the uproar that ensued among the attending lords wasn't in praise of her beauty.
"Wh-what? That's . . . Duchess of Moldova!" As the lords released a moan of shock and wonder in unison, their eyes opened wide as if they'd seen a dead person come alive. Ion, who'd been the leading participant until then, fell silent, his jaw dropping toward the ground.
Pointing absentmindedly, Ion's strangled voice had hardly any capacity for speech. "Grandmother? Wh-why? How, Grandmother?"
The person watching from atop the stairs flashed a mischievous smile. "It's been a while, Ion. Ohhh, you've gotten somewhat thinner?" Mirka remarked.
The girl, who appeared to be in her mid-teens based on her outward appearance, was Mirka Fortuna, Chief Privy Counselor, and Duchess of Moldova, the greatest noble in the Empire. She smiled sweetly at the grandson she'd been reunited with after four months, bending her knees in a playful gesture.
"Why are you making such a face when you're getting to see your granny after so long? Are you unhappy I'm alive?" asked Mirka.
"Huh? N-no, never!" Ion exclaimed. The boy's face finally returned to its normal color, as if he'd regained his sanity. Shaking his head at the teasing question, Ion dragged his disabled leg a step backward. "J-just . . . how are you unharmed, Grandmother? I'm sure I saw your body in the mansion."
Gesturing for the Chief Privy Counselor to withdraw with a wave of her hand, the Empress opened her mouth again. <I knew the traitors would act when Count of Memphis returned home.>
Her veil was turned toward the Second Privy Counselor, who stood there silently, possessing a certain air of inviolability. <Because I appointed the Duchess of Moldova to be my Kagemusha in the Inner Court, and placed only an automaton in the mansion. Count of Memphis is also aware of what happened after that. It caused the Count trouble, but it was my intention to smoke out the malcontents nesting in the Imperial capital. Forgive me. Well, Duke of Tigris.>
The Empress's tone suddenly changed. It was usually near impossible to guess her emotions because of her masked voice; however, something electric could now be detected in it.
<I never thought you would take charge of a plot like this. Of all my many children, I expected great things of you. >
"You say so, Your Majesty, but ..." said Sulayman trailing off. He was trying to answer the Empress's accusation calmly, but he couldn't keep his voice from going hoarse. "... I still don't have an answer to my previous question. How can you so easily accept the accusations of Count of Memphis and the others that I tried to murder Your Majesty with a bomb? Although the Duchess of Moldova's murder had nothing to do with Count of Memphis, is there some relationship between that and my rebellion?"
<I never once said that you tried to kill me with a bomb.> Slender fingers lifted the veil. The Empress's voice was laden with sarcasm, but it also contained a deep sadness. "But you certainly tried to kill me on the Island of Beloved Children, Sulayman. Don't you recognize this face?"
When the veil was fully lifted, the sight of Empress Vladika silenced every last Methuselah and Terran in the meeting hall.
Underneath a curtain of unkempt black hair was a girl's face, not very old, with shining jade green eyes and a slightly pointed chin. She was rather too young to be called the mother of all Methuselahs, but somehow, her white face appeared oddly dignified.
The assembled nobles said nothing to their mother, whom they were seeing for the first time. Some other people were taken aback for entirely different reasons.
"S-S-Seth?" Esther exclaimed.
"Crazy! Why is that girl — " Ion could barely contain himself.
Esther and Ion, who'd been watching the situation without saying a word, were clearly startled. That was a person they knew well — the peculiar girl they'd met in the Terran district, and seen again on the Island of Beloved Children. But how did she get in the hall?
There was one more person who shared their shock. "Y-you're from that time . . ." The voice of Sulayman, Duke of Tigris, shook violently enough to make one question his supposed greatness.
"When you turned the Ring of Solomon on me, I did indeed falter, Sulayman," said Seth, or rather, Vladika. She jutted her chin toward the mastermind. "But now your plot has been revealed. Is there anything you want to say? If so, I'll listen."
"There is," said Sulayman. There still wasn't much color in his face, but the vigor was rapidly returning to his voice. Bowing his head, he said, "Earlier, Your Majesty said you had expected great things of me."
"I did. And I'm sorry that it's come to this," said Seth.
"Sorry?" asked Sulayman. He showed no sign of fear. Instead, his lips twisted up as if rejoicing that his real intentions had finally been understood. "Sorry? HAH! You tell such transparent lies, our Great Mother. You don't expect anything of anyone. There is not one noble whom you trust!"
If she had trusted anyone, who would ever turn traitor? Who would have turned a sword on their beloved mother?
As Sulayman lifted his right hand, the majority of those assembled reacted immediately. Some gripped their swords, others kicked over their chairs to restrain the man, and a few others even entered haste mode. But the second the Ring of Solomon glimmering on the traitor's middle finger shot out a burst of compressed air, only Aste, who was already holding her spear, attacked.
"Sulayman!" Astharoshe roared. Kwah! The invisible flash released from her spear as she swung it down battered the great man's hand, resulting in a shriek mixed with the sound of boiling plasma. Blood sprayed from Sulayman's lips as his tall body made the shape of a bow and fell, facing prone toward the throne. His heart, evaporated by the plasma spear, was already beginning to spasm slightly. No Methuselah could survive such a blow, but there was no sign of pain on the traitor's face. There was even a seemingly satisfied smile in his eyes as they stared into space.
The shot from the Ring of Solomon had carved deep claw marks in the throne at the top of the stairs. The stone chair had been smashed until nearly none of its shape remained.
"Your Majesty?"
"Don't worry. It's nothing," said Seth. There wasn't one scratch on the Empress's face as she answered the courtier who enquired after her. As she glided down the stairs, her onlookers gasped. Descending to the floor, she knelt beside the blood-smeared traitor. "Why didn't you kill me, Sulayman?" Seth lifted the traitor, who was barely breathing, with the gentleness of a mother holding a baby. "You missed deliberately. Why?"
On the brink of death, the Methuselah seemed to faintly smile bitterly. "Is there a child who doesn't love his parent, our Great Mother?" asked Sulayman. His life's blood was draining from his body, yet he desperately continued to speak as if afraid he would leave something unsaid. "I hate you. Having served you for three hundred years, I still couldn't understand you at all. Where did you come from, and where will you go? And where are you leading us? You never tell us anything."
Sulayman's body arched back. His words came out so faintly that he sounded more dead than alive. "Your Majesty . . . Please tell me. . ."
"Ask me anything," said Seth.
The man seemed to crack a weak smile at the kind voice in his ear that sounded like a lullaby. "Who are you? No, we . . ." His lips, still open, stopped moving, and didn't say another word. His eyelids slowly closed, and his face froze in eternal silence.
Gently stroking Sulayman's blood-smeared hair, the Empress offered a sorrowful answer. "It would be easy for me to answer that, but . . ." Her eyes remained downcast for a while, just as though she were mourning the death of a beloved child. She gently laid his dead body on the floor. "Lords, thank you for your hard work."
Seth stood up, smiling mischievously, without wiping off the blood that dirtied her clothes. Her jade green eyes scanned the attendees until stopping on two figures standing in the background. "Count of Memphis and Marquise of Kiev, I commend your actions. You both worked harder than I could've imagined. The Empire will richly reward your loyalty and distinguished services. You can count on it."
Despite the Empress's grateful tone, Ion froze, his face cramped. Esther opened her mouth timidly instead. "Seth, um . . . Ah, no, Your Majesty, um . . ."
"You can call me Seth, Esther," the girl answered in Roman common language as she cleverly wrinkled her petite nose. "Because Augusta Vladika is my name as Empress, and you aren't my subject. You 're my friend. And my friends call me Seth."
Her playfully smiling face and voice certainly belonged to that girl. Esther tried to calm her confused mind. "Well then, Seth, are you really, really the Empress of the Empire, Augusta Vladika?"
"Basically, yes. It's one of my many titles. But please keep the tea-selling incident a secret. It'll set a bad example if I break my own rules, right?" Seth winked cheerfully at Esther, who was finding it hard to speak. All of a sudden, Seth's expression changed as if she'd remembered something important. "By the way, Esther, can I ask you one thing? There should be another envoy who came with you, right? Where is he? Don't you know where he went after he rescued you from the jail?"
"You mean, Father Nightroad?" asked Esther. Now that Seth had mentioned it, Esther realized she'd completely forgotten about him. Clueless as to how Seth knew about him, Esther clapped her hands lightly. "He had a change of heart after we mentioned the Baron of Luxor, and he went somewhere else. He told us to come here by ourselves."
"Baron of Luxor . . . Radu?" asked Seth.
"Well, that Baron of Luxor isn't the Baron of Luxor," said Esther. That's a stupid explanation, even for me, Esther thought to herself. It was very doubtful that she could get Seth to understand, but she still tried to explain to the best of her knowledge. "It's a long story, but there's this man named Lohengrin in an organization the Vatican has been hunting, and this man is controlling the Baron's body. Anyway, that's the Baron, but it's not the Baron."
"Lohengrin. The man from the Orden?" asked Seth.
"Y-yes, that's right. Um, do you know him, Your Majesty?" asked Esther.
The smile had disappeared from Seth's face for the first time. A second later, she hurried off, her sleeves flapping.
"Your Majesty! What in the world?" said Mirka.
"I have to leave for a little while! Mirka, you stay here, and take care of the cleanup!" said Seth. Turning back to her subjects, the girl asked in a voice swelling with emotion, "Marquise of Kiev, is your spear still usable? If it is, come with me. And Esther, you too. The rest of you, don't leave here."
"Your Majesty, m-me too!" pleaded Ion.
Seth shook her head, gazing down at Ion as he lurched forward, dragging his blood-soaked leg. "Not you, Count of Memphis. You can't move on that leg, can you? Stay here quietly."
"So, Your Majesty, where are we going?" asked Astharoshe.
"To find Radu — or rather, the one who's controlling Radu's body," said Seth. "Find him, and if necessary, crush him. If the Orden man and his fingers have gotten into here, all I can do is go there!"
***
Three Ienichieri corpses lay on the floor, and on the other side, eight Jaeger corpses.
Well, that's not a bad number as a battle outcome. "The Boundary Room? Indeed, it's the perfect name," said Puppeteer.
The Empress's grand living room was as quiet as if the earlier catastrophe that took place there had been a dream. Even the birds that should've been flying free among the wide artificial space weren't making a peep.
His hand still on the huge door that towered before' his eyes, the blue-haired young man chuckled thinly. "Yes, it's a very tasteful antique, but what about inside?"
Peering at the bracelet on his wrist and the numbers on its liquid crystal display, Radu-Dietrich spoke to himself. While he watched the numbers that changed moment by moment, he softly slid his hand on the surface of the door, which had no knob. It didn't take long before a wicked smile spread across his lips.
When he finally detected a noise that sounded no louder than an insect, the door that hadn't budged until then opened silently toward the room's interior. Only darkness lay beyond. But the young man didn't hesitate. Stepping into the pitch black without any sign of fear, his face tightened. "It's dark," he said, shrugging. He inhaled deeply, as if to inhale the gloom. "Let there be light!"
Dazzling light suddenly filled the huge space. Including the high ceiling, all of the walls were covered in delicate gauges and consoles, and the walls themselves, woven with luminescent fiber, shone brightly. A few thousand monitors flickered with figures, letters and numbers; they radiated a gleam of newness as though nobody's hands had ever touched the keyboards in front of them.
Standing in front of a conspicuously large chair, Dietrich snapped his fingers lightly. "Well, I've managed to get this far, although it took considerable effort." He couldn't, for the life of him, figure out what such a place was for.
The complex output displayed on the gauges kept changing by the second, and most of the keys near the monitors had completely unknown functions. But the handsome young man sat down quite cheerfully in the throne-like chair, nimbly strumming the complex arrangement of keys as if tuning a piano. He was like a curious child finally being given a coveted toy.
His slender fingers tapped a tender rhythm on the keyboard, as if playing a nocturne, but it wasn't long before he stopped. "Self-repair function. Is this..." Puppeteer's red lips grinned at the numbers displayed on the gauge. "As I thought, that's still alive. It looks dead, but it's not dead."
The young man took a transparent cube out of his pocket and inserted it into a slot that opened in the console. Following the directions that came up on one of the displays, he followed the data duplication procedure. The procedure was rather complex, but it only took a few seconds until a duplicate of the enormous data was transferred. Removing the ejected cube, the young man sighed in satisfaction for the first time. He'd finally accomplished the duty the Orden had given him.
In order to complete so much work, he'd cooperated with the hard-liners in the few months since Carthage, and had done odd jobs as Sulayman's pet dog. After that, he'd been involved in the Duchess of Milan's assassination plot and the hard-liners' coup d'etat, but this had been his ultimate intention. Joyous about being released at last from his burdensome work, the young man stood up from the keyboard. Actually, he started to stand up, but suddenly stopped moving. As though he'd thought of something, his narrowed eyes began to sparkle with a mischievous light. "I managed to make it this far. I think I'll play a little." Rubbing his gloved hands together, the young man reseated himself in the chair.
The Puppeteer suspected it was likely that Sulayman and his rivals would be bickering over the throne in the meeting hall. Now that the Empress and the Duchess of Moldova were dead, before long, the Empire would succumb to chaos. When it did, the Vatican, those buffoons who pretended to be the guardians of humanity, would surely butt in. And after that . . .
Biting back a smile at the future plans that made his heart dance, Dietrich put his hands on the keyboard again. His gaze still fixed on the screens that blinked in grand complexity, he moved his fingers up and down at a faster tempo than before. He'd already gotten the. copy; there was no need for the original. He didn't think Sulayman or the Privy Counselors could make use of the data, but there was no need to leave any unnecessary traces.
His fingers suddenly stopped moving the instant he ran the virus program. The young man stretched his back like a pianist who was stuck for a tune, and gazed at the keyboard silently for a moment. "You came after all."
Before he could turn his handsome face around, Jaegers, the living dead, with battleaxes in their hands, had surrounded him. But Dietrich wasn't only addressing his loyal subordinates. There was a figure in a citizen's uniform standing silently beyond them.
Beneath beautiful silver hair that looked like a crown, blue eyes glittered. The gun in the figure's hand was pointed at the young man. The person must have broken through the trap in the underground palace.
"I'm glad you arrived safely, Father. So, I take it Esther and the others are all right?" asked Puppeteer. There was no sign of fear in Dietrich's face, even with the gun turned on him. Instead, he spoke with the ease of greeting an old friend. "It's been a long time, Father Abel Nightroad. I mean, Crusnik 02."
VI
"Get away from there, Dietrich," said Abel. His voice was quiet, but spirited. "That's not for you two to touch. Please get away from there."
'"You two?'" asked Puppeteer, scoffing disdainfully at his opponent. "You're talking as though we're special, aren't you, Father? Do you care that much about this guy?"
A sharp voice burst from the priest's throat. "Never mind, just get away!" said Abel. His normally easygoing face was severely strained, as if he were a different person. "You mustn't touch that. It will only cause disaster."
"Disaster? But you all used this before, right?" asked Puppeteer without changing his mocking tone. He ran his fingers over the keyboard in a deliberate show of disrespect. "I know, you see, what you—more accurately, what you all—did when you used this before. Oh, I'm not blaming you in particular. I can see that the seal put on this still isn't undone. If you'll overlook it, I'll say goodbye for today."
"I can't do that," said Abel. The noise of the gun's hammer raising echoed in the priest's hands. "The restart file in your pocket. Leave that and go!"
"You're unexpectedly sharp-eyed," said Puppeteer. Like a child who'd been double-dared, Dietrich stuck out his tongue.
To prove he had absolutely no feelings of guilt, he shrugged and shamelessly declared: "Father, when I'm told 'don't touch,' on the contrary, I want to touch. And I'll add one more thing. I hate being ordered by other people so much that I'd rather die."
As Abel began to seethe, the Jaegers kicked the ground and deployed in a semicircle. Four battleaxes, deployed in haste mode, rushed toward the priest from four directions like a wall of knives. The priest had nowhere to go.
***
"Nanomachine Crusnik 02 40% limited activity—Authorized." When that ominous voice rumbled, the wall of knives shattered with a gust of black wind. A strangely shaped scythe with a blade at both ends of the shaft revolved as it mowed down the battleaxes of the charging Jaegers. Its overwhelming power easily sent their massive bodies flying.
Amid the blood storm, a shadow dancing in the darkness recited a verse: "Blood spilt on the ground can only be atoned for by the blood of the one who spilt it," said Abel. A pair of red eyes shone sadly. "Therefore, you must follow God's will. Amen!"
Even a Methuselah was no match for his speed. The instant Abel leapt, twirling the vicious blade, four severed heads flew up into the air, trailing streams of red. In mid-flight, his black clothes fluttering ominously, a flash of blue-white fire grazed the hem of Abel's robe. In the short time the Jaegers had bought, Radu-Dietrich had entered haste mode, shooting dividing fireballs into the air at rapid speed. The scythe revolved like a windmill, cutting, repelling, and pulverizing the fiery attacks one after the other.
While revolving his scythe, which looked like a ring of fire in front of his body, Abel shouted.
"This nonsense is pointless!" After he broke through a smokescreen, he pursued the Efreet, who had already switched to flight, with ferocious haste. After leaping a distance close to thirty feet, Abel quietly landed before Dietrich's eyes. "Surrender! Or else!" he yelled.
Although the scythe was swinging down before his eyes, the blue-haired young man didn't stop dashing. He charged on as though Abel weren't there.
"Sorry." The pitch-black blade that accompanied the sad voice struck Radu-Dietrich squarely in the heart. The blow severed his thorax and reached his spine, and sent his body hurtling backward. After Radu's body, its trunk half cut off, violently struck the floor with a sickening sound, it kept rolling sideways, but it eventually stopped moving when it hit the wall.
"Sin is eternal, so I must pray for the dead," said Abel. For the first time, a sigh leaked from his lips. The priest's expression was dark and hardened as he stared at the corpses lying on the floor, but now was no time to indulge in sentiment. Still looking depressed, Abel walked over to Baron of Luxor, who had died once again, and knelt by his side. He'd hardly known him while he was alive, but he'd heard the story from Ion. Although he was a man who'd betrayed his friend, was that enough of a sin that his body had to suffer defilement even after death?
"Please rest in peace, Baron," said Abel as he made the sign of the cross, in honor of the dead. Glancing down, he noticed the transparent cube peeking out of the corpse's pocket. It was that thing's restart file. What did the Orden intend to use that kind of thing for? The seal that had been placed by her order in the distant past was still alive. As long as that existed, data like this should be useless.
It was then that Abel heard a mocking voice in his ears. <Father, you mustn't steal that.>
At the same time, the memory cube he'd picked up was taken from him with abnormal strength.
"Wha?" At the sight of the person who stole back the memory cube, Abel's eyes opened so wide they nearly popped out. "That's insane! How can you move with that body?
The dead man's pallid lips replied with a derisive voice. <Ahhh, you've done it, haven't you, Father?>
The Methuselah's corpse, which had just died a second time, pushed up the upper half of its body from the pool of blood. A bright red hole gaped in its torso, indicating that the flash of the scythe had cut Radu's chest in half. The blow had pulverized his heart, and must have reached his spine. After so much damage, even a corpse should've died. But the blue-haired young man stood up as if nothing had happened.
As he pushed the internal organs dangling from the wound back into his body, the one who'd been sliced in half spoke in a conversational tone. <This "Radu Barvon" has been specially tuned up.>
By the time his lips had turned up into a crescent moon shape, his wound had disappeared as if it were never there.
<This body now has endurance and battle strength greater than the Jaegers lying there. We also tried incorporating this kind of amusing device. >
'Abel's head was suddenly engulfed in blue-white flames. Radu's blood that had leaked onto the floor, and formed a bright red. pool, burned to nothingness. A pained cry emanated from the lips of Crusnik, as he received the heat of living napalm, which reached a few thousand degrees. Swiftly retreating, he tried to gain distance from the flames, but something inexplicable happened.
"What?" Abel gasped.
The flames moved like living things, and then charged at the priest. If he hadn't leapt and instinctively wielded the scythe, Abel's whole body would've become a fireball.
"Wh-what in the world is this?" asked Abel with a raspy groan.
The flames had literally stood up. Surrounding Radu-Dietrich, who was still laughing, were at least ten masses of fire in the human shapes of the legendary fire giants.
<Normally, an Efreet can only secrete napalm from the secretion glands in their palms. But this "Radu Barvon" has been given the ability to produce fire from the Hood flowing throughout his entire body. Using "strings," after ignition, I can control their movements to a certain degree with my will.>
The fire puppets moved, surrounding Abel, who was pinned against the wall.
<It's a shame, but the "strings" can't stand high temperatures, so there's a limit to the time I can move them. Still, it should be long enough to burn you to a cinder. >
Abel swung his scythe at the puppets of fire closing in on him. The wind that kicked up due to the force of the swing caused the figures to crumble momentarily; however, they regained their shape, and pressed in, trying to grab the priest. No matter how many times the scythe swung, it was impossible to fend off all the attacks. The -writhing flames banded together to form a whirlpool that caught Crusnik in its grip.
It was then that a sharp shout, followed by a red flash and countless bullets flew in, cutting down the blue flames. "Father!"
The Spear of Gei Borg orbited like lightning, obliterating the flames that were still trying to swallow Abel. The bullets created an unusual crater at the feet of the Efreet who was standing behind the firestorm.
"Are you all right, Father? Get away from him, Dietrich!" said Esther.
"Esther, be careful! He's no ordinary person!" warned Astharoshe.
The red-haired girl pulled the loading pump with a menacing noise, and re-aimed her shotgun at the blue-haired Methuselah.
<This is perfect. It looks as though some bait has arrived to make you serious, Abel Nightroad.>
Dietrich resembled a child who had found a new toy as fresh flames poured from his hands. This time, the flames that danced around him began to form a long, thin shape, like a snake or spear.
<Well, shall I start with the Marquise of Kiev first? Let's experiment and see if you can still wear a gentlemanly face when the lovely ladies have been burnt to ash.>
"S-stop!" said Abel.
As the group of flaming snakes had wound around Aste's body like an evil dragon that had found a sacrificial virgin, it raised its head toward her.
"Aste!" cried Abel.
But the fire snakes were attacking the Marquise of Kiev from all sides. Although she was a Methuselah, it was impossible to avoid the flames attacking at that speed. When they parted for an instant, she leapt.
"Wh-what is this?" asked Ashtaroshe. Even while flustered, she brandished the spear and struck down a few fire snakes, but she couldn't counter all of the attacks coming from all directions.' One of them dove past her red shield and caught the beautiful, white-haired woman from behind, sending her flying backward. Her mouth, opened in the shape of a scream, exhaled, as her body, which stunk like burnt meat, hit the floor.
"Marquise of Kiev!" Esther shouted. The girl ran over to Aste and tried her best to put out the fire, but the Marquise's body didn't react except by trembling faintly. Meanwhile, the fire snakes had regained their shapes and, discovering their next victim, assumed an attack posture once again.
"Esther, look out!" said Abel.
The fire snakes reared their heads over the nun as she desperately tried to put out the fire on Aste's back. As she looked overhead, Esther discovered a group of fires surrounding her. As one, they looked like a demon that had found a fresh sacrifice. A scream bellowed from her mouth. She was unable to escape the flames closing in.
Abel's face twisted with a certain determination. "It's unavoidable!" Glaring at the living flames, the priest appeared as though he'd made up his mind. He chanted the spell that would call forth the detestable creatures that dwelt within his body.
"Nanomachine Crusnik 02, eighty percent," said Abel.
But the calamitous spell never finished. With a sharp cry of pain, Abel's knees crumpled. After he collapsed like a puppet whose strings had been cut, he tugged painfully at his chest. His eyes, opened wide as if he'd seen something unbelievable, had already regained their blueness that resembled a winter lake.
"Damn! The Crusnik?" Abel exclaimed. The priest regarded his body with eyes that had lost their red light. The scythe in his hands melted like an icicle showered in sunlight, and his silver hair, which had been standing on end, withered as if it had lost its strength.
Crusnik was no longer there. Only one young man, Abel Nightroad, remained.
< Aren't you unsightly, Father. >
Dietrich chuckled as he gazed at Abel, who was panting with pain. Only prolonging the priest's agony, the fire snakes stopped moving, but they still surrounded Esther. One side of his face lit up by the flames, the demon mocked the fallen priest.
<"A vampire that sucks the blood of vampires." The source of your power is none other than the blood of vampires. The Bacillus Kudrak eats the red blood cells of humans, and you Crusniks prey on that bacillus. But you don't absorb that essential bacillus, the blood of vampires. No, you actually despise it. But doing so, you can't endure as well as them.>
"Wh-why?" asked Abel. The priest's voice was now startlingly thin as he weakly shielded his face from the blue-white flames with his raised arms. "How do you know that?"
<How do I know? It's a problem if you underestimate me. I know all kinds of other things. For example, that you are "the enemy of the world.">
Dietrich laughed evilly. An especially large fireball floated in his palm as he gazed gleefully at the priest, whose face was contorted in shock.
<This sort of thing is the Crusniks' disappointment. I wanted to buy a little more of you, but you seem to be sold out.>
It now seemed difficult for Abel, who'd gone completely pale, to stand up. After gloating over his enemy, still lying there powerlessly, Dietrich formed a new fireball in his fist.
< After I finish you off here, there will be people who will get angry, but who cares. Goodbye, Abel Nightroad.>
With a jeer, Dietrich hurled a napalm bomb about the size of a person's head. Its target as it flew with a roar was Abel's head, which was about to turn into charcoal.
"Won't you leave it at that, Orden boy?" asked Seth sarcastically.
The fireball aiming for Abel miraculously scattered in the air. After splitting apart in space, just as though it had struck an invisible wall, it turned into delicate fiery particles that rained down onto the floor.
Dietrich's expression warped with displeasure. <Who are you?>
"Me? I'm just a beautiful girl passing by," said Seth. The short girl, her long green clothes fluttering, grinned, but her eyes were flashing coldly beneath her black hair. Her white face, the shape of an inverted egg, resembled a China doll's face, and her mischievous expression was that of a little girl.
There was one more person whose expression froze when they spotted the girl. "Seth?" cried Abel.
"Hey, it's been a long time, Abel. Have you been well?" asked Seth. A soft light filled her eyes as she addressed the priest, but as they moved to the Efreet, they turned cold and hostile. "Now then, Orden boy, has it occurred to you to stop doing as you please in my castle?"
<'My castle'? So you're the Empress? Empress Vladika of the New Human Empire?> Dietrich's voice rattled with tension. That hadn't happened before, even when Abel changed into Crusnik. <Oh dear, it seems both Sulayman and I were absurd buffoons. So we've been dancing in your hand since the beginning? I suppose the Duchess of Moldova isn't dead, either?>
The girl Empress smiled back coldly at Dietrich's questions, which sounded as though he were gossiping. "I like considerate children, but that's enough playtime. All you have to do now is run back to him like a good boy with your tail between your legs, or else I'll deal with you here. Choose which you like."
As she spoke, the fire snakes had been closing in around the girl as if to intimidate her. Wickedly narrowing his eyes, which reflected the blue-white sparkle, Dietrich spoke in a voice dripping with hostility. <Today is an unlucky day. I'm really unlucky, meeting two monsters, of all things. Although, I do hate being ordered by other people enough to die.>
As if responding to their master's voice, the fire snakes began to gyrate in unison. This time they encircled the girl without leaving any gaps, and attacked with perfect timing.
"Seth!" Esther cried in vain. No one could cope with such timing and speed. If the blue flames fell upon the Empress, her body would evaporate.
"Nanomachine Crusnik 03, forty percent limited activation-Authorized," said Seth.
The low voice made the air shake and caused the flames trying to envelop the girl to change their direction.
What reflected in Dietrich's eyes, open wide in shock, were flames in midair that appeared as though they'd struck an invisible wall. There were also two ominous red points of light that occupied the flames' center. Just then, he realized that the sudden red flash that overpowered the flames was the flash from Seth's eyes.
"Dietrich, you can't defeat me," said Seth.
All of a sudden, a fierce gale erupted, causing the flames to reverse in direction and flow back toward their master Dietrich. Radu-Dietrich's body was engulfed in flames. If he hadn't installed artificial skin, with heat-resistant coating, over his whole body that had previously been burned by sunlight in Carthage, he would've surely turned to dust. The sight of him, still standing with his entire body wreathed in flames resembled a beast that had crawled out of Hell.
<Indeed, you are something. However, you're just like somebody else, in that your end game is naive. > Baring fangs from lips burnt to the point of disfigurement, Dietrich smiled brutally.
The memory cube he'd worked so hard to get his hands on had been lost in the flames. There was no reason to forcibly recover this puppet. If he had to dispose of it here—
<I might as well just take Her Majesty the Empress's life, because it would be rather silly if only my puppet were destroyed. >
By the time he spat that out, Dietrich's body had entered haste mode. He took the limiter completely off and abnormally stimulated his nervous system in excess of normal haste mode. Not caring that his flesh, unable to withstand the friction, burned off, he leapt toward the woman with red eyes.
"My end game is naive? Aren't you confusing me with somebody? I'm not as much of a people-lover as he is," said Seth.
Dietrich closed in, the embodiment of a gale of death. It was then that Seth, still smiling, raised both arms with a screech. Thick black flashes spilled forth. At first glance, it looked like heavy oil; but after it collected in Seth's hands, it hardened into a metallic form. As the Empress unfurled her arms, she revealed two very long tuning forks, each about the length of a sword, grasped in each hand.
"I warned you to run, Puppeteer," said Seth.
All of a sudden, Dietrich's charging body rebounded backward as if repelled by an invisible wall. Is this the same shield that turned back the napalm flames before? he thought to himself. Upon striking the wall, Dietrich was able to wrench his body like a cat and absorb the shock. He tried to stand up again afterward, but collapsed on the spot like a puppet with its strings cut.
Radu-Dietrich looked down at his completely unresponsive legs, opening his eyes wide. Was the damage greater than I thought? He'd turned white from the knees down, but it wasn't only a matter of blood loss. The skin that had turned to ash, the flesh, the bones, were all crumbling apart! The strange phenomenon didn't stop at his legs. Smoke rose from every part of his body. Despite there being no sign of fire, his whole body was being cooked.
<My body's burning. What is happening? >
The Empress standing directly in front of Dietrich answered him, as he moaned in shock. "That is called high-energy, focused-formula supersonic waves — flames of sound." The two tuning forks in her hands continued vibrating at such a high speed that humans couldn't sense it. "By bundling the powerful supersonic wave beam with a uniform wavelength at an arbitrary point, it burns solely what it's aimed at. It even burns the point a laser would pass through, but this supersonic wave beam has no effect whatsoever until it's bundled. However, once I got serious . . ."
The Empress's eyes sparkled with murderous intent as the blue-haired corpse bent backward like a bow. Just like Lot's wife depicted in the Bible, and just like the stupid woman who disobeyed God's advice and turned around to the ruined city of Sodom, his body was changing into a pillar of pure white salt. The dead Efreet's body was rapidly beginning to collapse.
"Listen, Puppeteer. I'll let you off with this much today. However . . ." Seth's voice gave off a chill like fallen frost as she gazed at his face, twisted in horror. "... when next we meet, I absolutely won't forgive you. So run from here as fast as you can. Run and run and run. Then I will hunt you down wherever you are, catch you, and do something hideous. Radu, Sulayman, Ion— what you have done to my children is irrevocable. I will absolutely take revenge."
The moment Seth's lovely lips completed the threatening speech, Radu-Dietrich's body turned to pure white ash and scattered.
"Father!" said Esther. Right after the pillar of salt crumbled, the red-haired nun ran over to Abel. Clinging to his tall body, which had collapsed from horrible burns, Esther shook him earnestly. "Father! Father! Father! Hang on!"
"Hey Esther," said Abel. Revealing a weak smile, Abel softly put his hand to Esther's sooty face. The touch of cool skin felt good. "I'm fine. What about you, are you okay?"
"Y-yes," Esther replied, nodding almost mechanically. She .anxiously reached a hand toward Abel's burns. "Terrible burns. Father, you need first aid at once."
"He'll be fine, Esther," Seth assured her.
When Esther glanced up, the girl in the Empress's clothes was looking down at the two of them, her jade green eyes twinkling. "I'm sorry, but could you move away a bit? I want to talk with him a little," said Seth.
A rather wary look crossed Esther's face. "Yes, but . . ." She stretched her small body to shield Abel from the Empress's gaze, but it was Abel who reassured the nun. "I'm fine, Esther. You please look after Aste. I think she'll recover from her wound, but just in case..."
"Understood," said Esther as she reluctantly left Abel's side. She hurried toward the fallen Aste, looking back-ward the entire way.
Seth smiled as she watched her go. "She's a good girl, that one." Any trace of hostility disappeared from her eyes as she looked down meaningfully at Abel's face. "Doesn't she resemble her a bit? Not in her face, but somewhere in her spirit."
"It's really you, Seth?" asked Abel quietly. "The Empress who ruled for eight hundred years. I didn't think it could be anyone but you."
"Should I believe that you deliberately came this far because you knew that and wanted to see my face after so long?" asked Seth. She knelt by the wounded young man's side, gently touching his cheek with concerned eyes. "When did we last meet? You seem to be living as bitter a lifestyle as always. I hurt just looking at you."
Abel tried to smile faintly, but he couldn't utter any words in response. As he tried to stand up, his face grimaced in severe pain.
Gently taking his hand and helping him up, the Empress said the young man's name longingly. "It's been nine hundred years, Abel, big brother."
The Envoy’s Return
—The LORD watch between me and the when we are absent one from another.
—Genesis 31:49
I
Concerning the actions of Sulayman and the hard-liners, the truth is, we'd been suspicious for a long time. However, we couldn't catch them in the act, so we tried setting a trap," said Mirka. The girl with her long golden hair fixed in a ponytail carefully lifted a cup before her mouth. With a giddy face, she sipped at her favorite hot chocolate.
She appeared to be about the same age as Ion. Looking at her innocent face, nobody would have guessed that she was actually the Chief Privy Counselor of the New Human Empire, a noble among nobles, lord among lords, Mirka Fortuna, Duchess of Moldova.
"If they were going to move, they would've done so upon your return home. So we spread a net in the Empire, and waited for you to come home. The rest, you already know," said Mirka.
Nodding, as if drawn into the story, Ion nearly forgot himself. "Indeed, but, Grandmother, you used me, your own grandson as bait?" asked Ion. He glared at his grandmother sitting demurely on the sofa, next to a window that overlooked the sea, and raised his voice in protest. "So, you devised the whole thing from the beginning with the intention of involving me?"
"Didn't I tell you so? When did my grandson get so stupid? Ion, you can't be dissatisfied with the social ramifications of being my grandson. Or are you trying to say you're dissatisfied with the plan your grandmother devised?" asked Mirka. Her tone wasn't particularly critical. Rather, Mirka looked as though she was perfectly calm. However, Ion's face visibly blanched.
"D-dissatisfied? N-no, that's . . . I'm never dissatisfied, but — "
"Oh, that's a pity. If you'd voiced even one complaint, I could've teased you as much as I liked," said Mirka.
Staring disappointedly at her grandson, who bowed his head low, dripping cold sweat, Mirka smirked. In appearance, rather than the greatest lord in the Empire who joined in secret deliberations, she looked like a malicious older sister who enjoyed tormenting her little brother.
There were people watching the heartwarming conversation between grandmother and grandson from a corner of the room.
"Didn't Her Excellency the Duchess say she didn't intend to tease Count of Memphis like that?" asked Astharoshe.
"Yes. If Lady Mirka were serious, it wouldn't end with this kind of thing," said Baybars.
Aste and Baybars sat together, having been summoned to the Duchess's mansion, and exchanged quiet conversation.
"Until the incident is settled, give Count of Memphis a good teasing," the large, dark-skinned man, who had finally been released from that wicked order, added. "When done by Lady Mirka, it's no more than an expression of love. But, after all, even we Palace Guards, whose bravery is lauded, are afraid to be summoned to the Chief Privy Counselor for a message. If you ever argue with her, Marquise of Kiev, I think you'd better have your affairs in order first."
"Lord Baybars," said Mirka.
Baybars' face froze at the girl's sarcastic voice. Mirka herself had snuck over to them before he noticed. She smiled at his face, which looked as though he'd been sentenced to death. "The work of you and your Palace Guards this time was truly great. Her Majesty was also extraordinarily happy," said Mirka.
"It's a great honor!" said Baybars. The black giant was as stiff as if a drawn sword had been placed at his neck, and cold sweat appeared on his cheeks.
"In order to repay your service, I've requested that from now on, I want to stop having the Palace Guards people come to me to take messages. Because I'd be sorry to use people who hate me so much, " said Mirka coyly, putting her hand to her mouth. "Hereafter, I will use only you, Lord Baybars, as my messenger. Ha! Now we can see each other every day. Oh dear, I'm just happy that you're so happy." The Chief Privy Counselor laughed with a bell-like voice.
Looking on, Ion and Aste glanced at each other and sighed.
Just then, a girl peeked in from the doorway. "Um, excuse me, I've finished packing," said Esther. The girl, wearing a neat citizen's uniform, hefted the bag filled with her personal possessions, bowing her head deeply to the four people. "Thank you for taking care of me. I have to go soon."
"A-are you going already, Esther?" asked Ion. Ignoring his grandmother's thoughtful look, Ion kicked his chair and stood up. He'd been certain that the boat leaving the Imperial capital with Esther and one more person aboard would depart at sunset. "There's still a little time. Shouldn't you relax a bit longer?"
"But Father Nightroad is already waiting at the boat, so I thought I'd go a little early," said Esther. She smiled sweetly, her red hair fluttering. Except for the new bandage still wrapped around her shoulder, there was no trace of the disturbance in the Celestial Imperial Palace. After a week's rest, the Terran girl had completely recovered. "Thank you for everything, forever, Your Excellency."
"Y-yes," said Ion, clumsily nodding back at the overly formal thanks. / knew this time would come a week ago — no, even before then. Ion had prepared a number of clever goodbyes over the course of the entire week. But when the time came, the carefully prepared words of parting wouldn't come out of his mouth. "U-um, Esther?"
"Yes?" Esther looked back strangely at Ion, whose words were stuck in his throat, and whose face had turned alternately pale and red. Outside the window, a sailboat with its sails already spread was swaying on the waves beyond the pier. A tall, silver-haired man was standing next to the boat, gazing up at the southern sky. The man's shadow lay blackly on the deck, under the sparkle of eternal twilight. "Well, I'm going."
Esther smiled sadly at the boy who was still standing there, lost for words. "Take care, Your Excellency."
"Y-yeah," said Ion. By the time he turned around, Esther was already beginning to walk, her right shoulder slightly lower, because the wound she'd gotten shielding Ion hadn't fully healed.
The boy's hand reached for her back, but stopped short. As if grasping the air, as if blocked by an invisible wall, he didn't move. No matter what I say here, no matter what kind of words we exchange, in the end, it's all fleeting, he thought to himself.
Methuselah and Terran—the difference between the two races was absolute. He was an Imperial noble, and she was a nun in the Vatican, their bitter enemy. Wasn't it impossible to bridge such a gap? It's best to part silently like this ....
A slender hand touched Ion's shoulder as he watched the girl's shadow grow distant. When he glanced up, cold, beautiful features and amber eyes were gazing down at him from beneath white hair. "If there's something you want to say, you'd better say it, Count of Memphis," said Astharoshe. "They age too quickly. Age, and die. There's no guarantee you'll meet again."
"But . . ." Ion shook his head, looking as though he'd swallowed poison. What could he say to her now, when it was too late? What, to a girl he might not ever see again?
"You should say what you're thinking, Count," Astharoshe urged. Usually apathetic, this time, her eyes reflected the boy's face with the kindness of an older sister encouraging a younger brother. "You should say what you want to tell her. Am I wrong?"
The boy suddenly looked up. Nodding to the amber eyes as if he'd gotten over something, he dashed out of the room without looking back. The shadow he aimed for had already disappeared beyond the corridor. She was already opening the entry door, about to go outside. "Esther!" Ion yelled. "We'll meet again, Esther. Again,' sometime! Without fail!"
She turned around, and beneath her red hair, a wide smile appeared upon her pale face.
***
"The air is clear here," said Abel.
The sky that promised eternal twilight sparkled with the colors of blood and gold. The "second moon" floated in the sky. It was rare for it to move from the corner of the southern sky. It resembled the eye of an evil god peering down to Earth, but it made the hearts of those who witnessed it swell.
There was no sign of fear in the man who gazed up at that fantastic satellite. Far from it, eyes the color of a winter lake reflected its light. There was even a hint of nostalgia in them.
Meanwhile, a short girl sitting next to the priest on the side of the boat answered the young man's mutter. Her mussed black hair waved in the salt breeze. "Say, Abel, won't you stay here?" asked Seth. "It will make it easier for me to do things if you'll stay here, big brother. When something like this happens, I'm lonely by myself. Can't we get along as brother and sister like we did a long time ago? I have a lot of friends here. Why don't we all live together as friends?"
Seth didn't sound as if she were joking. Rather, her voice sounded serious, as if sympathizing with her companion. But the man's expression didn't change, as if rejecting all help.
"I'm a sinner," said Abel. His gaze still turned on Heaven, as if it were counting his sins, Abel rejected the girl's proposal. "I shouldn't have that right."
"How many years do you think it's been since then, Abel?" Seth asked. An irritated tone colored her voice. After striking the ship's side with her small hand, she shook her head and shouted, "Nine hundred years. Nine hundred years! Isn't it enough? You’ve paid plenty for your sins. She would surely forgive you, too. Nobody's blaming you!"
"I won't forgive myself," said Abel. Under the firmament's light, the ocean's surface sparkled like a golden mirror. But Abel's eyes were as gloomy as if he'd gathered up all the darkness in the world. "Even if somebody in this world forgives me, even if all of the hands in the world are offered to me, I won't forgive myself."
Those were the eyes of a man who absolutely refused to save himself. Gazing at his profile, Seth sighed deeply. Her lips trembled regretfully, and before long, her shoulders slumped. "Really, you obstinate — "Just as she was beginning to look absolutely disgusted, a glimmer of hope returned to her face. Standing up, Seth nodded hard as if to convince herself. "Well, that's fine, too. If you're there, it will also be convenient. 1 won't force you to stay."
"Convenient?" asked Abel. Looking at the girl's face for the first time, he voiced his doubts cautiously. "Is there something convenient for you about me being there, Seth?"
"He's still alive. I confirmed it with my own eyes, a year ago," said Seth.
When she said "he," a look of loathing and fear appeared on Seth's face. It was an expression that only one who had seen something truly vile could make. Yet, compared to the expression that clouded Abel's face, it was mild.
"He ... is still alive?" asked Abel. His voice was hoarse, but Seth heard it clearly. However, something submerged in it, resembling madness, was now threatening to burst. "01 is still alive?"
"Yes, and he looks exactly as he did then," said Seth, her voice quaking. The girl who had reigned over the Methuselahs as the Empress of the New Human Empire for more than eight hundred years was now certainly afraid of something. "Didn't he likely regenerate, using his container, after a few hundred years? Neither you nor I could do it, but he could, if he conspired with them. We were naive. At any rate, they're not of this world.
Whispering as if talking to herself, Seth glanced up. From beyond the pier, a few human figures were walking toward them: a red-headed girl and a short boy walking side by side; and a short distance from them, an assortment of a tall, beautiful woman, a black giant, and a girl with golden hair.
Lit by eternal twilight, Seth regarded Abel, who was by her side, staring at the same thing. Soon it would be sunset, time to leave port. The moment of separation was nearing. How long would it be until they met again? After a hundred years? Or after two thousand?
"Well, big brother, what will you do now?" asked Seth, her black hair blowing in the sea breeze. "After you go back home, what will you do?"
"Destroy him," Abel replied.