I

I

“From my initial inspection, there are no outstanding issues with Tres being treated in Milan. There are no virus infections in his main processors. He should be able to recover in about a month," the elderly man said.

Palazzio Spada, otherwise known as the Foreign Affairs office, was quieter than usual. The thin-faced man threw a thick file onto the desk and tapped his cheek. He smiled confidently and played with the unlit pipe in his mouth.

"I can go to Milan as early as tomorrow. We're off for our semester break. The students have ample homework to keep them busy. What do you think, Your Eminence?" he asked.

"I'll leave the recovery of Father Tres to you, Professor," said Cardinal Caterina Sforza. She rested her elbows on her desk and sighed deeply. A slight furrow of her brows was all that indicated her very real concerns. "We don't have enough AX agents as it is. I look forward to his quick recovery."

"Leave it to me, Your Eminence. I'll finish this before my college classes start."

If this world had picture of supreme confidence, then it would be a portrait of the "Professor," otherwise known as Doctor William W. Wordsworth. He pulled out a match from under his priest's robe and was about to light his pipe, when suddenly a nun's hologram appeared before him.

"Good evening, Professor Wordsworth. This is a nonsmoking area. Please smoke in the hall or on the balcony."

"Oh, excuse me… My, but you are a beautiful woman, Sister Kate."

"Thank you for your compliment. But you still cannot smoke here," the nun said gently, silently scolding the Professor with her eyes.

He removed the pipe from his mouth.

"I am back, Cardinal," Sister Kate said. "As you ordered, I have dispatched the unit in Amsterdam. He is planning on conducting the mission tonight."

Caterina nodded. "Good job, Sister Kate. Continue the liaison."

"Hmm, Amsterdam, eh . ? Oh, is this about the incident at Oude Kerk?" the Professor asked in that nasal voice of his. He made circles with his right index finger on his temple, and bit his unlit pipe. "The murders and blood extortion of the bishop and several religious personnel .   . So, who did you send?"

"The Four-City Alliance, including Amsterdam, is a very sensitive region. Therefore, I deployed the agent most familiar with the location."

"So you sent Sword Dancer? Hmm, are you sure about that?"

Caterina eyed the man carefully.

Sister Kate saw the Professor's expression turn sour, so she asked, "Is there a problem with that, Professor?"

Caterina said,"He was born in Antwerp and is familiar with the area. And I think he is capable of the job. Is something wrong?"

"There in lies the problem. It is a complex situation." The Professor pondered for a moment, then turned to Caterina. "You are aware of how he became an AX agent, Your Eminence. I can't help but think that he is not the best choice for this case."

Caterina sighed and stood up. "There is no other choice."

She went to window and looked down at the nightscape. For the past few days, this winter hadn't been as cold as in previous years, but tonight, it started to turn chilly again. The streets were quiet; only stray dogs and shadows milled about.

"I don't have enough AX agents—hardly any, actually. So if he gets out of control, then " Caterina spoke to her reflection in the window. "I need help to stop him. Professor, could you please go to Milan as soon as possible?"

 

***

After turning at the third intersection, the footsteps dogging the young girl grew louder. Sister Agnes couldn't stand it any longer—she broke out into a sprint. The nun's robe, dripping wet, clung to her thin legs.

Just who is that, anyway?! she thought. Agnes recalled the mysterious shadow she'd glimpsed behind her and shuddered.

When she'd left the police station, she hadn't noticed anyone behind her. She'd heard footsteps following her when she'd entered a desolate area just past the embankment. Whoever followed her was keeping their distance, but continued hunting her around every corner.

That night in Amsterdam was as quiet as a tomb.

The port city, lower than the sea level, was protected by seawalls. On a chilly night like this, fog from the canals covered the streets with white mist. Of course, most people wouldn't dare to venture out on a night like this. Even Agnes wouldn't have gone out. She'd locked herself in her room at the church, content to spend the evening indoors, but then she'd been called to the police station.

Now there was nobody to ask for help and she was running out of breath Thankfully, she noticed a small boat was parked at the edge of the canal.

It was a gondola with a covered carriage, something that a noble would use for discreet encounters. She didn't want to use it without permission, but there wasn't anyone around. When she got to the canal, she jumped on board.

About ten seconds after Agnes had hidden in the gondola's cabin, the shadow came out of the fog. He wore a dark cloak like that of an undertaker; the hood covered his face. Even more disturbing was the sight of a long metal staff bound to his back. The staff was about as tall as Agnes. It was suspicious to carry around such a large thing anyhow.

The stalker stopped beside the boat. His target had dis­appeared. He tilted his head to the side, then looked around like a hunting dog that had lost its prey.

"God, please help me oh God . "Agnes tried to suppress her trembling. She clutched her rosary. As her stalker looked toward the boat, his green eyes glowed faintly from under the hood. Their eyes met

He looked away.

As if nothing had ever happened, the stalker turned and strode in the opposite direction. His heavy footsteps melted into the fog and eventually all traces of him disappeared.

"Phew." Agnes took a deep breath and got out of the gondola. "I wonder who he was, anyway?"

But deep down, she had an inkling.

One week after the tragedy, she'd sensed someone watching her whenever she went out. That man had probably been stalking her all this time.

Agnes, close to tears, went back into the streets. She patted i off her wet skirt. I'll go back to the church. There's nobody there, but at least I'll be protected by the thick walls and tailgate

The girl almost slipped and fell. It was a blessing, for she'd been about to walk right into a horse-drawn carriage that had been hidden in the fog.

"Please be careful, young lady. It's dangerous to be out on a foggy night," a chilling voice warned her. "Oh? Are you perhaps Sister Agnes? What a coincidence. I was actually looking for you. This is great."

A young man standing on the gangway of the carriage laughed sarcastically. Clad in expensive black clothing and a blue satin cape, he looked like a typical noble—like one of the wealthy merchants who controlled the Four-City Alliance. He had a golden rapier hanging from his hip, a sapphire floral ring, and a gentlemanly stature.

Agnes stepped back immediately. She noticed fangs poking out from the edge of his thin lips.

"Ah! What?" The nun tried to distance herself from the carriage, but black-clothed men blocked her retreat.

"Don't be so afraid, little girl. I've no plans to eat you, for crying out loud."

One of the smaller men with snakelike eyes cackled. "Sir Peter wanted to ask you a few questions about the priest killings that happened last week, that's all. Why don't you come with us?"

"I-I don't know anything," the nun stuttered. She shivered and her teeth chattered. "When I came back, everyone was killed. Please believe me! I really didn't see anything!"

"Oh, are you sure about that? But you are the only survivor. I have more questions for you. Please come with us." The gentleman, smiling wryly, extended his long arm.

Agnes noticed the claws. Jerking back, she yelled, "D-don't get near me, you monster!"

"Monster?" The gentleman's face hardened. "Monster? Are you calling me a monster?" His change in tone frightened her even more.

One of the men in black approached and whispered, "Please calm down, Sir Peter. Your brother requested that you bring the girl back alive—"

"Don't talk to me, you stinking Terran!" Sir Peter swung his thin arm, and the black-clothed man flew out to the edge of the street.Without so much as a glance toward his immobile subordinate, the gentleman grabbed Agnes' shoulders with his clawed hands. "How could a useless critter like you call me a monster? Such  bravado, for a mere girl . . "

He gnashed his teeth, which sounded like grinding metal, and his claws dug into the nun's white flesh. The vampire slowly inched his face toward the suffering girl's. His curved fangs extended from his poisonous mouth. His pointed tongue stuck out; he licked the neck of his prey—

The next instant, the monster arched back, covered his face, and cried out in agony.

"Sir Peter?!" his men shouted.

Agnes had been thrown onto the cobblestone street. Ignoring her completely, the black-clothed men noticed a small dagger, the size of a toothpick, piercing the groaning vampire's tongue.

While the rest looked at their wounded master, one of the smaller men turned to the direction the dagger had flown from and asked, "Who the hell are you?!"

A man in a dark, black robe stood on the other side of the street. Underneath his covered hood, green eyes glowed. A long staff was bound to his back.

"Get away from the girl, vampire," he said, addressing Sir Peter. "I'm sure I will introduce myself to you soon, but right now I would like to tend to the girl's wounds. Please just go away. If you decide not to comply       then I will kill you," the strange man said.

"Kill? Is the man sane to think that he could kill a vampire— the strongest creature on Earth?!" Sir Peter, covering his bloody mouth, screamed in retort. "Don't kid yourself, you fool!"

He pulled the shining silver dagger out of his tongue and pushed aside his subordinate.

"Kill? Kill me? I don't know who the hell you are, but stop this farce! "The small dagger swished in the air, flying almost faster than '* the speed of sound, back at its owner's face.

But instead of wounding the stranger, the vampire and the black-clothed men gasped in surprise.

The man dodged slightly and smacked the dagger away.

"What?!"

"It's no use—you cannot kill me," the man said softly, his long staff held out in front of him.

"Hmm, so you were able to dodge that.. .You're pretty good, for a Terran," said the Methuselah. He lewdly licked his lips and drew the rapier from its scabbard at his hip.

"All right! Then how about this?!"

By the time the sword was completely drawn out, the vampire had already lunged forward. A normal human would not have been able to follow the speed of such an action with their eyes.

But the strange man was unafraid. Instead, he pulled back his metal staff, resting it beside his left hip, and then he bent his knees slightly.

"Stupid Terran! You think you can stop me with that thing ?!" Sir Peter spouted, bringing up his blade.

The thin sword was made of Omega Titanium—the finest synthesized metal. Add to that a Methuselah's strength and speed, and a metal staff would be shredded like thin paper.

Sir Peter saw the man's cape float up without the aid of any wind. It struck him as odd.

Their shadows overlapped. The sound of clanging metal rang throughout the night.

"I wanted to know your name before I kill you, you piece of filth!" Sir Peter shouted shrilly, his blade swinging sharply.

He heard a low voice whisper, "Hugue."

/ surely sliced him, so why is he still talking? Sir Peter thought.

He was supposed to be running past the man, but instead, he was looking at the Terran's back, upside down. "Huh?"

The slashed black cape fell down from the stranger's shoulder. But, when the man turned around       the last thing the vampire saw was the man's sad, handsome face and his pale blond hair tucked under the hood.

The young man in a priest's robe spoke softly. "My name is Hugue. Father Hugue."

Sir Peter finally realized that he was not hanging upside down. In actuality, his throat had been slashed so deeply that his head was barely hanging by a thin strip of skin. Eventually, the weight of his head caused the skin to break, and he fell to the ground with a sickening squish.

***

"I really don't know a thing about the incident at Oude Kerk!" Count of Amsterdam Carrel van der Verf snarled in the darkness. His crooked nose oozed sweat. "I really don't know. None of our ' clan members touched Old Church!"

"Which means, Carrel…"

Three holograms surrounded the blue-suited Methuselah. To the right, a young man wearing a red tuxedo smiled menacingly, like a cat with a cornered mouse. "Which means that you are foolish. You let a drifter slip through your town without your knowledge . It's such a disgrace that you call yourself one of the Count Four, really."

Carrel glared at the young man who was now toying with his curly light brown hair. "Shut up, Memlink. Who do you think you're talking to? Keep going on like that, and I'll kill you!"

barked Carrel.

"Kill me? Kill Hans Memlink? Too funny. Come to Antwerp any time. I'll welcome you. Shall we decide the date of our duel?"

"Stop it, both of you!" an old gentleman in black, in the center, said to the bickering Methuselah. His hair was graying, but his thick eyebrows were jet-black. His eagle eyes suited his thin lips. He looked severe, strict. The old gentleman—Count of Brussels Tierry Darsus—scolded the young men. "Think about our dire situation! A church was attacked in our territory. Do you gentlemen understand the meaning of all this?"

"The count of Brussels is absolutely right. We don't have time to squabble among ourselves." Next to the old gentleman was a young man wearing a white suit, nodding solemnly. His slightly slender build made him look like an accountant. But behind his silver glasses, his eyes were sharp, clever.

The young man, Count of Bruges Gie de Grandville, gloomily voiced his opinion:

"We must find the killer as soon as possible and take care of this matter once and for all. Count of Amsterdam, is it possible that Methuselah who aren't a part of the Count Four are lurking in the cities?"

"No," Carrel quickly replied.

Count Four was the alias for the group of Methuselah that worked in the Four-City Alliance's underground.

Ten years ago, the Count Four conglomerate quickly gained strength, destroyed and absorbed criminal organizations of Terran and other Methuselah clans, and eventually gained control of the Four-City Alliance's underworld. It was close to impossible to have an unknown Methuselah drift through town without Carrel's knowledge.

"For example, is it possible that one of the Istavans run by the count of Hungary or the Regas run by the count of Courant have come through town?" Darsus raised his eyebrows, questioning the men.

"The Four-City Alliance is inside the Terran's realm. The reason we survived is because we never touched their churches. But the Alliance government won't be the only organization coming for us. Those other folks will surely get involved," said Gie. "Those other folks?" asked Carrel.

"The religious fanatics touting nonsense about protecting the Terran—the group of killers aiming to spoil our plans." Gie sounded poetic as he spoke.

Memlink stopped playing with his brown hair and interjected in a high-pitched voice, "Vatican! Those killers! What mess did we just get into?!"

"Stop it, Memlink. We don't have time to squabble," Darsus, a grandfatherly figure, scolded, then turned to Carrel. "Anyway, the three of us will put pressure on the Alliance government to prevent the Vatican from getting involved. Meanwhile, Carrel, find the killer in any way possible."

"Okay . I'm currently looking for the nun that survived. I'll get the details from her," Carrel said.

"Roger. But you know that you need to do this quickly. We don't have much time," warned Darsus, glaring.

The hologram of Darsus flickered. The figure slowly lost its illumination and faded away. Moments after, the hologram of the man in the red tuxedo faded as well.

Carrel spoke to the remaining Methuselah in a low voice. "What's wrong, Gie? Do you have something else to say?"

"Yes. I'm a little concerned about something," Gie said. The thin Methuselah pushed up his glasses and stared back at Carrel intently. There was a brief moment of silence, possibly out of respect.

Carrel, losing his patience, broke in. "What are you concerned about?"

"Everything about this incident is disturbing. Don't you find it suspicious? Religious personnel were found killed heinously by a Methuselah in your town. Because of that, the possibility of the Vatican getting involved is rather high, and the status of the Count Four is being threatened Isn't this sequence of events almost too perfect?"

"Hmm, now that you put it that way ." Carrel rubbed his crooked nose. He was known for his warrior skills, but he wasn't too bright. However, even he felt there was something strange about these incidents.

One week ago, ten religious personnel were killed in Amsterdam's Oude Kerk—that much he knew. The cervical vertebrae of all the victims were snapped, and vampire bite marks were on their necks. It was obviously a Methuselah attack.

But, as he'd just stated, the chances of it being an attack by a Methuselah who simply drifted into town was low. Also, Count of Amsterdam's clan members, including his younger brother Peter, were loyal to Carrel. They wouldn't do something so reckless.

So that left

"A traitor in a different clan?" Carrel guessed.

"You cannot rule it out. But, if there is someone in the Count Four who wants to take you down, then the pieces fit together," said Gie.

"Traitor . Memlink?!" Carrel pounded the mahogany desk in a fit of rage. "That's right; why didn't I think of it earlier?"

Amsterdam was the second wealthiest city, after Brussels. If someone were able to remove Carrel, then that person could become quite powerful. After that, it would be easy to take over the Count Four if they so desired.

But the elderly Darsus and the newcomer, Gie, wouldn't dream of such plot. Gie hadn't forgotten the debt he owed to Carrel, so he supported Carrel in this way; and though Darsus was infamous for his fearful, atrocious nature, he had weakened with age and usually avoided trouble.

But, Memlink of Antwerp—he was different. He acted like an aristocrat, spending lots of money to gather pieces of art, beautiful women, and pretty young boys; he'd been outspoken about his envy of Amsterdam's riches. On top of that, Memlink had loathed Carrel ever since Carrel had refused to lend him some

money. That fool probably wouldn't care if he pulled in the Vatican to get his way.

"There is no proof. Regardless, Count of Amsterdam, you should beware," warned Gie.

"I know. But he'd better watch out as well. Thanks, Gie. I won't forget your deeds," replied Carrel.

The skinny count of Bruges smiled back sincerely. "My pleasure, sire. With Count Darsus weakening in his old age, you are the pillar of the Count Four, and I owe you my allegiance for letting me fill one of this group's vacant seats."

"Pillar? Me?" Carrel happily rubbed the side of his nose, but concern tightened his face. Well, it's nice to be complimented, but now isn't the time to revel in it. I must figure out a way to deal with Memlink before he makes his next move. "Thanks, Gie. Once this is taken care of, I'll visit you. Maybe we can go hunting or something."

"I eagerly await the opportunity," Gie said. As the bowing figure of the young Methuselah faded out, the chandelier above turned on. In the center of the lit library, Carrel stretched his legs onto the mahogany desk and folded his thick arms across his chest.

"So the problem is: how to catch Memlink by the tail?"

It was a difficult conundrum. He'd had police contacts set up a net for any clues, but he hadn't been able to grasp anything so far. That nun, the sole survivor, may have seen the killer, but   .

"Sir Carrel?" A frail voice from the other side of the door stopped the Methuselah's train of thought. "It's Willem. We re back."

It was his baby brother's servant. A Terran. So they've captured the witness safely.

"Come in. Did you bring the nun?" he asked as he leaned back in his chair. But the Terran looked depressed when he entered the room, which did not bode well. Carrel sharply raised one eyebrow.

Behind the short Terran, other Terran servants brought in a red-stained stretcher. White sheets covered an irregular shape hanging to the side was a limp, bloodless hand. The hand, frozen as if grasping something, had a sapphire ring on it.

"I-is this some sort of joke?" Carrel stumbled toward the stretcher as it was placed under the bright chandelier. With a trembling hand, he took the sheet off, and gulped.

"Willem, explain! Is this a sick joke or what?!" Carrel yelled.

"Th-the priest " the short Terran's voice cracked. "An amazingly strong priest intervened. He took down Sir Peter

"A priest?!" Carrel barked. He looked down at his baby brother's headless body. The cut was sharp and clean, right through one of few weak points a Methuselah had: the cervical vertebrae. Even the ageless, almost immortal vitality of the Methuselah would not survive such an attack. This was the job of an assassin who specialized in Methuselah killings. Carrel knew that the only organization that would employ such a monstrous killer was

"So the Vatican is already here!" The outraged vampire, his eyes bloodshot with unshed tears, growled. "What the hell are you waiting for?! We must kill that priest! Get ready to go!"

"N-now, sir? The sun is about to come up soon. You shouldn't go out."

Carrel looked at the clock; the hands pointed to five o'clock. He clenched his teeth. Even though the sun came up late in the winter, there were only two hours before daybreak.

Should I wait until night? No! Then, should I let these Terran do it? But, if Peter was killed by this priest, then what can these Terran do?

"Ah, I have an idea." Carrel smiled.

One of the Terran servants said, "Wait. You mean that man we bought from Germanicus? Well, yes, we could use him but, boss, are you sure?"

The short Terran looked up shyly. "If we let him out into the streets during daytime, he'd stick out for sure."

"I'll let the police know in advance. I've been paying them off in preparation for times like these."

Carrel bared his fangs and removed the ring from his brother's hand. "I don't care how many people die! I want you to bring back that priest and nun!"