CHAPTER 6:

THE BENEVOLENT
OVERLORD

1

Greylancer had scarcely driven an hour out of the village when a gyrocopter appeared in the sky.

A floodlight shone down upon the wagon on the highway and its driver. Greylancer did not halt the wagon as the light chased after from behind.

“We are with the patrol force under Lord Mayerling’s command,” said a voice issuing forth from the gyrocopter. “Excuse me, but you bear the appearance of a Noble. Please state your name and destination.”

“The name is Greylancer. My destination—”

“Yes, I thought it might be you,” the voice of the patrolman interrupted. “My ignorance notwithstanding, please forgive my impudence. Allow me to escort you to the overseer’s castle.”

“No!”

“Pardon?”

“I intend to return directly to my dominion. Tell the others I want no more interruptions during my journey.”

“That would make me delinquent in my duties.” The voice of the patrolman sounded rattled. “The reports of your disappearance came directly from the OSB attack force, and the Capital has issued a search order throughout the world including the Frontier. It is an honor to find you here in this territory, of all places. Please come with us, I beseech you.”

“What is my name?” The Noble’s voice that seemed to spout from the earth shook the gyrocopter.

“Lord Greylancer.”

“I will not go, I tell you.”

The voice from the gyrocopter fell silent. After the wagon began to creep ahead of the floodlight, the patrolman said, “But…”

“If you require an excuse, tell Mayerling that I find him disagreeable.”

The wagon continued on its way.

Five minutes later, a massive gyrodyne appeared before Greylancer.

This aircraft exceeded one hundred meters in length and bristled with military accoutrements reminiscent of lances and swords. It was plain for anyone to see that this aircraft belonged to a Noble, no less one from a long line of war hawks.

“What is a warrior the likes of Greylancer doing riding such a rickety box?” said a booming voice.

Peering up, Greylancer said scornfully, “Zeus Macula…” and continued to drive the wagon.

“Wait, wait. As surly as ever, I see. I knew you would turn up alive somewhere. Well now, perhaps the fates have conspired for us to meet. I’ve been visiting with the invertebrate…er, I mean Mayerling. What say we renew old friendships?”

“Reprehensible!”

Zeus let out a full-throated laugh. “Yes, yes. I expected as much. I didn’t imagine you’d get along with the boy.”

“Or with you.”

Zeus was silent, and then, “All right, all right. But surely the Northern overlord cannot leave the West without paying respect to its ruler. Besides which, you’ll be interested to know the Privy Council has made several decisions during your absence. With that wagon your return to the North will take three nights. Perhaps you’d care to know sooner.”

The wagon stopped.

Three minutes later, Greylancer and Zeus were drinking from red glasses in the Western Frontier sector overlord’s sitting room.

“What is this swill? Hardly anything to serve a guest.” Zeus slammed his glass on the table and began to pace the room with long strides.

“Synthetic blood.” Greylancer drained his drink and stared at the glass, the crystal cup sparkling a different hue of red than the drink it once contained. “If the overlord drinks it, then his vassals can only do likewise. The humans are spared from having to pay blood tribute, which is why, far from being hated, Mayerling is extolled as a compassionate ruler.”

“He’s merely playing the hero. Nothing more than a young buck ingratiating himself to the humans and reveling in his own reputation as a benevolent dictator.”

“Point that finger somewhere else,” Greylancer said.

The Eastern overlord lowered his right arm. “Pardon me.” As injured as Zeus sounded, he gave away no hint of anger. His rival was simply too formidable.

Anyone knowing Greylancer well would say that he was the image of equanimity. Zeus had informed him that the attack on the OSB moon base had succeeded; the surviving OSB fled to Mars. Not only had the battle ended with fewer than ten Nobility casualties, Greylancer’s corps had returned unscathed.

Zeus held back from revealing the Privy Council’s decision until Mayerling joined them.

“What are you plotting?” Greylancer arched a brow.

“Nothing at all,” protested Zeus, but his entire being seemed to conceal a hundred machinations. The ruler of the Eastern Frontier sector was a man born for chicanery. “Now don’t besmirch my good name. Why must you think such things of me?”

“Because you’ve brought me here. Knowing you, I would have expected you to send me on my way and then fire a missile at my back.”

“Now, now, I’m wounded that you see me in such a light, my friend.”

“You misunderstand the concept of friendship.”

“Now, now.”

“I told you to point that finger somewhere else.”

Zeus did not yield this time.

Realizing the Noble was not pointing at him, Greylancer turned around.

A figure shrouded in a purple cape stood at the door, which had opened unnoticed.

A youthful, handsome face curved the same red lips as the others into a smile.

This was Lord Mayerling, overseer of the Western Frontier sector. “Welcome, my lords,” he said, dispensing with calling them by name. He approached the others, and noting the glasses on the table, he said, “The drink doesn’t agree with you, I see. No matter, you can well savor the sweet stuff in your respective sectors. Lord Zeus Macula, forgive me for keeping you waiting.”

“Not at all, Lord Greylancer here has been a welcome distraction. Going out to collect him helped pass the time.” As magnanimous as he sounded, the words were dripping with sarcasm.

Unruffled, Mayerling began, “I’ve had a look at the Privy Council’s missive. So tell me what brought you here.”

“Then I’ll leave you two to your business,” said Greylancer, turning on his heels.

“Wait, wait,” said Zeus. “You must hear me out. I’ve already notified the North of my intention to visit. This fortuitous gathering couldn’t be more convenient. A godsend, really.”

“Let’s have it,” Mayerling said.

“The Privy Council was greatly pleased by the victory on the OSB moon base and has declared the day a worldwide day of celebration,” began Zeus. “A matter of common knowledge to all save one.”

The one sipped the synthetic blood after pouring himself another glass from the gold carafe.

“The Privy Council has come to another decision, perhaps buoyed by their latest victory and the imminent day of reckoning,” Zeus continued. “In four days’ time, on the Sacred Ancestor’s birthday, they have decided to wipe out the OSB vanguard lurking all across this world.”

Mayerling looked back at Zeus in shock, while Greylancer stopped the glass at his lips.

“Why were we not informed?” asked Mayerling, fighting back anger. He need not question the veracity of the information. Zeus Macula’s information was known to be infallible. There were rumors that Zeus was a bastard child of a member of the Privy Council.

“How do they propose to do it?” Greylancer asked, the glass frozen in his hand.

“Their plan is to carry out a plasma attack on the locations where OSB infiltrators are believed to be hiding. Plasma weapons are only fatal to the OSB and local human populations. I suspect the decree will be handed down tomorrow or the day after.”

“That’s absurd!” roared Mayerling.

“I assume your outrage is directed at the Privy Council who chose to slight us.” After shooting an icy look at the young Noble, Zeus looked meaningfully at Greylancer and at Mayerling again. “Of course, this is hardly the first time the Capital has decided to disregard the Frontier. The Privy Council thinks of us as a bunch of country Nobles who’ve fallen from the Capital’s good graces. This sentiment is also what begat this slight. But let us not forget, since the Capital and Frontier were established we overseers have been accorded complete control over the Frontier.”

Zeus Macula was referring to what was called absolute managerial rights.

As long as each of the sectors supplied the Capital with the blood tribute it demanded, the overseers were given complete administrative control over the Frontier’s political and economic affairs. Furthermore, it was the overseers that carried out the Capital’s orders, but whether such orders were carried out or not depended entirely on the overseers’ consent or refusal. In a way, this tolerant, albeit lax system reflected the magnanimity of the Privy Council but was also influenced by the immortality of the Noble race. As long as those in the Capital were kept sufficiently sated with blood, thereby relieving them of worries, they did not concern themselves with trivial matters.

In this case, the human population was a trivial matter.

We will allow you full reign over the Frontier so long as you do not interfere with the Capital’s decisions. This implicit agreement simply did not pass muster with the three overseers.

Nobles that they were, vampires valued pride above everything else. However, the rigor with which the overseers sought to preserve it in the Frontier vastly differed from the vampires residing in the Capital. No, that chasm between the Privy Council and the overseer was one surpassing the realm of tragedy, verging on the comedic.

“Given their disregard for our managerial rights, we must take measures to make the Privy Council acknowledge their wrongdoing. Any objections?”

The handsome young Noble cast an icy look at Zeus’s fevered face. “How do you plan to do it?”

“Answer me first. Do you have any objections?”

“What say Mircalla in the South?”

“The female persuasion can be tricky. I thought to discuss it with you first.”

“I believe I was an afterthought,” Greylancer said casually

Zeus’s expression tensed. “Well, now…” he said, an audible smile in his voice. He grimaced and continued, “My seeing you here is a fortunate coincidence, to be sure. But my intention has always been to seek the approval of the overseers.”

“Whichever the case, I intend to go to the Capital before raising any objections,” Mayerling declared. “I refuse to overlook such an act of barbarism. I shall roundly denounce the members of the Privy Council myself.”

2

“Now don’t go off half-cocked.” Zeus held up both hands with an air of reluctance and smiled bitterly, knowing well the young Noble’s impetuousness. “If you do that, we will all be removed from power. You will be putting all of us in the crossfire.”

“I don’t give a damn about the rest of you! See if they dare use their plasma cannons against my people. On my life and family name, I shall put a stop to this madness!” Mayerling said, seething.

“And what then?” countered Greylancer. Mayerling froze. “If you resign your post, another Noble will take your place. Do you think he will rule over your people as you have?”

The young Noble could say nothing.

“Greylancer is right,” said Zeus. “Your benevolent rule over the humans will come to naught. Let me handle the Privy Council.”

“After they’ve fired their plasma cannons?”

Zeus turned toward Greylancer, aghast as if he’d read his mind. Taking no more than a second to hide his shock, he asked brazenly, “What ever do you mean, Greylancer?”

“No meaning at all. Merely stating a foregone conclusion. The Zeus Macula I know would do exactly as I stated.”

“Yes.” Zeus nodded emphatically. “That is exactly my plan. If I persuaded them to suspend their attack and succeeded, I would only become beholden to the Privy Council, and that would be—”

“Meaningless?” Greylancer’s eyes emitted a certain light that seemed to see through Zeus’s eyes.

“Just what do you plan to do after the plasma attack?” said Mayerling, stepping forward. His anger had killed any expression on his face. Only his scarlet lips burned in his pale white visage.

He stopped about five paces short of where Zeus stood. A Noble lacking self-control would never be entrusted with overseeing the Frontier.

With an unflinching gaze, Zeus answered, “To bring official charges against the Privy Council for violating our absolute managerial rights and for the indiscriminate slaughter of its subjects. To purge the Privy Council of its current members and to create a new decision-making body.”

“With you as its head, no doubt,” said Mayerling quietly.

“Exactly right. And what of it?” Zeus thrust out his chest, both Mayerling and Greylancer nearly dimmed by his dignified air. “Have you ever pondered the notion of immortality?” Zeus circled the room and took up a position where he could regard both men. “This very nature that has promised the Nobility eternal prosperity has now become our greatest enemy. You must have sensed it for yourselves every time you entered the Capital, sensed the unspeakable malaise the entire city—from the Privy Council to the research facilities and affiliate organizations—has been mired in.

“It is an inevitable outcome of immortality. Our scientific progress to grant us our physical wants has also contributed to this. Eternal fulfillment—is this not what every intelligent being covets? Surely, there exist more evolved beings than the Nobility. Could more civilizations exist in the distant stars? Could our science achieve greater discoveries? Such questions were the foundation of progress. But time has passed since the rulers in the Capital have showed any interest or appreciation for such pursuits. Our civilization has come to full maturity. You see that, don’t you? We have run against the limits of eternal life. It is an unspeakable tragedy. It is my opinion that the OSB invasion has done more to help us regain our fervor to live than anything else. With weapons in hand, we have plunged into battle once more. Our blood boils again. Who but we will break through the limits of the Nobility world and open our people to new possibilities?” With a wave of a hand, Zeus Macula concluded his speech, spellbound by his own rhetoric.

“Quite an impassioned speech.” It was Greylancer who answered. “But surely, you cannot believe the Privy Council will agree to a forced retirement?”

“That would take a miracle.” Zeus smiled. “As soon as I bring charges against them, the Privy Council will use the full extent of their authority and might to oust us. But not to worry; I have already taken necessary measures. There are those in the Capital who are willing to fall in line behind me. They number about a hundred.”

“Only a hundred?” cried Mayerling in disbelief. “Sheer madness, I tell you! I shall cast my lot with the Privy Council.”

“Only a fool general who has never commanded an army would think a hundred too few, Mayerling. How many men do you think it would take to sabotage the Capital’s antiproton reactor? It only takes one. We have a hundred. How many would dare stand against us? A hundred? No, I count fewer than ten. Once the Capital lies in ashes, disposing of them will be an easy task.”

“We haven’t yet destroyed the OSB,” Mayerling spat viciously. “They’re lurking somewhere in space, watching and waiting for just the right moment to conquer this planet. And you are dreaming of a revolution?”

“The OSB will require some time to regroup. The damage that Greylancer wrought upon their operations was considerable. The Privy Council will be caught sleeping. Now is our time to rise up and unseat them. Join me, Greylancer, Mayerling. Take my hand.” Looking upon the two men with unflinching resolve, Zeus held out his muscular hands.

“I will not,” Mayerling said flatly. “I will proceed as planned. This genocide must not be allowed to happen.”

“I expected as much from the benevolent overlord. You and I will discuss it further. And now, what say you, Greylancer?”

“If we can eradicate the OSB’s advance guard, we will have to bear some sacrifice. They’re humans—they hardly count as a sacrifice.”

Zeus twisted his lips into a grin, while Mayerling closed his eyes. “Excellent.”

Ignoring the overseer stepping forward with a proffered hand, Greylancer said, “But I will be party to neither side. Mayerling, you head for the Capital at once. Zeus, I suppose you will have to discuss matters with Mircalla. I shall return north.”

“Very well.” Clenching his outstretched hand into a fist, Zeus Macula moved toward the table, snatched the carafe, and gulped down the drink in a matter of seconds. “The fact that you have concocted this blood substitute is evidence enough of your impotence. I refuse to spend a second more in such odious company. I’ll show myself out. Farewell, Greylancer.” Zeus turned and stalked out, leaving only the high echo of footsteps behind him.

“What now?” Greylancer asked the young overseer.

“There isn’t a moment to lose. I must depart for the Capital immediately. I will have my retainers see you back to your sector.”

“That won’t be necessary. But I could do with a change of wagon.” Greylancer seemed to be frowning. Whether he was thinking about the plasma storm that would devastate the land or struggling to devise a strategy against the OSB, his expression resembled that of anguish.

†

Mayerling’s mansion appeared much like the old-world castles of other Nobles, but the buildings scattered beneath the moonlight were as elegant as one might expect of the young Noble.

Upon being escorted by a silver-haired servant to the courtyard along with the other vampires, Greylancer noted the two coaches at the ready and asked, “Does not your lord depart by aircraft?”

Zeus and himself aside, he found it odd that Mayerling would choose to go by land. The Capital was less than three hours away by air.

“There seems to be some problem with the propulsion system,” the servant answered. “As well, his lordship prefers to travel by coach.”

“All of your aircraft?”

“His lordship is in possession of only one vessel.”

Greylancer realized now that Mayerling was more old-fashioned than he was.

“Until we meet again,” Zeus called and walked out to the landing pad in the courtyard.

“Let us ride together awhile.”

When Greylancer turned around, Mayerling was smiling beneath the moonlight.

†

The two coaches rattled down the road side by side for about an hour until they reached a crossroads. Mayerling’s coach was a six-horse carriage, compared to Greylancer’s two-horse carriage, forcing it to go considerably slower to keep pace.

Greylancer had repeatedly urged Mayerling’s driver ahead through the communicator, but the younger Noble insisted on escorting Greylancer until at last they came to the crossroads.

Lowering the window of his coach, Mayerling peered out and smiled. “I wish you a safe journey.”

“Will you ride hard to the Capital from here?” Greylancer asked.

Even if he pushed the horses day and night, it would still take three days. It was hardly the way for a man in a hurry. “There is an airport about ten kilometers south of here. There should be several aircraft there.”

“Safe travels.” Greylancer glanced up at the sky. The moon colored the clouds silver.

Mayerling nodded once.

“Now go,” urged Greylancer. “Fare thee well.” With this, Greylancer whipped the horses into a gallop.

After watching Greylancer’s coach shrink into the distance, the young Noble set out toward his destination like a whirlwind.

When Mayerling had traveled five kilometers south, the wind began to howl.

“My lord.” The driver’s voice came from the monitor inside the coach. “Our projections were off. It appears Ithaqua comes two weeks earlier this year than last.”

“Is it the main front?”

“No. But it will be a considerable trial to go much farther.”

“Do not hesitate against what is merely considerable. Go!”

Mayerling listened to the unrelenting rattle of the coach like a cradlesong.

Several minutes later, an invisible force lashed against the side of the coach.

“It’s coming!” the driver shouted nervously.

“Ithaqua, come and get me.” Mayerling twisted his lips into an invincible smile.

3

After the nuclear war that wiped out humanity, the Nobility created a new world in the image of the past that pulsed through their veins.

The ruins of humanity’s metropolises gave way to a vast wilderness stretching as far as the eye could see, dotted with forests and mountains.

The Nobility populated this area with bioengineered beasts and monsters.

Mountains grew arms and legs for moving, rivers surged in different directions, and oceans acquired eyes the size of continents.

Fire-breathing dragons were prey to three-headed birds, while subterranean monsters and goblins fought over the dragon carcasses and blood. All told, the Nobility had dispersed 1,243,0778 monster species throughout the world.

This act begat an unexpected byproduct.

Aside from the Nobility’s bioengineered creatures, the evil that once lurked on this planet had stirred back to life.

Most conspicuous were the gods of the four elements, one of which was Ithaqua, the god of wind.

An encounter with this god, whom they knew not how to defeat, posed a greater threat to the Nobility than stakes or knives. Ithaqua did not attempt to destroy the Nobles it encountered. They were simply taken, never to return, and it was this vanishing act the Nobility feared more than death.

Thud! The wagon shook again.

“My lord, shadows up ahead. About twenty of them.”

His eyes trained on the monitor, Mayerling asked, “How do they look? Check their posture and eyes.”

“Rounded shoulders. Their eyes burn red.”

“Very well. Don’t stop. Push past them.”

The driver’s whip danced, and the coach picked up speed, hurtling against the violent wind.

Their dress identified the shadows as farmers. When the lead horses came within five meters, they scattered right and left with an agility belying their profession.

A single wire was left in their wake, held up about a meter high at both ends.

The cybernetic horses were unable to time their jump. As their legs were swept from under them, the two lead horses flew forward in a brilliant arc, while the rest followed. The coach was no exception; it flipped end over end and crashed down atop the horses.

A split second before impact, the coach’s computer activated its defensive program.

Four shock struts sprang out of the corners of the coach and absorbed the impact, then the stabilizer cut loose the horses and righted the coach, landing it gently upright.

The shadows descended upon the coach while it was still airborne.

Closing the six-meter gap in one leap, they pressed up against the coach and banged the sides with their fists.

They were not Nobles, but servants who’d been bitten—“half-humans.” While they possessed some of the same physical abilities as Nobles, they lacked the strength to destroy the overseer’s transport.

The driver engaged the enemy.

Unstrapping his belt, he grabbed his stake rifle and shot the first three attackers in their hearts.

The fourth and fifth attackers were aiming their crossbows. After taking one arrow in the throat, the driver spat up blood and shot down the fourth attacker before a second arrow caught him dead in the heart.

However, the fifth attacker gaped in disbelief. The arrow had deflected from the driver’s chest. The instant the attacker realized the arrow had hit the driver’s underarmor, the stake rifle howled, discharging high-pressure gas along with the shot that tore through the half-human. His body turned to dust before it hit the ground.

Meanwhile, a sixth attacker perched atop the coach crept up to the driver from behind. His weapon was a meter-long machete.

Whirling around, the driver leapt onto the coach and sank his teeth into the half-human’s carotid artery.

The half-human swung his machete and lopped off the driver’s head. The driver, not yet realizing his death, continued to tear into the enemy’s neck until first his body, then his head rolled on top of the coach.

When the driver went down at last, the remaining shadows dragged him to the ground, hacked his severed head to pieces with machetes, and skewered his body with countless blades.

The shadows had already accomplished their initial goal.

Without a sound, they leapt away from the coach, lay low, and waited for the fruits of their labor.

A fragmentation bomb placed beneath the coach exploded and engulfed the transport in scarlet flames.

When the flames and blast threatened to consume them, the shadows scrambled to safer ground.

A dark silhouette wavered in the colorful flames.

When the fire-drowned mass lurched away from the coach, the shadows let out voiceless screams. The ten-thousand-degree heat should have incinerated even a Noble’s bones.

Suddenly, the dark figure collapsed and was swallowed by the flames once again. When the half-humans saw this, triumphant smiles appeared on their rough faces. Only six of them remained.

It quickly became four. Something had stretched out from the fire, sliced off the heads of the two lead attackers in one sideways swing and cut across their chests on the return.

The survivors did not understand what had happened. What they saw was a human hand sticking out from the flames. With the fingers in a line like a blade, the hand slashed right.

Two more heads rolled on the right.

“Mayerling’s claw…” groaned one of the remaining two. They had received orders to kill Mayerling before he wielded it.

The hand rose again. Out of the flames rose Mayerling, his purple cape swirling in the superheated wind currents.

The flames of death, falling away from his cape with one shake, had not burned any part of his skin or mane.

Against the flames consuming the coach in the background the figure appeared strangely still, as though it existed in a different world.

Here stood Vlijmen Mayerling, overseer of the Western Frontier sector.

“If I have incurred the enmity of my people, then I am to blame. But this does not appear to be the case. Whom do you serve?” Was this the voice of the same man that had been consumed in flames just now? How gentle he sounded. Like the sound of snow falling on the Holy Night.

Mayerling stepped toward the shadows.

His steps were fainter than the sound of falling snow.

Shaaah! The shadows bared their fangs.

But they were unable to move. Paralyzed by the handsome, young vampire’s aura, their bodies were numb to their bones.

“Can you not speak?” Mayerling extended a hand and beckoned the shadows closer. His fingers were slender and beautiful like those of a woman. “Then come closer.”

The shadows began to walk without hesitation. They ambled closer to the Noble as if they’d lost the will to resist.

“Perhaps now I can hear you. Now speak. Which master do you serve?”

Their lips began to move. The shadows attempted to utter a name.

The moon caught a glint of metal in the darkness.

Before the crack of the gunshot reached anyone’s ears, one shadow’s head shattered to pieces, and another shadow fell over in a spray of blood.

Mayerling.

He had expected an unceasing barrage of bullets.

The Noble held up a hand in front of his handsome face.

When a tiny hole appeared in the palm, he swung the hand downward and—

A lead bullet hot enough to vaporize his blood burrowed into the black earth.

Turning his head just a hint, Mayerling stared into the distant darkness. It was unmistakably the direction from which the bullet had come.

But only for an instant, as he turned in the direction of the burning coach.

A tall shadow stood there. Behind him loomed an enormous tree, in the shadow of which he’d likely been lurking.

But Mayerling’s eyes were drawn to the two swords strapped in a crisscross behind the shadow’s back.

The rough-hewn hilts protruding from either side of his head were quivering.

Trying to suppress his surprise, the shadow said in a low, low voice, “I’m trembling with excitement. You felled those humans in two swings. Perhaps you are qualified to rule as overseer.”

“Are you with the sharpshooter?” Mayerling made a loose fist. When he opened it, the bullet wound on his palm was gone.

“The damn gunner failed. I didn’t want to go along with his dirty trick to begin with. Now you shall suffer the might of the Streda, a style of swordsmanship I have practiced to defeat you Nobles.”

“So there will be no more bullets.” The wind coaxed a faint smile over Mayerling’s lips.

The bullet he’d caught in his palm was supposed to have crushed his face and head. As ineffective as the attack was against Nobles, it would have taken at least a few seconds for Mayerling to recover completely, allowing the tall swordsman to close in and pierce his heart.

But Mayerling had caught the first bullet, and a second did not follow. With the reason still unknown, another battle was about to unfold in the depths of night lit only by the moon.

“Allow me to introduce myself. I am the swordsman Shizam. Take that name with you to the netherworld.”

“Then see that you do not forget your name,” said Mayerling. The white fangs peering from his lips gleamed in the moonlight.

†

The gunner had waited for his chance in the bushes just below the northbound road.

He had readied three rifles. He had also brought thirty bullets with him, but if all had gone according to plan, one would have sufficed.

Yet he had wasted two bullets to silence a confession. Good for nothing bumpkins! At least you’ll go to your graves regretting how you lost your worthless lives!

Because his rifles were antiquated flintlocks, in which the powder and ball were loaded through the muzzle and the powder ignited in the flashpan with flint, he was not able to fire repeated shots. That was his greatest weakness. But his long-range marksmanship, perhaps more accurately called remote marksmanship, more than compensated for this weakness. In fact, the distance to his intended target had measured more than ten kilometers.

But at present, he could only tremble with fear. The target crystal at his feet projected an image—his lethal shot had missed. No, it had been blocked.

“Impossible!” he’d told himself a hundred times over.

The skills he’d acquired through dreadful, diligent toil enabled him to shoot down a butterfly fluttering about at one end of the continent from the other side.

And yet that Noble had…

This first-ever blunder had caused him to forget himself. By the time he had grabbed another rifle, loaded the powder and lead bullet in the muzzle, and poured the gunpowder into the flashpan, a full minute had elapsed since his miss. His distraction had caused him to overlook another extraordinary mistake.

When finally he took aim and cocked the hammer holding the flint, there was a voice: “A magic shot. First I’ve seen a human practice it. From the direction the muzzle is pointed, your target is a traveler heading toward the Capital. Who employed you to kill the overlord of the West?”

The gunner spun around at lightning speed.

Before he could pull the trigger, the rifle was snatched away from him, and the gunstock swung up and smashed against his chin.

Next to the callow gunner lying on his back, Greylancer stood, momentarily absorbed by the rifle. Then he glared in the direction the rifle had been pointed. “It appears you have many enemies, Mayerling.”