The Grim Reaper Express

chapter 7

I

As Xeno Gorshin and Benelli headed toward the Iron Castle’s control room, waves of anxiety far from befitting their ageless and immortal clan crashed in their hearts.

The circumstances under which they’d first boarded had been shrouded in a truly bizarre air. As they hastened down the road, a lone man had suddenly appeared to them out of the darkness. Wearing a rounded hat with a visor in front, a formal coat with iron buttons, a bow tie, and with a black ticket holder hung around his neck—he was the conductor of the Iron Castle they’d heard about. While bombarded with looks of suspicion and ill will, the man didn’t seem the least bit intimidated, pointing to the rear and then telling them through gestures to wait there before he once again vanished into the darkness. The reason the three Noblemen could only watch him go without further investigating the situation was because from the time the conductor appeared until the time he left they’d been subjected to an unearthly aura the likes of which they’d never experienced.

At that point, from the direction the conductor had vanished there was the faint yet solemn growl of machinery drawing nearer like an unsettling rumble of thunder. Pushing away the night air and darkness that held sway in this world, something outrageously large stopped right beside them about three minutes later. It was as tall as a five-story building and had light pouring from countless windows. From the white vapor it ceaselessly discharged they could tell it was steam-powered, though they could only assume the energy to produce that steam came not from the typical turbine but from some extra-dimensional fuel source.

One of its iron doors opened, and an iron platform slid out by their feet.

“What shall we do?”

“It may be a trap.”

“But if we refuse the invitation, we might be attacked. Moreover, it would shame us to have the one within the Castle thinking us afraid.”

Benelli, who’d been the one to ask what they should do, said, “Hmm, this may be the key to the mysteries of this unknown Greater Noble. A chance to learn the now-forgotten knowledge of the ancients, to see the fruit that knowledge might bear—I’m going!”

And with that he stepped forward.

“Sooner or later, I shall spot D and his lot from the skies. I, too, shall go. What say you, Braylow?”

Naturally it was Gorshin who asked this.

The young fiend of the dual blades turned to the Iron Castle with the face and gaze of a corpse, giving a nod.

Once they were onboard along with all their horses and coffins, the Iron Castle soon set off. The train’s departure was so rough it hardly seemed the work of the Nobility’s engineering, yet that only served to endear it to the three Noblemen. The conductor from earlier appeared with other shadowy men in similar uniforms, and once they’d taken custody of the horses and coffins, the trio was escorted to a sumptuous room. Not so much as a speck of dust lay in the corridors leading there, and the place was so clean it seemed this had to be its very first day of service.

“Why has the Iron Castle returned after slumbering for millennia?” Xeno Gorshin inquired, head tilted to one side.

“I certainly have my concerns,” Benelli said, extending one finger. “Why is it operating again?” Extending a second, he continued, “Why did it let us onboard?” A third finger extended. “And where is it supposed to be going?”

“As for the second one, that I know,” said a gloomy voice. It was that of Xeno Braylow.

The other two looked surprised. He was a man not given to such thoughts. Swordsmen and warriors in general were not concerned with worldly affairs, but this young man in particular banished them from his thoughts—so single-minded was Braylow that as long as he had an opponent to cross swords with today, he wouldn’t mind if the whole world were ending tomorrow. Yet he had offered something.

“Listen,” he said.

As soon as the word was out, Gorshin and Benelli heard a familiar sound. Gray Soldier and Blue Soldier were rattling in their scabbards. The two magic swords clanging together could mean only one thing—that a foe worthy of being cut down was close at hand.

“Well, fancy that,” Gorshin groaned.

“Interesting,” Benelli said, his hand reaching around for the great scythe on his back. “Where is he, Braylow?”

The young swordsman’s eyes were only half open to begin with, but he shut them and mastered his breathing. The other two even slowed their breathing in unison.

In that manner five seconds passed . . . Then ten . . .

“He’s coming,” Braylow murmured.

No other sound could be heard. The room was completely soundproof. Still, the young Nobleman heard someone’s approaching footsteps or breathing, or could somehow detect his presence.

They didn’t ask where he was. Both Gorshin and Benelli were staring at Braylow. No matter who the foe out there might be, it would undoubtedly be this young Nobleman who would fire the first volley in this war.

“In the corridor,” Braylow said. “Coming down it.”

The rattling of the scabbards intensified.

“What’s he coming for?” asked Gorshin.

“It’s obvious,” Benelli said, a single bead of sweat rolling down his cheek. “To drink our blood.”

The eyes of all three began to burn crimson. A Noble seeking the blood of Nobles. The notion was so abnormal, so perverse, it stimulated them on a subconscious level.

Braylow looked up. His eyes became riveted to the door.

The other two trembled. They, too, understood. The enemy was right outside—and they knew how terrible he was.

With a click the golden doorknob turned. Braylow reached for his back with both hands. Benelli drew his great scythe. And then, beyond the smoothly opening door, they saw a figure who could only be described as a giant—and at that very moment the Iron Castle engaged its emergency brakes to the accompaniment of an ear-shattering squeal of iron on iron, and the three Noblemen were sent flying.

However, even after the group had boarded again, the Iron Castle didn’t move an inch, so Gorshin and Benelli headed off in search of the control room. They were “in search of it” because they had no more than a vague notion that it would probably be somewhere toward the front. But nowhere in the Castle were any sort of maps or layouts posted.

“I didn’t think this could be derailed, much less take a plunge like this. The Greater Nobility’s technology wasn’t so great after all.”

But Gorshin countered Benelli’s complaint, saying, “That’s a bit rash, Benelli. I’ve heard that ordinarily, the Iron Castle ran through an enormous magnetic tube. Undoubtedly the tube has been damaged in places over the ages. To wit, when it allowed us to board, it was already running out of the ordinary.”

“But since it did run, there’s no reason to believe another fall would put it out of operation. And then there’s the matter of the presence we sensed.”

“And that is why two of us are going—surely he must be the same Greater Noble who crafted the Iron Castle.”

Benelli nodded. “There can be no doubt. But certainly a vehicle of this size would be well stocked with human blood. Why come after us?”

“Why indeed?” Gorshin said, head cocked to one side. “We modern Noblemen have no way of knowing what the Greater Nobles of long ago were thinking. Perhaps not even the Sacred Ancestor could—”

Even before Benelli could give him a look that would tell him to stop, Gorshin held his own tongue.

Regardless of the situation, no matter what reason one might have, it was strictly prohibited for any Noble to slight or slander the Sacred Ancestor in any fashion. Even ten centuries after his disappearance. The Sacred Ancestor reigned over the world’s night even now.

Coughing once, Gorshin continued, “Why did the Sacred Ancestor propose living in harmony with the lowly humans? Though it was a splendid idea he had.”

He meant that. However, Gorshin also intended to make amends for his initial slight, because if one wasn’t mindful of that, misfortune would befall them—this was a notion that had gone beyond mere superstition to become a phenomenon in which many among the Nobility believed.

Up ahead, a gorgeous lounge came into view.

“Ah.”

“Oh my.”

The eyes of the two Noblemen went wide at the figures passing before them. On a marble floor, men in black formalwear and women in white dresses walked with gliding steps or peered through the windows into the darkness beyond. Glass and gemstones glittered here and there, while the languid strains of classical music stirred a chemical reaction from the stillness of the lounge’s air. The shadowy musicians playing translucent instruments were probably modeled after those of antiquity.

They were illusions. Even realizing they were phantoms projected by the Iron Castle, the two Noblemen still couldn’t take their eyes off them for some time.

A couple wearing old-fashioned scarves walked toward the pair, and only after they’d passed through the Noblemen without a sound did the two finally notice the spiral staircase to their right running from floor to ceiling. After climbing it, they found another spacious hall and several corridors that ran off into the depths of the Iron Castle.

“Big is fine, but this is ridiculous,” Gorshin murmured after climbing up to the fifth floor.

The interior of the vehicle was more functional here, with more of the doors being iron or steel plate.

Looming before the pair was what could only be the door to the control room.

“Don’t let your guard down,” said Gorshin.

“Understood,” Benelli replied with a nod.

They absolutely couldn’t forget the mysterious individual who lurked somewhere in the Iron Castle.

Gorshin opened the door. It wasn’t locked. That in itself was unthinkable.

Many gangs of human thieves targeted traveling Nobles. When they did so, they always struck during the daylight hours. The Nobility’s vehicles carried astonishingly few armaments. That was on account of confidence in their overwhelming physical superiority to humans. If ensconced in coffins of the nigh-indestructible metal they’d developed during their tribulations with the aliens, their safety was guaranteed until the end of time. In the meantime, humans would have to settle for stealing jewels and items of precious metals—things the Nobility could reproduce ad infinitum. That was best for all involved. A sturdy lock would guard against any stupid savages not content with riches but intent on hijacking the Castle.

The control room of the Iron Castle resembled the helm of a massive ocean liner. There was no one before the curving window that called to mind an enormous screen. Of course, there was no yoke or wheel, or so much as a dial or gauge.

Not at all dubious, Gorshin stood at the middle of the window. Light surrounded him. It took the form of the nonexistent wheel and gauges. This, too, was an illusion. Like the people who assembled in the lounge, it was a fantasy projected by machinery. However, a slight turn of his head allowed him to survey the phantom console, and after one glance at it he said, “Energy level reads as full. The rails are bent, but if we can get the Iron Castle moving, its auto-repair systems should go into operation. Starting it up!”

“Nothing wrong with the drive or power systems?” Benelli inquired, his deeply creased face twisting sadly. Not that he was sad; his face only looked that way.

“Negative. Here we go!”

Gorshin grabbed a glowing lever and pushed it forward. Lights twinkled in the phantom console. Power systems automatically shut down by the accident had gone back on. The vehicle shuddered irregularly, but in no time that gave way to orderly mechanical action. The Iron Castle had begun to rise.

“Gorshin,” Benelli called out from behind him. Though it was his ordinary tone, his voice seemed a little hard.

When Gorshin turned and looked, his body stiffened for a moment. It wasn’t that he was startled by the gorgeous figure in black who was face to face with Benelli. Rather, he cursed himself for not noticing the presence of the intruder.

“You . . . When did you . . . ?”

On seeing Benelli’s right hand reach for his great scythe, Gorshin believed they would triumph. Because live or die, while Benelli did battle with their foe he could make his own preparations for combat.

II

Indications of motion reached Pikk as he waited in a hall.

“We’re on the move.”

Annette looked irritably at the boy, who couldn’t conceal his excitement.

“You don’t have to sound so happy about it. What do you think is going to become of us?”

“Whatever it is, it’ll be better than being eaten by bugs underground, little lady.”

“Stop calling me ‘little lady’!”

“Yes, your majesty,” Pikk replied, his voice rising to a high, snide tone. “For starters, why don’t we try asking that Noble over there some questions? Excuse me, but what did you plan on doing with us?”

There was no answer. After leading the two of them to the first-floor hall, Braylow had put his back to the wall and kept staring at the door before him without moving a muscle.

“What’s this crap?! A Noble acting like he’s a warrior or something!”

On hearing Pikk’s caustic remarks, Annette furrowed her brow.

“When they’re afraid of getting hit from behind,” the boy explained, “human warriors keep their back to a wall and face the window or door, like he’s doing. Only, Nobles don’t do that. They don’t need to, since they’re immortal. But he’s doing it. Which means he’s either an idiot, or he’s an honest-to-goodness warrior. My money’s on idiot.”

“He gives me the creeps.”

“Well, we’ll be okay as long as you don’t try nothing funny. I figure they gotta be bringing us back to their leader. Probably get our blood sucked in the end, though.”

“Stop it,” Annette said, quivering with rage. “You’re such a disagreeable brat, I really can’t stand it. I’ll thank you to stand far enough away that I don’t have to breathe you in.”

“Fine by me.”

Pikk made a light bound of over six feet that left him standing by the window. Looking out the enormous pane of glass, he yawned widely. Pulling back his right hand to cover his mouth, he said, “Getting tired, but I’m hungry too. Say, mister, anywhere to get some grub around here?”

Having said that, Pikk squinted his eyes. A certain sound had reached his ears. There was no need to strain his eyes again. The magic swords of their watchman—Xeno Braylow—had begun clattering together again.

“Hey,” Pikk said, and perhaps sensing something, he kept his voice low.

“Back over to the far wall.”

“What?” he asked because he hadn’t expected the unsettling young Nobleman to reply.

“Back over to the far wall,” Braylow repeated.

“Shut up! I don’t take orders from no Noble!”

Pikk felt a fear he couldn’t properly describe, and in reaction to it his right arm swung into action. The gleam that sliced through the wind as it flew was just about to sink into the base of Braylow’s neck when it vanished. It was a dart that’d been taken from the board hanging between two of the windows, but one wave of Braylow’s arm had deflected it, leaving it embedded in the floor.

However, now Braylow was away from the wall, and he seemed intensely focused, as if the dart hadn’t even existed in the first place.

Almost as if brought forth by the pleasant rocking of the Iron Castle as it raced along, an eerie malevolence now began to fill the hall, and the gap between the supposedly locked door and its frame slowly widened.

As soon as the tall figure in black came in, Pikk felt his consciousness slip away.

Something cold was placed on the boy’s brow, coolness spread throughout his body, and right above his head there glowed an exquisite face.

“D?!” Pikk cried, and at the same time tears spilled from him.

The one person they could depend on had returned.

“Strange thing you’re riding in here,” the hoarse voice said meanly, but even that was a joy to hear.

“What are you doing here?” the boy asked.

“Well, we’re the ones who got the train started. And it’s our job to destroy the Greater Noble who’s on it.”

The boy bugged his eyes. After considering what the hoarse voice had said, Pikk accepted it.

“Okay. In that case, you’ve gotta find the little lady. A big guy dressed in black, like you, took her away. And that Noble named Braylow went with ’em.”

“Took her away?”

“Yeah. Even now I can’t believe it.”

Pikk shuddered. His fear and excitement had brewed chills.

“This guy stood a head taller than you. No, maybe even two—I don’t know. He comes in, and right away that gloomy Noble pulls his swords and tries to slice ’im up. The same ones that made all that rattling noise. No one would’ve figured ’em for having any special power or trick to ’em. Well, in less than two seconds both pigstickers have been batted outta his hands, and the jerk’s been knocked on his ass. Barehanded. He takes the jerk and his swords under one arm like they were light as papier-mâché, and then he comes at us. I jabbed a dart into his arm, but he didn’t even blink. He didn’t even look at the dart or me, like it’d never even happened, but he scooped up the little lady and left. Neither me or her could even say a word. Even though our bodies and tongues were working just fine. So, what the hell was that guy?!”

“He didn’t say anything?”

This question came from D. Though the boy tried not to look at him, he turned red at the mere sound of the Hunter’s voice.

“Nothing. Not a single word. All he did was stroll right in here, knock Braylow flat, and take off with the little lady—that’s it. Almost like it was decided ahead of time that was all he’d do.”

“Hmm,” D’s left hand said as if it’d just thought of something. “I can understand him carrying the girl off. But a Noble too? Could be he knows what you’re here for. You know, we really should’ve found him by day—but no use grumbling about that now.”

D said, “I hear the Noble who built the Iron Castle even drank the blood of his own kind.”

“Not only that, but they say he chucked ’em in the fire after,” the hoarse voice added, and there was a certain buoyancy to its tone. “But this time, we’d best figure he’s got another aim. Mainly, putting the blood of a Greater Noble into the veins of the Nobles he drains. They’d come back with a hundred times the strength of the one that got turned to ashes in the control room earlier. And all just to destroy you. Looks like we won’t be getting any sleep the next couple of days.”

Pikk alone trembled at the left hand’s snide remark, while D’s face was as gorgeous and expressionless as ever when he said, “So, four of them all told?” The way he said, it sounded like it really didn’t matter.

The hoarse voice said, “Records say this train carried its own special guards. No telling how many there might be in total, though. Might be as many as ten thousand.”

“Ten thousand?!” Pikk said, showing his teeth.

“Might be a million. Records say he was a pro at manipulating pocket dimensions. No doubt that’s the reason we couldn’t find him during the day.”

D spun around and headed for the door.

“Wait. If you’re going looking for the little lady, I’m going too,” Pikk said, hurriedly heading after D.

“Neither you nor the girly are this guy’s concern. If you both survive till he’s slain the Greater Noble, just consider that gravy.”

“But the little lady’s with that Noble. I’ll just follow you!”

“You’re one brave simpleton,” the hoarse voice jeered. If anyone else had been there to hear it, they would’ve been surprised at the warmth to be felt in its laugh. “First off, we’ve got to see what’s happened to those two.”

An hour later, as the left hand looked down at the gory floor of the control room, its hoarse voice asserted, “Not here, it would seem.”

Annette felt like she was having an endless nightmare. The whole world was stained with blood. It was a crimson room. There were four men there. They formed an interesting tableau. A man in black far larger than the others had one Nobleman under each arm—the ones who’d identified themselves as Gorshin and Benelli—and in his teeth he held another. Braylow had both eyes wide open, and his look could no longer be described as nihilistic. Bright blood dripped from where the teeth clamped the left nape of his neck, making gigantic blossoms on his upper body.

An odd sound battered Annette’s ears.

Slurp, slurp, slurp.

“No . . .” Annette groaned, her hands long since covering her ears. Yet in them the same sound reverberated.

Slurp, slurp, slurp.

It was a sound she’d already heard. Even after Braylow fell to the floor, the sound continued.

The giant had Benelli under his right arm, and after raising him high, he pressed crimson lips to the Nobleman’s neck. In that dark, bearded face two eyes burned like coals.

There was a movement down by the giant’s feet. Even Annette knew what had happened. The only reason she didn’t react appropriately was due to common knowledge. Nobles don’t drink the blood of other Nobles. If drained, a Noble would rise no more. Yet why did it appear that Braylow was going to get to his feet again?

With the jerky motions reminiscent of a marionette controlled by just a single string connected who-knows-where, Braylow was just straightening his knees when Benelli’s body fell to the floor with a dull thud. His pale face met Annette’s gaze. It was a rictus.

Her mind began to flee. For her consciousness, it was but a moment.

When she opened her eyes, she was lying on a bed. It wasn’t the room she had just been in. Even the pampered Annette had never seen a bedroom this luxurious. Everything was made of gold and lavishly set with jewels, yet it didn’t seem the slightest bit gauche, undoubtedly the work of a genius with sensibilities as fine as cut crystal.

However, even though the room had changed, her terror had not. The figure towering before the bed hid his face with the collar of his cape and a scarf, but from the darkness eyes ablaze with red looked down at Annette.

“You . . . Who . . . who are you?”

A fair amount of time had passed before she managed that question.

Surprisingly enough, there was a reply.

“You can speak, can you?” said a voice every bit as manly and exquisite as that of the Vampire Hunter in black. Moreover, the atmosphere that billowed from the giant was different from that of the youthful Hunter, heavy with stagnant death and the stink of blood. And yet, somehow it seemed pure compared to the other Nobility. While she’d witnessed his terrible feeding on the other three Noblemen, Annette felt that her terror wasn’t connected to her own death.

“You are riding in a moving castle of my creation. As you boarded without permission, I am free to deal with you as I wish. As I did with those three pups.”

“P-pups? Those Nobles . . .”

To Annette, Braylow and the others were Nobles and rightly the object of fear. One glare from them was enough to make her blood run cold. Yet this giant nonchalantly dismissed them as pups. The gruesome sight of him drinking their blood had been proof of that.

Annette felt like no more than an insect led out before a wild beast. It was a wonder that she could even speak.

“What . . . do you intend to do . . . with me?”

“Stay here for the time being. I forbid you to leave.”

“You’re . . . you’re not going to drink my blood?” she said, a gentle relief spreading through her chest.

“At present I am sated.”

That relief turned to ice.

“My sleep was to continue for all eternity in this castle. Someone has prevented that. And it wasn’t those pups!”

There was a pregnant pause from Annette.

“You know who it is, do you not? The other—the one who has such power, such an aura it makes even my heart beat faster. How sweet his blood must be. When you think of it, he is a most unfortunate man. For he has awakened me only to become my prey.” And then the giant said, “What’s this? You’re crying? No, the gleam in your eye is not that of grief. Are you happy? Ah, it is as I thought. He is that great of a man, is he? Great enough that one who has known me still embraces hope.”

Annette wiped away her tears. The giant was correct on all counts.

“You’re right. He’s here. On this train. It’s okay now. I—I’m not afraid of anything!”

“That is good,” said the giant, and his tone had no trace of mockery. “Until this matter is settled, you should enjoy the journey. There’s no telling how long it will last.”

And then his form appeared to waver for an instant before he stepped out the bedroom door. The door closed without a sound, and for a while Annette didn’t move, then she very carefully stepped to the floor.

She was still fully dressed. Taking her shoes from the floor and putting them on, she turned her attention to all sides, then quickly dashed to the door. When she grabbed the golden handle and pushed, the door immediately opened.

“Eeeek?!” she cried, her shriek sailing forward, then bouncing right back.

The area beyond the door was filled with shadowy figures beyond number. They were men in gray capes. On their hips or backs they wore longswords, while some also held firearms or weapons that looked to be heat rays.

It was neither their bizarre air nor their terrible weapons that caused Annette to recoil. All of them wore black masks over their heads. In the vicinity of their eyes, they burned with crimson. Those were the eyes of a Noble. They pierced the girl with all the keenness of a blade. Annette felt as if she’d die.

“Pardon me.”

That steady voice slipped into the girl’s ears, freeing her body from the grip of ice.

Pushing her way through the men was a woman so beautiful it caused Annette’s cheeks to instantly flush. Clad in a deep purple dress that obscured none of her sensual lines, her looks were so exquisite even the glittering diamond necklace and golden bracelets she wore couldn’t begin to compare.

“Greetings. I am Countess Genevieve. Grand Duke Drago has requested I serve as your guardian.”

The words dripped seductively from the woman’s crimson lips as she made a light bow in greeting.

So, the giant’s called Grand Duke Drago, Annette thought dimly.

“It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance. May I come in?”

“Ah . . .”

Annette backed away out of reflex, watching as the countess reached back and closed the door behind herself. The countess walked right past Annette and over to a gorgeous cabinet, from which she took a golden liquor bottle and two glasses.

“You needn’t fear me so—I won’t suck your blood.”

The glasses made a melodic sound as she set them down on a small marble table.

It took Annette a few seconds to grasp the meaning of that startling remark.

“What did you just say?”

“I informed you that I don’t drink blood—care for a drink?”

A pale hand extended a glass with fluid grace, and Annette accepted it without a word.

“You say you don’t drink blood—but how? You’re not a Noble . . . ?”

“No, my full name is Genevieve Vasa. And I am a Noble by birth. Do you find a Noble who doesn’t drink blood odd?”

Annette didn’t know what to say.

“If you find it funny, laugh. If you’re sad, cry. The problem with humans is they’re always so boring. Don’t they know there are so many things in this world to be enjoyed?”

The question was posed with puzzlement and not the least bit of malice, but it stirred anger in Annette’s heart.

“What are you talking about? If we’re dour, it’s the fault of you Nobles. By night you come into our villages and take our people, draining their blood and turning them into your kind, and anyone who opposes you gets their head lopped off on the spot. You cause fires and floods and make the earth split wide—so how are we supposed to remain cheery?!”

“That may be,” the countess said, taking the glass from her lips and shrugging her shoulders. The gesture was so charming, Annette nearly smiled in spite of herself.

An instant later, Annette’s jaw dropped. The countess’s profile had been plastered with a severity that seemed that of someone else entirely. Even her voice had changed.

“That is correct. And that is why we had such hope for them.”

“Hope?”

“Yes. As test subjects.”

“What do you mean by that?” the girl asked, her mouth working of its own accord.

Up until now, Annette had harbored even less interest in the Nobility than the average person. She’d had no reason to care about them. In her home in Krishken mercenaries in her father’s employ had guarded her, so she couldn’t recall ever feeling the fear of the Nobility experienced by other villagers, and after graduating from the village junior high school at the age of thirteen she’d immediately been enrolled in a boarding school in the Capital for high school.

In the Capital the threat of the Nobility was so slight it made the fear others had felt in the village of Krishken seem no more than a dream. Though there were those at school who showed a sincere interest in the lives and history of the Nobility and chose the scholarly path, Annette had decided from the very start to ignore all that. More than the Nobility, it was country life that she wanted to distance herself from. So long as she lived in this world, the shadow of the Nobility would menace her whether she liked it or not. Sooner or later she would run headlong into her destiny, but while she was in the Capital she wanted to maintain as much distance as she could. And for a girl of her sheltered upbringing, that wasn’t at all unusual.

But no sooner had she left the Capital than she was attacked in the rain, narrowly being saved through D’s power. In a situation she could never have imagined in her life up until now, she’d fallen victim to successive tricks of fate that’d ultimately seen her captured underground. Now a Noblewoman sat before the girl. The mud walls of her indifference crumbled, and on her face one might catch a glimpse of the interest in the Nobility it had concealed. No, even if one had no eyes to open, the truth would be plain to see. There was no denying that the countess’s strange cheerfulness and her admission to not drinking blood had played a part in the girl’s change of heart.

“In short, not all Nobles thought only of keeping humanity under our control,” Genevieve continued after a sip of wine. Though her tone was lifeless, the way she drank or held the glass in her fingers was the very pinnacle of refinement. Annette actually felt a little embarrassed.

“During our golden age, there was nothing the humans could do to us, yet their resistance never abated. And what it earned was not on the level of the earthquakes and storms you’ve just mentioned. In locations around the world, hundreds of thousands of humans were executed. Picture, if you will, watching someone you know being ground into minced meat while still alive.”

Annette felt slightly dizzy. The only thing that kept her from succumbing to it was the look of disgust on the face of the countess. Did this Noblewoman sympathize with humanity?!

“But then, even the least of human beings know of that, do they not? Yet the fires of rebellion you felt toward us did not die out—why the troubled face? Could it be you knew nothing of this?”

“N-no.”

“Yes.”

As the Noblewoman nodded without a trace of doubt, Annette had to divert her gaze. She was being fiercely buffeted by a certain emotion. Shame. At present, she heard the voice of the countess only as a distant chiding.

“The Nobility poured millennia of time, knowledge, effort, and power into mastering and eliminating the rebellious urges in your kind. They sought to kill your spirit. It ended in failure. Neither time nor fear was able to change humanity. Finally, the board of directors of the Noble Mental Research Center in the Capital were forced to make public a certain conclusion.” Glancing at Annette, she continued, “You are familiar with it, are you not?”

“No,” she said, her voice no more than the buzzing of a mosquito.

The countess made an incredulous expression.

“You don’t know it? But you’re a human, are you not?”