In the Name of Science

chapter 5

I

What was coming wasn’t flying down from the sky, but rather it’d kicked off the ground far in the distance. And it ripped through the wind like a stone, landing just ten feet ahead of Meg. It made no sound. The wind struck Meg head-on. Perhaps it’d reduced its own mass to zero just before touching down, for as soon as it landed it seemed to stop dead.

Meg’s reaction was swift. Leaping back about a yard, she had presence of mind enough to level a harpoon at it. Her will to fight was dwindling rapidly.

“What the hell is this?”

It looked for all the world like a beetle. Horns jutted from its head like radar, its limbs were covered with thorny barbs, and its body gleamed like iron. However, it was a hundred times the size of those to be found on trees back in the village’s forest, and its tremendous proportions weren’t the only thing strange about it. Its lower half was clad in tattered trousers, and a wool muffler was wound about its head. The latter was also threadbare, looking as if even a child could tear through it with the slightest application of strength. There was no reason for an insect to wear clothes. Strangest of all was how the beetle stood on two legs.

Could it be this is a person? Meg thought, gazing at its muffler-shrouded head. Through a gap in the fabric she saw a pair of eyes. Accustomed to spotting fish through rough seas, fishermen had keen eyesight. The shock went right through Meg like an arrow. Those weren’t the eyes of an insect. They belonged to a human being.

“Okay—just wait a minute. Who the hell are you?” she asked in spite of herself.

As if in response, the bug squealed. At the same time, it stepped forward.

Meg didn’t give an inch. A certain feeling made her stay right where she was.

“Who are you?!”

She let the harpoon fly. Its target was the left side of the insect’s head. The harpoon pierced the end of the muffler and tore it free. The rest of it went off in the breeze with no particular difficulty.

“Just as I thought.”

Meg’s words were directed at the face of a middle-aged man, now exposed to the fog and sunlight. With bronzed, leathery skin that the girl knew at a glance to be that of a fisherman, he had rough-hewn features, but not those of anyone she recognized.

Was he one of the settlers, too? She turned around. D’Argent would know, Meg thought.

Darkness engulfed her. Sharp pains shot through her back and shoulders. The barbs on the insect’s limbs had sunk into her.

“Let me go!”

Meg grabbed another harpoon and used it to strike at the insect’s limbs. If she tried moving her body, the barbs would only tear at her.

“What are you doing?! You’ve gotta be human inside that head of yours!”

After glaring at it, the girl realized she was wasting her breath. What filled the man’s eyes was stark-naked madness. The instant she saw a hint of gladness suffuse his face and saliva drip from the corner of his mouth, Meg thrust the harpoon into the insect’s abdomen. The beetle’s scream resembled the cry of a cicada.

The spell was broken. Meg made a mad dash for d’Argent’s cellar. She’d also remembered to pull her harpoon back out. After all, she was low on weapons.

With the sense of balance a fisherman gained from the swaying of a boat, the girl raced through the bumpy region of rocks without incident, until the entrance to d’Argent’s cellar finally came into view. Relief welled up in Meg’s heart—and withered again suddenly. A beetle had landed right in front of her. Though it also had a muffler wrapped around it, the state of the hair protruding from the wrappings and the shredded skirt told her it was a woman.

“So, he wasn’t the only one?!” the girl said to herself.

The beetle with a female head came at the girl to grab her.

No sooner had Meg leveled her harpoon than she heard, “Hit the deck!”

Diving off to the right, she hugged against the rocky ground. Her eyes never left the insect.

It seemed as if a wad of light sank into its back. The insect’s body glowed, turning crimson. No doubt that was due to the flames that burned it down to its base molecules.

“Don’t move!” d’Argent shouted from the entrance to his cellar. His right arm was extended, sheathed to the elbow in an armored gauntlet of what looked to be bronze, and from the wrist there projected a cylinder more than an inch in diameter. It glowed crimson.

Three more wads of light flew from it in rapid succession. Two insects burst into fiery red, but the third shot missed. Spreading the wings on its back, the third insect flew over d’Argent’s head with terrific speed and snatched him up with evil clawlike limbs.

D’Argent paused in his slaughter. He was too close to it.

The former teacher had been lifted about three feet off the ground when a harpoon came whistling through the wind to pierce the insect’s abdomen. As the creature doubled over, d’Argent managed to leap free of it, backed away a few steps, and then reduced the beetle twitching on the ground to charred, smoking remains.

Looking at Meg, he asked, “You okay?”

“I was gonna ask you the same thing,” she replied.

D’Argent seemed sullen, but his expression quickly twisted and he clutched his back. He’d hit it when he fell.

Running over, Meg said, “Are you all right?”

“I’ll survive.”

“Good. So, what is that thing?”

She was pointing at the bronze weapon.

“It’s called a ‘hand of destruction.’ I stole it from the Nobles’ castle. It can vaporize a huge boulder with just one shot. This is what keeps monsters from hanging around here.”

“Quite the item you’ve got there,” the girl said, sounding impressed. Turning around, she asked, “And what are these things?”

“I’ll explain. Let’s head back inside.”

“No way. Do it here and now. Don’t have the time to waste. I’ve gotta get going soon.”

“You’re just a regular spitfire, aren’t you?” d’Argent said in amazement. And then he looked at Meg with an oddly calm expression and continued, “There was one like you in our group. Wait a minute. I’ll go get ready.”

As the man gave a nod and turned around, Meg said to him anxiously, “Hold up. Get ready for what?”

“I’m going, too. I’ve had a change of heart,” he replied over his shoulder without even halting.

“Why now?”

“Don’t badger me about it. It might change right back.”

It was five minutes later that d’Argent reappeared from the cellar. A leather backpack was strapped to his back, and he was riding a strange contraption. It was a metallic plate three feet square with a control stick attached. Simple and elegant in design, it was apparently one of the Nobility’s items.

Zipping across the rocky terrain without a sound, it halted right in front of Meg. It had neither the smell of fuel to it nor the rumble of an engine.

“One of the Nobles’ things, I take it?”

“That’s right.”

“You go and swipe that from ’em, too?”

“No. It happened to go missing when one of their underlings left it parked.”

“That’s the same thing.”

“That’s a debate that’ll have to wait until later. Well, hop on behind me and grab onto my waist.”

“Can it fly through the air?”

“No, it can’t manage that. But it can take any road, no matter how bad, without stopping.”

“It doesn’t even have wheels, so how does it work?”

“I’m no Noble. But it seems to allow us to control a power that’ll push us along across the surface.”

“You don’t say. Can you drive it okay?”

“Sure,” d’Argent replied. “It’s amazingly simple. Why, a child of five could master its operation in an hour.”

“Show me how to do it later.”

“No problem.”

Damn! Meg thought on realizing the surrounding scenery was streaking by like arrows. The rocky terrain vanished. A stand of trees was drawing nearer. She shrieked, and they were already into the forest. Another shriek. There was a gigantic rock dead ahead.

We’re gonna crash! she thought, but by that point the rock was already behind them.

The girl found their vehicle incredible.

“You’re really good at this,” Meg remarked with deep admiration.

D’Argent shook his head from side to side.

“It’s not me. The vehicle avoids obstacles on its own.”

“Huh?! But I didn’t even feel it swerve at all!”

“That’s a Noble vehicle for you.”

“I see,” the girl replied, but she really didn’t understand at all. She wondered why the same species who could make such wonderful devices would drink human blood. And she questioned why humans couldn’t make such incredible things.

No sooner had she formed these questions than the wind slammed into the pair mercilessly, then stopped flat. The two of them were halted, as if frozen.

“What’s wrong?” Meg asked.

The vehicle spun to the right. It turned 180 degrees.

The girl finally noticed that they were in a section of ruins. From between green bushes and copses, crumbling ramparts and stone walls could be glimpsed, and the ground was spread with snaking paths of smooth stone. About fifteen or twenty feet down one of these paths, almost out of view, was what might’ve been part of a staircase. Beside the stairs, a pair of feet jutted out. The black boots were intricately tooled, speaking volumes about the nature of the one who wore them.

“A Noble?” Meg murmured. “But he’s still got his legs. Even though the sun’s still high in the sky . . .”

“There are some who could walk in the light of the sun.”

“What?”

She felt as if her whole body were being wrung out like a towel. Nobility who could walk in the light of day? Impossible!

“We’ll dispose of him,” d’Argent fairly groaned.

Shock shook Meg out of her numbness.

“I’m not exactly sure, but he seems to have either collapsed or to be sleeping. I’ll drive this through his heart.”

At some point the man had pulled out a stake of rough wood, which he now gripped in his right hand.

The vehicle landed. D’Argent was the first to reach the boots. Peeking around from behind him, Meg widened her eyes.

Slumped back against the marble stairs was a Noble in a crimson cape. Blond-haired, he had a pale face that was staring up at the pair. The left side of his chest was stained with blood. His wide blue eyes pierced those of Meg.

“I remember you. You’re Lord Danae, aren’t you? Do you remember me?” d’Argent asked, his voice quaking with rage. The tremors echoed from a ghastly past.

II

The Noble’s thin lips twisted. He’d smiled.

“The likes of a human? Would you . . . remember the face . . . of a fly you swatted yesterday?”

After saying that in fragments as cold as ice, he spat up blood.

“I’ll see to it you never forget!” d’Argent cried, raising the stake with both hands.

But Meg drove her shoulder into his waist as hard as she could. Incredibly enough, the man didn’t offer much resistance, being thrown ten feet and falling among the roots of a stand of trees.

“Wh-what the hell?!”

The man immediately sprang right back up, waves of shock and anger washing over Meg from every inch of him.

“Noble or not, you can’t just kill a helpless foe!”

“The hell I can’t!” d’Argent shouted, mouth open as wide as it would go. “If you only knew what this bastard did to us—I didn’t say anything about that earlier. It was so terrible, I didn’t want to think about it. But if you’re gonna try and stop me, I’ll tell you all about it. It’ll keep you up at night!”

“Like hell you will! I didn’t come out here to hear about that. At any rate, I’m telling you you can’t go killing a defenseless person!”

“Goddamned idiot!” the former teacher snarled, raising the stake and charging forward.

“Knock it off!”

Meg’s body moved of its own accord. The instant she’d crouched down, the teacher was on her back. She sprang back up. Her timing was exquisite. D’Argent was sent flying over to the remains of the staircase, pieces of which crumbled to the ground.

“Damn it all!” the man bellowed, but after pulling himself back up, he stopped dead.

“What the—?!”

Meg, too, was motionless, with her eyes bugged.

Lord Danae was behind d’Argent with his hand around the man’s throat and a well-attended nail pressing into the former teacher’s flesh. The nail had been sharpened like a blade. It would no doubt open d’Argent’s throat with a single swipe.

Despair spread across the face of the former teacher. However, the finger was taken away unexpectedly, and Danae gave d’Argent a shove from behind. Even gravely wounded, the Nobleman possessed monstrous strength—and d’Argent landed face-first at Meg’s feet some fifteen feet away.

“Why’d you help me?” Meg inquired, and she noticed her own voice sounded terribly calm.

A thin, cynical smile slid across Danae’s lips.

“Soon I shall be no more. There’s little point in taking any humans with me.”

“Anyway, thank you. Why don’t you show me your wound.”

Danae’s smile grew even more cynical.

“Could it be you actually intend to save me?”

“’Never turn your back on the injured,’ Dad always told me. ‘Even if it’s a Noble’—no, I made that part up.”

To d’Argent, who was looking up at her in astonishment, Meg said, “Simmer down already. There’s nothing we can do to him, and you know it.”

The declaration drove into him like a knife. Apparently he’d dropped the stake when he’d hit the stairs.

“Maybe that’s the case with you.”

Diverting his loathing gaze, d’Argent lay spread-eagled on the ground.

Walking over to Danae, Meg examined his wound.

“It’s right over your heart! I’m surprised you’re not dust already.”

“I have a rather unique physiology. My heart is far to the right instead of in the center. He didn’t know that. Instead of finishing me off, he went off in pursuit of another.”

“By ‘he,’ you mean the man in black—D?” Meg asked.

Danae nodded. His look then became one of dawning comprehension, and he said, “You know him, do you? Your expression says that his recollection makes your heart throb sadly.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, you big dummy!”

But even as she denied it, Meg felt her cheeks flush. That face, like a gorgeous winter moon, had begun to emit a glow she couldn’t contain. Somehow or other, she had to put it out.

“But enough about that,” she said. “Where are the folks you brought over here?!”

“At the castle. It’s about two miles due north of here. Do you intend to go there?”

“Of course,” Meg replied, tearing off one of her sleeves and pressing it to Danae’s chest. She continued, “I thought they said the only ways to destroy Nobles were to stab ’em through the heart or cut their heads off. If he missed the kill shot, how come you won’t stop bleeding?”

“His sword is special. He’s undoubtedly a dhampir.”

“A dhampir?!”

Meg had learned in school that they were the half-breed children of humans and Nobility. He would have his Noble blood to thank for his lovely countenance and impressive physique.

For some reason Meg felt her mind drifting away, but one remark from Danae brought her back to reality.

“However, he is no ordinary dhampir.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“In the eight millennia I’ve been alive, I have slain hundreds of dhampirs. However, not one of them could match his eerie aura, his skill with a blade, or his beauty. Rather, they weren’t even fit to lie at his feet. He looms as far above them as the heavens are above the earth.”

The way Danae’s expression was melting with rapture was something that left Meg half stunned, but half understanding. This was a foe who could deal death to you and still you would be unable to keep from singing his praises. Yes, that was precisely the sort of man he was.

“I sealed him away in a space that didn’t exist. No one, not even a Noble among Nobles, had ever escaped it. However, Duchess Mizuki didn’t believe it. She said that D of all people wouldn’t be slain by the likes of me. We got aboard the light-shielder and headed for the spot where I had contained him. And there we learned that he had escaped. You can’t comprehend how miraculous that is. But as we hastened back to the castle, we encountered him. Though Duchess Mizuki made good her escape, I was defeated by him and left to let death slowly creep over me.”

“That’s what you get for throwing down with such a looker!” Meg said, the words coming from the bottom of her heart. “But you survived, so you’ve gotta have a pretty mean streak of luck. Try hard enough, and you might yet get to go on living. Say, isn’t there any other way to get you to stop bleeding?”

Danae gazed at Meg with an intrigued look in his eyes, and it didn’t waver when he said, “There is one way.”

“What’s that?”

“I want you to let me drink your blood.”

Meg—and the very air—froze.

As the girl stood there dumbfounded and paralyzed, in her place d’Argent shouted, “Like hell! Don’t listen to him!”

Of course, from the very start Meg had no intention of doing that. But something about Danae’s gaze piqued her interest. His request hadn’t been made in jest. He was completely sincere, and seemed to be searching for something.

“Just what do you mean by that? Did you actually think I’d agree to that?”

“I wouldn’t drink the blood directly from your body. If you were to merely nick the tip of your finger and let a drop or two fall into my mouth, you wouldn’t become my servant.”

“Don’t do it. It’s obvious he’s lying. If a Noble drinks your blood . . .”

Meg nodded. D’Argent was right. Though she’d never actually seen it take place, she could well imagine what happened when you let one of the Nobility drink your blood, no matter what stipulations might’ve been made. Anyone who’d agree to that request would have to be out of their mind.

“Will you swear on the honor of the Nobility not to do anything to us?” she asked. “If you will—then okay.”

“I swear it.”

“Meg?!”

“Not another word out of you. I must be out of my mind.”

Drawing her knife, Meg made a small slice at the tip of her left index finger. A bead of blood rose on it.

“I’m gonna shake it from here, okay?”

“Of course.”

Aiming for the mouth of the undead who was at death’s door, Meg shook her hand. She couldn’t tell whether she’d managed to get it in or not. However, before she could draw another breath, Danae got to his feet. The malicious smile that spread across his face made the girl freeze with horrid regret. On seeing that, the venom faded from Danae’s smile.

“What?”

“Be at ease. I made a promise to myself. In repayment for this—ah yes, I shall guide you to the castle.”

“Really?! Yes!” Meg exclaimed, blinking time and again. Her head was swimming. Apparently that was what happened when a person was that relieved. “That’s great. But that vehicle can’t carry three people. What’ll we do?”

Danae’s eyes turned toward d’Argent.

“We have no need of this incompetent.”

“To hell with you. I came out here because I was worried about her. And you call yourself a Nobleman! You might’ve pulled the wool over the girl’s eyes, but you don’t fool me!”

D’Argent slipped his hand into the backpack, which he’d set down on the ground. What he pulled out glinted with the dappled sunlight.

“Don’t!” Meg shouted, and she was about to try to stop him, but she halted when the barrel of the weapon turned her way.

It was the same “hand of destruction” that’d made human-headed beetles disappear in the blink of an eye.

“I’ve heard that so long as a Noble doesn’t get a stake or blade through the heart, he can be burnt down to ashes and still regenerate,” d’Argent remarked. “Only, it takes time to come back. And while that’s happening, I’ll pop your half-formed heart.”

“Do you think you can make it to the castle without me?”

“Yeah, I think so. Hell, that was what we intended from the start. Just so you know, thanks to the experiments you folks did on me, I don’t age anymore. So I’m not afraid of anything now.”

A sneer skimmed across the Nobleman’s lips.

“You seem to be confusing immortality with indestructibility. Simply because you don’t age, it doesn’t follow that you cannot die.”

Danae’s eyes gave off a red light. It formed twin beams that pierced D’Argent’s shoulders. The immortal reeled backward with a scream, his shoulders issuing flames and black smoke.

“You stop it, too!” Meg cried, standing between the two of them with her hands extended. “You know what happens when a human fights a Noble. So stop bullying those weaker than you!”

“This man made an attempt on my life when I was injured—however, I shall respect the wishes of my savior.”

Danae’s cape whipped around. He had started over to the vehicle on foot.

“What about him?” the girl asked.

“I believe you said there wasn’t room for three people,” the Nobleman replied.

“In that case, go by yourself. I won’t be going, either.”

Gazing at Meg with eyes so cold she thought her blood would freeze solid, Danae said, “You would protect us both, then? A fellow human might praise you for your philanthropy, but I would call it being noncommittal and ineffectual. You cannot use a knife or fork when you have a bouquet of flowers in either hand!”

“Your kind doesn’t need them anyway, do they? Not since you’re a bloodsucking monster, right?”

Damn my big mouth, the girl thought, but it was too late. Danae’s eyes glowed red. In an instant, Meg prepared to meet her fate from the hateful beams. However, the deadly light wasn’t unleashed, and Danae’s eyes quickly returned to normal.

“You’re strong-willed for a human girl. But this is the last time I shall feel any obligation to you. If you can carry him on your back, the man may accompany us.”

“Just you leave it to me.”

Meg raced over to d’Argent, who was down on his knees in agony. She whispered in his ear, “So, how much do you weigh?”

“Not really sure . . . A little over one hundred twenty pounds . . . probably.”

“In that case, I think I’ll manage.”

Back in the village, she’d carried crates of fish weighing one hundred thirty or even one hundred fifty pounds.

With grunts and groans and no small effort she managed to get d’Argent on her back and stand behind the Nobleman as he held the vehicle’s control stick.

“What are you doing?” Danae said to her.

“Huh?”

“Wrap your arms around my waist,”

“Er, sure,” Meg said, complying sheepishly.

Her left wrist struck something hard.

“Does that intrigue you?” the Nobleman inquired in an amused tone.

“Yes.”

The scenery began slowly flowing past them.

Danae took something out and showed it to Meg over his shoulder. A blue candle burned in a glass case about a foot long and two inches in diameter. The aroma that crept into her nostrils was the sort that made a person want to sigh.

“It’s ‘time-bewitching incense.’ So long as it burns, day is transformed into night.”

As he put it away, the scenery began to dwindle behind them at ever greater speed.

III

D advanced through the forest on foot.

“Well, you went and lost our means of transport, you big dope.”

“You’re handsome and all, but you’re kinda lacking. What are we supposed to do when you put down the servant but let the boss get away?”

“At this rate, we could keep going for a century and still not get out of the forest. I hold you responsible.”

The hoarse voice grumbled a litany of complaints from the vicinity of the Hunter’s hip, but after a while it seemed to be crushed, a shriek of pain rang out, and it grew quiet. However, it seemed to keep remembering, returning time and again with more gloom and doom.

As they were going on through a succession of trees and grass that seemed to know no end, they’d encountered two of the enemy. Battling the master of the “light-spear eyes,” D had deflected the beams back at him with the blade of his sword and narrowly managed to stab the Nobleman through the heart, but the other one had escaped. In part that was the fault of the cyborg horse, which had been pierced through the barrel by the light spears, but aside from D and one other, no one knew that the Hunter had miraculously permitted the escape.

“Ever since you announced we were going over to the island, I’ve had a bad feeling. Duchess Mizuki Dandorian—now there’s an accursed name. Especially where you’re concerned!”

“Duchess? What about the duke?” D asked. Perhaps it was on account of the fog that still clung to him that his steely voice seemed to waver just a bit.

“You really don’t remember, do you?” the hoarse voice asked back in a stunned tone. “Out of all your bloody battles, that’s the one fight pulled out of your memories, eh? Maybe it’s a spell the duke put on you out of jealousy, or it could be just simple amnesia—no, if it were amnesia, it’d have to mean you-know-who. Now listen good: To Duchess Dandorian, you were—gaaaaah!”

Fist still balled tightly, D hastened his pace.

It was strange the way this walk went. Out of the grass came snakes and insects and other creatures of indeterminate nature, and they followed along behind D. Among them were a number of species that could clearly move much faster than a person could walk. Nevertheless, they didn’t catch up to D. The Hunter’s gait was, to all appearances, just at normal speed. He didn’t run at all. Yet those that followed him only fell farther and farther behind. Before long, all those in his wake had been lost, and D suddenly halted.

About ten yards up ahead, there stood a young woman wearing a deep purple dress. Her face was so lovely any man would be paralyzed at the first sight of her, and she cast a faint shadow in the dappled sunlight.

From the Hunter’s loosening fist the hoarse voice jeered, “There, you see that? You might’ve forgotten, but she hasn’t. My, my, my. She got away once and came back for more.”

D, the woman said. Not with her voice. Her lips merely trembled. “I’ve been waiting for you. Will you not turn around and leave now?”

“I’m here on business. Once it’s settled, I’ll leave.”

“Once upon a time, I was slain by you, along with my husband. Would you do so again?”

“Over and over,” the Hunter replied, “as long as you keep coming back. That’s my job.”

The wind swept across the woman’s lovely visage. It was colored with grief.

Once more it blew. It was seething with hatred.

“If that is the case,” she said, “I won’t be reduced to dust a second time. I shall stop you and avert that fate.”

D bounded, cutting the woman from the top of her head down to the crotch. What resistance the blade met traveled up it to his shoulder.

There was no woman.

“An illusion. But you probably knew that,” the left hand said.

Not bothering to sheathe his blade, D spun to his right. The wind howled, and another wind collided with it. And where they met, sparks shot out. D’s sword had locked together with another blade.

The man in the ash-gray cape had bandages all over his face and hands. The bandages were dirty, soaked with blood and pus.

“The duke,” the left hand groaned. “Watch yourself. A man crazy with jealousy is a force to be reckoned with. But what a great couple they make, coming back to life together and everything!”

The two men leapt apart, and amidst pale blue streaks of light they changed their stances and the positions of their swords. The man—the duke—brought his sword far to the right, and for some reason he put his left palm out in front of his face. On the other side, D lowered the tip of his sword until it nearly scraped the ground and turned the blade ever so slightly to the left.

“We meet again, D!” the duke said in a voice like that of a ghost groaning from the depths of the earth. “When the island was restored, I wished to remain sleeping. Because I only wanted to forget everything. However, the revival project took no pity on me. Once again I saw my wife, and now I have encountered you. Oh, how I curse you, Sacred Ancestor. Being torn apart mentally and physically just once was more than enough for me.”

The duke sounded as if blood were about to gush from his mouth. Or rather, that his words were plastered with gore. With the bright blood that gushed from his soul. It was that tone that kept D standing still. However, the body beneath those bandages and that cape was terribly weak, and his voice was thin and broken. He was in absolutely no condition to square off against D.

“You think he’s unmanly, do you?” the hoarse voice said, and even it carried a morose tone. “That’s a cry from his very soul. D, he was destroyed by your hand, and for all his pain he might’ve found peace in death. Yet the woman told him how she felt about you—and as if to end his own life, he challenged you and was destroyed. No doubt today is a gift to him from God. This time, be sure to nail his coffin shut.”

D didn’t move—nor did the duke. Each of them carried the ghost of a lovely woman on his back. Perhaps it was her hand that nudged D forward.

The Hunter’s feet kicked off the ground ferociously, and the leap was timed perfectly so that the second D touched down again his sword lashed out with a weight and keenness that surely should’ve sliced the duke’s head in two. However, his blade cut empty air, and D staggered.

D’s eyes were trained on the open palm of the duke’s hand. On his palm alone pale flesh was exposed, and an eye had been scribed there with black lines. Its pupil was blazing red. It was unclear whether or not D noticed that, for an instant, his own staggering form burned there.

The duke closed his hand into a fist.

“As you can see, I suffer from an illness. When I first did battle with you, it had already gnawed me down to the bone. There are afflictions that even the full power of the Nobility’s knowledge cannot cure. I was still suffering from it when I was destroyed. When I was resurrected of late, I was asked what should be done about my affliction. A cure was possible. However, if it were to remain, I would be given another power—the power to triumph over D. I chose the latter without hesitation.”

The duke opened his left hand. D was still reflected in the eye scribed there.

“Just now, I have taken in everything about you. With this, I shall know your location no matter where you go. And I shall see your actions. And like so, I can also prevent them.”

He moved his left hand as if beckoning to D.

“Come,” the duke said. “Come to me.”

D stood there with his sword aimed at his opponent’s eye, but his body shook for an instant. As if fighting some unseen force.

“Come.”

D’s right foot took a step forward.

“This can’t—” the hoarse voice began, surprise suffusing its tone.

“Come.”

D started to take a second step, but managed to stop himself.

“I should expect no less from the man who slew me. But how about—this?”

The duke hauled back his right hand. Drawn by invisible strings, D stepped forward—and the duke’s sword pressed into the base of the Hunter’s neck.

Fresh blood stained the sun-dappled air.