The Rose Princess (19 page)

What’s more, true to the anxiety in the voice from his left hand, D himself looked
to be in incredibly rough shape, despite the fact that his tone was as cool as ever.
Though the wound had closed, the blow the Black Knight had dealt him had left damage
that wouldn’t easily be repaired. Ordinarily, D would’ve kept one hand pressed to
his ravaged neck while he used the other to climb up the wall.

A pale blue fire sparked in the Hunter’s left hand—flames of energy spilling from
the mouth of the countenanced carbuncle that’d formed on the back of it.

“Looks like even this won’t work,” the face groaned in apparent amazement. Grimacing,
it added, “It seems he gave you one hell of a cut. I’d say that knight’s not your
average customer at all. Can you climb up?”

But even as the face on his hand questioned him, it felt D’s body beginning to rise.

Trusting all his weight to his right hand, which held the blade he’d driven into the
wall, D pushed off the sword to lift himself up. His left hand reached out and caught
hold of a slight projection on the wall. Pulling the sword out, he swung upward with
his left arm and jammed the blade into the wall again.

From a human perspective, it was something only a superman could’ve done. Working
without a break, he climbed more than three hundred feet in no time, and suddenly
there was a circle of light above his head.

A shadow fell across D’s face. His countenance free of emotion, D looked up at the
Black Knight, who stood at the brink of the pit.

The knight extended one hand, saying, “Although I don’t suppose you need it, I thought
I’d offer it as a courtesy nonetheless. Even if you choose to take it, you shall owe
me nothing.”

“What were you waiting for?” D asked softly.

The only thing supporting him was the blade of his sword. Under the circumstances,
it didn’t seem possible that even D would be able to respond to a stroke from the
Black Knight.

“To fight,” the Black Knight replied with refreshing simplicity.

“In that case—,” D said, sailing through the air an instant later.

The Black Knight moved further into the corridor, and D landed in the knight’s former
position.

“I’ve returned your favor.”

The gigantic black tree of a knight nodded at D’s words–he had genuinely intended
to pull D up out of the hole. As for D, his blade had been invested with an unvarnished
will to kill as he leapt from the pit. If he’d brought it down then, the Black Knight
would’ve been powerless to keep it from slashing him in two. What’s more, the knight
hadn’t even known what D’s intent was.

D’s choice not to cut the Black Knight down when he had the chance was in repayment
for the hand the knight had offered him in aid. However, to the handsome Hunter who’d
come through fields of slaughter and storms of blood, this was essentially a business
transaction—he did it the same way he’d fulfill the conditions of any contract.

“It’s a bit cramped in here. Perhaps it would be best if we settled this outside?”
the Black Knight suggested.

D saw that his opponent’s voice and form were now shrouded in the unearthly aura of
someone else entirely, for the knight was cursing himself for underestimating his
foe.

“There’s an exit not far from here. Follow me,” the Black Knight said, and then he
turned sharply. Was it because he figured D wouldn’t come at him until they were outside?
Did he still trust D, or was there another reason?

The exit the pair appeared from was in the long, muscular swell of the deity’s thigh.
There was a plaza in front of the temple for worship. The two of them squared off
against each other in that relic of the past where now only green turf remained. Fifteen
feet lay between them—one of the combatants would have to step forward at this distance.

The Black Knight remained with his weapon undrawn, and D held his blade out straight
at eye level. The tip of his sword was pointed ever so slightly down. And it didn’t
move. The perfectly natural pose of the Black Knight wouldn’t allow it to do so.

On the other hand, the Black Knight found his soul awash in admiration. For while
D’s stance was a common enough posture, the Hunter himself had vanished—leaving the
white glint of his sword tip alone to occupy the knight’s field of view. The instant
D fell into the pit, the knight was certain he’d felt his blade make contact. For
an ordinary person it would’ve been a critical wound, and even for a dhampir it’d
take roughly six months to recover from such an injury. There was no way the Hunter
was in top physical shape. And yet he was still so—

As if in synchronization with his own overawed thoughts, the knight’s field of view
suddenly expanded. D had lowered his sword.

The Black Knight stepped forward. Part of his mind screamed,
You shouldn’t have done that
, and a shudder ran through him. But even as he warned himself it was an open invitation,
his right hand reached around to his back with ungodly speed.

In point of fact, the Black Knight didn’t know exactly what the weapon on his back
was. The next thing the warrior knew, it would be there in his hands, and he’d know
how to use it and what to expect from it. Of course, to get to the point where he
was now, he’d undergone hellish training that’d not only left him spitting blood,
but had made the very flame of life gutter within him more than once. Nevertheless,
he didn’t understand the principles on which his weapon operated. There was only one
thing he did know—it was going to slay the Vampire Hunter right now.

A split second before he sent the blade of light flying from his weapon, the Black
Knight saw that D had his arms impossibly extended above his head—in the high position.
But his flash got off first in a horizontal swipe at the Hunter.

Splitting the band of light in two, D’s sword continued on to sink into the Black
Knight’s helm. There was a silvery flash—and with a dull
chung!
the blade snapped off at the hilt.

The Black Knight fell to his knees. A thin crack split his helm from the crest to
the forehead.

However, D slumped forward at the same time. For the blow he’d just delivered had
required all the physical and mental strength he could muster.

Making its way across the wild plains, the wind fluttered D’s coat. Beneath the blue
sky, the two black figures were both on their knees, motionless.

One of them rose, like a black mountain. It was the Black Knight. The fresh blood
dripping from his head wound sullied his armor, stained the grass, and seeped into
the earth.

“Ordinarily, you’d have defeated me. However, it looks like this time victory is mine.
Farewell, D!”

Both the knight’s hands went behind his waist. There was no conceivable way the kneeling
D would be able to guard against his next attack. The Hunter’s hands were empty.

Somewhere, the Black Knight heard a voice.

An elegant half-moon shape knifed through the blue sky over D’s head.

Howling, a flash of light sliced through the wind—slashing from the upper right down
toward D’s carotid artery. The indescribable sound of steel making contact rang out
and fresh blood shot into the air. Pattering against the ground like a driving rain,
the blood actually sprayed from the left arm of the Black Knight.

Forgetting to even stagger, he stood dumbstruck, looking at D.

Still down on one knee, the Vampire Hunter had a black scabbard in his left hand,
while a sword jutted from his right.

Strangely enough, the words that suddenly brought the curtain down on this deadly
performance came from a third person.

“Like it?” asked the stout man who’d appeared from behind a rock.

“I do,” D replied.

Even though the Black Knight recognized the man at a glance as the village blacksmith,
he never would’ve imagined that Blasko used these ruins for his purification rites.

“As promised, I got it done overnight. I had intended to be home by noon, but as I
was hurrying back, I happened to see you. I sure am glad I was worried enough to come
out here and find you.”

From what the smith said, he must’ve been one of the figures who’d hidden by the side
of the road as the Hunter was on his way here.

“I, the famed Blasko, have never had as much confidence in anything I’ve ever crafted.
It could cut through a thousand suits of their armor like it was nothing. Well, go
ahead and finish him off now!”

Hearing the smith’s exuberant cry behind him, D got to his feet.

Though blood poured from the stump of the Black Knight’s arm like a waterfall, he
still stood there proudly.

“Do it,” the knight said. There was strength in his voice.

“I need you to do me a favor,” said D. “I’m heading back to the village now, and after
that I’ll go up to the castle. Tell the princess to make whatever arrangements are
necessary.”

Not waiting for a reply, he turned his back to the Black Knight and walked off to
where he’d tethered his horse. Looking at the blacksmith, he asked, “You coming with
me?”

“You bet. You think I’d hang around out here with a creepy character like him?” the
blacksmith replied, running over to where he’d secured his own horse behind the rocks.

As soon as D was astride his mount, a voice from his left hand remarked, “A message
for the princess, eh? That’s a nice little loophole you thought of.”

But D paid no attention, and the smith following him didn’t even notice anything had
been said.

—

The sun set.

In Mama Kipsch’s parlor, Elena was desperately trying to get a grip on herself. Not
on her fear—that had faded with the arrival of the vast blueness of twilight. What
she was fighting was the surpassing joy and rapture building within her; her pleasure
at discovering how brilliant the night was.

After the mark of the rose had been left on her breast, she’d naturally felt a great
mental shock, but physically she’d also fallen into a terrible languor, and her body
temperature was dropping by the minute. Elena had been afraid that was what it felt
like to become one of the Nobility. Now the village had surrendered itself to the
mastery of the darkness, and her terror had vanished.

How sweet the night was. The sound of the faint breeze seemed to sweep across the
heavens, the scent of the darkness was fragrant, and the moon and twinkling stars
that lit the night she’d so often prayed would pass quickly were so beautiful they
made her tremble. More than anything, there was the vitality that flooded every inch
of her being. But it was Elena’s human sense of reason that resisted this. The same
blood as the Nobility was coursing through her veins.

This isn’t good
, she thought.

And in this manner, Elena’s solitary battle began at dusk.

A short time earlier, Mama Kipsch had gone out to see to an urgent patient on the
edge of the village. The first thing Elena did was lock all the doors and windows
in the house, and then she went and found two items in the back room—a massive crossbow
and some rope. Heading back to the parlor, she moved a low cabinet in front of the
door, secured the crossbow to the top of it with some of the rope, and then used the
rest of it to tie herself to a chair. Obviously she took great care as she did this.
Once she’d fastened the rope to the crossbow’s trigger, she placed heavy urns and
books around the weapon and set it so that if she were to pull on both arms, the crossbow
would put a quarrel right through her heart. Knotting the rope around her wrists with
her teeth, Elena then felt more at ease.

Before leaving, Mama Kipsch had told the girl she’d be home before midnight. All she
had to do was hold out until then against the sweet temptation.

And it was just after sunset that she learned exactly how sweet that could be. What
a feeling of supreme bliss! How light she felt, in both body and soul! Of all the
people sleeping there beyond her window, had any of them ever felt such rapture?

Those stupid little—
, Elena thought before suddenly growing horrified. Was that how a Noble’s mind worked?

And there was one more thing she felt. The second Elena realized what that urge was,
she decided she had to die. There was no hesitation as she pulled back with her hands.
And with her pull came the sound of the springs letting loose. The string groaned
out a
thrum!
The bolt whistled through the air, and its tip sank into her chest on impact.

Elena opened her eyes a crack. The bolt was buried deep in her. Apparently it’d hit
a bit below the heart instead. It seemed her aim was off when she’d first set it.

Oh, if only D or Mama Kipsch was here
, she thought.

Bringing the knot that bound her hands up to her mouth, the girl then realized there
was a much easier way to do this. As she let the strength surge into her wrists, the
ropes burst free. After that, she had only to put some strength into the rest of her
body. The door to the parlor opened easily. One swipe of her hand was enough to send
the cabinet and other furniture sailing clear to the other side of the room.

The second Elena stepped out the front door, a pleasurable sensation she couldn’t
recall ever before experiencing seeped into the marrow of her bones, making her squat
down right then and there.

“What’s wrong?” someone asked her, although she couldn’t tell when he’d put his hand
on her shoulder.

“Just go. It’s nothing,” the girl replied.

“Well, I’ll be! Is that you, Elena?” the man spat. He was none other than Gary, the
guard from the tent. “Well, we don’t have any obligation to help the embarrassment
of the whole village. You can lie there in pain for all we care!”

The other man on patrol with him guffawed and then Gary started to walk away.

Something wet flew right by Elena’s face. Spit.

Elena smiled.

What fools! How dare they mock me now. I’ll have to punish them.