Mercenary Road by Hideyuki Kikuchi

rapture.
    “Damned if you aren’t . . . one hell of a stud. Okay . . . I’ll tell you . . . Your looks earn you that much . . . I warrant. They’re headed . . . for Dorleac’s castle . . . Gonna use . . . the weapons there . . . and machines . . . if any pursuers . . .”
    The man’s voice suddenly died out. Still, he struggled desperately to keep his eyelids open.
    “I’m . . . Scuda. Before I go . . . could you give me . . . your name . . . ?”
    “D.”
    And saying that, he nailed the murderer’s throat to the floor with his blade.
    “He had that coming to him. He could hide, but he couldn’t do anything to disguise his fear or killing lust. We saw that he was blending in with the floor ages ago,” said the hoarse voice.
    Sheathing his blade, D raised his left hand. He gazed at his palm. A bizarre face appeared.
    “You’d better hurry after ’em . . . At least, that’s what I’d normally tell you, but up ahead it’s swarming with supernatural soldiers. See? You can feel the unearthly air gusting off ’em! Luckily, if the legends are correct, they’ll only be covering the highway and its immediate vicinity. Towns and farms far from it should be safe, but if we collect those four robbers—I guess that’d be three now—and rescue any survivors there may or may not be, getting ’em back alive is gonna be tougher than tough. On your own, you’d probably manage something, but you’ll have all of them for baggage. It’ll be easier for you if there aren’t any survivors. Kill the other three robbers and the grand duke, and that’ll be the end of it. Oof!”
    Squeezing his left hand tight, D stepped outside. He believed that after massacring this family, the three outlaws had galloped off toward the highway that was crawling with supernatural soldiers. The question was: Would they live long enough to make it to the ruins—the castle of the vampire Dorleac? On the off chance that they did, they would undoubtedly find something waiting there that was more fearsome than death.
    Whatever D’s fate, he would accept it without complaint.
    Once he’d mounted his cyborg horse, something white flowed out in front of him. Fog.
    “Here they come, at last. Watch yourself,” the hoarse voice advised.
    D broke into a gallop. Fog and air brushed his skin, tearing apart and sailing away.
    It was through his ultrakeen senses that D realized something was flying at him from up ahead. The longsword glided from his back to meet it. Even in the fog, the silvery streak streamed out—and whatever it hit was struck down with a beautiful ringing sound.
    Looking down at what lay on the ground, the hoarse voice muttered, “Blow darts?”
    The weapons had conical bodies tipped with needles about eight inches long. Unlike arrows, they didn’t make a sound, meaning they were fearsome weapons of assassination at close range, but D knew that those who’d launched these were far off in the distance.
    What about the second volley?
    The heels of the Hunter’s boots struck the barrel of his horse, and rider and steed sailed through the air as if they were one. They were so beautiful, even the fog seemed to laud them. The instant they touched back down they broke into a full gallop. All of the blow darts aimed at the cyborg horse had passed right under it.
    “If they take out your horse, we’ll be in a world of hurt. Seems the darts used by the mercenaries holding down the Florence Highway are coated with poison. Get off the road!”
    Even before the voice told him this, D was tugging the reins to the left. Batting down three batches of blow darts, he got his steed running at a diagonal once they were down onto the plain. However, the fog showed no sign of clearing, leaving his field of view an endless expanse of white. D had nothing to rely on but his instincts. For perhaps thirty minutes he rode parallel to the road.
    The fog unexpectedly cleared.
    D narrowed his eyes.
    “I’ll be damned!” the hoarse voice exclaimed.