Record of the Blood Battle by Hideyuki Kikuchi Page B

raised into the air and set down in front of the saddle, and the figure in black running alongside him rose like a wraith.
    —
    A spot of prismatic light formed in one part of the valley and swiftly spread out like ripples on the water, filling the entire valley floor, melting stone, metal, and all other matter down to an atomic level after the horse and its strange riders had reached a safe distance. From a bluff to the west of the valley, the pair watched the multicolored dome of light tingeing the darkness. Already fading, the light was swallowed by the darkness before any thought could be given to its ephemeral nature.
    “How long do you think it took me to collect the treasures I had stored there?” the baron grumbled. Both of them had gotten down from the horse. “Three centuries, I tell you. Three hundred years! With our technology, synthesizing gemstones was child’s play, but everything in there was the genuine article. Oh, what a waste!”
    “What you’ve got there should be plenty. Better hope they deflect all the stakes and arrows headed your way,” the hoarse voice told him, and then the Hunter headed back over to the cyborg steed.
    “Wait! Not so fast!” the baron called to him.
    D knew what he wanted. The reason he halted was because compared to last time, the Nobleman sounded much more confident—even brimming with arrogance. The Hunter’s keen eyes made out the bald baron grinning in the darkness.
    “I’ve been curious about something from the first time I saw you. You have those good looks, and they call you D. So I’m wondering, did anyone ever tell you about me?”
    D’s silence was his reply.
    The baron’s smile grew broader. It also took on an evil shape, as if it’d extracted darkness from the night. “Is that so? It would seem he didn’t tell you anything about me.” Chuckling, he added, “He’s a cautious man—for someone called the Sacred Ancestor .”
    The next instant, there was a cry that was difficult to describe—a cry of despair, or a death rattle, or perhaps both—and the rotund figure leapt back. No, he didn’t leap; he was sent flying. Knocked back by a blow from a killing lust with all the substance of a solid object. Thrown all the way to the edge of the bluff, he fortunately halted just as he was about to fall off.
    “Wh—what in the—” he sputtered, every inch of him quivering as badly as his voice. For some reason, there was steam rising from his bald pate.
    “I don’t know what you might’ve heard, but since you’ve mentioned the Sacred Ancestor, I take it you’re ready to meet your maker,” D said, his voice the same wintry night as always. No, it was different. He was like someone else entirely.
    “No, I’m not! Not at all!”
    Perhaps sensing something from D as he merely stood there, the baron desperately struggled to get back to his feet and walk away—but it was clear he was so cowed that every attempt ended with him falling over again and crying out in pain. Still, he managed to tell D, “I see what the situation is. But if you do anything to me, you’ll regret it later. D, I’m the only Noble who knows even more about you than the Sacred Ancestor.”
    Those words were even more daunting than D’s murderous intent. Who would’ve thought he’d hear such a thing from this Nobleman, of all people, in this, of all places? It was completely unexpected, as if a mole had just explained the mysteries of the cosmos.
    D took a determined step forward. The chubby baron bounded back. It was rather a nice leap, considering the golden armor he wore, although he couldn’t help raining diamond necklaces and gold bracelets on the ground as he landed.
    “W-will you take me with you? If so, I’ll tell you everything I know—ahhhh?”
    His cry echoed from the opposite side of the hill. He’d landed, apparently surprised to find himself hitting a sloping path instead of the level ground he’d expected.
    “He’s a wolf in sheep’s clothing,”