Record of the Blood Battle by Hideyuki Kikuchi Page B

and the man riding close at his right flank dug an elbow into him. “How long do you people hold a stupid grudge? Help! Save me! They’ll kill me!”
    The cries of “Watch your mouth!” and “Damned Noble!” faded into the distance with the whinnying of their horses.
    Once all sight of them and the echo of their iron-shod hooves was lost behind the castle walls, the hoarse voice inquired, “You’re fine with that?”
    Saying nothing, D got back in the saddle and wheeled his steed around.
    “Ah, I see. They can’t very well complain if you follow along behind them, eh? So, we take it nice and slow and tail ’em?”
    At that instant, all four hooves tore into the ground.
    “Wow—what’s wrong?” The voice of surprise quickly faded.
    From the same direction the patrol had gone, gunfire now echoed.
    “Bandits? This should be interesting. I wonder how they’ll handle that bald little Noble this time.”
    As the hoarse voice was still cackling, a figure came into view up ahead. The Hunter was on a part of the highway hemmed by rocky mounds on either side. The sounds of gunfire had already died out.
    “Halt!” one of the men on the road said, training a repeating rifle on the Hunter. Though he wore a harsh expression, no killing lust emanated from him.
    “Hey, they’ve got on the same uniforms as those guys we just saw,” the hoarse voice whispered.
    Lowering his gun, the man said, “We’re a patrol from the Capital. We encountered a group of bandits who were impersonating us to make off with an important figure, and then eliminated them. I’m sorry, but you’ll have to make a detour.”
    The sight that spread before the Hunter’s eyes suggested that a detour might be the best idea. Horses and riders lay on the ground, some covered in blood, some burnt, a number of the beasts still twitching. The legs that kicked vainly at the heavens were nothing short of an attempt to push away the approaching reaper.
    —
    II
    —
    “Hey, D!”
    An egg-shaped figure was halfway up the rocky hillside to the left, waving his arm. It was the baron, but because a six-and-a-half-foot-tall giant of a man had him by the hand, he looked more like a chubby child. Several uniformed figures stood on the rocky hills to either side of the road with firearms in hand, looking down at the Hunter.
    The heavily bearded giant came down to the highway with the baron, then went over to D. “I’m Captain Smith, head of this patrol,” he said, touching his hand to the brim of his hat in greeting. He had an affable smile, and the baron was looking up at him amiably. “From what the baron just told me, it seems their leader was using the same name, eh?”
    D maintained his silence.
    Smith looked away.
    “You used explosives to kill them all?” asked D. True to his nature, the young man said nothing about the brutality or cruelty of the action.
    “They resisted arrest. Fortunately, we were able to take this Noble into custody without injury.” The new Smith showed them pearly teeth. Black cylinders hung from the belt around his waist. Hand grenades. “We’ll take charge of him and escort him back to the Capital. Okay, on your way, now.”
    “I’ll bring him there,” D said softly.
    Smith’s mouth dropped open. Eyes narrowing to bug-like specks, he asked, “What the hell’s that supposed to mean?” His manner of speech had changed completely.
    The lawman raised his right hand. It was unclear whether or not D knew that the men on the slopes brought their guns to bear in unison, but the Hunter said, “A patrol’s duties don’t include transporting Nobles. It’s quite a distance to the Capital. Do you intend to abandon your mission so you can go there?”
    “Why, that’s . . .”
    . . .  None of your damn business , Smith thought, but he swallowed the rest of those words. This young fella—he’s got such a look in his eyes. You can see all the fires of hell in them! The only things that beautiful are angels, or else . .