Chapter 75

Chapter 75: Chapter 75

It would be a lie to say they were not trembling as they entered an abyss untouched by even a single ray of sunlight.

But was that trembling born of fear? Or anticipation? And if it was anticipation, what were they anticipating?

Unlike usual, Rickart did not carry his sword over one shoulder. He held it in one hand as he followed Lemania, ready to draw it at any moment.

Deep inside the Garden of Roses performance hall was a passage connected to the catacombs. Honestly, Rickart had expected as much.

Rickart and Ice followed Lemania through the dark passage leading into the catacombs. The sharp click-clack of Lemania’s shoes echoed through the ever-deepening darkness.

The darkness grew endlessly thicker as they proceeded. By the time they reached a descending staircase, Rickart could no longer see his own hand.

When Rickart and Ice were completely swallowed by the darkness and stopped walking, bestial eyes suddenly gleamed around them. Unlike those of ordinary animals, however, they were not green but red.

Dozens of pairs of red eyes shone from high and low, near and far. It was a horrifying sight that would have made an ordinary person faint.

Rickart was not afraid, merely concerned. His senses remained keenly honed even in the darkness, but dealing with so many enemies would be troublesome.

Would they stand a chance if they fought with their backs against a wall? It would be dangerous to leave this narrow passage. Such thoughts raced through his mind.

Perhaps Lemania smelled their unease, for she snapped her fingers. The torches mounted on the walls burst alight one after another.

The revealed chamber was vast and had a high ceiling. Its walls were riddled with openings like a honeycomb, and a coffin rested within each one.

Some vampires had entered their coffins to sleep now that morning had arrived, but others were still awake.

Several had their mouths smeared with crimson blood, while in one corner lay the mutilated corpse of someone who had been tortured to death, rendered completely unrecognizable.

The distinctive chill of the underground chamber enveloped Rickart and Ice. It was not exactly cold, but carried a chill that seemed to seep into their hearts.

Rickart confidently surveyed the vampires. Something was strange. Their eyes were far too empty and lifeless.

They showed no hostility toward the humans, nor even the slightest curiosity or desire to devour them. Yet during the performance, they had laughed so merrily and delighted in deceiving humans.

"They’re empty shells. They merely imitate pleasure."

Lemania spoke as she headed toward the passage leading deeper into the catacombs. She openly disparaged the other vampires, utterly indifferent to whether they heard her.

As Rickart looked at the seemingly hollow vampires, he felt as though he were witnessing their true faces.

Obtaining appetizing prey would have been easy for them if they wished. Moreover, they had mastered every conceivable form of perverse pleasure.

Yet emptiness was all that awaited them in the end.

Eventually, they would degenerate into ghouls—creatures that lost their intelligence and were driven by endless hunger.

Ironically, Leman, who had chosen a long death through starvation, had attained a higher form of intellect, while those who pursued pleasure were ultimately left with nothing.

For creatures like them to tell humans to live in pursuit of their desires sounded like the words of someone drowning and determined to drag others down with them. The vampires had deceived even themselves.

Once they entered the catacombs proper, the walls were completely covered in human skulls. The sheer number of deaths contained within the place was overwhelming.

At a fork in the passage stood a massive pillar, likewise covered from top to bottom in piled skulls.

Lemania passed it and led Rickart and Ice ever deeper into the abyss.

Along the way, they encountered vampires in the process of degenerating into ghouls. Later, they even saw hunched ghouls wandering through the catacombs.

The creatures glared at Rickart and Ice with maddened eyes, but they were cowed by Lemania and did not dare attack.

They continued following from a fixed distance, however. Eventually, enough of them gathered to fill the passage completely, blocking the way back.

Fortunately, after they continued walking, they reached a junction where the passage split in two. A boy sat at the intersection. Melted candles surrounded him, and dozens of flames flickered around him.

The thin boy sat cross-legged with his upper body bare. His arms hung limply at his sides, while his bowed head tilted slightly to one side. Judging from his condition, he appeared to be unconscious. Rickart wondered whether he might simply be asleep.

The instant Rickart saw the boy, however, he forgot every other danger and concern and stared at him in bewilderment.

He could sense an indescribably sacred presence emanating from him.

"My father, my lover, my son, my god—Armant."

Lemania spoke.

Then she knelt and bent forward, kissing the fingertips of the listless boy with an air of absolute reverence.

Ice was equally bewildered. He had expected Armant to be some colossal monster, or at least someone resembling Leman. Instead, all he saw was a frail boy who looked close to death.

Ice’s heart pounded especially hard when he saw Armant. The boy reminded him of his dead younger brother. They did not resemble each other, yet their images seemed to overlap.

"Are you all right?"

Rickart asked as he grasped Ice, whose breathing was growing increasingly ragged. Ice barely managed to nod.

"Y-Yeah..."

Rickart signaled with his eyes that they should take the left passage if anything went wrong. At that moment, Lemania, practically prostrate beside Armant as she gazed up at him, spoke.

"The blood."

Rickart looked behind him. The passage was packed with a teeming horde of ghouls. One wrong move, and they seemed ready to swarm over them. Ahead stood Armant and Lemania.

Even so, a promise was a promise.

Prepared to draw his sword at the first sign of trouble, Rickart took out a dagger, rolled up his left sleeve, and cut his forearm.

Blood immediately welled from the wound and dripped to the floor. The ghouls behind him began to grow restless.

A scent of blood that humans could scarcely detect but wicked creatures could unmistakably sense spread through the chamber.

Lemania gazed desperately up at the bowed Armant.

Please. Please open your eyes.

But even after smelling the purest blood, Armant remained motionless, his head still hanging low.

Had they won the wager, then?

Lemania had said that if Armant showed no reaction, they could kill or spare him as they pleased.

If they killed him, their assignment would be complete.

But at that moment, a single tear rolled down Armant’s cheek.

Lemania’s eyes widened as she gazed up at him from the floor. It was the first reaction he had shown in the decades since she abducted him.

Armant’s mouth slowly opened.

His voice was like the ringing of a glass bell, or perhaps a single drop of water falling into a tranquil pond.

"It wasn’t your fault, Ice."

Was this what it would be like to hear the voice of God?

The words themselves seemed imbued with sacred power.

Ice was so shocked that his breath nearly stopped, while Rickart’s eyes widened.

What was going on?

Armant slowly opened his eyes and raised his head to look at Ice. They were not the bloodred eyes characteristic of vampires, but clear, pristine turquoise.

He rose, approached Ice, and grasped his arm with a delicate hand.

"Let’s go. It’s dangerous here."

Then, without further explanation, he pulled Ice by the hand and headed down the right-hand passage.

Rickart stood bewildered, unable to understand what was happening. Lemania appeared just as flustered.

"Father!"

Lemania cried out.

Armant turned back while leading Ice away.

"You have no chances left, Lemania. You will die here."

Rickart did not know what he meant, but the words seemed like a bolt from the blue to Lemania. She froze where she knelt.

Deciding there was no point trying to understand, Rickart followed Armant and Ice.

He glanced back as he ran. Lemania continued staring after them with a devastated expression.

Rickart instinctively felt that something had gone terribly wrong, so he drew his sword first.

"Hey, do you know the way out?"

Rickart asked Armant.

"Yes. If it’s still the same as before."

"And when was ’before’?"

"Hmm... Perhaps six hundred years ago? I’m not sure. I’ve lost my sense of time."

Rickart felt that trusting this boy to guide them might be a terrible idea, but he did not know the way either.

Ice, meanwhile, appeared to be completely dazed. Armant’s voice had shaken the deeply rooted guilt within him.

"Snap out of it, Ice. Wake up. Get a hold of yourself."

Rickart seized Ice by the shoulders and shook him violently.

"H-Huh?"

"Snap out of it. I think something has gone wrong. Let’s focus on getting out. The sun is up outside, so we’ll be safe once we escape."

"Ricky is right. Let’s leave first."

Armant spoke.

Rickart tilted his head.

"How do you know my name?"

"I saw it in a dream."

"Do you have prophetic dreams or something?"

"Yes."

Armant answered as though it were nothing unusual.

It seemed that those who lived for a long time while preserving their sanity eventually acquired special abilities. The only problem was that doing so apparently required starving for six hundred years.

"But I sometimes get confused about whether they show the past or the future. One thing is certain, however. Ricky, you will eventually have to confront your past self. Only then can you move forward."

"..."

"You’ll face him. Don’t worry too much. Pain nourishes the growth of the soul. You can do it. No, that isn’t right. You’ve already done it. What will happen is going to happen, so it is the same as if it has already happened. The future and the past are one and the same."

What in the world was he talking about?

At this point, even Rickart was too dumbfounded to respond.

But whether Armant’s prophecy was right or wrong, listening to his voice truly made Rickart feel as though he were being drawn into a trance.

Yet it was the complete opposite of anything wicked. It was closer to something divine, as though it infused the listener with the strength to strive toward hope.

That was when it happened.

A ghoul suddenly lunged at them from directly ahead, its jaws stretched wide. Rickart reacted instinctively and thrust his sword straight into its mouth.

"Kraaaagh!"

He kicked the creature away and pulled his sword free. Blood coated the blade in a long streak.

As he hurriedly wiped it on his clothes, he heard a clamorous uproar behind them. The horde of ghouls that had followed them earlier appeared to be giving chase.

"Hey, can’t you use magic or something? This is starting to look bad."

"Sorry. I’m too weak from starvation."

He might have possessed prophetic abilities, but he seemed to have lost the formidable strength of a vampire.

"Want to drink some of my blood?"

Without the slightest hesitation, Rickart held out the forearm he had cut earlier.

Even Armant seemed taken aback by Rickart’s reckless offer. He gave a hollow laugh and shook his head.

After starving for centuries, being told to drink blood now was far too late.

The sound of pursuit continued behind them. Without warning, Rickart swung his sword at the skulls and bones stacked along the walls, sending them crashing into the passage. He was hurriedly creating an obstacle.

"They’ll follow the sound of my footsteps, so go on ahead."

Rickart spoke. Ice hesitated, but Armant pulled him by the arm.

"Don’t worry. Ricky will live much longer than you."

Rickart continued swinging his sword, building a barricade of bones. The ghouls’ grotesque cries and pounding footsteps drew steadily closer.

Then the ghouls suddenly descended upon him. Like rabid dogs, they opened their jaws wide and tried to bite anything within reach.

Rickart calmly retreated while swinging his sword, severing and splitting their heads. If even one of his strikes missed, it would create a small opening, and he would be swept away and killed like a man caught in a surging tide.

But his sword never missed.

Moreover, the ghouls tripped over the skeletal barricade and one another, clogging the passage. Their assault quickly subsided.

In moments, the ghouls and their corpses were piled nearly to the ceiling. Seizing the opportunity, Rickart turned and ran, following the distant footsteps of Ice and Armant.

Then the torches illuminating the catacombs abruptly went out.

Darkness swallowed Rickart in an instant.

No matter how keen Rickart’s senses were, he could not detect inanimate objects. He advanced with one hand against the wall, but Ice and Armant were moving away faster than he could follow.

Rickart felt increasingly isolated. He was not afraid, but he could not prevent his heart from racing or his breathing from growing ragged.

That was when it happened.

"Since things have come to this, I suppose I’ll drink your blood instead."

It was Lemania’s voice.

She attacked him from the front. Despite being unable to see anything, Rickart ducked and precisely evaded the attack before countering.

Their attacks crossed almost simultaneously. Lemania had not expected Rickart to counterattack and retreated in surprise.

Rickart stared into the pitch-black darkness, every nerve sharpened.

Lemania, who could see him from within the darkness, tilted her head.

He clearly couldn’t see her.

As a test, she attacked Rickart again with inhuman movements. She sprang upward, flipping her body until her feet touched the ceiling, and tried to slash open Rickart’s throat with her nails.

But the instant Lemania moved, Rickart’s eyes tracked her precisely.

What?

Clang!

Lemania was no ordinary vampire. She instinctively blocked Rickart’s counterattack with her nails.

The blade had nearly severed her neck, leaving her bewildered by what had happened.

She moved well away from him and looked at him again. His vision was undeniably obstructed. His eyes were completely unfocused as he stared into the darkness.

Lemania could not understand it.

"Of course. My brother wouldn’t have sent just anyone."

Lemania then invoked her power and summoned the ghouls. Rickart heard the sound of their frenzied charge rushing toward him.

Startled, he hurriedly fled. But since he could see nothing, his pace was inevitably slow.

Meanwhile, Lemania kept harassing him. She did not attack in earnest, merely struck at him to hinder his escape.

"Where are you going, little boy? Come to your big sister!"

She laughed loudly as she shouted.

Rickart counterattacked by following the sound of her voice, but between fleeing and defending himself, he was too overwhelmed to avoid everything. Wounds multiplied across his arms and legs. Protecting his vital points was all he could manage.

"Oh, goodness! You look so delicious!"

Lemania continued shouting as though teasing him.

Abandoned by her father, she seemed to have lost her mind and decided that she might as well enjoy herself now that things had come to this.

Rickart’s composure was gradually beginning to crumble.

Then Armant’s shout echoed from somewhere within the catacombs.

"Ricky! Drink the holy oil!"

Rickart pulled Illiya’s holy oil from inside his clothes. Drinking something like this hardly seemed capable of resolving the situation, but he had no other options. He removed the stopper and swallowed it.

Thick oil filled his mouth. The rich scent of olives spread across his tongue, and the oil slid smoothly down his throat.

But it was merely greasy. Nothing changed.

Of course not... This sort of thing is nothing but superstition...

Just as he thought that, he suddenly felt something like a wind blowing inside his body.

The wind filled him in an instant.

From the top of his head to the tips of his toes, it raged wildly and without rhythm through his heart, liver, lungs, blood vessels, muscles—through every part of him.

It was something on an entirely different level from Mana Drive.

Yet it also felt vaguely familiar. Or perhaps it did not. The sensation seemed both familiar and foreign, but it was not unpleasant.

Was it a longing for the innocent days of childhood? Nostalgia for his homeland?

Had Vesprim returned home safely?

What had happened to his brothers on the battlefield?

And Kaldevert?

These unexpected questions sprang into his mind. His previous life and his present one became entangled until he could no longer distinguish between them.

Which one was real?

At that moment, the wind raging within him transformed into a fierce fire.

For one brief instant, Rickart felt the agony of his brain burning away.

Then he immediately lost consciousness.

Rickart stood motionless with one hand against the wall and his head bowed. Lemania mocked him.

"What are you doing? Have you given up?"

Then it happened.

Rickart raised his bowed head, and golden flames blazed within both his eyes.

A sudden sense of wrongness swept over Lemania.

No—it was far more than mere unease.

It was an unmistakable fear of death.

At that moment, the ghouls that had been charging furiously crashed over Rickart. They hurled themselves at him like a wave, leaving him no opportunity to dodge.

For one brief moment, Lemania felt relieved.

It’s over.

But then a sword engulfed in holy flames burst from the mass and swept through the ghouls in a single stroke.

Slaaash!

A torrent of blood poured down like rain, while chunks of flesh struck the ground with wet splatters.

Covered from head to toe in blood, Rickart’s burning eyes shone brightly.

Unlike before, his gaze pierced the darkness and fixed precisely upon Lemania.

Golden flames roared along his blade.

Lemania fell speechless, her body frozen.

He wasn’t human?

Then what in the world was he?

"How dare you stand before me?"

A voice filled with immeasurable hatred and fury flowed from Rickart’s mouth.

Lemania felt as though her heart, dead for ages, had begun pounding rapidly.

Rickart no longer needed to react to his opponent’s movements or turn her strength against her.

He could simply—

Simply cut through everything.

Lemania launched herself away at tremendous speed, attempting to flee the scene.

But the burning sword pierced her voluptuous body from behind.

Then it sliced upward in a single stroke.

Lemania’s body split in half. She died without even managing to scream.

Reduced to nothing more than hunks of rotten flesh, she collapsed onto the floor of the ancient underground cemetery with a wet thud.

Rickart silently looked down at Lemania’s corpse.

The instant he wondered what had just happened, Ice’s distant voice pierced his ears.

"Ricky!"

Ice’s voice passed through his ears and struck his mind.

Rickart’s consciousness abruptly returned to normal. At the same moment, the golden flames burning within his eyes and along his blade vanished.

Rickart stood alone, bewildered. Then he remembered that he had been fleeing and immediately launched himself toward the voice.

Before long, he found Ice and Armant surrounded by ghouls. Iron bars blocked the way behind them.

Unlike six hundred years ago, the exit had been sealed.

Ice was fighting desperately to protect Armant. Rickart cut down the ghouls from behind and rejoined them.

"Did you drink the holy oil?!"

Armant demanded without preamble.

"I think I did, but I don’t remember."

"Good. Then open this."

Armant pointed toward the iron bars.

What was he talking about? Shouldn’t they break through the ghouls and search for another exit?

"Hurry!"

Armant urged him.

Without realizing what he was doing, Rickart dropped his sword and seized the iron bars.

He gritted his teeth and pulled with all his strength.

Then the bars suddenly bent like sticks of taffy.

Even Rickart’s eyes widened in surprise.

Why were they bending?

Was the iron weak?

Armant seized Ice by his clothes and pulled him through the opening. Rickart hurriedly followed, with the ghouls pursuing them from behind.

Then a straight beam of sunlight suddenly poured down.

The ghouls could follow no farther.

Armant, however, took Ice by the hand and threw himself into the light.

They emerged on the coast outside Haklen. The refreshing sound of waves breaking against the shore filled the air.

Holding Ice’s hand, Armant ran across the sandy beach.

After they had run for some time, Armant’s skin began to burn, and smoke rose from his body.

Only then did the startled Ice remember that he was a vampire. He grabbed Armant to stop him.

Armant’s arm broke off limply, and he collapsed onto the soft sand.

"Ah, sunlight for the first time in a thousand years. I forgot. Hehehe."

Armant laughed as he lay on the beach.

Rickart, who had followed them, hurriedly removed his cloak and covered Armant’s body with it.

But it was not enough.

"I-I’m fine. This was destined to happen. No—it has already happened."

The midday sun continued burning his body.

Armant gradually turned into gray ash. There was nothing Rickart or Ice could do to save him.

"When you have prophetic dreams for long enough, people start to feel like old friends... even when they haven’t been born yet. Isn’t that foolish? Ice, your brother didn’t resent you... So you have to be happy. I really wanted to tell you that... Ah, aaah, ngh..."

The sunlight continued burning Armant without respite.

He closed his eyes and endured the pain, his body trembling like someone suffering from a severe fever.

"Ricky, you already..."

Armant tried to leave Rickart with a message as well.

But the sunlight completely consumed him.

The last remaining patch of his skin turned gray.

The mass of ash that had retained the form of a boy crumbled with a dry rustle.

Watching it collapse, Rickart and Ice felt their hearts sink.

The sea breeze swept through the ashes, and the returning waves carried them away.

On that beautiful beach, emotions beyond description enveloped Rickart and Ice.

They had come there to kill him.

They had known him for only a short while.

Then what was this profound sense of loss?

For the first time, Rickart resented the sun.

Ash scattered through the air.

Only the hollow sound of the waves remained.

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