Blood Shall Flow (2)
The pigeon did not even seem to consider landing on Karalin’s outstretched arm. It wheeled in dizzy circles through the sky before fainting and plummeting to the earth. Thud.
Could a mere pigeon truly understand fear? With brains no larger than peas, the heavens and the earth both knew such behavior was impossible for them. Everyone present looked stunned by the sight.
“We should examine it…”
“Hey, Cryan. Don’t get too close. There might be a bomb!”
“If that were the case, it would have detonated long ago, Jurchen.”
Cryan moved forward the fastest among them. He showed no fear of the pigeon whatsoever. He seized the fallen bird by the neck and studied it in silence.
“I’m not an expert on the spells cast upon messenger pigeons, but I can analyze them. If I do, I should be able to deduce why this occurred.”
True to his reputation as a rising star of the Central Magic Tower Administration, not a trace of agitation showed on his face. He reached into the right pocket at his waist. It contained a generous supply of magic-circle sand. Cryan scooped up a handful and began to draw, letting the grains slip through his fingers onto the ground.
“A resurrection ritual? Are you using black magic, Cryan?”
“No, Eclipse. While the creature is unconscious, I intend to interfere with its soul.”
“So what exactly can you do…?”
“Interfering with the soul should allow me to extract the magical formulas entwined around this messenger pigeon. Once I have those, I may be able to explain this bizarre reaction.”
“Aha. I see…”
He completed the magic circle with practiced ease, placed the pigeon atop it, and read the spells woven around the bird. A low whirr sounded as the surrounding mana gathered above the array. The circle reacted with Cryan’s unique power and blazed golden.
It did not take long. Cryan pushed back his hood and turned to the group. Karalin spoke first.
“Speak freely, Cryan. What has happened here?”
“As I said, I cannot intuitively grasp why it ended up like this. I merely analyzed what manner of magic had been placed upon the messenger pigeon.”
Yet he had clearly discovered something. He kept his tone calm and explained so that everyone could follow.
“Three spells were cast upon the pigeon: Memory Enhancement, Eloquence Improvement, and Utterance. Since a messenger pigeon’s purpose is to spread a professor’s will to an unspecified audience, the reason for layering these three spells is obvious.”
He stroked his beardless white chin with a gloved hand.
“Memory Enhancement to remember the message the professors wish to convey, Eloquence Improvement to describe that message with sufficient clarity, and finally Utterance to enable the bird to actually speak it.”
“Ugh…! I’m sorry, Cryan, I didn’t understand a single word!”
Well. The only one lost was Eclipse, so they could simply move on.
─That was what Cryan thought.
“At first I assumed the professors’ mana had gone berserk, but that was not the case. Given the circumstances, the most likely culprit is an intelligence-enhancing spell.”
“Huh…?”
He answered their puzzled reactions without hesitation.
“It’s simple. The elevated intelligence was not used solely to comprehend the text provided by the professor. Is it not possible that the creature also employed it to describe, in its own living way, ‘a being that instinctively senses danger’? Animals normally cannot speak, yet with Utterance they gained the ability to voice such instincts aloud. …What was originally a pigeon meant only to recite given text has instead begun to dramatize its own possible death. That is how I read the situation.”
The explanation he gave in such accessible terms was something Eclipse herself had seen and experienced before.
“Ah, now I understand! Animals usually have sharper instincts than people, right? They sense natural disasters like typhoons or earthquakes long before we do…”
“Kid. Pigeons are usually stupid. Even if they notice something, wouldn’t they just keep doing whatever pigeons do?”
“Then, Jurchen, it seems there is something even a pigeon would fear…”
“…This is turning into a full-blown ghost story!”
While the two fools traded opinions, only Karalin listened with grave attention, turning the matter over in her mind. A strange sense of déjà vu drifted through her thoughts. She felt as though she could uncover why events were unfolding this way. Yet the moment she tried to focus, her mind filled with hazy mist, rendering thought impossible.
It is the same feeling I had before Gorgo’s portrait…
Thus she could discern none of the truth. Yet one thing she felt with piercing clarity: danger.
“…I do not know what may happen.”
“What do you mean, my lady?”
“Everyone, look around. Eclipse, and you two men as well. If you notice anything even slightly out of the ordinary, report it at once.”
They did not have to search long. In fact, the discovery was almost immediate.
“Um… everyone?”
Living in the countryside had given Eclipse excellent eyesight. She called back the group that had begun to scatter. It seemed she had found something suspicious. When all eyes turned to her she appeared burdened, yet she spoke.
“We don’t have to go far…”
She calmly reported what she had seen.
“That tree down there. It’s dyed bright red though autumn hasn’t come. Doesn’t that seem strange? It looks… covered in blood and entrails…”
“…What?”
Without hesitation Karalin strode toward the tree Eclipse indicated. What she found was no tranquil woodland scene but a literal slaughter. As the girl had said, the trunk was heaped with viscera and scraps of flesh. Countless tiny iron shards were embedded deep within the wood. It was difficult to dismiss as the mere remains of a wild beast; animals did not usually die in such a spray of gore. Nor did that explain the repulsive iron fragments driven into the tree.
“Wow, shit. What the hell is this, my lady?”
Jurchen had sprinted after her long strides. Expressing his own shock was only natural.
“I don’t know either, Jurchen. This can only be the work of someone acting with clear malice…”
“Wow, seriously. This place is crawling with horror tropes. If someone vanishes now it’ll be a perfectly clichéd horror story.”
Karalin steadied herself.
“…You are right. Therefore, no matter what occurs, we must be ready to respond instantly. Prepare yourselves thoroughly, everyone.”
They all nodded at her command.
“Cryan, Cryan, Cryan…”
How long had it been since he felt this furious? For whatever reason, Vankite had begun acting recklessly, and now he found himself muttering the name of the precious half-sister he had wanted to keep before his eyes. He had tried to join Karalin’s team, yet from the very beginning that man’s presence had twisted everything. And who was that Jurchen fellow? An ill-mannered whelp daring to sneer at the one who would become the empire’s crown prince and emperor.
He should have investigated more carefully before any of this. He still did not know how that bastard Cryan had gained the freedom to behave so boldly. When reports arrived that a riot had broken out in Nonedon’s arena ship and that the vessel was preparing to change locations, he should have suspected that something had happened to Cryan, who maintained ties to Nonedon… Yet he had been so fixated on the desire to kill Yohan and witness Karalin’s ruin that he had overlooked matters demanding his attention.
Could some collusion have formed between Yohan and Cryan? Was that why Cryan had suddenly drawn close to Karalin’s side? Yohan was dead, after all.
…Such a thing was impossible, but still.
“Vankite, what’s wrong?”
“You don’t look well…”
“Vankite, if something bad has happened, you may rest awhile.”
In the end, having failed to join Karalin’s team, Vankite was forced to travel with the foolish, trusting idiots he had “pre-selected.”
…Ah. What were their names again?
They thought of him as a friend, but he did not return the sentiment. Their party followed the standardized pattern of knight, tanker, and priestess, so Vankite simply labeled them as such in his mind. Sensing his mood, they fawned over him, trying to lift his spirits. Yet the only part of them useful to his plan was their lives themselves. Since he already intended to spend them as blood payment, their words no longer sounded human.
Thus he answered with feigned nonchalance.
“…The messenger pigeon has not arrived?”
“Y-yeah! I don’t know what’s going on, but it still hasn’t come. So we don’t even know what to prepare, and it’s troubling…”
“…Hmm, I see. Then it cannot be helped. This is something I heard from professors I know: an attack on another group is planned for tomorrow.”
“Amazing! As expected of Vankite!”
Everyone’s faces brightened as they praised him. This was precisely what they had hoped for from Vankite—deep connections with professors that would grant them even the slightest edge over other students. Since Vankite had spoken, the information was true regardless of verification. They busied themselves pondering the optimal way to survive the coming assault.
“If it’s an attack, shouldn’t we hide our bodies as much as possible?”
“Yes. Finding a defensible position would be best.”
The moment those words left their lips, Vankite pointed at a nearby cave as though he had been waiting for the cue.
“…That cave over there. It would shelter us from rain and provide excellent concealment. If we’re choosing a base, that one looks ideal.”
“Ooh, good idea!”
“Let’s go see.”
Yet one of the three—the priestess—reacted with open disgust.
“Eek, Vankite… Isn’t that place too remote? If something happens, it would be difficult to receive help from the hunting-ground keepers…”
Tsk. Just go quietly when I tell you to.
Grab.
In truth, once they had followed him this far they possessed no decision-making power. Had they refused, he would have beaten them unconscious and dragged them along anyway. A little coercion was of no concern. Vankite seized the hand of the sole dissenter, the priestess, and strode toward the cave.
“Kyaa, kyaaak…! This is too sudden, let go…!”
“The rest of you, follow.”
Though the other two hybrids wore puzzled expressions, they followed all the same. The cave they entered was utterly lightless. The priestess remained terrified, and the armored tanker hesitated to proceed, yet the sole adventurous swordsman declared:
“Hehe, Vankite. I actually love places like this! It feels just like exploring the mountain behind the village when I was a kid. Great! We’ll make this our base! Follow me!”
He dashed ahead in high spirits. Seeing their near-leader behave so, the priestess and tanker reluctantly trailed after him.
But the swordsman did not know what threat awaited ahead.
Thump.
Before long he collided with something, and his face twisted in pain.
“Ugh, ugh… What? What’s there?”
When he raised his torch…
A chill ran down their spines.
“You have arrived.”
A figure with a face grotesquely wrapped in bandages and hideous crow-like wings flapping stood before them, imitating humanity.
“U-uwaaaaaagh!!!”
“Kyaaaaaaaagh!!!”
“W-wait!”
The instant they sensed the entity, every one of them was seized by the instinctive thought: If you stop moving, you will die. They sprinted toward the light outside the cave.
“V-Vankite! There’s something inside! We have to run!”
“……”
Yet Vankite, who had been waiting at a distance, said nothing. Thud.
“Urk!”
He simply kicked the swordsman—who had been first both entering and fleeing—sending him sprawling.
“Shall I close the door?”
Clang—!!!
Vankite unleashed the Karlank family’s signature solar ray, sealing the cave entrance. Earth cascaded down. Every trace of light vanished.
Rumble!
“V-Vankite?”
They called out to him, but Vankite ignored the three sacrificial lambs. No one in the world conversed with mere objects, after all. His feelings were no different.
“Butler, have you deployed all the area-sealing formations?”
“Because you selected an excellent cave at the heart of Karlandel, I have successfully enclosed the entire hunting ground. No student will be able to escape.”
“Then we need only perform the ritual to summon the Iron Giant. …What did it require again?”
Yagnus answered in a rasping, metallic, sinister voice that seemed to boil up from another world.
“Nothing complicated. Drive four silver nails into their limbs, bind them to a board, slit open their abdomens and leave them exposed, then continue inflicting pain just short of death.”
“What? You’re not killing them outright?”
“While the Iron Giant is present, they must not die. They have to remain alive, suffering continuously, so that the power does not weaken.”
“Then let’s finish the work quickly and leave together. No one will find them anyway. There isn’t even any light here, and I have no desire to sleep in this place.”
“…As you command.”
At that exchange the faces of the three who had followed Vankite, trusting only his image, hardened with terrifying speed. They realized at once what manner of person had deceived them.
Despair. Despair. Despair.
“S-save me! Save me, please!”
“What is this, Vankite? It’s a joke, right? Just a joke…?”
“U-uh… ehe…?”
Vankite paid them no mind. Even if his mood had soured and he had successfully joined Karalin’s team, the outcome for those already designated as sacrifices would have been the same.
He murmured, “Blame Cryan. You might have lived a few hours longer, but because of that bastard I am simply killing you sooner.”
It was heartless. Yet in this place there existed no one capable of opposing Vankite and subduing Yagnus.
“M-mom—!!!”
Inside the sealed cave, only hideous screams like the slaughter of beasts echoed without end.
Yet several hours later—
BOOOOM—!!!
With a violent impact that seemed to strike the very air, the collapsed cave Vankite had sealed shook violently and its ceiling shattered. From within the swirling cloud of dust emerged—
Grrrrrr.
“…Damn it. These bastards are actually insane.”
“It is an enormous cave. To think they set up camp in such a place. Had Senior not informed us, those friends… would have died without ever being discovered.”
Knights mounted on dragons appeared.
“U-uh—?”
And among them, the sole survivor who had stubbornly clung to consciousness—the priestess—instinctively realized what she saw.
They were the hunting-ground keepers. The keepers had come to rescue them.
“Aah… s-save…”
She stretched a hand toward them. As a priestess versed in both medicine and divine magic, she understood that a wound this severe—her abdomen laid open—could not be healed without a high-grade miracle. She knew it was incomprehensible that she had not yet died, yet her will to live burned stronger than anything else.
Of course, at that moment she did not know.
She did not know that the black-haired man before her was the very doctor who had once cut off his own arm and reattached it.