Chapter 33: To the Empire (4)
Chapter 33: To the Empire (4)
Feeling the grip of the hands holding his arm weaken, the man acting as the group's leader looked at Deon with pitiful eyes.
His strength was so weak it was embarrassing that they had even been tense. Was this man truly a 'hero'? Had all the rumors been nothing but false rumors?
He was inwardly disappointed, but still, finishing the job easier and faster than expected wasn't bad. No, objectively speaking, it was actually good.
"Goodbye, fake hero."
He raised the axe to strike down at the bastard's head when a commotion broke out on one side.
Loud voices could be heard from afar. The man hesitated and raised his head to find the source of the commotion.
"Found him! Looks a bit dangerous, doesn't it?"
"Ooh, as expected of His Majesty! To have foreseen this!"
"Captainnnnn! Are you unharmed?!"
"No, wait! Looks like the Captain's passed out!"
"At this rate, isn't he going to die?"
"What are you all doing! Save the Captain first!"
"Not Captain, you morons, he's the Count!"
A conversation that flowed like a stream of consciousness.
The man, momentarily frozen by a conversation that would knock the soul out of anyone listening, hurried to assess the situation.
Who were they? They were trying to rescue Deon Hart, so they weren't allies. What kind of lunatic group would call Deon Hart 'Captain'?
The answer came quickly.
"Stop them immediately! Even if we have to use bombs, we must stop them!"
The man shouted urgently.
It was the Murderer Knight Order! The vanguard unit Deon Hart had led during the Eight-Year War!
He was well aware of the famous story that that vanguard had been recognized for its achievements and elevated to a knight order. He also knew that they specialized in handling the Revolutionary Army among the Empire's security forces.
But why.
"How did they know to come here...!"
The plan had gone awry. Now that it had come to this, he had to kill Deon Hart and retreat quickly.
If they clashed head-on with them, they would be at a disadvantage.
The terrifying thing about the Murderer Knight Order wasn't their skill, but...
"Huh? Hey, they said bombs."
"Whoa, we have to spill blood against enemies who use bombs? This is going to be tough if we're sober."
"Can we take the drug?"
"Who's there to get permission from? The Captain's passed out over there, and Lady Rien—no, our commander isn't here either."
"Well, that's true, isn't it?"
One of them, after a playful chuckle, threw a drug into his mouth—having taken it out from somewhere unknown. Others also pulled out drugs from here and there and put them in their mouths.
Faintly, a voice said,
"What can you do? We have to survive."
In an instant, the atmosphere changed.
Their eyes grew murky and madness filled the space. The bloodshot whites of their eyes were especially chilling. Eerie smiles spread across their lips.
"Kill them all!"
"You know, right? Don't kill them cleanly!"
"Hahaha! Who cares! Just enjoy it!"
"You crazy bastard! Do it like you were taught, like you were taught! Cut off their limbs first!"
...Yes, the terrifying thing about them was their brutal ways. Their brutal ways, which closely resembled their master, were utterly merciless.
He had to kill Deon Hart quickly.
Thinking that, he raised the axe again, but at some point the grip that had lost its strength tightened.
If that had been all, he wouldn't have stopped, but...
Sting.
Because the bastard's nails were digging into his flesh.
When he looked down, above the white mask, the revealed red eyes were grinning broadly.
It was a chilling eye-smile different from before. A creepy feeling made him hasten to strike down with the axe, but suddenly a terrible pain shot through his arm.
"Aagh! You crazy son of a bitch!!"
With his nails sharpened, he gouged deep into the arm and tore it straight down.
It wasn't just skin scraped off; it was as if the flesh had been carved out with a burin, peeling away in a long strip.
So deep was it that the long strip of missing flesh left a hollowed-out gorge filled with blood.
Without thinking, he reflexively grabbed and hurled the bastard.
Regardless of whether he crashed into the carriage wall or not, the man let go of the axe and clutched his forearm in the onslaught of pain. Before he knew it, blood dripping from his arm was gathering at his fingertips and plopping down.
Deon was not one to miss that opening.
"Cough."
The white mask was stained red. Coughing up blood, he quickly lunged and grabbed the axe the man had dropped.
Without giving the bastard any chance to defend, he gripped the handle with both hands, lifted it, and brought it down on his head with his full weight.
Even though his neck had been squeezed white and Deon himself was weak, relying almost entirely on the weight of the axe to strike, how heavy was it that—
—one blow.
In a single blow, before he could even scream, the bastard's head was smashed.
Even so, Deon was not satisfied.
'...I can't stop here.'
He raised the axe again. His target was the already-shattered head.
'He's already dead. Do I need to do more?'
'No. I have to do more. I need to set an example so no one dares to challenge me. Because I'm weak.'
'But...'
His arm trembled violently. His red eyes, standing on the border between sanity and madness, wavered ceaselessly.
The gaze that repeatedly sharpened and dulled lasted only a moment; what pushed aside the hesitation lingering in his eyes and fully took its place was none other than turbid madness.
"Ah, Captain!"
"Captain...?"
Deon lifted the axe as if possessed. No, it would be more accurate to say he had gone mad.
Like someone who had lost their mind, he began to raise the axe and bring it down indiscriminately, as if splitting firewood.
Crunch. Thwack. Thwack. Splorch.
Chilling sounds rang out. Blood spattered, and the stench of blood hung in the air.
Even as attention gradually gathered and the surrounding noise subsided, his actions were relentless. Rather, he even curved his eyes into a smile as if to show off.
"Heh."
The axe was heavy. His arm trembled.
Still, he did not stop.
Not only to set an example, but because he knew how to steer this situation to his advantage.
He stopped only when the axe was so heavy he could no longer lift it.
He looked down and confirmed the tattered, man-sized lump of blood and flesh before him.
He let the hand holding the axe hang loosely, then kicked it out of the carriage with his foot.
Thud!
"..."
"..."
The corpse fell, and silence descended.
Regardless of friend or foe, everyone's gaze turned this way.
Feeling the eyes dart between the horrific something that no longer resembled its original form, his blood-soaked self, and the bloodstained axe in his hand, Deon gently closed his eyes.
Between his crescent-moon curved eyelids, his crimson pupils glistened.
"I suppose I've gotten soft from a peaceful life."
"What do you mean? You just came back from subjugating monsters not long ago..."
"Shh, quiet. Have you no tact?"
One knight order member who had been merrily slicing up Revolutionary Army soldiers was dragged away with his mouth covered by his comrade's hand.
It was truly a laughable sight, but no one dared to laugh.
Ah, there was one.
Deon laughed. His deliberately cheerful gaze turned to those who had shared life and death with him.
"It's been a while. Has His Majesty been treating you well?"
"Ah, don't even mention it. Kept telling us to earn our keep and worked us to the bone."
"Do you have any idea how hard it is to stop a Revolutionary Army soldier trying to blow himself up?"
A member grumbled as he sliced off the hand of a Revolutionary Army soldier who had stealthily pulled out a bomb.
Another member quickly snatched up the bomb rolling on the floor, secured it, and looked around, letting out a sigh-laden voice.
"Anyway, Captain, what in the world were you thinking, moving around with only these half-baked guys?"
"I moved right after returning, so I thought there'd be no attack. More importantly, how on earth did you know to come here?"
"His Majesty already knew everything. He ordered us to bring our master back safely."
"I'll have to thank His Majesty. That aside..."
Though his mouth spoke other words, his red eyes scanned the Murderer Knight Order members busily slitting Revolutionary Army throats, then turned towards the escorts.
The escorts, who had much to feel guilty about, flinched and averted their gazes.
Belatedly hurrying to finish off the Revolutionary Army, they could not stop the flood of regret.
"You'll know without me having to say it. To think these are the knights of the count's residence."
It was a humiliating remark, but they could not dare refute it.
Because they had indeed grown dull.
For a full half year — short if short, long if long — had it not been too peaceful? They couldn't spend all day just training. Consequently, they had grown indolent.
And so they had forgotten for a moment.
Just how many enemies Count Deon Hart had.
"No matter how out of it one is, a huge guy like this approaches me and no one notices? Can you call that an escort?"
"..."
"I'll have to change the escorts, for starters."
The escorts' faces turned pale.
Being kicked out of Count Hart's residence meant more than just losing a job.
If you were lucky, it could end without incident, but that was only if you were lucky. Most ended up dead.
It wasn't exactly that Count Hart did anything, but the problem was the Emperor.
He wouldn't leave those expelled from the count's residence alone...
They'd heard it was for security reasons, but from the perspective of a former employee who knew nothing, it was enough to make them go crazy.
"C-Count..."
Thus they pitifully called out to Deon, but unfortunately, the Deon Hart of now was different from the usual Deon Hart.
Not his moderate personality, but the aggressive demeanor of the vanguard commander they had only heard about in rumors.
Ignoring the pale-faced escorts, Deon crossed the silence-filled space and picked up a dagger that was rolling nearby.
He aimed the blade toward the enemies and said in a deliberately bright voice,
"What are you doing? There are still enemies left. We need to finish them off."
"..."
"Kill them quickly."
[Instill terror in the enemies.]
Blood dripped from his red-stained hair.
After roughly wiping away the acrid liquid trickling from his forehead down his eyelids, he let out a cheerful laugh and leaped among the enemies, dagger in hand.
***
Before the imperial palace, countless splendid carriages were lined up.
Normally, carriages like these were rare to see, but now they were so sick of seeing them that the gatekeeper's eyes, which had been scanning them without much interest, turned toward somewhere and abruptly grew enormous.
A carriage painted red—had someone tried a new style?
If the goal was to lead a trend, it was surely a failure. That looked just like blood, didn't...
'...A bloody smell?'
It was real blood?!
His colleague standing next to him also noticed it and hurriedly leveled a spear.
The gatekeeper, who had likewise leveled his spear, managed to speak with a trembling voice.
"Th-this-this is the imperial palace. If you don't have an invitation, you can't enter..."
"Move."
A man stepped forward, his presence having been buried by the red carriage unbeknownst to them.
...Was it camouflage? Why was he the same color as the carriage?
Now that he looked, there were plenty of other people as well. These unknown individuals, whether escorts or something, were all dyed red from head to toe and their eyes glowed fiercely.
"Do you know who is in this carriage?"
"Wh-who..."
"It's our Captain!"
"...?"
So, who is your Captain, then.
The gatekeeper's expression went blank.
He was too scared to ask again directly, yet he couldn't just let such a suspicious group through, so he only rolled his eyes anxiously when a voice of salvation was heard.
"Who's going to understand if you put it like that?"
"Ah."
Everyone's eyes turned toward the man who had gotten out of the doorless carriage, dressed in red attire with red hair and red eyes.
And the gatekeeper froze with his mouth agape.
'That man is the worst of all! Did he bathe in blood?!'
He absolutely couldn't let him in. Looking like that, no one could enter!
Even an officially recognized hero of the Empire would absolutely not be allowed in looking like that, unless His Majesty himself gave permission.
"It's Deon Hart."
...Deon Hart? That's a familiar name. Who was that?
Ah.
'The Vampire Count!'
Then that group with the fierce auras must be the infamous Murderer Knight Order.
Only belatedly did it occur to him that he was a hero of the Empire.
Because his exploits during the Eight-Year War had been so great, what came to mind when one thought of 'Deon Hart' was consistently negative things.
'The blood-crazed vanguard commander,' 'master of the Murderer Unit,' and after receiving the title of honorary count, even 'the Vampire Count.'
But now, seeing him, the vampire label seemed accurate.
The outside of the carriage was nothing. It was as if someone had been devoured inside; through the open space where the door should have been, the interior, filled with blood, was plainly visible.
On top of that, the Count himself was soaked in blood from head to toe!
'Sh-should I let him in?'
A hero whom His Majesty had personally given permission to visit at any time, in any state. It just had to be the very man before him, Honorary Count Deon Hart.
'But still, looking like this?'
And today of all days was the day of the banquet!
Just then, Deon Hart, having roughly swept up his blood-soaked hair, spoke in a slow voice.
"Where is His Majesty?"
Whether due to survival instinct, the answer burst out immediately.
"He is in the banquet hall."
"The banquet hall?"
Could he really not have known?
That brief doubt lasted only a moment; the gatekeeper, meeting the red eyes looking at him, answered in terror.
"Yes! A banquet celebrating the birth of a new hero and his successful debut..."
"...Ah."
"..."
The words stopped there.
Alarmed by the unsettling tone, the gatekeeper hastily shut his mouth.