Chapter 75
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 75
It would be a lie to say he wasn't trembling. Entering an abyss where not a single ray of sunlight could penetrate was a daunting prospect.
But was that trembling born of fear? Or was it anticipation? And if it was anticipation, what exactly was he expecting to find?
Instead of slinging his sword over his shoulder as he usually did, Rickert kept it gripped in one hand as he followed Remania. He needed to be ready to draw it at a moment's notice.
Deep inside the 'Garden of Roses' theater lay a passage connected directly to the Catacombs. Honestly, he had expected as much.
Rickert and Ice followed Remania down the dark, descending corridor. The sharp click-clack of her heels echoed ahead of them, ringing out sharply into the deepening gloom.
The further they went, the more absolute the darkness became. By the time they reached the descending stairs, it was so pitch-black that Rickert couldn't even see his own hand in front of his face.
Just as Rickert and Ice were swallowed by the oppressive dark and forced to a halt, a pair of beast-like eyes flashed. But unlike those of wild animals, this glow was not green. It was a piercing, crimson red.
Dozens of pairs of crimson eyes ignited from high and low, near and far. It was a chilling sight that would have made any ordinary person faint from sheer terror.
Rickert wasn't afraid, but he was concerned. Even though his senses remained razor-sharp in the pitch-black, facing such overwhelming numbers would be highly problematic.
Would I stand a chance if I fought with my back to the wall? Leaving this narrow passage would be dangerous. The tactical thoughts flashed rapidly through his mind.
Perhaps catching the scent of their anxiety, Remania snapped her fingers. Instantly, the torches lining the walls flared to life one by one.
The revealed chamber was vast, boasting a soaring ceiling and walls riddled with holes like a honeycomb. Inside each alcove rested a coffin.
Though some vampires had already retreated into their coffins to sleep away the approaching morning, others remained awake. A few had their mouths smeared with fresh, crimson blood, and in a far corner lay the unrecognizable, mangled corpse of someone who had been tortured to death.
The damp, chilling air unique to subterranean depths enveloped Rickert and Ice. It wasn't freezing, but it was a cold that seemed to seep directly into their bones.
Rickert boldly scanned the vampires. Yet, something felt off. Their eyes were utterly hollow, devoid of any spark of life or sentience. They showed no hostility toward the intruders, nor did they display even a flicker of curiosity or hunger. It was a stark contrast to the theater performance, where they had cackled with glee, delighting in mocking and deceiving humans.
"They are mere shells. They only mimic pleasure."
Remania spoke as she led them deeper toward the Catacombs. She made no effort to hide her contempt for the other vampires, completely indifferent to whether they heard her or not.
Looking at these hollow creatures, Rickert felt as though he was seeing the true, unvarnished face of their kind.
For them, procuring delectable prey was effortless. They were masters of every decadent, twisted pleasure imaginable. Yet, the ultimate end of that pursuit was nothing but emptiness. Left to rot in their indulgence, they would eventually undergo ghoulification and degenerate into ghouls—mindless beasts driven solely by an insatiable, eternal hunger.
Ironically, Lehman, who had chosen a prolonged death through starvation, had attained a higher state of intellect, whereas those who chased fleeting pleasures were left with nothing but hollow shells. Yet they urged humans to live by indulging their desires. It sounded like a miserable attempt to drag others down into the abyss with them. In the end, the vampires had deceived even themselves.
Once they entered the Catacombs proper, the walls were entirely lined with human skulls. The sheer scale of death preserved in this place was overwhelming. At a fork in the path, a massive central pillar stood, completely encrusted with stacked bone.
Remania bypassed the pillar, leading Rickert and Ice deeper and deeper into the dark abyss.
Along the way, they spotted half-turned vampires in the midst of ghoulification, and eventually, fully turned ghouls prowling the Catacombs with hunched backs. The beasts glared at Rickert and Ice with crazed, glowing eyes, but cowed by Remania's overwhelming presence, they did not dare to pounce.
Still, they trailed behind at a distance. Before long, they packed the passage, completely cutting off any hope of retreat.
Fortunately, as they pressed on, they reached a crossroads. Sitting right at the center of the intersection was a boy. He was surrounded by a sea of melted wax and dozens of flickering candles.
The boy was emaciated, shirtless, and sitting cross-legged. His arms hung limply at his sides, and his head was bowed, tilted slightly to one side. He appeared to be unconscious, or perhaps fast asleep.
Yet, the moment Rickert laid eyes on the boy, he froze, utterly dumbfounded. All thoughts of danger and anxiety vanished, replaced by an indescribable, sacred aura radiating from the child.
"My father, my lover, my son, my god... Armand," Remania whispered.
She fell to her knees, bowing deeply to press her lips against the boy's limp fingertips. Her posture was one of absolute, fanatical devotion.
Ice was equally bewildered. He had expected a monstrous beast or an entity like Lehman, but before them sat nothing more than an emaciated boy who looked to be on the verge of death.
Ice's heart, in particular, began to hammer against his ribs. Looking at Armand, he was suddenly reminded of his deceased younger brother. They didn't look alike, yet the boy's fragile figure overlapped perfectly with his memory.
"Are you alright?" Rickert asked, steadying Ice as his breathing grew increasingly ragged.
Ice managed a weak nod. "Y-yeah..."
Rickert caught Ice's eye, silently signaling that they should bolt down the left path if things went south. Just then, Remania, still kneeling and gazing up at Armand, spoke.
"The blood."
Rickert glanced back. A horde of ghouls writhed in the passage, completely blocking their escape. One wrong move, and the tide of monsters would sweep over them. In front of them stood Armand and Remania.
A promise is a promise, Rickert thought. Keeping his hand ready to draw his sword at a moment's notice, he pulled out a dagger, rolled up his left sleeve, and sliced his forearm.
Dark red blood welled from the cut and began to drip. Instantly, the ghouls behind them grew wild with agitation.
The scent of blood—imperceptible to humans, but glaringly obvious to the wicked creatures of the dark—drifted through the air. Remania looked up at the bowed head of Armand with desperate, pleading eyes. Please, please, open your eyes.
Yet, even with the scent of the purest blood wafting before him, Armand remained motionless, his head bowed. Is the bet won, then? Remania had promised that if Armand showed no reaction, Rickert could do as he pleased with him—kill him or spare him. And if he killed him, the request would be complete.
But just then, a single tear rolled down Armand's cheek.
Remania's eyes widened in sheer shock. It was the first reaction he had shown in the decades since she had abducted him.
Then, Armand's lips slowly parted. He spoke.
His voice sounded like the chime of a glass bell, or a single drop of water falling into a still pond.
"It is not your fault, Ice."
If one were to hear the voice of a god, surely it would sound like this. A strange, divine power seemed to resonate within the words themselves.
Ice gasped, his breath catching in his throat, while Rickert's eyes went wide. What in the world is happening?
Armand slowly opened his eyes and raised his head to look at Ice. They were not the crimson eyes characteristic of vampires, but a pair of incredibly clear, pure turquoise eyes. Rising from his seat, he stepped forward and grasped Ice's arm with a slender hand.
"Let us go. It is dangerous here."
Without another word, he pulled Ice along, heading straight down the right path. Rickert stood frozen in utter confusion, and Remania was equally dumbfounded.
"Father!" Remania cried out.
Armand, still pulling Ice along, paused and looked back at Remania.
"There are no more chances left for you, Remania. You will die here."
Though Rickert didn't understand the meaning behind his words, they struck Remania like a bolt from the blue. She remained frozen on her knees. Deciding to throw caution to the wind, Rickert quickly ran after Armand and Ice.
Glancing back as he ran, he saw Remania staring after them with a look of utter despair. Sensing that things were about to go horribly wrong, Rickert drew his sword.
"Hey! Do you know the way out?" Rickert called out to Armand.
"Yes. If it is the same as it used to be."
"And when exactly was 'before'?"
"Hmm... about six hundred years ago? I am not sure. I have lost my sense of time."
He felt like trusting this kid was a terrible idea, but then again, Rickert didn't know the way either. Meanwhile, Ice seemed completely dazed. Armand's voice had struck a chord deep within him, shaking his long-buried guilt to its core.
"Get a grip, Ice. Snap out of it. Pull yourself together!" Rickert grabbed Ice by the shoulders and shook him vigorously.
"U-uh, what?"
"Wake up! Things have gone completely sideways. We need to focus on escaping. The sun is up outside, so we'll be safe once we make it out."
"Ricky is right. Let us escape first," Armand agreed.
Rickert frowned, tilting his head. "How do you know my name?"
"I saw it in a dream."
"What, do you have prophetic dreams?"
"Yes," Armand answered nonchalantly.
It seemed that surviving for centuries while keeping one's sanity intact granted special abilities. The only catch was having to starve for six hundred years.
"What?"
"But I often confuse whether those dreams are of the past or the future. One thing is certain, though: Ricky, you must eventually face your past self. Only then can you move forward."
"..."
"You will face it. Do not worry too much. Pain is the nourishment that allows the soul to grow. You can do it. No... you already have. What is meant to happen will happen, and that is no different from it already having occurred. The future and the past are one and the same."
What is he even talking about? At this point, Rickert was too baffled to speak.
Yet, whether the prophecy was true or false, the boy's voice possessed a mesmerizing quality. It was the polar opposite of anything malevolent; it felt divine, as if breathing a quiet strength and hope into their souls.
Suddenly, a ghoul lunged from the darkness ahead, its maw stretched wide. Rickert reflexively raised his sword and thrust it straight down the beast's throat.
"Screeech!"
He kicked the carcass away to wrench his blade free. Black blood coated the steel. As he quickly wiped it on his clothes, a chaotic clamor echoed from behind. The horde of ghouls was catching up.
"Hey, can't you cast some magic or something? This is getting bad."
"I am sorry. I have starved for too long; I have no strength left."
It seemed that while he retained his prophetic sight, his raw vampiric power had withered away from centuries of starvation.
"Do you want to drink my blood then?" Rickert fearlessly proffered his freshly sliced forearm.
Even Armand seemed taken aback by Rickert's sheer audacity. He let out a faint, hollow chuckle and shook his head. To offer blood now, after he had starved himself for centuries...
The sounds of pursuit grew louder. Acting quickly, Rickert struck the piles of skulls and bones lining the walls with his sword, bringing them crashing down to create a makeshift barricade.
"Go on ahead. I'll follow the sound of your footsteps," Rickert urged.
Ice hesitated, but Armand pulled him along by the arm.
"Do not worry. Ricky will live much longer than you," Armand said.
Rickert kept slashing at the walls, bringing down avalanches of bone. The grotesque screeches of the ghouls and the thundering of their footsteps drew closer.
Suddenly, the first wave of ghouls burst through. They lunged at Rickert, snapping their jaws wildly like rabid dogs, desperate to sink their teeth into anything.
Rickert calmly stepped back, his sword a blur as he severed limbs and split skulls. If even a single strike missed, the slightest opening would leave him overwhelmed and swept away by the tide of monsters.
But his blade never missed its mark. Furthermore, the ghouls began tripping over the bone barricade and piling on top of one another, slowing their relentless advance.
In an instant, a wall of writhing ghouls and corpses piled up to the ceiling. Seizing the opportunity, Rickert turned and bolted, following the distant echo of Ice and Armand's footsteps.
Suddenly, the torches illuminating the Catacombs snuffed out. Pitch-black darkness swallowed Rickert in an instant.
No matter how sharp Rickert's senses were, he could not perceive inanimate obstacles in absolute darkness. He was forced to feel his way along the wall, but the sound of Ice and Armand's footsteps was fading fast.
A sense of isolation crept over him. He wasn't afraid, but his heart hammered in his chest, and his breathing grew heavy.
It was then.
"Since it has come to this, I might as well drink your blood."
Remania's voice hissed from the dark. She lunged from the front. Despite the absolute blindness, Rickert ducked, cleanly evading her strike, and counterattacked.
Swish! Whoosh!
Blade and claws clashed in near-simultaneous strikes. Remania, startled that Rickert could counter in the dark, quickly retreated.
Rickert stared into the pitch-black void, every nerve in his body on high alert.
In contrast, Remania watched him from the shadows, tilting her head in confusion. He clearly cannot see me.
To test him, she launched another attack with unnatural, fluid movements. Flipping upside down, she leaped so high her feet grazed the ceiling, aiming her razor-sharp claws directly at Rickert's throat.
Yet, the instant she moved, Rickert's gaze locked onto her position. What?
Clang!
Remania was no ordinary vampire; she managed to deflect Rickert's counter with her claws at the last second. Having narrowly escaped decapitation, she was left utterly bewildered.
Dumbfounded, she kept her distance and observed him. His vision was definitely blocked; his eyes staring into the void were completely unfocused. It was a phenomenon she could not comprehend.
"Indeed, my brother wouldn't have sent just anyone."
With a wave of her hand, Remania exerted her authority to summon the ghouls. The sound of a frenzied stampede echoed, surging toward them.
Startled, Rickert turned to run. But in the absolute darkness, his pace was severely hindered.
To make matters worse, Remania kept harrying him. She wasn't committing to a full attack, but rather keeping him at bay to slow him down.
"Where are you going, little boy? Come to big sister!"
She cackled, her voice echoing through the dark. Rickert lashed out toward the sound, but juggling escape and defense in the dark was taking its toll. Shallow cuts began to accumulate on his limbs. He could barely manage to protect his vitals.
"Oh my! You look so delicious!"
Remania continued to taunt him. Having been cast aside by her father, she seemed to have snapped completely, resolving to enjoy herself since she had nothing left to lose.
Rickert felt his composure beginning to slip.
Just then, Armand's voice echoed from somewhere deep within the Catacombs.
"Ricky! Drink the holy oil!"
Rickert reached into his coat and pulled out Ilya's holy oil. He highly doubted drinking such a thing would solve his problems, but with no other options left, he popped the cap and downed it.
The thick oil filled his mouth. A strong scent of olives bloomed as it slid slickly down his throat. But aside from the greasy taste, nothing happened.
Of course... it's just a superstition...
Just as the thought crossed his mind, he felt a sudden wind stir within his body.
The wind filled him in an instant. From head to toe, through his heart, liver, lungs, blood vessels, and muscles, it raged in a chaotic, rhythm-less tempest.
It was something on an entirely different plane from the Mana Drive. Yet, it brought a strange sense of déjà vu. It felt familiar, yet foreign, but not at all unpleasant.
Was it a longing for lost, innocent days? Or nostalgia for his homeland? Did Vesprim make it back home safely? What happened to my brothers on the battlefield? And Caldebert?
Random questions flooded his mind. His past life and present life blurred together, making it impossible to tell them apart. Which one is real?
In that instant, the wind inside him erupted into a raging fire. For a split second, Rickert felt a searing pain as if his brain were melting, and he blacked out.
Seeing Rickert standing motionless against the wall with his head bowed, Remania sneered.
"What are you doing? Have you given up already?"
But then, Rickert slowly raised his head. Golden flames were blazing in both of his eyes.
A sudden chill washed over Remania. No, it wasn't just a sense of unease—it was the stark, primal terror of death.
At that exact moment, the charging ghouls crashed over Rickert. They threw themselves forward like a tidal wave, leaving no room to dodge or escape.
For a brief second, Remania felt a wave of relief. It's over. Thank goodness.
But then, a sword blazing with a sacred light erupted from the pile, sweeping through the ghouls in a single, devastating arc.
Splaaash!
A torrent of blood rained down, and chunks of severed flesh splattered onto the stone floor.
Drenched in blood, Rickert's burning eyes pierced the gloom. Unlike before, his gaze locked onto Remania with absolute precision through the dark. Golden flames roared along the length of his blade.
Remania's voice caught in her throat, her body freezing in place. He wasn't human? What on earth is this?
"How dare you stand in my presence."
A voice of bottomless hatred and wrath rumbled from Rickert's lips. Remania felt her long-dead heart hammer in her chest.
There was no longer any need for Rickert to read his opponent's movements or redirect her force. He could simply... cut down everything in his path.
Remania leaped back with blinding speed to flee. But the blazing sword pierced through her back, impaling her voluptuous body. With a single, fluid motion, the blade sliced upward.
Split cleanly in half, Remania died without even a chance to scream. She collapsed onto the floor of the ancient catacombs, reduced to nothing more than a heap of rotting flesh.
Rickert stared down at Remania's corpse. Just as the thought What is this? crossed his mind, Ice's distant shout pierced his ears.
"Ricky!"
Ice's voice jolted his brain. Instantly, Rickert's consciousness snapped back to normal. The golden flames blazing in his eyes and along his blade vanished.
Rickert stood alone, momentarily dazed, before remembering that they were in the middle of an escape. He immediately bolted toward the source of the voice.
Before long, he spotted Ice and Armand surrounded by ghouls. Behind them, an iron grate blocked the path. Unlike six hundred years ago, the exit was now sealed.
Ice was fighting desperately to shield Armand. Rickert hacked through the ghouls from behind and joined them.
"Did you drink the holy oil?!" Armand asked immediately.
"I think so, but I don't remember."
"Good enough. Now, open this."
Armand pointed to the iron grate. What is he talking about? Shouldn't we be fighting our way through the ghouls to find another exit?
"Hurry!"
At Armand's urgent prompting, Rickert reflexively sheathed his sword and grabbed the iron bars.
Gritting his teeth, he pulled with all his might, straining every muscle in his arms. To his absolute shock, the thick iron bars groaned and bent like soft clay beneath his grip. Rickert stared down at his hands, his eyes wide with disbelief. How did I just bend this? Is the iron completely rusted through?
Seizing the opening, Armand grabbed Ice by the clothes and slipped through the bars. Rickert hurried after them, with the ghouls in pursuit.
Then a straight shaft of sunlight fell before them. The ghouls could follow no farther.
Armand took Ice’s hand and threw himself into the light. They were on the coast outside Haarlem. The refreshing sound of breaking waves reached their ears.
Still holding Ice’s hand, Armand ran across the sand. After they had run some distance, his skin began to burn and smoke rose from his body.
Startled, Ice only then realized that Armand was a vampire and grabbed him.
Armand’s arm came away, and he collapsed onto the soft sand.
“Ah, the sun for the first time in a thousand years. I forgot. Hehehe.”
Armand laughed as he lay on the beach. Rickert caught up and quickly took off his cloak to cover him, but it was not enough.
“I-It’s all right. It was meant to happen. No, it has already happened.”
The midday sun continued to burn him. More and more of Armand’s body turned to gray dust. Rickert and Ice could do nothing to stop it.
“When you have prophetic dreams for so long, people start to feel like old friends, even before they’re born. Silly, isn’t it? Ice, your brother never resented you... So you must be happy. I really wanted to tell you that... Ah, ahh, ugh...”
The sunlight never stopped burning Armand. He closed his eyes and endured the pain, trembling as though in the grip of a fever.
“Ricky, you already...”
Armand tried to leave a few words for Rickert too, but the sunlight consumed him completely. The last of his skin turned gray.
The mound of ash that still held a boy’s shape collapsed with a soft, dry sound. Rickert and Ice felt their hearts sink.
A sea breeze swept the ash away, and the waves came in to carry off the rest.
On that beautiful shore, emotions too difficult to put into words enveloped Rickert and Ice.
They had come to kill him. They had not even known him for long. What was this deep sense of loss?
For the first time, they resented the sun.
Ash scattered on the wind. Only the sound of the waves remained.
Arc 14 – The Unforgiven. End.