Iriya the Berserker by Hideyuki Kikuchi Read Free Book Online Page A

team—ninety-nine percent of which involved work on their legs—at specialized factories in town, as well as to allow the passengers time for a break and a meal. When the passengers were staying for the night, their departure would be put off until the following morning.
    Aside from the Nobility’s teleporters and Mach cars, the predominant means of transportation on the Frontier was cyborg horses. There were more than a few cars powered by steam, gasoline, or other fuels, but in terms of range, performance, and dependability, they couldn’t compare to cyborg horses. As a result, horse maintenance was of the utmost importance. Large towns, of course, had factories for upgrading, inspecting, and repairing cyborg horses, while in smaller towns someone could be hired to do repairs, but the purchase of a new steed would usually entail paying a price far beyond legal guidelines. If, while out in the wilderness, someone should meet with an unexpected misfortune that killed their steed, they would have little choice but to walk however many hundreds of miles to their destination. The chance of running into a horse trader roaming the Frontier in search of such travelers was less than one in a hundred.
    A full team of four horses with a coach attached didn’t just run out of any town where people were thinking straight.
    “Something’s happened in McCrory!” Iriya said, training an even sharper gaze forward.
    “I’ll go on ahead. You two wait here. Don’t go near the town.”
    As D wheeled his steed around, Iriya protested, “No way. I want—”
    D was already galloping away, but his left hand was pointed in her direction. On noticing what his finger indicated, Iriya stopped her right foot from prodding her horse’s flank.
    It was Meeker.
    As her eyes followed the black-clad figure of beauty rapidly dwindling in the distance, Iriya muttered to herself, “Are you cold blooded? Warm? I just can’t tell.”

Pursuers
chapter 3
I
    The manner of barring the main entrance varied in each town and village, but in McCrory it was a palisade of thick tree trunks sunk side by side. The gates could slide back to the fence on either side, and D turned to the one on the right and pushed it in, entering the opening it left in the great palisade around the town.
    Once through the gate, he commanded an excellent view of the main street and the homes lining either side of it.
    “No smell of blood—that’s odd,” the Hunter’s left hand murmured as it gripped the reins. It sounded as if it would’ve had its head cocked to one side.
    “Of course, there’s no signs of anyone either,” said D. Beneath the black brim of his traveler’s hat, his eyes held a quiet gleam.
    His horse didn’t halt. On encountering a weird situation, it was normal people who felt an urge to kill. Once through the entrance, the horse and rider started down the main thoroughfare, swaddled in stark sunlight. Not a single soul was on the street, and the Hunter rode without so much as a glance at the rows of houses to either side, his steed not stopping until they were in front of a saloon. Dismounting, D tethered the horse’s reins to a post.
    “No one’s here!” the hoarse voice was heard to say once the Hunter had pushed open the door.
    The quiet interior of the establishment bore out the hoarse voice’s words. However—
    “There were people here about an hour ago,” the hoarse voice continued. “There’s nicotine and alcohol in the air.”
    D looked down at an ashtray on the table. A cigarette had fallen from it, burning the table and leaving a long strip of ash in its shape. Most of the tables had glasses and cards on them, though a few had been overturned, spilling their contents. Following the path of the disturbance, the Hunter saw a broken glass on the floor and a half-dried puddle of alcohol.
    “There’s half a steak here, with a piece of it still stuck on the fork. In other words, something happened just as they were taking a bite.