up.
A flesh-colored blob flew from a second-story window. Sticking to the stump of D’s wrist, it completely reattached itself.
“Did it go all right?” the Hunter asked. By then he was already moving at a gallop again.
“Have I ever let you down? That idiot of a mayor still thinks we’re back in the room with girly-name, badmouthing him some more.”
The scornful remarks the mayor had heard through his listening devices had clearly been the result of the left hand’s talent for impersonations. What’s more, it could evidently do two or more voices at the same time.
“How’d things go on your end?”
D only told the hoarse voice about the information Beatrice had given him. Apparently he’d finished reading through the notepad.
The hoarse voice said, “Aren’t you in an all-fired hurry! It’s still not too late to check with somebody else.”
“And hear what would just as likely be lies as the truth,” D replied.
Around him, the wind crumbled away in rapture.
“At any rate, it’s not like you to put complete faith into something before going into action, so I guess it doesn’t matter. But that part where the unholy aura filling the castle picked his pals off one by one sure sounds authentic enough. If the supernatural soldiers from the Florence Highway have come back to life, then that means the grand duke’s aura is back, too.”
Saying nothing, D merely faced straight ahead. No matter what had returned to life, it wouldn’t shake the young man’s stern demeanor.
The horse and rider hit the Florence Highway, also known as Mercenary Road. But at present, it would’ve more accurately been called “Road of the Supernatural Soldiers.”
—
II
—
Four hundred fifty miles long, the highway had been constructed by a Noble for humans to use. It was said that the Noble, known as Grand Duke Dorleac, lived in a spacious mansion with his beloved wife and son, holding splendid parties there every night and using the nearby humans for their blood . . . until one day five thousand years ago, when a grand military force came and covered the road. That night, while the people cowered in fear of war, there was a clamor of voices ringing out, angry shouts and cries of pain, and a cacophony of gunfire and thundering war horses. In the morning, the road was covered with the corpses of soldiers, and not only the Dorleac family but their extensive retinue as well had vanished from the castle. It wasn’t clear what had transpired. But this bizarre occurrence, as if an enormous hand had toppled the soldiers with a deadly gale and carried off the Dorleac clan, made the people cry out in exultation.
However, something remained in the castle. Those who visited it didn’t return, and eventually it fell into disrepair and was left to the flow of time. All around the highway people lived, grew old, and died as five millennia went by. Until now . . .
—
A vermilion hue bled over the edge of the mountains. The final light of the sinking sun timidly illuminated a farmhouse that stood by the side of the road. D got off his horse in front of it.
“According to the map the mayor gave you, this’d be the Cogeyes’ house. They’re a family of five, but since they haven’t come into Bossage, they’re probably done for,” the hoarse voice remarked.
That would mean that a point only seventy-five miles from town marked the border between the world of humanity and the netherworld. No light spilled from the windows, and no smoke from the family’s supper rose from the chimney. Though there was nothing wrong with the house itself, a weirdness clung to the place. D headed for the front door. Grabbing the doorknob, he pulled.
Doors often had something attached to them to announce the arrival of visitors. In this case it was a bell. Though it would chime even when the wind blew, it didn’t make the slightest sound now.
D went inside. The smell of blood he’d already caught now crushed in around him. The living