It's a beautiful day outside, the flowers are blooming, the birds are singing... On days like these, I should be happy. It's the reward, isn't it? Survival.
As soon as I woke up, the priest was gone.
He left only two things: a farewell letter and a graduation gift.
The gift is a Japanese sword. Long, straight, and very sharp.
Although he never taught me how to wield a sword...
Thirty days of hell, of turning every muscle into a weapon, every instinct into a blow. I learned to break, to kick, to stab, to see the world as a map of cracks. But never a stance, never a fencing kata.
And now, the letter.
"You passed the exam. Barely."
"It was foolish of you to announce your presence in the first second."
"And it's a miracle you killed him, only because he didn't take you seriously until the last second."
"I give you a sword as your graduation gift."
"Now, in a few days, someone will come to take you to the Vatican. So that you can officially become a member of the Church."
"It's your decision whether to wait for him or leave."
What is a twelve-year-old boy supposed to do, alone?
Just as I was deep in thought, I was interrupted.
Knock. Knock.
"Moshi moshi, is anyone there?" A child's voice? Sweet, clear, with a strange, polite intonation. It didn't fit.
"He probably left... don't you think?" said the same childish voice.
"I highly doubt it, my lord." This time it was an old man's voice.
I opened the door carefully and grabbed a small knife from the table.
There was a boy. A boy maybe a year or two older than me. He had short, black hair. His eyes were dark blue.
And he was talking to a rat.
It was a white rat, immaculate, with fur like freshly fallen snow and intelligent red eyes that watched me with an unsettling calm. It definitely didn't look like the ones I had seen a few days ago.
"Oh..." said the boy, drawing out the vowel with deliberate surprise. "So you're the old man's little student."
The words fell like stones into the still pond of my confusion. The old man? He could only be referring to one person.
"To think he would use his favor on you," he continued, shaking his head.
Then he paused. His bright, curious blue eyes focused in a new way. They locked directly onto mine. And for the first time, I saw something different in his expression: a flash of tension.
"Although, looking closer..." he murmured, and his voice lost its theatrical cadence for a moment, becoming lower, more personal. "You have rather interesting eyes."
"To think that with just one look..." he continued, and now there was genuine, almost morbid fascination in his whisper. "...you've already given me chills."
"I wonder if those eyes would work on someone like Stroud,"
And then, the impossible happened.
From his shoulder, the white rat opened its little mouth and a voice came out of it.
"I think it would kill him before he even got close, my lord."
I was completely paralyzed. The world, which had already been twisted so much, took another violent turn. The rat was talking.
The boy seemed to consider the point, rubbing his chin.
"Oh, of course it would. It's too green."
They exchanged ideas. Like two colleagues.
The shock, accumulated, finally surpassed the threshold and burst out in the form of words. I could no longer contain myself.
"Wait a minute!" My voice sounded shrill, charged with all the pent-up confusion and fear. "That rat can talk! And who are you?"
"Ah," he said, and his voice no longer had the playful tone. "Of course. I haven't introduced myself yet."
"I am Merem Solomon. The Twentieth of the Twenty-Seven Ancestors of the Dead Apostles."
"..."
Twenty-Seven Ancestors. According to the Priest, they weren't just vampires. They were a walking disaster, a natural phenomenon with consciousness, classified as one of the greatest calamities on the planet. A being whose mere existence defied human logic.
I quickly pulled out a small knife I had stashed away and lunged at him.
But before I could even try, something moved.
Something so fast that even my Mystic Eyes, accustomed to seeing the end of all things, couldn't track its trajectory. I only caught a silver flash.
Merem Solomon's right arm disappeared.
And before I could analyze any more information, an invisible, pure, and absolute blow hit me in the chest.
The air became a whip against my skin. Crack! My back slammed into the trunk, and the sound of breaking wood mingled with that of my own ribs giving way. I didn't have time to scream. Crack! Another tree, smaller, stopped me in my tracks before inertia threw me forward again, rolling over the grass and dead branches.
Finally, I collapsed in a clearing, the world spinning in a spiral of pain and confusion. The taste of copper filled my mouth. My Mystic Eyes, active, saw the death lines of the surrounding trees dancing chaotically, overlapping with those of my own body, which glowed alarmingly. Everything was a chaos of lines and stabbing pain.
My consciousness began to fade, the world losing color and sound, slipping into deep blackness. In that last moment of lucidity, I looked up.
There she stood, motionless, as if she had always been there.
A woman? No. Her form was too stylized, too perfect, like a sculpture of porcelain and metal. She was tall and slender, with a pallor that was not skin, but some inorganic material that faintly reflected the moonlight. Her face was beautiful, but empty. Expressionless, lifeless. A human-sized doll.
Her eyes were two points of cold red light, without pupils, without emotion. And they were fixed on me.
One arm, thin and made of the same pale material, rose slowly. Her hand, with long, elegant fingers, did not wield a weapon. She simply extended her index finger, and that small gesture was more threatening than any sword.
It was pointing at me.
Then darkness completely claimed my vision, but the image of that inhuman doll, its finger pointing like a final verdict, remained etched in my mind, the last fragment of reality before everything turned black and silent.
XXX
I suppose it will become a habit to wake up with my body aching and bandaged, won't it?
"It was completely stupid of me to aim like that, don't you think, kid?"
The voice was soft, almost cheerful, and came from the darkness. With agonizing effort, I turned my head.
There, sitting elegantly, was Merem Solomon.
He didn't appear to be injured. His right arm was complete, intact, resting on his knee as if it had never been missing. His blue eyes watched me with curiosity.
"I apologize if that was my first reaction upon hearing your introduction," I managed to say, my voice hoarse from disuse.
A slow, genuinely amused smile spread across Merem's face.
"Apology accepted. Don't do it again, though. Next time, I'll take an arm off to see if you learn."
His words hung in the air, the pain in my ribs seeming to throb in unison with the threat. I swallowed dryly and forced out the question burning in my confused mind.
"You... Are you the one who came to pick me up?"
Merem tilted his head slightly, those blue eyes studying me with renewed interest.
"Yes," he replied, simple and direct.
"Although, of course," he continued, making a broad, carefree gesture with his hand, "it's your decision whether you come with me or not."
The Church. The same one that sent people like Merem out to hunt things. The contradiction was so absurd that I almost overlooked it.
"And... if I don't?"
Merem's smile turned into something more pragmatic.
"Then I'll just give you the money for killing Louvre."
"Louvre?" Who was Louvre?
Merem's expression changed to one of genuine surprise, followed by a stifled laugh.
"Don't tell me you don't even know the vampire you killed!"
His laughter echoed, a strangely vivid sound amid the stillness. He shook his head, a mixture of disbelief and amusement.
"If he found out that the one who killed him didn't even know who he was, he'd surely roll over in his grave," she said, wiping away an imaginary tear. "Although he deserves it. He was never qualified to hold one of our positions."
The contempt in his voice was palpable.
"Louvre," he continued, pronouncing the name as if it were a dirty word. "He aspired to be recognized among the Ancestors. A social climber with more ambition than power. He became obsessed with collecting rarities, thinking that would give him status. And look how he ended up."
"So, what do you decide? Are you coming with me or not?"
The question was simple. The answer, not so much. If I followed him, my life would definitely not be normal. But had it ever been normal since these eyes opened? Since the world was reduced to a web of lines that promised an end. I took a deep breath, ignoring the stabbing pain in my side, and looked up to face the Twentieth Ancestor.
"Yes."
The word came out clearly, more firmly than I felt.
Merem Solomon smiled.
"We'll leave first thing tomorrow morning," she said, her voice regaining that practical, carefree tone. "Get some rest."
With a sigh that cost me another twinge in my ribs, I curled up in the rough blanket.
XXX
"So Louvre died. It was to be expected; he was quite weak by our standards."
The voice was high-pitched, crystal clear, and belonged to a girl. She looked no older than fourteen, sitting elegantly in a carved armchair at the stern of the sailboat. She wore an expensive dark dress, but her eyes, the color of fresh blood, were anything but childish. She watched the waves breaking against the hull with distant boredom.
"The Prophecy of the Roses is never wrong, my lady," replied the second figure.
It was a long, black silhouette standing by the rail, blending into the night. No features could be distinguished, only the shape of a tall, thin man, and the one defining feature: a black sword resting on his shoulder. It reflected neither the moon nor the lights of the ship.
"Yes, yes," the girl waved a tiny hand dismissively. "What worries me is old Ortenrosse planning the Aylesbury Ritual so soon, considering it's only been a little over two decades since the last one."
The figure with the black sword stood motionless for a moment, the blade of his weapon absorbing the faint glow of the navigation lights.
"It must be a trap, my lady," he said.
The blood-eyed girl laughed, a clear, cheerful sound.
"Obviously! He must be desperate since the last time we met." A mischievous smile played on her lips. "Although I'd love to see his face after the scare you gave him."
The black silhouette turned its head slightly toward her. Although it had no visible face, its posture conveyed a hint of... frustration?
"I would have loved to take an arm, at least, instead of a scare," it said.
"Easy, Stroud, maybe this time you can get more than just an arm out of him."
The black figure Stroud stood still, processing the possibility.
"Although I'd love to do that," he said, his voice now tinged with genuine concern that cut through his normally flat tone, "I'm more concerned about your safety."
The girl looked at him, and for a moment, her mocking expression softened into something close to affection.
"My safety?" She laughed, a sound as clear as bells in the wind. "With you, Fina, and my little pet, no one would hurt me."
She waved her hand vaguely. In the shadows of the main mast, something moved.
It was not a squirrel or a dog, though it had the size and agility of both. It was a small, pure white furry creature with long ears and a fluffy tail. Its large eyes, the color of the evening sky, sparkled with intelligence. It jumped gracefully onto the arm of the chair and from there onto her lap, rubbing its little head against the girl's hand and making a soft sound: "Fou, fou!"
"See, look," said the girl, stroking the little creature with expert fingers. "Fou is eager to see them too. Last time, he wanted to keep playing with Solomon."
The creature Fou raised its head, and for a moment, its blue eyes seemed to sparkle with a flash of mischievous understanding. A small growl, almost a scolding, came from its throat.
Stroud, the figure with the black sword, watched the scene. Although he had no face, his posture softened slightly, as if the presence of the little beast dispelled some of his lethal tension.
"The Familiar Primate..." he commented. "Solomon crushed him with his right leg last time."
The effect was instantaneous. Fou, who had been happily receiving affection, froze. His white fur suddenly bristled, his long ears rising like antennae of indignation. He spun around in the girl's lap to face Stroud, his large blue eyes now reduced to sparkling slits.
"Kyu, kyu, kyuuuuuu!"
"Fufufu," laughed the girl, a melodious sound laden with fond memory. "Yes, yes, he stepped on you. But then, my little avenger, you took care of him so thoroughly that he almost lost that leg if it weren't for Blackmore."
Upon hearing the name Blackmore, Fou let out a different sound: a "Kuuu..." of deep, resentful satisfaction. He straightened up, puffing out his chest, and nodded smugly, as if to say, "Exactly. And I'd do it again."
"HOHOHOHOHO!"
A stentorian laugh, shrill and full of devastating energy, interrupted the scene. There, swinging cheekily from a mast with one hand, appeared a new figure.
He was a tall, powerfully built man, dressed in an outfit that was an absurd mixture of gothic elegance and pirate swagger: a torn black and red tailcoat, a tricorn hat with a huge scarlet feather, and high boots with silver buckles. His eyes, the same fiery red, sparkled with dangerous humor. A thin, twirled mustache gave him the air of a pirate.
"Are you talking about the ritual of old Ortenrosse? Sounds like a party! And loot!"
The girl didn't seem surprised. She just sighed, with a mixture of annoyance and affection.
"Fina," she said, her voice calm. "There's no need to shout. We can hear you perfectly well."
The pirate man Fina let go of the mast and fell to the deck with a thud that shook the wood. He straightened up, brushing imaginary dust off his tailcoat.
"My apologies, my lady," he said, though his tone sounded anything but remorseful. He tipped his hat with a theatrical gesture. "But like any good pirate, I must exclaim well. I learned that from the great Blackbeard! And to exclude me from such a conversation... I feel... offended!" He placed a dramatic hand on his chest.
Fou, on the girl's shoulder, let out a disapproving "Kyu!" and turned his back on Fina with disdain.
From the shadows, Stroud's deep, flat voice echoed, laden with barely veiled reproach:
"After your performance with Blackmore, the least you can do is stop interrupting."
Fina turned toward the source of the voice, her pirate smile not wavering one bit. She adjusted her hat with a carefree gesture.
"Hohoho! You know as well as I do how elusive the Scarecrow is."
The girl, having heard enough of the argument, intervened with a voice that immediately silenced the room.
"All right, Fina. Let's put the bravado aside. What useful information did you get?"
Fina curtsied exaggeratedly, though her smile did not fade. As she straightened up, her red eyes burned with the excitement of a hunter bringing juicy news.
"The spiciest, my lady! It seems our dear, capricious Twentieth, Solomon, has found a new toy. And it's not just any lost puppy." She paused dramatically, relishing the suspense. "It's the very one who finished off Louvre."
The girl's red eyes lost their playful gleam for a moment, taking on a cold, analytical sharpness.
"Taking out Louvre is no big deal," she said, with a disdain that made the slain vampire seem like an annoying fly. "But that Solomon has decided to take him in... that means the boy has something interesting."
Fina nodded, her mocking expression taking on a hint of genuine amazement as she recalled the next detail.
"Also... the brat's no more than a decade old. Twelve, maybe. Barely a cub."
A heavy silence fell over the deck, broken only by the whisper of waves against the hull. Even Stroud seemed to need a moment to process it.
The girl let out a short, sharp laugh, like the clink of broken glass.
"A child taking down the 'successor of chaos'? How laughable."
Her laughter faded into the salty air, leaving a cold, calculating smile on her lips. She looked toward the city, where the first lights of true dawn were beginning to dispel the deepest shadows of night.
"It seems," he said, his voice now a whisper laden with anticipation, "that the next ritual will be interesting."
XXX
I dodged the claw that came straight at me with the sole purpose of smashing my head to a pulp. The movement was clumsy, driven more by panic than technique, but my eyes had seen the line of force of the attack, the most likely trajectory, and my body had reacted instinctively.
Shhas.
A clean, sharp sound, like that of high-quality fabric being cut by perfectly sharp scissors, echoed in the still air of the place.
The monstrous arm, covered in golden fur that glistened in the dim light, stopped in midair. Then, it slid cleanly from the shoulder joint and fell to the ground with a dull thud.
"Gahhh!"
A beastly cry tore through the air. The creature staggered backward, its hunched figure revealed in full by the moonlight filtering through the forest clearing.
A werewolf. Or an Elemental, in Merem's words.
The creature, still reeling from the loss of its arm, raised its snout. Its golden eyes, filled with pain and rage, did not focus on me.
"Damn it," it growled, but not with the guttural sound of a beast. It was a harsh, rocky voice, like stones rubbing together, but unmistakably articulate. "I should never have associated with that bloodsucker."
The bloodsucker he speaks of is already dead. A few minutes ago.
He was trying to turn a small village in Scotland into his playground, attempting to open a door to the Reverse World. Of course, I wasn't going to let that happen. I quickly finished off all the ghouls and the Apostle.
Now only this mutt remains.
I took a step forward, and the Elemental backed away, dragging itself against the pine tree trunk, its claws scratching the bark with a heart-wrenching sound. Its breathing, once a hiss of pain, turned into a gasp of utter panic.
"You... get away! Don't come any closer!" His voice, once harsh but controlled, was now a high-pitched scream, torn by horror. "Don't look at me with those eyes!"
Anyone would if the gates of death were standing before them.
His golden eyes, once filled with rage or resignation, were now dilated with an animalistic, primal fear. He didn't see me as a human, or even as a hunter. He saw me as the embodiment of his end.
There was no more delay. There were no more words. His terror was white noise in my ears, and the line I was looking for glowed with deafening urgency in my vision. It was the clearest of all, a perfect line encircling his sturdy neck, marking the place where his connection to the world could be severed with a single blow.
I no longer thought. My body, trained and guided by cold resolve, reacted.
I moved faster than my body should have allowed.
The dagger, an extension of my will and my gaze, did not rise in a great arc. It made a short, dazzling horizontal turn, following the exact trajectory of the line that only I could see.
Shhh-thuk.
The Elemental's head, those golden eyes still petrified in eternal horror, separated from its shoulders. It did not roll. It simply fell to the mossy ground with a silent thud and began to disintegrate instantly.
The body, still kneeling, followed the same path. Without a sound, without a spasm, it crumbled like a pile of dirt and dry roots, melting into the forest clearing.
In a matter of seconds, there was nothing left.
"A quick and splendid job, if I may say so." A thick, old voice sounded from behind me. It was the rat king, Merem's familiar.
I turned around and there was an old man.
"What are you doing here? As far as I know, we were supposed to meet in England," I asked, confused by his visit.
"Yes, yes, that was the plan. But... new orders have come in. From Director Narbareck. They say the master must return immediately. Don't worry, I've already arranged a flight. Direct to Italy. We take off in an hour."
I nodded slowly, looking at the place where the Elemental had ceased to exist.
"I understand."
The Rat King, his perception sharpened by centuries of service, bowed his head slightly.
"I sense some disappointment."
I couldn't help it. A sigh escaped me, a mixture of exhaustion and disappointment.
"Mmm, yes. It's... boring." I looked at the old rat man. "I expected more from Touko Aozaki's former partner. I heard many stories about them, about their travels around the world, unraveling mysteries that even the most ancient magicians dared not touch. But this..." I gestured vaguely toward the clearing. "It was... disappointing."
"Then let's hope this mission is to your liking."
XXX
The place couldn't have been more different from the damp, wooded clearing in Scotland. We were in a large room, lit by crystal lamps in the Special Catacombs.
In the center, Merem Solomon sat on the edge of a huge carved oak table, swinging his legs with childlike energy. Standing in front of him, arms crossed and expression impassive, was me.
"How scary! You're getting more terrifying every day, Seiji," Merem exclaimed, his voice theatrically tremulous but completely contradicted by the mischievous, broad smile that lit up his face.
I let out a sigh, a sound that was lost in the vastness of the stone room.
"Please, Solomon, drop the drama. We're here on business, not for your personal entertainment."
Merem rolled her eyes dramatically.
"Ehhh, but what I said is true," she insisted, pointing a finger at me. "It's not theater. Not just anyone can kill an Elemental. In other words... you're cheating." His smile became knowing and sharp. "With those eyes, what would take any Executioner, mage, or even another Ancestor decades of study, rituals, and power to achieve a fraction of what you do... you do in an instant. One glance, one cut. That's unfair, don't you think?"
The air in the room seemed to grow thicker before I could respond.
"But Solomon is right, don't you think, Seiji-kun?"
The voice was dry, sharp as a rusty scalpel, and came from the entrance to the room. We all turned.
There, leaning against the stone doorframe, stood Narbareck. She was not the intimidating, bureaucratic figure I had imagined. She was a woman of medium height, dressed in an impeccable gray pantsuit. Her black hair fell like a waterfall. And her silver eyes looked at us without a shred of warmth.
"That's why I send you on all those missions, Seiji-kun," she continued, walking slowly toward us, her heels clicking precisely against the stone. Her gaze never wavered from me. "Because I know you'll do it. Quickly. Cleanly. Without the unnecessary display of power that others enjoy so much. You use the most efficient tool for the job, even if that tool is a boy who cheats."
Merem put a hand to his chest dramatically, pretending to be hurt.
"Director! And I thought all those dangerous missions were because you wanted boring old Seiji to die on one!"
Narbareck turned her head toward Merem. It wasn't a normal movement. It was a sharp, mechanical turn, like a bird of prey detecting movement in the grass. A smile spread across her lips, but it didn't reach her steely eyes. It was a grimace of pure anticipation.
"He can't die yet," he said, his voice now a hoarse whisper. "He needs to kill at least three Ancestors. He already has one close, right, Solomon?" His gaze fixed on Merem with a glint of suppressed madness. "And then, if he wants, he can go die like a dog. Don't you think, Seiji?"
She took a step toward me. She wasn't walking, she was gliding. Each click-clack of her heels was like the ticking of a countdown clock.
"But you... you know what happens to dogs that don't obey, right, Seiji-kun? The first three months... you spent moaning in the restraint cell, wondering if you'd rather rip out those beautiful eyes of yours or if you wanted me to... help you."
Narbareck was truly a nasty person. The thought was a soft echo compared to the truth boiling beneath my calm. Every word she spoke was a reminder of those three months of darkness, cold, and the sound of her sharp heels approaching down the hallway, a prelude to another "exercise" of pain and humiliation.
If I were given the order to kill her, I would certainly do so without hesitation.
It wasn't a vengeful desire, it was a fact.
"I remember every detail, Director," I replied, and my voice didn't waver. I let a heavy silence hang in the air, a silence that said I remember things about you too. "But as you say, we are here to evaluate competitiveness, not my medical history."
His smile twisted, recognizing the veiled challenge. He liked it. He loved that he still had some backbone left to break.
"Aha! Pragmatism! That's what saves you, Seiji! Your boring, boring pragmatism!" He clapped his hands, a sharp sound that made the boy flinch. "All right. To the point."
He turned to me, and all the theatricality disappeared from his face.
"Tomorrow you will go to the Forest of Einnashe."
The words fell into the room with the weight of a death sentence. Even Merem let out a slight "Oh" of genuine interest.
The Forest of Einnashe. It ranked seventh among the Twenty-Seven Ancestors of the Dead Apostles. It was not a being, it was a place. A sentient vampiric forest that awoke every fifty years to devour entire cities, a bloodthirsty natural calamity.
"Wasn't Ciel supposed to go?" I asked.
Narbareck smiled, his expression full of twisted malice.
"Yes. But he backed out an hour ago. He sensed that the 'Serpent of Akasha' is going to reincarnate soon. You know, his... deep and personal hatred." He shrugged, an obscenely casual gesture given the magnitude of what it implied. "Roa was always his top priority. An Ancestral Forest is just a natural disaster. Roa is... a personal matter."
Roa. The vampire who reincarnates eternally, the one who made Ciel what she was. If she felt that her cycle of reincarnation was approaching, she would abandon any other mission, no matter how critical it was.
"Anyway," Narbareck continued, clearly enjoying the panic that must have been showing in my eyes, "if you hurry, you might still be in time to join her in her little... revenge. Two birds with one stone: you contain one Ancestor and help eliminate another eternal headache. Pure efficiency, don't you think?"
I definitely wanted to kill this woman...
She smiled, as if she could read my mind and was amused by the attempt.
"Well, that's all. Try to get some rest... what you can." She paused dramatically at the door. "Oh, and by the way... If you survive and complete the mission successfully, your entry into the Burial Agency will be confirmed. With a small promotion."
Her steely eyes gleamed with pure malice.
"You'd enter as Number Nine on our list. Quite a reward, don't you think?" And with that, she left.
Merem Solomon broke the silence with an exaggerated sigh of satisfaction.
"Well... you have a pretty busy day tomorrow." He came over and patted me on the shoulder, which, coming from him, was almost a gesture of camaraderie. "Ancient forest, hunting immortal vampires."
"Anyway," Merem interrupted him with a sudden sparkle of childlike enthusiasm in her eyes, as if she had just remembered something wonderful. "If you don't have anything else to do tonight, why don't you come with me to get my new toy?"
She paused for effect.
"It's a mystical code they found in the ruins of a sunken city in the Black Sea. It can extract all the moisture from a living organism within a ten-meter radius! Incredible, isn't it?! Imagine the possibilities!"
Merem smiled with genuine delight, like a child talking about a new video game, not a device for torture and mass dehydration.
Ahhh, just kill me, I thought, closing my eyes for a second.