Chapter 45

“Good afternoon.”

I followed her greeting with one of my own.

She came and sat beside me.

The motion set a pair of wings swaying.

I bent my knees, mirroring her posture.

“Where have the others gone?”

“Oh—so you still call us ‘people,’ Ms. Mago.”

“It’s a fuzzy line. We’re neither human nor vampire, but for now ‘people’ feels right. We’re speaking person-to-person, after all—at this moment.”

“I was going to say you were kind, but you’re simply honest.”

“It’s just a matter of perspective. By the way, you know my name.”

“Of course. I couldn’t leave without knowing my benefactor’s. That, um... little...”

She sketched something in the air with both hands, shaping a square.

“The square-faced man? The Thief’s Right-Hand Man?”

“Yes, him. I asked. He tacks ‘big sister’ onto your name.”

“I see. Anyway, my earlier question—where did everyone go?”

“Ah... Some went down to their hometowns. Others, up.”

“Up? Any higher and you’re in the capital, but that place—”

“They say it’s lost its true face.”

“True. The capital’s dangerous now; why would they—?”

“Home is home, they said. Nothing to be done.”

She stared at the floor and released a long breath.

“If I’m going to die anyway, I’d rather die there.”

“Die...? You mean—”

“Yes, the rejection was severe. The medic of the 7th Squad said my organs are shutting down.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Everyone else is the same. All of us... dying.”

All.

The word sounded as though it included her.

“Funny story, really. We were so afraid of the war, so desperate to fly far away, that we tried to become vampires. Me too. Before I tasted blood, I’d forgotten the very idea of home.”

“It’s not funny.”

“That’s what I mean, Ms. Mago. But when death comes close, everyone runs home. Kind of hilarious, isn’t it?”

Whatever the joke, her mouth curled, one cheek sinking.

“Thank you. We can’t undo it, but at least now we know why we’re dying.”

“It’s nothing.”

“More than anything, thank you for avenging us. Truly.”

This time her smile was different—both corners of her mouth lifted, bright as a pink blossom opening.

“We knew we’d been tricked by Madam Anne, but the others didn’t. They nearly died, drained dry by her.”

“The play was a success.”

“Yes. I think you saved all those people. If you—if the Special Task Force—hadn’t come, they’d have ended up like me. You’re a hero to me. To every Hybrid, every half-vampire. I bet they’re all silently thanking you.”

“You’re too kind. Aren’t you thinking of going home, like the others?”

“Ha...”

She laughed aloud and went on.

“My home is here, Ms. Mago.”

“Really?”

“Right here in the Red-Light District. I was born while it was still being built.”

“I see...”

“It’s changed a lot. Lately it’s been hard, frightening, but home is still home. I feel at peace now.”

“Homes have that power, I suppose. I wouldn’t know.”

“It’s very peaceful.”

“I’m sure it is.”

I lifted my gaze. People with homes always have somewhere to return to, however briefly. I envied that and glanced back at her. She had already slipped into sleep, a calm, depthless slumber.

“You’ve... been through so much.”

A hundred things came to mind, but that was all I could manage.

“Huh—fell asleep for a second.”

At that moment her eyes fluttered open.

“...Thought you were dead.”

“No, no. Not dead. Not yet.”

* * *

I rummaged inside my coat and pulled out a cube.

A soft blue glow clung to its six faces.

One face was divided into nine smaller squares.

Six faces in all—fifty-four pieces.

Every piece was some shade of blue, but the shades didn’t yet match face by face.

Sky-blue on one side, deep indigo on another, teal on a third...

Only when all nine squares of every face aligned in perfect color would the magical tool awaken.

Kinjo, who’d lectured on Magical Tool Studies at the university, had explained it once:

- A magical tool adapts to its owner’s nature.

- While it sleeps in cube form, it’s studying its master.

- Like a dog sniffing the scent of a new house.

I slipped the cube into my pocket.

Then the silver-haired woman appeared.

Without a sound.

As if she had risen straight from the water.

“This area is under Imperial Army control. If you’re not military, get out—now.”

“Pretty cocky for a first meeting.”

The Ghost King pursed her lips.

A first meeting, she’d said.

To me, it wasn’t the first at all.

She looked exactly as she had in my past life.

I’d half expected her to show up as a child, but nothing had changed.

In other words, eight years had passed and she hadn’t aged a day.

I stood without a word and drew the red sword.

She, too, seemed to sense something.

She lowered the greatsword resting on her shoulder.

“No revolver this time—just the big blade...”

She leveled the weapon horizontally,

its tip aimed at my face.

A wave of pain and dread rolled over me—

the same fear I’d always felt.

I shut my eyes.

A ripple spread outward,

starting at her soles and sweeping through her entire body,

as if reading her.

“What’s going on?”

The 7th Squad Commander, who’d been watching from a distance, stepped closer.

“Don’t come any nearer.”

“Pardon?”

“Stay back.”

“What do you mean? Who is that—”

“Just some crazy woman.”

“Acting like you know me, White Hair.”

She advanced slowly,

not even bothering to deny the label.

I angled my sword, ready to parry.

Her greatsword came down in a vertical arc.

In that instant, every thought of deflecting or redirecting it vanished.

I had to dodge.

I had to run.

Anything else meant death.

* * *

Back at the Training Center, playing volleyball with the other recruits.

Match point.

One more lost rally and we were done.

The last ball hovered inches above the floor, right beside my leg.

My eyes tracked it.

A dozen thoughts flashed through my mind.

Should I kick it up?

Slide for it?

Amon was diving behind me—

should I freeze so I wouldn’t block him?

By the time the thoughts cleared, the answer was obvious:

there wasn’t one.

No move could reach that ball.

It hit the floor; game over.

Watching her sword come down, I remembered that match.

Had I ever seen a blade too fast even for my prized reflexes?

My body had already decided: give up.

“Hah... huh...”

Before the Ghost King’s strike, I was powerless.

I pushed myself up slowly,

then looked back.

Anakonda lay split in half.

Not just the snake—

the buildings behind it were cleaved and tilting,

as if a new road had been paved straight through them.

Belle—if there were ten of her,

and all ten swung at once,

they might manage the same devastation.

“So in our last life she wasn’t even trying... She toyed with me, holding back...”

A hollow laugh escaped me.

Every member of the 7th Squad behind me was down,

hurled aside by the shock wave.

Same for the Commander.

Whether she was unconscious or dead,

she was silent.

I pressed my palm to the ground and stood.

The moment I was upright, a ringing filled my ears.

I clutched my thigh, fighting to stay upright.

It felt like I was shoving someone else to their feet.

My body didn’t feel like mine.

I leaned against the Anakonda’s wall and exhaled.

Only then did the trembling start to ease.

But it wasn’t just the Ghost King’s sword stroke that made me shake.

I had to put that monster down.

The instant the thought crystallized, shock slammed into me.

That monster... me.

I had to be the one.

Hand on the wall, I limped into what was left of the Anakonda.

The building had been split in two; I could barely place one foot in front of the other.

“Still breathing, White Hair?”

The Ghost King heard my dragging steps and spoke without turning.

Her tone was flat, almost bored.

She stood before a heap of vampire corpses.

“So you really came to raise the dead...”

“‘Really’?”

“The Training Center was your work too, I suppose. Killing the Chief Instructor and all.”

“You even figured that out? Impressive.”

“And once you bring them back, then what?”

“Interested in my life story now?”

Life.

The word she’d used should have been “plan.”

Yet she’d said “life,” as if the plan were everything life could be.

“I need more undead.”

“Undead for what?”

“To rebuild a kingdom you need manpower.”

Undead as citizens.

Sovereignty resting in herself.

Any land would serve as territory.

Therefore—queen.

So she declared.

Madness, sheer and simple.

“Once the war kills everyone, my undead will rebuild this land. Tools that never die, never tire, never grow bored. Replace the working class with them and the world will know eternal equality.”

“Undead doing human jobs...”

“Humans will lose their work, yes—that’s the point. Humans not working. Better yet, no one working at all.”

“And what do you gain?”

“Nothing.”

“...What?”

“It’s a cause. A duty. Something only I can do; I can’t just stand by.”

“Empty rhetoric.”

“Is it? Picture it, White Hair: a world where no one works. Noble, commoner, slave—nothing to divide them. Everyone a ruler.”

“For that to happen—”

“—I need more undead. Doesn’t matter the race. I’ll keep fighting and killing until the tally is met. Who dies, who wins—I don’t care. All that matters is the body count.”

She lifted a hand, palm up.

Vampire corpses strewn across the floor stirred, rose, and formed ranks behind her.

“Even one more.”

The bodies wore thin ropes, oil-soaked tails dangling like lizard tails.

I heard fire crackle along the cords.

“What—”

“Thanks for buying me the time.”

I flicked a matchbox away with my thumb.

The same one I’d used to set off Madam Anne’s fireworks.

Empty now.

“The fuse is already lit.”

Before I’d stepped into the half-ruined Anakonda, I’d ignited a fuse I’d prepared.

The spark traveled the rope highway straight into the corpses.

“Wait—”

By the time the Ghost King’s face showed alarm, the blast ripped the night open.

I ducked behind a chunk of collapsed wall, ears ringing, ground bucking, smoke billowing.

All that lingered when the roar faded was a short, sharp scream from the queen of ghosts.