Chapter Fifty-Nine: The Night Hunter

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They released me, and I walked toward home, weak as though I were ill.

I knew the Consul’s position remained as solid as a mountain. That meant my career was over. Worse, he would remember this forever and, once the world had forgotten me, quietly have me killed. I could not tell Lamia, or she would suffer as well. I would have to distance myself from my wife.

Someone was inside my house, but Lamia was nowhere to be seen.

It was an Arbiter—one of the guards who stood watch over the gates of the Black Coffin. Clad in imposing armor, he stood beneath the faint light of a lamp. He no longer appeared sacred or benevolent, but terrifying and abhorrent.

Lamia had said that he was armed to the teeth. Though mortal, he surpassed even the elite of the vampire clans.

He asked, “Where are your wife, Lamia, and your wife’s brother, Salvador?”

I snapped, “Did Missouri send you?”

He took a step forward. “I am the one asking questions. You will answer, or I have the authority to execute you!”

Another Arbiter descended from the attic, blocking me from the other side.

I looked at them. My field of vision narrowed and blurred; everything in the distance became indistinct, yet every detail of their bodies was crystal clear.

I said, “Give them back to me.”

My voice sounded so deep that it was unfamiliar even to me.

One of the Arbiters raised a rifle. There was no doubt that it was loaded with Sacred Sword rounds.

“The Consul has shown you mercy,” he said. “But if you refuse to cooperate, your life will end here.”

In an instant, I charged him. I feinted with my Fishbone Spear. He raised his rifle and fired repeatedly, but I kept running at an angle, deceiving his aim. I drove the spear into his throat, yet failed to pierce his armor. There was not the slightest gap anywhere on his body.

They had taken Mjolnir away from me; otherwise, the powerful current would have made him suffer terribly.

The other Arbiter opened fire. I ducked behind a piece of furniture, which was instantly blown apart. The first Arbiter took aim again, but my shadow knocked the rifle from his hands.

They shouted, “You have made a terrible mistake, Longinus!”

I answered, “The greatest mistake I ever made was failing to kill Missouri sooner!”

The armed Arbiter fired again. I used the Wandering Cherry Blossom technique, darting across the eaves and walls, my movements impossible to predict. Every shot missed. Then I thrust with the Thought Blade, but he had a metal shield mounted on his left arm, and it blocked the strike.

At that moment, the unarmed Arbiter drew a two-handed sword and brought it crashing down at me. I leapt into the attic, and his blow smashed the cabinets and table to splinters.

Damn it! Damn it! Damn it! I want you dead! I want Missouri dead!

My heart raced, and my head rang like a hive. Yet rage poured immense strength into my limbs. The blood Vasilisa had given me, the Wandering Cherry Blossom technique taught by Hellsing, the divine power of the Radiant Hand, and the will contained within my shadow merged in the palm of my hand in an instant.

The unarmed Arbiter struck down another pillar. The attic began to collapse. I slipped through a breach in the wall and thrust with all my strength.

His armor shattered. Flesh and blood exploded outward. He crashed through the rear wall and fell motionless to the ground.

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The armed Arbiter cried out, “What the hell was that?”

I was utterly exhausted, yet I turned to face him. He activated some kind of switch on his body, and a cluster of gun ports appeared across his chest. His armor was like a miniature tank, bristling with all manner of firearms and artillery.

Suddenly, a fist punched straight through the Arbiter. Sparks burst from his armor as he pitched forward, blood spreading across the floor.

A masked man dressed in black said, “That was an impressive move.”

It was Steel Fang.

I thought the technique deserved a name.

I replied, “It is called Godslayer.”

Steel Fang did not praise my stroke of genius. Instead, he tossed me a Ranger uniform whose hood could conceal my face.

“Hurry. Come with me.”

We took an elevator straight to the slums on the thirteenth floor and arrived at Mask’s little dwelling. Lamia, Salvador, Broken Bell, and Solace were all inside. They hurried to greet me, their faces full of concern. Lamia embraced me and said, “Darling, I already know most of what happened. Whatever comes, I will face it together with you.”

I clutched my head and sighed. “I ruined everything. I completely ruined everything. I am truly sorry, everyone.”

Broken Bell replied, “It is nothing. You are my benefactor.”

Solace added, “You have long since become family to us as well. We would gladly sacrifice everything for you at any time.”

I embraced Broken Bell, then Solace.

Salvador was the last to greet me. He still seemed somewhat dazed. Fortunately, I no longer had to worry about him becoming a traitor. He and I were now grasshoppers tied to the same rope.

Mask crouched in a corner, tears streaming down his face.

“Why did you seize my home? Is it not enough that I am already poor and miserable? If you intend to take away the place where I live, you might as well take my innocence too....”

As he spoke, he stared at Solace and Lamia. That bastard certainly had beautiful dreams.

Steel Fang said, “I sent people ahead of us to bring your family and subordinates here.”

I asked, “How did you know where Mask lived?”

Steel Fang replied, “I need to speak with you alone.”

We crossed a wooden bridge between the floors and reached an empty rooftop. From there, the entire floor below appeared even filthier and more chaotic.

My thoughts were beginning to fall into place.

“You deliberately sent me to the... police department, didn’t you?” I asked. “And you were the one who had Mask come looking for me?”

“I knew the Consul’s Baptism was approaching,” Steel Fang said. “Even without Mask, I would have guided you toward uncovering the Consul’s crimes.”

Strangely, I felt calm. I did not hate him for forcing me into a dead end.

“Tell me the truth,” I said. “Why did you do this?”

“At the Pan-American Pyramid, you saw my memories. You should understand why I hate Missouri Tiado.”

“He killed your brother!” I said.

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Steel Fang said, “That is not all. Missouri killed him and drained his blood. He thought I might still be useful, so he spared my life. My brother had a fiery temperament and offended one of the great vampires in the region. Missouri refused to protect him. Instead, he executed my brother with his own hands, then devoured his blood and soul, condemning him to eternal ruin.”

He turned his head. His eyes gleamed like those of a wolfhound.

“He believed I was loyal. He also believed I had never discovered the truth. But the seed of hatred had already been planted in those years. My brother and I came from the Mongolian steppes in the East. I am of mixed blood; he was Mongolian. We were anda—sworn companions bound by blood and soul. Though we shared neither father nor mother, our bond was stronger than anything in this world. From that moment on, I resolved to kill Missouri Tiado.”

“Why did you wait until now?” I asked. “No matter how powerful a vampire is, it must sleep during the day. Once you knew where he hid, you could simply have sent your servants to kill him.”

“Missouri understands that better than anyone,” Steel Fang replied. “For centuries, he has controlled powerful humans and slept in the deepest, most heavily fortified castles. He almost never spends the night outside, and even when he does, no one can determine his movements. He is deeply suspicious. I could not reveal the slightest hint of disloyalty or expose even a trace of rebellious intent. He is one of the strongest vampires still living, at least among those I know, and he controls the lifeline of the Black Coffin. I had to wait until I had an opportunity to kill him in a single strike.”

“So you brought me into this?” I asked. “You saw what happened. Without you, I might not have been able to kill those two Arbiters. If we truly have to face Missouri—and if he is as powerful as you imagine—we still have no chance of victory.”

“I heard that you once defeated a formidable enemy whom even Vasilisa could do nothing against,” Steel Fang said. “So I assumed you were concealing your true strength.”

I stared at him in shock. I wanted to tell him that I had merely been making things up when I said that, but I could not think of how to phrase it.

Steel Fang smiled. “Do not worry. I also considered the possibility that your reputation exceeded your abilities. During that journey to the Pan-American Pyramid, all the conditions I had dreamed of finally came together. You were an indispensable part of the plan, but I never expected you to kill him head-on. Before telling you my plan, however, I had to make certain that you still possessed a noble and self-sacrificing spirit—that you would stand up for the weak and the unjustly treated.”

“So that... police station, and all those abductions, were tests?” I asked. “You knew Missouri’s secret from the very beginning?”

“I investigated in secret for a long time before uncovering this dark mystery and learning Missouri’s true nature.

“Hundreds of years ago, Missouri was aboard a ship sailing to explore the American continent. The vessel was wrecked, and all the vampire coffins belonging to his companions were washed ashore on a distant beach. When he awoke, he was ravenously hungry. Unable to find any mortals from whom he could drink, he began feeding on his own kind, murdering them one by one. To vampires, he was like a cannibal among humans. Devouring one’s own kin is an unforgivable sin. He concealed this history and ensured that no one learned of it.

“But from that moment on, he became addicted to the practice. Human blood alone could no longer satisfy him. He had to feed on his own kind.

“He secretly sired several vampires among the indigenous tribes and waited until they had matured. Then Missouri killed them and fed on their blood. After settling in the colonies, he selected suitable candidates from among the colonists—people who had no family and no one to depend on—turned them into vampires, and used them to satisfy his hunger.

“Devouring his own kind gradually became a terrible burden in Missouri’s heart. He feared that the other vampires would discover what he had done, and his guilt grew heavier with every passing day. He began to follow an ancient religion—Christianity—in the hope that confessing to priests would ease his burden of sin.

“Feeding on his own kind also caused his power to grow at an astonishing rate. He became a director of the Charon Corporation, a wealthy man among humans, a hidden force guiding America, and eventually the revered vampire known as the High Elder. He had to devote ever greater effort to concealing his depravity. As order took shape, he could no longer indulge his desires whenever he pleased.

“His addiction grew more severe and more irrational until he founded a Christian sect among the vampires. He deceived impoverished and weak ancient vampires into embracing the faith. To him, the blood of these converts—these vampires who possessed faith—was both delicious and capable of washing away his sins. The weak-blooded did not know that their faith would lead to their deaths. They truly believed they had found a family and a home. That made them all the more tragic, and Missouri all the more unforgivable.

“But Missouri knew that these vampires had no value. He could kill them without the slightest psychological burden. You have seen them yourself: the weak-blooded are scarcely stronger than humans. Now, in the Black Coffin, Missouri feeds them slaves purchased cheaply in the wilderness. He baptizes the weak-blooded with the blood of innocent humans, then uses those weak-blooded to satisfy his hideous and twisted appetite.

“That is the story behind the slaughterhouse. That is why Missouri must conceal the existence of the weak-blooded. He cannot tolerate anyone discovering that he is a devourer of his own kind. Perhaps even if the truth were exposed, the other Elders would be unable to do anything to him. But Missouri’s spiritual fastidiousness and self-worship compel him to erase every trace of evidence.”

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