Linaris the Obsidian - 3

"Now, Sirok, here's the thing about love…," Enu said, out of character, on their route home, the post-operation cleanup concluded and the sun beginning to set. "…The first time is the most beautiful of all. However, that first love is the one that has the smallest chance of success."

"…I don't need your comfort."

"No one can ever manage to forget their very first love. It's a fact. All we can do is have new encounters and push that first love further and further away. In so doing, this world never runs out of tales of love and hate. Ha-ha- ha-ha!"

The Thirteenth Minister laughed with just his mouth, the look on his face remaining unchanged.

…He may have had a point. The girl was a vampire. If he did meet with Linaris a second or third time, their encounter wouldn't end with memories of her beauty. He would have been shown things he didn't want to see and made to fear things he didn't want to be afraid of.

Sirok was confident their reunion would've been a gruesome one.

What was inside of Sirok's heart now was only the beautiful form he saw standing in the garden.

Even though he longed to see her again, he had separated himself from her.

All the mysteries, all the secrets would be lost in the sea of time.

It was hard for him to say Enu's words were comforting, and they were few, but by the time he finally returned to his home, Sirok had been able to convince himself.

"If our preparations for departure are finished expediently, we intend to leave for Aureatia in the evening. It'll have to be on the way, my apologies, but we'll deliver you to the hospital, too."

"...Thank you."

He obediently bowed his head. It appeared he would be away from the house he had inherited from his parents for a time.

Or maybe, things might stay like that forever.

The house had almost never had guests to begin with. While the soldiers

had been briefly stationed there, he figured this would be the last time the house would be bustling with this many guests.

If I could cook for them, or show them any hospitality, that would be nice. With Sirok's skill set, even that much was out of his reach. Thus, there was nothing he could do as master of the house besides stand as he was in the

entryway and receive the column of soldiers into his home.

When the last soldier in the line arrived, he closed the door.

Then came a shrill ringing noise.

"Ngh!"

"Hrnk!"

Two soldiers joined together and collapsed in a heap.

Their bodies clashed, and the noise sounded similar to that of a stringed instrument. The odd sound blended together with the grisly sound of bones breaking, creating a gruesome cacophony.

The entryway was painted red with blood and viscera. "Wh-what the…?!"

Sirok tried to take out his claw-sword. Seeing the grisly scene before him, he was certain that was what he had tried to do.

However, incomprehensibly, his body didn't budge. He watched the next event unfold.

One of the soldiers turned back toward him and sent their short sword flying out of its sheath. They weren't aiming for Sirok. Separated from his bodyguards, Enu the Distant Mirror's right knee was run through, and the momentum of the thrust sent him toppling backward to the ground.

"Augh…?"

"Master Enu!"

"Hnngh, enemy attack! Restrain Mezde and Sirok! They're thralls!"

Enu cried, without recoiling in pain. The short sword–wielding soldier Mezde appeared terribly confused. Contrary to his visible unrest, his body again tried to brandish his sword, and he was immediately immobilized. The soldier, Mezde, with his hand twitched up behind his back, shouted.

"W-Wait! I haven't done anything to get infected! Nothing at all!" As far as Sirok had seen, that should have been the case.

A brawny solder grabbed Sirok's arm and forced it into the restraints. The

soldier named Mezde was similarly put into shackles.

"…I don't believe it. How were we found out? What happened?"

While twisting his expression in an odd way—likely a sign of anger—Enu held a nearby tablecloth with his chin and wrapped it around his wound.

"The parent is nearby… There's been an infected hiding out among us from the beginning… No, that can't be…!"

Next, a different soldier went mad. The soldier who restrained Mezde suddenly drew their sword and sliced at the person behind him. The soldier under attack tried to defend himself. However, the berserk soldier's strength, far surpassing its normal limits, tore halfway through the armor protecting his torso. Physical strength, beyond normal limits. He, too, was a thrall.

"A-ahhh…! N-no…yeeeaaaaugh!" "Dammit! There's still another thrall!" "Everyone, check your pupils!"

"There's still the attack that did in the two by the door! Don't let down your guard!"

The heavily wounded soldier writhed in agony for a brief moment before expiring on the spot.

Panic. Chaos.

Sirok couldn't grasp the situation. What was going on?

Vampires… If the Obsidian was dead, shouldn't the threat have vanished?

"Linaris!"

He shouted, still restrained. Even if it went against the understanding he had arrived at in his heart, he didn't care.

He hoped strongly to see her somewhere, and for his words to reach her. "If you consider yourself a friend of Sirok the Sextant, then show

yourself! Are you doing this of your own will?! Is this the work of Obsidian…?! Linaris!"

His voice echoed to a whisper through the expansive and eerie premises.

The soldiers seemed terrified of the slightest movements any of them made and stood there with weapons drawn and on high alert.

All of the men confirmed to be infected were restrained and lying down on the floor. There were far too many.

Vampirism spread through the blood. There also needed to be more time

between initial infection and pathogenic control. Even if the mysterious attacks gave an opportunity to infect through the resulting wounds, there shouldn't have been any possible way to turn this many people into thralls at once.

"Master Sirok."

Then came a quiet voice. He heard the clattering sound of wheels spinning.

Black hair, contrasting starkly with her pure white skin. Gold eyes tinged with melancholy.

She— Linaris appeared from deeper down the hallway.

Her footsteps didn't make any sound, as if she were an angel from on high.

Was she a ghost? Or maybe, an illusion, from the very moment Sirok laid eyes on her.

He should have found her terrifying, yet she was beautiful.

She was pushing a wheelchair, with someone seated in it, wrapped up in a luxurious robe.

"Linaris…"

"We were able to meet again, just as you promised… But, how awful of you."

The lovely vampire girl gave a lonely smile. "You were trying to kill me, were you not?"

Her voice was calm, just like when he had first met her.

She's so gorgeous.

Sirok thought to himself amid the silence.

Even in the middle of this hellish sea of blood.

Linaris's appearance was so heavenly and calm, it was enough to take any of the soldiers' breath away, but nevertheless, not a single one of the soldiers could make any movements to draw their bow. It was inexplicable.

Enu barked an order.

"That's the vampire parent. Don't let her speak. Shoot." "They will not shoot me, Master Enu the Distant Mirror." "...Shoot her!"

The fwoom of the crossbows' release rang out. It was the sound of two

soldiers shooting each other in the face.

The two had their pupils checked only moments prior and had been confirmed to be uninfected.

Despite the terrifying scene, the ones witnessing it couldn't move at all, unable to escape or defend themselves, as Linaris looked on at them all tranquilly.

"That's not it…"

Enu's voice was shaking.

The face of the Thirteenth Minister, once composed, even with the injury to his leg, was now twisted in fear.

His lucid mind derived the answer to the situation playing out before his eyes.

"That's not it… Th-these aren't enemies we can fight… Retreat! How is a mutation like this…even possible…?! Everyone, get out of this house now!"

Pale skin, translucent and glasslike, as though it had never once been graced by the sun's rays.

Slim fingertips, becoming of a high-born young woman. Her hands had never even held a hatchet, let alone a spear or sword.

She was not a warrior…

…However.

"The air! It spreads through the air!" Panic erupted.

The Thirteenth Minister's soldiers shot and cut each other down, begging for their lives as they killed each other. And those who tried to escape were altogether dissected by an invisible string.

Linaris cocked her head, looking a bit at a loss, without a single drop of the blood spurts getting anywhere near her.

Sirok groaned in the middle of the hellish scene.

"Obsidian… Linaris… You were the true Obsidian after all…"

"Heavens, no. I could not possibly dare to disrespect my father's illustrious name by claiming his deeds as my own."

She tenderly grasped the hand of the person sitting in the wheelchair. An elbow, peeking through with skin like wax, limply shook.

"Obsidian is my father's organization. Eternally powerful, eternally flourishing…to lead us all on the correct path to the future. Why, I could not possibly be Obsidian…"

Obsidian Eyes was already wiped out.…just as Enu had said. The reason for that was now as clear.

"Linaris! Stop… Please, you have to know the truth! Th-that person… They're already.…"

"My father's Obsidian Eyes are not done. My dear father is big, kind, and strong. Everything will go back to the way it was before. Linaris is always here at your side."

Bringing her lips against the parched shell of a hand, Linaris slowly turned back.

None before her could move their body even the slightest inch... No, that wasn't entirely true.

"…Let us begin. Now, eyes, gathered beneath our Obsidian. Unmatched and steadfast champions. We shall bestow upon you an era deserving of you all. Now then, state your names."

There were people squirming in the dark.

How many people out there in the world were even capable of hiding and evading detection from Aureatia's grizzled field troops, and possessed techniques to kill and dissect soldiers with string traps?

They were there in Obsidian Eyes. Innumerable eyes appeared out of the darkness.

Out from behind the Aureatia troops. From above. From the farthest reaches of the unseen terrors of the night.

"Fifth formation vanguard. Zeljirga the Abyss Web." There was a zumeu pulling threads with all ten fingers. "Seventh formation rearguard. Wieze the Variation."

There was a strangely shaped minia, back bent and walking on all fours. "F-fourth formation vanguard. Yakrai the Tower."

There was a minia carrying a straight sword. "First formation vanguard. Lena the Obscured."

There was an elf who had both eyes covered by a bandage. "Fourth formation rearguard. Frey the Waking."

There was a leprechaun with a cane.

Each one of them was so powerful, they were on the verge of becoming champions themselves. They were at the upper limits of their supernatural abilities and training.

Nevertheless, what stood there was in fact a host of thralls, commanded by a singular will, and given strength beyond the limits of their minian bodies, all at the hands of the vampire pathogen.

Enu moaned.

"…Damned undead...!"

"Obsidian Eyes is alive. Right here, as you can see. You will soon be able to understand that much yourself, Master Enu the Distant Mirror."

Linaris smiled—like the smile of an innocent child—and stooped down in front of Enu, sprawled out on the floor.

Her unsettling palm gently caressed his cheek.

"You shall give us your recommendation for the royal games, yes? A return to the age of champions, as the Hero. For my father…let us once again create an age of warring strife."

"Who would ever…agree to the demands…of a monster like you…?" "You will. It's been this way from the very start."

She had known Enu the Distant Mirror's name from the beginning.

From the start, this had been her only goal. Everything had been for the sake of bringing him under her control.

If not for the blank letter, would Sirok have unreservedly told the aristocrat lord about her? From a simple blank piece of paper, Enu had understood that Obsidian was there. The truth of Sirok's infection showed him proof of the vampire's existence. She had known that there was a mansion here with enough space for the Thirteenth Minister to quarter his troops. The entire detachment lying in wait in the neighboring town as well— she had lured them all out by providing them information.

As she openly presented an easy-to-trace path of infection, beneath the surface, she had kept the true method of the infection a secret.

If Sirok hadn't been invited into that manor, the current tragedy never would have unfolded.

However, the wound at the beginning… His tiny, insignificant scratch.

"Linaris, it's not true, right…?! The wound on my finger, I only pricked a thorn, right…? It was really…all just a coincidence, right?!"

Linaris was not a warrior.

Nevertheless, in both her thoughts and way of being, she was completely beyond his reach, different from Sirok in every possible dimension.

For the sake of her deep-rooted obsession with a dying age, she intended to regress this world back to that time once again.

"You said you've been all alone…and lonely, didn't you?! Isn't that right?! I know you were all by yourself! And maybe, maybe I had just…"

The pale noble daughter smiled elegantly.

That settled it. Sirok knew his feelings had been genuine.

Even if he had been under her control, there was some of his own will buried within these emotions.

"Master Sirok. Thank you… I was so happy for the opportunity to have a regular conversation with someone…just like a normal girl."

Her golden eyes were tinged with melancholy.

Her pale skin was so delicate it seemed to be on the verge of fading away, as were her delicate arms and legs. Every single part of her beautiful form seemed incongruous with the blood-soaked tragedy she was orchestrating.

Something so cruel shouldn't have been allowed to happen. "Farewell."

She held a meticulous and cunning power, pulling on spider threads with unseen fingertips.

She had obtained a mutated method of infection, wholly unforeseeable and inconceivable to ascertain with everyday logic.

She commanded the world's largest secret organization, a military force of unrivaled elites, gathered from far and wide.

A wicked and terrible colony of espionage, commanded by a singular will concealed within shadows.

Scout. Vampire.

Linaris the Obsidian.