“I can go, right? Even if you say no, I’m going. They’ve found Cookie, and most of all, Chané’s here.”
“…I suppose there’s no help for it.”
The back seat of the car held a compact wireless set developed by Rhythm, and the voice that issued from it belonged to Melvi Dormentaire. The man who’d been in the back seat opened the door and got out without switching the wireless off.
The driver reached over and replied, “Are you sure, Mr. Melvi?”
“I don’t think we have a choice. We can’t have Rhythm and the local thugs taking each other out here.”
“Are those Ladd and Graham fellas that dangerous?”
“Yes. I’ve seen them fight once, at Firo Prochainezo’s casino. I doubt the members of Larva will be able to do a thing,” Melvi said, with conviction.
The driver’s voice grew tense. “They’re really that bad…? That guy headed over there empty-handed. You think he’ll be okay?”
“Don’t worry.
✦ ✦ ✦
“At that casino, Ladd and Graham couldn’t do a thing about him.”
✦ ✦ ✦
“Oh… Oh, proclaim the end of the world of man as beasts swagger about upon it. Yet the trumpet of the end has not sounded, and the Revelation sneers at us… ‘O mankind, mankind! Fools! Thou art incapable even of death! Thou cannot even pray!’ It calls to us… Grasp it. Grasp it. The tragic remnants of faith and enlightenment, now living corpses, eat away at our words, clutching at their entrails…”
The Poet, who was watching the situation from a distance, spun an elaborate speech in an attempt to communicate the thought This has gotten completely out of hand. However, Sickle was facing off with Graham, and with no one nearby to shut him down, the Poet’s one-man show had dragged on and on.
Even so, while there may have been no one to stop him, someone appeared right next to him and egged him on. “Keh-keh-keh… Don’t you worry. No doubt the chaos will be swallowed up by even deeper lunacy soon. Did you know? Actual chaos takes the form of a person, and the trumpet of the end is shaped like a gun. I’ll be the one to ring the funeral bell. I’m no angel, but as Death’s messenger, you could say my ringing it is a natural law of this insane world.”
“What’s this…? He intends to sing! Sing a requiem that shaves off the inverse scale of the gods, incurring their wrath, and tells of the old world’s passing and a new world’s advent! He is both fool and hero! The people who sob, fearful of the coming of chaos and order, will surely press him for his name! Enraged death agonies! Birth-cries filled with rejoicing! Everyone inquires! Curses upon his name! Blessings upon his name!”
“Heh… I’m not important enough to introduce myself, and there’s no point in names. Still, as a guidepost to lead you through a world filled with insanity, I’ll at least scratch it on a gravestone… My name is Smith. Gunmeister Smith. Remember that name and the sound of my guns and be proud whenever you’re afraid. Also, be grateful. Grateful for the fact that you aren’t yet insane.”
Mark Wilmens, the boy who’d been listening to the pair, murmured impassively to himself, “…How are these people managing to hold a conversation like it’s normal?”
✦ ✦ ✦
Huh? What, that idiot Smith’s here? Hearing the distant voice, Ladd gave a mildly irritated smile. That guy really is dumb. I’ll deck him later.
He didn’t have any attention to waste on him right now, though.
First, he’d crush Chané, who was currently messing around with the saloon girl. He’d smash her arms and legs, then toss her at Huey’s feet.
With that ominous thought in mind, Ladd stepped deeper into the fight.
Hmm?
Just then, he felt a strange sizzling sensation on the back of his head.
He had a weird hunch that something dangerous was closing in.
But was it a good hunch or a bad one? Until the moment came, he wasn’t able to make that call.
Granted, as far as Ladd Russo was concerned, it was both good news and bad news.
✦ ✦ ✦
“Hey.”
Sauntering onto the scene, the man came to stand behind Salomé.
“Wha—?! You’re…” Salomé was astounded.
Wearing a smile that could technically be called “innocent,” the man made a request.
“’Scuse me. Could I borrow that for a minute?”
✦ ✦ ✦
He was pointing at Salomé’s portable loudspeaker.
✦ ✦ ✦
“There, you see, Miria?! I bet it really is a circus rehearsal.”
“You’re right! That girl did magic tricks at Jacuzzi’s house, too, that one time!”
Even as Isaac and Miria chatted, the whirlpool of chaos was expanding.
“Ah-ha-ha! Amazing, incredible! Your moves are even sharper than they were last time we fought, amiga!”
Maria slashed at Chané over and over, fighting with a sword in each hand, while Chané countered with two knives of her own.
Their blades locked tentatively, and then they both stepped in close, each trying to slash their opponent’s vital spots as they slipped behind the other’s back.
Their movements were synchronized so well that they might have been twins. As they dodged their opponent’s blades, leaping into the air, they really did look as if they were performing a fierce sword dance.
“Hey, Saloon Girl. Butt out. Things were just getting good,” Ladd grumbled, but since he’d never been the type to insist on fighting one-on-one, he didn’t fly off the handle. That said, he seemed to feel as if his prey had been stolen; he sounded a little grumpy.
Maria was completely unfazed. “That’s no good, amigo. You’re part of our team right now. We aren’t supposed to act without permission, but hogging the enemy all to yourself is even worse!” She grinned.
So did a Gandor put her up to this? Ladd looked around. In the distance, he spotted a figure walking toward them through the trees.
It was his current employer, Luck Gandor. The man seemed to be watching him gravely.
I see. So he’s using this to advertise that we’re squaring off against the Runorata Family, no holds barred?
Well, that’s fine. It means we can all thrash Chané and make an example of her, then see how that Huey gink and the Runoratas react.
And that was the plan anyway.
Just as a vicious grin began to spread across his face, the surrounding situation began to move again. The members of Larva had seen Maria crash the fight, and they all grabbed their weapons and rushed her and the boozy old man next to her.
Up until now, they’d been overwhelmed by Chané and Ladd’s duel. Deep down, their instincts had told them there was no way they could break into that.
Then, right under their noses, the old man and the saloon girl had cut in.
What had passed through their minds? Shame? Or envy?
In an attempt to overwrite their past selves, as if a dam had burst, a variety of violent types stormed into the vortex.
Frank was looking flustered, Tim was watching the situation unfold, Sickle was going toe to toe with Graham, and the Poet was conversing with a mystery man—but they were the exceptions. Most of the group rushed the people who seemed to be Chané’s enemies.