The fresh field swayed gently in the breeze, its green grasses glistening in the sunlight as a lone carriage drove through it. The carriage gently rocked along the road, which had been worn down by the other vehicles that frequented it.
“Mmm, what a lovely view. The plains truly are beautiful, the way they sparkle like ocean waves. The cool breeze also feels truly refreshing!”
But a voice that was a little out of place in such an idyllic scene echoed sharply over the fields. It came from a handsome man who was leaning on the carriage window to admire the view. Though his manner of speech was a bit pretentious, his words came from a place of genuine enjoyment. In a jovial tone, the young man showered everything he saw with affection.
“Yes, nature sure is great. I don’t have an eye for beauty, but I always feel humbled when I’m in the wild. The vast plains, the looming mountains, the bottomless ravines—this work of art forged slowly over time is oh, so beautiful. Do you not agree, Rolf, old chum?”
It was endearing, so long as the rapid-fire repetition of word vomit didn’t make the listener sick.
The young man spread his arms wide in a grand gesture as he spoke to the person sitting across from him in the carriage, a bald man with deep wrinkles in his brow. His name must have been Rolf.
When that question was abruptly thrown at him, Rolf forced his lips into a twisted sort of smile. “Er, well, I can’t say—”
“Is that so, old chum?” The young man cut him off. “Pity. Well, hobbies and preferences do vary, as they say. This infinite combination of personalities is yet another manifestation of chaos. Ah! That reminds me, thank you for letting me drag you along. It must have been a burden, taking it on so suddenly.”
The young man’s words may have been directed at Rolf, and they may have not. Even if Rolf had ignored him, the conversation wouldn’t have gone much differently. But Rolf responded as though the young man had been speaking to him, since it would be rude for him not to.
“You ordered it, Grandmaster. I don’t consider it a burden at all.”
“Mmm! So devout! If you ask me, it wouldn’t hurt to lighten up a little, but I don’t mind people like you, old chum. After all, you’re the exact opposite of me—having people like you around helps me sense all sorts of changes.”
It was unclear how sincere the young man was being, but Rolf bowed deeply in response to the praise and answered, “Er…I’m honored, Grandmaster Victor.”
Yes, dear reader—they were members of Gods of the Moon, Victor Ludland and his novice Rolf Balzer. And they were on their way to Zelfore to assassinate Mylene.
There was a clear hierarchy between the two of them, which produced their asymmetrical conversation. Were their roles reversed, there would not have been a word of conversation during the entire carriage ride.
“Come now, don’t be so formal! I love flexibility in all things, and I especially love an environment where unforeseen changes take place. I used to be just the opposite, but life can be oddly enigmatic, wouldn’t you say?”
“Yeah…”
It was a lackluster answer, but Victor didn’t seem to mind. He was aware that the conversation had no substance.
Carefree, friendly, proud, and handsome, Victor was—at the very least—not somebody you would expect to find in a cult.
“Aha, a checkpoint. That’s Zelfore for you. Since they have that prep school for the nobility from all over the continent, security is tight. Surely no matter what a couple of suspicious fellows like us say, they’ll give us the regulations-this, standards-that spiel and bar us entry. How utterly sickening.”
Even though he wasn’t anything like Pearlman, Victor was still a member of Gods of the Moon through and through.
For all his grumbling about being sickened, his face was twisted with look of terrifying glee, and his eyes were murky with evil.
The carriage proceeded to the checkpoint gate. But naturally, there were guards blocking it with spears. The driver tugged on the reins and the well-trained horses came to an obedient halt. The guard exchanged a couple of words with the driver, then approached the carriage window.
“Excuse me, may I see your passports?”
He was just doing his job. There was nothing hesitant about his speech or his movements.
After giving him a good looking-over, Victor shot him a friendly smile. “You’re doing a fine job, sir. However, I’m afraid we don’t have passports.”
“What? Well…then I can’t let you through.”
It was a very normal exchange. The guard kept his voice calm as he responded to Victor’s arrogant remark, which had come across as a prank.
Ahh, so devout, Victor smiled.
“Oh dear, I thought you would say that. However…I believe you’ll remember if I show you this—”
A smile still on his face, Victor extended his hand. When the soldier looked at it, his breath caught.
In this open palm—was nothing.
“Hm…? But there isn’t anything there,” the guard blurted out.
“Oh, no, no, no, take a closer look,” Victor coaxed, smiling at the guard as if he were a child.
And then—a light flickered on the palm of Victor’s hand.
“Agh!”
In a split second, the guard squeezed his eyes shut in response to the violent burst of light. Barely a moment later, he found himself unable to move.
He had not been physically damaged, yet his paralysis was so inexplicable, it was difficult to discern what was wrong with him.
For now, he was stunned, his vacant eyes open wide.
“What was that light?”
Just then, another guard who had seen the glow approached them. Wary of the burst of light and his frozen comrade, the guard gripped his spear and thrust its tip at the carriage window.
Then it happened.
“A-a-a-a-ah!!!”
“Agh…! What’re you—grah!”
The stupefied guard let out an eerie shriek and attacked his comrade for some reason. He sprung at his comrade from behind, his lance piercing through the man’s light armor. The guard expired in a state of astonishment.
“Wh-what are you doing?!”
“A-a-a-a-ah! Gra-a-a-ah!!!”
More watchmen ran over at the sound of the commotion, but with another eerie shriek—a howl, rather—the berserk guard attacked his other comrades.
“Stop it! What are you—?!”
But these were guards whose life’s work was fighting. Training was part of their daily routine. They blocked the wild spear swing of their maddened compatriot, but—
“H-he’s strong as an ox— Nngah!”
“N-no human’s this strong…! Garf?!”
Unable to land an attack against the abnormally strong berserker, the guards had their chests skewered and their heads crushed one after the other.
Mayhem descended on the checkpoint. Some soldiers tried to stop their mad comrade, others ran in terror from his inhuman strength, and silent corpses mixed among them until the area was fully submerged in chaos.
Meanwhile, the carriage leisurely passed through the gate.
“Ah-ha-hah! What beautiful disorder! Sudden tragedy brings a smile to the face better than any comedy routine!”
Victor clapped his hands and laughed as the clamor faded in the distance behind him. He stayed like that for a while until his waves of giggles finally subsided, then cleared his throat again.
“See? He did remember—his instincts, that is.”
He clapped his hands twice to signify the end of his speech, much in the same the way a narrator would signal the end of a book.
“That spell never ceases to terrify me.” There was sweat on Rolf’s brow but a smile on his face.
“Oh, tut, ’tis not that grand a spell! It’s not easy to cast, and it’s vulnerable to defensive magic. Just consider it a by-product of my leisure time.”
When the servant of few emotions gave his heartfelt praise, Victor modestly rebuffed him, though a satisfied smile did come to his face.
“One of the guards got stabbed by his maddened comrade, one got his head crushed, and one abandoned his post and fled wildly for his life—for a last-minute improv, I’d say it was a rather good performance, wouldn’t you?”
“Yes, that massacre was mayhem at its finest.”
“We-he-hell! I took you for a square, but you understand! It was kismet, joining your little troupe.”
He seemed pleased to have found a kindred spirit who appreciated his hobby.
The smile still on his face, Victor glanced out the window. “If you need to know one thing about me, it’s this: I love beautiful things. Each and every human being you and your kind want to destroy has their own beautiful story to tell. I became a playwright because I wanted to get closer to that feeling, but it didn’t work out. After all, a play is a mere formulaic convention, where everything is laid out for you.”
Victor was dwelling on the past. Though he was speaking to his underling, his eyes had wandered off to a distant realm.
But then, his stormy eyes filled with light.
“But real people with lives are wonderful things indeed! There’s no telling what they’ll do during their dying moments. What will they say next? What kind of expression will they make when they die? The excitement is insatiable. Which way will the dice fall? Not even I, the one who rolled them, knows the answer. That, my friend, is the sort of chaos that makes for a beautiful story.”
Reminiscing over the scene he had just helped create, Victor gave a satisfied click of his tongue. But that, too, had lasted only fleeting moment. With a loving smile on his lips, Victor gazed off into the distance—
“Oh, I can hardly wait… God’s Bitch is supposed to be a beauty, isn’t she? A tragedy with the best actress to play its leading role. I’m sure it will be beautiful.”
—sending his heart out to the girl whose life he was to claim.
“Having said that, I’m only going to perform in the opening act this time. But considering it will be the opening act for the greatest show of all—the end of the world—it is indeed an honor. Kee-hee-hee, oh, I don’t mind at all. For a world of chaos—your people’s philosophy has my utmost sympathy.”
And thus, the playwright ventured forth toward his ideal stage.
The carriage made for Zelfore.