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Scrapped Princess | Prelude of the Stray Cat Princess | The Scrapped Princess's Casket | Part 8/10
"Nngh . . . !"
You could say that it was amazing that Convict had not dropped his weapon. Still, he could not help slackening his grip, and Shannon hammered a left-handed punch into that hand.
The second Banesword coiled to the floor with a dry rustle.
"I've got some advice to give you in return. If your prey's right in front of you, hurry up and sink your fangs in. If you stand there licking your lips, even prey will turns its fangs back on you."
Shannon quickly jumped away as he said this, ready for a counterattack. With a shocked expression, Convict looked from his shoulder to Shannon's armor.
"A concealed weapon1 . . . !"
"It's nothing all that impressive. This armor just has specialized equipment sewn into it here and there . . . Spring-loaded darts like that one, for example."
Of course, such darts have a limited range suited only to point-blank surprise attacks, but depending on how you use them, it is possible to turn the tables in situations like the one we saw just now.
It hardly bears mentioning, but they are not the sort of equipment that are used by orthodox knights, who will only cross swords in open and aboveboard combat. They are armaments that are supplied to people such as reconnaissance units, for whom survival is the top priority no matter what the circumstances; the Special Forces, who have nothing to do with chivalry; and those elites who possess a mastery of myriad apparatus.
"To be honest, I don't really like using such crude weapons, but this isn't the time to be bothering about appearances."
"Ugh . . . !"
Convict ripped out the small, barbed dart. Fresh blood spurted like a thin thread.
"You still wanna go?" Shannon asked from just outside the Banesword's range. "What for? Your daughter's already dead."
The instant he said that.
Rage surged inside the emaciated man.
Every hair on Shannon's body stood on end.
It was not bloodlust so much as . . . pure insanity. More an eruption of unrestrained emotion than conscious will.
Raising his voice in a senseless roar, Convict came charging in, shoulder-first. Shannon leapt aside. Convict kept running, eventually staggering up to the katana Shannon had thrust into the floor. He unwrapped the tightly coiled Banesword, heedless of the injury it caused to his own hands. Once more gripping the Banesword in his blood-soaked hands, Convict turned back to face Shannon.
"Yaaaaaaaaaah!"
Was this a lamentation or a battle cry? Shannon did not know, but the shout resounded through the place of worship.
Perhaps . . . it was a prayer.
"I'll keep saying it, however many times I have to."
Frankly, shouting this was painful for Shannon as well. He understood the desire to protect someone that was dear to him, no matter what it took. He understood it so well it hurt.
And for exactly that reason, he understood something else as well.
It was possible that this man could no longer be stopped. That he could not stop. Faced with reality, it was likely that he would become all the more frenzied, that he would just keep on fighting and fighting like a berserker.
"Your daughter's dead! She died a long time ago! It's pointless trying to do anything now! This is senseless!"
"Ahhhhhhhhh!"
Joined by this scream, the Banesword whirled in a crazed dance.
Scattering countless drops of blood from both hands, Convict charged at Shannon. The attack was artless, reckless, merely swinging his weapon around.
Shannon saw through it easily and backed away.
"Don't you get it? You're acting out of sheer self-satisfaction!"
Those words pricked at Shannon too.
Then am I . . . am I any different?
He was the one protecting a girl who had been declared the poison that would destroy the world. Could he really claim not to be a fool indulging in self-satisfaction? Just how different was he from this man?
But still . . .
"Thanks to your selfishness, you're desecrating your daughter's body! You dishonor her by denying her a proper burial!"
"SHUUUUUUT UUUUUP!" Convict screamed, his voice sounding as though his throat might tear open. He swung down at Shannon with all his might.
Shannon managed to slip away to the side.
And then . . .
The place struck by Convict's thunderous blow was the altar.
". . . !"
". . . !"
Shannon and Convict . . . both their breaths caught when they realized what had happened.
The extended, saw-like blades . . . they had struck the corpse that was enshrined on the altar.
The impact sent fragments flying into the air.
Just like that . . . just like that, with the quietest sound, the little girl's remains split into two perfect halves.
A hellish silence descended.
"Ah . . ." Convict's voice leaked out. "Ahh . . . Ahhhhhhh . . ."
Convict backed away.
As though to flee from reality. Like a convict shivering in horror of his own crime.
"Ahhhhhhh . . ."
Then, as though shocked at his own body for withdrawing, he stared at his hands and feet.
"Ahh . . . ahh . . . ahh . . ."
His face twitching, Convict walked toward his daughter's remains.
Shannon probably no longer existed to him. He passed by--close enough that Shannon could have reached out and touched him--without so much as glancing at Shannon.
"Linthia . . . Linthia . . ." Convict murmured deliriously, kneeling beside the corpse. "Oh . . . please . . . forgive me . . . Linthia . . . Please . . . forgive . . . Tousan . . . Look . . . If I . . . do this . . ."
Convict pushed the cut ends of the corpse together. As though that could heal the wound. As though that could bring his daughter back to life.
"If I . . . do this . . . Look . . . Good as new . . . Haha . . . Hahahaha . . . You're good as new, Linthia . . . Please . . . please open your eyes . . ."
It was an absurd request. The eyes that should have been looking back at him no longer had lids to open. All that remained were small hollows, brimming with infinite darkness.
But still, Convict just kept stubbornly pushing the two halves of the corpse together, over and over again.
"Your eyes . . . your eyes . . . your eyes . . . That's funny . . . You don't have any eyes, Linthia . . . Linthia . . . Kehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehe."
Hollow laughter filled the place of worship.
"Your eyes . . . your eyes . . . your beautiful eyes . . . Kehehe . . . Where . . . did they go . . . huh? Ukehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehe . . . hehe . . . heheheh . . . heh . . . heheeh . . ."
In time, a voice will tend to wear out and die.
Shannon bit his lip and averted his eyes.
He could not watch.
But . . .
"Heh . . . Linthia," Convict said, and ran the Banesword through his own throat.
With a strange, sucking noise, the point of the blood-drenched Banesword broke through Convict's back. Shannon had no time to stop him--it all happened in an instant.
"Forgive . . . Tou . . . sa . . ."
Blood gushed out in place of his voice.
Shannon would have been lying if he said he was not surprised. Quite the contrary, he watched in relief as Convict's body fell to the ground.
For this man, nothing had remained but destruction. Everything he had came to an end the moment his daughter was called up to heaven.
"I'm sure . . . your daughter has forgiven you."
Shannon felt pained and saddened, but he did not pity Convict. Because he just may have seen his future self in this man.
"No," Shannon murmured as he looked down at the man's body--the last of its convulsions ceased, and it spilled warm blood as it rapidly grew cold. "I won't end up like you. I'll be damned if I do."
Setting the father's remains beside the daughter's, Shannon left the room, leaving a small sigh behind him.
---
[Next] [Previous]
Notes:
1) The text has 暗器. Sometimes it gets translated as "hidden weapon," sometimes as "shadow weapon." Back
[Disclaimer]
Scrapped Princess | Prelude of the Stray Cat Princess | The Scrapped Princess's Casket | Part 8/10
"Nngh . . . !"
You could say that it was amazing that Convict had not dropped his weapon. Still, he could not help slackening his grip, and Shannon hammered a left-handed punch into that hand.
The second Banesword coiled to the floor with a dry rustle.
"I've got some advice to give you in return. If your prey's right in front of you, hurry up and sink your fangs in. If you stand there licking your lips, even prey will turns its fangs back on you."
Shannon quickly jumped away as he said this, ready for a counterattack. With a shocked expression, Convict looked from his shoulder to Shannon's armor.
"A concealed weapon1 . . . !"
"It's nothing all that impressive. This armor just has specialized equipment sewn into it here and there . . . Spring-loaded darts like that one, for example."
Of course, such darts have a limited range suited only to point-blank surprise attacks, but depending on how you use them, it is possible to turn the tables in situations like the one we saw just now.
It hardly bears mentioning, but they are not the sort of equipment that are used by orthodox knights, who will only cross swords in open and aboveboard combat. They are armaments that are supplied to people such as reconnaissance units, for whom survival is the top priority no matter what the circumstances; the Special Forces, who have nothing to do with chivalry; and those elites who possess a mastery of myriad apparatus.
"To be honest, I don't really like using such crude weapons, but this isn't the time to be bothering about appearances."
"Ugh . . . !"
Convict ripped out the small, barbed dart. Fresh blood spurted like a thin thread.
"You still wanna go?" Shannon asked from just outside the Banesword's range. "What for? Your daughter's already dead."
The instant he said that.
Rage surged inside the emaciated man.
Every hair on Shannon's body stood on end.
It was not bloodlust so much as . . . pure insanity. More an eruption of unrestrained emotion than conscious will.
Raising his voice in a senseless roar, Convict came charging in, shoulder-first. Shannon leapt aside. Convict kept running, eventually staggering up to the katana Shannon had thrust into the floor. He unwrapped the tightly coiled Banesword, heedless of the injury it caused to his own hands. Once more gripping the Banesword in his blood-soaked hands, Convict turned back to face Shannon.
"Yaaaaaaaaaah!"
Was this a lamentation or a battle cry? Shannon did not know, but the shout resounded through the place of worship.
Perhaps . . . it was a prayer.
"I'll keep saying it, however many times I have to."
Frankly, shouting this was painful for Shannon as well. He understood the desire to protect someone that was dear to him, no matter what it took. He understood it so well it hurt.
And for exactly that reason, he understood something else as well.
It was possible that this man could no longer be stopped. That he could not stop. Faced with reality, it was likely that he would become all the more frenzied, that he would just keep on fighting and fighting like a berserker.
"Your daughter's dead! She died a long time ago! It's pointless trying to do anything now! This is senseless!"
"Ahhhhhhhhh!"
Joined by this scream, the Banesword whirled in a crazed dance.
Scattering countless drops of blood from both hands, Convict charged at Shannon. The attack was artless, reckless, merely swinging his weapon around.
Shannon saw through it easily and backed away.
"Don't you get it? You're acting out of sheer self-satisfaction!"
Those words pricked at Shannon too.
Then am I . . . am I any different?
He was the one protecting a girl who had been declared the poison that would destroy the world. Could he really claim not to be a fool indulging in self-satisfaction? Just how different was he from this man?
But still . . .
"Thanks to your selfishness, you're desecrating your daughter's body! You dishonor her by denying her a proper burial!"
"SHUUUUUUT UUUUUP!" Convict screamed, his voice sounding as though his throat might tear open. He swung down at Shannon with all his might.
Shannon managed to slip away to the side.
And then . . .
The place struck by Convict's thunderous blow was the altar.
". . . !"
". . . !"
Shannon and Convict . . . both their breaths caught when they realized what had happened.
The extended, saw-like blades . . . they had struck the corpse that was enshrined on the altar.
The impact sent fragments flying into the air.
Just like that . . . just like that, with the quietest sound, the little girl's remains split into two perfect halves.
A hellish silence descended.
"Ah . . ." Convict's voice leaked out. "Ahh . . . Ahhhhhhh . . ."
Convict backed away.
As though to flee from reality. Like a convict shivering in horror of his own crime.
"Ahhhhhhh . . ."
Then, as though shocked at his own body for withdrawing, he stared at his hands and feet.
"Ahh . . . ahh . . . ahh . . ."
His face twitching, Convict walked toward his daughter's remains.
Shannon probably no longer existed to him. He passed by--close enough that Shannon could have reached out and touched him--without so much as glancing at Shannon.
"Linthia . . . Linthia . . ." Convict murmured deliriously, kneeling beside the corpse. "Oh . . . please . . . forgive me . . . Linthia . . . Please . . . forgive . . . Tousan . . . Look . . . If I . . . do this . . ."
Convict pushed the cut ends of the corpse together. As though that could heal the wound. As though that could bring his daughter back to life.
"If I . . . do this . . . Look . . . Good as new . . . Haha . . . Hahahaha . . . You're good as new, Linthia . . . Please . . . please open your eyes . . ."
It was an absurd request. The eyes that should have been looking back at him no longer had lids to open. All that remained were small hollows, brimming with infinite darkness.
But still, Convict just kept stubbornly pushing the two halves of the corpse together, over and over again.
"Your eyes . . . your eyes . . . your eyes . . . That's funny . . . You don't have any eyes, Linthia . . . Linthia . . . Kehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehe."
Hollow laughter filled the place of worship.
"Your eyes . . . your eyes . . . your beautiful eyes . . . Kehehe . . . Where . . . did they go . . . huh? Ukehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehe . . . hehe . . . heheheh . . . heh . . . heheeh . . ."
In time, a voice will tend to wear out and die.
Shannon bit his lip and averted his eyes.
He could not watch.
But . . .
"Heh . . . Linthia," Convict said, and ran the Banesword through his own throat.
With a strange, sucking noise, the point of the blood-drenched Banesword broke through Convict's back. Shannon had no time to stop him--it all happened in an instant.
"Forgive . . . Tou . . . sa . . ."
Blood gushed out in place of his voice.
Shannon would have been lying if he said he was not surprised. Quite the contrary, he watched in relief as Convict's body fell to the ground.
For this man, nothing had remained but destruction. Everything he had came to an end the moment his daughter was called up to heaven.
"I'm sure . . . your daughter has forgiven you."
Shannon felt pained and saddened, but he did not pity Convict. Because he just may have seen his future self in this man.
"No," Shannon murmured as he looked down at the man's body--the last of its convulsions ceased, and it spilled warm blood as it rapidly grew cold. "I won't end up like you. I'll be damned if I do."
Setting the father's remains beside the daughter's, Shannon left the room, leaving a small sigh behind him.
---
[Next] [Previous]
Notes:
1) The text has 暗器. Sometimes it gets translated as "hidden weapon," sometimes as "shadow weapon." Back
