The Rose Princess Read online

  Other Vampire Hunter D books published by

  Dark Horse Books and Digital Manga Publishing

  vol. 1: Vampire Hunter D

  vol. 2: Raiser of Gales

  vol. 3: Demon Deathchase

  vol. 4: Tale of the Dead Town

  vol. 5: The Stuff of Dreams

  vol. 6: Pilgrimage of the Sacred and the Profane

  vol. 7: Mysterious Journey to the North Sea part one

  vol. 8: Mysterious Journey to the North Sea part two

  VAMPIRE HUNTER D 9: THE ROSE PRINCESS

  © Hideyuki Kikuchi, 1994. Originally published in Japan in 1994 by ASAHI SONORAMA Co. English translation copyright © 2007 by Dark Horse Books and Digital Manga Publishing.

  No portion of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the express written permission of the copyright holders. Names, characters, places, and incidents featured in this publication are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons (living or dead), events, institutions, or locales, without satiric intent, is coincidental. Dark Horse Books® and the Dark Horse logo are registered trademarks of Dark Horse Comics, Inc. All rights reserved.

  Cover art by Yoshitaka Amano

  English translation by Kevin Leahy

  Book design by Heidi Fainza

  Published by

  Dark Horse Books

  a division of Dark Horse Comics

  10956 SE Main Street

  Milwaukie, OR 97222

  darkhorse.com

  Digital Manga Publishing

  1487 West 178th Street, Suite 300

  Gardena, CA 90248

  dmpbooks.com

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Kikuchi, Hideyuki, 1949-

  [D--Baraki. English]

  The rose princess / written by Hideyuki Kikuchi ; illustrated by Yoshitaka Amano ; English translation by Kevin Leahy.

  p. cm. -- (Vampire Hunter D ; v. 9)

  “Originally published in Japan in 1994 by Asahi Sonorama, Tokyo”--T.p. verso.

  ISBN 978-1-59582-109-6

  I. Amano, Yoshitaka. II. Leahy, Kevin. III. Title.

  PL832.I37D2313 2007

  895.6’36--dc22

  ISBN: 978-1-59582-109-6

  ePub ISBN: 978-1-62115-495-2

  First Dark Horse Books Edition: November 2007

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  Printed in the United States of America

  PROLOGUE

  —

  Once the sweet perfume began to waft through the crystal clear darkness, the villagers hurried off the cobblestone streets and hid themselves in nearby homes.

  The fragrance had always been part of the history of this village. On the evening of the village’s centennial celebration, the night the new female teacher arrived from the Capital, the evening when a daughter was born to the mayor, a silent night when winter’s white storms blustered—each and every time, the fragrance that swept so sweetly over the road made the people avert their gaze from the castle on the outskirts of the village as the pain of eternal damnation left their eyes bloodshot.

  Why did the wind have to blow through town?

  People prayed in earnest for the aroma to be gone and waited expectantly for the dawn. However, the sun that rose would eventually have to set again, and night would cover the world like the wings of a crow. And every time the perfume returned, the people’s suffering carved deep wrinkles in their faces, and the community’s only watering hole set new sales records.

  The shades were drawn on every window, leaving only the streetlights to dimly illuminate the road where the fragrance alone still lingered. It was the aroma of flowers.

  As befitted an evening of this warmth-filled season, the wind seemed to request the poetry of the night.

  A castle gate studded with hobnails rumbled like thunder in a sea of clouds as it closed, but before it had even started to move, the black-lacquered carriage went racing through the arched gate to the central courtyard. The wheels creaked to a halt, and the door opened.

  Inside the carriage sat a girl who was scared to death. Although her ample cleavage betrayed the wild racing of her heart, her plump face had all the color of a corpse. Even when the sweet aroma and dazzling colors crushed in through the open door, the girl didn’t move a muscle.

  How old am I again? the girl thought. Seventeen years and one month. Is this the end? Can’t I live a little longer? And just three days ago, I was talking with my friends about going to the trade school in town. Who decided this has to happen? Who chose me?

  “Get out,” said a voice like steel from beyond the door. It must’ve been one of those that’d been sent to get her.

  At the urging of an eerie aura and a will that would brook no resistance, the girl headed toward the door. The carriage steps had already been extended. As her nostrils filled with the fragrance and her eyes were met by a brilliant wash of colors, the girl suddenly felt as if she’d been swallowed by an abyss.

  “Go straight that way,” a voice told her, the speaker apparently pointing directly ahead.

  As the girl tottered forward, her mind was already half blank. She simply kept walking. Although she felt something prick at her cheeks and her exposed arms, it didn’t bother her. When the girl finally halted, her breathing was terribly ragged, and not merely because of the distance she’d walked.

  Her almost nonexistent consciousness had detected a faint figure standing directly ahead of her. It approached her like a beautiful mirage. The sight of the woman in a dress left the girl frozen with fear—but much to her own surprise, the girl also felt a vague fascination. She knew what was going to happen. When she saw that the dress was white and she hazily made out the woman’s face, the girl then shut her eyes.

  What would she do if the woman who’d come to suck her blood was some hideous Noble? She knew them from the masks she’d seen at village celebrations—they were monsters, mentally and physically warped.

  The girl was seized by both shoulders, and a sudden chill spread through her like ice. That, and a sweet perfume. But before she noticed that the latter was actually the breath spilling from the woman, the girl lost consciousness completely.

  Even as pale fangs punctured her tragically thin carotid artery she remained completely still.

  As the girl’s head fell back and she went limp, the woman gently laid her body down on the stone road, then turned around. When she’d taken a few silent steps, there were suddenly footfalls behind her and she detected a presence thoroughly unsuited to this place.

  “You goddamned monster!”

  Perhaps two seconds passed from the time the woman turned until the powerful man pounced on her. Although he weighed nearly twice as much as she did and had the momentum of his dash behind him, the woman wasn’t knocked back at all. Instead, black iron went through the center of her chest and came out her back.

  When the man let go of the blade, the woman finally fell back a step.

  “I did it,” the man—actually a kid of fifteen or sixteen—muttered like a death rattle. “I did it . . . I really did it! Nagi!”

  Judging by the way he then raced over to the girl and hugged her close, his last cry must’ve been her name. His movements carrying both the despair of having lost a loved one and also the faintest hope, the young man shook the lifeless form.

  “Get up, Nagi,” he said. “I took care of the one who bit you. Now you’ll be okay, right? You should be back to normal.”

  “Absolutely,” said a voice that poured ice water down the young man’s back.

  He looked up. A figure in white stood quietly in the moonlight.

  “However,” the woman contin
ued, “in order to destroy me, you must pierce my heart. And you were a bit wide of the mark.”

  The young man got goosebumps as he rose to his feet. The girl’s lifeless husk was still clutched to his chest. Dead or not, he wasn’t going to let her go—that was the resolve that seemed to radiate from every inch of him.

  “Will you not run?” the woman asked. “If you don’t, you shall end up exactly like that young lady. Although if you loved her, that may be for the best. Now—come to me,” she said. “Or would you prefer that your young lady feed on you instead of me?”

  Before the young man even had time to comprehend the full meaning of the woman’s words, a pale arm had wrapped around his neck.

  “Nagi?!”

  There could be no more heartrending cry than his in the entire world.

  Cradled against the young man’s chest, the girl opened her eyelids.

  The young man knew her eyes had always brimmed with hopes for the future. He’d seen them sparkle with the dreams of a seventeen-year-old. And he knew that it was not his face but rather that of another young man that her eyes often reflected.

  But now her eyes reflected him. In shape and in color, they were no different than before. However, the normally sharp black pupils were clouded and dark; where the memories of a seventeen-year-old had been there was now a despicable vortex of hunger and lust.

  “I’m so hungry,” the young man heard the girl say, yet it seemed like her voice was something out of a nightmare. “You came to save me, didn’t you? I’m so glad. Let me give you a kiss as thanks . . .”

  “Stop, Nagi—! Don’t do it!” he shouted. Pulling free of the arms she wrapped around him, the young man knocked her cold body to the road.

  The girl didn’t even cry out.

  “My, but you are a cold-hearted paramour.”

  As if triggered by the woman’s voice, the young man started to run. Though panic gripped him, at least part of his thought processes remained wide awake.

  In one spot in the dazzling mix of colors the young man saw a glimmer of a different material. Leaping into the riot of color, he left the whole mass of flowers trembling.

  It only took the young man about a minute to strap on what he found there. As he fastened the last belt around his left thigh, he heard footsteps closing on him from all four points of the compass. They didn’t sound like those of the woman he’d just encountered—they had a foreboding tone. As the ground seemed to tremble beneath his feet, the young man felt his stomach tighten. The next thing he knew, he was shaking, too.

  The second the wild mix of colored blossoms to his right was pushed aside, the young man kicked off the ground. A heartbeat before his airborne form was due to sink, wings opened on his back.

  Just in time—and as relief swelled in the young man, he gazed into the darkness ahead of him. Nothing could’ve possibly felt better than to be gaining altitude like this.

  He looked down. Far below him were scattered pinpricks of twinkling light.

  In contrast, a heavy shadow fell across the young man’s heart. He’d never be safe here now. But where could he go?

  Impacts to either side of him were transmitted to the center of his back. His body dipped sharply. Clearly, his wings had been slashed.

  Craning his neck, he looked up above.

  Although it was pitch-black out, the crimson armor he saw there was branded into his retinas.

  Don’t tell me he can fly, too?!

  Although the young man madly attempted to pull back on the lever he gripped, the wire that relayed the movements to his wings seemed to have been severed, and his descent didn’t stop.

  “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” a voice called out from above him.

  Was it following him down?

  “Your life alone will not be enough to atone for the crime of raising your blade against our princess,” the voice continued. “Look back from the hereafter and watch what results from your reckless actions!”

  Suddenly, the young man felt the base of the wings tear free from his back. Without a peep, he plummeted straight down, dropping into an endless abyss.

  Unable to lose consciousness as the wind howled in his ears, he found a dull band of silver growing in his field of view. It was a river that stretched like a ribbon far below him.

  THE ROAD OF STAKES

  CHAPTER 1

  —

  I

  —

  The road was just wide enough to allow two farm vehicles—which were relatively rare in these parts—to pass each other. Going east, it led to the village of Sacri, while to the west it hit the dusty highway.

  Verdant waves flowed to either side of the road. Prairies and wind.

  As the high stalks of grass bowed in succession, they seemed to be passing something along. The name of the distant rulers of this world. Their lost legends. Or perhaps—the tale of the current dictator whose manor stood on the outskirts of the village. And the situation in the trio of wagons racing madly out of town. And the reason the horse-lashing farmer and everyone in his family had fear burned into their tense faces.

  “Halfway left to go!” cried the farmer working the reins on the lead wagon. “If we reach the highway, they won’t give chase, since that’s outside their domain. Hannah, what’s it look like back there?”

  “The Tumaks’ and Jarays’ wagons are both doing well,” replied his wife, who’d leaned out from where she was riding shotgun. Drawing the little boy and girl she held closer with her plump arms, she added, “At this rate, we’ll be fine, dear.”

  “It’s too early to say. We’ve still got half to go—this is where we brave the fires of hell. I don’t know if the horses will make it or not,” he said, the words coming out like a groan.

  But any further comment was cut short by a shriek from the farmer’s wife.

  Thirty feet ahead, a horse and rider draped in crimson bounded onto the road from the high grass on the left.

  The farmer didn’t even manage to pull back on the reins.

  In an attempt to avoid the horse and rider that seemed to be ablaze, the team of two steeds made a sudden turn to the right.

  Packed with all of the family’s worldly possessions, the wagon couldn’t follow the animals around that sharp curve. The wooden tongue that connected the wagon to the team twisted, and the body of the wagon tilted as it did. The tongue snapped in midair, and the vehicle threw up a cloud of dust as it rolled.

  Without so much as a glance back at the rumbling of the ground and the tableware that was being thrown everywhere, the horses kept galloping toward the promised land of freedom.

  The Tumak and Jaray families narrowly avoided crashing their own wagons. Desperately whipping the hindquarters of the halted animals and tugging on the reins, they tried to turn back the way they’d come. It didn’t look like they would even try to help their friends who still lay on the road with their toppled wagon.

  “It’s the Blue Knight!” Jaray’s son exclaimed, his cry of despair rising to the fair sky.

  The road they needed to take home was now blocked by the blue horse and rider that stood about fifteen feet from them. However, the rider’s hue was not that of the pristine heavens, but rather the dark blue shade of the depths that led to the unsettling floor of the sea—the blue of freezing cold water.

  With the sun still high in the sky, an air of deathly silence and immobility settled over the three families there on the stark white road.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” said the one in front of them—the crimson rider on a horse of the same color. The people had called his compatriot a knight, and he, too, was sheathed in armor from the top of his head to the tips of his toes. His breastplate was wide, the pauldrons and vambraces were thick as a tree trunk, and he was so tall people would have to look up at him whether he was on horseback or not. If he were to ride out onto the battlefield on his similarly armored mount, he’d be such an imposing sight it was likely the very demons of hell would recoil in horror. On h
is back were two pairs of crossed longswords—four blades in all. Gleaming in the sunlight, the weapons looked so large and heavy that they’d leave even a giant of a man exhausted after a single swing.

  “I believe we made it quite clear that it’s been decreed no one is to leave this domain,” said the Blue Knight. He was such a deep, dark shade of blue that he seemed to drain the heat from the rays of the midday sun and make the light drift away in vain like soap bubbles. “Not a single soul will be allowed to flee from the village where that little bastard wounded our princess,” he continued. “You should consider yourselves fortunate we didn’t slaughter the whole community out of hand. But then, there’s no need for any of you to concern yourselves with that business any longer. The stakes await you.”

  A thin sound like a note from a broken flute split the air and a short, fat old woman clutched at her chest as she fell—Mr. Jaray’s elderly mother. The rest of the family consisted of Jaray and his wife, their nineteen-year-old son, a sixteen-year-old daughter, and another daughter aged twelve.

  As for the Tumaks, there were six of them—the husband and wife, Mr. Tumak’s mother and father, and a five-year-old son and three-year-old daughter.

  No one seemed to be paying any attention to the old woman, who’d suffered a heart attack out of sheer fright. Their eyes were trained instead on death as it stood barring the way before them and behind them in the form of knights of flame and water.

  Their fate was inescapable.

  The two armored knights turned to the sides of the road; turned toward the fifteen-foot stakes that were driven into either side of the road at roughly three-foot intervals. Oh, they ran on endlessly, too numerous to count, and on their sharpened tips shook the stark white bones of the impaled. Apparently the stakes were quite old, and less than one in ten still had skeletal remains hanging from it. And in most cases, those were just the spine and rib cage, while the arms, legs, pelvis, and skulls lay sadly at the base of the stake as part of a fairly large mound of bones.