"The ally of our Ravenlock family... is—The Exaltists!"
After Hartman spoke the name of The Exaltists, Hugo showed no surprise. Whether it was because he had already known this news beforehand, or because of the intelligence he had investigated, everything proved that the Ravenlock family's recent rise was inseparably tied to The Exaltists.
But compared to The Exaltists, there was yet another power that had also contributed behind Hartman's back.
"The Exaltists alone wouldn't be enough to make Uncle go to such lengths, would they? Let me guess—perhaps there's an even bigger friend, one capable of bringing far greater profit, preparing to accomplish something grand, and both Ravenlock and The Exaltists are riding aboard this great ship."
Hugo used a statement rather than a question, which meant he had already learned even more secrets.
And at this moment Hartman's expression grew even uglier, and he unconsciously began making small, insignificant fidgeting motions.
Yet Hugo's deductions continued, as he played to perfection the image of a young, ambitious schemer who had finally attained his ambitions.
"On that note, combining it with the many recent anomalies in New Eridu, I'll make a bold guess—this great ship's name is called—the Rebel Soldiers. Isn't that right, dear Uncle?"
Hugo's fake smile gained a few notes of genuine feeling; he was quite satisfied with Hartman's expression, as though the man had swallowed shit.
And so Hartman could no longer keep up the act.
"Enough, Hugo. If you keep this up, I'm afraid I'll have to revoke your status as heir to the Ravenlock family."
"Heh heh heh, is that so? But Uncle, if I were to hand the conversation we just had over to Public Security or TOPS, do you think you'd still have the chance to sit in that seat?"
As he spoke, Hugo revealed a smug expression and drew out the recording pen he'd been clutching all along—the very pen he'd used earlier to sign, which also happened to have a recording function.
Seeing this, Hartman's first reaction was to snatch it away, but how could Hugo let him succeed? He nimbly stepped back twice, leaning against the edge of the rooftop.
"Uncle, surely you wouldn't want a third person to learn of this recording either?"
Watching Hugo's petty, triumphant face, Hartman's mouth let out a grinding sound, his teeth nearly crushed to pieces.
"You truly are my dear nephew, Hugo!"
"Naturally. Though I hate to admit it, I do, after all, have Ravenlock blood flowing through me—the baseness and treachery in my bones are innate."
The low voice reaching Hartman's ears sounded exactly like mockery, but soon he was no longer angry—instead, he revealed a complacent smile.
"My dear nephew, let me teach you one more thing. Sometimes, knowing too much isn't necessarily a good thing... Do it!"
"—?! What?!"
The very instant Hartman spoke that last word, Hugo's sixth sense registered the approaching danger. He hurriedly spun around, meaning to grab the glider he'd hidden here earlier and escape.
But he halted just before his hand could touch the mounting bar.
Squelch!
"Guah!!"
Fresh blood sprayed toward the sky, staining the sunset glow at the horizon a shade redder.
Hugo stared in disbelief at the spike jutting from his chest. Behind him stood a grotesque creature—neither quite human nor quite Ethereal—that had appeared there at some unknown moment.
The sharp claws had punched clean through Hugo's chest, and a great deal of bloody froth surged up and out of his mouth, lending his already alluring features a touch of sinister charm.
"There now, my dear nephew, I'm most grateful for your contributions to Ravenlock. Naturally, I ought to give you some reward—I wonder if you're satisfied?"
"Ghh—ahh—"
Hugo opened his mouth, seemingly wanting to say something, but was choked back by the rising blood. Still, from the shape of his lips, it wasn't hard to make out a phrase that began with M and F and ended in B.
As for that, Hartman didn't much care—after all, bickering with a dead man was the least worthwhile thing in this world.
"Heh, a mongrel belongs where mongrels belong. Go join that damned father of yours, and from down below, watch closely as I climb, step by step, to the summit of this world."
As he spoke, Hartman wrested back the recording pen Hugo clutched so tightly, then flung it to the ground and stomped it to pieces.
Afterward, he drew a pistol and put two more rounds into Hugo's body, then left without so much as a backward glance.
If his hatred for Geno could be expressed by cruelly turning Geno into a monster, then toward Hugo he only resented that the man hadn't died fast enough, thoroughly enough.
And after Hartman left, the monster—as though it had received some command—threw Hugo straight off the rooftop.
This was a twenty-story building; a fall from here would surely smash him to a pulp.
However, as Hugo plummeted, a faint purple figure caught him, then slowly drifted down toward the ground.
"...I told you long ago it would turn out like this, you idiot Hugo!"
Vivian Banshee, another member of Mockingbird—her eyes could see things others could not, could foresee the calamities that would befall people.
She had already foreseen Hugo's death, but even after telling him, it still couldn't be avoided.
Tears slid from the corners of her eyes down her cheeks. Watching the gravely wounded Hugo, breathing out more than in, Vivian seemed to lose control of her emotions.
But at this moment Hugo had not fallen unconscious. Stubbornly keeping his eyes open, he gently lifted his hand to the corner of her eye to wipe away the tears slipping down—though in doing so, he smeared upon it a streak of crimson.
Yet the scene before his eyes only grew more and more blurred, and his body grew colder and colder—cold as the rainy night his mother sold him away, cold as the day Serena left him. And now...
He would soon be going to join her too...
Sorry, Vivian. From here on, you'll have to walk the road on your own...
So thought Hugo, the light in his vision dimming ever further.
'You really do look so much alike... Serena...'
In the end, Hugo closed his eyes—yet in the moment before he lost consciousness, he remembered the days of his youth.
"Hugo, one day you will be devoured by your own ambition and hatred..."
The voice of the tall Wolf Thirren echoed endlessly at Hugo's ear. Even in his stupor, a smile of disdain yet fondness surfaced on his face.
I'm about to die, and you're still going to jeer in my ear? Lycaon, you fellow...
Still... to be able to hear your voice at a time like this...
'It's not too bad...' '...'
Hugo Vlad, upon the road toward ideals and freedom, devoted his entire life, at the age of—
Cough—not dead yet.
After an unknown span of time, Hugo regained consciousness and slowly opened his eyes.
The dazzling white light stung his eyes with a prickling pain. Believing himself already dead, Hugo instinctively murmured.
"Is this...?"
"Heaven? With the things you've done, even going to hell would be only fitting."
A familiar voice sounded once more at his ear. Hugo's eyes went wide in disbelief as he looked at Lycaon, seated at his bedside peeling an apple—nothing but shock upon shock.
"I'm... still alive?"
____
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