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Farewell, Fiend – Part 04

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Translator: Kell

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While walking, Kazuya passed a large old man—the carpenter who had been working in the academy for twenty years. The man headed to the flowerbed, to where Victorique was.

Curious, Kazuya looked over his shoulder, when suddenly, he saw red hair in the corner of his eye, and he quickly turned his attention toward it.

From the flowerbed in front of the school building, he could see a tall man hurrying along the path in front of the clock tower, as if to avoid being seen.

A strong gust blew the man’s hat off. He looked up at the hat momentarily as it flew in the wind, but he did not follow it. Hair fluttering, he resumed walking, as though completely forgetting the hat.

He was oddly indifferent about it. He didn’t even try to pick up the hat. Another gust blew, ruffling the man’s hair—hair as red as flame, and just as fierce. The wind seemed to fan the dark flames even higher.

Sensing Kazuya’s gaze, the man turned around. Even from a distance, Kazuya could see the glint in his catlike, upturned green eyes, and his chiseled features, reminiscent of ancient sculptures.

“I’ve seen him before,” Kazuya murmured.

He didn’t recognize the man this morning when he was brought to the clock tower by the inspector’s men. But now, as soon as he saw the red hair and green eyes under the hat, he remembered him clearly.

“I saw him in Saubreme. At the pyramid-looking theater. He jumped out of a carriage.”

The man stared back at Kazuya. Green and jet-black eyes glared at each other.

“Brian Roscoe! The red-haired magician with the Mechanical Turk!”

A few weeks ago, Kazuya visited the capital of Sauville, Saubreme, to do some shopping. It was then that he saw the man, Brian Roscoe, in front of one of the theaters. His show was called “Phantasmagoria,” and advertised tricks such as human dismemberment, the Mechanical Turk, and teleportation.

The poster had read: Brian Roscoe, the Greatest Magician of the Century!

The name sounded familiar to Kazuya. A mysterious young man who donated modern facilities to the village of the Gray Wolves deep in the mountains where Victorique’s mother, Cordelia Gallo, was born and raised, was also named Brian Roscoe. He took something that Cordelia had left behind in the village and left a photograph in its place. A picture of Cordelia as an adult and her little daughter, Victorique.

When he saw him at Saubreme, he thought it had to be someone with the same name. That he had nothing to do with Victorique or her mother. But this was too much of a coincidence. How could someone with the same name happen to come to St. Marguerite Academy, where Victorique was imprisoned?

Kazuya gulped. The red-haired man pulled his eyes away and slowly disappeared into the clock tower.

Kazuya clenched his fist. It has to be him. But what’s he doing here?

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The clock tower was silent.

The man, Brian Roscoe, slowly climbed the stairs, his green eyes glinting.

He could hear the creaking and whirring of the clockworks in the distance. Listening carefully, Brian Roscoe stopped when his ears caught a different sound.

He turned around slowly.

A light set of footsteps, belonging to someone young and slim. The owner of the footsteps was trying to sneak into the clock tower silently, watching Brian Roscoe.

Who could it be? Brian cocked his head so much that his neck cracked. Rage and suspicion fanned his flaming hair. What do they plan to do with me? Hmm, interesting. I’ll play along.

Brian slowly walked up the stairs. He padded down the dark corridor and entered the clockwork room.

Whirr.

The alchemist’s workshop was gray and dreary, filled with dusty air all the way to the high ceiling. Like a giant blade cutting through the air, a pendulum swung slowly from side to side.

Four huge clockworks were creaking in the corners, sounding like a monster screeching. They moved endlessly, intertwining, gears grinding against gears.

It felt unreal, like stumbling upon a manufacturing plant straight out of a nightmare.

Brian furrowed his brow and looked around the workshop. Then he listened again.

Faint footsteps were slowly approaching, searching for Brian’s presence. They walked up the stairs, down the corridor, and then stopped in front of the workshop, hesitating.

Scared? Shaking? Fascinating. If you want to run away, I’ll let you go. But who are you?

Brian waited.

But the owner of the footsteps did not leave. They quietly opened the door and stepped into the workshop.

Brian jumped out from behind the door and extended his sturdy arm to the owner of the footsteps. He grabbed the stranger’s surprisingly thin neck from behind and forced them to turn around.

“Hmm?”

The stranger yelped and stared up into Brian’s face. Brian, too, was startled as he regarded the owner of the footsteps—a thin, lanky boy with jet-black hair. He appeared to be an oriental.

There was fear, but also firm determination, in the boy’s jet-black eyes as he stared back at him.

Brian tilted his head curiously. He studied the boy—Kazuya Kujou—from head to toe.

“Just a kid,” he said. “And an oriental one at that.”

Before he could pull his hand away, Kazuya twisted around and escaped from his grip.

Brian gasped. He observed Kazuya closely, his brow furrowed in thought.

Kazuya’s dark eyes narrowed.

“I remember now,” Brian said. “Saubreme. In front of the theater. We’ve met there before, haven’t we? Yes, when I brought in the Mechanical Turk.”

“Brian Roscoe,” Kazuya said in a low, wary voice. “What are you doing in the academy? You’re here for Victorique, aren’t you? What are you going to do with her?”

Brian grinned. He found the boy’s mature manner of speaking amusing. His gaze then turned suspicious.

“What are you to Victorique?” he asked.

“I’m Kujou, Victorique’s friend!” Kazuya bellowed in an attempt to mask his fear.

Brian looked stunned for a moment, then started laughing.

“Wh-What’s so funny?”

“Can you really blame me for laughing? Listen, boy, and listen carefully. Gray Wolves can’t make friends. Maybe in that nameless village, but not in the city. Gray Wolves will never get used to people, and people are afraid of them. The only ones who approach them are those who want to use their powers.”

Brian’s voice gradually took on a sad tone.

Various images popped in and out of his mind. The pain of living in the city as a Gray Wolf. The small figure of that woman he met, someone who shared the same blood.

Brian’s green eyes narrowed like a cat’s, and he exhaled softly.

“That’s not true,” Kazuya said in a trembling voice. “Victorique and I are friends. Sure, she was unapproachable at first, and she still doesn’t make any sense to me at all, but we’re friends nonetheless.”

“Friends? With a Gray Wolf? Hahahaha!”

Brian laughed hysterically.

“You think it’s funny? Well, I don’t.” Kazuya’s face was serious.

Brian stopped laughing and glared at the boy.

The room was filled with the whirring of four giant clockworks, grinding, spinning endlessly. A faint breeze blew, ruffling Brian’s red hair and Kazuya’s jet-black hair. The huge pendulum swung idly.

A lone red flower glistened among the yellows and purples on the stained-glass window. The large ebony table was littered with dusty lab equipment.

An eerie workshop where time stood still.

Brian licked his lips. His red tongue seemed a little longer than the average human’s. Canine teeth peeked out from the corners of his mouth.

An eerie, bloody smell suddenly filled the workshop. Brian thought Kazuya would leave now, but to his surprise, the boy stayed, never turning his back.

I like it!

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