In the Name of Justice: Chapter III
Carbuncle's name is another interesting one. Obviously, it's a reference to his fire powers and his association to the colour red. The name has close links to rubies, and maybe the fact that it is different denotes Carbuncle's isolation as a character.
This chapter is loosely based on the scene presented in Akaki Hitsuji ni Yoru Bansankai. XD Before Asagi went ahead and changed the character to Dahlie.
Chapter III
Midnight Tea Party
There was a pause before the man with black hair spoke again.
“I’m fed up of living this life of shadows - if it was not for the years spent amongst my people and watching them thrive, then it is possible that I would have already given up.”
“But, Your Highness!” Rüstung-Kranz cut in. “You are the reason this kingdom has thrived so much over the past two hundred years. To abandon those who call you their leader is-”
“I did not come here to be lectured by you, Kranz!” the man snapped back. He seldom raised his voice, so the sudden outburst was a surprise for both of them. However, he quickly apologised with a sigh and drew out a section of thick black with his hand.
“The people of my kingdom can manage without me.”
The line was final, a decision made. Kranz simply stood - he was in no position to argue. After all, his master’s choice was his own, and he was obliged to support him with each one he made, even if that decision were the one to end his life.
“I leave the future of this country to you, my subordinate, as well as the four Guardians,” he continued. It was evident that he had paid the matter a great deal of thought, yet it all seemed far too sudden for Kranz to comprehend. As for his decision to pass the authority onto the Guardians... It was ridiculous. Having said that, however, Kranz had been serving the man for countless years; he could understand his wish to pass responsibility onto him, even if it were to be shared amongst others. If one were not aware of the difference in status as servant and master, then it would’ve been all too easy to mistake them as friends, or even brothers, save for their contrasting appearances, of course.
All of a sudden, the man took a step back and looked down at Kranz, a melancholic expression dominating what could be seen of his face in the darkness.
“Where is Rosalie?”
The other drew himself reluctantly from his thoughts to answer the question. “She’s here in the castle, Your Majesty.”
“Thank you.” There was a moment of silence before he spoke again. “I think... I think I would like to spend one last evening with her.”
Rüstung-Kranz nodded and moved to the side to allow his master to pass by. Despite the negligible lighting in the room, he was able to sense a newfound determination amid the hopelessness, a last spark of purpose before the inevitable came to pass.
Gathering his shroud around his shoulders, Dreizehn Schwarzschild, the King of Marthiel, began to walk.
---
Rias Carter.
The man’s eyes drifted over the etching of his own name imprinted upon the rim of the wine glass in his hand. Despite its simplicity, he couldn’t help but feel a little pride at the sight: after all, having one’s name printed on their possessions was a privilege afforded only to those of considerable status, and as Lord of the Winrath state, he deemed himself more than deserving of such a thing.
Rias was not the type of person who, upon first sight, one would have thought to be a lord, or someone holding any kind of power at that: he was a small, middle-aged man with retreating cropped hair and worn fingers. By the door stood his butler, an almost permanent smirk dominating his features, as if he were still savouring the after-effects of a joke.
“When is our guest to be arriving?”
The butler glanced down at a pocket watch in his white gloved hand. “Within the minute, Your Lordship.”
Rias drummed his fingers upon the table impatiently, but was promptly met with the sound of hushed mutterings as the man behind him welcomed someone into the room. Smiling silently to himself, he straightened in his chair and turned his eyes towards the new figure, who was being ushered into his seat by the butler.
He was small, almost woman-like in appearance, his clothes garnished with intricate designs and ornaments in a lush red colour. It was not difficult to tell that he regarded himself very highly from the manner in which he moved; the long blinks of his heavily-lashed eyes, which seemed almost too large to look natural in his small face; and the way he stared at everything around him with an air of disgust, as if the fine furnishings were but refuse in comparison to the standard he was accustomed to.
“Sir Carbuncle…” Rias paused and motioned with his right hand. “Is there not a surname or title that I can call you by?”
The other man, now sitting at the head of the table, as indicated by the butler, replied, “No, that is my only name.”
“Oh. In that case, Sir Carbuncle, may I welcome you to my manor. Of course, I’m sure you appreciate that I am very fond of those who are prompt.”
“Well, it would’ve been impolite to arrive late, so I always make a point to arrive exactly at the requested time.” The man, Carbuncle, turned his eyes away in a gesture that suggested he was already bored with the other, and his words were for the sole purpose of his entertainment.
Rias, a little taken aback by his lack of energy, said nothing for a moment and simply let the silence fester. It was quite astonishing to see the difference in appearance between the two of them, both of whom held such quantities of power. He eyed with intrigue the man who looked as though he had sprung from a book of myths and legends, ran his eyes over his red hair, topped with tight circlets of braids on one side that gave him a look resembling that of a little girl. In fact, Rias felt as though he were gazing upon a child - the realisation was almost enough to make him laugh out loud.
“Does something amuse you?” Carbuncle asked sceptically.
The man shook his head and leaned back in his chair. The butler, having resumed his position by the door, seemed highly entertained by all of this, and his permanent smirk appeared to grow deeper by the second.
“If there’s anything I can bring for you, please don’t hesitate to ask me,” Rias said.
“I was quite hoping we could move onto the issue at hand, actually."
For a moment, Rias seemed a little disorientated, yet it only took him a moment or two to gather his thoughts. “Ah, yes… Of course. I am sure you are aware that the purpose of my summoning you is the small piece of overlapping land that lies just east to the state of Northtide.”
The red-headed man raised an eyebrow, but brought forth no words.
“The land of Marthiel is divided two ways: there are the four regions of Fire, Water, Earth and Wind, and then the nine political states. As leader of the Fire Region, I am sure you need no reminder as to how the power is divided."
“The lords of each state run the country and set the laws,” Carbuncle said. "We Guardians are but obstacles - celebrities, as you may call us; our power is meaningless."
Slowly, Rias nodded. “Winrath is one of only two states that lies in more than one region… You do understand my preposition, do you not?”
Carbuncle moved his hand and wrapped a strand of hair round one of his fingers, though his face remained hard and non-revealing. “Indeed I do, though one thing that I fail to see is why having a small portion of your state in my land is an issue. I, along with the three others, have been looking over this country for almost two centuries now, yet this is the first time someone has requested that I give up my land.” He narrowed his eyes a little. “May I ask why it is so important to you that I retract my territory, and how you plan to benefit from it if I do so?”
His eyes cut into Rias like two blades, so that he had to look elsewhere. “I have already contacted Kircheis, who agrees to take over the land as part of the Water Region. The deal has been set, and now it is only you who must give your consent.”
“You’re a bad liar - your pulse races when you aren’t telling the truth.”
For the first time, a smile passed over Carbuncle’s lips, though it was brief, and promptly faded into a blank expression once again.
The other man, shocked at this remark, became rigid in his seat. Unsure of how to reply, he turned to his butler. “W-would you mind pouring Sir Carbuncle a drink?”
The figure by the doorway bowed once and started towards a cabinet pushed against the edge of the room, where he removed a dark bottle from a collection of many; he then brought it to the red-haired man’s seat and displayed the label in his hands for approval. The Guardian regarded it with a slight nod and allowed himself to be poured a full glass.
“Lord Carter, unless you are able to discover a means of physically forcing me to accept your terms, or otherwise find a way of justifying yourself so that I am willing to do so of my own accord, then I am going to have to refuse them. The regions and their borderlines have stood in such a way for centuries, since the days of King Dreizehn Schwarzschild, and I am not prepared to alter the geographical divisions for your sake, or Kircheis' at that, particularly when I cannot see what benefit it would bring to either of you.”
Once Rias’ cup had been filled, he placed his fingers around the thin neck and ran the tips up and down it anxiously. “Of course, Sir. I apologise for my insolence in asking.” Defeated, he seized the base of the glass in his hand and lifted it from the table. “Can we drink to your decision?”
“If you wish.” Carbuncle mirrored his actions, tilting his goblet towards the other in a mark of respect before both men raised them to their lips; however, it was only one who drank.
Over the top of his glass, Rias watched as his guest downed the liquid, eyed the movement of his throat with each mouthful he took; within the space of a few seconds, the cup had been emptied.
The want to jump from his chair and laugh was almost overpowering, but there was a certain delicacy to the moment, a satisfaction that he would no doubt savour as long as he looked back upon this scene. It wouldn’t be long now: the poison was a fast-acting one that froze the muscles and caused extensive periods of paralysis - the man had seconds to move, if that.
Carbuncle blinked lethargically and stared into the glass with a somewhat disappointed look upon his face, then stood up and bowed towards the other.
“Thank you for having me here at your home, and I apologize for the short duration of my visit, but there are other matters that require my attention,” he said, and began his walk towards the door.
Each of his steps was closely observed by Rias, who was waiting with bated breath for the moment when they would falter and his body would come crashing down onto the ground, yet nothing happened. He was filled with confusion - had he selected the correct bottle? This wasn’t his first time using the poison, and from experience he knew that its effects were almost instantaneous.
So why was the man still moving?
All of a sudden, something took a hold of his hair and pulled him back with such vigorousness it almost knocked him from his seat. He was too shocked to struggle or otherwise fight back, so instead let himself be held against the back of his chair, his head tilted back to face the ceiling.
“You put something in my drink,” came the deep growl of a voice.
“How did you…” The angle crushed his windpipe, making each word a strain.
The answer was little more than a mutter. “Your proposition was weak and riddled with holes: it wasn’t difficult to deduce that it was a mere ploy to invite me here and attempt to kill me - your faults lie in your method as much as your shoddy execution.”
Rias was alarmed - what was going on? Was Carbuncle in some way immune to the poison? Yet how could such a thing be possible?
The man was so wrapped up in his own thoughts and deductions that he barely noticed when a warm stream of wine splashed against his face. He thrust his head from side to side, but it was no use: the liquid was already in his nose, mouth and trickling down his airways, making him cough and splutter violently.
“Swallow it,” came the order. He was in no position to disobey.
Finally, the bottle ran dry, and the grip on Rias’ hair loosened, allowing him to slide forward; dripping, wincing, he fell over the table and waited for the inevitable effects to set into place. Of course the result was immediate, and a lot more painful than he’d anticipated, a hot twisting sensation in his joints tightening his body all over, making breathing a task in itself. It was agony of the worst kind, where he was unable to open his mouth and call out for relief.
Carbuncle turned his eyes away in disgust at the motionless figure in front of him that could’ve just as easily been a corpse.
“Do you think that you are the first who has tried to take my life?” he asked slowly. “None of your petty knives or poisons can make a mark upon my body. I'm actually quite insulted that you thought me so gullible to fall for such an unoriginal trick - surely someone of your intelligence would be able to employ a more inventive method of killing off their enemies.”
No words of reply came from the man, though whether that was due to the effects of the poison or his reluctance to reply Carbuncle didn't know. Already bored, he turned to leave; just before taking a step, however, he raised his hand and gently traced a nail from the figure's neck, along his spine and lower back, lifting when he reached the tail of his coat. Tides of flames began to form from the point of contact and rip across his body, as if the other's fingers were burning splints - within three heartbeats, the entirety of his back was ablaze.
"Sadly, I highly doubt that we shall ever meet again, Lord Carter."
As the fire enveloped Rias, the man with red hair left the room, leaving only the smirking butler behind to muse at the silence.
Next Chapter →
This chapter is loosely based on the scene presented in Akaki Hitsuji ni Yoru Bansankai. XD Before Asagi went ahead and changed the character to Dahlie.
Chapter III
Midnight Tea Party
There was a pause before the man with black hair spoke again.
“I’m fed up of living this life of shadows - if it was not for the years spent amongst my people and watching them thrive, then it is possible that I would have already given up.”
“But, Your Highness!” Rüstung-Kranz cut in. “You are the reason this kingdom has thrived so much over the past two hundred years. To abandon those who call you their leader is-”
“I did not come here to be lectured by you, Kranz!” the man snapped back. He seldom raised his voice, so the sudden outburst was a surprise for both of them. However, he quickly apologised with a sigh and drew out a section of thick black with his hand.
“The people of my kingdom can manage without me.”
The line was final, a decision made. Kranz simply stood - he was in no position to argue. After all, his master’s choice was his own, and he was obliged to support him with each one he made, even if that decision were the one to end his life.
“I leave the future of this country to you, my subordinate, as well as the four Guardians,” he continued. It was evident that he had paid the matter a great deal of thought, yet it all seemed far too sudden for Kranz to comprehend. As for his decision to pass the authority onto the Guardians... It was ridiculous. Having said that, however, Kranz had been serving the man for countless years; he could understand his wish to pass responsibility onto him, even if it were to be shared amongst others. If one were not aware of the difference in status as servant and master, then it would’ve been all too easy to mistake them as friends, or even brothers, save for their contrasting appearances, of course.
All of a sudden, the man took a step back and looked down at Kranz, a melancholic expression dominating what could be seen of his face in the darkness.
“Where is Rosalie?”
The other drew himself reluctantly from his thoughts to answer the question. “She’s here in the castle, Your Majesty.”
“Thank you.” There was a moment of silence before he spoke again. “I think... I think I would like to spend one last evening with her.”
Rüstung-Kranz nodded and moved to the side to allow his master to pass by. Despite the negligible lighting in the room, he was able to sense a newfound determination amid the hopelessness, a last spark of purpose before the inevitable came to pass.
Gathering his shroud around his shoulders, Dreizehn Schwarzschild, the King of Marthiel, began to walk.
---
Rias Carter.
The man’s eyes drifted over the etching of his own name imprinted upon the rim of the wine glass in his hand. Despite its simplicity, he couldn’t help but feel a little pride at the sight: after all, having one’s name printed on their possessions was a privilege afforded only to those of considerable status, and as Lord of the Winrath state, he deemed himself more than deserving of such a thing.
Rias was not the type of person who, upon first sight, one would have thought to be a lord, or someone holding any kind of power at that: he was a small, middle-aged man with retreating cropped hair and worn fingers. By the door stood his butler, an almost permanent smirk dominating his features, as if he were still savouring the after-effects of a joke.
“When is our guest to be arriving?”
The butler glanced down at a pocket watch in his white gloved hand. “Within the minute, Your Lordship.”
Rias drummed his fingers upon the table impatiently, but was promptly met with the sound of hushed mutterings as the man behind him welcomed someone into the room. Smiling silently to himself, he straightened in his chair and turned his eyes towards the new figure, who was being ushered into his seat by the butler.
He was small, almost woman-like in appearance, his clothes garnished with intricate designs and ornaments in a lush red colour. It was not difficult to tell that he regarded himself very highly from the manner in which he moved; the long blinks of his heavily-lashed eyes, which seemed almost too large to look natural in his small face; and the way he stared at everything around him with an air of disgust, as if the fine furnishings were but refuse in comparison to the standard he was accustomed to.
“Sir Carbuncle…” Rias paused and motioned with his right hand. “Is there not a surname or title that I can call you by?”
The other man, now sitting at the head of the table, as indicated by the butler, replied, “No, that is my only name.”
“Oh. In that case, Sir Carbuncle, may I welcome you to my manor. Of course, I’m sure you appreciate that I am very fond of those who are prompt.”
“Well, it would’ve been impolite to arrive late, so I always make a point to arrive exactly at the requested time.” The man, Carbuncle, turned his eyes away in a gesture that suggested he was already bored with the other, and his words were for the sole purpose of his entertainment.
Rias, a little taken aback by his lack of energy, said nothing for a moment and simply let the silence fester. It was quite astonishing to see the difference in appearance between the two of them, both of whom held such quantities of power. He eyed with intrigue the man who looked as though he had sprung from a book of myths and legends, ran his eyes over his red hair, topped with tight circlets of braids on one side that gave him a look resembling that of a little girl. In fact, Rias felt as though he were gazing upon a child - the realisation was almost enough to make him laugh out loud.
“Does something amuse you?” Carbuncle asked sceptically.
The man shook his head and leaned back in his chair. The butler, having resumed his position by the door, seemed highly entertained by all of this, and his permanent smirk appeared to grow deeper by the second.
“If there’s anything I can bring for you, please don’t hesitate to ask me,” Rias said.
“I was quite hoping we could move onto the issue at hand, actually."
For a moment, Rias seemed a little disorientated, yet it only took him a moment or two to gather his thoughts. “Ah, yes… Of course. I am sure you are aware that the purpose of my summoning you is the small piece of overlapping land that lies just east to the state of Northtide.”
The red-headed man raised an eyebrow, but brought forth no words.
“The land of Marthiel is divided two ways: there are the four regions of Fire, Water, Earth and Wind, and then the nine political states. As leader of the Fire Region, I am sure you need no reminder as to how the power is divided."
“The lords of each state run the country and set the laws,” Carbuncle said. "We Guardians are but obstacles - celebrities, as you may call us; our power is meaningless."
Slowly, Rias nodded. “Winrath is one of only two states that lies in more than one region… You do understand my preposition, do you not?”
Carbuncle moved his hand and wrapped a strand of hair round one of his fingers, though his face remained hard and non-revealing. “Indeed I do, though one thing that I fail to see is why having a small portion of your state in my land is an issue. I, along with the three others, have been looking over this country for almost two centuries now, yet this is the first time someone has requested that I give up my land.” He narrowed his eyes a little. “May I ask why it is so important to you that I retract my territory, and how you plan to benefit from it if I do so?”
His eyes cut into Rias like two blades, so that he had to look elsewhere. “I have already contacted Kircheis, who agrees to take over the land as part of the Water Region. The deal has been set, and now it is only you who must give your consent.”
“You’re a bad liar - your pulse races when you aren’t telling the truth.”
For the first time, a smile passed over Carbuncle’s lips, though it was brief, and promptly faded into a blank expression once again.
The other man, shocked at this remark, became rigid in his seat. Unsure of how to reply, he turned to his butler. “W-would you mind pouring Sir Carbuncle a drink?”
The figure by the doorway bowed once and started towards a cabinet pushed against the edge of the room, where he removed a dark bottle from a collection of many; he then brought it to the red-haired man’s seat and displayed the label in his hands for approval. The Guardian regarded it with a slight nod and allowed himself to be poured a full glass.
“Lord Carter, unless you are able to discover a means of physically forcing me to accept your terms, or otherwise find a way of justifying yourself so that I am willing to do so of my own accord, then I am going to have to refuse them. The regions and their borderlines have stood in such a way for centuries, since the days of King Dreizehn Schwarzschild, and I am not prepared to alter the geographical divisions for your sake, or Kircheis' at that, particularly when I cannot see what benefit it would bring to either of you.”
Once Rias’ cup had been filled, he placed his fingers around the thin neck and ran the tips up and down it anxiously. “Of course, Sir. I apologise for my insolence in asking.” Defeated, he seized the base of the glass in his hand and lifted it from the table. “Can we drink to your decision?”
“If you wish.” Carbuncle mirrored his actions, tilting his goblet towards the other in a mark of respect before both men raised them to their lips; however, it was only one who drank.
Over the top of his glass, Rias watched as his guest downed the liquid, eyed the movement of his throat with each mouthful he took; within the space of a few seconds, the cup had been emptied.
The want to jump from his chair and laugh was almost overpowering, but there was a certain delicacy to the moment, a satisfaction that he would no doubt savour as long as he looked back upon this scene. It wouldn’t be long now: the poison was a fast-acting one that froze the muscles and caused extensive periods of paralysis - the man had seconds to move, if that.
Carbuncle blinked lethargically and stared into the glass with a somewhat disappointed look upon his face, then stood up and bowed towards the other.
“Thank you for having me here at your home, and I apologize for the short duration of my visit, but there are other matters that require my attention,” he said, and began his walk towards the door.
Each of his steps was closely observed by Rias, who was waiting with bated breath for the moment when they would falter and his body would come crashing down onto the ground, yet nothing happened. He was filled with confusion - had he selected the correct bottle? This wasn’t his first time using the poison, and from experience he knew that its effects were almost instantaneous.
So why was the man still moving?
All of a sudden, something took a hold of his hair and pulled him back with such vigorousness it almost knocked him from his seat. He was too shocked to struggle or otherwise fight back, so instead let himself be held against the back of his chair, his head tilted back to face the ceiling.
“You put something in my drink,” came the deep growl of a voice.
“How did you…” The angle crushed his windpipe, making each word a strain.
The answer was little more than a mutter. “Your proposition was weak and riddled with holes: it wasn’t difficult to deduce that it was a mere ploy to invite me here and attempt to kill me - your faults lie in your method as much as your shoddy execution.”
Rias was alarmed - what was going on? Was Carbuncle in some way immune to the poison? Yet how could such a thing be possible?
The man was so wrapped up in his own thoughts and deductions that he barely noticed when a warm stream of wine splashed against his face. He thrust his head from side to side, but it was no use: the liquid was already in his nose, mouth and trickling down his airways, making him cough and splutter violently.
“Swallow it,” came the order. He was in no position to disobey.
Finally, the bottle ran dry, and the grip on Rias’ hair loosened, allowing him to slide forward; dripping, wincing, he fell over the table and waited for the inevitable effects to set into place. Of course the result was immediate, and a lot more painful than he’d anticipated, a hot twisting sensation in his joints tightening his body all over, making breathing a task in itself. It was agony of the worst kind, where he was unable to open his mouth and call out for relief.
Carbuncle turned his eyes away in disgust at the motionless figure in front of him that could’ve just as easily been a corpse.
“Do you think that you are the first who has tried to take my life?” he asked slowly. “None of your petty knives or poisons can make a mark upon my body. I'm actually quite insulted that you thought me so gullible to fall for such an unoriginal trick - surely someone of your intelligence would be able to employ a more inventive method of killing off their enemies.”
No words of reply came from the man, though whether that was due to the effects of the poison or his reluctance to reply Carbuncle didn't know. Already bored, he turned to leave; just before taking a step, however, he raised his hand and gently traced a nail from the figure's neck, along his spine and lower back, lifting when he reached the tail of his coat. Tides of flames began to form from the point of contact and rip across his body, as if the other's fingers were burning splints - within three heartbeats, the entirety of his back was ablaze.
"Sadly, I highly doubt that we shall ever meet again, Lord Carter."
As the fire enveloped Rias, the man with red hair left the room, leaving only the smirking butler behind to muse at the silence.
Next Chapter →