Chapter 5: Three Instructions

As Paper Hero flew over the docks, he spotted a figure emerging from the darkness to the south, bounding across the rooftops. Such agility was clearly beyond an ordinary person, but he could not immediately make out who the newcomer was or where he had come from. Paper Hero stopped short and raised his guard, wary of being attacked from both front and rear.

It was still night, after all. Even with the brilliant white cross shining over the sea, the newcomer was dressed in black and moving fast. Less than a hundred meters away, Paper Hero still could not tell whether he was friend or foe.

The man suddenly stopped as well, standing on a distant high point and looking across at Paper Hero. Most likely, he too was trying to work out whom he was facing.

Both were Strong-rank fighters, and their thinking was much the same. This distance was roughly the limit of their respective safety zones, leaving them free to attack or defend, fight or flee. Any closer, and a single move would commit them to a fight to the death.

Of course, this standoff depended on each assuming that the other's ability rank was no higher than his own. If the man opposite were a Fierce-rank fighter, distance would not mean much.

Paper Hero spoke first. “Listen, friend, I'm a police officer. If you're with those people out at sea, I'm sorry, but I can't let you through.”

Faru relaxed at that. So he's just a policeman, he thought. The ability to fly is unusual, but stationed in a backwater like Venice... he can't be higher than Normal rank. With that, he smiled and replied, “Oh, we're on the same side. Sorry, I didn't recognize you without a uniform.” There was a touch of pride and disdain in his tone.

Both moved a little closer, though neither entirely let down his guard. Who knew whether the other was trying to trick him?

Only when Paper Hero could see that Faru's black clothing was indeed an HL uniform did he largely lower his guard. “Are you one of Jim's men? I haven't seen you before.”

“Jim? You mean Colonel Malone?” Faru looked him over suspiciously. “You seem pretty familiar with the local HL for a policeman.”

“Fairly,” Paper Hero said. “So you're not with the local HL?”

Faru had no desire to waste time on a mere policeman, so he changed the subject. “All right, given my rank, I have no reason to disclose internal HL information to you. You seem to be an ability user too. Stay here and help me keep any confused civilians or drunks from getting close, so they don't get caught in the fighting. It's for your own safety as well.” With that, he turned and swept toward the sea like a gust of wind. A few seconds later, he was running across the water.

Paper Hero was somewhat annoyed by his attitude, but judging by his words and bearing, he presumably counted as a formidable fighter even within HL. That light-footed dash across the water alone was certainly beyond Paper Hero.

“Fine, I'll hang back and watch for now. All the better if I don't have to do anything.” Since someone had volunteered to lead the charge, Paper Hero would oblige him and settle for providing support. He had only read about the Holy City Inspector's fighting prowess in a few reports several years ago. Today he could watch and see whether the man really had three heads and six arms.

And so he sat on his paper flying carpet and followed at an unhurried pace in the direction Faru had gone.

Speaking of three heads and six arms, there really was a three-headed, six-armed thug making his way through the city toward them. Of course, three heads and six arms was only a figure of speech, and rather undersold Blood Owl at that. A mere three heads and six arms hardly covered it. In an age when news traveled poorly, his reputation would probably have run to “eight hands, horns, eats people,” and so on.

“Old man, do you even have arms?” Blood Owl sat in a gondola, glaring at the boatman with utter impatience.

The boatman had graying hair and wore a beard so fake it could not possibly look any faker. He spoke with an Italian-Sichuan accent. “Heh heh heh, young man, this is a sightseeing boat. You can't compare its speed with those motorized things.”

“A one-legged pirate rowing with his peg leg would be faster than you.”

“No, no, no... Young man, you must understand, here in the city's canals, taking it slow is what makes it romantic.” The boatman even pointed at the sky. “Enjoy the Mediterranean moonlight.”

Blood Owl muttered to himself, “Why haven't I killed him yet... I wanted to kill him the moment I saw his face ten minutes ago.”

He sighed deeply and looked at the boatman. “Old man. No, my young friend. Let me repeat what I said ten minutes ago, when I handed you the money. I think you'll remember.” He suddenly shouted, “Get me to that goddamn place! With the white light! As fast! As you fucking! Can!!”

“Oh! Young man, I'm not nearly as young as you make me out to be...” For some reason, the boatman's accent had now become French-Uyghur.

Blood Owl said, “If I hadn't been walking all day and wanted to rest a bit...” He clenched his fist, then forced himself to lower it. “Listen, pal, I know you're afraid it'll be dangerous over there. That's why you're dragging this out, hoping I'll lose patience and get off so you can pocket some easy money. But let me explain the situation.” He paused, then tore a chunk of wood from the boat with his left hand. Before the boatman could cry out, he channeled his strength into his left arm and flung the wood away. It struck like a missile, smashing a small bridge over the canal a little more than ten meters away.

The boatman stood at the gunwale, dumbstruck, his jaw hanging as though it had come unhinged. Blood Owl continued, “If I'm not at the docks in another ten minutes, you'll be turned into something—an oar. If you're thinking of jumping overboard and running away, believe me, you'll become an oar immediately. If you shout, or say so much as half a word in that regional accent, with that fake beard you use to con tourists—oar!

“And when I say oar, I mean something stiff that doesn't breathe and shows no signs of life. I'll grab it around the middle and, with about three hundred kilograms of force in my arm, spin it around its axis at high speed behind the stern. That'll definitely be faster than those motorized things!” By the last sentence, he was bellowing.

That's a propeller! the boatman screamed inwardly. Is this guy even human? I'll die... I'm done for... Spend enough time on the river and sooner or later you'll get whacked. After all these years of scamming tourists, today I've finally come unstuck.

Frightened as he was, his hands suddenly found their strength. He propelled the boat fast enough to earn himself a place on a dragon boat team. Which goes to show, people find out what they can do when they're pushed. With a knife at their throat, how many don't cry for their mommy and daddy? That's called the will to live.

...

While Blood Owl and the unscrupulous boatman were sightseeing on the canals, Faru had already encountered the dozen or so members of Steel Commandment out at sea.

Faru came straight up from the south, arriving in moments and leaping onto the ice floe. His opponents made no immediate move to ambush him. They seemed entirely unconcerned, as though this uninvited guest did not warrant any action.

Faru's gaze swept over each knight's face, then the gaunt, dark-faced man, before finally settling on Bottrini. “Until now, I've only seen that face on wanted posters. At last we meet in person.”

Bottrini eyed him with contempt. The uniform plainly identified the newcomer. He gave a cold snort. “An HL dog is the first to arrive, as expected. So... were you the one who killed the clerics twenty hours ago?”

“Big talk for a rebel.” Faru neither denied nor admitted anything about the clerics. He did not know what the man was referring to, and keeping silent for now might yield more information. He merely added, “Remember this, Bottrini. You're about to die at the hands of Ge Faru.”

Bottrini said, “Oh? Faru, one of ‘Ape, Sparrow, Python, Dragon’? Good. Anyone who sees my cross and still dares come alone is clearly no ordinary man. Even if that killer doesn't show up tonight, killing you will make the trip worthwhile.”

Proud and arrogant, Faru was hardly about to concede defeat. “Hmph... A rebel with a death wish...”

Both were ready to kill. A fight to the death could break out at any moment.

Just then, the dark-faced man leaned close to Bottrini's ear. “My lord, remember the chief priest's prophetic warning. You must wait until the killer appears before using the Holy Cross.”

“I'll use my own judgment,” Bottrini replied coldly.

In truth, the Inspector had long resented the chief priest. It was not merely that the man held an exalted position second only to the grand master despite never taking part in battle. What irritated him even more was that the accuracy of those prophecies really was beyond question. Everyone who disregarded the warnings and put himself at risk had died without so much as a grave.

When Bottrini left the Holy City with his ten battle-hardened knights, the chief priest had given him three instructions. First, when the killer appears before you, you will know it is him. Second, the Holy Cross may only be used after the killer appears. Third, whatever the outcome of the operation, withdraw immediately once it is over, and do not set foot in Venice again for two months.

These three instructions struck the self-important Bottrini as very strange. Could the person who had killed those hundred-odd clerics be so powerful that only the Holy Cross could destroy him?

“My lord, someone else is coming,” reported one of the knights at the front.

A white paper flying carpet drifted toward them through the sky. Seated on it wasn't some Indian, but a European man in a trench coat and a flat cap. Paper Hero really did lack some of the presence a formidable fighter ought to have. Friend and foe alike underestimated him, taking him for no one of consequence.

Bottrini said, “Go deal with him, then head for shore. Don't let any more small fry through.” His gaze remained fixed on Faru. “I'll skin this python myself.”

Paper Hero had no time to object to being classed as small fry. The moment those ten knights received their orders, they came at him without a word.

Despite their heavy burdens, the knights easily leaped high off the ice. Longswords and short spears flashed from their waists as the ten spread into a semicircle around Paper Hero in midair. Every one of them thrust swiftly at him. There seemed to be no way left to dodge.