Blood Thirst

At that moment, in Veronica's eyes, the boy who had survived what seemed like a mountain of shit and whose very existence was a miracle was flipping through documents bearing the Prevention and Suppression Bureau's insignia, quickly summarizing their main points.

First, contrary to Horn's expectations of a one-sided contract, this was a fairly lenient agreement. It stipulated only that the person bound by it—Horn—couldn't actively spread word of the supernatural, had to report any supernatural incidents he encountered, and had to cooperate with the Prevention and Suppression Bureau when necessary.

Those were the three main clauses. Everything else was supplementary, covering special circumstances.

For example, report any dreams involving moonlight; report any dreams involving a forest trapped in eternal night; draw the curtains before bed to make sure the sunlight could wake you; don't cut your hair before bed; don't sleep in a pure white room; never fall asleep in front of a cracked mirror... and so on.

A jumble of precautions took up more than half the document. Horn didn't understand them, but he was deeply shaken.

Was your work environment really that dangerous?

After confirming that there weren't any additional clauses hidden in the corners or decorative patterns, Horn picked up the heavy fountain pen that had come with the agreement. He paused, then, as if nothing had happened, signed his name in cursive at the bottom of the document as usual:

—Hohenheim Lancaster.

He handed the document back to the blonde girl, who, for some reason, had been staring at him intently. Then he shifted to a more convenient angle and let her get a good look.

Go ahead and stare. It's better than having some perverted old geezer pounce on me from behind.

Veronica took the document with one hand and casually slipped it into thin air. She looked at Horn with a complicated expression, but in the end said nothing, only sighing.

Well, since he'd managed to survive this long, there was no need to rush into dealing with his accumulated spirituality. He didn't have to choose a Path and receive a Mark right away.

After all, Apprentices who practiced the Formless Secret Arts were unlike Scholars who studied Great Knowledge. They were accustomed to living alongside the unknown and danger. Once they decided to follow their desires and ascend in the Dream Realm, they either rose high above it all or fell to pieces.

In this day and age, knowing more wasn't necessarily a good thing. The supernatural weren't necessarily happier than ordinary people.

Thinking back on the Prevention and Suppression Bureau's endless, irritating confidentiality rules, Veronica considered the matter for a moment, then decided to have someone else explain things to Horn.

"Emma, I have a meeting to attend. Sorry for the trouble, but could you come over and explain things to this young gentleman?"

The blonde girl beckoned toward the door. A small black-haired head, brimming with resentment, peeked around the doorframe and glared at her, trying to scold her with nothing but a look.

So mean. I'm going to glare at you with my eyes.jpg

Bathed in resentment so palpable it was almost physical, Veronica remained unmoved. She adjusted her sunglasses and gave Emma, who'd done nothing but this kind of grunt work since joining the Bureau, a look that said, You know the drill. The blonde girl turned away with a flourish, though not toward the door.

Horn watched, as if seeing a ghost, as Veronica snapped her fingers and flickered at a strange angle by the corner of the wall, as though she'd glitched through reality before slipping out of the room. For a moment, he was dazed.

Are you sure this world isn't running on a potato server?

Emma had long since grown used to Veronica abusing an art belonging to the Night Roaming Art, [Gate and Wall], and brazenly taking shortcuts through reality. She sighed and sat in the chair beside the hospital bed, bringing her fingertips together. Looking a little troubled, she began, "Where should I start, Mr...?"

Emma looked scarcely older than him, and still had a baby face. Horn repeated his name.

"Hohenheim Lancaster. That's my name, Miss Emma."

"Sure, sure. I'm Emma Moore. I'm two years older than you, so I'll call you Horn."

Having cheerfully settled the matter of what to call each other, Emma adopted a businesslike manner.

"Right, then, Mr. Horn. What happened to you was orchestrated by an organization we call the Blood Cup Cult. Their important ritual site, the Hound Bar, was completely destroyed by Miss Veronica Cessno, who just came to visit you."

After watching the gang leader die right in front of him, then come back to life, Horn found it hard to disagree. He nodded along, enthusiastically agreeing.

He wasn't naive enough to think the Prevention and Suppression Bureau were blind, unable to spot the traces he hadn't even tried to hide. It seemed Veronica had concealed at least some of what he'd done in this whole affair, allowing him to stay in a hospital room instead of a jail cell.

But...

Horn couldn't help asking the question that had been troubling him. "What were those monsters? They looked like vampires—no, more like werewolves. What were they, exactly?"

"The poison spread by the Blood Cup Cult is a honey called 'Scarlet Temptation.' And those unfortunate fools and incurable cases were tempted by it and made to suffer."

With an expression of disgust, Emma recalled the horrifying case files and the bloody scenes. Her stomach churned again.

"It's much too early to tell you about the Eight Great Principles, the Formless Secret Arts, or Paths and Marks. You wouldn't understand—and you don't need to. This isn't forbidden knowledge, but it's still useless, even harmful, to ordinary people who haven't entered the Dream Realm."

"Just think of it as... How did you put it in your statement? A zombie infection."

"People who drink too much Scarlet Temptation become infected and driven by their instincts. If they follow those instincts and start hunting, they gradually lose their sanity and eventually become Blood Thirsters. Then they cause trouble in Birmingham, gathering spirituality for the mastermind and throwing everything into chaos."

"Right, that's about it. The ones you encountered were infected people he'd spread."

"During the early stages of infection, the [Grail] spirituality stimulates the infected, making them feel energetic and indescribably euphoric. That's why this phase is also called the 'high.' Once they've tasted the benefits of Scarlet Temptation, they keep seeking more and indulging in wild revelry until the disease truly takes root in their bodies."

"After that comes the middle stage, also known as the incubation period. At this stage, the spirituality that's taken root craves nourishment from its host. The pleasure they first felt from taking Scarlet Temptation fades, and only drinking ever-increasing amounts can bring back a faint echo of it. Patients sometimes feel inexplicably restless and overcome by urges they can't suppress; at other times, they sink into the emptiness left when the pleasure fades."

"The incubation period can be long or short, but without specialized treatment to remove the infection, every patient will inevitably fall into the state known as the 'Blood Thirst Period.'"

The black-haired girl gazed at Horn's crimson, curious eyes. Her expression grave, she parted her lips.

"At this stage, the most striking sign is that the patient's eyes are stained red by the color of the [Grail]."