泣く槍 | Nakuyari

6 章

The lights of a thousand paper lanterns glimmered in cheery defiance to the night sky as the clouds began to shroud the stars and moon above. Their silvery luminance shone still, poking through the cloud cover as it came to rest upon the spires of the port city. It was at the tallest of them that a slender, dark form found herself leaping from its beams and dangling from its ledges. She effortlessly scaled the tower of Shiokaze Holstery overlooking the Ruby Sea on one face, and the sprawling city with the other.


 Far below, Kugane's streets thronged with the loud, joyous merrymaking of crowds of celebrants, fueled by flowing rivers of sake. Indeed, the city itself seemed to buckle with the weight of their carousal, straining to contain the colorful festivities within Kugane's stoic stone walls. Few would feel the need to look up past the cherry blossoms. None would be able to espy the shadowy creature crawling her way from foothold to foothold, coming to rest at the lip of the tower's peak.

Sliding open the wooden window panels with a soft snick!, the figure crept inside, rolling silently onto the floorboards and quickly drawing a compact submachine gun with both hands in one fluid motion. The interior was pitch black, but her visor illuminated the room in the sterile green within its heads-up display. Her gauntlets thrummed with a strange energy, its servos whirring silently as her finger hovered over the trigger. She swiveled her firearm slowly, soundlessly, scanning room after room for any complications with its muzzle. A thorough minute of searching found nothing but boxes, crates, and chests covered with a fine layer of dust. Slinging her duffel bag around her shoulders, she approached the windows facing the city, opening the panels to reveal Kugane's cityscape. She nestled herself between piles of crates coming up to her abdomen, withdrawing a hard, lacquered case from her bag, embossed with the Garlean red diamond and locked with a numbered dial. A small screen sat next to the dial, with enough space for a fingerprint. She rolled the numbers with practiced efficiency.

16028.

 As she placed her thumb upon the screen, the case snapped quietly open. The velvet lining held a compartmentalized assortment of rods and connectors, a high-powered scope, and several large steel rounds. Their metallic sheen reflected Hessael's visage; calm, focused.

Hessael tapped her visor as it slid upwards, coming to rest out of her field of view upon her brow. She allowed her eyes to adjust to the swallowing void and the lights of the city below. Her hands made quick work of constructing the required tool for the next section of her mission as she set about transforming her submachine gun. Each compartment slid into place with machined precision, secured by bolts, screws, and magnetic locks. A few focused minutes of assembly produced the long, lethal profile of her weapon's final form, its long muzzle held steady by the bipod resting atop the crates. Sliding the scope atop the gun's receiver, it clicked quietly into place just in front of Hessael's gaze as she twisted and turned its knobs to allow her a crystal clear view of the cityscape below. Settling down cross-legged, propping the heavy rifle up with the help of the crates, Hessael loaded a single round into the chamber, sliding the bolt forward and locking it into place. She closed one eye and opened the other, gazing through the scope to the city streets. She met thousands of faces, thousands of eyes, greeting her with silent smiles and laughter, all nondescript and featureless, blending into one another as she examined the nightscape for her target.

The city splayed open for her, but much of the grounds returned nothing. She surveyed the Bokairo Inn, peering through its swirling mists and its visitors frolicking in the hot waters. She scoured the Kogane Market districts, banners fluttering over the heads of eager festival shoppers. She searched the Sekiseigumi Barracks, staffed with mobs of crimson-garbed officers lying about their grounds, desperate for orders, for entertainment. Mujikoza Theater, Tasogare Bridge, the Ijin district, the Tenkoto, the piers; the target was absent no matter where she looked. She probed every street, every alleyway in between grand landmarks, methodically scanning the rising and falling topography of tile rooftops and festival bunting, her crosshairs dancing from face to face. Undeterred, she carefully turned her attention to less densely-populated areas of the city, towards the gardens near the Ijin District. At last, Hessael was rewarded with a familiar sight: a small, energetic bolt of deep red, racing on little limbs from one branch to the next with childish giddy. Hessael twisted a knob on her scope, enlarging the details. The young girl was garbed in a burgundy kimono, as was her bedraggled caretaker hot on her heels in pursuit, the strands of her graying hair fraying from her tightly-wound bun. On the backs of both shone the white shapes of a ringed, tri-sectioned maple tree.


 Hessael shifted her scope slightly to witness a small palanquin arriving at the entrance of the gardens coming into view. She spotted her target through the wooden slits of its rear window, as he turned his head to the side, displaying his long white beard. His sturdily-built retainer approached the door, moving to open it as he exchanged words between himself and his lord. Hessael could almost make out the frown on the Roegadyn's scarred visage, hidden underneath the shadow of his wide-brimmed hat. The Roegadyn nodded to his lord, making his way towards the cherry blossoms that held the small child in its boughs and leaving his lord unaccompanied in the palanquin. Hessael steadied her breathing, drawing in and letting go measured breaths as she felt her heart slow, her hands still. The tiny motors within her gauntlets adjusted for the imperceptible shifting and swaying of her grip, all but locking her rifle upon only where she wanted it to point, hovering unerringly on the back of her target's head.


 Hessael expelled the last of her air from her lungs. Her body was unmoving, her sight fixated on nothing else but her objective. Her ears pounded with the sound of the blood rushing through her system. Time slowed to a crawl, as the seconds ticked by in time with the beating of her heart, her target immobilized under her careful aim. Her finger graced the trigger, placing the barest of pressure upon the curved surface...