The Stuff of Dreams

Other Vampire Hunter D books published by

DH Press and Digital Manga Publishing

.

vol. 1: Vampire Hunter D

vol. 2: Raiser of Gales

vol. 3: Demon Deathchase

vol. 4: Tale of the Dead Town

VAMPIRE HUNTER D 5: the stuff of dreams

© Hideyuki Kikuchi, 1986. Originally published in Japan in 1986 by ASAHI SONORAMA Co. English translation copyright © 2006 by DH Press and Digital Manga Publishing.

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No portion of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the express written permission of the copyright holders. Names, characters, places, and incidents featured in this publication are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons (living or dead), events, institutions, or locales, without satiric intent, is coincidental. DH Press™ is a trademark of DH Press. All rights reserved.

Cover art by Yoshitaka Amano

English translation by Kevin Leahy

Book design by Heidi Fainza

Published by

DH Press

a division of Dark Horse Comics

10956 SE Main Street

Milwaukie, OR 97222

dhpressbooks.com

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Digital Manga Publishing

1487 West 178th Street, Suite 300

Gardena, CA 90248

dmpbooks.com

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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

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Kikuchi, Hideyuki, 1949-

[Yume narishi D. English]

The stuff of dreams / written by Hideyuki Kikuchi ; illustrated by Yoshitaka Amano ; English translation by Kevin Leahy. -- 1st DH Press ed.

p. cm. -- (Vampire hunter D ; vol. 5)

“Originally published in Japan in 1986 by ASAHI SONORAMA Co.”--T.p. verso.

ISBN-13: 978-1-59582-094-5

ISBN-10: 1-59582-094-9

I. Amano, Yoshitaka. II. Leahy, Kevin. III. Title.

PL832.I37Y8613 2006

895.6’36--dc22

2006020432

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ISBN-10: 1-59582-094-9

ISBN-13: 978-1-59582-094-5

ePub ISBN: 978-1-62115-491-4

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First DH Press Edition: September 2006

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

Printed in the United States of America

Distributed by Publishers Group West

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I

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The moon was out.

No matter how dangerous night on the Frontier had become, the clarity of the night itself never changed. Perhaps supernatural beasts and fiends alone had pleasant dreams . . .

But there was someone else here who might have them, too. Here, in the middle of a dense forest, he slept.

As if to prove that night on the Frontier was never silent, voices beyond numbering sang from the tops of the demon’s scruff oaks or from the dense greenery of a thicket of sweet mario bushes.

Though the sleeper’s dreams might be peaceful, the forest at night was home to hunger and evil. Spraying poison to seal their opponents’ eyes, dungeon beetles were known to set upon their prey with sharp teeth no bigger than grains of sand. A swarm of them could take a fifteen-foot-long armored dragon and strip it to the bone in less than two minutes. Sometimes the black earth swelled up, and a mass of absorption worms burst out, crawling in all directions. Over a foot and a half long, the massive worms broke down soil with powerful molecular vibrations and absorbed it through the million mouths that graced the nucleus of each of their cells. Usually they’d latch onto a traveler’s ankle first and melt the foot right off before pouncing on more vital locations like the head or the heart. How could anything escape them when their very touch ate through skin and bone alike?

Colors occurred in the darkness as well. Perhaps catching some odd little noise in the sound of the wind, the snowy white petals that opened gorgeously in the moonlight trembled ever so slightly as the flower sprayed out a pale purple mist, and, as the cloud drifted down to earth, tiny white figures floated down with it. Each of them carried a minute spear, and only those who’d made it through the forest alive knew that they were evil little sprites from within the flower, with poison sap made from petals.

And of all the blood-hued eyes glittering off in the darkness a little way off, and further back, and even deeper still, nothing was merely an innocent onlooker.

While everyone who went out on the Frontier might not know it, those who actually lived there realized the forests weren’t a wise place to choose for a night of restful sleep. They were aware that the plaintive birdsong was actually the voice of a demon bird that muddled the senses, and that the gentle fog was in fact mist devils trying to sneak into their victims’ bodies. If they absolutely had to sleep in the forest, people would keep a bow with an incendiary-tipped arrow in one hand, and shut their eyes only after zipping their asbestos sleeping bag up over their head. Sprite spears and the teeth of nocturnal insect predators couldn’t penetrate a half-inch thickness of that cloth, and, if a traveler drank an antidote derived from the juice of hell berries, they didn’t have to worry about demonic fogs, either. Their head, however, would be aching the next morning. If, by some chance, the attacks should persist, then the bow and arrow came into play.

However, the traveler now surrounded by all these weird creatures seemed completely ignorant of the threats the woods held. Lying on a bed of grass, the moonlight shone down on him like a spotlight. While his face couldn’t be seen for the black, wide-brimmed traveler’s hat that covered it, the deep-blue pendant that hung at his chest, the black long coat, the high leather boots with their silver spurs, and, more than anything, the elegant longsword leaning against his shoulder left no room for muddled conjecture or doubt. All those things were meant to adorn someone beautiful.

However, part of his description was still lacking. Watch. When the monstrous creatures blanketing the ground come within three feet of the traveler, they rub their paws and pincers and begin to twitch uncontrollably, as if checked by some unseen barrier. They know. They understand. Though the traveler sleeps, something emanates from his body—a ghastly aura declaring that any who challenge him will die. The creatures of the wild know what the young man actually is, and the part of his description that is absolutely indispensable: He is not of this world.

The young man in black went right on sleeping, almost as if the poisonous mists of the sleeper grass smelled to him like the sweetest perfume, as if the indignant snarls of the ungodly creatures sounded to his ears like the most soothing melody.

Consciousness suddenly spread through his body. His left hand took hold of his hat, and, as he sat up, he placed it back on his long black hair. And anything that looked upon him realized that unearthly beauty did indeed exist.

People called him D. Though his eyes had been closed in sleep up until this very moment, there wasn’t even a tiny hint of torpor in them. His black, bottomless pupils reflected another figure in black standing about ten feet ahead of him. Well over six and a half feet tall, the massive form was like a block of granite.

A certain power buffeted D’s face, an aura emanating from that colossal figure. An ordinary human would’ve been
so psychically damaged by it that they’d spend the better part
of a lifetime trying to recover.

In his left hand, the man held a bow, while his right
hand clutched a number of arrows. When bow and arrow
met in front of that massive chest, D’s right hand went for the handle of his longsword. The elegant movement befitted the young man.

An arrow whined through the air. D stayed just where he was, but a flash of silver rushed from his sheath and limned a gorgeous arc. When the smooth cut of his blade met the missile’s beautiful flight in a shower of sparks, D knew his foe’s arrows were forged entirely from steel.

The fierce light that resided in his opponent’s eyes looked like a silent shout. The instant their respective weapons had met, his arrow was split down the middle, and the halves sank deep into the ground.

D stood up. A flash of black ran through his left shoulder. The black giant had unleashed this arrow at the same time as his second shot. Perfectly timed and fired on an equally precise course, the arrow had deceived D until it pierced his shoulder.

However, the black shadow seemed shaken, and it fell back without a sound. He alone understood how incredibly agile D had been, using his shoulder to stop an arrow that should’ve gone right through his heart.

As his foe backed away, D readied himself. Making no attempt to remove the arrow, he gazed at the giant’s face with eyes that were suspiciously tranquil. D was reflected in his opponent’s eyes as well.

“Don’t intend to tell me your name, do you?” D’s first words also held the first hint of emotion he’d shown. An instant later, the hem of his coat spread in midair. The blade he brought down like a silvery serpent’s fang rent nothing but cloth as the black figure leapt back another fifteen feet. As his foe hovered in midair, the
twang
of a bowstring rang out. With as mellifluous
a sound as was ever heard, the long, thin silhouette of the Hunter’s blade sprang up, and D kicked off the ground with all
of his might.

His foe was already partially obscured by a grove a hundred yards ahead. The few hundredths of a second it’d taken him to draw back for his third shot had proved critical.

Still not bothering with the arrow in his left shoulder, D sprinted into action. Inheriting much of the Nobility’s powerful musculature in their legs, dhampirs could dash a hundred yards in less than six seconds. With his speed, D covered the distance in under five seconds, and he showed no signs of slowing. However, the shadow had been lost in the darkness. Did D sense that the presence had abruptly vanished?

He kept on running, and, when he halted, it was in precisely the same spot where his foe had disappeared. D had noticed that the deep footprints that’d led him that far ended in the soft grass.

His opponent had vanished into the heavens or sunk into the earth—neither of which was especially uncommon in this world.

D stood still. Black steel jutting from his left shoulder and fresh blood dripping from the wound, D hadn’t let his expression change one bit throughout the battle. But the reason he didn’t extract the arrow wasn’t because he didn’t feel the pain of it, but rather because he simply wasn’t going to give his foe an opportunity to catch him off-guard.

Frozen like a veritable statue, he broke his pose suddenly. Around him, everything was still and dark. The air of their deadly conflict must’ve stunned the supernatural creatures, because not a single peculiar growl or cry could be heard.

D’s face turned, and his body began moving. There hadn’t been any road there from the very start, just a bizarre progression of overlapping trees and bushes. Like an exquisite shadow, he moved ahead without hesitation, finding openings wherever he needed them. There was no telling if it would be a short hike or a long, hard trek. Night on the Frontier was a whole different world.

The wind bore a sound that was not its own whispers. Perhaps D had heard it even at the scene of the battle. Beyond the excited buzz of people and a light melody played by instruments of silver and gold, he could make out a faint glow.

The stately outline that towered protectively over the proceedings looked to be that of a chateau. As the Hunter walked closer, the outline gave way to rows of bright lights. Presently, D’s way was barred by a gate in the huge iron fence before him. Not giving his surroundings a glance, D continued forward. Before his hands even touched it, the gate creaked open. Without a moment’s delay, D stepped onto the property. Judging by the scale of the gate, this wasn’t the main entrance.

Ahead of him was a stone veranda that gave off a shimmering light. The glow was not due to the light of the moon, but rather it radiated from the stones themselves. In the windows behind the veranda were countless human figures. Some laughed gaily. Some danced with elegance. The sharp swallowtails of men’s formal attire flicked back and forth, and the hems of evening gowns swayed. The banquet at the mansion seemed to be at its height.

D’s gaze fell to the steel jutting from his shoulder, and he took hold of it with his left hand. There was the sound of tearing flesh as he yanked the steel out, vermilion scraps of meat still clinging to it. As fresh blood gushed from the wound, D covered it with his left hand. It sounded like someone was drinking a glass of water. All the while D kept walking, climbing the stone steps of the veranda and then reaching for the doorknob. The bleeding from his shoulder hadn’t stopped.

The doorknob was a blue jewel set in the middle of golden petals, and it turned readily in his well-formed hand.

D stood in a hall filled with blue light. One had to wonder if the young man realized that hue was not the white radiance he’d seen spilling from the windows. Perhaps the mansion was mocking D, because now only two figures danced in the room. The girl must’ve been around seventeen or eighteen. The fine shape of her limbs was every bit as glamorous as her dress, which seemed to be woven from obsidian thread, and each and every strand of the black hair that hung down to her waist glittered like a spun jewel. The light melody remained. Her partner in tails was also reflected in D’s eyes. Still turned the other way, his face couldn’t be seen.

D stepped further into the hall. It was clear the mansion had been meant to draw him there. If it had only two residents, one or both of them must’ve arranged this.

The girl stopped moving. The music ceased as well. As she stared at D, her eyes were filled with a mysterious gleam. “You’re . . . ?” Her composed voice made the light flicker.

“I seem to have been invited here,” D said as he looked at the back of the man who was still facing away from him. “By you? What’s your business? Or where is he?”

“He?” The girl knit her thread-thin eyebrows.

“If you don’t know who I’m referring to, perhaps that man does. Well?”

The man didn’t move. Perhaps her partner was fashioned from bronze, and made solely to dance?

Asking nothing more, D plowed through the blue light to stand just behind the man. His left hand reached for the man’s shoulder—and touched it. Slowly, the man turned around. Every detail of the girl’s expression—which couldn’t be neatly classified as either horror or delight—was etched into the corner of D’s eye.

D opened his eyes. Blue light graced his surroundings. It was the pale glow of dawn, just before sunrise.

Slowly, D rose from his grassy resting place. Had it all been a dream? There was no wound to his left shoulder. Where he was now was the same spot where he’d gone to sleep. The cyborg horse that’d been absent from his dream stood by the tree trunk to which its reins were tied.

As the Hunter took the longsword and sheath in his left hand and slung it across his back, a hoarse and strangely earnest voice said, “No, sirree. That was too damn real for a plain old dream. Hell, it hurt
me
.” The voice must’ve been referring to the steel arrow that’d penetrated the Hunter’s left shoulder. “That mansion was calling you, sure enough. And if they called you, they must have business with you. Bet we’ll be seeing them again real soon.”

“You think so?” D said, speaking in the real world for the first time. “I saw him.”

“Indeed,” the voice agreed. But it sounded perplexed.

Setting the saddle he’d used for a pillow on his horse’s back, D easily mounted his steed. The horse began walking in the blue light.

“How about that—it’s the same!”

What the voice meant was this locale they’d never seen before bore a striking resemblance to the place in the dream, suggesting . . . that the source of the voice had the very same dream as D.

In a few minutes, the horse and rider arrived at an empty lot surrounded by a grove of sizable trees. This was where the mansion had been. A banquet in endless warm, blue light, light that spilled from the windows as men and women danced in formal wear, never seeing the dawn. Now, everything was hidden by the green leaves of vulgar spruces and the boughs of poison firs. Giving the landscape a disinterested glance, D wheeled his mount around. Beyond the forest, there should be a real village settled almost two hundred years ago.

Without looking back, the rider in black vanished into the depths of a grove riddled by the light of dawn, as if to say he’d already forgotten his dream.