Free Iriya the Berserker by Hideyuki Kikuchi

ambushes, it wasn’t surprising she would hope the last two days of peace would carry over into the next day. The difference between towns populated with humans and the endless expanse of wilderness was truly like comparing heaven and hell.
    “Don’t go dropping your guard,” the hoarse voice said. “Around these parts, the things that live out on the plains change so fast it’d make your head spin. No telling what’ll pop up. Though it still beats the woods or a forest, I guess.”
    “It’s okay,” Meeker said as he laid out his sleeping bag. “From the look of the stars, we’re at the northern end of Sector Ninety-Six. Not many dangerous things up here.”
    “Oh, aren’t you well informed,” Iriya said playfully, giving him a look of admiration.
    A broad smile of satisfaction spread across his face.
    It was always at times like this that something had to interrupt.
    “Heh, heh! Interesting. This is the same squirt who can’t do anything ri—gaaaaah!”
    The hoarse voice was immediately muzzled.
    D sat silently by the fire, feeding it branches.
    “Thank you,” Iriya told him. She was grateful he’d cut short the snide remarks.
    “Sorry—I know I’m useless,” Meeker apologized weakly.
    Though Iriya had spent the last two days coaching him in how to take care of the horses and how to use knives and guns, Meeker showed zero aptitude for these things. On the other hand, Iriya’s skill drew praise from the hoarse voice. “No one’s born that good!” it’d said. “The girl’s had magical instruction. Maybe that’d start to explain how she could take down Mitterhaus, eh?”
    D had given no reply.
    “No problem. Don’t worry about it at all,” Iriya told the boy, giving him a pat on his little back.
    Stammering, “O-okay,” the boy smiled at her, but immediately looked down at the ground. Apparently the scrutiny made him uncomfortable.
    Iriya glared at D—or rather, at his left hand—then looked up at the Hunter’s face as he tossed something out into the wilderness, saying irately, “Can’t you do anything about that thing?”
    “Would that I could.”
    Once he’d finished throwing things in all four directions, D squeezed his hand into a fist. Every time he did, a tiny death rattle pierced the night. Ten times it rang out.
    As the night deepened, the air grew colder. Meeker had been right: they didn’t encounter anything dangerous. At least, nothing that lived out in the wilderness.

    The only thing this strategy could be likened to was waves breaking on a beach. So long as the coast was in the distance, they went on forever, closing without a sound. They made a noise when other waves followed after them. But a single wave was silent. The same went for this “wave.”
    He’d spread it three-quarters of a mile wide, then closed in on the group. So they couldn’t escape. So it could swallow up every last one of them and digest them all. It was fifty yards from its target, and the man controlling it was confident of his success.
    Three miles away, this spot was beyond even a dhampir’s sight. Through a pair of the Nobility’s binoculars procured from a curio shop, he could see the three figures sleeping around the campfire. Just another fifty yards to go—now he let his stomach pounce.
    However, a second later the master of that stomach was gripped by a feeling that something wasn’t right. A feeling akin to fear. Though he’d discharged the contents of his stomach and taken every precaution, his stomach had begun to devour something. It didn’t seem possible anyone could detect its presence, its movements. Except for D, perhaps?
    “Go!” he bellowed, his cry carrying despair.
    His stomach shot up like a colossal cloud—and then a vicious pain turned him into spasm-racked stone.
    Did he finish it off?
    At the same time he felt the death tremors of his stomach, he drew his dagger and cut off the esophagus that protruded from his mouth. He was three miles off. More than enough