Hole 1: Grave Digger

Chapter 1

The ground beneath his feet was wet and all around him he could hear the

sound of stirring trees and the cries of birds. Although the boy was wearing a

blindfold, he quickly realized that he had been dropped off near a forest.

After being released from the stench of the paddy wagon’s old leather

canopy, filling his lungs with fresh air was almost like a sweet feast. Even

thinking about before he had been arrested, he couldn’t recall ever having

breathed such wonderful air as this.

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However, the moment the boy was about to take another deep breath, he

was kicked hard in the back.

“Walk, prisoner 5722.”1

Called by his name, he followed the officer’s directions. The boy was fairly

taller than average, and his body had such a thickness that by only looking at

his shadow on the ground, he appeared to be a full-grown adult. But, things

like his mouth, his unblemished tanned skin, and his faint body hair made it

clear that he was obviously still a young boy.

“Where am I? No, better yet, where am I headed?” The boy muttered in a

low, husky voice.

He wondered if this blindfold was concealing the internment camp, and also

how many hours he had he been in the paddy wagon. No one had bothered

to tell him where he was going. However, he also hadn’t dared to ask. Yet, for

argument’s sake, even if he had, he knew that there were only two possible

responses. Either he was replied to in a suitable manner or he had his face

shoved.

In his head, walking while being unable to see was difficult, but in reality the

road was flat. Since he couldn’t depend on his eyesight, his other senses were

working much more than usual to collect information about his surroundings.

His hands were handcuffed and right in front of him a military police officer

was on the other end pulling him forward. Unlike himself, that guy showed

no signs of being human.

1

For the term slave, in the original j.a.panese it was written [オリッド/oriddo]. Later when the boy first

meets Karasu, it is explained that this term is an old slang used for slave oarsmen on Galleys. Possibly a

combination of the word Oar 「オール/ouru」and slave 「どれい/dorei」

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The boy could feel the glorious rays of the early summer sun, and he

breathed in the naturally fragrant air of the forest trees. Though he

sometimes stepped on weeds, he never tripped or stumbled over errant

roots. This place didn’t seem like a wild, untamed wilderness.

But, it was strange.

What is this place?

His heart was pounding.

Although he couldn’t say for certain, he did feel that the ground he was

treading over did not resemble anything he had encountered in his 16 years

of life.

Memories and images of the scenery he had traversed and the scenes he had

witnessed floated about his mind. His old hometown’s beech wood forest,

the brickwork and stoned paved streets in his town. He saw the snow

covered nameless roads and the lone soldier continuing to dig out trenches in

the wasteland.

No matter where you went, you could see the tracks of their tanks. The scent

of oil, coal and sand hung in the air. He noticed the grooves of the supply

unit’s carts, and also the sight and smell of horse manure scattered about.

The remains of the destroyed military encampment were littered with traces

of burst explosive casings. There was also the smoke of gunpowder…and the

stench of burning, human flesh.

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Sweat oozed out from his pores. One of the beads trickled down to the collar

at his neck, a shackle that prevented him from escaping. Though it irritated

him, there was no use wanting to remove the irons. Neither the cuffs on his

wrists or the collar at his throat allowed him to do as he wished. What’s

more, although his legs were unfettered, he noticed that trying to lift his

thighs was becoming excruciating painful and he could feel his legs growing

heavy.

He didn’t want to go any further.

Yet, unexpectedly within the darkness of his blindfold, a strange impulse

mounted in his chest. As he walked in shoes which were de-laced to prevent

potential suicides, he was starting to think that the land he was walking

across wasn’t spa.r.s.ely covered with weeds like the hairs in his beard.

It’s like I’m walking on top of something…

The rope binding his wrists pulled taut.

The officer stopped and sharply cluck his tongue. The boy’s body stiffened in

response, preparing for a further thrashing. However, the pain never came.

Instead, the blindfold was roughly ripped off his face. The boy’s pupils had

gotten so used to the darkness that the sudden early summer rays bearing

down on him were quite violent. He twisted away as if he had been slapped,

covering his face, which only made the officer sneer.

“Eyes up, brat.”

Blinking, the boy did as he was told.

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His vision was blurry, white and hazy.

The first thing to come to focus was his guard. As he had expected, the man

looked like he was in his 30s with a lean, long and thin face. The next thing to

enter his vision were the damp ground and the overgrown greenery…then

came the graves.

Graves. Graves. Cl.u.s.ters of graves. Within the forest clearing were lined

countless of the monuments of death. The stones came in various different

shapes and sizes, and even the intervals between each were strangely

irregular. There were stones separated by a distance of about ten steps, all

the way down to one stone which thrust up from the ground isolated from

the others. Half even seemed to be buried in the forest. Some of the

gravestones were made from fresh new granite and some of the graves had

been eroded by the rain, their epitaphs and inscriptions no longer legible.

There was no sense of uniformity or order in this place.

“Could this be…?” In a young voice oozing with shock, he continued to ask his

guard, “By any chance did you have me walk here just to save yourself the

trouble of transporting my corpse?”

Laughing, the man replied, “So what if I did?”

“Then I guess this would be yet another tragedy based on a false claim.”

In response the guard kicked him in the pit of his stomach.

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Although he doubled over in pain, the color in the boy’s face remained

mostly unchanged as he presented a bitter smile. Since he had been told that

he would receive a life sentence, he had never thought he would be executed

here.

Heh, I bet this guy wouldn’t even be punished if he killed me.

“Anyway,” the jailer continued, “this is the place where you’re going.”

With a bony index finger, the guard pointed in the direction they were to

travel. At one of the corners of the border between the forest and the

graveyard, the boy caught a glimpse of a mansion and its white walls. It was

barely visible, as if it had been buried within the thick green of the broadleaf

trees. As far as he could see, it looked like a place where only one person

lived.

As they drew closer to the mansion, the boy being pulled forward by the rope

wrapped about his cuffs, he realized that the walls weren’t painted white.

The color was actually the white of recently quarried stone. The building also

wasn’t that big, but its perimeter was completely surrounded by a palisade2

of black iron without a trace of rust. The countless tops of the fence posts

each appeared like the tip of a spear, all pointing to the sky as they warded

off thieves. The gate’s side entrance, an iron door almost blending in with the

iron posts, had been firmly shut. Naturally, there was no welcome party to

take them in.

2

Tall iron fence

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The boy started to doubt whether anyone even lived there. The area did not

give even a hint that there had been any recent activity. Between the fence

and the building was a small garden, which although fully weeded, was flat

and featureless with not even one tree or shrub. There were neither

fountains, nor sculptures and he couldn’t even find a line for drying clothes.

Yet, instead of those things, there was a mechanized buzzer and receiver to

the side of the iron entrance. People of the lower cla.s.ses did not have access

to things like telegraphs, to say nothing of the entranceway it was furnished

within. When it comes to telegram machines, even though he had seen them

often during his military service, just like tanks, they were tools only utilized

by their specialist officers. People like him, people that were just

“battleground moles”3 had no opportunity to touch these kinds of things.

Wow. Shockingly this place is quite luxurious, the boy thought in surprise,

keeping his opinion to himself.

The guard, unfamiliar with how to handle the device, awkwardly pushed the

buzzer. He then picked up the receiver attached by a long and narrow cord.

“This is the Filbard military police, Warrant Officer Barrida. As arranged, I

have escorted prisoner 5722.”

After a little while, a seemingly old man responded in a terribly hoa.r.s.e

sounding voice.

3

Probably cannon fodder.

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“We were expecting you. Thank you officer, we greatly appreciate your

service.”4 The receiver’s volume seemed so loud that the boy standing

behind the guard had no problem catching what was being said.

“At the current time, Officer, your duties have concluded. Since we will now

manage the current situation ourselves, we no longer wish to inconvenience

you. Please, we hope that you will encounter no difficulties on the road

home. Safe journeys and we hope you remain in good health.”

Hearing this, the long-faced guard’s expression seemed to twist with anger.

No matter how politely the words were spoken, to be turned away and

denied entry like a simple peddler of goods seemed to wound the warrant

officer’s pride. In a griping voice the guard replied.

“But my duty is to personally make sure that the prisoner has indeed been

escorted. I would like you to open the door for me. And for starters, isn’t it

rude to not even show your face?”

“We appreciate your response. However, while we are grateful you took the

trouble of coming here, the prisoner’s work papers have already been signed

by two parties, myself and your military. Furthermore, regarding the content

of that agreement, I do not recall there being a clause that requires you to

hand the boy over directly….”

“But…” though the officer refused to back down, before he could insist

further, the voice from the receiver cut him off.

4

This character’s dialogue is written with extremely polite j.a.panese. I tried my best to translate this into

English, but the prevalence of formal honorific language has diminished greatly in English. Overall, the

speech should sound slightly archaic.

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“Pardon me, soldier. Are you Warrant Officer Barrida Clemens attached to

the East Filbard area of the Racksand prison camp?”

“Um, that’s right…” The guard responded suspiciously to the unexpected

name confirmation.

Whoever was on the other side of that receiver, spoke with as much courtesy

as their voice allowed.

“Although it is for your convenience, at our discretion please allow us to

make arrangements for you to visit the restaurant at the foot of the

mountain called ‘The Cat’s Earpick’. There you will be able to enjoy your time

with the woman of your fancy. Of course, drinks and other services will be

fully paid for and provided. And since your return to the detention camp will

probably be delayed until the next day, we shall inform your superiors of the

situation. So, what do you think about this offer?”

Suddenly presented with such a blatantly obvious consolation, the horse

faced officer, lost in a wide blank stare, blinked5

. Changing the subject as if

the dispute had been resolved like an enemy who had just received their final

blow, the hoa.r.s.e voice continued.

“As for the boy, is he wearing a collar?”

“Uh huh…” the officer decidedly did not hesitate for long. “That’s right.”

5

I translated the phrase ニンジン as “Consolation” here, but the full phrase is 突然この上なく判りやすい

ニンジンを差し出され。

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Dejectedly, the guard hung up the receiver and helplessly muttered into the

air, “I don’t want to be in this gloomy place anymore. He turned around and

the moment the boy entered the guard’s line of sight, the guard’s face

shifted into one of embarra.s.sment.

Then, seeming to recall the fact that he was looking at a worthless prisoner,

the guard spat at the boy’s feet.

“Hey, Superior officer killer, don’t even think about running!”

As if he were throwing away a cigarette b.u.t.t, the guard released the end of

the rope wrapped around the boy’s handcuffs.

“Once a month, there will be a fixed inspection. If there is any problem, you

will immediately go right back to the detention camp. Also, as long as your

employer is even a little dissatisfied with you, he will be okay with the idea of

keeping the collar on. Besides, no matter where you are, there is nowhere to

run.

Laughing, the boy replied, “If I were to hide under the ground, it feels like I

wouldn’t be found no matter who was looking.”

Hearing this, the officer roared with laughter. His mood appeared to have

improved 100 times compared to the last several minutes. Judging from the

horse-faced guard’s face, the boy could tell there was probably going to be

many brief and unexpected visits.

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The man withdrew the handcuff key from one of his uniform pockets and

flung it into the courtyard. Then, with a gait that almost looked like he was

walking down steps, he made his way back to the paddy wagon.

And so with his handcuffs still on, the boy was left in front of the iron door.

He wondered what to do now; after all he had heard nothing from his captor.

Well, whatever happens now, I’m sure in the end it won’t be very good.

As he approached the iron gate entrance, trampling leaves beneath his feet,

a high pitch “Caww” screeched in a deep voice above his head. Looking into

that direction he saw a giant crow spread its wings, its recent flight shaking

the branches of the trees. It was hard to believe that this bird with its

ominous cry could possibly be related to birds like the hummingbird or the

tree sparrow.

He recalled the words the guard had said just a few minutes ago. “I don’t

want to be in this gloomy place anymore.”

–The boy absolutely agreed.

Even now, the strange feeling that had welled up inside him when he was still

blindfolded had not dissipated. He again took a look around his surroundings.

The weather wasn’t too hot. And probably a typical person would find

standing within the early summer sunlight and breathing in the fresh air

filtering in through the trees to be quite agreeable. Nevertheless, the boy and

the officer both shared the same opinion. It wasn’t simply the fact that there

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was a graveyard; there seemed to be something in this place that made

humans uneasy.

Once again, this time using his eyes, he confirmed the ground that he was

walking on.

This place is unpleasant. Well, it’s no wonder since I feel like I’m walking on

the backs of corpses.

When the officer’s figure had completely faded into the distance beyond the

graveyard, the iron door slid open by itself. With a clank, the sound of heavy

metal crashing together reverberated through the air.

Then about 30 steps from his position, from the building’s entrance covered

with detailed engravings, a black dog suddenly poked out its snout from

behind the doork.n.o.b. The dog was larger than any dog the boy had ever

seen. If he had to say, the dignified appearance gave him the impression of a

wolf, but its thick coat of fur had been thoroughly combed. In addition,

within its eyes there was a calm radiance that was only present in welltrained

dogs. However, above all, watching it approach without its paws

making a sound was elegant.

As the black dog held the key that the guard had thrown away in its mouth,

the boy stood completely still, his gaze fixed on the creature. From his

distance he couldn’t tell at all whether or not this creature was hostile or

friendly.

“Please come in, Prisoner 5722. That dog will serve as your guide.” The voice

came from under a hood used to shield the hanging receiver from the rain.

The hoa.r.s.e man spoke as if he were looking right at the boy.

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The dog then faded back into the darkness of the entranceway. Even though

the dog was ma.s.sive, within the s.p.a.ce of one of its body lengths, the boy

could see absolutely nothing within the mansion’s dark interior.

He told me to follow, but…

There was no one guarding him, nor was there anyone pulling him forward by

a rope. Yet, even though his jailer had been turned away from the door, was

he really that unguarded?

No, rather. Should he have just been grateful that the dog wasn’t holding the

rope in its mouth?

Even for a prisoner, wearing a collar and being dragged forward by a dog as if

they were holding his reins was far too pathetic. Of course, he didn’t think

the dog understood that feeling.

Soon after entering the terribly dark and windowless mansion, he couldn’t

feel anything other than the chilly air. But, once his eyes readjusted back to

the darkness he noticed he was at the entrance of a somewhat narrow

hallway lined with something like oil lamps leaking out weak light.

After waiting for the boy to start walking, the dog proceeded to lead him

down the hallway and he followed after the creature as if being pulled

forward. There was a high quality looking carpet with geometric patterns

spread out across the floor. In fact, seeing his dirty shoes leave footprints on

its surface made him feel that he was committing some kind of crime.

“Welcome to the Ma.s.s Grave.”

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The voice echoed the moment he treaded into a large parlor. It was the same

hoa.r.s.e voice that had silenced his guard a little while ago.

The lamp fixtures that decorated and illuminated the room were made from

a cut gla.s.s so beautiful that his sense of value couldn’t comprehend how

extravagant they were. There was also a statuette of a human with wings

extending out of his back, an oil painting of a girl and her pet standing at the

lakesh.o.r.e, and fine golden candlesticks decorating the parlor. And resting in

the center of the room was a large leather easy chair. On its cushion sat a

stoop, extremely small statured old man. Although the boy wanted to hide

his feeling of unease, he his mouth opened and he spoke.

“You’re the owner of this place?” The boy asked the question, but he didn’t

think the man looked the part.

Then without even realizing it, the boy’s eyes gravitated to the man’s nose.

No, more accurately, the place where his nose should have been. In this old

man’s case, the stump of a nose looked like it had been sc.r.a.ped off, and now

all that remained in the center of his face were two deep holes. Yet even

more unsettling were his difficult to read, smallish eyes. He completely

looked like a goblin straight out of the fables of old. Still, he did seem to wear

his tail coat stylishly.

“Forgive me for not introducing myself sooner. My name is Daribedor. You

may think of me as this place’s caretaker. As you might have already guessed,

it has been decided that from today onward you shall work in this place.”

The boy’s had planned to purposely speak in a cynical way in order to trick

the old man into revealing the truth, however Daribedor’s polite att.i.tude

never crumbled. By intuition alone the boy knew this man was not the

likeable type.

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He then asked, “But, what exactly am I supposed to do now?”

Hearing that, the old man with a made a strange, wry smile and said, “Don’t

you think there is only one thing prisoners have to do in this place?” Then

from the holes where his nose should have been, the old man snorted

derisively.

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Chapter 2: Part 1

Prisoner.1

Originally, the way jailers said the word was a reference to slave oarsmen on

ancient galleys. Since the slaves mostly toiled on commercial boats, the

phrase has continued to be used for grueling work environments. However,

in the present where instead of oars, boats are powered by steam engines

and paddle wheels, all criminals serving out their sentences are collectively

referred to by the term. According to the law, all prisoners without exception

were forced to undertake an a.s.signed labor, without exception.

The prisoners had to do such tasks as: butchering animals, disposing of

excrement and waste, mining for minerals, and clearing wildernesses. Due to

the difficulty and grueling nature of the labor, there were very few people

a.s.signed to the tasks that had actually wanted to do them. And in the case of

life imprisonment, in particular, prisoners were forced to toil until the end of

their lives without the chance of parole.

….The shovel the boy had been provided with was only one pinky’s width

shorter than the ones he had used in the past. The shaft was made of

extremely dried and hard plain wood, and acid-resistant steel had been used

for the blade and the handle. It looked completely new, as if it had been

brought here straight from the factory.

1

Oriddo

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It had been three days since the paddy wagon had brought him to the public

graveyard. And whenever the boy named “prisoner 5722” wasn’t sleeping, he

was using that shovel to continue digging holes.

His living s.p.a.ce was the complete opposite of his high quality shovel. As for

his bed, he had been provided with some s.p.a.ce in the decaying stable at the

back of the estate. The straw that had been spread across the floor was stale

and although it looked like horses hadn’t been raised there in a very long

time, on each of the discolored wall’s wooden posts, the characteristic stench

of livestock lingered.

Shortly after the sun appeared, the old man and an old woman turned up.

Other than the clothes, the hair, and the hooked nose, which looked like an

old witch’s, they looked exactly the same. However, compared to the man

who didn’t drop courtesy for the sake of decorum, the woman, with a face

that looked like dealing with a horse would be far less objectionable, spat

out, “Get up and do your job, you little wretch.”

So the boy put some hard bread and extremely strong, salty soup into his

stomach and made his way to the graveyard. And in the midst of the harsh

sunlight, he put up with the discomfort and continued to dig graves for

somebody’s future corpse.

To tell the truth, from the moment the blindfold had been removed….in

other words, the moment he realized he had been taken to this graveyard,

the boy had a vague hunch that this same fate would probably happen to

him. At any rate, this hard labor suited him. He was already accustomed to it.

That’s because digging holes and trenches was the primary responsibility of

the foot soldiers.

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…he wondered how many knights had been moved from the front lines of the

battlefield and rea.s.signed to be foot soldiers. As firearms developed after

the industrial revolution, knights, pike men and bow soldiers all across the

board were deprived of the opportunity to be useful. Since all foot soldiers

were armed with firearms as a result of ma.s.s production, there was a large

demand for some cover to shield their bodies from the hail of bullets. And

because it was convenient, the foot soldiers had spread out endlessly…and

with shovel in hand they proceeded to dig out large swaths of land. Thus the

so called “battleground moles” were born.

Having just dug out a rock the size of his head, the boy cursed the thick tree

roots at his feet. At the same time, he offered a silent prayer to the human

bones that no one could possibly know. No matter if it’s a wilderness, a level

plain, the edge of a forest, or an abandoned wheat field, I pray that my Mole

companions, no matter where they are…no matter where they are…I pray

they are still digging too.

Back then, he had been glad the military shovel given to him had extended

the length of his arm. His body remembered that length. And so for the boy

neither the heat rash developing under his collar nor the whorl of hair on the

back of his head scorching in the direct sunlight were as unpleasant as the

new shovel the old man had given him that was just a pinky’s width too

short.

Nevertheless, a big hole like this probably wasn’t required just to bury one

person.

He took a breather for a while and looked down at his work. As ordered he

had dug the hole, but it seemed big enough to fit a small house.

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“If a curled up human corpse were buried here, they probably wouldn’t even

need a 10th of the s.p.a.ce. Maybe they are planning to use an extremely large

coffin,” he muttered to himself.

Or, as fitting a place called “The Ma.s.s Grave”, the boy wondered just how

many people they planned to bury in this hole.

After a large battle there would be many corpses coming here…was that why

he was here?

Well, however they want to use these holes is none of my concern.

There was something else he should be thinking about, something else he

should find out.

For the three days since he had arrived, the only thing he thought about as

he dug was escape. Strangely, it seemed like at this Ma.s.s Grave he was the

only prisoner being made to work.

His warden…no, although it looked like he was watching the boy 24 hours a

day, if Daribedor happened to do something then there would be no one

who would know where the boy was. If somehow the boy were able to

conceal himself, then wouldn’t he be freed from this foolish existence of

digging holes? However, if he wasn’t able to get out of there, then for the

whole remainder of his life-sentence he would be forced to waste his life

doing forced labor as “Prisoner #5772”.

“This is not a joke”, he muttered over and over as he dug.

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This situation is definitely not a joke. I’ve got to escape from this place. This

gloomy, depressing place…

Compared to the usual shackles and prison bars he had during his trial, the

lax restraints at the Ma.s.s Grave were a good opportunity. First he would

somehow sneak away from this place. Then he would go by a new name,

become a different person, and start over in a place where groups like the

military or the police couldn’t reach…

As the boy toiled, thinking only of escape, his third day of work became night.

The graveyard in the wake of the sun’s disappearance was eerier than ever.

In the decaying stable, wind blew in through the cracks, making it excessively

chilly. He doubted the idea of him needing something like a lamp or candle

had crossed anyone’s mind at that estate. So, whenever the clouds covered

the moon and the stars, his stable was completely enveloped in darkness. It

was the exact same condition as when he was blindfolded. He had no choice

but to pull up his blanket. h.e.l.l, even falling asleep on the first night had been

difficult, and if he had to confess….scary.

There are no such things as ghosts. In his mind he understood that.

However, in the midst of the total darkness where there was no one but

himself, with the old hinges creaking and the creepy, ominous sound of the

wind blowing into the stable through the cracks, he couldn’t help but think

someone was approaching.

Of course if he jumped up and strained his eyes he’d be able to confirm that

there was no one there. Still, as this feeling came back again and again, he

started to doubt whether or not he truly didn’t believe in things like ghosts or

spirits slipping out of their corpses.

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Well, at the very least this place wouldn’t be troubled by corpses holding onto

regrets.

Although he had been frightened, for two days his fears proved to be nothing

but a waste of time.

Fortunately, (well whether it was fortunate or not he didn’t know, but) on

this third night there was not a single cloud, and the moon was bright. It was

so bright he could clearly see the tip of his toes, making it an ideal night to

take a walk.

The boy rose out of his bed of straw and sheets. As he stood, the black dog,

which as usual was sprawled across the ground at the entrance of the stable,

looked his way.

“I’m just taking a p.i.s.s. You probably don’t go in your own bed right?” The boy

said, lightly waving his hand. The dog then exited the stable with the boy

following closely behind.

It’s a courteous, albeit scary looking dog, but it does seem to understand

what I say.

This reminded him of the two big problems he had regarding his escape.

The collar around his neck and also…this dog.

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No matter what the boy did, the black dog named “Dephen” was always

watching. And even if the boy wasn’t directly in the dog’s sights, he felt like

he was always within the dog’s area of perception. So if the boy tried going

anywhere, eventually “Dephen” would be at his back, following.

“By no means should you think about escaping,” Daribedor had said to him

on the first day. “Dephen here is an excellent grave keeper. At the same time,

he is also an unparalleled hunting dog. His sense of smell and his fangs make

him worthy of being a jailer second to none.”

A dog as my jailer? At first the boy was only half convinced but…

For the three days he had been under watch, this dog had performed its task

to a high standard of excellence. In the distant past, humans had often fought

directly with hounds and it had been difficult to win those struggles without

suffering any injuries. Even though the boy didn’t really know what would

happen if he could succeed in a surprise strike against the dog with his

shovel, it didn’t matter because the dog never came into a suitable striking

range.

It would have been good if Dephen lost its vigilance when it was feeding.

Nevertheless, even though only a few sc.r.a.ps of bread had been thrown at

the boy, that dog would certainly still be able to locate him by the lingering

scent.

After relieving himself, the boy didn’t directly return to the stable. Instead, he

aimlessly walked by the mansion’s side fence. He was reluctant to head

towards the graveyard. Even the sound of the leaves rustling in the wind

made him feel uncomfortable.

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But…obviously nothing was going to come out in the night, right? Nothing like

a legless guy, or something like that.

Well, even if he decided to postpone his escape, it was necessary to know

something about what the graveyard looked like without the sunlight. In case

he escaped in the middle of the night, he would have to cut through the

unknown dark forest no matter which direction he went in ….and that would

probably be suicide. Yet, even provided he could walk the distance, he didn’t

know if he would be able to actually reach the nearest town. Even if he were

able to find some tire tracks, and that was being optimistic, he would still

need to follow a roadway. And in order to go down a roadway he would have

to leave the graveyard.

That’s alright. There are no such things as ghosts. Besides, wasn’t I far more

terrified back when that gun turret was pointed at me?

After that thought pa.s.sed through his head, the boy used the same cautious

stride as when he was blindfolded and stepped into the graveyard. The

innumerable gravestones bathed in the moonlight, creating a blue shine that

stood out in the middle of the darkness. But at the same time, the actual

color of the weathered stones made him think of bones.

He had planned to learn the ins and outs of the ma.s.s cemetery, but since his

vision couldn’t penetrate the deep darkness, he instead started to feel that

the graveyard was far too vast. No matter which direction he faced, he saw

the same gravestones scattered about with the thick black forest in the

distance. And since he’d been lead in various directions when blindfolded,

the boy was sure he wouldn’t be able to find his way back to the stable. Still,

strange as it was, the fact that the unsympathetic black dog was always

following behind him was actually rea.s.suring.

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26

“Prisoner, whether or not you’re relieved about your jailer leaving, rest

a.s.sured this jail hound will accompany you.”

As he thought about Daribedor’s words, a bitter smile involuntarily leaked

out.

Look, it’s alright. This place may have a touch of those ghostly superst.i.tions,

but in the end ghosts are things that only come out in stories.

As the wind blew, he walked through the graveyard, his spirit somehow

invigorated.

Of course he was aware that this was a bluff. The nape of his neck beneath

his collar, and even his two muscular arms had Gooseb.u.mps. This is far

enough for today…I should continue tomorrow… with each step these gentle

thoughts crossed his mind.

Suddenly he noticed he was standing in front of the hole he had dug earlier

that day. From his position it looked like some sort of cellar could be

constructed within the ma.s.sive hole. The moonlight didn’t reach the bottom

and the darkness seemed to be like a liquid, pooling at the bottom… there

was also no inscription on the gravestone. It was a grave that didn’t belong to

anyone.

During the day he had wondered who would be buried in the hole.

And now, questions about what would happen to him after he died welled up

in his chest.

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If he had broken one of the rules within the confines of the detention camp,

he would have been informed in detail of the penal code. But no one had

told him what would happen if he died here. For example, if his escape was

unsuccessful and he died from having his windpipe gnawed by the black dog,

would his body be buried in this graveyard afterwards?

To the boy it seemed pointless, since there was no one who would grieve for

him. Plus, before at the trial it was decided that the boy’s name, the name his

father had given him, would be revoked. So there probably wouldn’t be a

name on his tombstone, anyway.

The gravedigger has no grave of his own.

That sarcastic thought once again made him smile bitterly. But he didn’t

know whether he should feel sad or frustrated by the situation. The feeling

was vague and left him feeling empty. In fact, the emptiness resembled the

darkness within the deep grave.

While he listened to the sound of the sudden wind, he thought he heard

something else. It sounded like rustling clothes…like something was moving.

Twisting his head at the sound, the boy noticed that the dog had disappeared

without him knowing.

Cold sweat ran down the back of his neck.

Finally left alone, the boy remembered just what kind of place he was in. And

so like a person with a guilty conscience, he hastily checked his surroundings.

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The group of tombstones surrounding him…

The giant hole at his feet…

The rustling dark forest…

The slightly, waning large moon…

And also, just barely in his field of vision…

There was something there.

Other than me, what could possibly be in this remote graveyard in the middle

of the night?

………. His mind went blank.

Whatever it was, it was about the size of a human wearing a nearly black,

dark, navy hood. Its overcoat reached down to its feet and fluttered in the

wind.

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29

Wraith2

. Wight3

. Shade4

…the eerie fables of ghosts that the adults had

thoroughly indoctrinated into him when he was small raced within his head.

The hood created a shadow, preventing the boy from seeing the person’s

face. However, he was certain it was at the very least aware of him. After all,

it was coming right towards him.

Should…I….run?

It was difficult to breathe. He didn’t run, but only because his body

completely didn’t hear his mind urging it to flee. His fear took over, causing

him to panic, his mind completely blotted out. His legs were frozen, as if he

was a soldier in front of a thrown grenade. He felt violently dizzy, shaking in

that spot. Maybe it was some benevolence or mercy from the heavens that

his bladder was empty.

Swaying slowly side to side, the approaching person’s pace was actually quite

slow, but the boy could by no means sense that.

Am I… pa.s.sing out…

2

死霊 with レイス Furigana. A Wraith is a visible spirit

3

悪魂機鬼 with ワイト Furigana. A wight is an archaic term to refer to a supernatural being.

4

影魔 with シエード Furigana. A shade is a specter or ghost.

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It was a strange sensation. He must run. It was the only thing the boy thought

about. He must run. From that ghost…from this graveyard. Even though his

legs felt like they were rooted into the ground, he poured all his remaining

energy into the limbs and urged them to move.

But the next moment the power drained from his knees and with a jerk he

fell. As he tumbled downwards, for some reason he felt the distance to the

ground was farther than it should have been.

Nothing good happened after all.

In the middle of the graveyard, in the middle of the night, the boy lost

consciousness.

…but a slight moment before all faded to black, within the hood of that

creature, he thought he saw a white face.

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Chapter 2-2

…His oldest memory was of a sound. Off and on he could hear a high

pitched Kiin.kiin coming from the area next to his small room. He had been

looking at an old-looking ceiling, something he was all too familiar with…his

house’s ceiling…his hometown home’s ceiling.

Trying not to wake his sleeping brothers next to him, the young boy quietly

slipped out of bed. With his feet on the floor his field of vision was much

lower than it was now…. He was only faintly aware that it was a dream of his

childhood.

Kiin…Kiin…

He soon realized what the sound really was. His stonemason father was

swinging a chisel and hammer.

The young boy stared fixedly at his father’s rounded back as he sat on a small

stepladder and poured all his mind and energy into carving the stone.

In truth he couldn’t really recall his father’s voice. But he did remember that

he was a stubborn and quiet person. Actually, he was extremely quiet….very

much like a rock. Perhaps if you faced a stone for a long time then maybe

your body and heart would become just as hard. His father’s shortly trimmed

beard seemed to be p.r.i.c.kly like the scrubbing brush he was used to using.

And the palms of his slightly dirty hands were as coa.r.s.e as elephant skin.

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Then there was his height. The man was by no means taller than the boy’s

current height. In fact, if he thought about it now, it was probably strange

that someone as tall as him was born to such a small statured man. However,

in the midst of his memories he remembered his father appearing big

enough. And looking at his strong and solid frame left a strong impression.

As the boy continued to motionlessly stare upwards at his father’s back, his

father turned his head towards him.

“x.x.xXX, can’t sleep?” he asked, calling the young boy’s name.

He couldn’t accurately recall the sound of the voice, probably because it was

a dream. And the voice he did hear faster than how his father would have

spoken. Even so, the boy felt a sense of relief. Most likely because his father

had called out his name…

#

Since when did I start having dreams of my father…, the prisoner thought in

the middle of his slumber.

He quickly woke up… If possible, he had to get ready for today’s work before

that old noisy woman came back. Yet, for some reason he was so warm and

comfortable that he didn’t feel like getting up. It was similar to the great

feeling when your senses and consciousness started to fade in a pleasant

bathtub. And so for just a little bit more, he figured it was okay to continue

dreaming about his father.

He could taste dirt in his mouth.

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Getting an unpleasant feeling, the boy opened his eyes.

However, despite his intents, for some reason his left side was completely

dark. He tried to blink, but a sharp pain shot into his left eye. And as he lay on

his side, to his right he could see a dirt wall right in front of him.

“What is…?”

With a start, he rose up and instead of being on a futon, dirt, of all things,

tumbled off his body. Half of his body was buried beneath the ground…no,

rather it had been buried. The fact that the boy was now within the very

grave he had dug out earlier was no joke at all.

That’s right, I pa.s.sed out.

Before he even understood the situation above him, clumps of dirt poured

down and covered his head. “Waah, what the, ugh.” Spitting out the foreign

substance, the boy looked up.

“You were alive?” said lips the color of cherry blossoms.

The blade of a shovel, which looked just like the same new tool the boy had

received, seemed to shine a bright silver as the moonlight reflected off the

metal. On the blade sat the next load of dirt, but was more interesting was

the girl holding the shovel and looking down at him from the lip of the hole.

“….”

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34

The dark navy cloak the girl wore was definitely the same as the one he saw

before fainting. And what he had seen through her hood had certainly

appeared to be human, but in reality, it was beautiful. At least he thought so.

For a reason other than fear, the sight of her made him forget to even

breathe.

For a time, she looked mysteriously at the motionless boy in the hole. But

then she slightly tilted her head to the side and asked, “Or are you moving

despite being dead?”

“….What are you talking about?” the boy blurted out in response to the

extremely strange question, his rigid demeanor completely gone.

Her voice was slight and beautiful; her dark blue eyes seemed to be full of

suspicion, and from her hood spilled out silky reddish brown hair. In his 16

years of life he had never seen a creature so beautiful. And he thought he

would never see anything more beautiful in the future either.

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…Wait. Don’t get angry. Have you forgotten where you are? The boy asked

himself, squeezing his eyes shut.

Trying to calm his thrashing heart, a great number of questions welled up

within him.

Needless to say, the girl’s expression looked like she hadn’t seen him working

in the graveyard the past few days. Even with just a short glance, he believed

he could never forget her face. But what in the world was she doing at this

hour in this place? No, his body felt it was unnatural for a girl to be alone in

the graveyard by herself at this hour.

She looks like a human, but I can’t say with certainty that she’s not just a

beautiful ghost

No, for starters…

“Who are you?” the boy asked, standing to his feet.

The hooded girl, as expected, looked at the boy with a mysterious gaze.

Although she didn’t look panicked or frightened, her expression seemed to

be a cross between confusion and interest. It was as if in the middle of

walking along the road she happened to come across a chick hatching out of

an egg.

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37

At first the girl said nothing, but when he was starting to wonder whether her

silence was due to her not understanding the question, she finally said,

“Meria Ma.s.s Grave1

”

It took him a while to understand that that series of words was her name.

“Meria?” In order to confirm, he repeated the name and the girl nodded

slightly.

Continuing, the boy asked, “What in the world are you doing here in the

middle of the night?”

The girl answered, “It’s only natural, since I’m the grave keeper.”

As if those few words completed her explanation, the girl…Meria said nothing

more.

No longer able to endue her silent gaze, the boy averted his eyes and decided

to focus on crawling out of the hole. As he worked to climb out of the hole

which was about the same depth as his height, he eventually noticed his

messy footprints where he had lost his footing.

1

The kanji reads Meria of the Ma.s.s Grave, however the katakana stylizes her name without “of/ the”. I

believe the author wanted the name to sound like an actual name, however the actual j.a.panese makes

“ma.s.s grave” sound more like a t.i.tle than a surname.

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It seemed like the moment he thought Meria was a ghost and tried to flee, he

fell, and incidentally hit his head and lost consciousness. It was probably also

the reason for the stiff pain in his neck. There was definitely nothing more

unpleasant than that pain. Well, the fact that the girl was barely paying

attention to his struggle made his skin burn. So with a flushed face, he

climbed the hole’s slope.

Once his feet finally touched the surface, he stood and found himself looking

down at the girl who was now looking up at him. Standing side by side the girl

came up to about his chest. For a girl he could say she was rather ordinary in

that respect.

They were either the same age or she was a little younger than him. Her

small body from her head to her ankles was completely covered by her plain

dark navy coat and other than her face, the only part of her that was exposed

to the open air was her bare white feet.

“…And you are?” the girl asked, tilting her head to the side.

His image was reflected in her clear blue eyes, which were like the surface of

a lake with no waves.

Who are you?

That question and her straight gaze seemed to pierce directly into the depths

of his mind.

Well…who am I…after all? He wondered how he should respond and

mult.i.tudes of potential candidates rushed around in his mind.

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The third son of a stone mason, a battleground mole, a superior officer killer,

prisoner #5722. And now the nameless gravedigger. Each of those names was

correct and they certainly represented him.

But…

For me, what do I want to be called?

“Muoru”.

It had been taken away…his real name…

“My name is Muoru Reed.”

2

…when he was born….it was the name his father had given him.

That word was different than the dirt that had been in his mouth. He was

able to spit it out without feeling uncomfortable or out of place.

If he thought about it, it was a foolish name. But as long as a person’s

memory didn’t fade away, it was impossible to s.n.a.t.c.h away their name.

2

Muoru is the j.a.panese spelling of Mole. The pun works because of the wealth of loanwords in

j.a.panese, however it seems a bit odd for a boy to be named Mole in English, so I kept the

j.a.panese phrase.

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40

“Muoru, huh?” As if mimicking his previous dumbfounded expression, she

repeated back the boy’s name.

The boy took a step back, distancing himself a bit from the girl.

Then, as if protecting his heart, he grabbed his chest.

Why am I this surprised when she only said my name?

Surprised that he was even shocked by such a thing, he forcibly searched his

mind for the reason. Maybe, although he could say it, he had completely

forgotten what it was like to actually hear his name.

That must be it. It was the only reason.

The girl again leaned her head to the side, her glossy hair slightly swaying in

front of her chest.

“So then, what were you doing?” the girl asked him.

“I was just…Pihhhh…..”3

3

「小便」The book has しょ…う written down, And since he was urinating, it is probable he was trying

to save face a little.

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“…”

“…”

“Pih?” Meria asked with a pretty voice, repeating back to him the partial

phrase he was hesitating to say.

“Relieving myself,”4 Muoru rephrased, his chest tight.

“Right.” The girl nodded, and as she did, in the s.p.a.ce between her hood and

her hair, he caught a glimpse of her thin collarbone.

“Ah, umm…” Mumbling, he searched for words.

Though there should have been many questions he should ask, the thoughts

in his head were strangely, revolving slowly, and he couldn’t recall any of

them. Fixing his eyes on the girl, he could feel his mind grow slightly numb,

like the time he was drunk on alcohol and the smell of flowers5

. However, it

was the first time he had ever experienced this sensation from just talking to

someone. And that was far from unpleasant….

4

[手洗い] A polite phrase for toilet, and most likely a polite way to say he was relieving himself.

5

I believe this is a drug reference.

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Suddenly the girl turned away.

“Well then….” Meria said, briskly starting to walk away as if she had lost all

interest in him

“Wa…wait a sec!” Muoru shouted impulsively.

“…..?”

“No…..that,” although it was good to tell her to stop, as usual his only half

functioning mind had no idea what to say next. She looked back over her

shoulder at him. With her hood only half concealing her profile, the girl gazed

straight at him, unblinking, as if the two of them were children seeing who

could stare longer.

He didn’t know whether she was being too conscientious or not, but even

though the boy could not even string together two words, the girl

motionlessly waited for him, as if time had stopped.

“….That shovel, it’s mine. Sorry about this, but could you leave it there?” He

asked, in a tone lacking confidence as he pointed to the shovel.

Meria had been holding the boy’s shovel, but after he had spoken, as if she

had finally remembered, she looked down to her hands. Then she glanced at

Muoru’s hole she had started to fill earlier, before turning back to the boy.

“Did you dig this hole?” she asked.

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43

The boy nodded yes and Meria, with an expression in her eyes that was

difficult to read, continued to stare at him.

Then without warning she rushed towards him, almost stumbling from the

speed. But before crashing into him, she stopped herself about a step away

and held out the metal shovel. Reflexively, the boy accepted the shovel. As

before, no wisecracks or quips came to mind.

Instead he said, “Thank you”.

Although he felt that politeness wasn’t necessary when having his own

property returned to him, at any rate, he wasn’t able to say anything else.

“…”

The girl for some reason rapidly blinked her eyes. As she looked at him, he

could see the reflection of the beautiful moon. Then suddenly, as if

retreating, she distanced herself from him.

“Goodbye,” the girl said. “ummm…..Muoru?”

“Yeah…”

As the boy remained there dead still, Meria, without turning around, walked

away.

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Muoru stared on at the outline of her cloak, but after a while it faded into the

darkness……like a ghost or something.

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Chapter 3

As the earthworm was pulled out of the ground, the unlucky creature was

chopped in half at its stomach and died.

Although it probably was nowhere near the same level as an actual mole,

even a battleground mole like Muoru was still accustomed to seeing worms

every day. Of course as the worms suddenly appeared in the grave, he often

accidentally bisected the creatures.

Yet despite the frequency of the event, today Muoru was captivated by what

should have been just a common sight. He didn’t know why he was so

enthusiastically staring at the worm’s dried up corpse, but in the end he

dropped it to the ground.

Since today he was made to dig a new hole, perhaps he had been mistaken

when he thought the grave he had partially dug yesterday would belong to

him. Thankfully, this time it was just a hole for one normal sized human.

However, as he dug deeper, he had to transport the dirt further and further

away from the hole, to the point where the amount of time he was

transporting dirt became much longer than the amount of time he was

digging.

As for the size of this large hole, well… he had already noticed four worms

that he had struck. Also, as if he were a fool, the depth he had to dig was

demarcated with a long wooden ruler bound with a black piece of cloth.

According to that guide, today’s a.s.signment was approximately 1 and ½

meters.

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…but Muoru noticed that for that a.s.signment he had dug about the length of

his knee to his foot too deep. Incidentally, his lack of attention also led to him

missing the ground repeatedly and striking his foot with the shovel.

“Stop daydreaming and focus,” the boy muttered out loud, purposefully

hitting himself in the head.

No matter how hard he tried, he hadn’t been able to fully concentrate all

day. Or perhaps he should say he felt his thoughts weren’t focused on his

task. Even though his body was digging, it felt like his mind was still half

asleep.

By the time he finished digging the hole the sun had already set. For Muoru,

today’s work took far too long. He wasn’t particularly trying to push himself,

especially since there was no one coming to praise him…to say nothing of

how his treatment wasn’t improving. On the other hand, he was still

unwilling to cut corners, which he figured was probably not the best decision.

“Mr. Prisoner,”1 Muoru heard Daribedor say just as he was starting to tidy

his equipment. “It seems that you have just finished,” the old man continued,

looking down at Muoru’s completed hole.

“Yes, well…”

1

殿 dono is an honorific phrase used in formal correspondence or to people hierarchically beneath you. I

believe in this case Daribedor is being extremely polite, which fits with his character so far.

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47

That’s right, it was a cinch! He forcibly contained the sarcastic quip in his

throat. His feeling that it would be difficult to deal with this nose-less old man

hadn’t changed since their first meeting.

“I know you’re probably tired, but now I would like you to help with the

burial…..oh don’t worry, just putting dirt on something is simple. As for the

place, it’s where you were digging up till yesterday, so you don’t require

directions right?”

“No, I got it,” Muoru answered curtly, walking away with his shovel in hand.

“…Ah, right, right.”

However, as he was leaving, Daribedor yelled for him to stop.

“As your predecessor living on this land, I have one word of caution. Even for

prisoners, if you don’t want to enter the holes you dig, it would be better to

restrain yourself from prying excessively into matters.”

“…?”

Whatever story he was mentioning, Muoru didn’t understand. But before he

could inquire about the meaning, the old man quickly went back towards the

mansion.

As he walked, Muoru pondered what the man could have meant.

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48

…Perhaps he was aware of how he had been ambling about yesterday,

looking for a way to escape.

Then the encounter he had popped into his head.

Meria.

The girl who went by the name of Meria Ma.s.s Grave.

If he were to believe what she had said, then she was this land’s grave

keeper.

However, he didn’t intuitively know specifically what tasks the position of

“Grave Keeper” was responsible for. As for digging holes, he was already

doing that, and the caretakers of this cemetery were the humans in the

mansion, Daribedor and the others.

If he were to speculate, perhaps the grave keeper was charged with

protecting the graveyard from robbers or people trying to steal the contents

beneath the gravestones. But even if he could clearly say that was the case,

he didn’t see her being a fit for such a violent confrontation. Yet, although

her words and speech were like something from another world2 , in Muoru’s

eyes she was quite normal and appeared to be nothing but a powerless

girl…well, maybe it was hard to say that her appearance was simply normal.

2

浮世場慣れている部分 I think this should be translated as an Ivory Tower= a place secluded from the

normal world, sometimes where scholars study and look down upon the world. So, I translated it simply as

“another world”.

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49

At any rate, even tonight she should be conducting a search of the graveyard.

Well, at least Muoru thought so. Every night, the girl seemed to be patrolling

the area or something, which was also something he would have to factor

into his calculations when he was escaping. And for that reason, Muoru

proceeded to check whether Meria was there or not.

But as he advanced into the graveyard he could see people gathering in the

distance. There were many men gathering in large numbers around the hole

Muoru had been digging until yesterday.

They’re probably having a burial.

…However, from the edge it didn’t appear like any type of melancholic

event. Although it was a burial, Muoru didn’t feel a fragment of sadness that

should have been natural for such an occasion. There wasn’t even any wailing

or weeping.

As he tried to approach closer, he could see that the people were wearing

mourning clothes like black suits and coats, and…their faces were covered by

white painted masks. The white masks were completely expressionless,

except for the area of their eyes which could be seen through the masks’

threadlike slits. They were very much like masks of death. And although the

people’s physical bodies were different, the masks were all the same.

What kind of event is that? They’re probably not having a masquerade ball in

a graveyard, thought Muoru. Of course, the mole boy had never attended

such a party.

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51

…Maybe it’s bad manners to show your face or something like that.3

Although he was suspicious of their purpose, the boy bowed slightly towards

the people who seemed to have noticed him and continued his

approach…that was when he saw something strange.

In the middle of the giant grave that the girl had partway buried him within

yesterday, now…the hole had been filled with the head of a giant beast.

When he first laid eyes on it, he didn’t immediately exactly understand what

he was looking at. That was understandable of cours