Derek leaned against the rough timber wall, arms crossed tight across his chest, fingers tapping a restless rhythm against his bicep. His eyes stayed fixed on the black knight, who stood in the clearing beyond, drilling the handful of village guards that remained. Their stances were crooked, their grips uncertain, their movements sluggish with fear. Half of their number had already perished during the last demon assault—what remained looked more like a collection of farmers and frightened boys than soldiers. Derek exhaled through his nose. "I doubt they'll be able to handle what's coming, even with all that training," he muttered, voice low, carrying more resignation than criticism.
"I agree. They're just not built for this." Derek turned his head slightly to see Lennix crouched down beside him, elbows resting on his knees, fingers raking through his own hair as though trying to pull the stress out of his skull. The vampire's gaze was locked on the struggling recruits, expression heavy. "They trained to chase off thieves, maybe rough up a bandit or two," Lennix continued with a tired sigh. "Not fight back an entire demonic invasion."
The discovery still lingered sharp in Derek's mind—after the three of them discovered the portal in the woods, and the legion massing beyond it. They quickly returned to warn the village, and the preparations since then felt woefully inadequate.
"He's been doing a lot," Derek said, eyes narrowing as he watched the black knight pace before the guards, correcting stances, giving advice, demonstrating strikes with patience. "Not only did he weave a shelter, but he's training them himself, trying to make proper soldiers out of them."
That shelter—Derek's mind returned to it. He had seen the knight's shadows coil and stretch, weaving an underground haven for the civilians, solid and reinforced with layered magic. Even with his own studied understanding of the craft, Derek knew such a creation would be no simple thing to breach. The demons would need someone truly powerful to tear it open, and with the force gathering beyond the portal… that wasn't a low possibility.
"And us?" Lennix let out another sigh, shoulders sagging under the weight of helplessness. "We haven't done a single thing. I dug a hole for the shelter, sure, but beyond that? I can't help in any way that matters."
"You can help," Derek countered, glancing at him sidelong. "You could make the guards thralls. Give them a real edge. But…" he smirked faintly, "I get the feeling you don't exactly want to go down that road."
Lennix waved the idea away with a sharp flick of his hand. "Yeah, hard pass. I really don't want people getting addicted to drinking my blood, even if it makes them stronger for the battle. That's more my sister's style, and she's dead, so she clearly did something wrong,."
A flat voice cut in behind them. "Are you two standing around and being useless again?"
Both men turned. Clarissa stood there, arms crossed under her chest, expression blank as ever.
"No need to tell us, Clarissa," Lennix muttered as he rose from his crouch. "We're very aware of how useless we are right now."
"Speak for yourself," Derek said, flashing a grin despite the heaviness in the air. "I've been praying to the goddess for a miracle. Something you, being undead, can't exactly manage."
Lennix's head snapped toward him, eyes widening in betrayal. "You what?"
"I don't have time for your usual back-and-forth," Clarissa interrupted flatly, dismissing the exchange as irrelevant. She turned on her heel without waiting for a reply. "Master Lennix, come with me. Mari wants to speak with you."
Lennix jabbed a finger at Derek, glowering. "We'll talk about your betrayal later."
Derek only lifted both hands in mock surrender, grin widening, as Lennix followed Clarissa toward the inn.
After getting to the inn, Lennix's eyes immediately landed on Mari seated at a table with Karin. Karin looked as sour as ever, her arms folded and her expression set in the familiar scowl she always wore when forced into long stretches with her daughter. Mari, however, sat upright, hands twisting nervously in her lap.
"Hey, Mari!" Lennix greeted with a grin, lifting a hand in a cheerful wave. "What do you want to talk to your favorite uncle about?"
Mari turned toward him, her face far more serious than he was used to seeing. "Uncle Lennix… is everyone going to be alright?" Her small fingers fidgeted against each other as she asked, her voice almost a whisper.
Lennix's grin faltered. He crouched down to her level, forcing the smile back onto his lips, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Of course they are. Me, the black knight, and maybe even Carver—we'll make sure of it." He reached out and ruffled her hair, his cold hand briefly brushing her warm scalp.
Mari didn't look convinced. Her gaze stayed fixed on him, earnest and worried. "But… are you three going to be alright?"
That hit harder. His smile slipped again, only a shade, before he forced it back into place. "Yeah," he said softly. "Because I'm going to make sure of it."
Before he could say more, Mari suddenly wrapped her arms around his neck. Her warmth pressed against his body, the contrast to his corpse-cold skin sharp and almost painful. "Just be safe, okay? You always hurt yourself when you fight," she murmured against him.
Lennix held her close, shutting his eyes for a moment. "Okay. I'll be safe. Don't worry."
She leaned back, looking him directly in the eyes. "You promise?"
"I promise." His voice was steady this time. He stood, straightening his coat as he forced brightness back into his tone. "Now! Uncle Lennix has to go train—got to make sure I can keep that promise!" He raised a hand in mock salute before striding toward the door.
Mari watched him go, worry lingering in her face like a shadow.
"Don't worry, Mari." Clarissa's hand settled lightly on the girl's head, her own gaze following Lennix out the door. "Master Lennix will be safe. He promised you, after all."
Mari nodded slowly. "I really hope so."