It was around nine in the night.
Arthur sat by the fading firelight. The flames danced low now, almost like they were holding their breath. His fingers shook as he opened the folded parchment that Skarn had brought. He quickly scanned the words.
His eyes went wide. His chest tightened.
The note was from Helena. It told him everything. Eamon had been pulled away. Their plan had failed. Arthur's hands began to tremble.
He crumpled the note and threw it aside. He stood up suddenly, pacing in the grass.
"Ahhh shit," he said, his voice sharp and angry. "Why did this Dragomir have to call Eamon for help?"
He screamed. A sound of frustration, of helplessness. The wind didn't carry his voice far. The trees heard it though.
Arthur turned away and clenched his fists.
"I'm sorry, Eamon. I'm sorry, Helena."
His voice cracked.
"But I have to do this."
His eyes turned toward the dark stretch of forest in front of him.
"This is our chance. If tonight the real killer vampire is not caught, then someone else will come. A Royal Knight. And if a Royal Knight comes here... the killer will flee. He will disappear again."
Arthur lowered his gaze.
"I have to do it today. I can't let him run away. Not this time."
Just then, Skarn bit his pants softly, trying to pull him back. His teeth gripped the cloth gently. He tugged once, twice. He growled softly, almost like he was begging Arthur to stop.
Arthur knelt down slowly. He placed both hands on the pup's fur.
"Please understand, buddy," he whispered. "If we let him go, he'll kill more people. I know you and Eamon and Helena are worried. But I have to do this."
His voice was soft. His eyes welled up, but he blinked the tears away.
"I must do this. For the doctor. For his wife, Annie. For the little girl in the bakery. For all the ones who didn't get to live their full lives. I owe them this much."
Skarn whined and shook his head. His ears dropped. He didn't want to go.
Arthur hugged him tightly.
"I need you to go back, boy. Back to town. Go to Eamon. He'll need you."
Skarn hesitated. Then, after a long moment, he finally turned and ran, disappearing into the woods with his tail low.
Arthur stood again. Alone now.
He took out the small blade from his belt and checked the edge. Then he fastened the sword at his hip.
He was ready.
Meanwhile, in the town, the air had grown cold. Everything was still. Too still. Not a whisper. Not a step. The silence pressed on everyone's shoulders like a weight.
Soldiers stood alert at every turn. Guards watched rooftops. Adventurers patrolled alleyways. Everyone was ready. But nothing moved.
Eamon stood on a rooftop in the western quarter, eyes scanning the streets. His hand rested on his sword. His breaths were slow. Focused.
Then, suddenly, it happened.
A cold chill ran down his spine. A sharp, biting sensation like needles pricking his skin. He knew this feeling.
The dark presence.
He stood up straight, his senses screaming at him. Something was wrong.
And then, a scream tore through the air.
It came from the eastern side of town.
A loud, high-pitched cry of terror. Then silence.
Eamon's eyes widened.
Even though he hadn't heard the scream directly from where he was, he felt the presence pulling him east. Something in his bones told him to move.
Without a word, he leapt off the roof and started running.
"Hey! Where are you going?" a guard shouted after him.
"Stop! We haven't got orders yet!" another one yelled.
But Eamon didn't stop. He ran through the streets, past the patrol lines, past the stalls and empty carts. The guards and soldiers nearby noticed and followed him.
On the eastern side, chaos had begun.
A group of soldiers burst through the front door of a house where the scream had come from. What they found inside froze them in place.
It was a nightmare.
A family of four. Two parents. Two children. Slaughtered. Torn apart.
Blood covered the floor. It was on the walls. Even on the ceiling. Red painted every surface. The silence was broken only by one of the soldiers gagging and rushing back outside.
Dragomir arrived moments later.
He barged into the house and stopped at the doorframe. His eyes scanned the scene. His jaw tightened. His fists clenched.
He turned to the soldiers.
"What were you doing?" he shouted. "How did you let this happen?"
One of the younger soldiers, his face pale as chalk, stammered.
"It... it happened fast, sir. We don't know how he got in. We heard the scream and rushed inside. But he... he was gone. Already gone."
Dragomir's face twisted with anger.
"You didn't see him enter? You didn't hear anything before the screaming started?"
Another soldier, older and calmer, stepped forward.
"We swear we didn't see anyone, sir. It all happened so quietly. There were no footsteps. No signs. Just... the scream."
Before Dragomir could respond, a town guard burst into the house.
"Commander!" he said, panting. "Few guards said they saw a shadow-like figure running through the main gate!"
Dragomir didn't wait.
"To the gate!" he barked.
He rushed out, his cloak trailing behind him. At the steps, he ran into Eamon.
"You," Dragomir said. "Come with me."
Eamon hesitated. The chill was still pulling him in a different direction. The presence... it was moving away from the eastern gate. But he couldn't say anything.
He had to stay in character. He couldn't reveal anything. Not now. Not yet.
So he followed.
They reached the main gate. It was facing east. Several guards lay there. Their throats were slashed open. Blood soaked into the earth beneath them.
Dragomir's eyes darkened.
"He escaped this way," he said.
He turned to his men.
"Fifty of you. Into the forest. Hunt him down. Bring back his head!"
The soldiers roared and marched forward, disappearing into the woods.
Eamon watched them go. His heart was pounding.
Something felt off.
The presence he had felt... it wasn't going east.
It was going around.
Far from town, outside the patrols, in the woods behind the northern ridge, the real killer moved silently.
He had circled the town. Fast. Quiet. Through the trees. Around the guards. The blood from the gate guards still stained his sleeves.
He grinned.
They had all gone east.
How foolish.
He stepped through the clearing, his boots pressing softly on the mossy ground. The moon was bright above him.
And there, standing under the moonlight, was Arthur.
Arthur had already sent Skarn away. He knew this moment would come.
He stood tall, sword drawn. His face was calm, but his grip was tight.
The killer stepped into the light. His cloak was dark. His face half-hidden beneath a hood.
He tilted his head.
"Oh," the man said, almost surprised. "You must be the doctor's adopted kid."
His grin widened.
"Sorry I couldn't kill you that day."
Arthur didn't blink. He didn't move.
"You bloody murderer," he said.
His voice was sharp. Cold.
"You will die tonight."
The killer chuckled.
"Is that so?"
Arthur's sword pointed forward. "Your reign of terror ends today."