"—Haaaaah! Finally, it’s over!"
In a mining town some distance south of the Holy City of Granfloze, Claesta stretched her arms high, oblivious to the eyes of passersby. It had been several days since she had entrusted the Prosthetic Upgrade Plan to her colleagues back at the workshop, and now, her heart was as clear as the sprawling blue sky above.
Compared to the motherly grandeur of the Holy City, this was a dusty, unrefined town of modest scale. However, as one of the kingdom’s more significant ore producers, the energetic ring of hammers echoed from every corner, merchants and craftsmen bustled through the streets, and a small chapel of the Chryscles Holy Church stood proudly in the center. In this town of ore, hammers, and grit, Claesta had just finished handling several crucial business negotiations with flair.
Lest anyone complain that she was neglecting Wolka’s prosthetic, she had her reasons.
As a matter of course, the Griffith Workshop had multiple projects running simultaneously. Managing a workshop was never as simple as just swinging a hammer; it required sourcing materials, negotiating prices, and sometimes, the proprietor herself had to travel for business.
Regarding the results of this trip, Sebock’s relieved expression said it all.
"That went well, Milady. I'm glad the negotiations wrapped up so smoothly."
"They certainly did! And it’s all thanks to Mr. Ramsey. Truly, thank you!"
"...Huh?"
Ramsey, standing a few paces behind Claesta in a vague, detached sort of way, furrowed his brows in confusion. Having traded his fisherman’s gear for his old adventurer’s kit, his appearance was far too thuggish; even a slight scowl carried a dangerous, lethal intensity.
"What for? I didn't do a damn thing but stand there..."
"No, that was the most important part!" Claesta insisted. "Usually, people look down on me as a mere girl and treat me with such condescension. But this time, every person we met was visibly terrified... It was undoubtedly thanks to you and your damn villainous face glaring at them from my side!"
"That wasn't a compliment, you brat."
He wasn't entirely wrong. With his sharp eyes and the scars marking his face, he looked like a man who spent his life in the dark and dirty corners of the world. Yet, for Claesta, that villainous mug was incredibly reassuring.
Ramsey slumped his shoulders in defeat. "I knew it. You brought me along specifically for that, didn't you..."
"Think of it as the effective utilization of specialized talent. I'll pay your fee properly, don't worry."
Since the incident with the stolen blueprints, Claesta and Ramsey had maintained a strange, low-key association. To be precise, Claesta had repeatedly pestered him about wanting to repay him for his help, but the cynical, grumpy old man kept dodging her, insisting he wasn't "anyone special."
He was a veteran who had only recently left the guild. Despite having the skill of an A-rank adventurer, his personality had evidently held him back, keeping him at B-rank until his retirement. Claesta could certainly see why.
Unfortunately for him, Claesta was the type of person who met such difficult attitudes head-on.
Honestly, why does he have to be so prickly about a simple thank-you? Does he think that detached, 'cool' act is impressive? He isn't a teenager. I’ll teach him some manners yet.
That was the logic behind hiring him as a bodyguard. If it were a formal request with a proper reward, even he couldn't keep running away.
Of course, the fact that the Prosthetic Upgrade Plan had drained her funds so much that she couldn't afford a high-end bodyguard was... merely an incidental detail.
As the saying goes: all's well that ends well.
"The carriage will be here soon, so let's get back to the Holy City! Once we’re home, I can focus entirely on Wolka’s leg!"
"Yeah, yeah..."
They finished their paperwork at the carriage station and took a break until departure. During the wait, Ramsey suddenly spoke up.
"...Hey. That prosthetic you're making for him. I heard it’s going to be something special."
"Of course it is! Come to think of it, I haven't told you the details, have I?"
To kill time, Claesta began to reminisce. She spoke of why her grandfather had spent his final, waning years researching prosthetics, even going so far as to knock on the doors of the Magisterica. She told him about a certain adventurer her grandfather once made a leg for—and failed to save.
"If my grandfather were still alive, he would have poured his heart and soul into Wolka’s leg. That’s why I have to do it. I believe it’s the mission of the Griffith Workshop, a legacy entrusted to me."
"............"
Claesta expected him to laugh it off with a dry, "Must be nice to have a grand purpose," but Ramsey listened with unexpected gravity. He seemed stunned, as if struck by a truth he hadn't anticipated.
He averted his eyes and muttered almost to himself.
"...An adventurer who lost a leg... more than ten years ago, huh."
"Mr. Ramsey?"
After another moment of silence, Ramsey gave a sharp, cocky snort.
"Hah. To keep swinging a sword while missing a leg... can't believe there are two such idiots in the world."
"..."
His voice sounded forced, as if he were trying to hide his previous reaction. Claesta exchanged a look with Sebock. Ramsey was a veteran who had been in the business for over a decade. Was it possible he had known that adventurer?
But Ramsey clearly feigned ignorance. It was obvious he didn't want to be questioned. If he had wanted to share, he would have said so.
A small bell rang. The driver of the shared carriage raised his handbell, announcing that they were ready to depart.
"Right. Let’s move."
"Yes..."
After that, Ramsey acted as if the conversation about the prosthetic had never happened, and neither Claesta nor Sebock felt they could bring it up again. A shared carriage was a place for people who were strangers to one another; even Claesta wasn't so bold as to pry into someone's secrets in such a setting.
/
"Folks, we’ve reached Luther. We’ll be taking a short break here."
"Finally," Ramsey thought, stifling a yawn at the driver’s announcement.
The journey had been exceptionally peaceful—not a single monster, let alone a bandit. While a boring trip was generally a good thing, the lack of movement had left his body feeling stiff and cramped. When he tried to stretch, his shoulders and back popped in protest. I really ain't as young as I used to be, he mused with a wry smile.
"Goodness, carriage travel is harder on the bones than it used to be."
"Eh? Oh, yeah..."
Sebock, Claesta’s attendant, spoke from the opposite seat with his usual warmth. He was a well-mannered man who was always kind, even to someone as sour as Ramsey. If the trip had been just Ramsey and Claesta, the silence would have been deafening, but Sebock had acted as a reliable bridge between them.
Sebock rubbed his lower back with a grimace. "Ow, ow... my body’s gone soft."
"Sebock has an excuse... but Mr. Ramsey, you’re still at an age where you should be active. You're being pathetic," Claesta teased.
"Shut up. Once a man hits forty, everything starts breaking down."
Claesta, on the other hand, was not yet twenty and looked perfectly fine as she poked fun at him. Ramsey thought she was an utterly uncharming girl. A faux-lady with a flashy exterior and the soul of a barbarian—if he told his old friends he was working for a girl like this, they’d die laughing.
"Things break down because you stopped moving, not because of age. Tools and people both rust if they aren't used—"
"Yeah, yeah."
Tuning out the fake lady’s lecture, Ramsey glanced around. There were four other passengers, likely messengers for merchant guilds or workshops. Two mercenary guards were stationed outside. After this break, they would head for the eastern port and take a ship back to the Holy City.
From outside, he heard the bored voices of the mercenaries.
"In the end, not even a Goblin showed up. Lucky day."
"Well, no news is good news."
Ramsey peeked through a gap in the carriage's hood. Just beyond the highway, he could see the gray defense wall of the town.
Wait. Speaking of Luther...
If he remembered correctly, this was where Wolka had been taken after his catastrophic injury. To the north was the Holy City, to the south the mining town, to the east the port, and to the west lay a dense cluster of dungeons. It was a vital crossroads for the region.
So for that guy, this is the place that saved his life...
"Whoa. What the hell? The wall is down."
Ramsey’s train of thought was snapped by one of the guards. Even the driver sounded shocked.
"You're right. That’s... that’s bad."
The carriage slowed, and through the gap in the hood, Ramsey saw it. The massive stone wall that protected the town’s perimeter had collapsed across a wide section, leaving a gap large enough for a squad of men to walk through.
"Man, was the construction that shoddy?"
"...Where is everyone? Why hasn't the town noticed?"
The guards sounded puzzled. Ramsey felt it too—an unsettling wrongness. A collapsed wall was a major security breach; the lack of any reaction from the townspeople was bizarre.
The walls weren't just for physical defense. While they kept out beasts and slowed thieves, their true purpose was the psychological security of the residents. They defined the town’s order, kept children from wandering off, and shielded people from the constant, underlying fear of the wilds. In the Holy City, a breach like this would have sent guards rushing to the scene instantly.
And yet, there was only silence.
"—!!"
In the moment he realized the truth, Ramsey was on his feet, hand gripping his sword. He barkled at the driver’s back.
"Stop the horses! Don't go any closer!"
"Wh-What?"
"Just stop! Everyone, stay inside the carriage!"
"Wait—Mr. Ramsey!?"
Ignoring Claesta, Ramsey leaped from the carriage and ran toward the ruined wall.
"Hey! Don't go off on your own!" the guards yelled, but he didn't care. He reached the edge of the rubble, stopped—and ground his teeth.
"God dammit...!"
The sight beyond the wall made his stomach churn.
The town had perished.
It was a quiet sort of destruction. Not everything had been leveled to dust, but buildings were collapsed, bloodstains were sprayed across the cobblestones, and the ground was gouged by violent force. The air felt heavy, dead. There were no voices, no movement—only a suffocating, absolute silence.
The guards finally caught up, and their breath hitched.
"What... what happened here...!"
"...Hey, wait. This has to be a joke."
They stood frozen. There was no one. Not even a corpse in sight. That was why it was so quiet. No crying, no begging, no screaming. Nothing.
"Shit!" one of the guards spat. He looked at Ramsey with eyes burning with rage. "I'm going in to search for survivors. You watch the carriage. If anything happens, don't wait for us. Head straight for the port and get help."
"...Got it."
The guards disappeared into the town. Ramsey stood there, unable to move. His mind was racing. Even though the guard had given him a clear order, the idea of retreating to the carriage wouldn't take root.
What happened?
The answer was obvious: monsters had destroyed the town. But what kind of monster could do this? Had everyone escaped, or had they all been slaughtered? Either way, the total erasure of human presence was unnatural.
He had no personal ties to this town. He didn't know anyone here. He tried to remain detached, but he couldn't stop the revulsion clawing at his nerves or the anger tightening his grip.
I don't know this place... but he does.
Don't screw with me. This is the town that took him in. This is where his friends brought him when he was dying, praying for a miracle. This is the town that saved him.
So why... why is it like this?
"Wait...?"
His eyes dropped to the rubble. The ground around the breach was stained a dark, crusty red.
Blood. And there—an adventurer’s headband with the emblem of Sword & Wand. A shattered sword. A guild staff ID. The remnants of lives.
People had died here. The wall had been breached, and monsters must have poured in—
No. That’s wrong. It’s the other way around.
The debris, the blood, and the gear were all on the outside of the wall.
If something had attacked from the outside, the rubble would have been blown inward. The battle would have taken place inside the town.
"I see... so that’s how it was...!"
The townspeople had destroyed their own wall. The barrier meant to protect them had become a cage. Faced with an overwhelming attack, they had tried to break their way out of their own town.
He looked at the headband. It was the kind of gear used by a green, overly enthusiastic rookie. Someone had tried to hold this gap to let others escape, only to be caught—or ambushed. They had been butchered so thoroughly that not even their bodies remained.
Ramsey felt like he was going to vomit.
"What the hell is this? God dammit!"
He finally found the strength to move. He ran back toward the carriage. The driver looked lost, holding the horses steady. Ramsey spoke with a terrifying flatness.
"The town is gone. It's wiped out."
"What? ...W-What do you mean?" The driver let out a nervous, confused laugh. Ramsey ignored him.
"The guards are searching. I don't know what’s coming, so be ready to drive at a second’s notice."
"Wait, what happened!?" Claesta shouted, leaning out of the carriage. Sebock held her back as she cried out, "Wiped out? Are you serious? How could that...!"
"I don't know the details. There aren't even any bodies."
That was the most alarming part. To leave no corpses was far too tidy for a mindless monster attack. If it were a typical beast, the town would be a charnel house of rotting meat and gore.
Perhaps the guards would find something deeper in, but if the whole town was truly empty... that wasn't just instinct. That was a calculated madness. Not even a Stampede was this thorough. Something unprecedented was happening.
"We might find survivors. Everyone, gather whatever potions you have. And how many people can we cram into this carriage?"
As he coordinated with the passengers, Wolka’s face wouldn't leave his mind. This was a catastrophe that would shake the entire kingdom. When Wolka heard about Luther... what would he do? That young man who claimed there was no god in this world. The town that saved him was simply... gone.
"Mr. Ramsey," Claesta said, her voice unusually fragile. "Is there anything I can—"
She stopped.
A cold, terrifying pressure of magical power washed over them, turning their blood to ice.
"!!"
Ramsey looked toward the town. The guards were nowhere to be seen. In a split second, he made his choice.
"Go! Get the horses moving! Head for the port!"
"What? No, wait! You said there might be survivors—"
"Don't argue! Just go!"
He grabbed the driver and practically threw him onto his seat. But the man was too paralyzed by fear to grab the reins. Ramsey cursed. This fool couldn't even feel the lethal magic in the air.
"What about the guards?"
"Forget them! Just save yourselves!"
The driver remained frozen. It was too much for an ordinary man to process. But they were out of time. Ramsey stepped toward the driver’s seat, intending to kick the man aside and take the reins himself, when—
"—Wait."
A youthful voice drifted through the air. In that moment, Ramsey knew their time had run out.
Standing halfway between the carriage and the wall was a boy.
He was dressed in elegant, decadent clothes of a dark, somber hue—the sort of finery a high-born son of an ancient house might wear to a ball. He looked to be in his early teens, with shimmering golden hair and skin so fair it was ethereal. He was beautiful—the kind of beauty that would make even a grown man stop and stare.
But nobody was staring for that reason.
Because with his bare hands, the boy was casually dragging the corpses of the two guards.
"God dammit...!"
It was the worst-case scenario. Ramsey cursed with every ounce of his soul, but a part of him felt strangely detached. Right. If this thing is here, of course the town is gone.
"Hi-Hiii...!"
The driver let out a pathetic whimper, and the passengers began to scream. The temperature dropped sharply. This wasn't just cold; it was a magical chill that bypassed the skin and struck straight at the human instinct for survival. Those eyes—black and red, devoid of anything human—said everything.
It was exactly as his old friend had described. The phantom pain in Ramsey's nerves, which had been quiet since his duel with Wolka, began to throb again.
"...Claesta."
"...Yes? I’m currently regretting not staying in my workshop."
Claesta’s voice was shaky, but she was the only one who hadn't been paralyzed by the boy's presence. She was just a girl with no combat experience, seeing death for the first time, but she was holding her ground. That was enough.
"It’s a Vampire. You have to get back and tell the Cathedral. Everything you saw."
"..."
"I’ll buy you some time. That’s what you’re paying me for. Besides... you’ve got work to finish, right?"
Claesta looked like she wanted to scream at him, to tell him he was being an idiot. But she was a professional. She analyzed the situation, recalled everything she knew about Vampires, and forced her protests back down her throat.
Her hand gripped the side of the carriage until her knuckles turned white.
"If you die, I’ll kill you myself."
"Heh... I guess I’d better stay alive then."
The decision was made. Ramsey slammed the scabbard of his sword against the horses. Terrified by the aura in the air, the horses panicked at the blow and bolted, racing away at a frantic gallop.
Claesta screamed something as the carriage sped off, but the sound of the wheels and the horses’ hooves drowned her out.
"..."
Only Ramsey and the boy remained. Ramsey drew his sword, every sense on high alert. The boy didn't bother chasing the carriage. He dropped the two corpses to his side.
"You’re impressive, old man. So calm. These two were boring."
"...A Vampire."
"Ding-dong! Correct."
The boy didn't even take a stance. He just stood there, radiating an air that said he didn't need to. For a creature like him, a man like Ramsey wasn't even worth a defensive guard.
Ramsey spoke. "You the one who killed the town?"
"Hmm. Maybe twenty percent of it." The boy tilted his head innocently. "The rest wasn't me. I don't really know what to call them... they aren't human anymore, but they aren't exactly our kind, either. My Father’s 'experimental subjects'? Remnants of monsters, maybe? They did the heavy lifting."
The news was a double blow. First, "Father"—there was a Vampire even stronger than this one nearby. Second, "experimental subjects"—there were other monsters capable of destroying a town roaming the area. At least three world-class threats were in the country. Ramsey felt like laughing.
"I was told to leave this place alone, but I wanted to see if anyone had noticed the fun yet. That’s when I found these two."
Ramsey couldn't comprehend the logic that led from curiosity to murder. He didn't want to. He asked one more thing, his nerves burning like they were being held over a flame.
"...You. Fifteen years ago, did you slaughter a five-man party?"
His old friend, the one whose friends had all been killed, had said their attacker looked like a young boy.
The boy tapped his chin. "Fifteen years ago? I don't know. I don't bother remembering the weak ones."
"Figures."
He expected as much. This boy might be the same one, or he might not. It didn't change what had to happen.
"Hey, will you play with me instead, old man?" the boy asked. "Let's make a deal. If you entertain me, I'll let that carriage go. But if you're boring... I'll kill you, then I'll chase them down and kill everyone else."
"............"
"That gives you plenty of motivation, right?"
Ramsey felt a chill deeper than the magic. He was looking at a 'Monster.' This was a calamity on par with a Dragon—a creature with a mind utterly alien to humanity, a being that looked like a man but shared none of a man's heart.
"Oh, that’s right. Father said that in a duel, it's polite to introduce oneself."
The boy’s mouth curled into a cruel crescent moon. A wave of absolute, freezing magic washed over the highway.
"I am the Vampire, Melfius of the Decaying Severance. Good luck, old man."
"...Hah. That’s a hell of a name."
Man, how did I get myself into this?
The smirk on Ramsey's face was sheer bravado. He knew from the magic alone that he was outclassed. His instincts were screaming at him to run, to save himself.
But he didn't move. Not because of a grudge, or a dead friend, or even as penance for his life of trouble.
If that bratty girl dies... who’s going to finish that guy’s leg?
Even for a failure like him, there was still something left to protect. And for a man who refused to back down, that was reason enough.