Chapter 30

Mondra lay beneath the night like a town wrapped in misty gauze.

Across that veil rose jagged mountains—the silhouettes of crowded rooftops—and a river that ran red, a river of torch-bearing people.

Among them strode demon-hunters with blades at their hips, and farmers in patched armor who, with carrying-poles across their shoulders, bore calves bound for slaughter.

Yalilan rode at the head of the column; Baron, at her order, kept pace on a second horse beside her.

He wore a brand-new black hunting coat—his last had been shredded in the earlier skirmish. Yalilan had sent this replacement, a sample from the Rose Knights' quartermaster.

The hide had been soaked in holy water; alchemic sigils drawn in fiend-blood were stitched inside to blunt a full-force blow from a Black-Iron hunter.

The collar stood high, the coat left open to reveal a crimson copper crucifix sewn to the lining, while the cuffs were embroidered with a pure-silver rose cross—the emblem of the Rose Merchants.

Clad in black, the Baron looked taller than ever, his outline flickering in the torchlight.

Windows opened one after another in the darkened town. Young women leaned out, powdered and draped in sheer silk, fluttering fans, trading glances with the passing column. Most of those glances lingered on Baron.

"L seems popular with the ladies," Yalilan said with a faint smile.

They only want my body.

"It is because night blurs my face," Baron replied coolly. "Mystery is where fascination begins."

The same reason, he mused, that faceless musclemen and loli-queens online stay forever Yan Zus and Bing Bings—until the mask comes off; then they become Liu Neng and Sister Rain.

Andre, riding behind, heard the remark, considered it, and resolved henceforth to cultivate an air of secrecy.

The column left the cobbled streets and wound into deserted country lanes. Baron listened to the soft wind and asked, "I've heard Mondra has had no disappearances in recent years. Where did these girls come from?"

"I don't know," Yalilan answered. "The townspeople and nearby villagers swear they've never seen them... as though they appeared out of thin air and were suddenly slaughtered by blood fiends."

Appeared out of thin air... Baron lowered his head in thought. His horse whinnied. He tightened the reins and saw, in the far darkness, dozens of shapes emerging.

Yalilan's brows drew together; she raised a hand and the company readied weapons.

A country road, moonless and windy, crowded with people—only two possibilities: highwaymen or robbers.

Torches revealed the shapes to be peasant women in rough cloth, dust-streaked, hoes over shoulders, baskets heaped with wild herbs. Farmers in the column greeted them and told Yalilan the women were returning from foraging on the eastern hills.

"Then why the waxy faces, the staggering gait, the trembling eyes?" Baron asked from horseback.

"Fear," an old woman said. "My lord, we hurried to gather herbs... night fell so fast..."

She did not finish, but everyone understood.

Yalilan promptly detached a few steady hunters to escort the women.

The column pressed on. Baron pondered; Yalilan glanced at him. "Suspicious of those peasants?"

Baron hesitated, then nodded. "Some of the old women had red, swollen eyes— as if they'd been crying."

Andre urged his horse closer and said in a low voice, "It's a year of rampant beasts. For common folk, tears are nothing strange."

Yalilan considered, then sent servants to investigate the women's identities.

They reached a lonely spot. Yalilan surveyed the surroundings and ordered the column to halt. She dismounted, drew a bronze tablet from her coat, and flooded it with spirit energy. The tablet expanded, settling on the ground like an altar.

Farmers led forward the calves. One low bellow, and a broad-shouldered butcher's blade flashed—cutting the beast's vocal cords, arteries, and spinal cord with surgical precision. The ox collapsed upon the altar; blood filled the grooves.

"An array devised by Ford City alchemists," Andre explained. "Cattle blood is made to mimic human scent."

"If a blood fiend is near, the smell will draw it—though whether it comes..."

Baron tilted his head skyward. "It's coming."

Coming? Who—

Before Andre could react, the wind screamed. The calm was ripped like paper.

His pupils contracted to pinpricks. A black shape burst from the forest, arrowing toward Yalilan.

"Look out!"

He had time for that warning alone.

The Viscountess's face hardened. She hurled her torch at the monster and, in the same heartbeat, snapped her sword from its scabbard toward the sky.

In the torch's flare they saw the creature clearly: three yards long, corded crimson muscle, white fangs and claws, vast bat-like wings, a devil's face with jutting horns. Its vertical pupils glowed an icy emerald.

It swatted the torch aside, but the silver sword pierced its right foot. With a shriek it dove on Yalilan, momentum doubled.

Wind against wind—sword against sky!

It spread its arms as though to crush her to its chest.

Yalilan's face turned grim. She tried to dodge, but the fiend's roar weighted her limbs like lead.

Was this the end?

The beast loomed, reeking of blood—how many innocents had it slaughtered?

Yet, inches away, it froze, roaring, struggling against an invisible wall.

Spatial ward in the array? The thought flashed through Yalilan and was dismissed. Those tight-fisted alchemists would never add a gold-coin feature to a three-silver array.

Her gaze dropped and found a tall figure in black.

He had caught her thrown sword and driven it into the creature's softer belly, pressing against the monster.

Andre and the other hunters reacted instantly, torches thrusting, blades hacking, keeping the fiend's claws from Baron's exposed back.

With a furious howl the blood fiend dissolved into black mist, re-forming a moment later. It glanced at Yalilan and at the cold-faced Baron gripping the silver sword, snorted, and vanished wounded into the forest.

"After it!"

Andre glanced at the shaken Yalilan and the unruffled Baron, exhaled, and led dozens of hunters leaping into the dark woods.

When only a few terrified farmers cowering in the distance remained, Baron set the silver sword aside and sat on the edge of the altar, letting out a long breath like a man reborn.

"Lady Yalilan... for this kind of labor you'll need to pay me extra."

Yalilan laughed softly. "I thought you'd only step forward if you were sure."

Baron sighed. "No certainty at all—pure gamble. If Andre hadn't joined in, the fiend would have killed me."

"You'd stake your life? Your courage exceeds my expectations." She paused. "Andre probably doesn't know how much you trusted him, even though..."

Even though there had been friction at first.

Friction between men is common—over women, pride, profit—things time, distance, and greater profit can smooth.

But nothing mends the truly irreconcilable—jjmd.

Baron kept that thought to himself, palms on the ground, staring at the torches.

Yalilan blinked, surprised anyone dared ignore her question. She studied his enigmatic profile in the firelight, tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, and turned to stare with him.

The two sat in lonely silence beside the altar, watching torchlight stretch to the horizon where the moon hung.

After a long while, Baron said softly, "It wasn't really trust. I just wondered: if a man can keep living simply because he wants to live, might he also die just as easily when he wants to die..."

He rose and returned the silver sword to Yalilan.

Not long after, the hunters returned. Andre shook his head. "Too dark in the woods—fear of other fiends. We dared not push deeper."

"Any households nearby?" Yalilan frowned.

An injured blood fiend could heal by drinking blood—that was why she had set the hunt in these wild hills.

Andre hesitated. "I... hadn't considered."

A farmer stepped forward. "I know... I've been here... not far—Baron Cambera's manor is just beyond that ridge!"

"Guide us," Baron cut in.

Yalilan thought she saw a gleam of gold flicker in his dark eyes, like an adventurer who has spotted treasure.