Attempt #5: "I Got Bitten!"

She used ketchup. A lot of ketchup. Smeared it all over her neck and came running into camp yelling, "BITTEN! I WAS BITTEN BY A VAMPIRE—SEND ME TO CAPITAL QUARANTINE!"

Everyone panicked . . . for five seconds.

Then someone pointed out that the "wound" looked suspiciously like bite marks from a sandwich.

She was banned from the mess hall for three days.

Attempt #6: Faking Heroism

She tried to take down a minor vampire nest solo, hoping a dramatic rescue or bold report might win her some praise—or maybe a ticket back to HQ.

What actually happened was she tripped over her own blade, scared off the vampires with her terrible singing (intended as a distraction), and ended up hiding in a barrel for two hours until patrol found her.

She called it "Tactical Concealment."

They called it "Dumb Luck."

Final Result?

Nothing worked.

Every plan either backfired, got her punished, or made her look even more suspicious. Her hopes of slipping back into the capital through sheer wit and petty schemes? Dashed.

But Selis didn't give up.

She added a new step to her master plan:

Step five: Stop faking it. Start finding a real reason.

Or at the very least . . . seduce someone important for real this time. Preferably someone who didn't smell like boiled socks.

So, she dusted off her boots, wiped the ketchup off her neck, and set her sights on the long game.

Because one way or another . . . She was getting out of this outpost.

Her prayers were finally answered—though not quite in the way she expected.

The capital was under attack.

It came as a distant rumor at first: a whisper carried by trembling birds and twitchy messenger bats. But the tension in the camp grew thicker than vampire blood when confirmation arrived.

A breach. Not just any breach, but an infiltration right through the first layer of the city's famed tri-wall defense system.

"Some of them got through the barrier?" someone muttered in disbelief.

"Impossible. The first layer's enchanted with sun-forged glyphs!"

"Yeah, well . . . apparently not forged well enough."

Selis, who had been sulking on her bunk bed and doodling escape plans on the back of a ration slip, perked up like a hound catching scent. Her ears practically twitched.

"What did you just say?" she asked the passing patrol soldier.

"The capital. Vampires breached the first wall."

Her heart skipped a beat.

Then did a full cartwheel.

The first layer of defense falling meant only two layers remained. If the second crumbled, the third—the inner sanctum of the capital—would be all that stood between the bloodsuckers and total chaos. And the third layer was where the High Cathedral stood.

Selis sat bolt upright. That was exactly where she needed to go.

The High Cathedral wasn't just the spiritual heart of the vampire hunters; it was where secrets were buried, decisions made, and truths hidden.

If the Emerald Blood was tied to any of the conspiracy she'd sniffed out, the answers were likely guarded behind those sacred stone walls.

And now . . . they were calling for reinforcements.

When the call went out for any and all able-bodied vampire hunters, the outpost turned into a chaotic whirlwind of shouting officers and clanging armor. Horses were readied, rations packed, weapons distributed like candy.

Best of all? No red tape.

Usually, being assigned to a mission meant background checks, psychological evaluations, and at least three hours of bureaucratic mumbo jumbo that could kill even the fiercest ambition.

But not this time.

"Just sign here if you're not already dead!" barked one of the lieutenants, waving a clipboard in the air.

"I volunteer!" Selis yelled before he even finished his sentence. She sprinted toward the table, nearly bowling over two junior recruits in her excitement.

"Name?" the officer asked.

"Selis," she said, panting. "Vampire hunter, secondary division, probably demoted, but not bitten, thank you very much."

The officer barely looked at her. "Congratulations. You're going to the capital."

She almost wept with joy.

Instead, she saluted like she'd done it a thousand times—only she used the wrong hand and accidentally knocked her own hood off.

"Oops. Tactical flourish."

By sundown, she was on the back of a creaky old wagon with four other hunters and a stubborn mule named Basil.

The tension in the air was electric, but Selis was oddly at peace. Sure, they were speeding into a bloodbath. But for her, it was a golden ticket.

As the wheels bounced and jostled over uneven terrain, she gripped the edge of the wagon and stared ahead with shining eyes.

She wasn't just heading into danger.

She was heading into purpose.

And maybe, just maybe . . . her answers.

Still, she couldn't help but mutter under her breath as Basil farted for the fifth time and filled the entire cart with doom.

"This better be worth it."

The journey to the capital wasn't exactly what Selis imagined when she signed up with such eager desperation. No glorious fanfare. No noble mission briefing. No organized march.

Just one word: cannon fodder.

Everyone in her ragtag group knew it, too. The orders were clear—get to the capital as quickly as possible and hold the line at the second barrier long enough for the real help to arrive.

The high-rank vampire hunters were still rallying in from the outer territories, and until they showed up in their polished armor and divine blessings, the recruits, rejects, and barely-standing hunters were meant to buy time with blood and bodies.

"Just enough meat to keep the vampires occupied," one of the older hunters muttered bitterly around a pipe he wasn't allowed to light. "We hold 'em off until the golden boys ride in and take all the glory."

Selis didn't care. She was back on the road to the capital.

And if it meant a few near-death experiences along the way, so be it.

Still, the trip was anything but smooth. The moment they left the safety of the outpost's inner perimeter, the roads turned from dirt to swampy muck.