Rumors spread quickly.
"A vampire hunter killed the lord—alone!"
"He moved like lightning. The vampire didn't stand a chance."
"He didn't give his name… just vanished after."
In dark taverns and abandoned ruins, in vampire dens and back-alley networks, the whispers reached further.
At an old vampire outpost in the northern marshes, a lesser noble vampire snapped, "You're telling me that the Lord is dead? That's impossible!"
Another vampire replied, "Torn to pieces. And not by an army—by a man. A hunter."
A silence fell, then fear.
One of the younger vampires stood. "I'm not waiting around to see what comes next. I'm leaving this cursed land."
The group began to fracture. Even the cruelest of them began to look over their shoulders.
Back in the ruined city, Thierry slowly opened his eyes. His body was covered in bandages, his right side still throbbing from the vampire lord's strike.
Elise sat nearby, her armor stained, face tired.
"You're awake," she said softly.
Thierry grimaced as he tried to sit up. "We survived?"
"Barely," Elise nodded. "But yes. The vampire lord is dead."
Thierry's eyes widened. "How? Who killed him?"
"A hunter." She folded her arms. "He appeared out of nowhere. Fought like he'd done it a thousand times before. Killed that vampire like it was personal."
"Where is he now?"
Elise shook her head. "He left. Said he wasn't in the mood for talk. But… before he went, I pressed him. He said he was heading southwest. To Zen."
Thierry frowned. "Zen? That hellhole? Why the hell would anyone go there?"
She didn't answer.
After a beat, he muttered, "He must have his reasons. Maybe someone he's looking for… maybe revenge."
She nodded quietly.
Thierry groaned, rubbing his eyes. "Still. With Velkar dead… we've got an opportunity."
He looked up at her.
"Elise, we can turn this ruin into a fortress. A sanctuary. Get the survivors organized. Start bringing people here. We'll protect them."
She straightened her back. "You really think we can rebuild?"
"We have to." He stood slowly. "I'll head to the capital, report this to the commander. But this place… it's yours to lead."
Just then, a pair of revolutionaries entered the tent.
"Captain Thierry," one grinned, "some of the others are preparing a celebration. For the victory. The wine's already being poured."
Thierry gave a tired smile. "As long as I'm not expected to sing."
Elsewhere, on a lonely road southwest of the ruined city, Richard walked in silence, his blade resting against his back. The path was long, winding through thickets and broken watchtowers.
A sudden cry cut through the air.
He turned, vanishing from sight in an instant.
At the roadside clearing, a merchant wagon had been overturned. Goods were scattered. A group of bandits were threatening a young man and woman, clearly travelers.
"Take everything," one barked. "And make it fast."
One of the bandits shoved the man aside violently, knocking him unconscious. The others surrounded the terrified woman, shouting threats.
Then — slice.
The first bandit fell, a long slash across his chest. No one had seen where it came from.
The woman gasped and backed into the carriage.
"What the—?!"
"Who the hell's there?!"
Before they could act, another bandit was struck down. Then another. A blur of motion darted between trees.
"Show yourself, you bastard!" the last one yelled.
Shunk.
He collapsed before he could raise his blade.
Silence returned to the forest.
Richard stepped into view, his coat catching the breeze. His face was calm, unreadable.
He looked to the woman, who was now sitting in the back of the wagon, clutching a blanket, shaking.
He raised a hand gently, signaling her to stay calm.
He said nothing—just stood there. Watching. Making sure she was safe.
End of Chapter 8