I don’t want to be alone.

That’s all it came down to. I didn’t want to be alone. I couldn’t bear living alone. I would rather die than be alone.

But I would be alone in death. I was sure of that. I couldn’t believe in any grand vision of paradise, and I’d never met a single person who’d offer the path to paradise to a creature like me.

So I didn’t want to die. Beyond anything else, I just didn’t want to die. Even if it was a betrayal to those who’d been with me until now. I didn’t want to die. I was sure I wouldn’t be together with them in death―from now on, I could only feel their warmth in the memory of their smiles. I couldn’t allow that memory to end.

There was one more memory―an unexplainable little glimmer of beauty that I couldn’t let die.

I couldn’t yet see. I couldn’t yet speak. I couldn’t understand the world.

And yet I saw. I saw, and my mind formed words of meaning. And I understood all that I needed to understand.

I was held in someone’s arms―though they ran desperately throughout the dark, they nonetheless cradled me softly, gently, giving me the warmth that I needed to be sure that my world was still complete. And so I didn’t cry. No matter how hard the wind hit my tiny face, I didn’t whine. I entrusted my whole being to them.

To her.

But it didn’t last. It didn’t last nearly as long as it should’ve, though in truth I had no clue how long I would’ve wanted it to be. Perhaps a millennium. If we truly aren’t made to exist forever, then why is it that partings always come too soon, endings too suddenly?

Please, I don’t want to be apart from you. I want to be with you forever. Even though that feeling was all that went through my head, I knew the parting was inevitable. I knew that once we said goodbye, we would never see one another again.

As she laid me down on the ground, I at last began to cry. I could feel her intention. I desperately tried to hold on, but my infant form could put up no struggle. Though I cried and cried, she refused to pick me up again. She knew that she wouldn’t have the strength to leave me behind if she allowed herself that.

And so instead, she offered me a smile, wet with tears.

And then, ever so gently, she offered me a red kiss on the forehead.

Whether that kiss had managed to stop my tears from flowing or not, I don’t know. I can’t know.

―Why was it?

Why was it that I held such a memory, so crystal clear in the depths of my being, even though I had been too young for my brain to possibly be capable of registering it?

It’s because―I am a bloodsucking demon. I feed on blood, and I make others’ memories my own.

And as she―as my mother laid her bloody lips upon my forehead in front of the orphanage that day, a trail of blood must have flowed down my face alongside the tears, and entered me.

And then, I was given a piece of her soul―The sole memory I held of the woman who’d birthed me, a woman I would never know. Our story had ended before it began, and I would never be able to reclaim it. I understood that better than anyone.

And yet she’d given it to me―her love for me, and her sadness at our inevitable parting. Her ardent hope to never leave my side, even as she said her goodbyes to me forever.

And so I couldn’t die. I couldn’t give up this memory, this sad little teardrop of a reminiscence which had made me who I was. I would never allow it to leave my grasp.

When I finally awoke, a soft orange light had enveloped the world. We were in a deserted corner of the village close to the fields, the houses lined up some distance away.

“You’re finally up. What the hell happened to ya?”

What first caught my freshly opened eyes, though, wasn’t the sky but the faces curiously peering at me from above.

“Ahh… Good morning… No, I guess that’s not appropriate here.” My groggy mind took a while to adjust to consciousness. “How long have I been out?”

“About twenty minutes,” she replied. “No way we’re covering the whole village now.”

“I’m sorry.” I looked down. “I don’t know, I… I must have just been exhausted.”

“I’ve no doubt in my mind you’re exhausted, but that just now―there’s clearly more to it, is there not?” The priest looked knowingly at me from above, his already tall frame now feeling like a skyscraper from my vantage point.

“...” I didn’t reply to him as I rubbed the back of my head. Rafi helped me get my sluggish body up. My legs still felt wobbly, so I leaned on her a bit.

“If I must be the one to make it clear―that, was the condition of a vampire suppressing their bloodlust.”

“Oh.” Rosalia’s face lit up in understanding. I guess she must have been more used to gouging blood out of a vampire than minding how much they’ve got in them.

“It must have been quite some time since you last fed, come to think of it. Your benefactor passed away a few days prior, and you wouldn’t have had anyone else to rely on thereafter.”

“I… guess so. Then this is akin to making you hear my stomach gurgling. Haha, I apologize for my lacking manners.”

I tried to laugh it off, but the frailness of my voice must not have been very convincing.

A vampire’s immortality was like a perpetual motion machine. No matter what, they would not die, even from starvation. Therefore, in the strictest sense, the need for blood wasn’t a physiological one―it was a psychological one, closer to lust than hunger. Suppressing that urge could really take a toll on the mind―fainting like this wasn’t an uncommon result.

The priest sighed lightly. “It will disturb the investigation if you keep passing out like this. You ought to satisfy that urge.”

“A-and how would I do that, under the circumstances. Whose blood should I drink?”

“Would mine do?” Iscario gave a composed smile. “I may be a man of the cloth, but I don’t have any vampire-repellent toxins in my blood, I assure you.”

“W-wha―” “What!?” Rosalia’s shock far dwarfed my own. “Father Rozenkranz, are you seriously planning to give blood to a vampire!? You’re a―”

“I know what I am, Sister Rosalia,” he forcefully interrupted. “I haven’t forgotten my mission, and I never will. But I keep my word. I couldn’t in good faith call myself a believer if I didn’t.

“Compared to the lifespan of the divine Sun, my time on this Earth is akin to the moment it takes a raindrop to hit the ground, but even so I plan to lead that infinitesimal instant with honor. That’s what makes me, what makes us different from these wretched monsters.

“―So.” He glared sharply at the nun. “Do I have your approval?”

“...” Gulping, Rosalia eventually broke down under his gaze, and, looking away, she answered, “―Do what you hafta.”

“Then,” regaining his smile, Iscario followed up, “may I borrow your spear for a moment.”

Without another word, Rosalia produced her long silver weapon and handed it to the priest. He lifted up his sleeve and, without hesitation, used the sharp blade on the end of the spear to sever the flesh on his arm. The smell of iron reached my nostrils and made my instincts flare. I unconsciously took a step forward.

With an amused snort, Iscario extended his arm in my direction. “Go right ahead, Vio Valakia.”

“T-then… Thank you for the meal.” With uncertain yet undoubtedly willful movements, I closed the distance between myself and the tall man and extended my mouth towards his hemorrhaging wound.

As the water of life hit my tongue, my mind was once again assailed by memories not my own, another’s life becoming my own.

It was a small town like any other. Not small enough to be called rural, yet not big enough to be considered a city. The kind of place you’d pass through and never consider stopping by to visit―a boring, commonplace sight. But for its residents, that was enough. The adventurous types in search of a new life might move towards one of the fast-growing new cities, but those that stayed behind were those satisfied with a small life of peace and stability.

He, however, could not yet be fit into either of these categories, for the mere fact that he was too young to consider such issues or take such decisions. For a young boy like himself, every day amounted to a new adventure, a new experience, a fresh new thrill.

Saying goodbye to his mother, he rushed out of the house and towards one of his favorite spots―near the edge of the town, a park which connected to a nearby wooded area. The place felt like a peninsula―upon crossing into the green-filled land, you could continue on forever and only find more and more nature. Of course, in reality, both the park and the forest beyond it had their limits, but he had yet to be taught the lesson that everything in this universe has an end―he would never believe it, not unless he saw it with his own eyes.

Getting together with his usual group of friends, the youngsters set forth to explore the unknown. They had made it their mission to chart the entire forest―in reality, that task could have easily been accomplished in a single day, but as the children kept getting distracted time and time again with various games, so did their mission extend longer and longer. That didn’t matter to them in the slightest, though―They had no time limit. Even if they didn’t finish today, the forest would still be there the following day―something so unfathomably huge could never possibly vanish.

If human beings aren’t made to live forever, if the world isn’t made to last forever, then why is it that every goodbye feels like it’s uttered too soon, every ending come too soon?

They played in all manner of ways. They chased each other around the park, ducking and weaving between the greenery and the winding trees. They formed teams, taking each other out in mock warfare. When they got tired, they’d lay down on the grass, and look up at the blinding blue sky.

But a young boy like him had plenty of energy, and rest was hardly welcome. Of course, after tiring himself out for an entire day like this, he’d probably collapse into bed like a rock, but for now the idea of pacing himself never crossed his mind.

Still, his energy was a bit much for the rest of his friends, who didn’t want to budge from the grass. Fed up, he gave up on them, and decided to challenge his strength by himself. For someone like him, that meant only one thing―climbing a tree.

More so than being able to run fast or earn good grades, among children his age, the ultimate status symbol was being able to climb the tallest tree. Perhaps it was an inherent trait in the human heart, to admire the one who takes down the largest adversary. Be it surmounting a difficult challenge, taking down a terrible beast, or scaling a staggering mountain, everyone admired the one that was able to dominate something far greater than themselves―perhaps everyone thought that by doing so, they might prove themselves to be great and immovable as well.

Whatever the case, the child didn’t question it. Such ideas never even crossed his mind―in that moment, he simply wanted to see the sight from up there.

And so, arduously, painstakingly, he climbed the tree. Resting his feet on the grooves marked into the tree bark, holding onto the trunk with his arms for dear life, he slowly yet surely made his way up. This stage constituted the hardest part of the climb―once he was able to reach the branches, victory would be as good as his. Still, for now, he couldn’t relax. Any wrong step and he would be sent tumbling down shamefully. By now, all of his friends were watching him―he wouldn’t allow it. His hand could almost reach the branch―triumph was just a few inches away. And yet he couldn’t find any other surface to ascend on. It was as if the tree was made to taunt him, to show him victory and then snatch it away at the last moment.

And so, arduously, painstakingly, he climbed the tree. Resting his feet on the grooves marked into the tree bark, holding onto the trunk with his arms for dear life, he slowly yet surely made his way up. This stage constituted the hardest part of the climb―once he was able to reach the branches, victory would be as good as his. Still, for now, he couldn’t relax. Any wrong step and he would be sent tumbling down shamefully. By now, all of his friends were watching him―he wouldn’t allow it. His hand could almost reach the branch―triumph was just a few inches away. And yet he couldn’t find any other surface to ascend on. It was as if the tree was made to taunt him, to show him victory and then snatch it away at the last moment.

But he wouldn’t allow himself to lose. He was meant for greater things―he truly believed this, for no other reason than that life had yet to steal that inherent confidence from him. And in that moment, that confidence was all he needed.

He jumped, propelling himself upward towards the branch. It was a gamble―fail to take hold of it, and he would fall down hard, maybe even injure himself. But he couldn’t worry about a trifling thing like that―picture defeat in your mind and you’ve already lost. And so, with all his strength, he took hold of that branch, and using the momentum, he spun himself upwards, landing atop the branch. His friends were all cheering for him now, and for good reason. Truth be told, that movement was far beyond what a boy his age would normally be able to do. His natural physical prowess could even be called prodigal―not yet having any frame of reference, though, his pride was one bereft of arrogance.

Not wanting to stress the branch he sat on and break it, he quickly grabbed hold of another branch, and then another, slowly but surely getting farther up in the tree. Finally, he reached a branch sturdy enough that he could be sure it wouldn’t break, one near the very top. In truth, the tree wasn’t really all that tall, but it didn’t matter―he felt on top of the world. His friends now yelling his name like that of a king returned victorious from the battlefield only strengthened that feeling. As he leaned back, resting on the trunk behind him, he looked upon the park and the townscape beyond with satisfaction.

Thanks to the park being located on a hill relative to the rest of the town, the top of the tree was a good vantage point. He could see to the outer ring of buildings that bordered the empty plains beyond―and that’s why he might have been the first to notice the approaching discrepancy.

Eyebrow rising in incredulity, he looked to the sky. An immaculate blue, with no cloud in sight. He looked down again, at the ground. Beyond his friends, still looking at him with excitement on their faces, beyond the immediate vicinity―a shadow. The ground was dark, as if the sunlight had been blocked off by some giant curtain in the sky. And yet looking up again, he could plainly see that there was no such thing there. And then, as he looked back down, he noticed an undeniable fact.

The shadow had grown.

It was closer to them now. It had encroached through the buildings, and was making its way throughout the town. From his point of view it seemed like a slow advance, but in actuality it was moving at speeds far exceeding any vehicle to have ever been crafted by humanity without the use of magic.

He squinted his eyes. Something about the shadow was strange. He couldn’t tell if it was some kind of mirage or heat haze―the surface of the shadow almost appeared to be boiling.

Sizzling blackness wafted up from the ground and into the sky. As it got closer and closer, the true nature of that smoke made itself clear.

Bats.

Bats. Chiroptera. He had seen a book at the library before, one about animal species. He squinted even more, trying to discern what species the flying bats belonged to. However, his memory seemed to have failed him, for he just couldn’t fit them into any category.

Perhaps his mind was desperately trying to focus on the questions that even an ignorant child like him might answer. To pry him away from the foreign, unexplainable mass.

As the shadow encroached closer and closer, he noticed something else.

The people that stepped on it seemed to just vanish.

He blinked. He thought that maybe his vision was failing him. It must have been. But for the life of him, he could not see anyone through that dark miasma.

The enigma made no sound. There was no hint of alarm, no emergency signal, nothing to suggest any kind of calamity. It gave the boy a strange sense of ease. Like if he just closed his eyes and waited a while, a few seconds, a few minutes, a few hours, everything would be over and it’d all return to normal. Every storm passes. The people might get a little frustrated, a little sad, but they all go on with their daily lives eventually.

The shadow would soon reach the fence around the park. His friends were still entirely focused on him, still laughing at his achievement. He looked at them. He knew that he probably ought to say something, but his throat couldn’t produce anything beyond an inaudible rasp―no, perhaps it was his mind that couldn’t form any legible words of warning to offer.

At the back of the entourage, however, one little girl’s smile vanished from her lips. Perhaps she had noticed something unnatural in the boy’s expression. Truth be told, he’d had something of a crush on the girl for a while. Nothing he’d ever admit to, but he admired her calm, rational disposition and her considerate personality, qualities that the energetic boy sorely lacked.

Confused, the girl turned around to see what he’d been so rattled by. She turned around, and behind her, she saw―

Just a few feet of grass. Beyond that, nothing.

She hadn’t the time to make even a single sound.

Moments later, the boy’s friends were gone. There was no indication that they were ever there in the first place. There was no slow descent―it was like dropping a pebble into a lake. With a plop, without even any visible ripples in the shade, they’d been swallowed up.

His eyes remained fixed on that point below him, for a while. Suddenly, his eyes flitted upwards. Another change in the townscape. From the other side, the shadow was shrinking. No, rather, it was moving on. Whatever massive object could have projected a shadow like this, it was moving away from the town. Just like the boy had thought, it was true. Every storm passes. All the rain clouds clear up. And everyone returns―

He looked back down. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but the greenery of the park had returned. And then, where his friends ought to have been―

His mouth twitched. It twisted strangely.

―They were like raisins. Big, human-shaped raisins.

Hematolegion, the Nightless Night.

That was what it was called. What others called it. Whether it had any name for itself, no one knew, and no one would ever probably find out.

One of the world’s most ancient vampires. Reported sightings of the demon went back as far as fifty thousand years ago, though its true age was anyone’s guess. In truth, barely anything about its true nature was understood. All anyone knew about it―all they had to know―was that a life led without encountering it once was a fortunate life indeed.

And that a life that did encounter it would likely end right then and there.

It was less of a vampire than a voracious natural disaster, a calamity of malice. It was indiscriminate. It called no one its ally. Vampires and humans both lived in fear of it, for it made no distinction between the two.

It was called the Nightless Night for a very simple reason.

Like a tumor upon the Earth itself, it manifested out of the ground. Fusing with the very matter of the ground, it became a part of the land―and yet, like a blight upon the name of nature, it opposed life. Anything that stepped upon the sands of the Legion was mercilessly eaten―drained of all blood, left as nothing more than a dry husk littering the ground.

There was no conversation to be had, no reasoning, no begging to be done―What use was there in begging the winds to slow down or the rain to return to the sky?

That day, over ninety percent of the town’s population was erased in an instant. Inside or outside, it didn’t matter, for the calamity fused with dirt, concrete or the very foundations of buildings. The only ones spared were riding horses or other living creatures. The calamity was interested only in intelligent life. It spared all other parts of the wildlife.

The only other person spared―was a young boy, who happened to have climbed a tree, at the very moment the Legion appeared.

I blinked a few times. My throat felt oddly dry.

“Are you all right?” Noticing me staring blankly into nothing, Iscario asked me that as he patched up his bleeding hand. He didn’t sound particularly concerned.

“Oh, uh… Yeah, I’m fine.”

I shouldn’t be surprised that someone in his position has a past like that. It would have been strange to look at him with different eyes at this point. Viewing someone’s deepest memories like this was something I could never grow used to, but I’d at least learned a little tact throughout my years.

Shaking off all the unnecessary thoughts from my mind, I turned towards him with as sunny a disposition as I could summon.

“Thank you. I’m really grateful.”

“There’s nothing you should thank me for.” He shook his head. “Not considering our positions.”

“Regardless of anything else, you gave me a part of your life. That’s something I have to be grateful for, whatever else may happen between us.” I looked up into his thin indigo eyes.

“...I see. My apologies.” Shutting his eyes in concession, a tranquil smile crossed over his face. “Allow me to retract my previous statement then.”

“If you’re done here, what’s our next step?” Off to the side with her face turned away from us, Sister Rosalia asked impatiently, tapping her foot. That’s right. We have to go back to the investigation…

“There’s no point in hurrying anymore. Let us cover as much ground as we comfortably can in the time we have left. Do not let your haste drive you to unreasonable conclusions.” With the priest’s order, we finally got moving, with myself as the shameful rear guard. Rafi’s consoling pats on the back did little to raise my spirits, though I appreciated her efforts nonetheless.

Without splitting up this time, we managed to visit four more households. As expected, the results were nothing much to speak of, but since my expectations were nonexistent, I didn’t feel all that disappointed.

Since the questioning appeared to have taken on some kind of religious meaning for the villagers, we worried that the remaining ones that hadn’t received a visit would have felt alienated in some way. Accordingly, we decided to communicate that the last remaining few would also receive a visitation the following day. Afterwards, we left the houses behind as we advanced on the dirt road, the church looming quietly in the horizon.

And in front of that lonely building waited a single girl, her dark hair standing out against the dull gray of the walls behind her and absorbing all of the sky’s orange light. Noticing us, she adopted that thin smile of hers that I’d become so familiar with, and bowed deeply.

“I have no words to thank you, Father, for spending your precious time entertaining my request.”

“Nonsense. Please, raise your head,” Iscario said, looking down at her with a gentle countenance. “Were I unable to lend an ear and ease the hearts of believers like you, my title would be worthless.”

“You’re far too kind.” Bowing once more in gratitude, she then turned and indicated the church behind her―or, more specifically, the small dirt road leading towards the back of the church. “Please, follow me.”

And so we began following behind the young woman, who advanced with unhurried yet determined steps. Behind me, I noticed Rafi hesitate for a few moments, but before I could ask her anything, she too started quietly following along.

Uncertain of our destination, we made sure not to overtake Olga, maintaining the slow rhythm of her deliberate gait. We soon overtook the church, and then continued on through a field of grain that the dirt road ran through, the tall golden crops grazing us as they blew in the evening wind.

Once that field, too, ended, we still kept going, ascending the slight incline of a hill. In the distance beyond us, we could see the tops of trees as we got closer to the eastern edge of the forest.

And eventually, below the crowns of those trees, another shape came into view.

“Is that…?” I mumbled instinctively.

Sticking out of the ground was a clearly man-made shape. Made of roughly cut stone, the rectangular structure bore a wooden ornament atop it―its craftsmanship could hardly be praised, but the clumsy symbol was nonetheless easy to read. It was a Luminary.

What stood before us was a grave.

Stopping in our tracks, all of us looked on in silence. Though no name was engraved upon it, we were nonetheless able to deduce who it belonged to.

“That’s right,” Olga said. “This is Father Ixio’s grave.” She turned to a wide-eyed Rosalia. “It’s not much, but the village gathered together to build it. I wanted to show you that, even in our inadequate, foolish way, we truly did grieve over his loss.”

As the nun flapped her lips open before closing them again, ultimately unable to come up with anything in response, the priest approached the grave. He kneeled down in front of it and, clasping the Luminary hanging from his own neck, closed his eyes in silent prayer.

“The role of traveling priest is a harsh and thankless one. Before anyone can truly come to appreciate their work, they’ve already moved on to their next destination. I may not have known Father Ixio myself, but I have no doubt that he was a truly selfless man to be able to perform that role. I believe he would have been glad to learn that his resting place would be one where he’d be shown so much consideration.” Iscario’s soliloquy was sincere, his solemn and level tone clearly filled with emotion.

“Hearing that means the world to me, father.” Olga said. “His work truly was thankless. He risked his life every day, and let no one know of it.”

Hearing her words, the priest suddenly turned a confronting gaze to her. Unperturbed, Olga continued, the smile still plastered on her face.

“I learned of Father Ixio’s true occupation―slaying vampires, yes?” Her admission filled my mind with danger signals, but she continued on smoothly. “Getting it out of him was truly difficult. I had guessed that there must have been more to him than a simple priest, but he truly insisted on keeping that aspect of himself hidden. Doubly so, it seemed, from those of us who are ignorant about such matters.”

“―But he did tell you, in the end,” the priest said.

“Indeed. I was quite persistent myself, to say the least,” she said, looking off to the side as if embarrassed of the memory. “But, Father Rosenkranz, Sister Rosalia―am I incorrect in assuming that you, too, perform a similar duty?”

The two clergy members shared a look, before also meeting my eyes. Eventually, Iscario stood up from his crouching position and, turning to face the young woman head on, gave his reply.

“―You aren’t mistaken.” He bowed to her, putting a hand to his chest. “Of the 6th Division of the Thirteenth Chamber of the Phaethon, number IV, Iscario T. Rosenkranz. My apologies for keeping it hidden from you.”

“You needn’t waste your breath apologizing to me, father.” She gave a kind look to Sister Rosalia too, whose head was downturned. “Knowing that you were his compatriots, I’m even more glad that I invited you here.”

She hadn’t once looked in my direction. Even though she now knew that the two were vampire hunters, I was unable to tell whether or not she had put any of the pieces together regarding who―what I really was. Unable to ask one way or the other, I simply stood there, petrified, as I took in the scene.

For a few moments, a deep silence permeated into the air as Olga gazed at the gravestone, her thin smile indecipherable. However, as she turned to look at Rafi, who’d been quietly standing off to the edge of the gathering, that smile faded from her face.

With heavy footsteps, she approached the unmoving younger girl. She gently put her arms around her shoulder, and in a firm yet regretful tone, addressed her.

“Rafflesia. I’m sorry to ask this of you, and I know that it’s nothing more than my own selfish desire, but I can’t bear the thought of them not knowing about his deed. Will you allow me to tell them?”

Receiving this question head-on, Rafi’s face remained expressionless. After an instant, however, she turned her face away from Olga’s intense gaze.

In a low voice, she replied. “I… I wasn’t trying to hide it. I don’t mind.”

“I see,” Olga said. “Thank you. And I truly am sorry.” She gave the blank-faced girl a tight hug. Below the now dimming, purplish hue of the sky, the two ebony-haired girls appeared as sisters.

And then, releasing her, Olga once again turned to the priest. “I apologize. When I told you the circumstances of Father Ixio’s passing, I hid certain details from you. I will now tell you everything.”

Her voice was resolute. Iscario accepted her declaration, waiting in silence for her to continue.

“During the storm, a house did collapse, and a piece of debris was about to crush someone. Father Ixio pushed that person out of the way, saving their life. And in the process, he took their place, and died under the rubble.”

As we listened to her clear words, we put the pieces together ourselves, and the realization dawned on us before she could actually mouth the words. Nonetheless, she didn’t spare us from the truth.

“That person was Rafflesia.”

As she made her devastating confession, I faced away from her. And as I did, a single thought, arbitrary and entirely unbefitting for the scene at hand, nonetheless crossed my mind.

Why… aren’t there any other graves here?

The four of us walked back on the dirt path crossing through the field. Olga had decided to stay behind. By now, the sky had already darkened significantly, though the tense silence between us dispersed any feeling of refreshment the moon might have given me.

Rafi walked along slowly, showing no sign of any particular emotion, even as the priest glared coldly down at her.

Finally, he asked her directly. “Why did you keep that hidden from us?”

“...I didn’t,” she said clearly, not gazing back. “You just didn’t ask.”

He smiled sardonically. “You didn’t think that might have been an important detail?”

“No.” Another clear reply, bereft of hesitation. “I don’t know what you would consider important.”

Looking at her nonchalant attitude, he sighed. “As it stands, it’s impossible to know whether there’s more that you aren’t telling us. We need to properly communicate. Neglecting that was my failure.”

As we left the field behind and neared the church grounds, father Iscario became determined to seriously question Rafi. I looked between the two, the back of my neck covered in cold sweat. I had to say something.

Eventually, just as we were about to circle the church, I spoke up, awkwardly loud in my delivery. “U-um! I have something to talk about with you, father!”

“Huh?” Bewildered, he turned to me. “Well, what’s keeping you?”

“I…” Stealing a glance at Rosalia and Rafi, I replied weakly. “...Not here. Can we talk privately?”

“Hold on a second, what’re you up to now―?” Rosalia snarled at me, but Iscario raised his palm to signal her to back off.

“Very well. I’ll hear you out.”

Father Iscario and I remained at the back of the church while the two girls moved on further on the path. The tall man looked down expectantly on me as he leaned his back against the stone wall.

“So, then, allow me to hear your confession,” he said, gently urging me on with a smile.

“I, um―” Unsure of how to reveal this fact to him, I hesitated for a few moments, trying to gather my words. Finally, not wanting to test his patience, I just blurted out an apology. “Look, I’m sorry. I know I should’ve talked about this sooner, but I had no idea how to take it, and I just―”

“It’s fine. I won’t judge you. That’s not my role―not right now, at least. So just come out with it.”

“...Okay. The truth is, when I sucked Rafi’s blood, I saw something really alarming in her memories.”

“Oh?”

“It was… a woman. She…” As I felt the memory replay in my mind, as clear as if it were my own, I struggled to string together a sentence that could accurately describe its atrocity. “―They killed her.”

“What―?” He stood up straight, widening his eyes.

“They killed her, Father! They murdered her right in front of me―no, right in front of Rafi.” Left without any pretty words to dress that truth in, all I could do was spit it out, like I was coughing up something disgusting which just wouldn’t leave my mouth however much I tried.

“Slow down, Valakia. What did you see? Who committed the crime, and where?”

“I―I don’t know, it was a bunch of men I couldn’t recognize. Rafi was peeking through a door that was slightly ajar, so I couldn’t see much of anything in the room.”

“What does this mean…?” Iscario frowned, putting a hand to his chin―even he couldn’t remain cool in the face of such a revelation.

However, I wasn’t done―I gripped his sleeve and looked up at him. His eyes widened, waiting for me to continue, more out of stunned speechlessness than consideration. “I thought there must have been some kind of mistake when I saw her. I figured I must have misunderstood something. It’s a contradiction that’s just too strange for me to rationalize.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Father, the woman that was killed―

“Her face... She looked just like that Olga. Their faces were identical.”

Regrouping with the others, we walked together below the dark sky. The village lights now felt like they affirmed its life as, once again, plenty of villagers walked about or spoke to each other in the yards of their homes, laughing boisterously.

Iscario walked quickly, a gulf having formed between him and the rest of us trailing behind which none of us felt inclined to close. It was clear that he was deep in thought.

I took a look at Rosalia. She had been eyeing me suspiciously. Noticing my gaze, she spoke up.

“I don’t know what the hell you and Father Rozenkranz talked about, but just so you know, I really don’t appreciate having you sneaking around behind my back.”

“R-right… Sorry about that.”

“But…” she hesitated, overtaking me with her fast steps. “Well, for now I guess I’ll choose to trust in you―in your spineless character, that is.” With that performatively insulting line, and refusing to show me her expression, she walked on ahead, leaving Rafi and I behind. I couldn’t help but grin wryly.

And then, as I turned to look behind me, I saw Rafi, having momentarily stopped, looking out at the church in the distance. Without any lights burning in the building, its silhouette was just barely distinguishable against the darkness beyond, only slightly illuminated by the village next to it.

“I wonder if she’s still out there at that gravesite…” I idly mumbled. Rafi gave no reply. As I turned to face the transfixed girl, I felt compelled to ask her a question.

“Say, Rafi… Were you happy to see her?”

“Olga…?” she asked uncertainly. “...I see her every day.”

“Doesn’t change my question. Were you happy?”

Momentarily staying silent, she turned back to the church. Then, still facing it, she said, “...I was happy. But… maybe I was also a little bit sad. I wonder why.”

“If you feel sad, it must be because something sad happened.”

She never said another word. She just kept on watching the church, not with any intense desire to keep its details burned in her memory but as if simply anxious to let the sight disappear from view.

Once I reached the mayor’s house, I split up from Rafi and went inside. Rosalia and Iscario had arrived there quicker, and it seemed that they’d secluded themselves in their respective rooms immediately. I wasn’t all that tired, having just fed, on top of having woken up in the afternoon, but with nothing left to do I soon decided to go to bed myself.

I wasn’t sure how much time had passed until my rude awakening, but it clearly hadn’t been a full night’s sleep. The reason I had gotten up so early was thanks to an unexpected intruder.

I had no idea how, but a giant black bird had snuck into my basement room and was cawing as loudly as it could. As I groggily looked up at it, I realized it was a cormorant―likely the very same one Rafi had christened before. In other words, Helga.

Seeing me get up, Helga thrust its chest at me insistently. Wrapped around its trunk was a pouch which held an envelope.

“A message…? …Is this for me?”

The bird, naturally, just continued staring at me, producing no answer. I reached out my hand and took the black envelope out from the pouch wrapped around Helga. It bore the sigil of Heliocentrism on it.

Cautiously, I opened the envelope and read the letter within.

“Hello? I’m here, but…” Opening the creaky wooden door, I entered the dusty space that had become so familiar to me―the storage shed where the crime had been committed.

“Ahh, finally, there you are, Vio Valakia. Sorry for the roundabout summons.” Iscario, standing on top of the crate opposite to the entrance, welcomed me with a pleased look, while Rosalia off to the side acknowledged me with the briefest glance before returning her gaze to the opposite wall.

“What’s going on? If this is about the investigation, can’t it just wait until daytime, when Rafi can join us?”

“Now, now, all in due time.” He was plainly evading the question. Sending a dubious glance at him, I leaned against one of the crates along the wall.

“Tell me, Vio Valakia,” he began with an impenetrable smile, “do you feel responsible for that girl only because you believe you’ve saved her life? Or have you become attached to her simply because, right now, you have nothing left but her?”

“...Is that supposed to be a rhetorical question?”

“Not at all. Please, give me your answer.”

He had the eyes of a judge. Or maybe he just looked that way through the eyes of a sinner. “...It’s probably a bit of both.” I was going to wait for my sentence with as defiant a smile as I could muster. “It doesn’t take much to capture the heart of an old man like me. I suppose I’m just waiting to see her smile.”

“Hmph.” The priest nodded. “My thanks to you. That answer will be of reference.”

“Huh?”

He hopped off of his crate and approached me.

“I want to try a little practical experiment that I require your help for.”

“Oh, o-okay. If it’s for the case, sure.”

“Brilliant. Then, please, bring out your chiropteran friend, would you?”

“You need Morry? Well, alright…” Still uncertain of his intentions, I summoned Morry out of my body. He chirped happily at seeing me, until―

“Kiiiii~”

Iscario grabbed him by the torso, provoking a terrified squeak. Not minding it in the slightest, he examined its wings and poked around at it. I was about to complain to him that he was being too rough, but as Morry was technically nothing more than a part of me, the awkwardness of such a request stopped me in my tracks.

“Very well.” Satisfied, he finally unhanded Morry, who immediately flew back behind me. “Sister Rosalia, prepare the scene.” Saying so, he grabbed a rope from on top of one of the crates and handed it over to Rosalia. Grumbling, the nun headed outside with it.

“Huh?” I sent a questioning look to the priest, but he ignored me. Moments later, I heard the roof of the shed creaking. Through the gaps in the wooden planks, I could see Rosalia crawling on top of it. She passed the rope through one of the larger gaps at the top of the roof, and tied a knot around the plank. Then, she dropped the rest of the rope into the shed.

Grabbing the free end, Iscario took out a certain object from within his coat and tied the rope around it.

“And with that, the stage is set.” He smiled with satisfaction at the contraption.

“Is that…?”

“Indeed it is.”

“...”

Rosalia soon came back into the shed. With all of us present, Iscario turned to me again.

“Now then, what I need is for your bat familiar to hold this up over to that side of the room.” He held up the end of the rope, and with it―the stake attached to it.

“...” I was a bit concerned about having Morry come that close to the stake, but I couldn’t refuse at this point.

“Morry, please.” The little bat squeaked hesitantly but approached the rope nonetheless, grabbing it with its legs and holding it up above the entrance.

“Now then, when I give the signal, I want it to let go of it.” He then eyed Rosalia, who grabbed a large sack from a corner of the room and, carrying it in front of her chest, moved to the spot where I’d found Rafi collapsed before.

After a brief moment of silence, Iscario, eyeing everyone in the room, clapped his hands. “Now, release!”

And once Morry let go of the rope, the stake swung in a wide arc, flying past me and traversing the entire length of the room and―stabbing directly into the sack in Rosalia’s arms.

“Aha!” Studying the weapon embedded into the bag, the priest whistled in satisfaction. “Perfect. Now then, could you have your vampire chew through that knot holding the rope up?”

“Well, I’ll have him try. Morry, can you do it?”

Squeaking in affirmation, the bat flew up and vigorously chewed through the rope. The rope didn’t appear to be made of particularly sturdy fabric, because a few minutes into his attack, the last thread was cut, and the rope fell unceremoniously to the ground in a bunch. Morry flew triumphantly back to me.

Putting his hands together, the priest applauded the display. “Wonderful! My eternal gratitude to you, it’s exactly what I needed to see. Ah, you can put away your bat now.”

For the moment, I acquiesced, inviting Morry into my arms. He energetically flew directly into my chest, going inside my shirt through the collar and then phasing inside my body, once again becoming a part of me.

However, I was still unsure of Iscario’s intentions. Of course, I could tell he was trying to demonstrate a trick used in the crime, but I didn’t see how this could be applied at all.

“Uhm, so, is this―”

“Don’t be in a hurry now. Let’s take it one step at a time. So, with that done…” Iscario put his hand to his chin and thought for a while, pacing around the room. Rosalia took that as a sign to unceremoniously drop the bag to the ground, and go back to leaning against the wall.

“Right.” Coming to some kind of conclusion, Iscario took his seat once more on the crate at the back of the room, and set his gaze firmly on me. “Say, Vio Valakia…”

“...What?”

“Are you proud to have saved that girl?”

“Huh?”

“From our perspective, all you’ve done is spawn another accursed heretic into this world―but that’s surely not how you see it? You believe you’ve rescued an innocent girl from the jaws of tragic death, do you not?”

“I―”

“The sentiment, alone, I can praise. You may be a heretical wretch, but your intentions were pure. That may mean nothing to my faith, but it does to me.

“However,” he said, his face suddenly growing stern, “are you prepared to shoulder the burden of responsibility for the one whom you’ve saved?”

“Responsibility?”

“Salvation doesn’t come through one single act alone.” The priest stood up from the crate and began walking towards me. “Are you ready to see it through to the end? To truly save her? Or will you just satisfy yourself with the meager act of prolonging her life but a little?” Stepping right in front of me, peering down at my face, he continued. “Are you even capable of anything more than that, Vio Valakia? You can’t even imagine what it means for someone to depend on you, do you? You, who’s lived solely by consuming the goodwill and the blood of others?”

“I…” My mouth would open and then close again, but no other noise came out. I couldn’t muster any more of an answer than that.

Iscario kept peering down at me, his eyes stabbing into me. Frozen together like that, neither of us moved for a significant amount of time, significant insofar as every fraction of a second felt deeply painful. A few torturous moments later, however, Iscario released me with a smile.

“Be glad, for I will spare you from that burden shortly.”

“Huh?”

He walked back to the crate with light steps, and resumed his monologue from a totally different direction. I could barely follow along, and I had certainly failed to see what he was getting at.

“You’ve noticed how strange this village is, right?”

“W-well, yeah, somewhat.”

“I’ve been trying to put a finger on what the nature of this strangeness really is. I hadn’t planned on giving it much thought, as I figured it had nothing to do with our case, but it just kept bugging me. Naturally so, considering it wound up being key to the whole affair.”

“What do you mean?”

“Truth be told, this is slightly embarrassing for me to admit. It wounds my professional pride slightly,” he said with a bashful laugh. “―That I’d failed to notice it for so long, I mean.”

“...” Beads of sweat formed on my forehead.

“Well, let’s address it in order, shall we?” He produced a black leather-bound notebook from within his coat, and opened it to a page around the middle. So he’d been taking notes the entire time?

“A small village like this, locked between a forest and a mountainous valley, not present on any known maps.” He began pacing back and forth along the width of the shed, his profile in darkness, lit from the other side by the sole torch in the room. “Their trade with the outside world is at an absolute minimum―could they really provide for an entire population like this? Even if they could, it can’t be a comfortable life. What reason would they have to remain isolated like this?”

Reaching the wall, he turned in the opposite direction.

“There is not a single medical expert of any kind in this village. Even if there is no doctor, I would have at least expected there to be an apothecary or something of the sort. But no, that’s not the case. According to the mayor, ‘it’s not a village where a medicine man would want to reside’. Perhaps because there’d be no reason for one.”

Once more, he turned around.

“The villagers are rarely seen around during the daylight. There are few residents to begin with, and Rhizanthes Valpurga claimed that they’re concerned with their own jobs. But even so―it’s far too desolate. And yet, when the Sun goes down, exactly when you’d expect the village to be at its most desolate―the people strangely come out of their homes.”

Once more, he turned around.

“The church has no protection against blasphemous creatures―the previous priest allegedly passed away a few years ago, but there’s no sign that he ever got a formal education as a priest for the Heliocentric Church. And conveniently enough, he’s absent.”

Yet again, he turned around, and walked to the center of the room.

“But perhaps, most compelling of all―” Iscario said, pausing his pacing and turning to me, “―is you, Vio Valakia.”

“Huh?”

He began walking again, this time slowly approaching me.

“This entire situation we find ourselves in rides on one lone miracle. Without it, I would not be talking to you like this, nor would you have any ears to hear me with. That miracle is you, a weak vampire far below the line of mediocrity, so powerless that he cannot even competently run away, let alone threaten us in any way, shape or form―could somehow manage turn a human into a vampire, a feat that not even those millenia-old bloodsuckers of infamy are steadily able to accomplish. What kind of odds would that require? What ridiculous turn of fate would that be? And most of all―what right have you, a heretic, to be granted a miracle? Once I began thinking that way, the conclusion was a foregone one.”

The priest stopped centimeters away, looking down on me with eyes obscured in shadow.

“S-so you’re saying that―” Feeling lightheaded, I held my head in my hands. He has to be wrong. It doesn’t make any sense like this!

“Yes. You didn’t turn Rafflesia Valpurga into a vampire, because she already was a vampire to begin with. Because this entire rotten village―” he said, his voice as even as ever, just calm enough to obscure the venom seeping in, “―is nothing more than a nest of bloodsuckers.”

“That’s not true!” I stood up, ready to push the man away from me, but the piercing glare of Rosalia stabbing into me from behind him sat me back down. “That… That doesn’t make any sense…!”

“Why use the Sealing Sacrament as a weapon if the victim was a mere human? It had stood out to me, but I hadn’t given it much thought. I figured the culprit had just arbitrarily chosen it because it fit their purposes. But that doesn’t make much sense, does it? The late Number X’s belongings were kept in the mayor’s home. In other words, the sacrament must have been kept there as well. Even with their lax security measures, the culprit would have had to steal it, which would be an added risk they wouldn’t take for no reason, not when the hunters’ storehouse is left unlocked and plainly accessible to anyone.

“But if we consider the victim to be a vampire and not a human, suddenly it makes a lot more sense. I suppose strictly speaking this was never a murder, but as long as Rafflesia Valpurga had that stake stabbed into her, she would be rendered immobile.”

“Wait, wait, wait―” No, I still couldn’t accept it. “How do you explain the villagers that died? The priest, or the mayor’s family, or―”

“You sure are quick to take their word, aren’t you? Well, you are one of them, so it only stands to figure. But I’m not so naive. They could very well have been lying to make themselves seem more human. Even if you want to take them at their word, it could very well be that they were just caught by a hunter upon exiting the village. For a vampire, that might as well be death.”

The graveyard with only one grave flashed through my mind once more.

“Okay, well, you mentioned the church earlier. Why would a vampire village even have a church, priest or not?”

“Camouflage, maybe?” he replied, undeterred. “It would be suspicious to find a village without a church, considering that almost all rural populations are dominantly believers―Well, that’s a suitable explanation, but the majority of villagers we’ve encountered seem to be deeply pious, and on that front I don’t doubt them. Tell me, have you heard of the Ecliptic Church?”

They’d made the news a few years ago. A cult of people who worshipped vampires as divine beings. Their leader, a weak vampire, held absolute control over them, and used them not only to escape extermination, but also to satisfy his every desire. He was eventually captured by the Heliocentric Church, and the human followers are still being monitored.

“Cults can be formed around anything. Humans worshipping vampires was certainly a strange sight to behold, but the believers weren’t just human. Some vampires had taken part as well, and by all accounts it wasn’t just manipulation―they truly believed the doctrine. Of course, I don’t doubt that it was easy to buy into a faith that held them up as deities, but the argument stands: vampires are just as capable of religious beliefs as humans. And that’s what I believe is happening here. A true perversion of our doctrine, only Heliocentric by name, one that heretics can use to mollify their wretched guilt at existing.”

He spoke with disdain at the very idea. He was clearly convinced of the truth of his claims, but I couldn’t give in.

“T-then, if they’re vampires, why all the hunting and the farming? They wouldn’t need to eat to begin with!”

“Oh? You don’t need to eat either, yet I saw you chowing down happily on Sapria Valpurga’s food all the same. Why do you assume they wouldn’t want to eat just because they don’t have to? You seem to think a village of vampires would be quite an alien bunch. You could stand to have a little more empathy for your fellow kind.”

“Then!” I still couldn’t back down here. “A village of vampires wouldn’t have any old people in it, would it? How do you explain that?”

“A vampire can look old if they really want to, you know? But you’re right, it wouldn’t be very logical to go out of one’s way to look elderly, even if it was for the sake of appearances.

“―However, I’ve only ever seen people up to their middle age here, you know? When we went to question every single household in the village, I didn’t catch a single person that looked over fifty. Did you?” As he gave me a moment to reply, I could only return silence. “They couldn’t all be bedridden, could they?”

“Wait, you’re wrong!” Remembering something I could grasp onto, I yelled excitedly. “What about the first villager we met after Rafi, huh? Old man Bolo! There’s your counterexample!”

Iscario smiled amusedly, like I’d just danced impeccably within the palm of his hand. “You’re right, that Bolo Bolobo certainly acted like an old man. His voice sounded like one too. And everyone called him an old man.”

“So―”

“But―you don’t really know that he’s an old man, do you? After all, you’ve never seen his face.”

“Ah!”

His smile widened. “His face was almost entirely hidden by bandages. I don’t know about you, but I couldn’t clearly spot a single wrinkle between them. So? Can you confidently say he’s an old man?”

“...” There was no point in budging any further. The seed of doubt had sprouted inside me, and he could tell.

“So? May I continue my explanation?”

“No, wait, I―” I still couldn’t just give in. “Whose blood are they sucking then? I’d definitely go crazy if I didn’t regularly get blood! You’re not gonna tell me they kidnap random travelers and eat them, are you?”

“Why would they? There’s a much simpler way―they’re just sucking each other’s blood.”

“―Huh?”

“You ought to get it. You’ve done it yourself too, now, after all―I don’t suppose you could give me a taste comparison, could you?”

“B-but…?”

“You’ve never met another vampire in your life, Vio Valakia. I suppose it stands to reason that you’re ignorant. But why assume that a vampire couldn’t just suck another vampire’s blood?”

“But then why…?”

“Why drink human blood? I couldn’t say. Some have claimed they can feel the difference, and don’t like vampire blood. Maybe it’s for the same reason you and I don’t eat dragon meat all the time―pure convenience.

“And come to think of it now, it was the very memories you extracted from the blood of a vampire that gave me the final push I needed to accept this theory.”

I understood which scene he meant―any time I was reminded of it, it bubbled up to the surface like boiling blood from a hemorrhaging wound.

“Rafflesia Valpurga saw with her own eyes a woman that looked just like Olga Eulogia being killed―and yet, with our own eyes we can see Olga Eulogia alive and well. She might be able to lie, but her memories cannot. And so we have to take it as truth. And there’s only one way in which a woman coming back to life like that could be true―within this world now empty of Magic, the only way to revive from a wound that serious without a priceless artifact would be for her to be a vampire.”

“...” Even though it overturned all my preconceptions about this incident, the explanation seemed to fit. But no matter how much my mind seemed to agree, a deeper, core conception within me rejected the claim. I didn’t even want to hear his voice anymore. Is it just my pride? Had I just wanted to believe that I saved that girl?

“Now then,” seeing me fail to protest any further, Iscario, stealing a glance at his notebook, swiftly moved along in his itinerary. “With the setting out of the way, let us focus on the particulars. As for how this crime was committed―well, not that it can really be called a crime anymore―my earlier demonstration should suffice. I trust you can connect the dots yourself, but if not, I’ll go over it again.

“In preparation, the culprit tied the Sealing Sacrament to one end of the rope, and the other to the ceiling of the shed, through the gaps in the wooden planks. It must have been difficult to secure the Sacrament in place, considering he couldn’t touch it himself, but with a deft hand it’s feasible.

“Then, leaving the shed himself, he left his bat familiar in place to hold up the rope end with the weapon. Like that, he could create an alibi for himself and remove suspicion. And then when the victim walked in, locking the door behind her and then walking to her family’s crate, the bat released the rope and commenced the attack.

“I suspect the culprit didn’t actually expect the victim to lock the door behind her, as that only complicated his plans. He must not have realized the door was locked, for if he had he would have had the bat unlock it for him, since I presume he wanted to retrieve the inert body later.

“Either way, after that, he had the bat chew through the rope on both ends, undoing the knots, and then dragged the rope through the same hole that your bat used to enter into the shed to begin with. With that done, all traces of the trick were gone, and it appeared as if someone had merely gone in and stabbed Rafflesia Valpurga directly.”

“...Would the momentum of the swinging rope really have been enough for a deadly wound like that?”

“I imagine the wound would’ve been quite shallow. If the victim was a human, it might not have been enough to kill them. But that doesn’t matter for a vampire. The culprit didn’t care what kind of wound it was, after all, he just wanted the Sealing Sacrament stabbed into her.”

“But he couldn’t guarantee that it would stab her in the heart that way!”

“True, it wouldn’t have been a thorough elimination. But I trust you’re aware of the properties of the Sealing Sacrament?”

“...”

“For an average vampire, even being stabbed somewhere other than the heart would lead to paralysis, albeit only of the body―the mind would still be fully conscious. And that was all the culprit needed, to paralyze her. She wouldn’t be dead either way, so what difference would it make for him?”

He had seemingly thought of everything.

“Is that all? Well then, that’s my explanation over and done with. Shall we leave this dreary place once and for all?”

“W-wait!”

“Huh? What now? Have you come up with some other point of doubt? I’ll happily clear it up for you.”

“No, it’s not that, but… what about the culprit? Who did this anyway, and why? You didn’t mention any reason why someone would have wanted to kill―to harm Rafi. Why would someone have it out for a young girl like her?”

“Again, you sure take everything at face value, Vio Valakia. She may look like a young girl, but she could very well be older than you.

“But hm… Motive, huh―well, who knows? Could have been anything.” Iscario lightly shrugged his shoulders.

“What!? That’s not an answer!” I yelled at him with all I had, halfway taking out my frustration on him. “How can you say you solved anything like―”

“You seem to be misunderstanding something.” His stern voice cut me off. “I’ve made a promise to you to solve one innocent girl’s cruel murder, so that we may lay her to rest for good. What I didn’t promise to do was speculate on the intentions of a pack of angry vampires. That doesn’t concern me in the slightest. Their destination is annihilation at our hands―until that moment, they can stab one another all they want.”

“―” His cold words were dripping with venom. It wasn’t like I had ever doubted his allegiance, but it was only at that moment that I could truly feel hatred emanating from him. I couldn’t take my eyes away from it.

“......Stop glaring at me like that, would you? What I’m saying is perfectly true, you know? I’m only adhering to the terms of our agreement. But―ah, well, I suppose a slight bit of speculation couldn’t hurt. Let’s call it satisfying our intellectual curiosity.”

“Huh?” He had given in incredibly easily. His visage instantly returned to his mild-mannered gentle persona too. What was he thinking?

“Let’s see. If I had to take a guess, I’d say the motive has everything to do with the story we heard about the demise of our poor comrade.”

“Ah! That’s right!” Somehow the contradiction had slipped my mind. “If Rafi is a vampire, then why would that hunter give his life to save her? It makes no sense!”

“It’s unseemly to grab onto every bone thrown at you like that, you know?” He commented, raising his eyebrow at me. It might be pathetic, but I’ll take whatever I can get, damn it! “But regardless, don’t just take the story at face value again. See, just like a religious text requires interpretation, sometimes you have to look at a level below the literal to arrive at the truth. So let’s interpret this tall tale a little bit, shall we?

“When you get down to it, the core of the story is such: because of Rafflesia Valpurga’s incompetence and inattentiveness, Number X lost his life. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“I would not agree with that victim-blaming phrasing, but I suppose someone could put it that way if they really wanted to,” I said, my disdainful look not affecting him in the least.

“So then, let’s take that core and apply it to the new facts we’ve uncovered. What results from that might go a little like this:

“Number X arrives in the village, which for our vampire fellows is quite a conundrum. However, as long as they don’t give away their nature to him, they might yet skirt away unnoticed until he leaves. That must have been their hope, and yet―during some interaction with Rafflesia Valpurga, she must have given away that she’s a vampire. With no choice left, she killed him. That might have extinguished the danger momentarily, but a hunter dying here would probably be discovered eventually, and when it is, the probability of them being found out and exterminated would rise considerably.

“The town becomes full of anxiety after that. Everyone awaits the day when someone will finally come for them. And amidst that tense situation, someone develops a grudge against the one who put them in that circumstance to begin with. Perhaps their goal is to knock her out and sell her to the church in order to save themselves―a foolish notion, but I’ve seen such bargaining attempts before. Either way, that’s one possible explanation.”

“That’s it? The culprit is just ‘someone’? And you have no proof to ground that story at all.” I said, though my protests lacked any vitality at this point.

“Certainly, it is just speculation. But as a preliminary motive, it should suffice. If you’re really unsatisfied, I could always get the truth out of the culprit one way or another and inform you later.”

“...” I bit my lip in frustration. Is this really it…?

“Very well! With that out of the way, let us go?”

“Go? …Go where?”

“Back to the village, naturally.” Iscario smiled widely. “Let us test our theory.”

On the way back to the village, I had to force my trembling legs to keep up with the briskly walking priest and the nun beside him.

“U-um, how exactly are you planning to prove your hypothesis?”

“Hypothesis, huh? Well, perhaps I should give the first person we meet a papercut and see what happens,” he said in a light tone. “―Or perhaps a little more than a papercut.”

“―” Since he walked ahead of me, I couldn’t see Iscario’s face. I didn’t have the courage to ask whether he was being serious or not.

Left without any other words to say, I continued my walk up to the gallows, or at least what felt like it. I didn’t know how long we’d spent in that shed, but the sky had already begun to slowly but surely lighten up.

We soon passed the forest, and a few minutes later we were on the cusp of reaching the clustered houses. I desperately wanted to slow down, to have some time to think, yet my feet raced to catch up to the priest nonetheless―I was mercilessly dragged forward like some mutt on a leash.

“Hm?”

And while my mind raced hopelessly, the priest registered the familiar figure walking ahead of us. One who’d been on all of our minds thanks to the earlier discussion.

Swaying on unsteady steps was old man Bolo Bolobo, or at least the individual masquerading as such. His bandaged, mummy-like figure was unmistakable.

“...” I narrowed my eyes, observing him from behind. No matter what, I couldn’t see him as anything other than a withered elder. Could he really just be putting on an act that convincing? I looked up at Iscario, finding his eyes full of similar scrutiny.

Without any regard for our suspicion though, the man simply went on tottering forward, muttering some indecipherable words that probably only held meaning for himself alone.

Having seemingly decided on something, Iscario quickened his pace, intending to approach the old man. Seeing that, I too followed suit, trying to catch up.

However, before that could happen―

“Hey, Father Rosenkranz! Good to see you today!”

A deep, booming voice stopped us in our tracks. It was one we knew well―Rhizanthes Valpurga.

“...Good morning to you all. And good work today too,” he said with a practiced smile, not showing any signs of frustration.

Slightly behind us, four hunters struggled to carry a large wooden cage. And within that cage―a great boar sat, showing no signs of movement or life, a great many arrows stuck into its back. Today’s catch, it seemed.

Setting the cage down momentarily, the four men walked up to the priest and bowed.

“Please, you needn’t,” the priest said, urging them to raise their heads. “Anyhow, you’re working awfully early today.”

“This big lug fell into a pit-trap. You wouldn’t believe how lucky that is!” Rhizanthes happily explained. “I got the boys to come early so we could carry the thing out. We’ll have to leave it to the butcher.”

“I’m glad to see that fortune has been smiling upon you,” Iscario said. “Oh, right, thank you for letting us borrow the rope. Sister Rosalia, you may return it now.”

“No problem!” Rhizanthes said, slinging it over his shoulder. “Hope you got some use out of it.”

“Oh, we most certainly did.” The priest’s gentle and friendly countenance never betrayed a hint of ominous intent. “Well, gentlemen, I don’t want to keep you from your work. I’ll be on my way now, but―could I perhaps ask you for one final request?”

“―Huh?” Rhizanthes, who had been on the verge of turning back, suddenly looked at the priest again. “Well, as long as it’s something I can do, of course.”

“It’s not a difficult task at all,” Iscario said, before taking something out of his coat―the Sealing Sacrament. I almost fell backwards in shock, but he continued calmly. “You’ll be passing by the mayor’s house, right? I’d be grateful if you could just leave this at his doorstep for me.”

“That’s…” Rhizanthes look in surprise.

“Yes, I’ve shown it to you before. It’s a tool used by those in charge of executing the church’s holy decree, but―well, it’s not so important. I was thinking of gifting this to the village, as thanks for all of the hospitality you’ve shown us.”

“Oh, father, you don’t have to do that! We’re honored to just have you here at all!” Rhizanthes argued back.

“Please, I insist,” he continued cheerfully. “I do so want you to have something to remember us by.”

“Well, if you’re so set on it, I guess I can’t refuse.” Saying so, and with a bashful smile on his face, Rhizanthes stretched his hand out.

However, it would never end up grasping the silver stake.

So absorbed into the current conversation, none of us had noticed it. Not any of the hunters, nor Rosalia and I, who watched the men’s exchange of hands with bated breath. We didn’t pay any attention to the cage, left on the ground, with the slumbering beast within it.

Even having been pierced by six arrows, even as it appeared to lay there lifeless―the boar had not yet died. It had clung on to life. And as we spoke, it mustered up the last dregs of power left within it.

And so we’d only noticed it once it was too late.

Crash!

It effortlessly smashed through the wooden cage and burst out of it like a cannonball. As we all froze in awe, it ran directly forward, fueled only by its instinct to demolish everything that stood in its way. It was misfortune alone that placed the slow, tottering old man Bolo directly in its path.

“Wait, sto―!” I finally gained control of my body again, and desperately tried to call out, but it was in vain.

Crash!

Yet another crashing sound, accompanied by the subtle yet infinitely disturbing sound of bones crumbling, and the old man was sent flying into the air, blown an incredible distance away.

Wasting no time to celebrate his accomplishment, the boar, perhaps finally sensing where its true home was, turned backwards, now running towards the forest, intent on demolishing all of us for the sake of getting to its destination. Foremost in that line of obstacles was none other than Father Iscario, rooted to the spot.

But just as it seemed that the priest would become its next victim, he, with movements so instantaneous they seemed to defy the limits of human dexterity, sidestepped the attack, his coat fluttering behind him.

However, he wasn’t merely dodging. His hands outstretched, Iscario ran his fingers over the boar’s neck and back in a seemingly gentle gesture, like he was merely petting the animal’s fur.

In response though, the boar’s legs stopped their movement completely. Its roars, too, gave way to silence, and though its advance continued for another few feet, fueled entirely by inertia, the animal eventually rolled over into place, arriving just centimeters in front of me.

I’d been so captured by the spectacle that I forgot myself, but catching the tips of my shoes within my line of sight as I observed the boar, I finally got back to my senses.

I didn’t have to check again to instinctively realize that the boar was finally and fully dead, so instead I darted my eyes around the area, finally seeing the collapsed old man, lying face up in the dirt close to the entrance of someone’s home.

The heap of bandages and tattered clothes was now faintly tinged in red and giving off an iron smell. He seemed to have been punctured by the boar’s tusks before being thrown away, so his wounds weren’t just internal but external too. Moreover, the force had slightly unfurled the bandage over his head, so that portions of his face were now visible.

And the face beneath―not that of a monster or pretender, but just an old man, his wrinkled skin marred by burn marks.

“―”

I felt another foolish impetus rising within me. The old man would surely die. A lonely pathetic death in a heap of rags. What kind of life was that, if it ended up this way?

Maybe the man had had something else in his life at some point, but now it was gone. All he had was mind and his memories, and he was losing even those, too. But at least he had his damned fields and his damned rags and his life! But now he’d be losing even that, and that’d be the end of his story. What the hell kind of meaning was there to this?

My rooted feet suddenly felt light. I was ready. I kicked the dirt, prepared to run to the old man, prepared to summon another miracle no matter what it took―but a forceful hand put on my shoulder pinned me in place, sealing all of that initiative away.

“Huh―”

“It’s a terribly sad occasion when any human life is lost. A tragedy, that the miracle of life could be swept away so easily. Don’t you think so?”

“―”

“It’s unavoidable, and irreversible. When the reaper comes knocking at the door, there’s nothing you can do to delay the appointment. You could even call it cruel.”

“―”

“But I think it’d do us people well, as we watch this terrible spectacle unfold, to remember that our lives are not our own. We are not the ones that summoned ourselves within this world. We live on at the behest and invitation of the greater forces that allowed us here. The Sun, and this beautiful natural world we live off of.”

“―”

“And so, when time runs out, when it’s time to pay our dues, rather than decrying the cruelty of it all, I think we ought to be grateful. Grateful that we’ve lived at all, that we’ve been able to experience so much of this world. When death comes, we should face it with an accepting smile on our faces. Don’t you think so, Vio Valakia?”

“―”

“Hey, don’t you think so? You think so too, don’t you? Speak up, let me hear it, Vio Valakia. You agree, do you not? You weren’t about to sully life itself right in front of me, were you? You weren’t about to perform yet another heretical travesty upon that poor man, turn him into an undying wraith cursed to degrade this world for the rest of time, were you? That was just my own silly preconception, a needless worry, was it not? Tell me.”

“―”

I couldn’t move an inch. I couldn’t even breathe. His firm hand on my shoulder felt like it was squeezing my heart in place, like any untoward movement would make him decimate me, flay and skin me and leave me a purposeless waste rotting in the sun.

“Hey, Vio Valakia. Look. Look at that man whose existence you were about to belittle and shame. Look well.”

Fear gripping me, sending warning signals to every inch of my body, I used all my strength to force my eyeballs into motion. And so I could see, as he bled out on the ground, the dry and cracked lips of the man forming raspy murmurs, so aimless like the wind merely passed through his vocal chords, yet somehow tinged with some intention from somewhere deep within him, the last standing core of his mind.

“W-was I… we… un… unworthy of you… after all?”

As he looked up at the dark sky, his final murmurs felt like pleading. For a time, the world stood still, only his pained, choked breathing signaling the advance of time.

Slowly, though, something changed.

The early morning had arrived. The Sun, yet timid and not showering us with its vast brilliance, nonetheless graced the world with a few white rays, all that horrible light.

And as the light touched the dying old man’s face, his lips curved upwards. He closed his eyes, for even through his eyelids he could feel the kind warmth of the Sun.

“T-thank… you…”

And just like that, he’d paid his dues. Even so, in his final moments the man looked like he’d been the one rewarded far beyond measure.