chapter 4

The morning sun cast a gentle glow over the wide, green expanse of the field, its light filtering through a scattering of clouds in the sky. Birds serenaded the dawn with their cheerful songs, and the serenity of the scene was punctuated only by the occasional rustle of the wind. Amidst this tranquil landscape lay a man, deeply immersed in sleep. His form was draped in a black cloak that cascaded from his shoulders down to his calves, and beneath it, he wore light but sturdy armor—breastplate, shoulder pads, and knee guards—paired with black pants and leather boots. Beside him, a massive sword rested on the ground, its length slightly shorter than his height and nearly as wide as his waist. His arms bore the marks of countless battles, the scars a testament to a life of relentless conflict.

The peace of the morning was abruptly shattered by a piercing shout that seemed to reverberate through the very air. "Bastaaaaard!!" The outburst startled the nearby birds and animals, jolting the man awake. He sat up with a start, his face etched with frustration.

"What an unpleasant dream," he grumbled, his voice rough from sleep. He stretched his limbs and grimaced, the remnants of the nightmare still clinging to him. "Of all the dreams I could have had, why did it have to be that one?"

Still grumbling, the man retrieved his sword from the grass and made his way to a nearby river to wash his face. The animals that had once been scattered around him now fled in terror at his presence. As he approached the river, the clear, transparent water mirrored his weary face—a man in his thirties with tired eyes and a rugged, short black beard.

"How long has it been since then?" he murmured, scrubbing his face with the cool river water. His thoughts were interrupted by the sight of a small rabbit on the opposite bank. Without hesitation, he picked up a stone and flicked it with lethal precision, hitting the rabbit dead on.

"I guess you're breakfast," he said matter-of-factly as he leaped across the river, landing with ease on the other side. He collected the rabbit and prepared to eat it, his movements efficient and practiced.

After finishing his impromptu meal, the man—whose name was Darius—secured his sword to his back and prepared to leave the field. "Well, no time to waste," he said to himself, setting off toward the north. As he walked, his mind churned with thoughts of the dream he had just experienced.

"I can't believe it's been fifteen years since then," he muttered, touching the bite marks on his neck—a permanent reminder of his past. "That just means I've been searching for you for fifteen long years, Nosfaru von Gilm."

The name was uttered with a mix of hatred and resolve. Darius had dedicated the past decade and a half to tracking down Nosfaru, a demon who had forever altered the course of his life. Nosfaru's ability to cover his tracks and evade capture had turned every lead into a dead end, and Darius's quest for vengeance had become a frustrating, elusive pursuit.

Nosfaru was a high-ranking member of the demon race, a cursed group condemned by the gods to wander the world with an insatiable thirst for blood. Unlike other demons Darius had encountered, Nosfaru's malevolence and power were unmatched, making him a formidable adversary.

Today, Darius had received a new lead—a report of a demon causing havoc in a small town to the north. He felt a gnawing urgency; if he missed this chance, he might lose another opportunity to find Nosfaru. Without a moment's hesitation, he quickened his pace, his movements almost superhuman as he sprinted through the forest, navigating the terrain with ease.

Hours later, as the small town came into view, Darius slowed his pace. The town's gate was old and rusted, creaking ominously as he approached. The buildings, constructed of weathered wood, gave the town a somber and neglected appearance. Sparse figures moved about, their faces etched with fear and suspicion as they regarded the newcomer.

At the end of the street, a larger wooden house stood, and from it emerged three elderly men. They looked like farmers, their weather-beaten faces betraying a mix of apprehension and authority. Within moments, Darius found himself encircled by the townspeople, their eyes filled with a mixture of horror and curiosity.

"I'm looking for the mayor of this town," Darius announced, his voice cutting through the murmur of the crowd.

One of the three men stepped forward. "I am the mayor here. Everyone, scatter! Don't be nosy!"

At the mayor's command, the townspeople reluctantly retreated back into their homes. The mayor turned to Darius, eyeing him with a mixture of scrutiny and caution.

"You're the mayor?" Darius asked, sizing him up.

"Yes, traveler. I am the mayor. Let's go inside my house and discuss why you are here," the mayor replied, gesturing for Darius to follow.

"Sure, no problem," Darius said, following the mayor as he clapped his hands and signaled the other two men to help clear the area.

"Follow me, traveler," the mayor said as he led Darius toward the house, the tension in the air palpable.