Walk around and tell

All for those who dwell

The Gilded Lord's enemies

Shall meet their end

In the Valley of Headless Men

~ A nursery rhyme made by the locals surrounding Wisperium

The sun had already risen by the time Chester finished his interrogation. He closed the door to the basement, pressing his lips into a thin line upon remembering the corpses hidden in the rooms under the floor he stood. Every carcass reminded him distinctly of the people he had killed; their lifeless eyes and deathly still figures haunted his mind.

'That's why those kids didn't want me heading back here. Maybe I should have listened.'

Upon mentioning his intent to go back to the house and into the basement for a more isolated space for questioning, Alvis and the other children tried to dissuade him fervently. Chester promised them he wouldn't be in any danger and told Damien to keep the children company while he attended to the kidnappers for any additional knowledge.

He wasn't the most sadistic nor the most efficient interrogator. But he had creativity, brute strength, and magic in spades. The criminals caved to his questioning with little resistance.

Chester managed to wring out a solid amount of information from the men named Cozbi and Gello. The illusionist knew he'd have to take it with a grain of salt until he had the opportunity to confirm them.

As he walked away from the demolished house, Chester ignored the faint shouts for help that originated from below the floor.

'Whether they live or not, I'll leave it up to fate.'

The man retraced his steps and ended up in the same hut where Damien and the children were. Maxwell was lying down quietly on the cobbled floor, ears perked up slightly after seeing Chester from the horizon. The canine seemed to have gotten accustomed to Chester, kicking his feet lightly upon being scratched on the belly. The curly-haired man didn't know how the magic dog's physiology worked and decided to leave such questions alone.

"Anything useful?"

"Some more stuff about the city. Turns out there are a couple of vampires in the city, maybe it's your brother. I'll tell you more later."

The group of thieving children had settled down to sleep, but Alvis had already awoken upon hearing the man's armored footsteps. Their senses were well-attuned and trained to detect even the slightest movements; a valuable skill for anybody, but especially for someone who grew up in a dangerous environment. It didn't take long for the others to rise, blinking the sleep from their eyes. They began the trek through the city streets.

Chester applied Alter Self to Damien and Maxwell. He covered himself with a raggedy robe placing it atop the polished black one he received from Wisperium. The material was breathable and light, making it less of a hassle to wear despite the multiple layers. With the weather gradually cooling down as the world entered autumn, the man couldn't help but ask the children as they walked in a tight group formation.

"Are you guys not cold? We can get you some pants, maybe a coat as well."

Alvis looked at his group uncertainly. "...If you could spare one, at least for one of my friends. Thank you."

It was clear they weren't used to goodwill. That tentative apprehension reminded him of a stray animal approaching a human with food. Both Chester and Damien rummaged through their bags. They had a multitude of spare clothes, but they handed some articles of clothing they mainly used for sleeping. The group threw them on top of their outfits, looking grateful and whistling quietly at their new attires. Most of them were oversized, but the children barely noticed or didn't care at all.

"Hey! Punks, make sure to say thank you!"

The brown-haired boy with a scarred upper lip lined up his friends and made them say thanks, which they did without hesitation. It was clumsy, and the duo only nodded their heads in acceptance.

"If you see a shop, we'll stop by and grab you some more. You got more friends, don't ya'?"

Damien looked at his companion with a small smile on his face. Seeing the man interact with the orphans so kindly and generously conflicted with the original image he had of Chester.

'This is the same guy who got pissed when I wanted to help those villagers from Stillwater. Look at him now.'

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

He knew of Chester's childhood in that other world. America, he called it. The vampire supposed he had some sort of kinship between the children, but he didn't think it was just that. Chester had always been a selfish bastard, but the longer he traveled with the illusionist the more often he performed acts of kindness. The more people he connected with, the more genuine his actions became. Damien sincerely believed he contributed to some part of that.

"If only you didn't have that bad habit of stealing whatever you fancied..." Damien sighed, remembering the man's confession to raiding Welton's secret vault. That was reasonable grounds for imprisonment and execution, even for someone declared to be a war hero by the dwarven royalty.

"What's that?"

They continued through the main streets of Garbrandt, with the names of the locations they traversed scrawled on wooden planks with bright-white lettering. It was much shoddier than the street signs in Welton, making it difficult to navigate without the help of a local.

'Doing good things does come back around. We'd probably be wasting our time chasing leads without these guys.' Chester thought to himself with an optimistic view of their search for Damien's brother.

"That one is Purple Bill's butcher shop. Don't ask him why he's purple. He gives us leftovers sometimes. And over there is-"

The children acted as their tour guides upon learning the two were foreigners. On top of burying them with little facts and tidbits about the strange people and hidden dangers Garbrandt had to offer, one of the children had many questions to ask about the world outside of the lawless kingdom.

"Is it true there's a place with nothing but trees and elves?" Sheila asked with curiosity. "And they hate dwarves because they can't grow beards like them?"

"Er, I don't know about the latter, but yes. The Highlands is a nation full of elves. They do exist."

He listed out what he knew about the elven nation while they walked past the busy streets. They maneuvered past the street market with little interference from over-enthusiastic shopkeepers. He didn't know how long they'd been walking, but Damien assumed they cleared over a dozen kilometers since they entered the city. It was likely the Twilight Bandits possessed as much territory as any local kingdom.

"Hey, just wondering about your brother. Is there a reason why he didn't just run back to you guys after committing genocide on...what was it called again, Clam Island? Why'd he run off all the way here?"

Damien sighed at the crude summarization of his brother's crimes. "Pearl Island. And no, I don't know why he'd stay here. From here to Pearl Island is almost double the distance than it is from Wisperium, but maybe the reason why he's here is the same reason why we're having such a hard time finding him. "

"Like, he wouldn't get prosecuted if he came here?

"Exactly. Even if Pearl Island got the help of Pernatia and the Idil Empire, they would have no chance of finding him here. It's simply too large. But Pearl Island's forces are limited; the most they can do is set a bounty on his head and hope for the best."

Chester stayed silent, deep in thought. Although Damien hadn't been evasive about his brother's situation, it wasn't like he went out of his way to tell his companion that his sibling was wanted for mass murder. The vampire teen knew there was some more nuance to it, as gruesome as the reports have been from secondhand stories and testimonials about what he'd done to the natives of the island. Chester wasn't convinced however and claimed his brother was some sort of psychopath. Damien couldn't deny that.

'He's always been off, but to the extent of mass murder? Something must've happened to him.'

He knew his elder brother was alive. The man had always sent letters keeping them updated on his status. It was unexpected but welcome. They always had an annual confirmation that Braham was well, but it was never very specific. The possibility of the letters being intercepted was slim, but it still existed which explained why there was rarely any sensitive information within.

What Damien couldn't figure out was his brother's insistence on staying in Garbrandt. It just didn't make sense in his head.

'What could possibly threaten him to the point that he'd risk being here than Wisperium?'

Damien's introspection was halted by their tour guide's voice. They had arrived in front of a dingy, but moderately-sized one-story building. The rusted door had a peephole slightly above eye level and would've required Damien to reach up on his tippy-toes to peer through the slot.

Alvis knocked on the door, shouting for someone to open up. Two beady eyes peered through the opening, observing the group with distrust.

"Password?"

"For the love of-It's me, Alvis! Just open the door."

"Sorry, you could be an incubus shifted into an annoying, smelly, and short teenager. I need a password."

Alvis sighed. The mithril knife on his waistband looked very tempting at the moment. "I spy with my little eye, a sucker who needs his money taken."

The peephole shut before they were allowed access to the building. A tan, lanky teen with a bowl cut stood in front of them with mirth in his eyes. His expression quickly turned into one of pain and irritation after Alvis punched him in the shoulder.

"What the hell was that for?!"

"You deserve it. Honestly, Bentham, you're so annoying."

"Shut it, pinhead! Who're these guys?"

The boy took a step to the side before introducing the adventurers. He explained their situation while the adventurers made themselves comfy in the building. It was a messy but cozy interior, with a large table set in the middle with several blankets and pillows stationed off to a corner in the room.

"Ah, you saved this bunch? Thanks, I guess. You could've left him though." He said, jerking his thumb at Alvis. "The name's Bentham."

Damien cut to the chase almost immediately. Without much fanfare, he repeated the same description of his brother and asked if Bentham knew anything. Chester spent the time watching over the others as they played with Maxwell. The canine was extremely friendly and a hit amongst the kids.

"Ah...Braham, Braham...Nothing's sticking in my head. I used to live at the East Star Clubs, but that was over five years ago. I wouldn't know if anyone new's cropped up since then. We could ask the others once they get back. In the meantime, just make yourself comfortable. Would you like some tea? The magical heater we got works. Sometimes."

The vampire took him on the offer, watching as the boy poured a canteen of water into a kettle before turning it on. Placing his hand along the handle, the coil along the bottom began to turn red. The technology they used was more advanced than most things they'd seen outside of major cities, but the products they used looked second-hand. Everything in the house looked aged. It put things into perspective for Damien, just how lucky he was to be born into wealth and luxury.

'These children don't have anyone to rely on but each other. Is this what Chester's was like? From what I remember, he never mentioned being in a group like this.'

It was easy for him to condemn criminal activities, but Damien's eyes softened upon seeing their circumstances. He couldn't imagine their everyday lives, the resources he took for granted being scarce while surrounded by crime and evil all around. The vampire resolved not to judge them and approach these children with kindness. It even made him wonder if he was being too harsh on Chester's past actions.

"And then after I beat up all the baddies, I went ahead and saved that guy over there! He didn't do much of anything except cry and get beat up." The illusionist in question utilized his skills to weave a captivating story that the children watched with rapt attention. A simplified scene depicting the events of the One-Day War was censored skillfully for the audience. Most of the details were greatly exaggerated, sometimes even outright false. Most of the lies stemmed from puffing up Chester's image while downplaying the vampire's contributions to the battle.

Damien decided he spoke too soon and kicked the curly-haired man in the shins with sturdy, metal boots.