"I don't like it."

The hard, icy floor hugged his face, as comfortable as a stone pillow as he lay face down on the floor. His body wouldn't move, no matter how desperately he tried. He was powerless to lift even a single finger.

Despite this, he felt a sense of warmth, like a warm, suffocating embrace.

"Arhh... too strong."

With the tightness that was enveloping him, he had the impression that his mind was going to blank out. Little did he know that this sensation was being caused by his own throat, which was instinctively constricting as much as possible so as not to let any more blood escape from his mouth.

In his blurred vision, he could see the ground completely covered in a vast red liquid. It took him a few moments to realize what it was.

"All this is mine...?"

He was talking about his blood, which was soaking the white tiles.

Seeing so much of himself like that, he had the impression that all the organs in his body overflowed. He ran his trembling right hand down his back, groping his body to the limit, but he couldn't touch his legs. Then, with great effort, he looked a little to the side, where a blur had been, and saw not only his legs, but his entire waist completely separated from his body. Thus, he finally understood what had happened. A violent cut had split him in half.

No wonder his body felt hot, after all, all that heat was his body's way of trying to deal with the pain.

In other words, he was facing the "game over" of his life. The moment he realized this, he felt like he was going to lose consciousness. However, just as his eyes were about to close, he heard a groan.

"Da...d?"

He heard a voice that sounded soft and melodic. The fact that he heard this voice, that he could still hear it, was a tremendous relief to him.

"Urgh..."

Suddenly, there was another moan, this time indecipherable and accompanied by the sound of cutting flesh. Finally, he looked to his right, with strength that was no longer his. The body of a girl with pointed ears, blonde hair, and a curved sword stuck in her back was right next to him, and there was her arm outstretched as if trying to reach him.

He crawled over and lightly held that inert hand with his own bloodstained hand and felt her fingers move slightly.

"Wait..." he said, trying to stay conscious to say one last thing to the girl "The hut... I want to live with you there again, so I promise I'll save you, my child..."

In the next instant, Victor Shieldman lost his life.

*

"I'm screwed."

It wouldn't be entirely correct to say that Victor Shieldman was an ordinary man, but in the eyes of ignorant people, that is, to most people, he was just one of many older men.

His physique was muscular for someone who looked to be in his fifties, but his bones also helped, as they were large. In any case, his appearance wasn't very respectable. A bloodied Hunter covered in undead guts was probably even more eye-catching than him, with his white hair of old age. The small scars that marred his complexion announced that he had a complicated past, but if he didn't have them, his eyes would show it anyway.

"Urf..." He sighed, leaning on the wooden counter in front of him to take his first break of the night.

"Hey, good man! Three more mugs of grapevine wine here!" A customer shouted.

"Victor, we want more mead!" Another man heard the first and also asked for more. "Why are you so slow today?

And so Victor's brief rest came to an end. He dried the sweat on his face with the forehead of one hand, put on a simple smile, turned around, and answered the men:

"Right away, boys!"

Victor Shieldman was the owner of a small tavern in the corner of an isolated village. It was a tavern that hardly deserved that title. It was more like a dump, but because the place was more organized and cleaner than the woods, it still attracted customers and travelers.

That night, as always, the air in the tavern was impregnated with the smell of sweat and the sweet aroma of mead. It was a combination of smells that was already part of Victor Shieldman's routine, so it didn't bother him. And although it wasn't his forte, to please the customers he usually responded to their requests with a smile, while his mind also tried to ignore the fatigue that weighed on his shoulders and back.

The job of walking from one side of the lobby to the other, going from table to table, was a bit heavy for a man on the verge of retirement.

But that particular evening was special. Suddenly, while Victor was refilling the mugs they had ordered a short while earlier, Victor noticed in the reflection of a silver goblet the arrival of three men in his tavern, all dressed in worn steel armor and fluttering black cloaks. The way they pushed open the tavern door made the hinges creak, and their gazes immediately turned to Victor, who was standing just behind the counter. In Victor's eyes, their expressions already indicated trouble.

What appeared to be the oldest of the trio of outsiders, a bald man with a gray beard, stopped in front of the counter, leaned on his left arm and, without looking directly into Victor's eyes, said to him as he surveyed the surroundings:

"We want your entire stock of drinks now. It doesn't matter what it is, it can even be pure alcohol."

The man then placed a large bronze coin purse on the counter. The purse was so heavy that the wood of the counter looked as if it would give way at any moment.

Victor raised an eyebrow and then looked at his other customers. They had all stopped talking completely. The presence of three strangers was unusual.

The tavern was packed and it was rare to see this joint like this. So Victor looked at the men and replied:

"I'm sorry, but as you can see, the place is full tonight. If you want to sit down to drink, I'm sure you'll find a place for yourselves, but I won't sell all my stock to you."

The silence in the tavern seemed even heavier after Victor's refusal. The eyes of the curious customers were fixed on the three hooded men, waiting for their reaction.

At that moment, the old man turned forward, raised his chin, and looked at Victor with a frown. "What? Are you kidding us, tavern keeper?" he asked, his voice laced with disdain. "I said I want all your stock, no one in their right mind would turn you down, and it's not a wise choice to refuse our money. Or are you trying to challenge our patience?"

The other two men in armor remained silent, but their hands were resting on the handles of their swords. It was clear that they weren't used to getting a lot of no's.

"I'm not joking, sir," Victor replied calmly, keeping his gaze fixed on the bald man. "I'm not going to sell all my stock to a bunch of strangers who come here trying to look more important than they are. The area has been busy recently, it's a chance for me. I need to retain customers to keep the place open, and if I let go of the customers I have today, I'm sure they won't come back tomorrow. In the end, my long-term loss will be greater than my short-term profit."

The man let out a hoarse laugh, which echoed through the tavern. "Is the owner of a den-like this really worried about profits?" He looked at the bag of money on the counter and said: "Honestly, man, if you're really as clever as you want to appear, I advise you to take that money and move to a big city. Selling socks on a rag stretched out on the ground in the middle of a square must be more profitable than running a tavern at the end of the world."

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Victor crossed his arms and didn't back down. "I don't care what you think. As I said, if you want two or three pints each, I can serve you. However, if you continue to cause trouble, I'll have to ask you to leave."

"How's that?" The old man questioned and quickly drew his sword, which made his two colleagues do the same. "I won't take orders from a simple tavernkeeper!"

Their aggressive action sparked a chain reaction throughout the tavern. All the customers who had just been drinking and eating quietly up to that point drew their swords, knives, and daggers without any hesitation. No matter what the black-clad guards represented for the kingdom, they had no right to plunder all the alcohol from a fully functioning tavern, at least not with so many Hunters inside.

However, before an all-out battle could begin, an imposing figure stepped through the open door of the tavern. He was a man so tall that he had to duck his head a little to get through the door and he was dressed in beautiful polished armor, adorned with gold details. A long black cloak fluttered as he approached the counter. In an ordinary book, this man would be the protagonist.

His eyes were cold and penetrating, emanating a presence that demanded respect. The man removed his helmet, revealing a black head of hair and intense eyes. It was clear that he was no ordinary traveler. The murmuring in the tavern ceased almost instantly and, with the pressure of spirit emanating from the man's eyes, many blades were lowered.

The man addressed Victor directly, ignoring the three armed men near the counter. "What's going on here?" he asked, his deep voice echoing in a calmer tone than the tavern expected.

Victor didn't show any surprise, fear, or any expression. "I imagine these must be your subordinates. Haven't you taught them any manners?"

Whispers began to spread among the customers, who were worried that this man might get angry and bring the tavern down. Despite this, the man didn't seem offended by the tavernkeeper's statement. He nodded, looked at the coin purse on the counter, and said:

"I am Sir Roland of Edessa, a Lord of the Sword," declared the man, wisely making a courteous greeting to Victor who, even though he was without armor, was as large as Roland himself. "I heard about this establishment from a hermit. We're on our way to a lich's area and we're going to need a lot of alcohol to set it on fire to kill it. We don't want all your alcohol to drink or damage your business, sir, and I believe the dead Lich will even be good for business."

Victor frowned. "So, if your problem is a Lich, just cut out its heart and set it on fire. That will be enough to stop his soul from escaping and prevent him from reviving, and I believe that able-bodied men who accompany a Lord of the Sword can make a little fire without using up all the alcohol in my tavern." Victor said and winked at the three men who had started the ruckus. They gritted their teeth, but couldn't retort.

Sir Roland looked Victor coldly in the eye and thus recognized his strength and experience, then picked up the bag of coins on his counter and said:

"Very well, I will follow your method of slaughter, noble tavern-keeper. And if it works, I'll stop by on the way back and have a beer with you. I'm sure you used to be a fantastic Hunter. I want to hear the stories you have to tell."

Even in a remote tavern like this, it was common for Victor to deal with a few troublemakers, especially when the only people who have the courage to enter a place like this are Hunters.

Despite this, something still bothered Victor even hours after the event.

"A Lord of the Sword... It's been a long time since I've seen one." He muttered to himself as he mopped the floor. "If he's hunting a Lich, he's certainly a powerful Lich."

At this hour of the morning, the tavern wasn't as full as it had been earlier in the evening. In fact, there were only a few customers left in the place, as they were too drunk to find their way back to their camps and inns.

As Victor continued to clean the floor, the door behind the counter opened. It was the door that led to the kitchen, and out came an older woman with almost gray hair, chubby cheeks, and a headscarf. Her name was Joan Milner.

"I'm going home, Victor," she said as she removed her apron.

Victor turned to her, but, at the same second, he felt a twinge in his lower back, which made him stop for a second. Of course, Joan noticed this and, with narrowed eyes and hands on her waist, asked:

"You know you don't have to give Corstine that much time off, don't you? Every time you give her a few days off, she starts to feel those pains again. She's young and has never complained about having to work."

"I know, I know. I'll talk to her later, so she can come tonight," replied Victor, putting a hand on the back of his head and smiling with sweat dripping down his face.

It was hard for him to admit, but Joan was right. Corstine was a young waitress, which meant she was much quicker to keep up with the customers' thirst.

At dawn, after asking all the remaining customers to leave, Victor locked up and went to the center of the village.

The village where he lived was in a remote corner of any big city, nestled between green hills, rolling fields, and leafy forests. It was literally called Serenity Village, a place of calm, where time seemed to dance to the gentle rhythm of the breeze. Modest houses with thatched roofs dotted the quiet, winding streets.

In the center of Serenity, the main square was lined with tall, leafy trees, where a small fountain gushed crystal-clear water.

Residents passed each other in the streets all the time and exchanged friendly greetings and light news. Everyone knew each other, and even most of the Hunters were known, because they were the ones who often visited the area to do small jobs.

The stores in the village were simple but offered the essential products for daily life.

At this time of the morning, the bakery exuded the irresistible aroma of freshly baked bread, while the main grocery store was pulling boxes of fresh vegetables from a farm not far away.

The largest building in Serenity was the Hunter's Association, where Hunters could see the services available and also where residents could ask for favors with payment in coins, of course.

However, before he did anything, Victor walked over to the house of young Corstine, who often worked for him. After two gentle knocks on her door, the girl opened it with a certain eagerness. The expression on her face not only showed that she was expecting a visitor but also that Victor was exactly who she was expecting. She was a brown-haired girl and had turned fifteen the week before, so she had been given a longer day off to rest.

"Look who finally decided to show his face..." said Corstine, crossing her arms and turning her face away in irritation.

Victor had known Corstine for many years and had worked with her for a few months, which was enough for him to realize that she was just pretending to be angry. After all, he had already seen her tremendously angry with some of the tavern's customers and, if this had been the case now, she would have just shut the door in his face.

"How are you?" Victor asked with a calm countenance.

"I'm fine, but of course! I slept all night! And you're a mess, are you working too hard without my help?" She replied, puffing out her cheeks.

"I assume you're angry that I haven't called you lately..."

"Angry? Me?!"

"You're not? Then I'm leaving." Victor turned away and started walking.

The girl, realizing that she wouldn't get anything out of Victor by playing tricks, finally decided to be honest and shouted:

"Wait!"

Victor stopped and looked back over his left shoulder, his gaze still serene. That look made Corstine hesitate for a moment, but she continued.

"You don't even have to pay me. Just let me help, I owe you an eternal debt!"

The eternal debt she was talking about was an exaggeration. As a child, Victor saved Corstine and her father from a zombie in the forest, and from that day on she had tremendous admiration for him.

"I came here exactly for that, to ask you to go today and tomorrow. And don't worry, I'll pay you back as I always have."

This seemed like great news to the girl who, on seeing him turn his back again, jumped up and celebrated in silence. She quickly picked up a small basket from near the entrance to her house and, without waiting for a formal reply, began to walk alongside Victor.

He looked at her, a little surprised, and asked:

"What's that?"

"I'll come and help you straight away, of course. When I came by earlier, Joan said she was out of ingredients for tonight, so you must be going to the greengrocer's and you'll need help carrying everything because you've worked all night and you're tired!"

Victor looked at her, surprised by her quick analysis, and finally smiled. "Thank you very much, Corstine."

However, a few hours later, when they returned to the tavern, a surprise visitor was waiting for them.

Staring at the sign at the entrance to the tavern, there was a man in strange clothes, a strange hat, and a sort of scabbard on his back, only this scabbard apparently didn't hold a sword. He heard Victor and Corstine's footsteps approaching, so he turned around.

"Hello!" greeted the strange man.

"Hello, you want something to drink, don't you? Come in, but at this hour I'll only serve water." Victor said in advance. "Come back later if you want something stronger."

"Oh, no, I mean, water would be nice, but that's not why I'm here. Are you Victor Shieldman, owner of the Manticore Eyes Tavern?"

Victor frowned and stopped walking. "Yes, I am."

"Then you're exactly who I should be talking to," declared the man and walked forward a little as he took out a scroll from its sheath, which was actually just a slightly more decorated tube. He then began to speak: "As a duty charged to me, official messenger of the Kingdom of Athína, I hereby inform Victor Shieldman, only declared family member, that Wanda Stillwind, a respected Rank-S Slayer, was officially declared missing by the King two weeks ago."

Hearing this so suddenly was a tremendous shock, and the thud of the basket Corstine was carrying falling to the ground was accompanied by tears streaming down the young woman's face. Wanda was like an older sister to her.

"Sis…" Corstine murmured.

Victor put a hand on Corstine's head, stroked her, looked up, and said to the messenger:

"Missing? Don't scare me like that. I'm too old for that... It's common for Hunters to disappear for a few days," said Victor, a little irritated. "Announcements like that only get in the way."

"Yes, the kingdom knows that, Mr. Shieldman. However, neither the Kingdom nor the Guild of which Miss Stillwind is a member have had any sign of her whereabouts for two months. That's definitely not normal." He said, which made Victor's pupils get as small as they could.