"Halt!" The captain said as two men emerged from the sewers. It has passed an hour since they last heard the explosion, and since then, the guards created a perimeter around the sewer exit.

As the moonlight dawned upon the two human shapes, it revealed that one of them was unconscious, being dragged by the other.

"Bring them to the barracks." He ordered the guards.

Immediately, the mercenaries were rescued and put under treatment. A cleric was carried with the task of checking on any wounds or fractures they could have sustained.

"Please raise your arms-" Before she could finish though, the mercenary interrupted her.

"I'm fine Ma'am. I was lucky to be far from the blast at the time." He said with low-casten eyes, refraining from raising his head, "I must go to the city. A close friend of mine has just passed away, and I need to bring the news to his family." He muttered.

"Oh- I see. I'm sorry for your lost." She replied.

There was something fishy about his manners but she reasoned it should be the trauma. As a cleric, she was used to seeing traumatized soldiers. Either because of being close to death or seeing someone they knew die, most would close themselves from the outside world. It was a miracle if they could speak a whole sentence like he just did.

Being allowed to go out, the man immediately ran towards the city. His steps were strangely light and unrestrained like he was dancing.

In the middle of his way, he changed his course to the woods instead. Finally, when he thought he was far enough, he dared to raise his head.

Staring at his shadow, he spoke, "You can come out."

A female silhouette formed, surging from his shadows. An ethereal beauty appeared in the forest, lightly stepping on the moist grass.

Breathing in a deep gust of air, she sighed, "Ah... fresh air."

"Tell me about it!" Heitor dropped to the ground without a care in the world. He breathed as if it was the most precious thing he could have.

"It smells so nice out here..." He muttered as he stared at the stars above. In the infinite expanse of the void, millions of stars were embedded within - there was a perfect balance about it that Heitor couldn't quite put into words. The trees swayed peacefully in the wind, living by the eons in perpetual silence.

Never before had Heitor seen the world with such wonder. Living two weeks in the sewers with no light whatsoever did that to someone. Not only that but he could now sense the mana.

And it was stunningly complex. It flowed like a rushing and yet calm stream. Everything was in sync with the river - the trees, dirt, wind, Heitor, Agatha...

Anything other than the book. In contrast, it instead felt like a void - a bottomless pit leading to gods know where. Something out of that world, alien and unexplainable. Just when Heitor thought he could understand the universe, it was just a glimpse at most. There were things out of his grasp after all, out of the intelligible.

Lying beside him, Agatha said, "You are not ready yet."

"I know." He nodded, they knew her revenge would have to wait, "Then what should I do for now?"

"Train and learn. Your best bet is the capital." She suggested before glancing at him, "But before that, you need to change that appearance of yours."

"And what do I look like?" He asked.

"Like a sick mongrel." She replied with a straight face.

"I guess its time for some hunting, then." He said before standing up from the ground. Grasping at the hilt of his iron sword, he searched for prey. The dark didn't stutter him, but rather worked on his favor.

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Meanwhile, Aymon just woke up. His whole body hurt like hell, probably broken at many different parts. Immediately, the cleric held him back onto the stretcher.

"Don't make sudden moves. You don't want to break yourself even further, I imagine." She said before grabbing a concoction from a nearby table, "Here, drink it. It will make the pain go away."

Staring at the potion in doubt, he took a few seconds to finally accept it. "Thank you." He said to the strange woman.

"Now, the captain wants to ask you a few questions. I am sure you wouldn't mind." She promptly exited the tent.

On the very next second, a tall man clothed in full armor entered in. "Good night, sir Aymon. My name is Captain Geralt, but you should know that by now."

He sat on a plain wood chair before beginning the questioning, "I would like to ask you some questions about what happened in the sewer. Namely, the whereabouts of the man we are looking for."

"Wait, how did I even survive?" There was no way he could survive an explosion like that after all.

"A companion of yours dragged you out of there." Geralt said as a matter of fact.

Frowning, Aymon asked, "Who?"

"Didn't say his name, he went to the city as soon as possible. Something about bringing the bad news." A slight scowl crossed his face as well, "The cleric allowed him to go before I could even question the man."

With rising dread, Aymon quickly realized what had just transpassed. They've been tricked - and all because no one other than the innkeeper knew Heitor's face traits properly. Now, it seemed that only he reached that conclusion.

The idea that Heitor sneaked right under Geralt's nose didn't even cross his head. Aymon had two choices at the moment, to either tell the truth or follow along with the deception.

If he chose the latter, he would enjoy the spoils of war alone and let his best friend's murderer run away. Ultimately, it was a matter of how high he valued his morals. He could either try to avenge Tomas - which would be meanless anyway. After all, there was nothing to gain from revenge other than spirit satisfaction.

On the other hand, he could grasp at that chance to guarantee a good future for himself. Prosperity and wealth for the rest of his life. Even though it hurt his pride to admit, the correct choice was obvious. But in moments like that, anyone swallows their pride in the end.

Gulping, he said, "The damn bastard blew himself, all that is left now are his cinders. He didn't want anyone to touch the book, so his only choice was to pulverize it." He evaded Geralt's eyes, afraid that he would be seen through.

Writing something on a sheet of paper, Geralt seemed appalled, "What a madman."

He believed it.

Days later, all around the countryside, disfigured animals started appearing close to the farms. Their bodies were either sucked dry or filled with small holes.

At first, the farmers tried blaming the wolves. But it just didn't add up. After all, sword cuts were common marks they always found. Perhaps the ones at fault were goblins. Yet still, how and why would they suck all the blood of the animals?

Their old-fashioned traditions could only resort to one answer - it was the works of a demon. Probably a starving vampire, nonetheless.

Thus, the reason for Heitor's new nickname - Springsby Grove's Bloodsucker.

  Name: Heitor Lothrod

  Equipable Surnames: Sewers' Rodent, Springsby Grove's Bloodsucker

  Age: 17 years

  Body State: Healthy

  Mental State: Degraded

  Titles: Leechkin, Madman, Karacatoa's Blessed Child, Dead Man, Walking Pestilence, Mage, Dark   Dwelling, Survivor, Steel Stomach

  Peculiarities: Strategist, Paranoid, Two Sides of the Same Coin

"I wonder what use these surnames have... are they there just to mocker me?" He said sarcastically as he glanced sideways at the flying screen.

Yet somehow, he felt pride when reading those words. It served as a constant reminder of his victory over the impossible odds. Who could've thought that the coward and weak Heitor would be capable of outrunning an entire city? And to deceive his way to freedom? Or to survive two straight weeks in a sewer without proper food or water?

If someone were to say those things to the old Heitor, he probably wouldn't believe it. But it was all true, and he felt more self-esteem than ever before.

So much that it could be dangerous. A huge ego won't protect him from a sneaky arrow or a devastating spell after all. Arrogance is a slow and insidious killer, and the capital would make sure to remind him of that. Now a new man, with a shaven beard and hair, he set his way to the heart of the kingdom. There were no traces of the sewer left behind in him - not even its stench.

 "Emberfall..." He muttered the city's name, wondering how it could be.

Was it like how most people said? A thriving city, full of people and merchants? Or was it a filthy city, overpopulated and brimming to the very top?

Perhaps, it was a place where all the great artisans and architects gathered to search and exchange knowledge. Furthermore, it could be a city made for teaching and grooming mages.

But as Heitor would discover later on, Emberfall could be everything at the same time. A chaotic capital filled with people in search of knowledge and money. A place where corruption was one of its major problems, but its economy was just as flourishing.

From the great schools of magic to the lowlife guilds, a city was at its heart a reflection of society as a whole - both its bad and good sides.

It was a marvel how such a chaotic environment could seem to be so organized from the outside.