Darian fell back into the chair, his belly full to bursting. The villagers all lay on the floor before him, twitching and writhing in their slumber. He’d laid out some blankets for them to rest on, but they were now strewn across the ground, tossed aside as the villager’s bodies began to change.
His divine skill said transformation could take up to a full day, but after only an hour he could see the effects of his blood. Their skin grew paler by the minute, and as their eyes flickered, he could see the red beneath. Darian had entered this world already changed, so he had little idea of what to expect when others went through the transformation. But it did not appear pleasant. To his eyes, they seemed to be stuck in some kind of fitful dream. They grunted in pain, clutching the floor, teeth gritted. And their waxen faces dripped with sweat as their veins bulged and their breathing became ragged.
Darian rose and walked to the windows. He’d placed sheets over them to block the sun and as he checked to make sure they were secure, he listened. Outside there was much commotion, both from the Justicars and the villagers. But while they panicked about Marco’s death, he heard no mention of retribution. It seemed they were safe for now. And if someone tried something, he could hear the pitter patter of soft feet on the roof above. Fria’s arrows would find any who dared approach them with the intent to harm.
As he listened, he heard the short gait of Durance approach from the road. The dwarf muttered a curse as he reached the door, his heavy fist thudding against the thick wood after a moment’s pause.
None of the villagers seemed to notice the sound. They simply continued to squirm upon the ground. Looking at them sent a pang of guilt through Darian’s heart, but they’d asked for this.
“Yes?” Darian said with a questioning tone.
“We’ve quarantined those in the longhouse. It is still too dangerous for them to be allowed outside.”
Darian wondered for a second why Durance was telling him this, but then he realized. He might be worried about how I will react. If I will be a threat.
“Those within sit in their own filth,” Darian said. “And the bodies of the dead are left to rot where they fell.” He rested his forehead against the door. “I understand why you can’t let them leave, but there must be something you can do for them?”
Durance sighed, the rings in his beard clinking. “The men I have left are conflicted. Those not busy burying the dead already prepare to leave. Two have remained to guard the longhouse, but I fear we will be gone before long.”
“Then it will be up to the those left behind to care for the infected.” Part of Darian was relieved to hear the Justicars would be leaving, but he worried about what would happen once they reached civilization.
“You have won no friends here,” Durance said, his voice low. “Despite his…fervor, Marco was a high ranking Justicar. His death will raise questions.”
“I will be gone from this village soon. If you need someone to blame, blame me. I don’t wish for the village to suffer because of my actions.” He looked over at the people writhing nearby. Perhaps the village will suffer either way.
“We plan on telling command the dead Justicars fell to the plague. Whether those who remain will stick to this story, only time will tell. But the only alternative is admitting they allowed their commander to be murdered. That should stall their tongues.”
“Murder,” Darian mumbled. “The man would have burned the infected alive. Killing him was necessary.”
Durance made a sound between a grunt and a growl. “I will not argue with you. But know there will be consequences for what you’ve done. In this world or the next.”
“Perhaps,” Darian replied. “But before you go, this elixir of yours, you said it can cure the infected?”
“Supposedly,” Durance answered, a hint of venom in his voice. “But it’s untested.”
It wasn’t what Darian wanted to hear, but his “method” was also untested. “There is a woman among the infected named Veronica. I told her that she and her son Tomas could count on you to cure them. Even if you’re unsure it will work, I ask that you give the cure to them first.”
“You are in no position to ask something like that,” Durance huffed. “But I already planned on giving the cure to the children. Tomas will be the first I see.”
Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.
Darian recalled the room. There had only been one child still breathing when he arrived. But he couldn’t bring himself to tell the dwarf for some reason. He wasn’t sure if it was the pain in Durance’s voice, or something else, but Darian found the words lost.
“If there is elixir left,” Darian said. “Please give it to Veronica.”
The dwarf shifted from foot to foot, and though Darian couldn’t see his face through the door, he could tell it was twisted by doubt.
“I will consider it.” Then Durance turned, his boots squelching against the wet earth. “Miss Rostcliff will keep you updated if something in the village changes.”
Darian listened as the dwarf’s short steps drew away, the village whistling as mountain wind blew through. He backed away from the door and turned, shocked to see someone standing behind him.
Jorg’s face was glistening from sweat, but he stood upright, his shoulders proud. His eyes were bright red but slightly vacant, as if he was distracted by something.
“Jorg?” Darian eased forward, the big man blinking like he just noticed Darian was there.
“I feel…” he looked around. “Hungry.”
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Quest Added: Nightlord
Objective: Create fifty vampires. (1/50)
* Reward: 300 Race XP
* Reward: Nightlord’s Mail
* Reward: New divine subskill added [Vampiric Bloodlines]
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Darian nearly jumped as the quest notification trumpets blared. As Jorg continued to wander the room in a strange daze, Darian looked over the quest rewards. But I don’t desire to make more vampires? Quests thus far were based on his desires. If he wanted something, the system would facilitate a reward. But he didn’t want to make more vampires if he could help it. Doing so was simply a last resort. An answer to an unanswerable situation.
Since Jorg was up, Darian decided to quickly check the others. But none had stirred from their fitful sleep.
“You said you were hungry?” Darian asked as he approached the vampiric Justicar.
The man’s beard was still dark, and his ears were still rounded. But his crimson eyes, pale skin, and fangs marked him as a vampire.
“I am.” He touched his stomach like he was teasing a fresh wound.
Darian anticipated the turned would need blood, but he didn’t think any of them would rise so quickly.
“Fira or Zan can find something for you,” Darian said. “But until then, we must remain here.”
“This hunger.... It’s nearly overpowering.”
“I know.” Darian grabbed the chair he’d been sitting on and slid it forward. “Take a seat.”
Jorg, still confused, sat down with some hesitation. His stomach growled as he did so, and the Justicar groaned.
Darian approached the back window and poked his head out. “Fria!” he called.
He expected the girl to drop down or call from above, but she appeared around the corner of the house, Zan beside her.
“One of them has risen,” Darian said.
“Who?” Fria asked, stopping as Darian warned her to stay away. He still didn’t know if the infection was eliminated in the people he turned. Until then, it was best for her to keep her distance.
“It’s Jorg.” Darian glanced over his shoulder. “He’s hungry for blood, but otherwise alright.”
“Hungry?” Fria frowned. “I suppose you want us to find something?”
Darian nodded. “I didn’t think anyone would have turned this quickly.” He looked up at the falling snow. “Do you think you or Zan can find something in this weather? Even a rabbit would do.”
“We can try. But I can’t be in two places at once.”
“I don’t think any of the Justicars will try anything,” Darian said. “You shouldn’t need to keep guard.”
“Perhaps.” She scratched Zan between the ears, then walked toward the road. “We won’t be gone long.”
Darian nodded and then pulled back from the window. Jorg was still seated, but he appeared to be growing restless.
“They will be back soon,” Darian said. “How are you feeling?”
“Ashamed.” His shoulders slumped. “What Argus must think of me now…”
“Not to be rude,” Darian said, leaning against the wall. “But I’ve heard a few people tell me Argus is dead. How can he be angry with you if he’s not here?”
Jorg frowned. “Only his physical body was slain.” He looked up at the ceiling, his red eyes catching a hint of the firelight. “But he watches us from his throne within the sun, judging our sins.”
“He sounds kind of like—” Darian stopped as he heard it. The sound was soft and at the edge of Darian’s hearing, but he heard the tap of feet on the roof once more. But he could tell now.
The sound didn’t belong to Fria.