Leonard was on his way back to port, to rejoin his crew.

His first act as captain had been betrayal. His second, running away from the person he had betrayed, murdered, when he somehow came back from the dead.

Evidently, he wasn't making a good impression. He had to hurry to fix things before he lost control.

He could think about why Jonathan hadn't killed him later, when he had everything under control. Or never. Not like it mattered, really. Once he got out of this place, it was possible they'd never see each other again in their lives.

No, it would be for the best. For everyone.

Leonard rounded the corner.

The harbor stretched out before his eyes. Maybe Elesbury was a town in the middle of nowhere, but the place was crowded and bustling. Too much, he soon realized. So noisy. So many raised voices, most of what was being spoken was impossible to discern, as a result. But Leonard heard and saw enough to know he was screwed.

For some reason or another, they had decided to close the port.

"Shit." He clicked his tongue.

Under normal circumstances, he would cooperate, telling himself it wasn't worth the hassle. But in these circumstances, he couldn't afford to waste time.

He had to get out of here, the sooner, the better.

Jonathan may have essentially spared his life a while ago, but it wouldn't happen again, he wasn't going to delude himself that what he had started could end so easily. Nothing could change his old friend's mind. His attempts had ended with his hands around his throat.

He would gather his crew and then they would leave this city by force, if necessary.

Better to face the city guard than Jonathan when he would inevitably return to kill them all.

——

Jonathan let Elizabeth go to give the order. At some point he had to start trusting her or this wouldn't work. Still, he didn't turn his back on her, he watched her every step of the way until she left the mansion.

As if thinking about changing his mind.

But he didn't. When he was left alone, he took a deep breath.

Okay. She'd go about her business. He had work to do, too. He began to scour the mansion, looking for survivors. These couldn't be the only soldiers in the mansion.

He couldn't be sure, but he believed that even the welcoming committee had outnumbered the dead now gathered around him. Some had escaped and just as many, surely, had never been here.

He was unwilling to slaughter the thousands of innocents in this city.

But he...

They needed power, they needed soldiers incapable of questioning or betraying them. This, at least, was inevitable.

He went back up the stairs, closely followed by his small army like a shadow, and this time he took the other direction. He didn't have to walk far to find signs of life.

There they are, he thought.

Jonathan sent his soldiers to break down the door. It didn't take many charges, even though they had tried to block the door with a makeshift barricade. The dead were unstoppable. Even if they broke every bone in their bodies in the process, they did his bidding.

They flooded the room. This time he remained behind, using the bodies of his soldiers as shields.

A spear-wielding soldier stepped forward.

He dragged the tip of the spear across the floor. Not sparks, but flames leapt, with great speed, toward the center of his army. A Skill. Jonathan backed up a few steps, hiding behind the door.

The flames must have passed over his resurrected soldiers. But, of course, they gave no indication of that. No throat with which to scream.

"We won't let you kill us so easily, monster!"

Monster.

Jonathan knew he had ceased to be human, but he had had enough of being called a monster. He clenched the sword harder and harder, until the knuckles turned white.

Running back into the narrow room. Charging at his enemies, right behind the flame-shrouded dead.

They wouldn't last long like this, but they didn't have to. The first of his soldiers reached the enemy and gave him a big hug. The fire spread rapidly, ravenous.

Screams filled the air.

And, above all, the smell of burning flesh. It was a smell that made him want to vomit, but right now he didn't care.

The guy with the spear was going to execute that Skill, again. Jonathan stepped in the way, slamming his sword into the weapon before it could hit the ground. Without hesitation. He was still fragile, but now that he knew there was only one person in the world who could kill him permanently, there was no need to be afraid.

Jonathan planted his feet on the ground, pushing harder and harder. He wasn't winning the struggle. But at least he wasn't losing it either. The balance finally tipped to his side, when one of his resurrected soldiers cut off his opponent's hand.

No, not the whole hand, it had been like an optical illusion. But enough.

A few fingers flew out, chased by streams of blood. The enemy could no longer hold the spear properly and he took his chance.

With a swift movement, he finished what his soldier had started, cutting off his hand.

Then, as the enemy writhed, staggering backwards with his hand over the bleeding wound, he truly put an end to it all. Put another way, he severed his head from his shoulders.

He watched as his head rolled across the crimson carpet.

Even if he resurrected it, he wasn't going to fight very well without a head, maybe he shouldn't have. But what was done was done. He had soldiers to spare, it was okay to lose one.

He hadn't even thought about that, but it was all right.

Only he should kill the rest in ways that would allow him to take advantage of them later. Otherwise, his efforts here and now would go from the first, true step toward his goal to nothing more than a meaningless massacre.

Someone picked up a chair and threw it against the window, blowing it into a thousand pieces. Creating an exit.

He immediately ran to take advantage of it. Fortunately, Elizabeth had lent him her gun. Jonathan took aim and fired. The soldier, instead of jumping off the balcony, fell to the ground and continued sliding forward until his face hit the wall, stopping violently.

He struggled to get up, hands on the railing, one leg fucked up.

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Jonathan had no time to reload. He discarded the pistol to the side.

"Bastard!"

The burning corpses kept trying to embrace their enemies, completely ignoring the swords or spears being embedded in their bodies. Turning the fire consuming them into a weapon of sorts.

Jonathan didn't want to lose any of his soldiers if he could help it, of course, but this was the best he could do with them under the current circumstances. Before he knew it, he had one behind him and others in front of him.

The soldiers lunged for him, brandishing their swords.

Jonathan dodged their attacks, leaping over the table and landing behind. The soldiers stopped and circled around, each in turn, as before. Shit, they had to get in his way when his priority was to kill that guy before he escaped out the window. He should have aimed higher. But he'd wanted to be sure.

If only he'd known...

Anyway, that could be said for everything.

The one ahead of him jumped at him.

Jonathan wasted no time. He grabbed the arm with which he held the sword, twisting it, feeling his bones creaking under the grip.

But he could not break his arm, nor did he intend to.

He swiftly passed his sword from one hand to the other, and thrust it into the arm he still held. The blade cut through skin and flesh cleanly, burying itself in the wood of the table. The sword would keep the enemy pinned against the table for as long as he needed.

Jonathan spun on his heels, attacking the one behind him with an open palm.

He struck him in the neck once, twice, three times.

Causing him to stagger backwards. Causing him to gasp, to shrink in on himself. Jonathan intended to break his windpipe, he had plenty of opportunity, but he wasn't fast enough.

For a third rammed into him, grabbing him by the inner thighs to lift him up more easily as he pushed him against a cabinet. Glass exploded behind him, under his weight.

The third one rolled off him, raised his sword above his head, to finish him off.

His hands found a can opener and he used it to slice his neck wide open.

Blood sprayed down like a waterfall. It ran into his hair, his eyes.

Even with a broken leg, the bastard managed to escape, throwing himself off the balcony. He risked breaking his neck, of course, from so high up. But anything was better than what awaited him in here, Jonahan supposed. It was worth the risk. In any case...

"Shit."

Well, he'd get him. In that state he wasn't going to get very far anyway.

Jonathan approached the table in the center of the room, to finish off the guy whose arm was still pinned to the table. But they beat him to it. More specifically, one of his soldiers jumped over the table, tackling the guy.

They both fell to the ground, with the dead man on top of him.

He had never had a chance in the first place, but the dead man's lunge had violently ripped his sword from his arm, rendering it useless. Leaving him screaming until he was hoarse.

He was helpless and helpless he died.

He died with his former companion's teeth at his throat, biting, pulling, tearing his flesh piece by piece.

Jonathan reached out anyway. To retrieve the blood-stained sword.

He turned, just in time to intercept the remaining enemy. Swinging the sword back and forth across his throat. Finishing what he had started with his fists. He withdrew the sword, letting the corpse fall to the ground at his feet.

-It's over," he said.

No. Nothing was over, but at least he had managed to clear the mansion. If there were more survivors, surely they would have escaped long ago.

Like the guy who had jumped out the window.

Speaking of which, Jonathan walked over to the balcony, took a look. Nothing. Not a trace. He couldn't have gotten very far with a bullet in his leg and wrapped in heavy armor, but at least he was out of sight.

He fixed his gaze beyond the trees surrounding the mansion, beyond the hill.

Back to the town of Elesbury, which lay below the shadow cast by the mansion. Elizabeth and he had agreed on no signal, so that he could be sure she'd given the order to evacuate.

Neither did they need to. He saw ships leaving the harbor.

Including his... No, not anymore.

The Red Eagle.

He clicked his tongue. You got away with it, Leonard, old friend. At least for the moment.

——

Jonathan descended to the second floor, to the entrance. He practically staggered over the front door, opening it. He and his army passed through, descended the hill.

And entered the city.

Which was being evacuated.

Of course, not many people were in a hurry to pack up and leave their lives behind. But when they saw him advancing at the head of the army of the dead, things changed.

A couple of guards stood in his way, while the rest led the people away and out.

Jonathan didn't flinch. His soldiers advanced.

The sheer advantage of numbers had decided the outcome of the fight before it began. Two more fell and joined his army. He continued down the hill.

When he had died in that cave and been reborn, he had ceased to be human. But did he still believe he could cling to humanity? That just because he didn't slaughter civilians he was doing something less monstrous?

Despite his slow descent, it wasn't long before he encountered more opposition.

About a dozen soldiers.

There was no reason for him to participate in this battle, either. With a silent order, he had his soldiers march forward. His army was like a large snowball.

The snow was accumulating rapidly as it rolled downhill, and it could destroy anything that stood in its way.

Thus, soon this place would become a city of the dead, inhabited only by Elizabeth and himself.

No, maybe Elizabeth would be the only living being.

-Shit," mumbled a dying guy on the ground. Yeah, he was no saint. But at least he could put an end to his suffering. Jonathan ran the sword across the man's neck. It was over quickly.

The show had to go on.

This city had stood for hundreds of years, but the time had come for the curtain to fall.

That way... Slowly but surely, their massacre reached a harbor that was already practically empty. By now, Leonard would be far away. Whereas Count Dracula had never been here in the first place.

In other words, his real targets were beyond his reach.

That wouldn't change, no matter how hard he tried. That's why he lacked energy. But it was something he had to do. There were a few city guards still in the harbor.

They should have fled while they still had the chance. Too bad for them, but they had made their decision.

Or maybe they had made no decision at all. Perhaps fear had taken the decision out of their hands, reducing them to a mass of instinct.

Either way, they would die here.

The tide of death could not be stopped. It was inexorably carrying away everything it encountered.

Jonathan had definitely lost that serpent, but along the way he had gathered a large army. In addition, there were also the others he had hidden. He called the acid-skinned giant out .

"I've never seen a monster like that!" That person meant the giant, of course. But it could also have been Jonathan itself.

The giant swam into the harbor, big and wide as a ship, spreading its acid everywhere. It wouldn't be long before it reached dry land. More and more blood. Without stopping, he thought. If that wasn't enough, the woman finally appeared, a sword in each hand. Thus, despite the business suit, Elizabeth looked more like the pirate she had been. The blood smeared across her body helped with the effect.

"I was wondering where you were," Jonathan said absently, without looking at her.

"Where am I going to be? I've come too far to be able to just laugh and turn back."

"Yes. That's right."

The remaining survivors of the city guard stood trembling on the spot. Paralyzed, as if waiting for them to finish talking, almost. Jonathan laughed at them. And at himself, in a way.

It was all over quickly, especially with Elizabeth's help. As in the fights on the way, Jonathan didn't have to lift a finger, his army took care of everything.

Honestly, it made him feel detached from everything that was going on. He couldn't even feel guilty because it was almost like someone else had done it, even though he was the one who had given the order in the first place.

Under Elizabeth's silent gaze, Jonathan opened the stats page.

He distributed the experience points appropriately. All the stats were important, of course, to a greater or lesser extent. But he had a feeling he should concentrate on his resistance for the moment.

Yes, the Count was the only person in this world who could kill him at all, now. But even dying temporarily could be a great inconvenience.

The more he could resist the better in all cases.

The engraving on his right hand wouldn't go away. He supposed it was one of the many things he now simply had to live with. It would make it difficult for him to go incognito, but hey, it was rather unlikely that he would manage to go unnoticed anywhere, after this, engraving or not.

He turned to Elizabeth.

"Now what?"

"We prepare. And I'll tell you everything I know about that monster."

——

The Red Eagle flew over the waters, already far enough away from Elesbury to declare that they were safe. At least for the moment. They had had to force their way through and not everyone had survived, but it had been worth it.

For some reason he had had no problem convincing the crew to do this.

Anything rather than wait for Jonathan's wrath to fall on them.

But now that they were more or less out of danger, it was time for questions.

"How is it possible that the captain, that is, that Jonathan is still alive? How could he have escaped you?"

They would get used to it, he told himself. Hardly any time had passed since his betrayal. Besides, he had other things to worry about. Leonard dropped his hands from the railing, turning to face his crew.

His crew. His.

There was no turning back from what they had done. Even though Jonathan was still in the world of the living, that wouldn't change. Perhaps the best thing to do would be to try, but Jonathan had proven too stubborn and proud for that. Deep down, he had known it would be futile before a single word had left his mouth. That's why the first thing he had done was run away.

Mark had said that Jonathan had survived. That was, naturally, the same thing most of the crew would be thinking. But it wasn't merely that he had stayed alive, if only it were that simple.

Somehow, he had come back to life. That was an immovable truth.

"I checked his pulse myself. There is no doubt about it. He died on that island.

"That's... even harder to believe," another muttered. Evan.

"But it's the truth."

They didn't know how to respond. Silence descended upon them again, though not for long.

"If he has revived, perhaps it is because the gods want him on this earth. Because his mission is just... divine... and we should have been on his side." Evan continued. But it was guilt that spoke, above all else. Fear too, but above all guilt, he was sure.

"If he received help from a higher power, I don't think it was a divine one," Leonard simply said.

A shiver ran down his spine.