Under the blank sky and the soft glow of starlight, Arvard rode slowly into the quiet town. He wore black robes, a hood drawn over half his face. He sat atop an old, brown horse whose hooves struck the dirt road with tired rhythm. As the townspeople spotted him, they muttered curses and quickly turned away. Women shut their windows with hurried hands, afraid of what the night had brought to their doorsteps.
Arvard halted in front of a weathered inn. He dismounted with practiced ease and patted the horse's flank gently.
"Rest now, old friend," he whispered.
He knew this might be his horse's last night. Age had weighed the creature down, and death loomed close.
Pushing open the inn's creaky door, he stepped inside.
The room was full of life—men drinking, laughing, and sharing tales—but his presence silenced everything. Conversations died. Mugs paused mid-air. Arvard walked toward the bar, unbothered by the stares boring into him, and sat down at the nearest empty stool.
He reached into his pouch and placed five silver coins on the wooden counter. The bartender, a lean man with tired eyes, quickly snatched them up. In return, he slammed a wooden mug on the counter and filled it with clear, strong liquor from a heavy jug.
"When did you start serving their kind, Frogi?" a large, pale-skinned man growled from a nearby table. His voice boomed through the silence. He rose from his seat, his muscular frame looming.
"He's paying, Hecus. Leave him be," the bartender replied while wiping down a dirty table.
Arvard ignored the man, sipping calmly from his mug. His left hand cradled the drink while his right rested still on the counter.
Hecus didn't back down. He walked over and dropped heavily onto the stool beside Arvard, his eyes narrowed with aggression.
From the back of the room, someone called out nervously, "Come back, Hecus! He'll curse you!"
"Not before I slit this freak's throat," Hecus sneered, voice thick with hate.
Arvard chuckled, deep and amused. It cut through the tension like a blade. All eyes turned to him. Even the bartender stopped pouring.
"What's so funny?" Hecus barked.
Arvard said nothing, simply pushed his mug forward with a nod. The bartender refilled it shakily.
Unable to restrain himself, Hecus grabbed Arvard's hood and yanked it back.
A gasp echoed through the room.
Long, silver hair spilled down Arvard's shoulders, shimmering like moonlight. His red eyes glinted with otherworldly power. The room fell deathly silent. The bartender, still pouring, stared in horror—liquor overflowing from the mug.
He remembered the tales: the vampire with silver hair and red eyes who had slain the Twin Giants in the mountains nearby.
Arvard met his gaze with a calm, crooked smile.
"I think you've mistaken me for a mage. Or perhaps… a wizard," he said smoothly.
He turned back toward his drink, and the smile faded.
The bartender snapped out of his trance. "Your friend is staying in Room 3," he said quickly.
"What?" Arvard frowned.
"Oh, so you are a friend of that freak," Hecus said with a mocking tone. "He owes me a gold coin from this morning's game."
"Shut up," Arvard muttered, eyes still on the bartender. "My friend who?"
At that moment, the door swung open.
"Him," the bartender replied, pointing.
A young man stood at the entrance, panting slightly. He was thin, with messy black hair, dirt on his face, and fine blue clothes that didn't match his ragged appearance. A sword hung at his side.
He froze the instant he saw Arvard.
Arvard narrowed his eyes. "Who are you?"
The man dropped to his knees. "Finally," he whispered.
Without another word, Arvard downed his drink in one gulp and stood. He tossed a gold coin on the counter.
"Thank you!" the bartender called after him. It was the largest tip he'd ever received.
Hecus stood as well. "What about my coin, freak?"
Arvard didn't even look at him. "I'll pay you outside," he said in a cold, even tone.
He exited the inn, ignoring the kneeling man. Outside, his horse lay on the ground, breathing heavily.
Arvard knelt beside it. "Just going to try a miracle to save you, old mate."
From behind, Hecus followed, shouting, "Pay me, or I'll throw my silver locket on you, freak!"
Arvard stood, his fury rising. As Hecus approached, Arvard raised his hand. The green gem on his ring pulsed.
His fingertip touched Hecus's forehead.
Hecus froze.
"Take me to a place where I can perform a ritual. Somewhere quiet."
Without a word, Hecus turned and began walking toward the forest.
Arvard helped his horse to its feet. He felt the beast's rising body temperature beneath his touch. Removing the saddlebags, he followed, his faithful companion limping behind him.
He sensed a presence tailing him.
Without turning around, Arvard said, "If you're going to follow me, carry something."
The man from the inn stepped out from the trees and silently picked up one of the heavy bags.
Why is this so heavy? he thought.
They followed Hecus into the woods until he suddenly stopped.
Arvard looked around. "Put the bag down," he told the man, handing him two gold coins. "Go back and buy a young, strong horse. The best you can find."
The man nodded and ran off toward the village.
"You. Lie down," Arvard instructed Hecus.
When the man returned, he led a beautiful young black mare. He froze when he saw Arvard covered in blood, hands red and clothes stained. Yet he said nothing.
Arvard walked toward his dying horse with a somber expression. He placed his hand on the creature's head.
"Shinda."
A soft orb of light left Arvard's palm and sank into the horse's skull. The beast fell silent, its breath gone.
Arvard retrieved a horseshoe and tucked it into one of the bags.
"Bring him here," he told the man, not bothering to look up.
The man obeyed. As he did, Arvard whispered, "Aag."
The bodies of both Hecus and his horse ignited in flames.
The man flinched.
"Something to say?" Arvard asked.
The man hesitated, then spoke quickly: "My name is Gelhard Truce. I've followed your path for a long time, hoping I might meet you one day. And now… that day has come. You're the legendary vampire Arvard Ampher—the Moon Admirer. Please, I know this isn't the best time, but… let me serve you. Let me travel beside you."
"What?" Arvard narrowed his eyes. "You realize I could drink your blood right now?"
"Here's your gold coin back," Gelhard said, returning one of the coins Arvard had given him.
Arvard strapped the bags to the mare. "Keep it. And leave. Never cross my path again."
Gelhard dropped to his knees and clutched Arvard's legs. "Please, Master! I won't be a burden! Let me fight beside you, ride with you, eat and drink with you—please!"
"Let go of my legs," Arvard growled.
"No, Master! Please. I want more than this small life. I don't want to rot in some dusty hut in a forgotten town. I want to live. I want to travel until my final breath. I want to enjoy the company of women!"
Arvard blinked, then burst into laughter. "Stand up."
Gelhard obeyed.
"There's no guarantee you'll live," Arvard warned. "But you can ride behind me."
Gelhard's joy erupted in a cheer.
Arvard climbed onto his horse. "Where's your horse?"
"Uh… outside the inn," Gelhard replied with a sheepish grin.
Arvard pulled his hood over his head again. "Then go get it. We move now."