Eamon stood there, his arms crossed and his brow furrowed. His eyes narrowed as he looked at Helena.
"What are you trying to say, ma'am? How are you so sure that he is innocent? That he was framed?"
Helena let out a slow breath and placed her hands on the counter. She looked up at him with tired, honest eyes.
"I'll tell you", She said. "A year ago, my cat Lucy fell into the river. It was during the spring fair. Everyone was around, but no one did a thing. People just watched. They laughed. No one cared."
She paused, looking out the window as if seeing the moment all over again.
"And then he came. Arthur. From behind the crowd. He didn't say anything. Just ran past everyone and jumped right into the water. He pulled Lucy out and handed her to me. Soaking wet, shivering. I tried to thank him, but he just shook his head."
Helena smiled faintly at the memory.
"He said, 'You don't need to thank me for something like this. I can't ignore someone when they need my help.' And then he walked away."
Eamon blinked, but his face remained neutral.
"That's kind of him," he said. "But that doesn't prove he can't murder someone."
Helena's eyes shifted. The smile faded.
"It's not just that," she said. "A few months ago, I was coming back from a village nearby. It was after sundown and dark. Really dark. I was alone on the path through the fields, and then… I heard footsteps. I turned and saw three men. Bandits. They didn't say anything. Just grabbed me. One of them put a hand over my mouth and the others pulled me into the bushes."
Eamon's eyes widened slightly.
"I thought I was done for," Helena continued, her voice trembling. "But then, out of nowhere, Arthur appeared. He didn't hesitate. He jumped in and fought them off. All three of them. I was bleeding from the fall. My dress was torn. He picked me up and carried me all the way back to town."
She paused and wiped a tear from her eye.
"He told me not to tell my father. He didn't want to worry him. I was alone and helpless. He could've killed me. He could've hurt me. But he didn't. He just left after making sure I was okay."
"Why would a murder and a vampire do that? Why would he save me?", she questioned Eamon.
Her voice cracked a little. She looked down.
"And he's lived here for years. Quietly. Why would he suddenly start killing people now?"
Eamon rubbed the back of his neck.
"I don't know, ma'am," he said. "But this has nothing to do with me. I'm just a tourist. I'll be leaving in a few days."
Helena nodded slowly, but her eyes glistened.
"I'm just… I'm worried about him, He must be hurt, and frustrated and tired," she said. "Being chased like that. By the royal army."
Her voice broke and she turned away, wiping at her face with her sleeve.
Eamon didn't say anything. He looked at her for a few seconds, then turned and left the house, closing the door behind him.
That night, long after the town had gone to sleep, Eamon slipped out of the inn. He kept to the shadows, moving quietly past the guards at the gates. He had tucked Skarn into a small bag and slung it over his shoulder. The crystal hummed lightly, pulsing with a faint glow.
He moved fast once he was outside. The roads were silent and the night air cold. He checked the outskirts first—fields, farmhouses, barns—but there was nothing. No footprints, no clues.
Frustrated, he entered the forest, the trees stretching tall and dark above him. He raised his hand and summoned a fire torch with his magic. It flickered to life in his palm, casting dancing shadows over the branches and bark.
He walked deeper in. The silence was thick, broken only by the sound of his own footsteps and the occasional hoot of an owl. After a while, something caught his eye.
Bloodstains. Dried, dark red patches on a few leaves and the base of a tree trunk. He knelt beside them, holding his torch closer.
He stood and moved on, following the trail as best as he could, but it ended quickly. The rain from two days ago had washed most of it away.
The next day, he asked around in town.
"Did anyone see which direction Arthur went after the guards started chasing him?" he asked the bakers, the blacksmiths, and even the stable boys.
But they all shook their heads. Some hadn't seen anything. Others just gave vague answers. One woman said she saw him running toward the forest, but she wasn't sure.
Eamon tried a different question.
"Did Arthur have any close friends? Someone he might turn to for help?"
The answer surprised him. No one could name a single friend.
The doctor, Grumes, who Arthur used to help at the clinic, was the only one Arthur talked to. Doctor Grumes treated patients, while Arthur handed tools, cleaned up after surgeries. But he rarely spoke to anyone unless it was necessary.
"He was a quiet man," a man told him. "Polite, respectful. But not the type who shared much."
Hours passed. Eamon wandered through different parts of town, asking questions, searching for any small clue. But nothing led anywhere. He was hitting walls.
When the sun dipped low in the sky, he returned to his room and slumped on the bed. His body ached, and his eyes burned. He fell asleep quickly, the weight of his thoughts pressing down on him.
The next morning, he woke early and decided to try something riskier.
He walked to the edge of town where Arthur's cottage stood. A small house with wooden walls and a broken fence. But it was guarded now. Two men from the royal army stood outside the gate with spears in hand. Their armor shone in the early sun.
Eamon walked up casually.
"Sorry, sir," one of the guards said, stepping forward. "This place is sealed. Orders from the royal command. No one goes in."
"I just wanted to—"
"Turn back, please."
Eamon nodded and walked away without a fuss. But his mind raced. He had hoped to find something there. A note. A journal. Anything.
Later that day, he listened to the chatter in the marketplace. The townspeople said search parties had been sent into nearby forests and rivers. They even brought dogs. But nothing had come of it. Arthur had vanished.
Eamon kept searching, going over every place Arthur had ever been seen. The clinic. The old well. The stables. But the man had left no trail behind.
By the time the sun began to set again, Eamon was exhausted. He walked slowly back to his room and lay down. The wooden ceiling above him creaked as the wind blew outside.
He stared at the bag on the table. The one holding Skarn.
He had found nothing. No answers. No clues. And tomorrow were the adventurer trials. He closed his eyes and let the night take him.