Chapter 48: Ghostbusters (1/2)
The Nightlands were just as Victor had imagined them to be: dark.
Ever since the powerful vampire Orlock had cast a dark ritual over the land, the entire country had been trapped under a veil of eternal twilight. While it was noon, dark clouds obscured the skies and dimmed the sunlight. The flora on the ground looked twisted enough to survive in this kind of environment, from forests of black thorns to roses with eyes.
They had noticed a lot of giant bats and wolves on the roads below, as the duo flew further north; they didn’t seem to attack anyone though, making Victor wonder if they were vampires in disguise.
Every crossroad also had a small shrine dedicated to Mithras, and all villages had a statue of the deity. From what Victor had gathered, King Orlock believed the light god would grant vampires a reprieve from the sun if he made his country pious enough and stamped out all the ‘heretics’ he could find. The deity never answered the vampires’ prayers, but Orlock never got the memo.
Their inability to find a quest, and the revelation that someone tried to kill him in his sleep, had soured Vainqueur’s mood for the trip, making him crankier than usual. “Minion, are we there yet?” the dragon complained, as they flew over a castle straight out of Dracula’s Remake. He carried the bag full of Renoir’s coins and cows in one hand. “This place stinks of meat, blood, and garlic.”
“The map says the next member of the legion is…” Victor stopped above a graveyard, between the castle and a nearby village. “There.”
The chief of staff landed among gravestones, his dragon partner crashing loudly nearby; and unfortunately, their arrival immediately awakened the citizens of the graveyard.
An army of ghosts and wailing specters emerged from the gravestones in a nightmarish procession, swarming the dragon first with hate in their empty eyes.
Vainqueur slapped them.
Victor’s eyes widened, and so did most of the ghosts’, as the dragon backhanded the closest specters as if they were mosquitos. “Your Majesty can slap ghosts?” the vizier asked, astonished.
“I have a Gladiator Perk for that,” Vainqueur replied. “I am Vainqueur Knightsbane. I can poke everything.”
The specters immediately collapsed into white smoke.
“Come back!” Vainqueur ordered, disappointed. “Give me treasure!”
Victor doubted ghosts would have dropped anything, instead checking Mot’s map. The document led him right in front of a random marble, gravestone.
1253 AM - 1296 AM.
Adventurer. Blood Dealer. Heaven+ Premium Customer.
“Your Majesty, I think our target is very, very dead.”
“Then raise him, so I can punish him myself.”
“I don’t think I can raise someone who has been dead that long,” Victor said, as he read the tombstone. “He’s been buried for half a decade, and more to the point, he was insured.”
“Minion, this place stinks of undead!” Vainqueur roared angrily. “Are you telling me we have found the only manling who didn’t have the sense to rise up after his inevitable demise?”
“A gnome.” It didn’t calm Vainqueur at all. “So, what are we doing, Your Majesty? We return home?”
“Why would we?” Vainqueur replied, both frustrated and confused. “I lost twenty kilos flying all the way to this place, and except for my rightful settlement and new levels increasing my sweet stipend, we have no treasure to show for it! I will not come back empty-handed!”
“This trip informed us Your Majesty has a dangerous enemy after their head,” Victor pointed out. “Renoir’s weapon was an AK-47, but my [Eye for Treasure] Perk told me it has been magically modified to never run out of bullets.”
“Akawhat?” Vainqueur repeated, confused.
“A weapon from my world,” Manling Victor continued, confusing Vainqueur even more. The vizier forgot his partner had never cared about Earth at all. “Like Maure’s Iron Eagle. What is the likelihood these incidents aren’t connected?”
“Of course someone is after me, minion. I am the greatest dragon in the world. Someone is always after me. Which is good, since it means free food is delivered to my doorstep.” Victor could tell that in spite of his bravado, the attempt to kill the dragon in his sleep had infuriated him. “The question is who? The fairies?”
“The more I look at it, the more I believe the fomors may have indeed planned this,” Victor nodded. “They’re the main creatures with a vested interest in seeing Your Majesty gone, even before you gained levels, and Melodieuse gave Maure weapons from my world. That is the same MO as this Hamelin.”
Of course, Vainqueur had no idea what a MO meant, but he was too proud to admit it openly. Victor had learned to notice when he wanted his partner to explain him things without asking directly.
“In both cases, the method was the same: giving advanced weapons to intermediates and let them dirty their hands.” Victor had a few ideas about how they obtained those weapons but had nothing concrete yet. “I also think the Adventurer Guild may be implicated, or at least infiltrated. They’re the only organization which knew we would raid the Tower of Sablar—”
“Pyramid, Manling Victor.”
“They’re the only organization which knew that we would raid the Pyramid of Sablar and that we would attempt quests in the Harmonian League.”
“Manling Charlene betrayed me?” Vainqueur growled.
“I don’t think so, but I wouldn’t rule out that someone intercepts her letters.” Especially since she sent reports to Gardemagne and has asked around to get information on the Blue Rose Legion. “But their ability to anticipate us suggests they’re watching us closely.”
Vainqueur didn’t like the implications at all. “Friend Victor, are you suggesting that the fairies have infiltrated my minions?”
“It’s a possibility.”
The thought filled Vainqueur with anger. “How can anyone be ungrateful enough to betray me, like goblins? After I allowed them to live?”
“It’s just a supposition,” Victor replied. “But this is why I suggest we should go back. It’s getting harder to find quests the usual way, and while I left a semi-functional administration to handle things in our absence, the longer we stay away from Murmurin, the more we invite an attack.”
Vainqueur thought about it long and hard. “No, Manling Victor. We are not turning back,” the dragon replied, before explaining himself, “The Winter Kingdoms, where the next villain on my list lives, is also home to Icefang’s lair. While it is cold and dreary there, we will eat two cows with one bite.”
Victor immediately caught on. “You want to investigate the local adventurer guild there, and find out who sent Icefang after us.”
That… That was surprisingly well-thought. Sometimes he forgot Vainqueur’s intelligence score had steadily increased since they first met.
“And claim the settlement owed to me. It is not about revenge, Manling Victor, but something far more important. Money.” The great dragon let out a yawn, as he put his travel bag on the ground. “We will go tomorrow. I am tired, hungry, and want to sleep.”
“Here?” Victor would have preferred to sleep anywhere but in a graveyard in the middle of nowhere.
“You can sleep against my hot scales if you are afraid. I will keep you warm and safe like my gold.”
“No, I’m f—” Victor stopped, as Vainqueur gave him the stare. “Okay, fine.”
As usual, Vainqueur snored too loudly for Victor to get a good night's sleep. All he could do was close his eyes and straddle the line between sleep and drowsiness, his head against his partner’s belly.
Sleeping against Vainqueur felt strangely comfortable though. His scales radiated warmth, like a chimney, and it helped shake off the frosty night. Victor had realized he had become more sensitive to cool temperatures since he leveled in the [Monster Knight] Class, and taken to wear thicker blankets in his bed.
Thankfully, no one was stupid enough to approach Vainqueur, not even the dead.
“Hey. Hey. Psst.”
Apparently not. Victor opened his eyes, finding a cowled, white-skinned man standing near him. The dragon’s presence hadn’t deterred him.
“Hey,” the man repeated, showing his fangs. “You got blood?”
“Blood?” Victor repeated, drowsy.
“I need my fix, quick. The gov’ got my supplier after he spliced his blood with fairy dust. You can’t get away with nuthin’ nowadays.”
Why did Victor always attract weirdos? It must have been the robes. “I don’t have blood,” the vizier lied.
“You aren’t a dealer?” the vampire looked confused. “‘Cause you look the part.”
Definitively the robes. “I’m not a dealer. I just want to sleep.”
“You sure? ‘Cause I can pay good money for a sip—”
“I can’t sell my blood, it’s against my religion,” Victor deadpanned. “Now scram please.”