Before Arthur could process why a Varethian would be in Gresya—let alone locked inside a forgotten lab—his attention caught on the unnatural stillness in the child's face. Eyes closed, body limp, yet unnervingly calm. No twitch, no stir. Even as the rest of the lab thrummed with arcane tension, the child remained untouched—like the air itself dared not breathe near him.
Then, a faint glow.
Arthur's gaze snapped to a nearby wall, where a rune—etched deep into rusted metal—flickered blue. Whispers filtered through, distant and garbled, like voices speaking underwater.
He narrowed his eyes.
"Looks like the owner's home."
Without hesitation, he raised his pistol and fired. The bullet struck the edge of the rune, carving through it. Sparks flared as the glow died, severing the connection before the spell could fully awaken.
"Looks like I'm out of time."
His focus shifted back to the child.
"Damn it... this wasn't part of the bounty." He fired at the glass tube, the green liquid spilling out and eating into the floor beneath it.
Arthur raised an eyebrow, surprised the child was still alive, but there was no time to dwell on it. He ripped the tubes out of the child's body, lifting the unconscious form onto his back.
Quickly, he grabbed his journal and jotted a note. "Two possible survivors, one not rescued." He shoved the journal back into his coat.
As he bolted for the exit, the two remaining Whisperers appeared, their voices crawling into his mind once more.
"I don't have time for this." He pulled out a scrap of parchment, bit into his index finger, and drew a rune in blood.
"Homew!" he shouted, the parchment lighting up with a crimson glow.
In front of him, from the direction he entered, two shadowy figures emerged—tall, cloaked in dark trench coats, and their faces hidden behind masks.
Arthur's hand went to his revolver, taking aim to buy time as the blood-streaked parchment continued to writhe in his grip.
"Too late!" He fired at them, aiming to take one down.
One figure stepped forward, weaving circular gestures in the air. "Scutum!" they shouted, and a protective barrier formed, easily deflecting the bullets.
But it didn't matter. The scroll had finished, bursting into blood and swallowing both Arthur and the child whole.
In the span of three seconds, they reappeared in a new location—one as filthy as the sewers. The walls were damp, the air heavy with moisture, and most importantly, it was filled with others like Arthur.
A rune on the floor erupted into a pool of blood, and from it, Arthur and the child emerged, both drenched in his own blood.
"Agh… can't believe I had to use another homemade homew," Arthur muttered, his grip tight on his head as dizziness crept in from the blood loss. He tried to push the feeling away—he couldn't afford to let his guard down now.
But the dizziness only worsened as his knees wobbled. He had to steady himself with a hand on the nearest wall before he could even look up.
A woman approached them, holding a revolver in her hand, dressed in the same dark clothes as Arthur.
She leaned casually against the wall, twirling her revolver with practiced ease.
"Didn't expect to see you back so soon, Alucard. Messed up again, huh? Thought you'd've learned by now—guess even the best slip up."
She flicked her revolver with a practiced hand, her eyes briefly flicking over the child. "Well, look at you—finding surprises in all the wrong places. Guess we'll call this a bonus, but don't think it'll make up for the mess."
She tossed Arthur a red vial, smirking.
"Cut me some slack. I've been in this business longer than I care to count."
Arthur caught it, unscrewed the cap, and downed the contents. The warmth hit him instantly, straightening his spine. He smashed the empty vial on the floor.
"Took you long enough," he muttered, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
He knelt beside the unconscious child, inspecting the pale features.
"What do we do with the Varethian? Hand it over to Broker?"
The woman pressed a finger to her lips in thought.
"No. We can't risk handing an enemy of the Church over for some measly payout."
She snapped her fingers.
"I'll send it to Informat."
The pool of blood they'd emerged from stirred again. With a single word—
"Serie."
—the blood rose up like liquid smoke, swallowing the child whole. Then, it vanished—silent, clean, gone.
Arthur stood, stretching his arms.
"Don't keep me waiting next time."
She laughed, tossing him a small leather pouch.
"Five hundred. As promised."
Without another word, she turned on her heel, waving him off as she walked away.
Arthur sighed and pocketed the pouch before heading deeper into the underground sprawl— The Hunter's Den.
Despite the name, it felt more like a thieves' guild. Dim lanterns, the reek of sweat and rust. Figures loitered in shadowed corners, draped in black, faces rugged as if they'd survived a brawl with a wendigo and lost. The stalls scattered around looked less like armories and more like overworked smithies pressed into backroom deals.
He outranked most of them, but it never mattered. You only earned respect with kills. Or scars.
"The great Alucard returns! Another failure, then?" a voice jeered.
One of the hunters leaned against a barrel, trench coat too clean to belong to a real fighter. Mug in hand, grin on his face. But before Arthur could even glance his way, a fist clocked the man straight in the jaw.
He dropped like a sack of bones.
Another hunter stepped over him, tipping his hat toward Arthur.
"Newbie thought stomping on some abyss-tainted vermin made him a real hunter. Don't mind him, Alucard."
He chuckled, then poured the rest of his beer over the downed man's head to wake him.
Arthur just sighed and moved toward a nearby stall. A massive figure hunched behind the counter—bald, bearded, and twice Arthur's size—dismantling a revolver with practiced care.
"The usual?" he asked without looking up.
Arthur didn't respond. He simply tossed his revolver onto the counter. It clattered hard enough to make the man fumble the one he was already cleaning.
The big man caught it with a grunt.
"Alucard always gets first serve, huh?"
He set the other weapon aside and began dismantling Arthur's rusted piece. The familiar sound of metal on metal echoed through the stall.