The sound of the train echoed clearly in this place.
Tall trees towered above, their thick leaves flashing by in a blur. The black horse galloped with incredible speed, like a bolt of lightning, steam billowing from its head.
"So, you're on your own because your friends were slaughtered by criminals?"
"Yes. They were killed when I let my guard down."
"Such a tragic fate."
Two men sat across from each other in one of the train's luxurious compartments. Red curtains hung from the windows, and plush sofas invited passengers to fall into a deep slumber.
They spoke as if they were already familiar. The older man, his face wrinkled and barely visible in the dim light, felt pity for the young man sitting across from him.
"Where will you go after getting off this train?"
The young man remained silent, unwilling to answer the old man's question.
He moved his hand away from supporting his chin and turned his head to meet his companion's gaze. His white hair swayed slightly in the breeze blowing in through the open window of the compartment.
"Edinburgh."
"That city's been quite popular lately."
The young man nodded. A dark aura seemed to cling to him, never leaving his presence.
"It's understandable. After losing your friends, anyone would need a new place to change their mood."
Ah, he was starting to tell a story, a trait the young man despised in people.
"But why a place like that?"
"You already answered that."
He didn't care. The old man continued his conversation, undeterred by the cold reply.
The old man chuckled softly. "I knew you were different from the others. Your aura shows you have a different purpose. You're not an ordinary man."
How annoying, thought the young man. Reluctantly, he decided to answer, hoping to silence the old man until they reached their destination.
"There's someone I need to meet. A mission that I must undertake alone," he replied.
"You…"
"I was the one who killed my friends when they let their guard down."
The train's sound changed. The vibration beneath their feet ceased, and some passengers nearby began to rise from their seats.
They had arrived. Meanwhile, the old man, dressed in a medieval coat and hat, remained frozen in place. His eyes widened in shock as he stared at the young man, still sitting calmly, a crooked smile on his face.
"What's your name?"
The young man stood up, ignoring the old man's question, who was still engulfed in disbelief.
How could he have killed his friends?
"Hey!" The old man finally rose and turned around. His eyes were fixed on the muscular back of the young man who had been his companion for the journey. "What's your name?!"
No response.
The young man continued walking toward the open door.
"My name–"
"My name changes with the place I set foot in, sir."
Ah, how fortunate.
The old man still had many years ahead of him because today, the young man had no intention of hunting. Conversing with a killer was enough to make anyone's skin crawl.
[]
Ring!
A small bell chimed, welcoming the presence of a person entering the small café through its front door. There weren't many people inside, and no one paid attention to the sound. Each patron was busy with their own matters—such was the nature of today's customers.
"Welcome, sir!"
A woman greeted him with a simple work uniform and neatly tied hair. Her face was bright, and her smile sweet, as she always performed her duty of welcoming customers.
"Oh, you're back." The woman recognized him, the young man with white hair and a faint smile on his lips. "The nameless man."
The nameless man—that was the name she had given him.
"No news from Robert?"
The nameless man hung his coat on the nearest rack. He walked past her and chose a seat near the bar.
"None. He hasn't returned from his mission yet," the woman replied.
She approached him. Her ponytail swayed, reflecting the golden hue of her blonde hair. Her bright face and sweet smile could easily melt the heart of any normal man.
At first, she chose to sit beside him, not offering him a drink.
"Aren't you going to serve me a drink?"
"You can get it yourself," she replied sarcastically.
The young man rolled his eyes, while the woman ignored him.
"If you keep this up, it'll get you into trouble, Cath."
Her name was Catherine. A sweet woman when meeting strangers but always showing a contrasting side to him.
"Instead of you constantly changing your name every time you take on a new mission," she teased.
"This time my name is Aamon."
"You actually have a name?"
The man was called Aamon. He had just decided on it as his permanent name.
Aamon nodded. "Yes. That's my name."
"That sounds like a demon's name–"
"Cath! Don't insult someone!"
"Oh, great. The person I was looking for finally shows up."
Cath hissed as she heard the familiar voice. A muscular man, his clothes stained with blood, walked in.
"Wow!" Cath stood up, her expression far from calm. "Whose blood is that? Don't dirty up the café I worked so hard to build!"
"Couldn't you worry about me for once, Cath, you cold-hearted woman?" asked the man.
"Robert. You're asking the wrong person for sympathy," Cath replied, arms crossed in front of her chest.
The man's name was Robert, the one Aamon had been looking for after just finding his name.
Robert entered the café Cath had built. Ignoring her scolding, he went about his usual routine. He took off his winter coat and hung it up, not caring about the drops of blood staining the café's floor.
"You're impossible…" Cath sighed in frustration, rubbing her temples with a stressed expression.
"What happened to you?" Aamon, ever concerned about Robert, asked.
"Hey! Nameless one! Did you find your name?" Robert responded, brushing off Aamon's question with a nod of his head.
"Did you really?" Robert asked, raising his eyebrows. "Hey, Cath! Did he really get his name?"
Cath, now mopping the floor, glared at the brown-haired man. "Why don't you ask him yourself?" She muttered and walked off, grumbling, obviously cursing the blood-covered man.
"Did you really get a name? How could I miss such an interesting detail?"
"I thought about it during the journey," Aamon answered curtly.
Robert shrugged. "So, what's your name?"
"Aamon."
"Wow, that really does sound like a demon's name–"
"I told you, it's a demon's name! Now you're being rude to him too!" It turned out Cath overheard their conversation. She stood behind Robert and gave him a hard smack on the shoulder.
"Hey! You scared me!" Robert exclaimed, nearly flipping over.
"Are you really going to use that name permanently?" Cath asked, ignoring Robert.
Aamon nodded, his ever-present smile rarely fading. Cath found it hard to believe his decision.
"I'll keep using this name, but it depends on the situation I face," Aamon replied.
Cath rolled her eyes lazily. She sighed, her shoulders dropping as she said, "So, you'll change your name if the situation turns against you."
But Aamon merely smiled. His smile was enough to make Cath shut her mouth. A sudden chill ran down her spine.
"So, what rumours brings you here covered in human blood?" Aamon asked, eyeing Robert's blood-stained body curiously.
Robert sighed. "Something unexpected happened." He ran his hand through his brown hair. "The monster had friends."
"I told you monsters like that never work alone. They always bring friends, and one of them becomes the sacrifice," Cath remarked, finding a seat to settle into. "They are the best traitors in the world."
Aamon remained silent, while Robert seemed taken aback. He almost shouted in response to Cath's words.
"You don't realize who you're insulting," Robert said.
It didn't take long for Cath to realize her remark. Instead of being surprised like Robert, she simply grinned widely.
"Oh? So, the nameless one feels insulted?"
"No."
"You two are real pros at hurting my feelings," Robert grumbled.
Cath chuckled. She spun her chair effortlessly with her feet, her light frame making the chair twirl gracefully as she enjoyed herself.
"So, does that mean the monster formed a group or a faction?" Cath guessed.
"Those fake vampires have no right to form a faction. They're just nuisances to pure vampires and creatures like us, who were born in peace from the start." Robert grew emotional, not realizing how quickly he was speaking.
"You'd make a great singer," Cath teased, earning a hiss from Robert.
Cath always deflected conversations but would eventually bring the topic back, acting as a neutralizer for tense situations.
"Did you kill them all, leaving no one behind?" Aamon asked.
The man nodded proudly, raising his chin as if proud of his accomplishment.
"Of course. I killed them with these well-manicured claws. Thanks to Emily for taking care of my weapons."
"You speak so ambiguously. People might misunderstand your words," Aamon remarked.
Robert chuckled, a crooked smile crossing his face as usual. Aamon always managed to calm his fiery spirit.
However, his smile soon faded, replaced by a serious expression, a complete 180-degree shift that made Cath stop spinning her chair and grow serious too.
"We should be more cautious because–" Robert scanned the room. The café patrons remained oblivious to them. "Is this place safe to talk about?" he asked Cath.
Without hesitation, Cath nodded. "This café is sealed from the inside. No one here can eavesdrop on us. You know how well I built it."
"Good, then." Robert leaned closer to Aamon and whispered, "We're in more danger than we thought."