"Absolutely, Bob! He... after he took the others inside, there were these horrific screams, and then a creature with a goat's head, wearing a necklace made of human skulls, with blood-red eyes and flames spewing from its mouth, came bursting through the walls, chanting things like 'blood, death...' Ted... Ted didn't even have time to scream before his head was crushed!"
"Alright… you must have been terrified. If a speaking demon really had come, this city would have been reduced to ashes long ago, just from its heat," Barros sighed, looking at the witch hunter before him, whose words came out stammering.
As a seasoned demon hunter, Barros had seen many people driven mad by monsters. They would describe goats as demons, stray dogs as hellhounds, or even claim to see shadows as large as hills that could blot out the sun. Only to find out, upon arrival, that it was merely a wandering rock troll.
"Are you suggesting he's lying, demon hunter?"
A middle-aged man wearing a hat adorned with mourning bird feathers, holding a noble's rapier, approached Barros. His upper body was dressed in a witch hunter's leather armor, while his lower half sported tight noble trousers, a hint of perfume lingering in the air.
Meanwhile, the soldiers cleaning up the burnt wood around the stake drew closer to the terrified witch hunter. With just a word from Lord Konst, this frightened individual would be labeled as 'bewitched by dark magic' and become the next roast. The recently executed mage had barely survived being half-burned to charcoal.
Not just anyone could serve the distinguished figure before them; he was personally appointed by King Bortan to oversee the witch-hunting operations in Byronvale. There were even rumors that upon his return to Bortan, the king would bestow lands upon him, elevating him to the title of 'Duke of Demon Hunting.'
At that point, perhaps this 'Duke of Demon Hunting' would remember him and arrange some work for him in his territory. He could earn money to indulge in a few more drinks at the tavern and perhaps find a couple of girls to enjoy life with.
But it was evident that a title as grand as that was of little use to the man clad in a hooded cloak, armed to the teeth, and sporting a frightening scar across his face.
"Calm down; Byronvale doesn't have much firewood left. If this keeps up, come winter, the people of Byronvale will have to burn peat."
Barros waved his hand, signaling the eager soldiers to step back, but this only infuriated Konst.
"Then explain clearly! I didn't invite you here to teach me how to use charcoal responsibly! If we wait any longer, that demon will start spreading plague or corrupting minds!"
Treated with such disdain, Konst's temper flared; were it not for his needs, he would have ordered the soldiers to bind Barros to the stake without a second thought.
The debate about whether demon hunters were human or hybrids of humans and abyss creatures had long been a topic of contention among the populace. But in Lord Konst's eyes, these non-human beings were merely waiting to be added to the purification list.
"Fine… Your soldiers probably didn't get a good look at that creature, but according to your claims, the girl you were pursuing must have obtained a page of a demon contract from somewhere and summoned a demon using a sacrifice she procured. Also… calm down, Duke of Demon Hunting. Hunting abyss demons is not as simple as fabricating accusations; if there truly is a demon capable of spreading plague or corrupting minds, not only I, but even all the knights in Bortan would merely be serving it a meal."
As Barros spoke, he signaled the soldiers not to move, then scraped some dirt from his boot.
"Hmm… no burnt smell, not bad. Just an ordinary demon."
While Barros remained relaxed, Konst was fuming with rage; the demon hunter's words were blatant mockery of his ignorance, insinuating that he only knew how to resort to underhanded tactics.
"Hey, demon hunter, if you have time to fiddle with the mud on your shoes, why don't you go down there and take a look for yourself? I'm not paying you to stand here and talk nonsense!"
Konst shouted, believing this would enhance his authority. Unbeknownst to him, such behavior only appeared to Barros as bluster.
"... It's not nonsense, just common sense. If you spent less time devising methods to torture mages and more time reading, you might understand my 'nonsense.'"
"You…"
Just as Konst was about to explode, Barros had already drawn a weapon from his waist—a sharp hand axe, its blade glinting menacingly.
"What… what are you doing?"
Konst stumbled back two steps behind the soldiers, fear evident in his eyes.
"Just doing my job… you know, standing here won't coax that demon out to surrender willingly."
With that, Barros descended the stairs, heading toward the entrance of the sewer.
......
Hmm…
When Grellia opened her eyes again, she found herself gazing at the moon reflecting on the water's surface.
It was round, surrounded by twinkling stars, captivating in its beauty.
"Beautiful… light… water…"
What was that sound?
It came from behind her.
As Grellia turned, a red hand, adorned with white bony spikes on the back, tossed a stone into the river, shattering the reflection. Suddenly, memories of what had happened before she fainted flooded back—
She… she had summoned a demon, and that demon had killed those people!
"Ah! Ugh…"
As Grellia attempted to scream, a large hand clamped over her mouth, the scent of blood wafting from it causing her to struggle futilely, but the grip was unyielding, like iron.
Turning slowly, she faced a horrifying visage, bloodstains at the corners of its mouth.
"Quiet… up above… they're looking for you."
At that moment, Grellia realized that above her, dim lights flickered, and there were voices. It seemed she was near the banks of the moat surrounding Byronvale; on the city walls above, guards and witch hunters were watching, their telescopes in hand, ready to shoot anyone attempting to swim across the moat.
After a brief silence, Alan, now certain that Grellia had calmed down a bit, slowly spoke. His deep voice was reminiscent of a deflating bellows, sending chills down her spine.
Grellia, after overcoming her fear, gradually nodded in understanding.
Once Alan released his hand, Grellia quickly scrambled away, hiding in the shadows, trembling.
Indeed… although Alan had tried to appear gentle, communicating with her, his 'master', was still quite challenging.
Fortunately, she had come prepared.
With that thought, Alan pulled a piece of charcoal from his waist, which he had just taken from the wood pile in the sewer. Though aged, it could still write.
Drawing in the dirt by the riverbank, Alan stepped back and waved to Grellia, beckoning her to come closer.