Months passed in the quiet village, and Max's life adopted a rhythm that was almost mundane. He hunted in the forest, worked odd jobs for coin, and kept his vampiric instincts in check. The villagers, oblivious to his true nature, saw only a quiet, resourceful boy with piercing crimson eyes and an unsettling calm.
One crisp morning, the village square buzzed with unusual energy. A small caravan adorned with banners bearing the insignia of the region's ruling house rumbled into town. Guards in polished armor escorted a finely dressed official who stepped out of his carriage with an air of self-importance. The villagers paused their daily routines, their whispers a mix of curiosity and concern.
Max leaned against a wall near the blacksmith's forge, watching the scene unfold. His sharp eyes scanned the official and his entourage. The guards moved with precision, their weapons gleaming in the sunlight. One guard in particular caught his attention—a young man with a deep scar running down his cheek, his gaze sharp and searching.
"A bureaucrat," Max murmured to himself, smirking. "And with armed muscle. Must be important."
The village elder approached the official with a respectful bow. Their conversation was hushed but laced with tension. Max caught fragments of their exchange as he inched closer through the crowd.
"...tax collection… increased patrols… disturbances in the forest…"
The mention of disturbances made Max's ears perk up. He filed the information away, his instincts urging caution. The guards began dispersing through the village, speaking with townsfolk. Max slipped into an alley, keeping himself out of sight.
Among the crowd, the scarred guard scanned the faces of the villagers, his sharp gaze lingering on anyone who looked even slightly suspicious. Max watched him from the shadows, committing his face to memory.
"The forests near here have seen too much activity lately," the official's voice rang out over the square. "We'll be stationing additional patrols. Cooperation is expected."
The elder nodded solemnly. "The village will comply, as always. We only ask for fair treatment in return."
The official waved dismissively and returned to his carriage, leaving the guards to finish their business. Max lingered just long enough to glean what he could before slipping away.
...
Max spent the next few days observing the newcomers from a distance. He noted their patrol routes and routines, his mind racing with contingency plans. Each day, he ventured into the forest, hunting not only for sustenance but to hone his skills. His movements grew more fluid, his strikes more precise. The huntsman knife he carried became an extension of his will, its damaskan steel flashing in the dappled sunlight.
One such hunt brought him face-to-face with a direwolf. The beast, larger than any prey he had faced before, growled low, its sky-blue eyes locking onto him. Max grinned, crouching slightly, his crimson eyes glinting with anticipation.
"Let's see what you've got," he whispered.
The fight was brutal. The wolf's claws slashed through the air, narrowly missing Max as he darted around it. He countered with precise strikes, his knife finding its mark again and again. When the beast finally fell, Max knelt beside it, his fangs extending as he fed. The blood invigorated him, sending a surge of power through his body.
As he stood, wiping his mouth, Max's thoughts turned inward. 'Ordinary blood's not cutting it anymore,' he realized. The hunger burned brighter, a constant reminder of his growing power—and the dangers that came with it.
...
The evening after his hunt, the village tavern was alive with laughter and music. Max entered quietly, blending into the lively crowd of villagers and adventurers. He made his way to the bar, eavesdropping on conversations. The adventurers spoke of battles and treasures, but one phrase caught Max's attention.
"The Crimson Wraith. They say it's stalking the forest, taking down entire groups of mercenaries."
Max's lips twitched in amusement. 'Crimson Wraith, huh? Not bad.'
As the conversation continued, a heated debate broke out among the adventurers. One, a burly man with a scarred shoulder, scoffed. "Probably just a wild beast. No lone creature could take out a full party."
"You don't know that," a younger adventurer countered. "The tracks they found were... unnatural. Besides, a trader claimed he saw glowing red eyes in the dark."
Max raised an eyebrow, taking a sip from his drink. The rumor amused him, but it also served as a reminder. His activities in the forest had not gone unnoticed. He'd need to tread carefully.
A sharp voice broke his thoughts. "You've been quiet, stranger."
Max turned to see a young woman with auburn hair and sharp green eyes. Her leather armor and confident stance marked her as an adventurer. A longsword rested at her hip, its hilt worn but well-maintained.
"Just passing through," Max replied smoothly.
She raised an eyebrow. "You don't look like a farmhand. What's your story?"
Max chuckled. "Doesn't everyone here have a story? Maybe I'm just here for the company."
The woman smirked, leaning closer. "Company, huh? Well, if you're looking for excitement, the forest's been lively lately. Lots of folks disappearing. Maybe someone like you could shed some light on that?"
Max's eyes narrowed slightly. Her tone was casual, but her gaze was sharp, probing.
"I stick to hunting game," he said, keeping his voice even. "Disappearing adventurers aren't my concern."
Before she could respond, a commotion erupted near the tavern's entrance. One of the guards from the caravan had entered, his expression grim. "A patrol's gone missing," he announced, his voice carrying over the din. "Anyone with information needs to speak up."
The room fell silent, tension rippling through the crowd. Max's eyes flicked to the guard, then back to the woman. Her smirk had faded, replaced by a calculating look.
"Guess the forest isn't so boring after all," she said quietly, before turning and walking away.
Max remained at the bar, his thoughts racing. The forest was becoming a focal point of attention, and his actions—intentional or not—were drawing eyes. He finished his drink, the faint taste of iron still lingering in his mouth from earlier.
'Time to lay low,' he thought, rising and slipping out of the tavern. The night was still young, and Max had no intention of being caught in the web that was slowly tightening around the village.