"So… what now?" Corven asked, eyes narrowing slightly as he glanced at the silver-streaked pouch in Irsted's hand. The confusion in his voice echoed the strangeness of the situation—they had done nothing, yet they were being paid.
Irsted let out a dry chuckle, the sound low and amused. Without missing a beat, he pulled exactly thirty silver coins from the pouch, counting them with the precision of someone who'd done this a hundred times before. Then, without ceremony, he tore a strip from the hem of his own cloak—rough fabric fraying at the edges—and fashioned it into a crude pouch, tying it with a simple, practiced knot before tucking the silver inside.
"Simple," he said, voice casual, like they weren't standing in a blood-stained alley with a corpse cooling behind them. "We head back down and question nothing."
With a flick of his wrist, he tossed the remaining pouch to Corven.
Corven caught it effortlessly, weighing the coins with a grin. "Gladly. Money without work? Now that's what I call a blessed night."
But before they could move, Rose spoke up, her voice edged with curiosity—and something darker. "Also... how do vampires here get their fix? I haven't exactly seen any blood bars around."
Irsted glanced over his shoulder. "Underzen's got plenty of places for that," he replied. "Blood's a resource. They never run out. One way or another."
Trish let out a soft yawn, stretching her arms over her head with feline grace. The night was clearly starting to wear on her. "Let's head back down. We'll talk blood and ethics later."
The others nodded in agreement, turning to retrace their steps. Whatever happened to the dead man was out of their hands now—it was the paladin's mess. Let him clean it up.
But fate had other plans.
Just as they turned the corner, a dark blur surged from across the street—fast, crimson, and snarling.
A vampire. Moving like a shadow loosed from hell.
It lunged toward them in a blur of motion—but Irsted was faster. His greatsword swept through the air in an arc of polished steel, intercepting the blow with a solid clash that rang through the night.
"Whoa, not so fast, Dracula," Irsted grinned, twisting his body and slamming his boot into the vampire's gut.
The impact echoed. The vampire flew backward, skidding across the stone road with a wet cough. Blood splattered from his mouth as he tumbled to a stop, claws digging into the ground for purchase.
"You… what happened to him?" the vampire snarled, voice ragged. "You were the mercs he hired, right? Why can't I sense his blood?"
Irsted's tone was calm—deadly calm. "He's gone. Someone got to him first."
He shifted his stance, knuckles whitening around the hilt of his greatsword.
"But the mana stones…" The vampire's eyes narrowed with suspicion. "Where are they?"
He was onto them. At least, he thought he was.
Irsted smiled faintly—too faint to be friendly. He tapped the flat of his sword against the ground. Once. A signal.
Trish didn't hesitate.
Her bow was up in the blink of an eye. The string hummed, and a silver-fletched arrow shot through the air, glinting under the moonlight.
'That's not gonna work,' Corven thought, watching it arc forward. 'I've used a bow on a vampire before. Doesn't do shit.'
And just like that, the vampire caught it effortlessly with one hand, a chuckle rising in his throat.
"I'm guessing you two know more than you let on?" he sneered.
But then—click.
The arrowhead hissed and snapped open mid-air, transforming in a flash of movement.
It exploded outward into a net, strands of cord laced with tiny silver spheres. It wrapped around the vampire like a predator closing in on prey, the silver balls burning into his flesh with hissing steam and the acrid scent of scorched skin.
He screamed, pinned to the ground, thrashing in agony. The silver seared him, keeping him locked in place.
"I'll tear your hearts out for this!" The vampire yelled out in agony.
"Whoa…" Corven breathed, eyes widening. "That's hardcore."
"Right?" Irsted said with pride. "Custom work. Made by Trish herself."
Trish gave a small shrug, smirking. "Want one?"
"Hell yes," Corven replied without hesitation.
She plucked one from her quiver and tossed it to him with a flick of her wrist. He caught it carefully, studying it with admiration.
"What are you planning to do with one arrow?" Rose asked, raising a brow.
"Simple," Corven said, holding it up to the light. "Reverse engineer it."
Then his eyes flicked to the vampire, still writhing and snarling on the ground. "What are you two gonna do with him?"
Irsted exhaled sharply, stepping toward the trapped figure. "We kill him."
Corven's eyes narrowed slightly. "Won't that paint a target on your heads?"
Irsted chuckled. "Nah. This place has a system. Word gets around, names get cleared. Don't ask how it works. It just… does."
With that, he raised his greatsword, angled for a downward strike, ready to cleave the vampire in half.
"Wait." Rose stepped forward, voice firm.
Irsted paused mid-swing.
"Care if I do the honors?" she asked, her eyes glowing faintly in the moonlight. "I'm parched."
"Same here," Corven added, lifting a casual hand. "Wouldn't mind a top-up."
Irsted grinned and lowered the blade. "Go wild."
He stepped aside, leaving the vampire's fate sealed.