He finally found the bar near where the incident had occurred. However, Ayame and Tara were nowhere to be seen. The bar owner had no problem telling him why when he asked. Maybe because he was still carrying an unconscious, blood-stained asshole. He supposed that, maybe, made a strong impression. The police, the cops, had taken them in for questioning about what had happened.

  "For fuck's sake," Vincent muttered, turning to leave the bar again.

  On the way, he accidentally slammed the thug's head against a wooden post. But hey, he was already unconscious, he didn't feel it. So he figured no harm was done.

  Vincent finally reached the fucking police station. It was a city, not a village. Meaning, a big place that surely had more than one police station. But he asked around and got it right on the first try. He knew as soon as he walked in, because he saw them in the lobby.

  "Vincent," Tara said.

  Ayame silently approached, hugging him tightly. When she pulled back, she looked at him affectionately. Vincent thought she would say, "I'm glad you're okay" or something like that. But instead...

  "Did you carry that guy all the way here?" she asked.

  Well, Vincent thought, to be fair, that's a good question.

  Vincent dropped the body. Vincent dropped the body. The asshole didn't wake up yet. And yes, he was sure it wasn't a corpse. He had checked his pulse more than once. He wouldn't say he was an expert, but he knew enough to tell a living person from a dead one. I mean, it was the least he could do.

  "Damn it all," Vincent said. "I didn't know where the hell to go, and I got to the bar too late."

  "Yeah," Tara said. "That's why we didn't want to leave. But they insisted on taking our statements."

  "Was there any trouble?" Vincent asked.

  Tara and Ayame shook their heads. The immediate synchronicity was a little suspicious. But there was no need to be pessimistic. Because they were going to get into trouble. Anyway, they had only stopped some criminals. If anything, they should be given a medal.

  "Did you find out what exactly happened? To whom? And why? Did you find out what exactly happened and why?" Vincent asked.

  "Yes," Ayame said.

  "Okay. So we can leave in peace, right?" He looked at the guy lying on the floor. "Well, someone will come pick him up."

  Tara insisted on tying his wrists at least, just in case. The cops arrived before she finished. Before she finished tying him to a chair. Before she finished. The cops arrived before she finished. And they took him away. With the confirmation of the three who had been present at the incident. First, of course. Well... problem solved. And now... they would see.

  He highly doubted this was part of the field study. So they had just been wasting time going in circles, while the other teams could have gotten ahead. No, he shouldn't think that way. They had saved a poor bastard from a beating, possibly to death, and stopped half a dozen criminals. It had been a pretty productive day.

  How much time had passed since they saw the fight and intervened? An hour already, maybe. Time had flown by. In any case, they had done something good. And in the end, it wasn't much time.

  Vincent listened to his friends.

  "Okay. So that guy, Zachariah, was being extorted by a gang." He was talking about shady business in broad daylight. But the city was so crowded, so noisy... Who would notice? Who would give a damn? And those who did care, they would probably walk in the opposite direction, instead of looking for trouble. And that was that. "That's all, right? Nothing special."

  Ayame shrugged.

  "Other than the Red Scars being the most dangerous gang in Davenport... no, nothing special."

  "Where... where do you think we should start looking?" Vincent asked. "For... you know. The field study."

  "I wish I knew," Tara said.

  "How would you know?" Ayame said. "If this is a serious test, it's poorly designed. Not a single clue."

  "There has to be something somewhere," Vincent said. "I wonder how the others are doing. Maybe one of them is already making progress."

  "I highly doubt it," Tara said, crossing her arms.

  "Yeah, me too," Vincent admitted. "But I'm worried about falling behind, that's all."

  "If anyone is ahead of us," Ayame said, "it would only be a matter of luck. The others don't know any more; they know exactly the same."

  Vincent looked around. Davenport was a beautiful city, he had to admit. Full of bustle, color, and life. But he had too much on his mind to stop and enjoy it. He wished they had come here under better circumstances. Although, to be fair, they'd had the same luck. They'd had the same luck as with Viewpoint.

  "Maybe we should find a room, first of all, before it gets late," Vincent said.

  The fact that Verona had left them stranded without clues, without anything, was bad enough. But paying for it with their own money was even worse. He remembered what his mother used to tell him when he was little: "One day you'll realize the true value of money." Now that he was earning it, he wasn't so willing to part with it. But well, there was no other choice.

  "You're right," he said. "First things first."

  Besides, he had only earned a part of it. It was all about teamwork.

  They asked around, looking for a decent room. They slept together every day, so sharing a room wouldn't be a problem, obviously. So sharing it wouldn't be a problem, obviously. There was the bar, but none of them were in a hurry to go back to the place where they had made such a scene. Fortunately, they didn't waste too much time on that.

  Once inside their new home away from home, Vincent simply dropped onto the bed. His face was covered in sweat and he was more than a little tired, to be honest. Between one thing and another, it had been an exhausting day. Now he didn't want to think, or carry such a... a dead weight again.

  "What were they called?" Vincent muttered, staring at the ceiling. "The Red Scars... What can you tell me about those sons of bitches?"

  "I don't think it has anything to do with the field study," Tara said, slightly sarcastic.

  Vincent shrugged, still lying down.

  "I don't know. I'm just talking, to distract myself."

  Ayame took a step forward, staring at him.

  "What's wrong?" Vincent said.

  "You're not just worried about the field study, are you? Are you?" Ayame inquired.

  There was no problem with admitting it. No. What was the point of trying to hide it when she seemed to see right through him?

  "You don't have to tell me," Ayame continued. "I think I know."

  "Can you read minds now?" Tara asked. She was trying to joke, but she seemed worried.

  I'm sorry, Vincent thought.

  "His, yes," Ayame said without a second thought. "You came here carrying a thug, not a corpse. You're worried that you didn't dare to kill him, aren't you?"

  "Fuck." Vincent laughed without humor. "It's true, she can read my mind."

  "You have nothing to be ashamed of," Ayame said.

  "That's right," Tara seconded. "Don't be silly. I don't know what kind of stories you read in your village, what kind of image you've formed of what a knight is. But you can't just go around chopping off heads."

  "I know that," Vincent replied. "It's just that I'm not sure if I'll be able to do it when it really matters. You know what I mean?"

  "When you have to, you will," Ayame assured him. As if it were that simple.

  "Are you so sure?" Vincent asked.

  "I know you," Ayame replied.

  Simple. Very simple. In theory. And why not? Why couldn't it be simple?

  Vincent sighed.

  "Well, I hope you're right, for all our sakes."

  They didn't take long to go out into the street again, to stumble around a bit more before it got dark. Fucking field study. Not even giving them a clue. He didn't know what was so "study" about this.

  It seemed more like a matter of luck.

  They looked for clues and made inquiries as best they could, but in the end, they had to return to the room empty-handed. Vincent felt so frustrated he could scream. He had to succeed, he had to prove he deserved his place at the academy, even if he was the only one who doubted it, for now.

  But he didn't even know where to start. In fact, he didn't even know if there was a time limit. A fucking time limit.

  It had just occurred to him, but the thought was blood-chilling. As soon as he got to the room, he went to the bathroom, washed his face, and looked at himself in the mirror as if he wasn't sure what he was seeing. He came out as quickly as he had entered and just dropped onto the bed. He didn't even take off his boots.

  There was another bed nearby that Tara and Ayame would share. They had preferred this to sleeping in separate rooms. And well, they were girls, both of them, there shouldn't be any problem.

  Vincent didn't take a deep breath, he closed his eyes. But he didn't calm down. His mind kept going in circles, fumbling around, just like they had been doing all afternoon. At this rate, he wasn't going to get any sleep.

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  And sensing it, Ayame said:

  "Easy, easy. You need to rest, save your strength for tomorrow. We may not have made progress today, but this has just begun."

  He knew she was right, although as always, that didn't make it any easier. Vincent felt it. He knew she was right, although as always, that didn't make it any easier.

  "Are you just going to go to sleep like that?"

  "I don't know, but you can be sure I'll try."

  "Well, I am," Tara said immediately, "because I'm very tired."

  He was too. The mental fatigue far surpassed the physical fatigue, although he was also quite physically fatigued, even though he hadn't done much. Anyway, of course everything took its toll on him.

  "I'll do what I can," Vincent said, finally.

  "That's the most anyone can ask of you," Ayame said.

  He was asking more of himself than he could do. Otherwise, he wouldn't be here. But well, he knew perfectly well what she meant. Trying to correct her, quote-unquote, would be nothing more than a childish act. Besides, they couldn't talk about that kind of thing. Not now, with Tara in the room, and still awake. Well, he wouldn't risk it, even if she were asleep, to be honest. Too much hung in the balance. The possibility that she was just pretending to be asleep would be enough to screw him over in that case. He didn't think Tara would react too badly. Vincent had calmed down. And now, the worst-case scenario he could imagine was her revealing his secret. With the intention of keeping her safe, returning her to the safe and proper life of a blacksmith's daughter. But, with good or bad intentions, the result for him was the same.

  Although he wished there were no barriers between them, it was something he couldn't risk. That also kept him awake. Not just this bullshit field study.

  One day, he thought. One day I'll tell her, when it no longer matters. And I'll hope she understands. I'll hope she can at least forgive me.

  He didn't open his eyes, but Vincent kept tossing and turning in the sheets, unable to fall asleep. He just wanted to rest for a few hours, until tomorrow, to repeat it all over again. But it turned out that no one would rest tonight.

  His senses screamed an alarm.

  Vincent's eyes snapped open, his heart in his throat. In the back of his mind, he thought he might have been about to fall asleep. And that was all he had felt. Some trace of a dream, or nightmare, that hadn't had time to take root and lull him, and submerge him.

  But no, it was real. It was real. They were not alone.

  There was only one man. However, the number didn't matter. The point was that an intruder had snuck into the room. Vincent jumped out of bed. Vincent reached for his sword, drawing it.

  "Wake up!" he shouted.

  Too late, the intruder covered Tara's mouth and nose with a cloth. Squeezing, the girl had started to stir, waking from sleep. But whatever that was—he didn't have the mental space right now to remember the name that crossed his mind—it knocked her out completely.

  But Ayame opened her eyes. Good, and it was only one man. He was sure he could beat him alone, so against him and Ayame, he had no chance. Everything would be fine.

  Besides, it was all very strange. What if it was an event orchestrated to some extent? Part of the field study? What if they weren't in danger at all, regardless of the number, the weapons, or the mistakes they made?

  No convenient fantasies, he thought. It would be stupid not to treat this as a life-or-death situation. The truth was irrelevant. Besides, deep down he knew they were all in real danger.

  All of this had flashed through his mind very quickly, because the intruder immediately threw the cloth on the floor. He loomed over Ayame as she opened her eyes and kicked her in the side. The vampire rolled off the bed. It was just a boot sinking into her side. More surprise than pain, no doubt. Vincent thought that in the next instant, he could calm down, because he would see Ayame rip the fucker's neck out.

  However, instead, the intruder threw something in her face. And Ayame rolled on the floor, screaming in pain. It was the most horrible sound he had ever heard.

  Son of a bitch.

  He had doubted whether he would dare to kill when the time came, even if he had no other choice. But now he understood that Ayame had been right, as she usually was. There was no doubt in his heart. Because until now, he hadn't known what it was to want to kill someone.

  Vincent also grabbed the shield placed on the floor next to his bed. And he threw it. The intruder blocked the blow, drawing his own sword. But the shield rebounded, returning to his hand. And to protect his head, he had raised his arms. Therefore, his legs were exposed. He threw the shield a second time, sweeping his legs out from under him.

  "You miserable son of a bitch," Vincent muttered, throwing himself on top of the man, sword ready to end it all with a single blow.

  Distantly, he heard Ayame whimpering in pain, writhing on the floor, as he raised the sword above his head with both hands and plunged it down.

  Into nothing. He vanished before his eyes like the morning mist. His heart skipped a beat.

  It couldn't be an illusion, a projection, or something like that. He had hurt Ayame. Of course it wasn't that. Of course it was very real.

  The next instant, he was grabbed from behind, held with the force of a fucking bear trap, because that was the first thing that came to mind. In any case, his pulse was racing, as if he were one false step away from everyone's death. Or something even worse, things he preferred not to think about.

  "You've got a lot of spirit, pup, but you're no match for me," the intruder whispered in his ear. As if all this, as if this wasn't humiliating enough.

  The next moment, he jumped towards the window with him.

  He wasn't wearing armor, he thought, goddammit.

  The glass shattered into a thousand pieces. They landed on the roof and continued down, rolling, rolling, along with the tinkling of broken glass. Vincent, struggling against the damn intruder's grip, managed to break free with a few elbows and kicks, though just barely, before reaching the edge of the roof. Just a little before, just enough to prepare for the impact.

  The intruder landed on his feet, graceful as a cat, somehow. He, well, he landed as best he could. The air left his lungs, he saw stars—and not just because it was night—but he remained conscious.

  "Son of a bitch!" he coughed several times, giving it his all to get up. First, he pushed himself off the ground, then a fence, then a wall. "Son of a bitch!"

  The intruder smiled at him, twirling the sword in his hands. His own sword, of course. The bastard was light-fingered, but Vincent hadn't lost any gear along the way.

  "What did you do to her?"

  "What do you think? Holy water! It's rare, the vampires made sure of that. But still, there are ways for those willing to look."

  Holy water. And it had burned her. As if it had been thrown into a bonfire. It was as if he wasn't aware of the supposed weaknesses of vampires. But that didn't sit well with him. If it were truly blessed, he thought, it wouldn't have hurt Ayame at all. A rather stupid thought, in the heat of the moment. But what mattered was the feeling, which wasn't wrong.

  Vincent raised his sword and shield again.

  "You're going to die screaming."

  The intruder's smile widened. Then he came at him, and the night air filled with the song of steel against steel, and flying sparks.

  "Did you think you were going to get away with what you did?"

  "What do you mean?" Vincent asked, dodging an attack, ducking. "Ah, the Red Scars!"

  "Bingo, and... bet you can't guess what I'm going to say next?"

  "Spit it out!"

  The creature's smile turned demonic.

  "I'm not alone."

  Vincent's head shot towards the window. He could still hear Ayame's whimpers, but...

  I'm scared, he thought. I'm so scared.

  "I'm just here to keep the little knight distracted."

  "You're all going to die," Vincent spat. "All of you."

  "Less talk and more sword-swinging, hero, I don't see you getting any closer to your goal."

  "You animal!"

  The scream that came from his throat was wild and inhuman. He barely recognized his own voice. He scaled the wall, returning to the roof before he knew it, naturally, as if he had been doing things like this his whole life. He crawled across the roof towards the broken window, supporting himself with his hands, feet, and even his sword.

  Unfortunately, he didn't get very far.

  A sharp pain, as if his ankle was about to fall off. Vincent gasped. A kind of rope, apparently made of magical energy, had closed around his ankle. It didn't have spikes, at least not visible to the naked eye. However, he still felt like something was digging into his skin, tearing, making its way to the flesh. The son of a bitch pulled him down. Of course, Vincent dug his sword into the roof, but that would only slow the inevitable. He tried to cut it, hitting it with the edges of his shield. No luck.

  Fuck, from now on, I'm sleeping in my armor, he thought absurdly.

  The only thing holding him back was his ankle. But if the rope finally cut it off, he could stagger to the window and defend Ayame and Tara. At least for the moment, no. The image was absurd. What was he going to do without a foot? How far could he get? But what other choice did he have? What other choice?

  Vincent pulled out his sword, letting himself fall. And he swung it at the rope. As a blacksmith, he had an intuitive sense of structural weaknesses. It wasn't just about weapons or armor. There were things he just knew. However, the attack did nothing. It just bounced off.

  The rope continued to drag him back to the ground, far from Ayame. Vincent reached out with his shield hand, as if his hand could still find hers. As if he could grab her and assure her that nothing bad would happen.

  The pain was immeasurable. Ayame could barely process it.

  So sudden, the piercing pain was the only thing that assured her it was a nightmare, but at the same time, it was so intense, like nothing she had ever experienced before, that it added to the sense of unreality.

  "A vampire bitch."

  There were shadows in the room, hostile shadows, and...

  a kick to the side. Ayame rolled, turning over.

  "We can probably sell her for a high price."

  "Too bad we can't sample the goods."

  "Seriously, you'd do it with one of that fucking race?"

  "Why the hell not? She has a hole too. Besides, she's not going to like it."

  Fucking bastards. Holy water. It had to be holy water. Her mother had warned her about it, her brother even, but she had never thought she would experience it firsthand. Where did they get it? How did they make it? And who were these guys? Who the hell were they?

  No time to think. They grabbed her by the collar, by her shirt, pulling her forward and up, towards the door. She resisted, but she still felt too weak. The pain was overwhelming, as if her very soul was melting, assuming a creature like her had a soul, of course. Vincent. Now that she remembered, she had seen him fall through a window. He would be fine. And Tara... She wanted to think about her own safety first, but she couldn't help it. Her head was exploding and spinning, her vision blurring.

  Vincent hit the ground hard again. The impact knocked the wind out of him, but once again he held onto his sword and shield. He didn't loosen his grip one bit, but rather the opposite.

  "You're nothing but animals," Vincent spat, coughing hard after each word, in an attempt to suck in as much air as possible. And also because of the pain, of course; a sharp pain, like a knife sliding between his ribs.

  "You already said that, don't bore me. Stop standing around and come at me if you want to save your little friends," the intruder smiled. "Although, well, our only target is the vampire."

  "You talk too much."

  "Oh, do I?"

  "Yes."

  He didn't get up from the ground. He didn't brandish his sword. He just threw the shield. The intruder casually moved to the side.

  "You missed, asshole. It's your—"

  He didn't get to finish the sentence. Vincent wasn't done. He knew he wouldn't hit him head-on, so he had aimed for a lamp on the alley wall. The shield ricocheted off it and sought to return to his hand, but on the way, it sliced the son of a bitch's neck. Cleanly. Yes, a single blow to slice his fucking neck. A spurt of dark, thick blood. The head rolled away with a stupidly frozen expression of triumph on its face. He had died too quickly to realize what was really happening. A second later, the headless body fell too.

  And with a few sword strikes, cutting the rope, the night around him was too dark and distant, like a piece of another world. Vincent did what he could to get to his feet. His legs were shaking. He looked back at the broken window.

  "Ayame," he cried out.

  Because... he no longer heard her whimpers, and that was worse. How had the intruders gotten in? The only window in the room had been perfectly fine before the asshole threw him through it, so it couldn't be that way. And how many more were there? How many more, for fuck's sake?

  One down.

  One of the guys holding her suddenly died, from an arrow to the head. Ayame collapsed too.

  Tara slowly got up from her bed, holding the bow with trembling hands. It seemed like something had happened to her; she looked weak and disoriented, as if she shouldn't have been able to make the shot. And yet, she had. A perfect shot between the eyes.

  Could she repeat it? Could she even nock a second arrow in her state? Ayame hoped so. She had no other choice. In this state, she wouldn't be able to defend herself. She had never felt so weak, not even on the hottest summer morning. The sun was a constant presence, a major enemy, but this pain, this agony that was devouring her from within... it was too much. It was simply too much.

  Tara repeated the miracle a second time, hitting another one square between the eyes, killing him instantly. However, there was no third time. Tara collapsed before she could nock the arrow and, therefore, simply fell to the floor. And so did she.

  "Tara!" she tried to scream, but nothing came out of her throat except another whimper. "Tara, you have to get up."

  Vincent climbed up to the window without any problem. There was no one to stop him now, after all.

  He went inside and saw nothing but some blood on the floor. Tara, collapsed there and not on the bed. Otherwise, nothing. Ayame was nowhere. They were gone. They had taken her. If they were here to kill her, she would be lying on the floor with her throat slit, but instead, they had taken her. They had taken her.

  Damn it.

  He checked Tara's pulse. She was alive. He didn't know what the hell they had done to her. She was breathing. How they had left her so weakened... It could be that thing that still didn't come to his mind because of the panic. It could be something else. The point was, she would live.

  Therefore...

  "I'm sorry."

  Vincent started running. Maybe it wasn't too late yet. Maybe he could catch those sons of bitches in the act. Save Ayame.

  I have to save her, he thought. I have to save her or die trying.

  But he didn't see them in the hallways. Just a few idiots who were still awake, not the ones they had woken up, because otherwise, they would be much more alarmed. And outside, outside there was nothing. Not by the back door, not by the main one. Just the darkness of the night.

  Vincent howled.