Chapter 23: Branks, Head of Blackwood Village
Blazing sunlight shone through the morning sky as a bird slowly descended over the densely packed forest, its wings catching the golden light as it circled lower.
The woods below now brimmed with intense gazes and the sound of marching footsteps—boots crushing fallen leaves, creating a nervous rhythm punctuated by whispered prayers and the occasional clink of hastily gathered weapons.
Far ahead, beyond the thick trees of BlackWood Forest whose branches interlaced overhead like protective fingers, stood the familiar manor, perched atop a tangled rise.
It sat impassively, bathed in the pallid glow of a clouded morning, ancient and forbidding against the backdrop of the brightening sky. Shafts of sunlight struggled through a shifting quilt of gray clouds, casting the old structure in a patchwork of cool illumination and mellow shadow that seemed to pulse and shift with each passing breeze.
CHIRP!
The bird chirped as it landed on a tree branch, dark eyes reflecting the scene below as it cocked its head curiously, watching a pack of humans gather in the forest clearing.
"This is it," said one of the marching band—a burly blacksmith with soot still embedded beneath his fingernails, voice cracking slightly despite his attempt at bravado.
Around him clustered a group of people from BlackWood Village, their faces pallid with dread beneath determined expressions.
They clutched homemade silver-tipped stakes in white-knuckled hands, the wood smooth from nervous handling during their journey through the forest.
Garlic wreaths and sachets hung around their necks as makeshift necklaces, filling the air with their pungent aroma that mingled strangely with the fresh forest scents.
For some reason, despite the bright light shining over the dense forest, dappling the forest floor with pools of gold and warming their shoulders through worn jackets, the manor itself remained shrouded in cloud.
Sunlight rained down in patches across its weathered facade—almost as if fate itself protected the vampire inside, casting a selective shadow over the ancient building.
Its silhouette, all sharp Victorian spires and ornate gables, was softened by the diffused light, but the signs of decay remained undeniable.
"Branks... should we just call the Holy Knights?" one of the villagers asked, a reedy man whose voice wavered like the tall grass around their ankles.
He looked at the village head, Branks, who stood slightly apart from the group, feet planted firmly on the forest floor, his posture betraying none of the uncertainty that plagued his companions.
The silver gun gleamed in his steady hand, reflecting fragments of sunlight that danced across his grim expression.
The Holy Knights, of course, referred to the Church's fighters—warriors who were at least Tier 1 or higher, blessed with divine protection and trained specifically to combat supernatural threats.
"No, call the inquisitors, you fool." another villager replied.
But despite all this commotion—the whispered arguments and shuffling feet disturbing the forest floor's carpet of leaves—Branks—the village head—along with the two maids, Selena and Evelyn, didn't even hear their words; their eyes were fixed on the manor that loomed in the distance, its windows like vacant eyes staring back at them through the veil of mist.
"My lady..." Selena murmured, her voice heavy with guilt but tinged with fragile hope as she looked back at the more than ten men, their makeshift weapons gleaming dully in the filtered sunlight.
But then her eyes wavered, uncertainty clouding their green depths as Evelyn's whisper barely rose above a breath, her lips barely moving: "We could still run. Take the woods, vanish—nobody would blame us..."
Her gaze darted between the trees, calculating paths and possibilities, muscle memory from their earlier escape. A muscle twitched in her jaw as she fought to keep her expression neutral, though her fingers curled and uncurled at her sides, ready to grab Selena's wrist at a moment's notice.
Truth be told, unlike Selena, who blindly trusted these villagers—Evelyn had been skeptical from the start.
She had seen how strong and powerful that vampire was. Yet here was Branks, the village head. He was leading a group of people who were barely even Tier 1—farmers with pitchforks, blacksmiths with hammers, none with the silver-blessed weapons or sacred training needed—to face an opponent equal to Tier 4?
Selena shook her head, damp tendrils of hair clinging to her pale cheeks. Her eyes tracked a shaft of sunlight as it pierced through the clouds, illuminating a section of the manor's roof in brilliant gold.
"Maybe... maybe we have a chance, after all—the sun," she said, pointing toward the sky where blue patches were beginning to emerge between the clouds, her voice lifting with desperate optimism.
The observation made Evelyn hesitate, her planned escape momentarily forgotten as she followed Selena's gaze upward.
Her breath caught—perhaps there was a chance, however slim, that nature itself might aid them where human strength would surely fail.
"We can't wait for them," Branks finally answered, his voice sharp and steady as the blade of a well-kept knife.
He turned to face the gathered villagers, "Daylight will slip by while we wait, and who knows what that thing will do when dusk falls?" His eyes—calculating beneath their veneer of concern—swept a look behind him at the gathered crowd, taking in their makeshift weapons, their garlic amulets, their frightened but determined faces.
"It's our blood he'll taste for dinner! He won't wait for the priests to arrive."
Besides, calling the main reinforcements? Not on my watch! Once those people from the main city come, our project is doomed, Branks thought, clenching the silver gun in his hand until his knuckles whitened.
If the real Inquisition comes, everything will be over…
This time, Branks let them hear his resolve, "You think I want to risk you all?" He stepped forward, "I've reported it, aye, and they'll come. But till then, we stand for our own!"
His fist clenched at his side, knuckles whitening around the silver gun's ornate grip. "Sun's on our side—look!"
…
Emerging from the densely packed forest, the armed villagers were greeted by the manor's stone façade, streaked and eroded by years of neglect.
Their boots crunched on gravel and broken stone as they fanned out instinctively, maintaining a wary distance from the looming structure.
The manor caught the reluctant sunlight in strange ways, shadows moving across its surface like liquid despite the stillness of the air.
Rusted clockwork gears and inert pipes emerged from the stone like fossilized veins, their surfaces damp and mottled, flecked with the faintest golden gleam where the sun occasionally broke through the clouds.
Tall, arched windows lined the walls, their stained glass catching and scattering the morning light like fractured jewels.
Even dulled by grime and shattered in places, the panels gleamed faintly, casting fractured rainbows onto the weeds and broken stone below—crimson, azure, and amber patterns dancing across the faces of the approaching villagers.
This time, all of the villagers held their breath simultaneously; the only sounds were the distant call of birds and the soft rustle of clothing as fingers tightened around makeshift weapons.
What lay behind this abandoned manor door was the 'vampire' the two visitors had told them about.
But then…
CREAK!
The sound cut through the tense silence like a physical blow.
Branks, holding and aiming his silver gun at the door, flinched as it opened—his trigger finger twitching visibly, a bead of sweat tracking down his temple to disappear into his collar.
The gathered crowd collectively gasped, several stepping backward with weapons raised defensively.
But instead of the bloodthirsty monster they expected, they found… a maid… looking confused, her pristine uniform a startling contrast to the manor's decrepit exterior.
"Oh my? Guests, at this hour?" The maid looked bewildered, blinking rapidly in the morning light as it illuminated her face.
She tilted her head slightly, examining the armed crowd with mild curiosity until her gaze settled on two familiar figures among the crowd.
"A-Agnes…?" With trembling hands and glistening eyes, Selena stepped forward from the crowd, her injured ankle causing her to stumble slightly on the uneven ground. Her voice caught on the name, breaking it into fragments. "Agnes, is that really you?"
"Selena? Why return now, after all that's happened?" But instead of welcoming her warmly, Agnes's tone was cold as winter frost, each word precisely enunciated and devoid of warmth.
Her gaze hardened as she stared at Selena, whose mouth trembled and fists clenched, knuckles whitening with the force of her grip.
Agnes's complexion seemed to glow with an unnatural luminosity in the diffused morning light, her skin poreless and perfect beneath the crisp white cap that framed her face. Not a single hair was out of place, despite the slight breeze that stirred the weeds around the manor's entrance.
Not to mention, for some reason… she stood in the shade instead of stepping forward, but it was only a brief thought for Selena before, "I… I don't—" her words faltered as she took in Agnes's appearance, confusion etched across her features.
"Sister Agnes… how did you survive?" But Selena's question was cut off by Evelyn, who stepped forward with narrowed eyes, her stance tense and wary.
She eyed Agnes suspiciously, her gaze methodically cataloging details: how her clothes were clean without a single wrinkle or stain, how her skin now seemed to glow with an ethereal quality, fairer and more flawless than Evelyn remembered.
"It's—" But faced with Evelyn's suspicious gaze, Agnes's cold, stern demeanor faltered. Something flickered behind her eyes—a momentary uncertainty that made her pupils dilate before she regained control.
She sighed and shook her head, "It... wasn't easy. We barely survived. It took everything we had," she answered, her voice dropping to a near whisper on the final words.
Before Evelyn could question further, Agnes shifted the topic with practiced smoothness, her posture straightening as if pulled by invisible strings.
"But come," she said, gesturing stiffly toward the darkened hallway behind her, her movements unnaturally precise. "Standing out here—surely that's not why you all came. Step inside, before you catch your death. Tell me your purpose, and quickly."
Silence fell among the two maids and the villagers, broken only by the soft rustle of leaves skittering across the cracked stone pathway.
Only Selena, who was about to speak, her lips parting with half-formed words of relief, was stopped by Branks, who stepped forward and lowered his silver gun with deliberate slowness.
His free hand settled on Selena's shoulder, a gentle pressure that conveyed a clear message: wait.
He cleared his throat, and—not only that—unlike Selena, Branks had been noticing how this maid, called Agnes, was standing at the door. What he meant was, she didn't step over the shadow.
But a hunch was still just a hunch. Besides, this was not his first time dealing with this kind of noble attitude, so it was only a brief suspicion.
"This young lady, she's given us some troubling reports. From the maids—your colleagues." He spoke. Then he squared his shoulders. "We've been told there's a vampire. If possible, we'd like to... check inside. Ensure the safety of our village." His hand hovered near the silver gun's holster.
Branks stated his purpose plainly, squinting his eyes to gauge Agnes's reaction, searching her features for any sign of deception.
Despite the strange pupils—were they red?—when Branks squinted, Agnes kept making gestures like closing her eyelids or lowering her gaze. But Branks didn't think it was weird, nor did he suspect she was avoiding him on purpose.
After all, noble etiquette is complicated, Branks thought to himself, remembering the last noble he visited.
Then, with a hopeless smile that didn't quite reach her eyes, she shook her head.
"I apologize for any trouble my juniors have brought upon you," she replied, "Their story is true. But there's no need to worry any longer—the creature has been dealt with."
Her hands clasped before her apron, but her fingers were locked together with unnatural stillness, not a single tremor betraying anxiety. "If you wish, come in. The corpse is still being purified by our Lady." The door creaked wider at her touch, revealing a dimly lit hallway beyond where dust motes danced in shafts of colored light from the stained glass windows.
A flicker of uncertainty crossed Branks's eyes before he made his decision, a muscle twitching at the corner of his mouth.
Behind him, several villagers shifted uneasily, wooden stakes creaking in white-knuckled grips. The scent of garlic intensified as nervous hands clutched at protective amulets.
"Please excuse us, then," Finally, Branks decided, adopting a clipped, formal tone, acting as if this were a formal inspection rather than a casual visit.
Of course, he dare to behaved this way only after learning of their background as a fallen noble house. If they still held their status, Branks wouldn't dare act so boldly.
Besides, this is supposed to be the D'Armande family, right? Branks's eyes narrowed with a faint smile as he recalled the rumors about why the D'Armande family had fallen.
Perhaps, I can see the reason why they have fallen? Or perhaps… well. Some experiment… A glint flashed in Branks's eyes.