#003. Demon Hunter (2)
When Virgil appeared in the slums, the people parted ways as if fleeing.
"Is that a sword, or what…?"
"What’s that in his hand?"
"…Hurk!"
"G-Ghoul Matriarch!"
In his hand was held the head of the Ghoul Matriarch.
The dripping green droplets of blood clearly showed where he had walked from.
The entrance to an unused sewer in the corner of the slums.
It was a place soldiers had blocked off, forbidding entry.
There had been ominous rumors that ghouls lived there; now the truth had been proven.
Virgil walked on, covered in dust and grime, drawing every gaze upon himself.
Then, an old man blocked his path.
He was known for his extensive knowledge and was well-liked by the local residents.
"Step aside."
Virgil spoke.
The old man clasped his trembling hands and parted his parched lips.
"Might you be… a Demon Hunter?"
At the old man’s words, the crowd began to murmur.
In this place called 'Zaha,' all manner of monstrous beasts and demons swarmed, and there were those who hunted them professionally.
They were classified as mercenaries, but called by another name.
Demon Hunters.
None knew more about monstrous beasts and demons than they.
The strength of these beasts and demons was not precisely known; they could be weaker than rumors, or stronger.
They were the ones who took such risks and set out to hunt.
Hence, they were few and precious.
"A-A Demon Hunter?"
"Ah! I’ve heard of them!"
"They’ve come to help us…"
The old man’s brief words reignited the fading embers of hope in the people’s hearts.
The curse of Javelin was indeed the work of a demon! And a Demon Hunter had come to resolve it!
"Ooh, O Demon Hunter…"
Unlike their reaction, Virgil’s expression was not good.
*They’re talking like I’m some trash-tier class.*
In 'Otherworld,' one could have numerous classes, with exclusive items and skills befitting them.
Among them, Demon Hunter was the worst by Virgil’s standards.
Its efficiency was terribly low compared to the control it demanded.
Well, it didn’t matter now that he was no longer a player.
He tried to walk past and ignore them, but the hair of the Ghoul Matriarch he held in his hand came loose.
*Tok.*
The head rolled across the ground.
The children watching fled in panic.
The fallen head rumbled along and bumped into a man’s foot, coming to a stop.
Virgil looked at the owner of the foot.
*Hmm, things are going smoothly.*
By coincidence, it was the recipient of this gift.
The fool of a resident who would exchange the ghoul’s head for a family heirloom.
Virgil spoke first.
"I brought it because I thought you’d need it."
"Th-this…"
Contrary to his gentle words, the man trembled, his jaw chattering, and collapsed to the ground.
Soon, he began to sob.
"De… dear…"
Hmm?
"Dear! No!"
Dear? Had he married the ghoul or something?
The whispering voices of the nearby villagers reached Virgil’s ears as he stood bewildered.
"Oh my, look closely, that’s Lisa…."
"She went missing… and became the Ghoul Matriarch…."
"Ugh, how horrible… to have that done by a ghoul… better to have died…."
"By the way, how did the Demon Hunter know that Ghoul Matriarch’s true identity…."
"……."
Virgil was at a loss for words at the unexpected situation.
It was information unknowable in the game.
No, perhaps it could have been known, but he likely hadn’t due to lack of interest.
She had been nothing more than one of countless extras.
Virgil turned around without a word and left the slums.
He felt countless gazes boring into the back of his head.
***
Leading his blood-drenched body, Virgil headed to an old inn in the commercial district.
He couldn’t sleep, but he came to relieve his fatigue.
*Creak.*
"Welco… hiek!"
The innkeeper was so startled at the sight of Virgil covered in blood that he nearly fell backward.
The black armor and greatsword covered in chunks of flesh were far too horrifying for an ordinary person to bear.
Perhaps that was why instinct burst from his mouth unwittingly.
"S-spare me…."
Virgil approached the terrified innkeeper and spoke in a composed voice.
"Hello there."
"Y-yes, speak…."
"Do you allow tabs?"
"…Pardon?"
"Is it difficult?"
"Ah… y-yes, it is possible…."
The owner answered immediately.
Normally, he would have kicked him out at once, but doing so felt like that brute of a greatsword would destroy not just him but the entire inn.
"E-excuse me, guest…."
He had to say what needed to be said, mustering his courage.
His life was one thing, but this concerned a week’s worth of business.
"I… I’m truly sorry, but… a b-bath might be a bit difficult…."
"Hmm, well, very well."
"It’s the last room on the second floor…."
Feeling disappointed, Virgil headed to the room the owner mentioned.
The inn was silent, devoid of any sign of people.
There weren’t even any guests, yet they couldn’t let him bathe.
Virgil grumbled inwardly as he neatly arranged his armor and greatsword, placing them against the wall.
Then he laid himself down on the hard bed.
"Whew…."
He lay like that for several hours.
Virgil raised his sleepless body.
Beside him, faint moonlight seeped in, illuminating the armor and greatsword neatly arranged in a corner of the room.
They were filthy.
Seeing them, he thought he might as well take care of other matters during this time.
*Yes, let’s go there.*
After leaving the city and walking for some time, his destination came into view.
A stream bank nearby.
Virgil laid his lantern and greatsword on a broken tree trunk and began washing his armor in the flowing water.
Seeing the dark, bluish pieces of flesh and all sorts of debris floating on the water, his face scrunched up on its own.
"Damn it…."
No matter how much he scrubbed, the unpleasantness wouldn’t wash away.
Perhaps this wasn’t a matter of texture, but filth embedded in his memory.
The sight of the slum dweller wailing at the top of his lungs was stuck in his mind and wouldn’t leave.
"He asked me to spare someone who was alive, so how could that have worked…"
Swallowing the bitter water rising within him, he gazed at the city’s spires.
By the way, would the Player be alright?
He found himself worrying needlessly.
"I should start a fire."
***
Sherman, the head steward of Javelin, had been out of his mind lately.
The sun did not rise in the city where he had lived all his life, and the Javelin family he had served all his life was on the verge of ruin.
To make matters worse, the city’s lord was shut up in the chapel.
In the end, all the city’s administration fell to him.
At this rate, he felt he would die from overwork.
"Lord Steward!"
The door to the office burst open, and a young maid entered.
"Oh ho, what is this commotion at such a late hour?"
"I’m sorry! It is an extremely urgent matter! Th-the slums…."
"Shh."
Sherman raised his hand, stopping the panting maid’s words.
"Calm yourself."
"B-but!"
"Come, follow my lead."
He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly.
He guided the maid to follow him with hand gestures.
The maid reluctantly followed.
After repeating it about three times, Sherman asked the maid with a satisfied expression.
"Now then, Lena. What is it this time?"
The maid answered with a much calmer face.
"A Demon Hunter has come to the city."
"What!"
Sherman sprang up from his seat.
From the shock, the ink bottle on his desk spilled over.
"Quickly, prepare my horse!"
***
Sherman rode his horse without rest to meet the Demon Hunter.
As the soldiers had said, a person could be seen near the stream bank.
But from afar, he looked more like a warrior than a hunter.
Clad in thick armor with no particular adornments, wielding a massive greatsword—he was far from the Demon Hunters Sherman knew.
For one, their symbolic weapons were nowhere to be seen.
A silver sword or a firearm like a matchlock gun.
Surely that greatsword, as tall as a man, couldn’t be made entirely of silver.
Still, just in case, he decided to address him with the title.
"You there, Demon Hunter."
Without turning his head, the Demon Hunter answered Sherman’s call.
As if he had known Sherman would come even before he arrived.
"What is it?"
Feeling no hostility in his tone, Sherman drew even closer.
Then, by the light of the campfire, his appearance became clearly visible.
"Hoo…."
At first, nobility could be felt.
His wavy black hair, thick eyebrows, piercing gaze, and sharp nose bridge—had he dressed up, one might say he had the blood of a pure royal line.
Next, intensity.
His murky pupils and the long scar crossing his face. He looked more like an executioner sent by the church than a Demon Hunter.
So much so that sanctity and strength were felt simultaneously.
"Who are you?"
"I came upon hearing the rumors. I am Sherman, the head steward of Javelin."
Only now did the Demon Hunter turn his head to look.
A faint killing intent flashed in his gaze and vanished.
So briefly it might have been imagined.
"…Faster than I thought."
Faster? Sherman tilted his head.
It sounded as if he had already known Sherman would come.
"What do you mean?"
"Just talking to myself."
The Demon Hunter flicked the water from his hands. Then he picked up the helmet laid beside him.
*Hmm. So that’s why….*
Seeing the helmet's shape, Sherman finally understood why the slum dwellers had called him a Demon Hunter.
The head of a monstrous beast shaped like a wolf.
The upper jaw and upper fangs were fashioned into a visor, while the lower jaw covered half the face.
An intricacy that seemed to carve down an actual skull and plate it with metal.
It was a helmet befitting Demon Hunters, who liked to craft armor or weapons depicting the beasts or demons they had slain.
Some of the suspicion in his heart faded.
Whether he knew Sherman’s thoughts or not, Virgil asked in a listless tone.
"What brings you all the way here? I was about to return soon."
"Ah, I rushed here for fear you might leave just like this."
"Why me?"
"I wish to commission you, Demon Hunter."
At Sherman’s serious expression, Virgil let out a small scoff.
A Demon Hunter—truly, they had misunderstood him completely.
Thanks to that, he had been spared the trouble of seeking them out himself.
Without answering, Virgil approached the tree his greatsword leaned against.
He grasped the hilt and lifted it with one hand.
*CLANG.*
"Hooah…."
Sherman marveled at Virgil’s strength.
It was no surprise, as he had effortlessly lifted a greatsword longer than an average adult man—brutishly massive, one might say.
It would be difficult to possess such monstrous strength unless one were half-beast, half-man, or half-demon.
Once more, a suspicious gaze was etched into Sherman’s eyes.
Virgil threw the greatsword toward the stream.
*Splash!*
As water sprayed up, Sherman jumped in surprise and stepped back.
"How could you…."
Virgil approached the stream and roughly washed away the caked blood on the greatsword with the now-muddy water.
A moment later, as he lifted the greatsword’s hilt, he scooped up several fish that had been stunned nearby.
"Shall we eat together?"
"…I’m fine."
Virgil sat before the campfire he had prepared earlier.
He laid the greatsword on the ground and placed the fish atop it.
He drew a dagger from his waist and began preparing the fish.
His hands moved skillfully.
At the sight, Sherman spoke up.
"Where do you hail from?"
"A faraway place."
"Aah, Vant? Or perhaps Hailandel?"
"I am not from these parts."
"Oh, then are you from Diminos? You must be surprisingly devout."
"Wrong. I am not a native of Zaha to begin with."
"Oh, you are from across the sea."
"The sea… well, I suppose I lived near it."
"From where exactly? The Eternal Lands? The Barvas Archipelago?"
Sherman continued questioning to uncover Virgil’s identity.
And such methods did not work on Virgil at all.
"The Primal Land. I hail from the Kingdom of Morha."
"Ah… I have heard of it. The land of great warriors. So that is why you possess such strength."
His manner of speech was awkward too.
Sherman decided not to say that aloud.
"Well, something like that."
"How did you come to Javelin, this backwater place?"
"I am just passing through."
"I see. You must have suffered crossing through those Maritime Union ruffians."
"They are men who will do anything for money anyway."
As Virgil answered smoothly without hesitation, Sherman was left speechless instead.
"Hmm…."
"Is the interrogation over?"
"Oh, my apologies. If I have offended you, I offer my sincere apology."
Virgil nodded shortly, then skewered the prepared fish on wooden sticks and placed them over the campfire.
A savory smell spread.
Then he gathered the fish guts and threw them into the stream, now turned muddy.
Sherman found his actions strange but did not ask separately.
Virgil gazed at the forest through which the stream flowed for a moment, then began eating the cooked fish.
Sherman came to the campfire with an awkward smile and sat down.
"Pardon me for a moment."
"You already have."
"…My apologies."
Virgil said nothing more and focused solely on eating the fish.
Then Sherman spoke to him again.
"By the way, is that sword truly meant to be wielded? No matter how I look at it, it seems a mace wearing the guise of a blade."
"Check for yourself later."
"Why would I… hmm, well. I shall see if the opportunity arises."
After that, there was no more exchange between them.
Several minutes of quiet, tedious time passed.
Virgil rose first from his seat.
He glanced toward the forest and spoke in a somewhat regretful tone.
"Let us go meet the lord now."
"What? Ah, let us… but did I say we should go to see the lord?"
"…You did."
"Surely not…."
It was then.
*Crack.*
The sound of breaking trees came from the direction of the forest.
The forest horizon, formed by continuous treetops, swayed back and forth.
Countless mountain birds fled into the sky.
And a brief silence followed.
It did not last long.
Soon the forest was filled with the resounding roar of a beast.
-GRRROOOAAAARR!!