Episode 2

Glaudvein was a small town at the kingdom’s northwestern border, but it was a prosperous place. It was a merchant’s paradise, both legitimate and opportunists. From fresh produce to antiquities, from weaponry to junk items, from slave trade to mercenary work — everything came with the right price, just as everything came with their own respective risks. Trust intermingled with caution as oil mixed with water; it was not uncommon to see hostilities rise as a seller is accused of bad goods, or a customer blamed for damaging one’s wares.

It was in such conditions that new classes and guilds were created: the Appraisers, mages with psychic baseline affinity, were invaluable not just to check the authenticity of each item and payment, but also to serve as investigator, prosecutor and judge in case of conflicts; and the Adjudicators, retired mercenaries and deserters from the war whose warped sense of justice and a longing for violence turned them into de facto marshals and executioners of Glaudvein. Often, the Appraisers and the Adjudicators avoid each other; there had only been one instance when they did… and the resulting disagreement led to the Massacre of Breunt Alley.

“Hey, have you heard?” A drunk chubby soldier said, as he plopped on a chair. His companions, seated around the table, barely raised their eyebrows. They had been stationed as border patrol in this area for almost two years, and they were bored. The chubby soldier continued, “General Dracien died.”

“So what? He’s old. Maybe it’s just his time.” One of his drinking buddies retorted. “Hell, I’d be excited to hear that if it means we can get reassigned elsewhere.”

“Dude. We’re talking about General Dracien here. The legendary Seven-Headed Serpent from the Nephilim War.” Chubby gulped his mug of beer. “Word is, he got murdered. Big time. Like, his whole squad got wiped out.”

The soldiers around the table laughed. “Oh, man! You must be really drunk to believe that crap!”

“But everyone’s talking about it!” Chubby protested. “The general came to rescue Eldenburg from a monster, who had attacked the town…”

Suddenly, everyone was quiet. Not just their table, but everyone within earshot.

“Eldenburg? That hill of farms just a day’s ride from here?” Asked someone from the other table.

Hervius, the sergeant, gripped Chubby by his collar. “Where did you here this from?”

“Down at the town square. Just about an hour ago.”

The beerhouse was rumbling with murmurings now. Should we pack up and leave? whispered one patron. What if the monster comes here? said another. Don’t worry, we have the Adjudicators; they definitely can destroy an entire horde, another comment, scornful yet afraid.

Without a word, the squad stood up, left money of the table, and hurriedly marched towards the town’s entrance. Gone were the years’ worth of idleness and carefree lifestyle; as if conjured, their military spirits burned again.

Several other squads must have heard similar news, as Hervius observed the rest of their company gather towards the gate. I should’ve shaved this morning, he thought wistfully, as he scratched his chin absent-mindedly. It’s been a month since he stopped shaving, to impress a local girl. Sigh. I didn’t even get to—

*“*ASSEMBLE!” An adjutant shouted.

The Captain Commander’s face was still wet; whether it was from sweat or from hurriedly washing his face, Hervius couldn’t tell. Not that it mattered. The Captain Commander was a laidback, kind person; once, Hervius squad caught some illegal immigrants trying to sneak into the border, who they promptly presented to him. The Captain Commander studied them: two families of five and seven, three of which were elderlies.

He kept both families in his quarters as prisoners; but in reality, he employed them as caretakers of the headquarters to do the cleaning, cooking, and other menial tasks he can think of. After six months, he endorsed the families to the town mayor, who grudgingly allowed them to stay and live in Glaudvein.

A soldier escorted a disheveled merchant towards the Captain Commander.

“I heard the stories. Now, tell me the truth.” the Captain Commander spoke so softly yet so adamantly, even the soldier holding the merchant trembled.

The merchant looked around her, then stared at the Captain Commander’s eyes. She cleared her throat.

“I had barely left Eldenburg when I saw the general and his men ride towards the town. I lingered for a while, out of curiosity. Then, I saw the town burning.”

“Burning?”

“Yes. Smoke rose as soon as the general came. There was screaming. Awful screaming…” the merchant paused, shivering. “It was the general. He killed the people of Eldenburg.”

Angry murmurs came from the ranks. Someone spat towards the merchant.

The captain commander raised his hand, and immediately, the soldiers quieted down.

“Why would the general do such an evil thing?” he asked, though it didn’t surprise him. He had been guilty of far worse crimes during the war. But even the worst of deeds had their fair reason, no matter how illogical it may sound or seem.

The merchant hesitated. “Because… because I… an angel… was killed in Eldenburg.”

The soldiers murmured loudly among themselves, and it took more effort for the captain commander to hush them. “That cannot be possible. Only divine weapons can harm angels, and those had been returned, or confiscated, after the war.”

Except—

The captain commander’s eyes went wide. He was about to stop the merchant from speaking further, but he was too late.

“It was a vlad, ser!” The merchant cried out. And like a frightened child, she slumped down on her knees and trembled at the captain commander’s feet. “The vlad killed an angel to protect me!”

She raised her eyes to the kind commander, but her dead eyes never had a chance to meet his again, as her head fell to the ground. It was a clean strike, a merciful strike. The captain commander passively wiped her blood from his sword.

“Ser,” The soldier who escorted the merchant interrupted, “there’s something in her cart that you should see…”

The captain commander approached the cart. He nodded at the soldier, who carefully lifted the dirty sheet of sewn sackcloth covering her belongings.

The captain commander was disciplined enough not to betray his emotions. But this was one of those instances beyond what he was trained for.

“Fuck.” the captain commander whispered.

“Ser?” the soldier asked.

“Has anyone else seen this?” the captain commander anxiously asked. “Have you shown or told this to others?”

“O-only you, ser!”

The captain commander resisted the urge to pull his sword and decapitate another human being. The soldier saw the commander clenching his fist over the sword hilt. The captain commander sighed and wiped his face in dejection. “Fuckfuckfuck.”

After a couple of minutes, the captain commander turned to the soldier. “Put everyone on alert.”

“Ser?” The soldier reacted, both in confusion and relief. I thought I was going to die! he thought. I should go visit the brothel and have my first before I die—

“Have every soldier armed and ready. Warn the mayor. Send the word to the Adjudicators: a thousand pieces of gold halos to the one who slays our enemy. And have someone from the Appraisers Guild to come to me at once.”

“Aye, ser!” The soldier saluted, and was about to leave. “But… what do I tell them?”

The captain commander glared at the soldier.

“Red moon.”

The soldier nodded, and left.

The captain commander stared at the cart, unsure and afraid of what to do next.

On it, a humanoid creature slept peacefully and comfortably among the bags of wares and produce. He could see that it had four small, yet-undeveloped wings tucked behind its back. Fine hair like spiderwebs matted its small head. And all around it, a surreal iridescent aura that made his skin glow like molten metal.

It was a Nephilim, alright. Somewhat bigger than a human toddler, but the captain commander could tell it had only been days since it was born.

Was the angel trying to kill this Nephilim?

Why would the vlad protect a Nephilim?

He carefully wrapped the Nephilim in the sackcloth, making sure the glowing creature would not be noticeable. Satisfied, he went back to his horse and galloped back to his quarters.

His mind tried to regurgitate the faint memories of the war. He wanted to vomit, but even that had to wait. He needed answers; better yet, he needed to know what to do. Because he knew what was coming. What was going to happen.

Zendarvel hated the angels, but as captain commander, he had to respect and obey them. That night, he prayed that the angels won’t come — because then, this little town that taught him how to be human again would become nothing more than another field of blood.

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