Chapter 19

19

Responsibility

"Wait! Wait, please! Please I'll talk! I'll talk!"

Cyril's raised Saw Cleaver paused in mid air. The Hunter blinked down at his intended victim, a young High Orc who had been among the band that had attacked Glaspire. The band that he had just slaughtered in the night without mercy and respite. A band that he hunted down like the beasts he killed during that fateful night in Yharnam.

"I'll talk… I'll talk, just… don't hurt me please." The monster sobbed, "I won't try to escape, just… Just don't hurt me."

The Hunter lowered his Saw Cleaver. He then approached a nearby tree stump and took a seat, his pistol was drawn and he held it easily in his hand.

"Start talking," Cyril said coldly. "And I will know when you lie. So if I were you, I would be as honest as I can."

The monster spoke and Cyril listened… slightly irritated that he wasn't just dealing with one group but several, and while these groups did indeed work together they seemingly had no knowledge of each other. Seemingly, because the Hunter's path with dealing with them branched throughout the entire kingdom of Erebus.

Cyril's hunt was complicated, but when had it ever been anything but hard? When had things in Yharnam ever been so easy? This was what he was made to do, and by tooth and claw he would do his duty as a Hunter whenever he was called to do so.

Still… one step at a time. He had succeeded in defending Glaspire he supposed. He had left a massacre behind when he continued his hunt for this small group of slavers. Cyril looked at his prisoner who stared into the fire blankly. The Hunter had put her to the question further but alas, she knew nothing. Her fate now belonged to the alderman of the village of Glaspire.

The punishment would obviously be death, but he was no longer concerned. Cyril still had a job to do and a report to the King to be made. One group, a small one, of slavers was dealt with. The King had intended for Glaspire to be a little test of sorts for the Hunter. Cyril just hoped that the King would be happy with the results.

"You did good work."

Cyril finished laying down the sheets on the now stripped bed as he turned to regard the alderman of Glaspire. Talbot had his arms crossed, but he was smiling slightly. He wasn't happy with the wanton butchery that Cyril had left them with but the captured men had been returned home to their families and the slavers had been driven off.

The Hunter shrugged as he picked up his bag, already eager to get back to the palace to receive more objectives from the king.

"The slavers will have found out about their failure in Glaspire," Cyril stated. "But they won't touch you."

"You ran them off," Talbot agreed. "But folks aren't exactly eager to share their gratitude, Hunter." His smile faded. "So I got some bad news. The townsfolk aren't happy with you here, and I hate to say this but…"

"It's fine." Cyril said softly. "I wouldn't have it any other way."

Talbot shook his head. "Everyone tells me that the Hunter is a cruel bastard with nothing to lose." He said to him. "I know you now, Hunter. You're still looking for a purpose. Just don't let that search be the only thing you live for. You gotta find something or someone to protect."

Cyril lowered his head. He could find wisdom in Talbot's words, but he truly could not bring himself to even try. He had lost that right with Arianna, Adella, and all of the folk he had brought to the Oedon Chapel. He had lost that right with the little Yharnam girl who asked him to find her father. He was not going to tell Talbot how far his self-loathing reached. Neither could he tell the alderman that he was born and bred to end lives, not preserve them.

"Easier said than done." Cyril stated blandly.

Talbot frowned but he saw the finality in the Hunter's expression. He just bid the young man good-bye for the last time. When the alderman finally made it back home to his wife, he suddenly wrapped her in his arms. Confused, the Alraune asked what was wrong.

Talbot couldn't shake off the melancholy that he was left with but he couldn't explain what he had seen in the Hunter's eyes. It was something he could not put to words.

The Hunter left Glaspire by boat, the ferrymen heading straight for the capitol of Erebus, Le Fey. He looked into the water as he leaned on the side of the boat. He honestly felt tired, a successful hunt and he could not even muster the energy to feel pride in his work. Then again, it was bloody work so he supposed his apparent numbness was reasonable. Cyril looked up. It was a sunny day, not a cloud in the sky. A normal person would have enjoyed the day as they drifted down the river but Cyril couldn't find himself doing it. His eyes kept scanning the river, looking for any potential threats.

They would reach the lake of Fey, where the capitol was built in the center. Then, he'd have to give the King his report on his hunt for the slavers in Glaspire. He would then receive his next objective, and clean up that mess too.

Cyril did not expect much. Of course, there would be those who would be interested in having the Hunter's services on a permanent basis but he was not that loyal. No… he won't fight for so-called noble causes. He would choose what or who he would fight for and no one else will take that away from him. Now? Cyril exhaled as he walked back from the railing and rummaged in his pack for some food.

There was a man selling drinks here though. The ferrymen called it kvass or something like that. It was apparently made from fermented black bread. It sounded good and whenever someone with a full tankard passed by the smell was heavenly.

So here he sat on the deck of the ferry, eating hard bread and dried meat while drinking something made out of fermented bread and berries. There was a sense of normality that Cyril found uncomfortable. Idleness wasn't something he was used to but he supposed he could take a break once in a while. He realized that he had done the same thing back in Sheffield, in the Prancing Pony whenever he was done with the menial tasks around the inn. He smiled slightly, remembering Sierra chiding him for not taking a break or Emil telling him to do so whenever he went and did some "sampling" from his own ale stock.

His smile faded. Now Sierra was no longer the person she was, and Emil had returned home. He had been told that Emil did not blame the Hunter for what had happened to them both, but the guilt remained all the same. It was this guilt that pushed him back on his bloody, wayward path. The path that he had no business leaving. The Hunter did not know what he was going to say to Emil, let alone Sierra.

He knew he was not ready for that. Their disappointment shamed and utterly terrified him.

Cyril stretched his leg as he took another sip of kvass. He made a mental note to ask for a basic recipe from the drink seller. He was finding the drink rather addictive. Sarcastically, he thought to himself that maybe he should have been a wine maker instead of a Hunter. His sharp ears caught whispering and Cyril turned to find that a man and a woman were looking at him and pointing. There was a certain apprehension in their eyes as they gossiped.

The Hunter pulled up his bandanna. So, news of his exploits had finally reached the ears of the populace. He could be making new enemies even now. Or maybe, someone might be a potential client of his. Cyril no doubt felt a certain responsibility now that he was on commission. What was a few more side jobs along the way?

Le Fey, Capitol of Erebus…

The King was currently at court and the guards had told him to wait but he was having none of that shit. So he decided to take in the sights and sounds of the capitol's markets. Like Sheffield, Man and Monster lived in coexistence in the city although it was a lot more subdued in Erebus than it was in Sheffield.

Perhaps it was because of the struggles in the royal family. King Samael was called the Usurper after all. Cyril guessed that he wouldn't get the complete story but he wasn't complaining. He was not looking to get involved in the local politicking. The intrigues of the so-called higher classes were of no concern to a Hunter. It was his belief that a Hunter did not concern themselves with the ruler-ship and how they handled the affairs of their subject; their blades were meant for lesser things.

Gehrman had been of the same manner, but the man had been surprisingly spare with the details of his exploits. Cyril had surpassed his mentor, Gehrman had told him that when he was dying, but Cyril still felt like a novice flailing around aimlessly at nothing. Cyril knew that coming to terms with his identity as a Hunter would be a long, horrendously difficult affair but he had never expected to feel this… lost.

You'll find that you will take solace in the purity of your purpose soon enough.

Y ou gotta find someone or something to protect.

Again, Ancalagon's words struck him at the same time that Talbot's did. Cyril didn't think that he was a protector at all. At least, not in the way sane people would think so… The Hunter's musing was interrupted by a shout and a scream. A scream that belonged to a girl.

Cyril moved through the crowd. He wasn't particularly concerned but there was… something that was guiding him towards the commotion. He couldn't explain it exactly. The Hunter moved further in and saw a boy standing in front of a girl facing off against an older boy with finer tailored clothing. This one was surrounded by thugs.

The Hunter sighed. Perfect, another scuffle that he wasn't about to get involved in.

"You think someone so important like the Hunter is going to talk to you two street urchins? Don't make me laugh!" The fine clothed boy spoke.

Cyril blinked, he was just about to leave without bothering but what the hell was this idiot child talking about? The Hunter turned around and shoved his way through the crowd, the men and women around him realizing just who was coming to the forefront.

"Who is speaking for me?" Cyril Sutherland raised his voice, getting the attention of everyone on the busy street.

"Who dares speak for a Hunter?" He growled again. "Who assumes that my blade is his to command?"

Hansel heard the voice and exhaled nervously. The Hunter was here. He didn't drag Gretel into a bad mess after all, but that thought was still subdued by the fact that he had to deal with a noble's son and his thugs. He stood no chance, and neither would Gretel if he just ran.

They were twins without parents because their father went missing from their village, that and the village alderman did not like orphans laying about in his town. What choice did Hansel have but to seek out the most dangerous killer in the kingdom? But the Hunter was here, quite possibly the only person in the world who could take on monsters and live to tell the tale.

The blonde boy gulped as he beheld his goal. A sinister, tall figure in a gray coat and tattered hat. A man with deadly red eyes and a cold, detached disregard for sentient life. Hansel swallowed again as the Hunter turned his dread gaze on him and Gretel. Hansel heard his sister begin to sob, breathing quietly as those red eyes examined them both with the air of a predator at rest. A predator that wondered just what had been brought to it on a platter.

The young noble's son smirked and spoke up again. "See? Even-"

"Shut your mouth." The Hunter's voice was muffled but there was no mistaking the menace in his tone. The noble's son blanched and paled. He barked a command at his thugs who hesitated before drawing an assortment of bladed weapons.

"How many of you are willing to die for your master's offended pride?" The Hunter spoke again, this time he faced the thugs and the noble as he drew his massive weapon. Hansel looked at the saw like madman's weapon and held his breath. He was a poor orphan but even he had heard the bloody deeds the Hunter had committed with that cruel looking blade.

The thugs apparently did too because they dropped their weapons and began walking off in different directions, leaving their erstwhile master alone. The young noble screeched at them then stopped as the Hunter's shadow loomed over him.

The oaf began to beg for his life as the Hunter leaned in close.

"Get out of my sight." The snarl was short and to the point.

The oaf ran for his life, crying and sobbing.

Hansel let out the breath he was holding. Around them all the crowd began to disperse as they realized that nothing was keeping the Hunter's attention on them. Hansel had to say something, he had to. It took them so much time to get here and their goal was in their reach.

"You sought me out." The Hunter spoke not facing him. "Why?"

Hansel flinched at the cold question. "I… We…" He stammered.

Behind him, Gretel gasped and fell on her backside, staring between her brother and the Hunter.

The Hunter turned his attention to the fallen girl and sighed under his bandanna.

Cyril's day had turned extra strange. He took the twins to an inn, a horrid situation all around but a few glares sent many a suspicious human or concerned monster running. A flash of the blade at his side made it clear he wasn't looking for any advice, even those with good intentions wisely made the decision to stay clear of the obviously dangerous Hunter within the inn.

When the serving girl found them a private table, he was almost relieved. Almost, and that was because of the problem he was now responsible for. He got some food ordered, and considering the rumbling he heard from these children's stomachs he made the right decision.

What the hell was he going to do now?

"You did not answer my question." Cyril told the blonde boy that shrank underneath his terrible gaze. "Why did you seek me out?"

"To… To hire you…" The boy whispered.

"Speak up, I cannot understand your mumbling. Why have you taken your sibling out of whatever life you led to seek me out?"

"We… We don't have a life…" The girl answered this time.

"G-Gretel?"

Gretel swallowed as her hands shook. "We don't have a life. Not since father left us." Her voice was soft and clear, like a little bell, "We have no one else to turn to, but you. Help us find him… Please…"

There it was again… Children asking him for help. Cyril sighed as he looked at them both. The boy, desperate and full of hope, and the girl so sad and disappointed. Both were only in their thirteenth year of life. Still children and already life was cruel to them. Did they truly believe that he could save them? He, a Hunter half-cut with blood and seasoned in an eternity of bloodshed? Cyril tapped the table with his fingers. He could refuse these two, but again a part of him said no. The small remnant of humanity that was still Cyril the man, not the Hunter. He took a deep breath, and made his decision.

"I will help you." Cyril said slowly. At that the boy and his twin sister looked at him in shock, as if he had grown two heads.

The Hunter placed his hand on the table. "There are stipulations however." He said. "If I am to help you, I need your cooperation."

"We'll cooperate." Hansel answered. "I-well, that is we swear on our mother's grave."

At Hansel's side, Gretel nodded furiously, eyes teary. It seemed that she still held apprehension. The Hunter didn't blame her for that.

"W-What do we have to do?" Gretel asked.

"We'll figure that out as we go along." Cyril answered. He could hear Gehrman laughing at him. More likely that if she were here, Eileen would have chastised him for being a fool, letting two vulnerable children into his bloody path.

But this was not Yharnam.

He would not let it be like Yharnam. He looked at the twins even as the bar maid set down their food, porridge made with wheat alongside hunks of bread, and the siblings began to eat. Cyril let them eat while he took sips out of his tankard of ale. He watched them carefully to make sure that they ate everything on their plate.

He would have to take them with him to Castle Le Fey when he went to meet with the King.

"So we are not just dealing with one group," Samael mused as he walked in the gardens. This time, he was the one pushing Sallya in her wheelchair. Cyril walked with the siblings, knowing full well that Cheramie and Charlotte were behind him in case he tried something funny; both Kikimora were part of Samael's Druzhina, a select band of warriors that acted in his interests and only followed his orders. In addition to that, they were also responsible for guarding the lives of the Royal Family, with most of them siding with Samael's father. Others had left for greener pastures, wishing to avoid the current civil strife between the royals.

Cheramie and Charlotte were the only ones who remained with Samael.

"Yes, your Majesty." Cyril said neutrally. "I am afraid that the prisoner I interrogated did not know much about the groups themselves, or their leaders. These slavers seem to have a penchant for compartmentalization which will make my hunt a lot more complicated."

"A truly difficult situation, brother," Sallya spoke up from her wheelchair. "Perhaps it is time you took action. It would do well to foster trust in the people."

"Action… and while my back is turned, my noble court makes their wants known." Samael scoffed bitterly. "That is what is holding me back from unleashing my knights. Loyal as they are, they have given me concerns about the noble houses."

Samael rubbed his chin in frustration. "Hunter." He stated.

"My lord?" Cyril replied neutrally.

"Those… children you took here," Samael said, "Their village… It was called Denaris, right?"

"Yes, that is where they came from." The Hunter answered.

"Remarkable, isn't it?" Sallya asked. "These days, those children would have been picked up and sold to a monster… or killed."

Cyril felt his fist clench unconsciously. Sallya seemed to have noticed because she bowed her head, "Forgive me, Master Hunter. I understand that it is an unpleasant subject but it is the truth of these days."

"Denaris…" Samael said. "I wish for you to begin another investigation there, Hunter. I am afraid there is too much here for me to consider bringing troops in… but I can count on a single agent."

"What of the children?" Cyril asked directly.

As if sensing tension, Cheramie moved to Samael's side. The fierce Kikimora scowled at Cyril for his tone and wanted to pipe up. The wind blew as if in response to Cyril's quiet menace. The Hunter's red eyes gleamed dangerously. Call him a monstrous butcher, or a demon wearing human skin but he had never wished harm upon a child.

He didn't give a damn if Samael was King. The twins were his responsibility now.

And pity the poor bastard that got in the way of that.

For as fate decreed, they now looked to him as their savior.

"Master Hunter," Sallya said gently defusing the situation. "Please, do calm down. My brother can be quite forgetful but he does mean well." Behind her Samael flushed before scowling briefly at the top of her head.

"They will be in my care," Sallya continued, raising a finger. "But… they must help Charlotte with housework if they wish to stay here with me."

Cyril blinked. He was not about to argue but he did not expect this…

Surskova, Erebus, Headquarters of the Black Hand…

Adrastia was a hedonist to the core. Normally work and play were separate but these were strange times. Her work with the deposed royals of the Kingdom of Erebus was just but one part to her ambitious plan of delivering the kingdom from the clutches of the League and into the gentle embrace of the Demon Lord's realms.

But now?

Her eyes narrowed at the very human figure of the deposed King Uriel and his wife, the Succubus Arella. The Succubus looked pale, as if she had discovered something terrible. Uriel, a man in his early fifties and yet still hardy and as hale as ever, tried to comfort her. Adrastia had no reason to care for her acquaintances' moods. She had slavery to work on and hedonism to enjoy. The matronly Dark Elf lounged on a fine couch. Her fortress was both nigh impenetrable, and comfortable. What human would dare attack her mighty Black Hand, the fiercest slavers the Demon Realms had ever heard of?

"I heard that a village had driven off one of your slaver raids." King Uriel spoke, neutrally but his voice held an edge to it.

"Your son's troops are commendably trained, tenacious fighters all." Adrastia said in disinterest as she looked at one of her hands, inspecting her nails. All around her were many virile paramours of young, varied ages. None yet were worthy of being her husband. "I had not expected them to move this soon, I thought you were still messing with his court? I'm surprised you didn't continue with the poison."

"You told me it was painless." Uriel clenched his fists. "Now Sallya is crippled and bedridden."

"We wanted them to surrender peaceably," Arella spoke to her husband. "Now… Now we may have forced Samael's hand, my love."

Adrastia sat up, her robes shifting slightly. They hardly covered her well proportioned form. "And how is this a problem? Erebus is practically frozen, and with the court actively working against the Usurper's interests there are hardly any threats to my raiding groups…"

"… Have you not heard of the Moon Scented Hunter?" Arella asked, her voice a near whisper.

The chamber was silent. Adrastia looked at the succubus noble, a spy from the Demon Realms.

"Moon Scented Hunter?" Adrastia laughed. "What is this, another children's tale? Or is it an old maid's parable, warning children to be good little boys and girls lest a big, bad monster take them away?"

Adrastia's laughter faded into a grim look as she saw the horror in Arella's eyes. "Indeed you have not," She said, sniffing. "Lescatie was indeed a victory but it carried a price."

Adrastia raised a brow. She had indeed heard of the victorious conquest of the Order city of Lescatie but was more concerned with the work to be done in Erebus. Now here was a succubus of the Demon Realms looking like something out of a storybook had come to life.

"He was there when the city fell. At the hour when Lady Druella, the Fourth Daughter of the Overlord, took her victory he was there to smite her." Arella spoke trembling. Uriel watched her with growing concern. Adrastia was more focused on what had happened to Druella.

"She's dead!?" Adrastia demanded of Arella.

"No… but she has not recovered from her wounds… and now the Hunter is loose. They say he is a bloodthirsty beast, a mad slaughterer who knows nothing but the cruel act of murder." Arella said. "A sinister figure in a gray coat and tattered hat who wields a madman's weapon."

"Enough about that, you say that he is a man?" Adrastia asked haughtily. "Why don't we show him what comforts we're capable of? Surely he has no reason to harm beautiful maidens? This is all exaggerated right?"

Uriel licked his lips and gestured for Arella to continue.

"No… in fact, the Overlord has decreed that he is to be detained or destroyed on sight." Arella shook her head. "I… cannot express this enough, Lady Adrastia, but this is not someone to underestimate."

"A dangerous man." Adrastia leaned back. "And you know where he is right now, so I can take care of him?"

"He is here." Uriel said curtly, causing Arella and Adrastia to look at him. "In Erebus, working with my son and daughter. We cannot afford someone of such repute working with my son. It is dangerous, because I do not trust this Hunter to be convinced to come to our side."

"I see… so he is an Order fanatic." Adrastia sighed in disappointment.

"Worse…" Arella said. "He is inimical both to our designs and the workings of the Order. I heard rumors that he slew an Inquisitor in Lescatie."

The chamber silenced once more.

The presence of such a fearsome killer changed things.

No one in that chamber knew how right Arella was. Neither did they know that the moment the Hunter arrived in Erebus, all of their designs would be undone.