Castlevania: Lisa's Last Words

Chapter 10: Home

Richter Belmont, his trusty whip secured at his waist, sat in the local tavern, nursing his barely touched drink for hours, a ritual he had repeated every night since his return to his home village. He was a captive audience to the rumors swirling around the tavern and town, his ears tuning in to every whisper and murmur. Though he knew Dracula was plotting something sinister, weeks had passed with no tangible evidence of his plans. Even the church, usually a reliable source of information, had been tight-lipped, only acknowledging that they were searching for the Dark Lord and would send word when they found him.

So, Richter spent his days with his family and his nights at the taverns, gathering intelligence and keeping his skills honed. It wasn't a fruitless endeavor; occasionally, he'd hear whispers of creatures of the night terrorizing nearby towns. Werewolves, vampires, necromancers, and the like always posed a threat, attacking villages or attempting to subjugate the people. Richter would seek them out and deal with them, both as a moral obligation and to keep his skills sharp. The Belmonts had always fought against the creatures of the night, even when Dracula was not then among the unliving. However, he couldn't help but wonder how much longer he could continue before his age caught up with him.

"Aye, they think there's a vampire around over in Coorhagen," a regular at the next table said, catching Richter's attention. "Ugh, if true, wool prices are going to go up." Another patron added. "Over a dozen are dead, men and women both. Maybe 14 or 15, but you never know if the numbers are right." This piqued Richter's interest; Dracula's taste for the blood of women might indicate a focus on female victims, but it was still worth investigating.

Richter stood, gathered his gear, and informed Annette of his departure. He had visited Coorhagen a few years ago during his search for Maria and knew the route. The journey would take a couple of weeks by horse, giving him ample time to prepare for what lay ahead. With a resolute nod, he set off into the night, his whip at the ready, his heart pounding with anticipation.

A slender arrow shaft soared through the air, striking the earth mere feet from Beth's position, prompting a dismayed murmur of "Oh no…" from her lips.

"Wielding a bow requires dedication, perseverance, and a steady hand," Dracula remarked, his voice laced with wisdom. "Your current provisions will soon dwindle, and I shall not provide your food for you indefinitely; mastering the art of archery will prove essential for your survival."

In the weeks that followed, Dracula imparted his expertise to Beth, teaching her the intricacies of skinning and preparing game, as well as the fundamentals of archery. Though she demonstrated a natural aptitude for crafting the bow, arrow shafts, and arrowheads, the art of archery itself proved a formidable challenge. The supple deer hide, now expertly fashioned by Dracula's skilled hands, adorned her form, with plans for dyeing and the creation of gloves and boots already in motion.

"Again," Dracula instructed, awaiting Beth's repositioning of the arrow. He then adjusted her arms to perfect her stance. "Now, slowly pull straight back." The diminutive bow they had crafted for her lacked potency, but its modest size suited her youthful frame. A makeshift target, set against the sturdy trunk of a tree, served as their focal point. "Aim for the center of the target, and swiftly release…" This time, the arrow soared, striking the target with a satisfying thud, albeit slightly off-center.

"Wow! I hit it, Mr. Dracula! I hit it!" Beth exclaimed, her voice bursting with unbridled enthusiasm, as if she had stumbled upon a treasure trove of untold riches.

"Well done. Now, again," Dracula encouraged, as they continued to refine her aim for several hours. Her rapid progress was unsurprising; the Belmonts were renowned for their swift learning and peak human ability. A fleeting thought crossed his mind: Might I be instructing the one destined to strike me down in the future? Dracula pondered, but swiftly set aside his concerns.

Following a lengthy night of archery practice, they returned to their rustic log cabin, nestled deep within the woods. Constructed with the aid of skeletal labor and tools stolen from the nearby village, their humble abode boasted a cozy fireplace and a sturdy wooden bed, adorned with soft straw, for Beth's comfort. With the exception of tools, every aspect of their dwelling had been crafted by hand to minimize the chance of exposure.

As Dracula entered, he moved the deerskin carpet covering the entrance to the cellar, where he would retreat for the day. Each night, he would venture out to locate suitable prey, return, and impart new knowledge to Beth after her meal, before retiring to the cellar. Though he could effortlessly provide sustenance from his nocturnal hunts, he insisted on teaching Beth self-sufficiency. Beth's eagerness to learn and her delight in their sessions were palpable.

"Um... Mr. Dracula?" Beth inquired, halting his descent down the stairs with the unbridled candor of a young child. "Can I call you Dad?" The question hung in the air, innocent and unfiltered.

Dracula stood transfixed, much like the deer he had slain with ease on a previous night, his words arrested in his throat. "Child... I..." The topic of children had been a distant memory since his discussions with Elisabeta before departing for the Crusades, and later, her untimely passing. However, with the arrival of Adrian, Dracula had come to regard him as his most precious treasure, despite their… distance.

Dracula's sigh was heavy with the weight of his past actions. "I have perpetrated countless atrocities and terrorized numerous individuals for centuries. I would be the last person on this earth fit to be your father." His mind wandered back to the devotees he had struck down and the woman whose blood he had savored with little remorse.

"I don't know... you've been kind to me, Mr. Dracula. My father wasn't," Beth said, her voice tinged with a melancholy that pierced Dracula's heart.

Dracula turned to face her, his eyes locking onto hers with an unspoken understanding. "What do you mean, Beth?" he asked, though he could surmise the painful truth.

"Dad would hurt Mom and me. He'd come home smelling bad, yelling, and hit us. Then, one day, Dad went to the sky and didn't move," Beth recalled, her voice trembling with each word. "He had a knife sticking out of him the last time I saw him. Mom and I ran until we had to stop here, and a few days later, Mom joined Dad in the sky."

Dracula's expression turned somber, his thoughts echoing with the weight of her words. "A hard lot indeed." He grunted, pondering the age-old question, why did God create humans to suffer so? A question he couldn't answer, and one that forced him to confront his own actions. Not that I am one to talk, he privately admitted, recalling the joy he had derived from humanity's misery for so long.

"We shall discuss this another time," Dracula said, noticing the sky growing nore light outside. "Sleep well, we will continue your studies tomorrow night." With that, he descended into the cellar, leaving Beth to her thoughts.

"Goodnight, Mr. Dracula!" Beth waved, preparing for bed. She covered the hatch and snuggled in, whispering to herself, "Mom will like him when she comes back. Maybe she will like him a lot, like she used to like Dad." And with that, she drifted off to sleep, her dreams filled with images of her, Mr. Dracula, and her Mom all together, like a family.