Chương 3: Vaelrin Village

A massive, level 300 wyvern landed in front of a heavily armored mercenary. Dust flew around the creature afterward, and then it screeched hard, enough that the sound waves it sent nearly threw off the village militia into the air. The armored mercenary, however, stood his ground, planting his massive, rectangular tower shield on the ground, which was marred with many combat scars, alongside a partially worn-off insignia.

It was a simple, stylized depiction of what seemed like a face with four horns and two sharp fangs below, made with white paint, representing a nation he once served. The Vaelrin Kingdom. As a former member of the Vael Royal Army, the mercenary found himself homeless in this desolate land after the kingdom's destruction just a year ago. Once, he served in the single proper city that the Vaelrin called theirs, the Royal Capital—Vael.

Unfortunately, since their defeat last year against two human kingdoms, Vael was lost, and the rest of the kingdom was shattered into anarchy. It was an exceedingly bitter experience. Their homeland, which had only been partially rebuilt a century ago, was once again ground to dust by mankind. Once again, their people were either living in functional anarchy within Vael or reduced to disgraced refugees outside it.

And so, with nothing but his weapons and armor from his time of service left, he, who once held the rank of captain, became a wandering mercenary in the lawless lands of Vael, believing that maybe he could still help his people with what little strength he had. Now, he was here, at the furthest edge of the settled northern tundras of Vael, guarding the few remote villages here that his people could call home for some coin.

It was barely enough to eat and live another day, much less to properly maintain his equipment, but regardless, it was honorable work. This quest should have been just another simple task to dispatch a bunch of monsters. Unfortunately, he found out that the monster that had been shadowing the village was a wyvern. Dispatching it wasn't the end of his troubles.

Normally, anticipating that its kin would come here to end this village and eat the people here, he should have called for reinforcements from fellow Vaelrin mercenary groups. But they were too far away. He had no choice but to make do with what he had and organize the village militia himself and hold off the wyverns while the women and children hid and fled. Unfortunately, with so many wyverns now circling the village, it all seemed hopeless.

"Damn it," the mercenary cursed under his breath.

"All of you! Form up again behind me! Open fire on the bastard. Fight! Or your wives and children aren't going to make it to the next town!" The village militia, woefully underequipped, demoralized, and underleveled, shuffled back to their positions nervously. Unlike the mercenary, who was a properly trained draco, an elite Vaelrin subrace who was said to have a lineage traced to true dragons due to their draconic features and abilities, most of the people in this village were mere imp peasants.

Their strength and magical abilities were only a little bit better than the average human. Arrogant noble vampires that he once served even regularly called imps nothing but lowly humans with horns. Even if they made up the vast majority of the Vaelrin, they lived short lives and leveled up slowly, and their base stats and potential for growth were either abysmal or average.

Not to mention, considering how impoverished and irrelevant this small village was, they truly had nothing but whatever tools they scrounged up from their homes. He could hardly expect anything from them. Yet, the village militia, fearful for their inevitable death, formed up behind him. Even in the face of humiliation and desperation, the spirit of survival and defiance lived on in the hearts of these lowly people.

When he shouted to them that they should fight, the imp peasants snapped back and pointed their shoddy bows and pikes at the wyvern. Actually, they weren't even a proper 'militia.' They were just a bunch of farmhands and hunters that he organized earlier into a defense force. But they were now fighting again. The ones who held bows began firing arrows after arrows at the wyvern ahead of him. The ones with pikes, even when they wielded them haphazardly and clumsily, closed in on the monster's flanks.

The mercenary pointed his heavy lance straight at the wyvern. Activating his skill, [Lance Manaburst], he fired a powerful beam of magic straight at the wyvern, slightly injuring its face. He was the only one who could actually inflict any proper damage here. Everyone else was only here as a distraction or a meat shield. Even I turned myself into a meat shield. He charged forward. Despite his heavy armor and weaponry, he was fast, extremely fast.

Only a madman would stand in front of an armored draco determined to thrust his lance at you. The wyvern seemed to fit that bill, as it simply screeched at the mercenary before taking a direct hit straight to its eye. Blood flowed like a fountain from the wyvern's eye as it raised its head with a pained scream. The mercenary then got to work, rapidly stabbing its thick scales again and again in the hopes of injuring it enough.

Unfortunately, his lance was unable to break through, and when he tried to stab the creature at its heart, he found himself being slashed by the monster's claws. Thrown a few dozen feet away, the mercenary planted his feet hard on the ground, enough that the hardened soil cracked a bit. Then, the wyvern in front of him fired multiple pulses of fireballs straight at him and his shield. He tanked it all, the heat enough to make it feel like his armor melted and his skin burned slightly within.

Once it was done, he stood weakly. Then, he removed his steel helmet, now blackened and unrecognizable, revealing nothing but a young man's face, black hair, brown eyes, and a pair of obsidian-black horns aimed straight at the sky. This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it... If I can't even scratch that wyvern. He looked up at the sky, where more wyverns circled around them, gleefully spitting fireballs at them. Then there's no hope of dealing with all of that.

Even if he tried, he was now out of mana. He couldn't even fire up his skills anymore. Around him, the militia was shattered. Most ran away; others, who chose to fight, were simply burned or killed gruesomely by the wyverns' massive claws. He simply watched it all with glazed eyes. He wanted to be the shield of his people. That was why he joined the army and why he became a wandering mercenary for his people when there was no more army who would protect them. Yet, ultimately, he was just one man.

Today, another settlement of his people was going to be wiped off the map. Its inhabitants would either die or be scattered again, without home and without proper livelihood. Such was the life of the Vaelrin. Such was the fate of the sorrowful race that mankind called 'demons.' The wyvern on the ground turned its attention back to him. This was it, the end of his short and violent life. He raised his scorched shield, the insignia of his kingdom barely present on it.

He was a man who would never believe in such a thing as God, because if there were a God, then surely he or she must hate 'demons' like him deeply. Yet, this time, he couldn't help but pray as he raised his shield.

The Vaelrin were godless people; the only 'god' they ever had was the true king, who had long been killed by mankind, and since then, they had not had a true king, just an endless string of regents, military generals, pretenders, and warlords awaiting the legendary black crown to return, wielded by a worthy king to lead them to greatness again. So functionally, he had no 'god' to pray to. But he tried to pray. As expected though, it was futile.

Unlike mankind, who had a goddess who listened to and blessed her flock, he knew his prayers fell to non-existent ears. Hah… how tiresome. It's no use. I'll just accept my death. At least, it will be a worthy one. The creature opened its massive jaws, reddish light rapidly intensifying within. He definitely wouldn't be able to tank this one. Before he could fully brace himself, however, suddenly, a beam of light pierced the wyvern's head from above. Then, it collapsed pathetically on the ground. What?

As the mercenary looked up at the sky, the world and time itself went still. Even the wyverns stopped their attacks. Flying higher above them was a small figure. With silvery-white hair, a pair of pointy ears, and a fine, noble dress, the figure held a fancy staff as she floated gently in the sky. She seemed to be chanting something softly under her breath as dozens of runic circles appeared above them all. The mercenary took a step back, eyes wide as his throat went dry.

Just seeing the figure flying above them made him hold his breath instinctively. It was as if he were witnessing a truly divine sight. What the hell is she? An elf? No, not this far up north. Her skin was pale, unbelievably pale, perfect, and beautiful. So was her face. He could also see her small, telltale fangs before she finished chanting. When she raised her staff high, the mercenary, who thought he was seeing something divine and angelic, realized what he was looking at.

"... A vampire." In an instant, pillars of light from the skies struck the wyverns all at the same time. They all dropped hard on the ground, dust and debris scattered from their impact sites. A profound silence followed, as everyone looked up at the flying vampire above them, dumbfounded. Then, the survivors cheered and cried, practically dropping to their knees, barely believing that a last-minute miracle happened. The mercenary, on the other hand, stared at the flying vampire completely mute.

Why would a noble vampire holding such enormous strength suddenly appear in the far north, all alone, and save a lowly peasant village? The question sent chills shooting up his spine. I… I just did that? Alicia could scarcely believe what she had just done. The spell she used, [Blistering Skyfire], wasn't exactly one of the strongest spells in her repertoire. She mostly just used it because it was one of the few spells that was both AOE and didn't damage allies.

It was still a little overkill for monsters that low in level, but she wanted to make sure she got all of them before any of the people being attacked could die. More than 'a little.' She looked down at the staff in her hands, a profound expression on her face. The power she wielded was thrilling… but also terrifying.

Of course, she'd seen this spell multiple times in-game, as it was one of her mid-tier attacks that she used before she reached the highest ranks possible, but seeing it firsthand, it was so different. The game's graphics didn't do it justice, let alone convey the feeling of all that mana coursing through her. She couldn't describe it properly, but it felt good, and it made her wonder how much more absurd her more powerful spells would be if the weak ones were already breathtaking.

G-geez, I shouldn't let this get to my head. She looked down at the people below her. They were all cheering and shouting at the top of their lungs, grateful at how she saved them. While she was a bit unsure about the strength she held and demonstrated, seeing the people below alive and well, praising her, it was enough to move her heart and make her smile at them. Until she realized that there were many people below who were either injured or dying.

Here she was, reveling in her power and basking in the cheers of the people below her while dozens more were in pain. It was an outrage. She quickly scrolled through her arsenal of spells until she found the one she needed. She had never bothered to max out her healing magic, but solo carrying weaker players without it got difficult, so she knew a fair amount. [Mass Greater Heal] was weak at her level, but based on how [Blistering Skyfire] had gone, she figured it would be plenty. And it was.

Soft green light bathed the entire settlement, and as she watched, the wounds on the people below her faded in seconds. Those on the brink of death were brought back to life, gasping for breath and coughing the blood that had gotten into their lungs. Seeing this felt good too. She took a moment to look at her staff, enjoying the power before turning her attention back to the town. She considered just leaving and flying around some more but decided against it.

As cool as being a mysterious hero would be, she needed information. She didn't even know where she was, let alone why she was there or why she had earned the King of Vael title. Storing her staff away back in her inventory, she flew back down toward the ground, deactivating [Fly] as she landed before the strongest-looking warrior of the group. It was at that point that she finally noticed a detail that she had been too distracted to see before. These people weren't human. They were demons.