Deus Necros

The brittle parchment crackled between Ludwig’s skeletal fingers as he began reading the letter, its ink still dark despite centuries of neglect—preserved by the same enchantments that had guarded the chest. The words lingered in the air like a ghost’s whisper, heavy with unfulfilled promises and the weight of a sister’s love.

“I write this for you with a heart too full to bear such weights. My mission prevents me from waiting any longer. The last task given to me by Father had produced serviceable goods, and among them the leather of a Manticore. I claimed and used it to create some formalwear for you, which I hope to see you one day donning. Sadly, I cannot wait any longer. Your stay at the Capital took longer than expected.

Today, I leave.

This outfit was meant to be my second gift for your wedding, a token of dignity to match the one you’ve always shown in silence. Though our brothers argued bitterly over it, I stole it from beneath their noses—for once, let something be yours without a price.

The next time we meet, I hope to see you wearing it.

For now, I have received more news about further disturbances in the Isles of Dawn. I have failed to find anything the first time, but apparently, my arrival was noticed, and the evildoers disappeared. But now I’ll be leaving alone to handle the matter more secretly.

Before you start worrying about your sister, do remember that I’m the Empire’s Sword. So I hope to see you well when I return.

P.S. Do inform Meliania I haven’t forgotten our plans—I fully intend to drag her out with me the next time I visit the capital. And as for sweet little Cynthia—tell her I haven’t found the Eternal Flower just yet, but I will. She deserves something that never withers.”

With love eternal,

Your sister,

Celine Bastos

***

Celine Bastos’s handwriting was elegant yet forceful, each stroke of the quill deliberate, as if she’d carved the letters into the page with the same precision she wielded her blade. Ludwig’s hollow eyes traced the lines again, absorbing the subtext beneath the ink. A manticore’s hide, repurposed not for war, but for a brother’s wedding. A gift stolen from greedy siblings. A farewell penned in haste, yet tender enough to mention promises to nieces—Meliania and Cynthia—names that now belonged to bones in a crypt.

And then, the chilling postscript: “I’m the Empire’s Sword.”

Not a sword. The Sword. A title that rang with the finality of an executioner’s axe.

[Quest Update]

Celine Bastos was a mighty and powerful person of the Lufondal Empire. To lose to mere Vampire Hunters would be almost impossible.

The Dawn Islands were the last known location of Celine Bastos.

Investigate her disappearance.

Ludwig’s grip tightened. The system rarely issues updates for no reason. This wasn’t just fluff lore—it was a breadcrumb. A thread in the dark.

“Wait,” Ludwig said, his voice low. “This is big.”

Thomas’s spectral form flickered beside him, translucent brows furrowing. “What do you mean?”

“I think… Van Dijk’s sister could potentially still be alive,” Ludwig said to Thomas.

“Are you okay in the head? I’m sure that you weren’t hit on the head when you were running away from the Moon Reavers.”

“First off, I wasn’t running away, that’s called a tactical retreat, Secondly, the Bastos Family is a True Vampire Family. Living for hundreds of years is normal,” Ludwig said.

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean she is alive, I mean you saw the bones…”

“Yes, but think about it a bit. She had left for the Dawn Islands to go hunting for Vampire Hunters, finding nothing, she returned and wrote Van Dijk’s letter. She had hoped to meet him during their promised one-month return from the capital. But what ended up happening was that Master had to stay an extra month, in that month she had to go back to the Dawn Islands.” Ludwig said.

“This still doesn’t make sense,” Thomas shook his head, “I mean, sure, she might not have died to the Werewolf, but what guarantee do you have to say she is alive still?” Thomas asked. “After all, do you think that if she were alive, she wouldn’t have returned to her manor in seven hundred years?”

“You make a good point, but,” Ludwig said as he was staring at the quest. “The quest update indicates that she is too strong to be defeated by mere vampire hunters,” Ludwig said.

Thomas opened his mouth, then hesitated.

“The System doesn’t give quests for dead ends,” Ludwig pressed. “It knows something.”

“Numbers beat courage,” Thomas’s spectral form blinked. “And a thousand cuts can kill a dragon. She might have just died…”

“No,” Ludwig shook his head. “A dragon does not fear the howls of mice,” Ludwig added, “She is a Bastos, a True Vampire, you saw, master. He was a human before he turned, and he is an eight-tier magician, among the strongest in the country. Though he was captured by the Holy Order, I’m pretty sure he allowed himself to be captured. She was called the Sword of the Empire. How many Swords of Empire do you know? That can’t be something simple, right?” Ludwig asked.

“None,” Thomas shook his head, “Those are legendary figures.”

“That’s what I thought,” Ludwig said. “I’ll need to investigate that soon,” Ludwig said.

A beat of silence. Then, grudgingly: “…Fine. But how do you plan to investigate a seven-century-old disappearance?”

Ludwig opened his mouth—

BOOM.

The explosion shattered the stillness, its shockwave rattling the manor’s rotten timbers. Dust rained from the ceiling as the very air seemed to recoil. Outside, the cacophony of the Gibbus Moon’s horrors—screeches, howls, the wet tear of flesh—cut off abruptly, as if the land itself had frozen in dread.

Ludwig was already moving, Durandal’s shard leaping to his hand as he vaulted up the crumbling staircase. Thomas phased through the walls beside him, his glow pulsing with alarm.

“Please tell me that those Reavers didn’t breach the barrier already!” Thomas said

“Don’t curse it god damn it, that’s not even funny right now!”

As Ludwig emerged into the ruined second-floor hallway, the air turned thick—he could feel it pressing against his ribcage, like the hush before a storm. Outside, the distant screeches and war cries of the Moon Reavers had fallen into an unnatural silence. He moved to the shattered balcony window, resting a hand on the ledge as he peered down.

The scene at the manor gates was chaos incarnate.

Three figures—no, four—staggered into the garden, their backs to the hellscape beyond. A towering barbarian, his muscle-bound frame crisscrossed with gashes, dragged an unconscious man in black leathers, whose chest bore a wound that should have been fatal. A wiry captain, barely five feet of scarred arrogance, limped alongside them, his twin swords dripping with ichor. And at the front, a young woman—the healer—her robes singed, her face streaked with soot and sweat. She fell to her knees, gasping for breath, while the others moved like ghosts barely clinging to flesh.

But what stopped Ludwig cold was not them—it was the Reavers.

The Moon Reavers ignored them.

They parted, not attacked, as if compelled by something greater. Their grotesque heads tilted upward in eerie synchronicity, eyes glowing like dying coals. In unison, as if the adventurers were beneath notice. As if something far more interesting had their attention.

And they stared at him.

“Thank gods we made it!” the woman gasped, collapsing to her knees. “I didn’t think this place would actually be safe!”

The captain—Timur—spat blood. “Bah! Standard Red Moon protocol. Monsters avoid noble grounds… Usually.” His beady eyes darted to the Reavers, then away, as if afraid they’d remember he existed.

The barbarian—Gorak—crouched over the unconscious fourth, fingers pressed to his throat. “How’s he, Captain?”

“Alive. Barely.” Timur peeled back the man’s blood-soaked tunic, revealing flesh knitting itself back together. “Damn. that was our last healing potion, this man burnt through them like drinking ale-“

The healer, smudged in soot and tears, looked up—and froze. Her mouth opened, but the words caught. Her hand trembled toward her pendant, but it didn’t rise.

“G-guys…” she whispered. “There’s someone… there.”

The others followed her gaze.

Ludwig stood high above them, framed by the broken window like a portrait come to life. The moonlight struck the manticore leather just right, casting him in silver and shadow. The overcoat’s edges fluttered gently in the night wind. The brooch at his throat caught the glow, pulsing like a heartbeat. Every inch of him was pristine—wrongly pristine—in a place where nothing should be.

But here, in a place so monstrous and full of nothing but death, devastation, desolation, and filth, to find someone who looks so untouched and unsoiled would mean only one thing.

He was not a normal being.

To them, that Young Man was far scarier than the monsters surrounding the Manor.

The group froze.

Timur’s sword twitched. Gorak’s grip tightened on his axe. The healer reached for a pendant at her throat, her lips moving in silent prayer.

Ludwig didn’t speak. Didn’t blink.

Then, with deliberate slowness, he stepped back into the shadows.

***

“Quite the exit you made,” Thomas said.

“You think so,” Ludwig said as he headed downstairs.

“What are you planning right now?” Thomas asked.

“What else? We have guests, shouldn’t we invite them in?” Ludwig asked.

“You really are mean, you know that?” Thomas said.

“How come?” Ludwig smiled.

“You honestly think they’ll not shoot you full of arrows the moment you open the door? Anyone in their right mind would think that something is wrong when a young man like you is ‘living’ in a place like this…”

“That’s exactly what I want, I need some information, also it’s been quite a while since we last saw a person, they might know things we don’t.”

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