Snow blanketed the ground in thick drifts, a reminder of the passing blizzard. Boots crunched heavily in the snow, as my breath drifted in the air in soft, curling wisps.


    I stopped abruptly, raising my hands in submission. “Ah, you got me.”


    My pursuer touched the edge of the cold steel to my neck. “Search her.”


    “…”


    “Where is it?”


    “Where is it?!!”


    I smirked, clutching my side. “You aren’t going to find anything.”


    Before he could react, I popped a small orb in my mouth with a smile. An acrid burn spreaded down my throat as I swallowed.


    I grimaced. “Mental note to coat the pills better next time…”


    “Die, traitor.”


    His look of triumph was quickly replaced with that of fear and confusion. The wound bubbled and warped violently, his blade sizzling and dropping to the ground with a soft whump.


    “Take a look around you.”


    The snowy field was strewn with bodies, each with a small wound at their temple. A thin trail of blood trickled down their face, still frozen in shock.


    He touched the warm liquid slithering down his face, and promptly collapsed.


    I groaned, clutching my stomach. It did not sit well. Reluctantly, I sunk my fangs into the radial artery of my victim. Though it was a bit awkward, It offers much better line of sight compared to feeding from the neck.


    Dabbing at my lips with a handkerchief, I pulled out a small, dull dagger from a pouch at my hip. I grinned. Looks like the intel was reliable. I paid quite the hefty sum, after all.


    An unnatural warmth pulsed through the blade. I could feel something—no, someone, sleeping inside. Yes, it’s unmistakable. It’s my mother’s mana. A fragment of her soul was housed inside this dagger. I gazed at the blade longingly, as it gleamed from the first light of dawn. I was blinded from the glare of the light reflecting off the snow.


    Though it appeared ordinary at first glance, it is still a relic from the Great War. Well, it was less a war and more a massacre. Relics from that era were forged with unusual materials causing them to be highly sought after for their high mana-conductivity and strange abilities. Thus, they were heavily guarded by their respective kingdoms.


    Do you know the legend of The Mad Demon?


    The Chaotic Era was a great period of turmoil, where he travelled across the land, slaying great masters and powerful rulers, both heroes and villains alike. The world was left in disarray, consumed by anarchy. It was a time where might made right, where new kingdoms rose and fall in a blink of an eye.


    The demonic blade he possessed severed both flesh and spirit, splitting not only bodies but souls themselves. Its resting place is called the Grave of Swords, filled with the blades of fallen warriors. The demonic blade sat at the center, Its power was so vile and potent that the land remains barren till this day, spawning monsters twisted by the remnants of its curse.


    It was no legend.


    How did I survive, you may ask?


    Simply put, I was lucky.


    I’ve never forgotten the day I’ve gotten cut by his blade.


    It was like nothing I’ve felt before, an out of body experience, followed by immeasurable pain. That was the day I knew my “training” had paid off.


    A human can only hold so much power, and can only endure so much.


    That’s right.


    One day, he just disappeared.


    Rumors had it that he died of old age, or was consumed by the blade.


    Nobody knows exactly what happened, but with his disappearance, it ushered in a new era of peace.


    Soon, the burials were complete. Each grave was marked with their owner’s sword, and doused with a few drops of holy water. I whispered a silent prayer as I worked. It was standard procedure to carry items such as holy water, to prevent the corpses from rising as undead. Typically, it was made with water, salt, and whatever herbs and other random bullshit you could find, no priest required. Well, I suppose it’s the belief that matters in the end. I then promptly resumed my journey.


    Stolen novel; please report.


    “Good morning.”


    Without looking up, he set a plate of food on the table with a clack.


    I smiled. “Thanks for the food. Your cooking is the best.”


    It was in fact, not the best. His food is greasy and bland, though he claimed to have used the best parts of whatever animal he butchered that day. His shop was always open, perfect for someone like me who needed a quick fix after a successful heist.


    “Nobody eats my black puddings as deliciously as you do. Save the flattery,” he said with a snort. “So, what have you been up to again?”


    “...Training.”


    “You need to eat more. You look both skinny and obese at the same time.”


    Ignoring his remarks, I picked at the food. Surely, the stink lines clearly emanating from the food couldn’t be natural. I mean, you would expect a butcher to be a relatively decent cook, but he was absolutely terrible at cooking. A strong irony smell permeated my nostrils as I took a bite. Perhaps it was because I am a vampire, but the taste wasn’t half bad.


    He scratched at his mustache. “No appetite? C’mon, you can tell me anything. I’m the most trustworthy award-winning chef out there,” he said with a grin.


    I wrinkled my nose. I can’t say the large black flies swarming around the rancid meat hanging from the meat hooks are making me hungry. No wonder he never had any customers. The best compliment you could give his food was just “edible.”


    I dropped the spork. “Ignoring your poor taste in decor, your food tastes more radioactive than usual.”


    “Thank you,” he said, beaming.


    “It’s not a compliment.”


    I pushed the plate of food across the wooden table. “I''m going to be leaving town.”


    He sighed. “Again? For how long? You know that you are my best customer, right?”


    “And your only customer.”


    I pressed a few coins into his hand. “Keep the change,” I said, leaving the butcher shop. “And put some pants on.”


    “If only you would pay me enough… But uh, Is it just me or is the sky extra red today?”


    “Oh don’t worry about that, probably just a gender reveal party.”


    “Oh okay.”


    “...”


    “I think we should go.”


    “No shit Sherlock.”


    Flames crackled hungrily, spreading from tree to tree. Thick, black smoke billowed into the sky, blotting out the morning sun. Bandit attacks were commonplace in frontier villages like this, which was why people rarely carried much, save for their weapons.


    I glanced behind me, only to see the village butcher already making a break for it. I heard that he purchased a solid insurance plan. Good on him.


    The nearby garrison should be here soon.


    …


    Any second now.


    …


    Annnnny second now.


    …


    What’s taking them so long?


    …


    Oh.


    Ohhhh.


    I killed them, didn’t I?


    Alright screw it, I’ll handle it myself.


    I tapped one of the bandits on the shoulder. “Excuse me, where is the direction to the nearest city?”


    “Ah, it’s that wa- hey wait a minute…”


    Cutting off the healing magic for a moment, flames erupted from my hand, setting the bandit writhing in pain on the floor.


    “Thank you.”


    I’ve long gotten used to the feeling of fire licking at my wounds. At first, I would accidentally step into the sun. When I first awoke, I was frying on the ground like an egg in Arizona heat. Over the course of my life, I’ve constantly stepped into the sun, each time for just a little longer. Now I could confidently say that I got into a staring contest with the sun and won.


    After I repeated this process several more times, the bandits seemed to have wisened up and left. I do kill random criminals whenever I come across them, but it’s strange—aside from the fire, there was no other damage. Heck, there weren’t even any civilian corpses.


    I’m starting to think there weren’t any bandits to begin with.


    “Yikes,” I said, sucking a breath through my teeth.


    Rifling through their belongings, I’ve found that they all carried the same things. Namely, a scrying mirror, contracts, several leaflets, and a few gold coins.


    “While severing your work and life is scary, getting severed from your parent’s insurance can be even more frightening—unless you have Stake Farm, that is. Get in touch with your local agent to find out how you can get out of your parent’s insurance and into your own.”


    My brow twitched as I sliced up the leaflets into tiny ribbons.


    These guys weren’t bandits—they were insurance scammers. There was very little law enforcement in the harsh conditions of the frontier, and there was little risk as everyone cooperated to pull off the scam. There were no witnesses, no evidence. It was the perfect crime.


    Well, until I ruined it.


    The bodies are a bit… Too toasted for resurrection.


    Rest in pieces… Your money would be put to good use.


    The fire crackled, interrupting my train of thoughts.


    “You…. Monster.”


    Startled by the voice, I turned sharply, my eyes locking onto a soot-covered figure.


    White cloak? Check.


    Grizzled face? Check.


    An unwavering look of determination? Triple check.


    “Is that you, Jolly Joe? I thought you died long ago.”


    “Who are you again? Nevertheless, the name’s Joseph! The magnificent, the unyielding, the undefeated-”


    ‘Was he always this annoying?’


    He coughed as if he read my thoughts. “It’s rare to meet a fellow Chaotic Era survivor. I wish we had met under more… Amicable circumstances.”


    He drew a gleaming, silver-white saber from his side, the sharp sound of metal scraping filling the air. “For the crime of arson, murder, and destruction of property, I hereby sentence you to death,” he shouted. “You will answer for your crimes, demon.”


    “...Why is boss music playing?”


    I glanced around, trying to figure out the source of this strange sorcery. Did this idiot really hire a band for dramatic effect? It looked like his cloak was fluttering in the non existent wind, and he rubbed soot on his face, spreading it into a stupid grin.


    “Come on, you may start clapping now.”


    I decided to humor him, as I was extremely bored and this was the most interesting thing that had happened to me all day.


    J Sizzle stood tall, utterly unphased. “Behind every hero, there is a catchy theme song,” he said proudly. “You like it? I wrote it myself. The setting and mood is very important for every battle. A good deed unrecorded does not exist, after all.”


    That poor bard! I hope that the pay was worth it to put up with this guy. I would pay to not hear him rambling. This was less a fight and more a circus performance. That bard is the real hero here. God bless his soul.


    I deadpanned. “Stop mogging and get on with it.”


    He finally completed his lengthy exposition right before I got a brain aneurysm, and got into a battle ready stance.


    “Prepare for my ultimate attack!” he said, throwing off his cloak.


    I waited patiently while he tore off several articles of clothing while striking flashy poses.


    Joe Joe charged towards me, raising his sword high over his head with a shout. “Six fold slash of light!!!”


    Kicking him in the groin, he crumpled into a heap on the floor, clutching his family jewels in pain. I would feel bad for him, but that’s just natural selection at this point.


    Well, that was anticlimactic. I was expecting a bit more after all the centuries that passed, but it seemed like I got my hopes up.


    “Until next time, toodaloo!”


    “What does that even mean!” he cried out. “Not my wallet! I will get my revenge!!”


    How cliché.


    I deserve to at least be compensated for my time.