“DAMIDAMIDAMIO~”
The girl’s crisp singing rang out in the night, like a night elf playing here, light and agile yet tinged with an eerie air.
After 7 p.m., the Town would suddenly grow quiet, as if someone had pinched their nose and plunged their head underwater, making the sounds of the current and one’s own heartbeat all the more pronounced.
Wherever the eye could see, every household had their doors tightly shut. Those who could afford it would even hire a Magician to engrave a Magic Array on their door, just to ward off those creatures that liked to prowl in the dark.
Although Hill was a Vampire, she would never do something as reckless as breaking into someone’s home. After all, not just in this small Town, but in a dozen or more neighboring Kingdoms, such acts were undoubtedly crimes. Coupled with her special status, if her identity were exposed, she might well be shot dead on the spot by a Sheriff’s Silver Bullet.
She preferred to explore deserted alleyways, since the main streets were too conspicuous—and who knew at which corner a Sheriff might appear?
In this world, Sheriffs, even in this nondescript Town, were not the useless kind. When something happened, they really got involved! If it was daytime, Hill, that beloved, outstandingly accomplished sweet girl, wouldn’t be afraid to greet any Sheriff. But at night, if her identity was discovered, those Silver Bullets at their disposal were no joke.
Silverware was the bane of Vampires, suppressing their ability to heal. For a low-ranked Vampire like Hill, a wound from such a bullet meant bleeding for a long, long time.
For a Vampire, blood loss was the cruelest punishment and torture—ordinary wounds simply would not make them bleed.
“Where’s my Little Lamb? Where could my Little Lamb be?” Hill murmured softly. She moved swiftly, her black coat, stockings, and short boots blending her seamlessly into the night.
Even if someone passed by at this moment, they’d think it was just a breeze carrying a hint of a girl’s fragrance, or recall the Town’s legend about the “Night Maiden.”
Of course, that legend had nothing to do with Hill—such stories had existed for decades.
Hill was a little hungry now. One feeding for a Vampire could last about 2-3 days. She always exercised restraint, never drawing too much blood, so a single hunt would only ensure she wouldn’t suffer from hunger for at most two days.
It had been exactly two days since her last hunt. If she couldn’t find suitable prey tonight, she’d have to endure her classmates’ concerned fussing tomorrow morning at school. A Vampire in hunger was truly pitiful to behold, especially when Hill happened to be a young and adorable beauty.
Pale face, furrowed brows that wouldn’t smooth, and that lovely countenance always seeming to harbor endless worries… Even Hill’s own heart ached at the sight, let alone anyone else’s.
If possible, Hill truly wished she could encounter another poor girl still wandering so late at night.
Heavens! Everyone knew not to go out after dark. Sheriffs couldn’t possibly be everywhere at all times. Yet if such a young, lovable girl was walking all alone down the pitch-black, deserted street at this hour, how heartbreaking her story must be!
Just thinking about it, Hill nearly drooled… Ahem! No, it was her frail heart beneath her barren chest that started to ache.
Nighttime didn’t belong only to nonhuman beings like Vampires. As previously mentioned, the Drunkard, Scavenger, or even violent thugs and those who preyed on lone wanderers at night—all of these were always on Hill’s menu…
Compared to these sorts, who wasn’t more dangerous than a lovely, adorable Vampire girl like Hill?
Hmm?
Answer me!
She only wanted a few sips of blood to fill her stomach, what crime was that? Besides, her fangs didn’t carry any viruses, and those few mouthfuls of blood wouldn’t harm anyone—at most, the victim would wake up with a bit of dizziness the next morning.
After an hour of searching, Hill had already covered nearly half the Town. Along the way, relying on her Vampire senses, she carefully avoided those pesky Sheriffs and continued her hunt for tonight’s prey.
Finally, Heaven rewards the diligent.
Near a tavern, Hill caught a whiff of nauseating alcohol…
Oh dear, could it be she’d have to settle for the blood of a Drunkard again tonight?
Needless to say, she would much prefer to drink from a young girl.
Rich, sweet, silky smooth…
What other merits? She hadn’t sampled much, so there was still more to be discovered.
With no other choice, Hill followed the stench of alcohol, resigned in her heart. The night was a paradise for nonhuman creatures like her, but her “kind” were by no means easy to deal with. If one wasn’t careful, the night could devolve into the sort of underworld infighting that the townsfolk loved to gossip about, and then end up as a fresh case for the Sheriffs, plumping their thin wallets at the end of each month.
Though influenced by nine years of compulsory education from her previous life, Hill was at heart a kind, helpful girl.
But being helpful didn’t mean helping in this sort of way.
After walking about a hundred paces, Hill finally found the source of the reeking smell.
The bad news was, just as expected, it was a Drunkard, bearded and ragged. Or rather, a Drunkard-Scavenger hybrid.
The good news was, the stench was so overpowering that Hill hadn’t even noticed her real prize—a young girl.
The night was especially dark in this deep alley, but to Hill, it was nothing at all.
The girl wore a school uniform from some Academy—though not exquisite, it was elegant enough, and a faint scholarly scent lingered about her. Of course, the girl’s own natural fragrance was not to be underestimated either.
Young, tender, full of life—just imagining it made time itself seem to sweeten.
Indeed, Hill still hadn’t forgotten her unexpected windfall from last time.
“Heh… You all look down on me, all of you! Hic! Hic! Throw me out of the house, deny me my old man’s inheritance… Hic! Who cares? Who the hell cares! Hic! You’re the eldest, you’re so high and mighty, you’re so virtuous… When you kicked me out, you sure sounded righteous! Hic! To hell with you!”
The Drunkard muttered bitterly, his steps unsteady, swaying from side to side. He had to lean on the icy wall again and again just to stay upright.
The tavern had thrown him out before 7 p.m. He carried his half-empty bottle onto the street. By the time the bottle was drained, he’d collapsed in a nearby alley, passed out. When he woke, he was still drunk, not knowing where to go, following only his instincts.
The Goddess must have taken pity on him, for someone like him, society’s dregs, to stumble upon such fortune.
A young girl, asleep in the corner, clutching a Book Bag that looked expensive.
When the Drunkard saw her, he nearly stopped breathing. She was easily young enough to be his daughter, and perhaps it was precisely her excessive youth that stirred wicked thoughts within him.
Why? Why did those wealthy Noble lords just beckon with a finger and have Academy girls crawl into their beds, while he had to make do with old and ugly women?
Now he’d been thrown out, and couldn’t even afford another bottle of booze. Even those old, ugly women wouldn’t share his miserable lot. He had nothing left, and with his brain pickled by alcohol, he cared even less.
Heavens, Goddess above!
What a cute kid. Though the night was deep, some instinct told the Drunkard this girl had an angel’s face.
Wasn’t this a gift from the Goddess?
No one was around. Even if someone heard a noise, they would never come out in the dead of night to check.
This child was his… He’d tasted old women, as coarse as black bread choked with splinters. The flavor of a young girl—surely it was like those fancy lords’ meals, white bread with honey and cream, soft and fragrant.
The Drunkard’s mouth curled up to his ears. Step by step, he crept toward the girl sleeping in the corner. He squatted, body swaying from tension and alcohol, almost toppling over, making a bit of a commotion.
He quickly glanced around like a thief—nothing.
And there shouldn’t be anything, should there?
May the Sheriffs come late, and may the Goddess’s blessing last a bit longer.
He held his breath, squinted his eyes, and reached out his rough hand toward the sleeping girl.
He was about to touch that tender skin, those silky strands…
At that moment, Hill silently appeared behind the Drunkard.
A look of mercy on her face, she spoke softly: “One, two, three, Sheriff! Freeze, hands up!”
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