«God! Even though I hate you to the core of my soul, I'm damn glad to finally get this over with!» — I shouted to the sky, raising my arms, then collapsed onto all fours and quietly sobbed with joy. Children were running around me and jumping, laughing cheerfully at my face drenched in tears and snot.
I had fulfilled my mother's request. So why was I so "glad" about it?
It's simple.
I'd spent a freaking ten years on this! Maybe even a bit more! Well, actually, I'm not sure it's been a full decade — perhaps even longer?
When I first started following my mother's words, I couldn't have imagined it would be this hard.
Find them a new place to live? No problem — I created it. Provide food? No problem — I provided it. Establish agriculture so their settlement could feed itself? No problem — I did it. Ensure their survival? No problem — I taught them how to defend their lives. I even crafted simple blades and bows for them.
But solving their emotional problems? Making sure each resident could sleep through the night without flinching? Getting them to speak of the future with a happy smile? I nearly died trying to arrange that.
After all, I had no idea how to proceed. None at all! I relied only on my memories from my past life, but I couldn't fully implement them!
How on earth was I supposed to do this when I didn't even understand their emotions? Not to mention that my knowledge was, to put it mildly, superficial — drawn from books, anime, and games!
It felt like I was banging my head against a tree, trying to summon a "prophetic" apple to fall on my head like it did for Newton, hoping I'd be blessed with the necessary knowledge. It was a truly desperate thought, especially considering that, technically speaking, I was an undead creature — so any blessing would have burned me to a crisp!
The thought crossed my mind more than once: I'd rather fight that monster again than deal with all this. Now I understand why so‑called «Heroes» vanish the moment they've saved everyone. A regular person wouldn't spend so much time on this! Unlike me, they're mortal!
I watched the first generation of children in the village I had created grow up. I, a vampire who ought to inspire terror! Yet these little brats weren't even afraid of me.
A wave of indignation washed over me. I stood up, grabbing one of the boys who'd jumped onto my back. Catching his father's eye, I hurled the child straight at him.
«Yee-haw!» — he shouted joyfully as he flew through the air.
«Me too, me too!» — other children cried out, making a vein throb on my forehead in irritation.
«Very well.» — I grabbed two of them at once and tossed them straight toward the village guards.
Having dealt with the little pests, I set off to find Serdolika.
My mother's ideals are certainly righteous, but there's no way I'd agree to follow them again…
What had I been doing all this time? Just fussing over the villagers? Of course not. I'd started exploring the surrounding area.
For instance, in the traditional sense, this world doesn't have ordinary cities. At least, ordinary workers didn't know about them. There are what we call mobile cities.
A moving platform that holds an entire damn city! How were they created? I have no idea — how would «workers» from the mines know about such things? And my mercenary's memories didn't offer any useful insights either.
There are also these so‑called «catastrophes». The villagers refer to them as «the wrath of God», but from the mercenary's memories, I gathered they're more likely meteor showers — though not exclusively. After racking my brain, I came to a conclusion: the inhabitants of this world label any natural disaster as a «catastrophe» — be it storms, blizzards, floods, or earthquakes.
Now, you might think: natural disasters are just natural disasters — so why call them «catastrophes»? The answer lies in the aftermath. Each of these events leaves behind active Origium crystals, which are extremely dangerous and contaminate the affected area. Due to the threat of Catastrophes, most modern cities on Terra are nomadic — capable of relocating their structures and inhabitants to safety, far away from the Catastrophes when necessary.
This is precisely why «mobile cities» exist.
So, what exactly is Origium? Well, to be honest, I don't fully understand it. It seems to function as a kind of fuel, yet at the same time, it infects living organisms with «Oripathy» — a condition that has no known cure. On top of that, it enhances the powers of local mages — or rather, users of «the Art».
By the way, firearms do exist in this world! However, as the mercenary's memories reveal, it's not that simple. In practice, those who wield them are still considered «spellcast gefers» or simply users of «the Art».
Does this mean ordinary workers can't use them? Not quite. They've developed the «Universal Origium Chip» — a device that allows anyone to use firearms. The catch? Maintaining such equipment is prohibitively expensive. Still, with this chip, anyone can hurl basic fireballs or even perform minor healing — though only for cuts and scrapes. But the principle stands!
In short: if you've got deep pockets, you can throw fireballs and shoot guns to your heart's content.
There's one oddity, though. The mercenary's memories contain no trace of long‑range firearms — only those effective at medium and close ranges.
Perhaps it's merely a gap in my knowledge — or perhaps weapons in this world simply can't fire over extreme distances.
Well, not exactly. Crossbows are considered long‑range weapons. Thanks to their so‑called «Art», they can supposedly hit targets a kilometre away — though, according to the mercenary's memories, he'd only heard of such feats, never witnessed them.
As I mulled this over, I reached Serdolika. She was in the arms of a young woman — the village head.
Why her? Well, frankly, I never asked. They'd chosen her themselves, so I didn't interfere.
«Master Nomat!» — she called out with a smile as she saw me approaching. I merely waved in response. When I got closer, I said:
«Just Nomat. I'm no one's master. Never have been, never will be.» Then I turned my gaze to Serdolika.
«It's time, my companion. We're leaving this place.»
The smile vanished from the girl's face in an instant, replaced by deep sadness and a stubborn reluctance to accept what was happening. Her eyes dimmed, as if a small inner light had gone out.
«You really are leaving? Won't you at least consider staying?» — her voice was quiet, almost hopeless, yet still held a timid spark of hope.
I looked at her as if she were mad — with cold, almost scornful bewilderment. My gaze didn't faze her. She kept looking straight at me, unflinching, as if the silence between us held someone's fate.
I stepped closer and sharply flicked her on the forehead. She let out a short, offended yelp and puffed out her cheeks, shooting me a glance full of reproach.
«Annoying little brat,» I muttered, a wry smirk tugging at the corner of my lips.
«Don't forget: I'm a monster. Even if I saved your hide. Even if I provided you with shelter, food, and knowledge. Even if I taught you how to protect your lives. I haven't stopped being one. Where have you ever seen a monster living in a peaceful village?»
I paused, letting the words settle in the air, then added with deliberately exaggerated ferocity:
«Besides, my prey is out there somewhere, in the north. Waiting for me to find it… and drain every last drop of its blood.»
Her face trembled. She wanted to say something, but the words got stuck in her throat. Only her eyes — large, dark, filled with unspoken pain — kept following me, as if trying to read between the lines, hoping that I was merely hiding something behind my mask of cruelty rather than speaking the truth.
She slowly lowered her gaze, clutching the hem of her dress with her fingers. The silence between us grew almost tangible — heavy and dense like a sky before a storm.
«So… was it all for nothing?» — she whispered, her voice breaking on the last word.
«All that you taught us? Everything you've done for us?»
I smirked, but this time without my usual sarcasm.
«Did I ever say I was doing it for you?»
She jerked her head up, her eyes blazing with anger:
«Then why?! Why did you stay with us all these years? Why did you teach me how to handle a knife if you knew you were going to leave?»
I took a step back, shoving my hands into my pockets.
«It was just a coincidence, a mundane one at that — and all thanks to Serdolika. If it weren't for her, a monster like me wouldn't even have tried to find that corpse. And if it weren't for my parents' instructions, I would have left you to your fate.»
«Don't you dare!» — she stepped forward, clenching her fists.
«Don't you dare talk about yourself like that! You saved us when no one else would. You taught us how to survive. You…» — her voice broke.
«You became a part of this place.»
I turned away, studying the treetops. The wind rustled the leaves, as if mocking the scene.
I didn't quite understand her feelings. Her desires — I could see she was trying to stop me, not for her sake or the village's, but for… for my own? I didn't get it.
She stepped close, and I felt her breath on my shoulder.
«What if I ask you to stay? Not as a monster. But as… as the person we need?»
I slowly turned to face her. There was no anger in her eyes now — only a sincere, almost childlike plea. I froze. Though I call myself a monster, I still consider myself human; her words struck me more deeply than I could have imagined.
But I already knew the answer — I wouldn't stay here. My heart trembles with excitement every time I look at the horizon.
What does it hide from me? What wonders might I find there? What kind of people will I meet? What opponents will try to kill me? It makes my heart quiver with anticipation. And I still can't forget that wondrous taste of black blood.
«You don't understand what you're asking.»
«I do!» — she grabbed my sleeve.
«I see how you watch the sunrise while hiding in the shadows. How you smile when you think no one's noticing. You're not a monster. You're just… a person who's afraid.»
I pulled my arm free, stepping back.
«Af? Oh, believe me, I'm not afraid. I'm excited. I've barely restrained myself all these years from rushing off to uncharted lands.»
She lowered her hands but didn't look away.
«Then go. But know this: there will always be a place for you here. Even if you don't believe it yourself.»
I laughed — this time for real, and a smirk spread across my face. I flicked her on the forehead again.
«Naive. My whole life now is a battle — both with the madness in my head and with my thirst for blood. I literally can't stay in one place any longer. If I did, I'd eventually succumb to madness.» — these weren't groundless fears.
In recent years, it had become increasingly difficult to find sources of blood outside the village. Use the villagers? I actually have pride! I only get my blood through battle or hunting!
Turning around, I walked away, trying not to hear the quiet sobs of the girl behind me — the one who had just shown a desire to help a vampire. Serdolika quietly hopped onto my shoulder.
Two weeks later.
«Chaldea? I've heard that name in my past world, but I have no idea what they were up to,» — I mused, having read the familiar word on a dilapidated wall.