Anemoi 11 – Anemoi 13, Imperial Year 1645
The Western Woods – The Witch's Hut
The parchment from the Hunters' Hall was brief: a witch in the western woods, cursing livestock, poisoning wells, scaring children. The bounty was modest. The danger was not.
Vlad walked west from Luminara, the road narrowing to a track, then to nothing. The trees grew thick, their branches weaving into a canopy that blocked the sun. The air smelled of damp earth and rotting leaves.
He found her hut at the edge of a clearing. Smoke rose from a crooked chimney. Bones hung from the eaves – animal bones, mostly. But some were human.
The witch was waiting outside, seated on a stump, sharpening a knife.
She was old, her face lined, her hair white. But her eyes were sharp, and her hands were steady.
"Another one," she said. "How many of you must I bury before they learn?"
Vlad said nothing. He drew his sword.
The witch stood. She was taller than he expected, and she moved like a woman half her age. In her free hand, a second knife appeared.
"Pretty blade. Shame to bury it with you."
She attacked.
The Dance – First Exchange
She came at him with a flurry of knife strikes – high, low, high again. A chaotic rhythm, unpredictable.
Vlad did not retreat. He stepped into her measure, his sword tracing a Zornhau – wrath cut – diagonal from his right shoulder to her left hip. She parried with both knives, but the force drove her back a step.
"Strong," she said. "And fast."
She shifted her grip on one knife, reversed it, and stabbed at his belly.
Vlad performed a Wechsel – a change, lowering his blade to intercept the strike, then winding into a Durchwechseln – a thrust under her guard. The point missed her chest by a hair. She twisted away.
"Precise," she said. "But not precise enough."
The Dance – Second Exchange
She circled him, her footsteps light on the forest floor. She was testing his range, his reaction time.
Vlad tracked her, turning with her, keeping his sword between them.
She lunged again – a feint to his left, then a real strike to his right thigh.
He answered with a Krumphau – crooked cut – blade curving around her guard, forcing her to abort the strike and leap back.
"You read me," she said. "Interesting."
"You're predictable," Vlad replied.
"Am I?"
She threw a knife. Not at him – at a rope tied to a branch above him. The rope snapped. A net of bones and iron weights dropped toward Vlad's head.
He stepped aside, but the net clipped his shoulder, slowing him for a heartbeat.
The witch was already moving. She closed the distance, her remaining knife aimed at his throat.
Vlad performed a Scheitelhau – parting cut – blade descending vertically, splitting the air between them. The knife struck his sword instead of his neck, skittering off the steel.
She cursed. "Lucky."
The Dance – Third Exchange
Vlad changed the tempo. He stopped defending. He attacked.
A Zwerchhau – thwart cut – horizontal, aimed at her chest. She ducked. He followed with a Mordhau – murder strike – turning the sword, striking with the crossguard. The pommel grazed her temple. She stumbled.
"You're leading now," she hissed.
"I always lead."
He pressed forward, his footwork precise – passing steps, triple steps, the rhythm of the old masters. She retreated, but not fast enough.
A Zornhau to her head. She parried with the knife. The blade snapped.
She dropped the broken hilt and raised her hands. Green fire flickered between her palms.
"Enough games. I'll burn you where you stand."
Vlad did not give her time.
He stepped inside her guard, reversed his sword, and drove the pommel into her stomach. She doubled over, gasping, the green fire sputtering out.
He raised his blade, point at her throat.
"You poisoned wells. You cursed livestock. You took children."
She spat blood. "They deserved it."
"No one deserves that."
He thrust. Quick. Clean. Through the throat, angled up through the brainstem. She fell without a sound.
Vlad withdrew the sword, wiped it on her dress, and sheathed it.
He looked at the hut, at the bones, at the remains of her victims. He set it on fire with a torch from her own hearth.
Then he walked back to Luminara.
The Hunters' Hall – Afternoon
The Hall was crowded. Hunters looked up as Vlad entered. He was covered in ash, not blood. His coat was unmarked. His sword was clean.
The clerk looked up. "The witch?"
"Dead."
"The hut?"
"Burned."
She made a note in her ledger. "The bounty is two hundred silver."
"Keep it."
"You said that last time."
"I'll say it next time too."
She smiled. "There's a coven in the southern swamps. They've been sacrificing travelers."
"I'll take it."
"You don't want to rest?"
"Witches don't rest."
She handed him a new parchment.
Vlad left. The door closed. A young hunter at the bar nudged his companion.
"That's the one they're calling Alucard."
"Looks ordinary."
"He's not. He's a vampire."
"Vampires don't hunt witches."
"This one does."
The older hunter at the corner table, the thin man with the scar, shook his head. "Call him what you want. He gets results."
The Hall returned to its low murmur.
End of Chapter One Hundred