Anemoi 5 – Anemoi 10, Imperial Year 1645
Newhope – The Eastern Continent
Ten days had passed since the rumors of Alucard first reached the docks. Ten days of fishing and hammering, of mending nets and mixing mortar, of the slow, patient work of building a town from nothing.
The morning was cool, the sky a pale grey. Sea mist clung to the rooftops. Somewhere a dog barked. A child laughed. A hammer rang against wood.
Kithri sat on the peak of the watchtower roof, legs dangling over the edge. Below her, the town was waking up.
Mira was already in the kitchen, smoke curling from the chimney. Patch was outside the clinic, stretching his arms. Aldric stood in the doorway of the guest house, a cup of tea in his hands, watching the horizon.
And in the square, a crowd was gathering around the wine press.
The Square – Morning
Torvin Copperkettle stood beside his latest contraption like a father at a child's bedside. It was a machine of copper pipes and wooden gears, of iron screws and glass tubes—a mechanical wine press that could turn a bushel of grapes into a barrel of red in a single afternoon.
He had been working on it for months. Now it was finished.
"Edmund," he called, "get over here."
Edmund Voss—former lord, fish merchant, mayor of Newhope—walked across the square. He wiped his hands on his apron.
"What's the occasion?"
"We're testing the press. First batch."
Voss looked at the machine. Copper gleamed. Gears glinted. A small barrel sat beneath the spout.
"It's not going to explode?"
"Probably not."
"Probably?"
Torvin grinned. "Trust me."
Roderick appeared, carrying a crate of grapes. He set it down without a word.
"That all of them?" Torvin asked.
"That's all of them."
The dwarf cracked his knuckles. "Then let's get to work."
The Wine Press – The First Pour
The press groaned. Gears turned. The smell of crushed grapes filled the square.
A crowd had gathered. Fishermen, net‑menders, children, a woman with a basket of bread. They watched as the dark red liquid trickled from the spout into the barrel.
"It's working," Torvin said.
"Don't jinx it," Kaito muttered.
The trickle became a stream. The stream became a flow. The barrel filled.
Torvin dipped a cup into the barrel, tasted, swished, swallowed.
"It's... good."
"Good?" Voss asked.
"Really good."
The crowd cheered. Voss smiled. He clapped Torvin on the shoulder.
"Then we're in business."
The Kitchen – Midday
Mira was chopping onions. Her knife moved fast, even.
Patch stuck his head in. "Clinic's quiet. Need any help?"
"I need you to stay in the clinic in case someone actually gets hurt."
"I'm bored."
"Then sharpen your scalpels."
Patch sighed. "You're worse than Aldric."
"I'm busier."
Vesper came in, smelling of herbs. "We're out of yarrow."
"Check the eastern field. There's a patch by the old stump."
"Which old stump?"
"The one by the well."
"There are three wells."
"The one by the granary."
Vesper left. Mira kept chopping.
Patch lingered. "How's the wine?"
"Torvin's testing it."
"Think it'll sell?"
"It's selling already. Rosalind got a letter."
Patch nodded. "Good."
He left. Mira chopped alone.
The Fence Line – Afternoon
Grom walked the perimeter alone, as he did every afternoon. His one arm rested on his axe. The forest pressed close, dark and quiet.
He stopped at the eastern post. Listened. Nothing.
He turned back.
Corvin was waiting at the gate.
"Anything?"
"No."
"Good."
They walked back together. No words. That's why they got along.
The Workshop – Midday
Kaito had his head inside the wine press, adjusting a pipe. Daiki handed him tools without being asked.
"The pressure's holding," Kaito said.
"Good."
"Any leaks?"
"No."
"Good."
Torvin stood nearby, polishing a copper valve. "You two are worse than a married couple."
"We're efficient," Daiki said.
"You're weird."
"We're gnomes."
"Same thing."
Kaito pulled his head out. His hair was matted, his face smeared with grease.
"Torvin, the seal on the third pipe is loose. We need to replace it before the next batch."
"Then replace it."
"I need more copper."
"Then get more copper."
Daiki sighed. "We're never going to finish."
"We're never going to stop," Torvin said. "That's the point."
The Well – The Girls' Banter
Celia sat on the edge of the well, a book open in her lap. Miku leaned against the stone, watching the press. Talia braided her hair. Hikari folded bandages. Rosalind read a letter from a merchant in Luminara.
"Torvin's wine is selling," Rosalind said.
"How do you know?"
"Merchant wrote back. First shipment sold out in a week."
Miku whistled. "That's fast."
"It's good wine."
Talia finished her braid. "So we're rich now?"
"We're less poor."
"Same thing."
Celia looked up from her book. "Did you hear about Alucard?"
Miku perked up. "The witch hunter?"
"He killed six witches in one hunt. Brought their heads to the Hall."
"Six?" Hikari paused her folding. "In one hunt?"
"That's what they say."
Rosalind folded the letter. "They also say he's handsome."
"The heads or the hunter?"
"The hunter."
Miku leaned forward. "How handsome?"
"I don't know. I wasn't there."
"You're useless."
"I'm practical."
Talia snorted. "Same thing."
Hikari shook her head. "You're all impossible."
"We're thorough."
Celia turned a page. "There's another hunter now. They call him the Goblin Slayer."
Talia raised an eyebrow. "The what?"
"Goblin Slayer. He only takes goblin contracts. Clears out nests. Doesn't talk."
Miku frowned. "That's... specific."
"He's good at it. They say he counts his kills out loud. Doesn't stop until they're all dead."
Hikari shivered. "Creepy."
"Effective."
Rosalind tucked the letter away. "So we have a witch hunter who looks like a prince and a goblin hunter who counts corpses. What a world."
The girls laughed.
The Tavern – Midday
Echo was behind the bar, wiping a mug. Rook sat at his usual table, notebook open, eyes scanning the room.
The Broken Anchor was quiet. A few sailors nursed ales. A merchant argued with his companion. Rook wrote nothing.
Echo set down the mug. "Anything interesting?"
"Not yet."
"Good."
Rook turned a page. Echo kept wiping.
"Torvin's wine press is working," Echo said.
"I heard."
"First batch is good."
Rook nodded. "Good for him."
Echo set down the rag. "You're quiet."
"I'm working."
"On what?"
Rook looked at the door. "On staying alive."
Echo didn't ask what that meant. She just nodded and went back to work.
The Schoolhouse – Afternoon
Reinhard was teaching arithmetic. The children scribbled on slates. A girl raised her hand.
"Seven plus four?"
"Eleven," she said.
"Good."
A boy in the back raised his hand. "Mister Reinhard, is Alucard a real person?"
Reinhard paused. "Where did you hear that name?"
"From the sailors."
"The sailors talk too much."
"But is he real?"
Reinhard looked at the window. The square was busy. People were laughing.
"He's real," he said. "Now focus on your numbers."
The boy frowned but returned to his slate. Another child, a girl with pigtails, raised her hand.
"What about the Goblin Slayer? Is he real too?"
Reinhard sighed. "He's real. Now—"
"Do they know each other?"
"I don't know. Do your sums."
The children giggled. Reinhard rubbed his temples.
The Training Ground – Late Afternoon
Gregor stood alone in the muddy field behind the granary. His sword was drawn. His shield was strapped to his arm. He moved through the forms – slow, deliberate, precise.
High guard. Low guard. Thrust. Parry.
He had been a knight once, sworn to a baron, bound by oaths. Now he was a refugee, a survivor, a man with no lord and no land.
He struck the practice dummy. The blade bit deep.
"You're going to ruin that thing," Roderick said, leaning against the fence.
Gregor didn't turn. "It's a practice dummy."
Roderick shrugged. "Still."
Gregor lowered his sword. His chest heaved. Sweat dripped down his face.
"I used to be someone," he said.
"You still are."
"A knight without a master."
"A fighter without a leash."
Gregor looked at his sword. The edge was chipped.
"Is that supposed to be comforting?"
"It's supposed to be true."
They stood in silence. The wind blew.
"Torvin's wine is good," Roderick said.
"I haven't tried it."
"You should. It's better than fighting dummies."
Gregor almost smiled. "Maybe."
He sheathed his sword and walked toward the square. Roderick followed.
"Gregor," Roderick said.
"What?"
"You're not a knight anymore. That's fine."
Gregor stopped. He looked at the ground.
"I don't know what I am."
"Then find out."
They walked.
The Square – Late Afternoon
Gunnar was testing his new arm. The limb was still thin, still weak, but the bones were solid. He flexed his fingers one by one.
"Slowly," Aldric said. "Don't force it."
"It's fine."
"It's healing."
Gunnar made a fist. His knuckles cracked.
"Good enough."
Corvin walked over. He was holding a cup of Torvin's wine.
"You're not supposed to drink that yet," Gunnar said.
"Torvin said it was good."
"Torvin's biased."
"Probably." Corvin took a sip. "It is good."
Gunnar flexed his fingers again. "How's the tavern?"
"Quiet. Echo's handling the books. Rook's watching the door."
"The door doesn't need watching."
"Rook thinks it does."
Gunnar almost smiled. "Rook's paranoid."
"Rook's alive."
They stood in silence.
"You hear about the Goblin Slayer?" Corvin asked.
"No."
"Keeps to himself. Kills goblins. Counts them."
"Strange."
"Effective."
Gunnar looked at his new hand. "We're all strange now."
Corvin raised his cup. "To strange."
"To strange."
They drank.
The Well – More Banter
Miku stretched her arms. "I wonder if Alucard is really as handsome as they say."
"Who cares?" Talia said. "He kills witches. That's what matters."
"You care."
"I care about results."
Celia closed her book. "The sailors said he walks like a ghost."
"And fights like a devil," Hikari added.
"Where do you hear this?" Rosalind asked.
"The docks. The fishermen talk."
Miku sighed. "I wish I could see him."
"No, you don't," Talia said. "He's a hunter. He's dangerous."
"Dangerous is attractive."
"You're impossible."
"I'm honest."
Rosalind tucked the letter back into her pocket. "There's another rumor. About a hunter who only kills goblins."
"Only goblins?" Miku wrinkled her nose.
"Clears out nests. Doesn't take anything else. They say he never takes off his helmet."
Hikari shuddered. "That's worse than the witch hunter."
"At least the witch hunter has a face."
"Does he? We've only heard rumors."
Celia stretched. "Maybe he's hideous under that hat."
Talia snorted. "Or maybe he's even better looking and that's why he hides."
"You're hopeless."
"We're all hopeless."
They laughed.
The Clinic – Afternoon
Patch was cleaning his instruments. Aldric sat in the corner, reading a book.
"Busy day?" Patch asked.
"Not yet."
"Good."
Aldric turned a page. Patch kept cleaning.
"The wine press is working," Patch said.
"I heard."
"Torvin's happy."
Aldric nodded. "Good for him."
Patch set down his scalpel. "You're quiet."
"I'm thinking."
"About what?"
"About home."
Patch didn't ask what home meant. He just nodded and went back to work.
"You hear about the other hunter?" Patch asked after a while.
"The goblin one?"
"Yeah. They say he's been clearing nests for weeks. Never stops."
Aldric closed his book. "He'll burn out."
"Or he'll keep going."
Aldric looked at the window. "Maybe."
The Square – Evening
Supper was stew again. Mira's stew. The same stew she'd been making for weeks, but no one complained.
The class gathered at the long table. Voss sat at the head. Torvin brought a barrel of his new wine.
"First official tasting," he announced.
"Official?" Miku asked.
"I made a label."
He held up a piece of parchment. It read, in blocky letters:
NEWHOPE RED
DRINK RESPONSIBLY
The table laughed.
Voss poured the first cup. He swirled. He sniffed. He sipped.
"Needs another week," he said.
"But it's good?"
"It's good."
Torvin grinned. "Then we're in business."
The Dock – Night
Kithri sat on the dock, her feet dangling over the water. The stars were bright. The sea was dark.
Elara sat down beside her.
"You're quiet."
"I'm thinking."
"About what?"
"About him. Alucard."
"Vlad."
"Yeah." Kithri's tail curled around her leg. "Do you think he's okay?"
"He's alive. That's something."
"Is it?"
Elara looked at the stars. "It's enough."
Kithri didn't answer. She just watched the water.
"Have you heard about the Goblin Slayer?" Kithri asked.
"A little."
"They say he never stops."
"He and Vlad would get along."
Kithri snorted. "They'd probably ignore each other."
Elara smiled. "Probably."
End of Chapter One Hundred Eleven