Capítulo 19: Chapter 18: Under the Watchful Eye...
The sun had just begun to rise, casting a faint orange glow on the surrounding buildings. Vincent is one of the guards tasked with safeguarding Little Mahakam, standing watch over the grim scene before him. The morning air was thick with tension and the smell of blood, as the latest crime to rock the city had just once again occurred near the sacred temple dedicated to the revered Goddess Melitele.
As Vincent kept a keen eye on the surrounding area, he noticed a small group of curious onlookers starting to gather near the crime scene. The hushed whispers and murmurs among the crowd hinted at their shock and horror at the brutal nature of the crime that had been committed. It was not the first time that Little Mahakam had been targeted, and the locals were growing increasingly anxious about their safety in the once peaceful area.
The irony of the situation is quite striking, isn't it? The very person who is tasked with solving the crime is, in fact, the one who committed it. It's a perplexing and unsettling turn of events. Despite feeling like he was going to die, he had managed to 'survive' the werewolf's attack, the very same one who's sitting beside him right now, and the one who slaughtered the entire guards of the fisstech den.
"Are you doing okay?" Vincent asked, his voice calm and steady. The other guards nearby were also listening to the conversation.
Harold simply nodded weakly, taking a sip from the cup that the guards had given him.
Vincent pressed further, "Can you tell us what you were doing there last night?"
"I-I didn't want to be there," Harold murmured. "They forced me to go. My wife and daughter... they threatened to kill them if I didn't comply."
"Threatened?"
"We had just arrived in Vizima yesterday," Harold continued. "I sold my carriage and horse and rented a place nearby. But in the evening, some men knocked on our door claiming to be the landowner's men. They demanded more money from us even though we had already paid for the month."
"And then what happened?" Vincent inquired.
"I told them I didn't have any more money," Harold recounted, his voice growing weaker. "They dragged me into an alleyway, where I met a man who threatened to kill my family if I didn't work for them to pay off my 'debt'."
Vincent let out a heavy sigh. Harold was yet another victim of the criminal gangs that were running rampant in the city. The other guards exchanged worried glances, and one of them asked another question, "What did you see when the beast arrived?"
"At first, he was a short man," Harold whispered softly. "But when the other man ordered him to remove his hood, he transformed into... into that thing—"
Vincent interrupted, "That's enough. So the beast went into the building and killed all the men?"
Harold merely nodded, his face still contorted with the horrors he had witnessed. The mere thought of the gruesome scene made his stomach turn.
Vincent's brow furrowed, and a guard besides him asked, "Did you notice anything about the man who turned into the beast? Any distinguishing characteristics or features?"
Harold shook his head, stammering out his reply. "H-He was wearing a hood. B-but his clothing was that of a beggar's. Shabby and patchy, like he had been living on the streets."
The other guard who had been listening in murmured, "A beggar, you say? Anything else you can remember?"
Once again, Harold shook his head. He had been so terrified during the attack that he could barely recall any details.
Vincent rose to his feet, his expression sympathetic. "Thank you for your help. The king will compensate you with some orens, which should be enough for you to take a few days off and recover."
"T-Thank you," Harold stammered, feeling grateful for the guard's kindness.
Vincent heaved a deep sigh, watching his fellow guards disperse throughout the building in search of clues. However, his attention was quickly diverted to a peculiar man in the crowd that had gathered at the scene. This mysterious individual possessed an uncanny feature, his eyes seemed to emanate a bright silver glow. In Vincent's mind, the man's eyes appeared to be piercing through his very soul, causing him to shiver involuntarily.
Vincent furrowed his brows in response to the man's unsettling stare. As he looked up at the sky, he realized that tonight was the night of the full moon. Knowing the dangers that came with his line of work during a full moon, he made a mental note to keep a low profile and hide himself in the deepest corners of the city to avoid any potential bloodshed.
Finally, he made his way into the building, trailing behind his colleagues as they searched for any leads or evidence.
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Vincent sat uneasily on a rickety chair in the dungeon of the temple quarter, his foot tapping rapidly as he waited for the 'interrogator' to finish with his victim in the next room. The anguished cries and moans of torture echoed through the dimly lit chamber, making Vincent's nerves jangle with anxiety. His captain stood nearby, along with other guards, all waiting for news on the progress of the interrogation.
After what seemed like an eternity, the cries from the adjacent room subsided, replaced by occasional sobs and whimpers. The interrogator emerged from the chamber, his hands and clothes covered in blood. "Nothing," he said with a shrug. "Either the landlord's good at holding it in, or he really doesn't know anything."
The captain's face darkened with frustration. "So we can't confirm if there are more of those bastards out there?" he exclaimed, cursing vehemently in his thick Temerian peasant accent. "Gods be damned!" he clicked his tongue impatiently. Turning to the guard beside him, he barked out an order. "We need to tighten the patrol around Little Mahakam. We've got to catch these rats down to the roots!"
The other guards quickly dispersed to do their job, but Vincent remained sitting on the chair, his legs still tapping nervously. "Meis, didn't you hear what I said?" the captain growled at him. "What's wrong with you?"
"Sorry, Captain," Vincent murmured, "I was just wondering what you plan to do about the beast."
The captain scoffed. "Hire a professional, what else? If a witcher's passing through, then a witcher it is. If not, then we'll hire some mercenaries. The king's getting impatient about this."
"Even the king is concerned about the beast now?" Vincent asked incredulously.
"Of course he is!" the captain retorted. "A wild creature is running amok in his city. Who knows if it might even make its way into the castle?"
"I mean, the beast only helped us as far as I could see, why should we hunt it?"
"What are you defending the beast now? A monster is a monster, Meis, whether it has helped us or not." He sat down on his desk, his frustration evident. "Anyway, go and do your job, Meis. I've commanded you to tighten the patrol, but here you are just sitting like a duck. Do you want to be punished?"
Vincent sighed, his anxiety rising. "No, sir," he replied, rising from the chair and quickly making his way to join the other guards at the entrance.
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As the sun sets and darkness envelops the city of Vizima, Vincent makes his way to his secluded sanctuary nestled deep in the quarter's murky sewers. The treacherous journey to his hideout is plagued with obstacles such as drowners and rats, but Vincent doesn't mind. He knows that this is the type of environment he needs to avoid accidentally harming anyone.
Upon reaching his destination, Vincent steps into his spartan abode, which consists of a few basic necessities. A sturdy chain stretches tautly from one corner of the room to the other, providing him with a secure tether. In another corner sits a chest where he stores his clothing and food. The entrance to his hideout is a thick wooden door, reinforced with steel railings to withstand the force of his transformation.
Despite being able to control when and where he transforms, Vincent still struggles to contain the bloodlust that accompanies his metamorphosis. Once a month, during the full moon, his rage intensifies, and he loses all sense of self-restraint. The days leading up to the full moon are particularly challenging for him, as his heightened anger often leads to reckless behavior. Inevitably, on the night of the full moon, he undergoes a forced transformation, which could result in a city-wide rampage if he is not careful.
That's why he spends every full moon night in his underground hideout, wrapping himself tightly in chains to prevent himself from harming anyone. The chains serve as a physical barrier to keep his feral instincts in check, and they provide him with a sense of security in his most vulnerable moments, even though he knows that almost every time he does this, the chains will be broken.
Vincent approached his chest slowly, his movements deliberate and calculated. He knew what was about to happen, and he was preparing himself for it. He began to undress, peeling layer after layer until he stood there, completely naked and vulnerable. As he stood in front of his chest, he couldn't help but feel a surge of frustration over his life, his fate, and the situation he found himself in.
With a sudden burst of anger, Vincent punched the wall beside his chest with all his might. The force of his blow was so great that it cracked the stone, sending tiny fragments flying in all directions. He spat on the ground in disgust and muttered under his breath, "'Monster is monster', my arse. What happens if you find out that I'm the culprit? Put me down like a fucking dog?"
Vincent's muscles began to bulge erratically as his transformation began to take hold. His mouth filled with rabid saliva, and he could feel his bones cracking as he readied himself for the change. He growled, his voice deep and menacing, "Doesn't matter if I killed those rapists for you. It doesn't matter if I get rid of those bandits. If I'm a so-called monster, then I deserve to be hunted?"
Suddenly, Vincent heard a voice from behind him. He spun around, startled, and saw the silver-eyed man standing there, casually leaning against a nearby wall. The man's eyes glowed under the darkness, and Vincent could feel his own eyes locking onto them.
"What did you expect then?" the silver-eyed man said. "Praise? A medal of honor?"
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