Provocation

The Temple of War in Mahal.

Compared to the grand architecture of the Temple of Art, the Temple of War was so small it looked like an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of town.

The outer walls were painted red, likely in an attempt to convey some sort of martial spirit for the God of War. But the paint was clearly ancient, peeling and mottled until it looked like ringworm from afar. The walls were filled with holes patched up with broken bricks and mud, radiating a makeshift aura of “hanging on for one more day.”

Standing at the temple entrance, Rosie appraised the building for a moment, silently offering her condolences to the God of War.

Stepping inside, the interior was appallingly sparse.

It was just a single, square hall. The floor was packed earth, rock-hard underfoot, its surface worn smooth from years of trampling. Exposed stone and mortar formed the walls, with stray grass roots sprouting from the gaps.

Dozens of chairs were scattered crookedly across the hall. Most of the seats were cracked, and a few missing legs were propped up on stacks of rubble to keep them balanced.

Calling it the “Temple of War” felt like a stretch; it resembled a long-abandoned warehouse that someone had begrudgingly swept out for temporary use.

Deep in the hall, atop an equally dilapidated wooden table, lay a shriveled body.

The corpse was completely unrecognizable. Skin clung tightly to the bones like a layer of dried wax paper stretched over a skeleton.

Vera stood beside the table, peeling back the dried corpse's eyelids to examine them before pressing a hand against its chest. The muscle beneath the skin had lost all moisture. The dent from her finger didn't spring back, leaving a shallow indentation behind.

“No doubt about it, this is the work of a high-tier vampire,” she said, dusting off her hands with certainty.

“Damned vampires! We gotta avenge the priest!” A green-skinned beastkin stood in a corner of the hall, fists raised high as tusks protruded from his lower lip.

“Revenge! Revenge!”

Several other green-skinned beastkin standing behind him joined in the chant, shouting loudly enough to make the roof tiles rattle.

“Blood for blood!” the lead beastkin roared again.

“Blood for blood!” The others echoed in unison, copying his gesture with raised fists.

These beastkin were handymen at the Temple of War. Devout followers of the God of War, they worked for food rather than coin. Of course, given the threadbare state of this temple, pay wouldn't have been an option anyway.

Vera frowned, turning around to sweep her gaze across their faces. “Hey, you lot, could you stop shouting? Can't you see I'm trying to examine the body?”

The lead beastkin blinked, lowering his fists to scratch the back of his head. “Ah, sorry! We stop shouting!”

“Stop shouting! Stop shouting!” The others quickly dropped their hands, looking eagerly cooperative.

Rosie stood a few paces away, watching the scene in deadpan silence.

At least these green-skinned beastkin weren't shouting “Waaagh!” Otherwise, she would have thought she transmigrated into some cesspool world.

“Did you notice anything unusual last night?” Vera asked.

The green-skinned beastkin exchanged glances. Looking between one another, their leader shook his head. “Nothin'. We slept real good. Was like this when we woke up.”

As he spoke, he pointed toward a corner of the hall.

A pile of straw lay unevenly heaped there, thick in some spots and sparse in others. A few wooden bowls and a clay jar sat nearby—evidently where they slept and ate.

The spot was barely a few meters away from the priest's corpse. Yet across that tiny distance, they hadn't heard or noticed a thing all night. Were they blissfully thick-skinned, or just completely brainless?

Right then, footsteps sounded at the door.

Nikus walked in alongside a middle-aged noblewoman wearing a polite, practiced smile. A few guards in half-plate armor followed her, splitting up to stand at attention on either side of the entrance.

The moment the beastkin saw the noblewoman, they bowed their heads and shuffled aside.

Nikus turned slightly, making a polite gesture toward the woman before looking at Vera and Rosie. “Lady Vera, Miss Rosie. Allow me to introduce the ruler of Mahal, Countess Eliza.”

Countess Eliza offered a subtle nod, her eyes lingering briefly on Vera before shifting to Rosie, her polite smile unwavering. “I've always been quite fascinated by the Dawnguard. It is truly an honor to meet you both today.”

Vera offered a brief nod in response. “You flatter us, Countess.”

Rosie smiled politely and gave a small nod as well.

“Nikus is an old friend of mine. If you require any assistance, please do not hesitate to ask,” Countess Eliza said in a warm, gracious tone.

Vera bowed slightly. “Thank you for your generosity.”

After exchanging a few more pleasantries, the Countess turned and departed with two of her guards.

Nikus turned to Vera and asked in a low voice, “What's the verdict?”

Vera nodded, her eyes still resting on the dried corpse. “Though it looks no different from a standard vampire kill, my instincts tell me we've come to the right place.”

“Good. Let's find the bastard as quickly as possible,” Nikus said, his voice laced with suppressed anger.

“Looks like we've got our work cut out for us,” Vera said.

Another night passed.

The Temple of Art, where the vampire hunting squad was staying, remained quiet and unmolested.

But early the next morning, the city guards sought out Nikus once more.

This time, it was the priestess of the Shrine of the Wine God.

The Shrine of the Wine God was dedicated to a niche deity overseeing fermentation and brewing. It had few followers, mostly consisting of brewers and vineyard owners.

Rosie followed Vera into the modest shrine, where a faint, sour scent of fermentation hung in the air.

The priestess's corpse lay slumped on the floor of the inner sanctum. Her head had been crushed, dark liquid and semi-congealed gore spreading out into a broad stain across the stone flags. Her skin was chalk-white, the unmistakable mark of being completely drained of blood.

Vera was practically a hundred percent certain of the perpetrator—the vampire elder.

Yet just as with the Temple of War, there were no witnesses and no clues left behind.

Over the next few days, things took a turn for the worse.

On the third night, an old monk in the northern district was found dead in his room, his throat torn open and his blood vanished.

On the fourth night, two more clerics of obscure faiths were killed, drained until they were nothing but dried husks.

On the fifth night, the victim pool expanded beyond the clergy. Aside from a cult priest who was drained dry, over a dozen civilians were torn to shreds. Their blood hadn't been drained; it was pure, senseless slaughter.

The string of murders sent a wave of panic crashing through Mahal. Foot traffic on the streets thinned out noticeably.

After inspecting the latest scene, Rosie and Vera walked side by side on their way back to the Temple of Art.

“I think that vampire is doing this on purpose,” Rosie said.

Vera was silent for a moment. “Normally, vampires try their best to avoid notice. But this one is doing the exact opposite. It's almost like... it's provoking us.”

“I bet it spotted us a long time ago. What do we do now?” Rosie asked.

Vera glanced over at her. “Wait and see. First, let's go back and ask Nikus to see if his noble friend turned up any clues.”

When they returned to the Temple of Art, Nikus was talking with the High Priestess in the inner courtyard corridor.

The High Priestess had changed into a deep purple gown with a light shawl draped over her shoulders. Stray strands of hair framed her face, and a relaxed smile played on her lips. Nikus stood before her, looking far more relaxed than usual. They spoke in low tones, punctuated by the occasional soft laugh from the High Priestess.

Spotting Vera and Rosie coming down the corridor, the High Priestess whispered something with a smile before turning to leave. As she passed them, she offered a polite nod, a rich waft of incense drifting past their noses.

Once the High Priestess was out of earshot, Vera teased, “My Lord Nikus, you certainly seem popular.”

Nikus smiled faintly. “I was merely discussing art with the High Priestess.”

“How is she?”

“Her erudition and talent are truly admirable...” Nikus spoke from the heart.

Just as Vera was about to reply, another person stepped into the corridor.

“Lord Nikus, my men uncovered some strange activity in the city.” Hawk hurried over, stopping a few paces away.

“What kind of activity?” Nikus asked. The smile vanished from his face, replaced by his usual stern demeanor.

Hawk's gaze swept across the three of them before fixing on Nikus. “The city's public cemetery seems to have an issue.”

Nikus frowned. “The public cemetery?”

Hawk nodded. “Rumor has it that people have seen ghosts lurking there at night.”

Silence fell over the corridor. A stray insect drifted through a gap in the window frame, tracing a faint shadow across a beam of sunlight before buzzing away.

“Nighttime... ghosts?”

Rosie and Vera exchanged a look.

Neither of them voiced their suspicion aloud, but the expressions on their faces said the exact same word:

Vampire!