The path was rugged, but familiar.
Nero walked it with steady steps, his boots pressing into the uneven stone-paved road. Wildflowers swayed gently along the sides, bright yellows and soft purples pushing up through cracks. The towering trees on both sides rustled softly in the wind, casting long shadows that danced across the path.
It should have been peaceful — the kind of place that invited rest.
And yet… Nero felt it.
That same uneasy pressure he'd been sensing for miles now. A tension, quiet but unmistakable. Like a storm was waiting just beyond the sky, holding its breath.
He reached the edge of the village and stopped.
Below him, nestled in the valley, lay a small settlement. Scattered wooden houses with sloped roofs. Smoke curled lazily from chimneys. Somewhere, a few chickens clucked and flapped their wings near a pen. The scent of firewood and earth hung in the air.
Nero squinted down the hill, muttering under his breath.
"So this is what Althea meant, huh…"
He glanced around, noting the stone wall and lookout towers.
"Not bad for a backwater village."
He began walking again.
As he approached the village gate, a man in simple armor stood guard. His spear leaned casually against his shoulder, but his eyes were sharp — trained, despite his rural posting.
The guard stiffened when he saw Nero approaching. He lowered his spear slightly and stepped forward, blocking the path.
"Who are you?" he asked, voice firm.
Nero stopped, arms loosely folded. His expression was unreadable — calm, but unreadable.
"I'm the one you requested," Nero replied coolly.
"From Solgarde."
The guard blinked. His posture changed.
"Wait— You're the demon hunter?"
Nero gave a small, half-smirk.
"Unless there's another guy with a giant blade and a worse attitude coming up behind me."
The guard's tension eased immediately. He stood up straighter, almost embarrassed.
"Ah, right! Apologies, sir. We didn't think they'd send someone so soon — or someone like you, really."
He turned and pulled a lever. With a loud clank, the wooden gate creaked open, revealing the inside of the village.
"Welcome to Darsen Hollow."
Nero stepped through the gate.
Inside, the village was quiet, almost unnaturally so. A few villagers looked his way from behind shutters. Some children peeked around corners but darted away the moment he met their eyes.
Something had them scared — more than just the usual superstition.
Nero walked ahead slowly, scanning the streets.
"Guess the demons aren't the only thing haunting this place."
Nero walked ahead slowly, scanning the streets.
"Guess the demons aren't the only thing haunting this place."
The guard, still walking at his side, spoke up with a hesitant tone.
"This way… sir. The village chief's house is just ahead."
"Okay…" Nero replied, his eyes still sweeping the silent homes and shuttered windows.
Then — a voice cut through the quiet.
"You're the demon hunter, right?!"
Nero turned slightly.
A young girl, no older than thirteen, had rushed up from between two houses. Her dress was worn, her shoes muddy, but her eyes burned with desperate courage.
"Yes?" Nero said, raising a brow.
The guard frowned, stepping between them.
"What are you doing? This is official village business—"
"Please… help me," the girl begged, her voice trembling now. "Please…"
Nero lifted a hand, silencing the guard.
"No. Let her talk."
The girl clutched the hem of her dress tightly, struggling to speak.
"I… my elder sister… she… got…"
Her voice broke. She looked toward the guard, then down at her feet — afraid.
Nero's eyes narrowed. He glanced at the guard, then back at the girl.
"Got what?" he asked gently.
The girl bit her lip, tears beginning to form. She didn't answer — just stared at the guard again.
That told Nero enough.
He turned fully to the guard.
"Leave us," Nero said. "I want this girl to be my guide."
The guard stiffened.
"Sir… with all due respect, I should be the one to—"
"Didn't I already tell you?" Nero interrupted, voice calm but edged with finality.
The guard froze, then lowered his head.
"If… if you insist, sir. I'll take my leave."
With a reluctant nod, he turned and walked away, casting one last glance over his shoulder.
Nero waited until the guard was out of earshot, then looked at the girl again.
"Now," he said quietly. "Tell me everything."
The girl clutched her hands to her chest.
"My elder sister… she got sick. At first it was just a fever, but now she doesn't wake up. Her skin's gone pale. She whispers things when she sleeps… things I can't understand."
She hesitated, then looked up at him with wide, pleading eyes.
"I heard… demon hunters can heal people. Please, help her."
Nero's expression didn't change at first. He crossed his arms.
"I don't have that kind of power. Sorry, kid."
The girl's face fell. Her lips trembled. Still, she didn't cry. She just stood there, staring into his eyes — not with anger, not even with hope anymore, but with something raw and silent. Desperation.
And Nero saw it.
That look.
It mirrored the same one he'd worn as a boy, back when he stood outside ruined walls, gripping broken metal, waiting for someone — anyone — to reach out a hand.
He sighed through his nose, jaw tightening.
"…Where is she?"
The girl blinked, startled.
"W-What?"
"Your sister. Take me to her."
Her eyes lit up with the faintest spark of hope. She nodded quickly, then turned and began leading him down a narrow path between homes.
As Nero followed, he muttered to himself.
"Sick, huh… let's hope it's not something worse."
He reached back, clinching his hands.
Just in case.
…
…
As the girl led him down the dirt path, weaving between homes with patchy roofs and faded paint. The village was quiet, but this part — deeper in — felt even more removed. No villagers in sight. Just the wind and the sound of Nero's boots.
They stopped in front of a small house.
It wasn't much. The wood was old, a few boards warped or cracked, but it stood. Nero expected silence, but instead…
Laughter.
Faint and tired, but laughter.
When the girl pushed the door open, Nero saw them.
Children. At least eight of them.
Some sat on the floor playing with hand-carved toys. A few others quietly read worn books. One boy peeked out from behind a curtain, eyes wide with curiosity. They all looked different — hair, faces, even accents when they spoke. Not siblings.
Orphans.
Nero's brow lowered slightly.
The girl stepped aside and pointed to a room near the back.
"She's in there."
As Nero walked through the room, several children stared up at him. Not afraid — curious. He didn't say a word, just gave a slow glance over them before continuing.
Inside the back room, the air was cooler… and heavier.
The girl's elder sister lay on a simple bed, covered in a thick blanket. Her skin was pale, almost grey. Sweat clung to her brow, and her lips moved — faint whispers escaping her mouth, but no words Nero could make out.
He knelt beside her, inspecting.
Nero's breath caught as the girl's eyes snapped open.
Red — ringed in black. The whites of her eyes now tainted with the faint shimmer of demonic corruption.
(A Half Demon?)
She reached out, her trembling hand brushing against Nero's arm. He instinctively gritted his teeth and drew back, the energy around his fist sparking in warning.
"Everyone — stand back!!" he barked.
The room froze. The children flinched, some stumbling to hide behind furniture or blankets. But the younger girl, the one who brought him here, didn't move. Her fists were clenched. Her jaw tight.
"What's wrong with you?!" she shouted. "My sister isn't dangerous!"
Nero stood slowly, positioning himself between the elder sister and the others.
"Look at her eyes." His voice was low, steady. "She's not fully human anymore."
The girl's eyes welled with tears. She shook her head violently.
"So what if her eyes are different?! She took care of all of us! She's the reason we're alive! You said demons were monsters — does that mean she is too?!"
Nero didn't answer right away.
He glanced over his shoulder. The older sister's eyes weren't glowing anymore, but they were still watching — silently. Her body trembled. She was barely holding herself together.
And yet…
There was no hatred. No bloodlust. Just pain. And sorrow.
He looked back at the girl.
"I read about half-demons once," he muttered. "In Solgarde. Said they were dangerous… unstable. Half-breeds born of demon and human blood. Supposed to be wiped out."
The children gasped softly.
The girl's face twisted. "Then they're wrong. She never hurt us."
Nero clenched his jaw, then slowly turned back to the sister.
She didn't try to move. Her breath was shallow. Her hands limp.
He stepped closer, reaching out again — this time not in aggression, but in understanding.
He focused.
He felt the power in her — flickering like a candle barely holding on. It wasn't demonic rage. It wasn't bloodlust.
It was something more
Nero's eyes narrowed slightly as he turned to the younger girl, his voice quieter now but edged with something colder — a conflict between what he knew and what he was seeing.
He looked her straight in the eyes.
"What's your name?"
She blinked, her voice barely a whisper. "…Erin."
Nero stood still for a moment, then spoke, voice flat.
"Look — she's a demon. A half demon. And a demon is a demon. Doesn't matter if it's whole or not."
Erin's eyes widened.
"No!!!" she shouted, fists clenched. "She's not a demon!"
The room seemed to tremble with the weight of her voice.
The other children gasped. A little boy near the corner clung to his older sister's hand tightly. Another child ducked under a table, eyes wide with fear — not at Nero, but at what might happen next.
"She's not like the monsters in the forest!" Erin cried. "She never hurt anyone! She gave us food! She taught us how to read! She fixed our shoes when they broke! When I had nightmares, she held my hand!"
A little girl, no older than six, stepped forward timidly. Her voice was soft, but clear.
"Big sister is nice… she sings when it's scary."
Another boy, maybe ten, added with trembling lips, "She stopped the wolves. She saved me…"
Nero's fists tightened at his sides. The logic — the training — it screamed at him. Taint was taint. You didn't reason with it.
But this… wasn't what he was taught.
He looked again at the unconscious girl, the so-called demon. Her chest rose and fell weakly. Her skin was pale. There was no malevolence, no blood, no destruction.
Only suffering.
And behind her, a group of scared, stubborn kids who still believed in her.
His voice came out low, almost to himself.
"…This doesn't make sense."
He looked back at Erin. Her eyes shimmered with defiance and tears.
"Then make it make sense," she said. "But don't call her a monster just because of her eyes."
To be continue