The morning light did not so much enter the room as it did invade it, slicing through the gaps in the weathered wooden shutters in pale, dusty shafts. Red Itu stirred, the transition from the abyss of sleep to the reality of the waking world feeling like a slow climb through cold water. He exhaled a long, shaky breath, feeling the warmth of life finally beginning to circulate through his lean limbs.
He sat up, the ropes of his cot creaking in protest. "Good morning… it's me. Red Itu," he whispered to the empty air. It was a ritual—a way to anchor himself to his identity before the world outside tried to strip it away. His voice was light, carrying a forced cheerfulness that felt brittle even to his own ears.
As his feet touched the cold floorboards, a soft rustle came from the foot of the bed. A small ball of ash-gray fur uncurled itself. Cuttey, a wolf pup with eyes far too intelligent for his size, looked up and let out a soft, huffing yawn.
Red's expression softened instantly. He reached down, scratching the sweet spot right behind the pup's ears. "This little guy… he's my friend. My companion. My family."
"Woof!" Cuttey barked, nuzzling Red's palm.
For a few heartbeats, the room was a sanctuary. The silence was heavy and sweet, the kind of peace Red cherished because he knew it was a temporary loan, not a gift. In this room, he wasn't a monster or a bad omen. He was just Red.
"Red, are you awake? Come down, dear. Breakfast is ready."
The voice of his grandmother drifted up the stairs—warm, steady, and smelling of home.
"I'm coming, Grandma!"
Red stood, pulling on his adventurer's gear. The dark, reinforced fabric was scuffed from previous outings, and the leather straps that hugged his frame were worn supple. He paused before the cracked mirror hanging by the door.
He didn't look at his hair or his clothes. He looked at the twin pools of fresh blood staring back at him. His eyes weren't just red; they were a deep, dense crimson that seemed to pulse with a light of their own. To a stranger, they looked like two wounds in his face. To the legends of this world, they were the mark of the night-stalkers.
"Another ordinary day," he muttered, a faint, self-deprecating smirk forming on his lips. He adjusted his collar, trying—and failing—to hide the intensity of his gaze.
Descending the stairs, he found the kitchen bathed in the golden hue of the rising sun. His grandmother moved with a slow, practiced grace, placing a bowl of porridge and a side of toasted bread on the table.
"Take one more," she said, sliding an extra piece of bread toward him.
"Okay," Red replied, smiling.
On the floor, Cuttey was already making short work of his own bowl, his tail thumping rhythmically against the wood.
"How is it?" Grandma asked, wiping her hands on her apron.
"Good. As always."
Red's eyes softened as he looked at her. She was the only one. In a village full of whispers and a kingdom full of prejudice, she was the only person who looked at his crimson eyes and didn't see a vampire. She just saw her grandson.
But the world outside was waiting.
***
The moment Red stepped out of the cottage, the atmosphere shifted. The town was waking up. Merchants were unrolling their awnings; blacksmiths were striking their first heats. But as Red walked, a silent wake formed in the crowd. People veered away.
"Those eyes…" a woman whispered, pulling her child closer.
"A vampire? In broad daylight?" a merchant muttered, spitting on the ground to ward off bad luck.
"What a curse… seeing him ruins my day. Why does the Guild even let him stay?"
Red kept his gaze fixed forward. He had learned years ago that if he didn't acknowledge the whispers, they couldn't cut him. But they still stung. *Yes… because of my red eyes, I've never been treated well. No friends. No place. Red eyes are a vampire trait—rare among humans. A curse.*
He reached the Adventurers' Guild, a massive stone building that smelled of old parchment, spilled ale, and sweat. He pushed open the heavy oak doors, and the roar of the morning crowd hit him.
He moved toward the quest board, his Iron Rank plate—the lowest of the low—clinking against his chest. It was the color of dull, rusted metal, a perfect reflection of his status.
"Look at that," a burly warrior laughed, leaning against a pillar. "The Iron Rank blood-sucker is back."
"Not even human," his companion sneered. "Probably a weak vampire who couldn't even hunt a goat."
Red ignored them, his fingers scanning the bottom row of the board. He pulled down a parchment: *Request: Slime Culling. Reward: 50 Copper.*
He brought the slip to the counter. Liliya, the guild receptionist, was known for her efficiency and her lack of empathy. She didn't even look up at first.
"Good morning," Red said politely. "I'd like to take this quest."
Liliya took the paper, her sharp eyes finally flicking up to his. She smirked, a cold, mocking expression. "As expected. Slimes are all you can handle. Try not to let them melt your boots, Itu. It would be a waste of good leather."
Laughter erupted from the tables behind him. Red didn't flinch. "I'll return before sunset."
"Try not to die," she called out as he turned to leave. "The paperwork for a death benefit is a headache I don't need today."
***
The forest was a cathedral of green and gold. Here, at least, the trees didn't whisper insults.
Red crouched in the undergrowth, his hand resting on the hilt of his basic-issue short sword. Cuttey was a shadow beside him, his belly low to the ground. In the clearing ahead, four green slimes bounced lazily, their gelatinous bodies shimmering.
"Same plan," Red whispered.
Cuttey took off like a shot, darting into the clearing and barking with a ferocity that belied his size. The slimes, mindless and driven by simple vibration, wobbled toward the pup.
Red moved with a grace most Iron Ranks didn't possess. He was fast—unnaturally so. He closed the distance in a heartbeat. *Slash.*
His blade sliced through the first slime's core. It burst into a puddle of inert goo.
The others turned, but Red was already chanting. He didn't have much mana, but he knew how to use every drop.
"Fire Bullet."
A small, high-pressure orb of flame hissed through the air, striking the second slime dead center. The heat caused the creature to expand and evaporate instantly.
"Water Bullet."
A spinning blade of liquid followed, piercing the third slime. The magic caused the water to vibrate at such a frequency that it shattered the slime's internal structure like glass.
He turned to the fourth, but his foot caught on a mossy root. The ground was slick from the morning dew. He went down hard.
The fourth slime, seeing its opening, lunged. It slammed into Red's chest, its heavy, acidic weight pinning him down. The translucent green mass began to crawl toward his face, seeking to suffocate him. Red struggled, his lungs burning as the slime's body blocked his airway.
*Instinct.* It wasn't a thought; it was a reflex buried in his DNA. His hand found his fallen blade. He didn't swing; he drove it upward with everything he had. The steel found the core. The slime shuddered, then dissolved over him like a bucket of lukewarm soup.
Red lay there for a moment, gasping, wiping the sticky residue from his eyes.
*Splat.*
He looked up to see Cuttey standing over the remains of a fifth slime that had tried to sneak up from behind. The pup stood proudly, his chest puffed out.
"Woof!"
Red laughed weakly, reaching out to pat the pup's head. "Good job, partner. We'd be in trouble without you."
They began the tedious work of gathering the cores—small, marble-like gems that powered streetlamps and simple heaters. But as Red reached for the third core, the ground beneath him didn't just vibrate; it groaned.
*Gluuush.*
The bushes at the far end of the clearing were leveled as a massive, translucent shadow emerged. It was ten feet tall, a deep, toxic purple color, with three pulsating cores visible within its mass.
A Slime King. An E-Rank monster, at least—something an Iron Rank should never see.
"Cuttey, behind me!" Red yelled, his voice cracking.
The Slime King didn't bounce; it surged like a tidal wave. Red rolled to the side just as the creature slammed into the spot where he had been standing. The impact shattered a sapling.
Red regained his footing and slashed at the creature's flank. The blade sank in, but the Slime King's body was too thick. It didn't even slow down.
"Fire Arrow!"
Red poured his remaining mana into a single spell. A flaming bolt streaked forward, but the King simply absorbed it. The fire flickered out inside the purple gel, leaving only a puff of steam.
The creature's "arm"—a lash of concentrated slime—whipped out. It caught Red in the ribs, sending him flying. He hit a massive oak tree with a sickening *crack*.
Blood, as red as his eyes, spilled from the corner of his mouth.
*I can't win head-on… I don't have the mana, and my sword is too short.*
The Slime King was turning its attention to Cuttey. The pup was barking defiantly, trying to draw the monster away from Red. The King lunged, and with a casual flick, sent the pup tumbling into the brush.
"CUTTEY!"
Something snapped inside Red. The world didn't turn red—it was already red to him—but it became sharper. Cold. The pain in his ribs faded into a dull hum.
He saw it. A discarded spear, likely left behind by a fleeing adventurer weeks ago, half-buried in the mud near the center of the clearing.
"One chance…"
Red ignored the protest of his lungs. He sprinted. The Slime King saw him and began to compress its body, preparing for a final, crushing leap.
*Now.*
As the monster launched itself into the air, Red slid through the mud, grabbing the spear and planting the butt of it firmly against a rock. He aimed it upward, right at the primary core.
The Slime King's own weight was its undoing. It fell directly onto the spear. The weapon pierced through the thick gel, driven deep by the creature's momentum, and shattered the central core into a thousand pieces.
The creature froze in mid-air for a fraction of a second, then collapsed. It didn't just dissolve; it burst, coating the entire clearing in purple liquid.
Red fell to his knees, his breath coming in ragged sobs. He was covered in slime, blood, and mud.
"…We did it," he whispered.
Cuttey limped out of the bushes, shivering but alive. He trotted over and licked the blood from Red's cheek.
***
The return to the guild was different. Usually, Red was invisible. Now, as he walked in carrying a bag that leaked purple ichor, the room went silent. He walked to the counter and dumped the three massive cores of the Slime King onto the wood.
Liliya stared. Her sharp tongue seemed to have failed her.
"A Slime King…?" someone whispered.
"An Iron Rank took that down?" another asked, the mockery replaced by a confused sort of awe.
Liliya cleared her throat, her face flushed. "I… I see. The bounty for an unranked King is… four hundred copper."
Red accepted the pouch. It was more money than he had seen in months. He didn't stay to gloat. He just wanted to go home, wash the slime off, and sleep.
But as he reached the door, it swung open.
The air in the room changed. Four figures entered, radiating an aura of power and wealth. They wore polished plate armor, silk capes, and enchanted weapons that hummed with magical energy.
An A-Rank party. The peak of the guild hierarchy.
The woman in the lead, Somi, was beautiful in a way that felt dangerous. Her blonde hair was tied back, and her eyes scanned the room with bored disdain—until they landed on Red. Specifically, his eyes.
She stepped forward, a practiced, honey-sweet smile on her lips. "You're the one who brought in those King cores, aren't you?"
Red nodded cautiously. "I am."
"We're heading to the Accramtic Dungeon tomorrow," Somi said, her voice loud enough for the whole guild to hear. "It's a long trek, and we need someone to carry our extra supplies and handle the core harvesting. Five hundred copper for three days of work. Interested?"
The guild gasped. Five hundred copper just for lugging bags? It was a fortune.
Red looked at her. He saw the smile, but he didn't see the warmth. Yet, he thought of his grandmother. He thought of the repairs the cottage needed. He thought of the chance to finally prove he could work with others.
"I accept," Red said.
Behind Somi, her teammates—two men and another woman—exchanged quick, knowing glances. There was a cruel glint in their eyes that Red, blinded by the prospect of a better life, failed to see.
And just like that, the path toward betrayal was set. Red Itu thought he was climbing out of the dirt; he didn't realize he was being invited to his own execution.