the blood hunter

[kyumills]

 A monster to hunt monsters, that is what they call him.

Blood hunters use the long forbidden magic of hemocraft to disarm, disable, and even outright destroy their enemies—sometimes at the cost of their own health and even their own sanity. They infuse weapons with their powerful blood magic, with the magic coursing through their veins in the quite literal sense. 

In choosing a path such as this, blood hunters irrevocably give a part of themselves to their cause; sometimes it be morally, other times physically. It makes sense though: not many can say that they tread the path of dark and light, not many can keep down the path of light when the powers of darkness are just a short means away from them—one single snap and unlimited power can be his.

Many blood hunters fear losing the struggle of balancing the darkness of their magic and the light of their intention and so, most live a life of discipline and vigilance. They travel the countryside in search of like-minded adventurers and hints of dark deeds whispered into the night. How this blood hunter ends up in The Selene is nothing short of a mystery, but it must be some divine blessing that leads him to the inn and to the innkeeper with kind honey brown eyes.  

“A room please,” the blood hunter says. His body is weak, worn down, and scarred from use of his hemocraft. Now, he is always willing to suffer whatever it takes to save lives. Whether that be an intrinsically good or bad trait of his, this blood hunter doesn’t quite know, all he knows is that he’d rather die a thousand deaths than let another town fall to the likes of the undead. He’d rather die than allow for more innocent people to be slaughtered; he’d rather die fighting than live having given up and let the land succumb to the likes of vampires, those cursed creatures. 

He’d rather fight than let another town suffer the same fate as his own, wiped from existence from blood-hungry fiends. He’d rather fight than let another child lose a parent, or another wife lose a husband. 

Now, plenty of people have questioned his choices. How did a person so potent with magical ability find the path of hemocraft? How did a person so potent with magical ability hone his skill so quickly? Those were plenty of questions that he didn’t feel was anyone’s business other than his own; he keeps his reasons close to his heart and hidden.

“Welcome to the Sel-oh dear, this will not do. Come, adventurer, let’s get you bandaged up,” the innkeeper says to him, tugging him along carefully to avoid aggravating injuries that are just starting to close up and heal.  The blood hunter notices that the innkeeper looks rather frightened, so he follows along without resistance. 

+

The medical area is building behind The Selene, blended into the lush forest. It looked like it wasn’t the first time an adventurer had come in need of medical assistance from the looks of it, It looks only big enough to fit five people, give or take, but it was stocked to the brim with medical supplies. 

He notices the cleric immediately, can sense his healing magic, and nods. People potent with magic can sense each other, so surely that cleric knows what he is.  The cleric must know of his cursed magic, knows the blood sacrifices he makes to wield his magic. Surely that cleric will tell the innkeeper and he will be turned away; it was like that at nearly every other inn he stopped at before The Selene and certainly it won’t be the last time this will happen.  

He hopes things can be different this time, but he could never truly be sure. 

The silence and the blood hunter’s constant overthinking is disrupted by the sound of the innkeeper and his questions. “Tell me your story, dear adventurer,” the innkeeper says, “How did you find this inn?”

He pauses, contemplating his words. He wasn’t quite sure, if he were to be honest. Passing through Tellus was something he frequented, something that “I was just passing through on my way to the Trifylli,” the blood hunter says, “I just need a moment’s rest to recharge my magic—”

“Magic? Are you a wizard?”

“No.”

“A sorcerer?”

“Not quite.” 

“A cleric?”

“Definitely not.” 

It wasn’t the first time for all those questions. The blood hunter knows it won’t be the last either, for his very existence is but a plague on the magical community. 

“Now these injuries aren’t common,” the innkeeper notes. The way he examines the cuts and bruises, the way he carefully maneuvers his hands, for a second it feels like the innkeeper might care about what happens to him, but that’s naive of him. 

This time, the one who questions him is the cleric.  “They’re the injuries of a Ghostslayer, aren’t they?” he asks. 

The blood hunter nods. If there was one thing he could pride himself on is not being a liar, despite knowing the risks of his type of magic. “I-yes,” he replies. He expects disdain and disgust, he expects to be driven out and tossed to the side—nobody in their right minds would house a blood hunter due to the inherent risks—especially not a Ghostslayer and especially not one being actively hunted by vampires. The blood hunter knew that he was a liability, and he would be a fool to think that the innkeeper didn’t know as much too. 

“There’s no shame in that,” the innkeeper says, “If you keep down the path of light, that is. I sense that light in you though, adventurer. I sense its potency and its illuminating brightness. I have no worries about you.” 

“Well, let’s get these bandages secure and get you to your room,” the innkeeper says, “What number you’ve done on yourself, dear adventurer. I can’t in my right mind let you continue on to Trifylli in this state. Go on and rest, the night’s on me.” The blood hunter wants to protest: he wasn’t staying particularly long anyway, he should be able to pay for his own . “No protesting,” the innkeeper continues, “I’ll tell the wizard on the fourth floor to cast a silencing spell on you if you keep on.” 

“Sunwoo,” the blood hunter blurts out. He doesn’t make it a habit of his to reveal his name to many because a name held so much weight and identity, but there was something about this innkeeper that this blood hunter felt he could trust. “My name is Sunwoo. Kim Sunwoo.” 

“Kim Sunwoo? As in, the prince of Stellae Kim Sunwoo?” 

“And if I was?” 

He truly doesn’t mean to sound standoffish, but he can never be too careful. As a Ghostslayer, there are many threats to his being—even though the innkeeper seems kind, Sunwoo never truly could be too careful. Many humans make deals with the undead in exchange for protection, who’s to say that this one isn’t one of those?

And his status at the prince? That puts another target on his back. Who’s to say that this innkeeper wouldn’t alert the royal guards to his whereabouts?  He couldn’t avenge his mother if he was sent back to the palace to be locked up in his room like some delicate flower, but that wasn’t all too important in the moment. 

“Well, that seems like a question for yourself,” the innkeeper smiles, “Why would a prince be in a measly run-down inn? Surely the palace must be more lavish and grande. Surely you’d rather be in such a place, no?” 

“Why would a prince need to study hemocraft?” Sunwoo replies, “If not to avenge the fallen?”

“That’s a noble cause, if you were the prince. It’s much more that most nobility would be willing to do,” the innkeeper says with a smile. “Well, Welcome to The Selene, Sunwoo. Your room is the third door to the left. Please let me know if there is anything that I can do to make your stay as comfortable as possible.”