The Crimson Covenant: The Moonlit Blood Chapter 7

 ACT II  THE FALL OF HOUSE VÁRHEGYI

 Chapter 7  Guests from the Desert

Morning mist drifted across the valleys of House Várhegyi. The forests glistened with dew as sunlight filtered through towering oaks and ancient pines. Farmers already worked the fields beyond the castle walls, their laughter carried by the gentle wind. Wagons loaded with grain creaked along stone roads while shepherds guided flocks across emerald hillsides. Castle Várhegyi overlooked it all from its hilltop. Its silver banners fluttered proudly against the blue summer sky. Another peaceful day. Or so everyone believed. A horn echoed from the western watchtower. Not an alarm. A greeting. The castle gates slowly opened. A long procession approached along the winding road. Nearly two hundred travelers. The villagers stopped their work to watch. Women carried bundled possessions. Children walked barefoot beside overloaded carts. Old men leaned heavily upon wooden staffs. Oxen pulled wagons covered with faded black cloth. At first glance... They looked like ordinary refugees. But the longer people watched... The stranger they appeared. Most of the adults were men. Not elderly men. Not sickly men. Strong men. Men in their twenties, thirties, and forties. Men whose shoulders were broad beneath flowing black robes. Men whose hands bore thick calluses not from farming... But from years gripping weapons. Even beneath loose desert garments, powerful muscles stretched the fabric across their backs and arms. Their skin carried the deep bronze color of those born beneath relentless desert suns. Many kept their faces partially hidden behind black veils wrapped around their noses and mouths. Others wore black turbans decorated with simple silver bands. Curved swords hung from several belts. Officially... Ceremonial weapons. Unofficially... No one believed that.

The castle guards exchanged uneasy glances.

Captain Márton frowned.

"They're awfully healthy for starving refugees."

One veteran beside him quietly nodded.

"They march too well."

The line moved with discipline. No shouting. No disorder. No wandering. Even the children naturally remained in formation. Like people accustomed to following commands. Standing at the front rode an elderly man upon a dusty white horse. Unlike the others, he openly displayed wrinkles earned through age. His beard had turned silver. His black robes were finely woven despite years of travel. He lowered himself from the saddle with practiced dignity.

Then knelt before Lord Ádám Várhegyi.

"My lord..."

His voice carried exhaustion.

"We come from the southern kingdoms."

"Our homes were destroyed."

"Our families scattered."

"We ask only for safety."

He bowed his head deeply.

"We ask for mercy."

Silence settled over the castle courtyard. Lord Ádám looked across the gathered travelers. Women held frightened children close. Several elderly people struggled even to remain standing. The younger men remained respectfully silent.

His blue eyes softened.

"You shall have shelter."

Relief swept across the refugees.

Several began crying openly.

The old man lowered himself even further.

"House Várhegyi has our eternal gratitude."

Not everyone shared Ádám's compassion. Inside the castle's council chamber later that afternoon... The atmosphere had become tense. Around the long oak table sat several neighboring nobles and advisors. Maps covered the polished surface.

One elderly baron spoke first.

"My lord..."

"This troubles me."

Lord Ádám looked toward him calmly.

"Explain."

The baron folded his hands.

"I have seen refugees before."

"They are usually farmers."

"Merchants."

"Families."

He paused.

"These people..."

"...look like soldiers."

Several nobles nodded.

Lady Katalin, ruler of a neighboring estate, spoke next.

"They carry themselves with military discipline."

"Most of the adults are men."

"Fighting-age men."

"They wear robes that conceal almost everything."

Captain Márton added quietly,

"My scouts also noticed weapon scars."

"Old ones."

"Many of them."

Lord Ádám remained silent.

Finally...

He answered.

"Perhaps they defended their homes."

The room grew quiet.

No one could deny that possibility.

Another noble sighed.

"I pray you're right."

Later that evening... Lady Ilona personally visited the refugee camp that had been established below the castle walls. Large canvas tents now filled an open meadow beside the river. Castle servants distributed fresh bread, warm soup, blankets, and clean water. Lady Ilona walked among the families carrying baskets herself. She smiled warmly at frightened children. Comforted grieving mothers.

Spoke kindly with the elderly.

"You are safe here."

The words seemed to ease many hearts. Several women wept with gratitude. One little girl hugged Lady Ilona tightly around the waist. The lady embraced her without hesitation.

"You don't have to be afraid anymore."

Watching nearby... Bálint quietly observed everything. Only eleven years old now, he had already grown taller than many boys his age. His silver-blond hair caught the evening sunlight, and his gray eyes carefully studied every face within the camp. He noticed something. Very few children. Far fewer than expected.

He looked toward his father.

"...Father?"

"Yes?"

"Why are there so many grown men?"

Ádám looked across the camp.

"...War separates families."

The answer seemed reasonable.

Yet...

Something still bothered Bálint. Unlike his older brother... Nine-year-old Zoltán had already wandered directly into the refugee camp. He carried a basket full of apples.

"Would you like one?"

A small desert boy hesitated.

"...Really?"

"Of course!"

Soon...

Several children gathered around him. They laughed together despite speaking different languages. One little girl showed Zoltán how to weave desert grass into tiny bracelets. Another taught him songs from distant southern lands. Before long... They were playing together beside the river.

Lady Ilona smiled proudly.

"Children always find a way."

As sunset painted the valley gold... The refugees gathered for evening prayer. Hundreds quietly knelt together. Their heads lowered. Their hands folded. Their words spoken so softly that no one nearby could understand them.

Captain Márton watched from the castle walls.

"...Strange."

Another guard frowned.

"What is?"

"They all pray facing south."

Night slowly covered the valley. Lanterns illuminated Castle Várhegyi. The refugee camp settled into silence. Or so it appeared. Deep within the camp... Far from curious eyes... Three powerful men entered the largest black tent. Gone were their exhausted expressions. Their posture straightened immediately. One removed the cloth covering his face. A long scar crossed his cheek. Another quietly unrolled a map. It depicted not villages. Not roads. But... Castle Várhegyi itself. Every tower. Every gate. Every wall.

The oldest among them spoke first.

"The lord believes us."

Another smiled coldly.

"As expected."

"The servants?"

"Several already serve our cause."

"The signal?"

"When the moon is highest."

He placed his finger upon the castle's great gate.

"From within."

The men bowed their heads. Not in prayer. In obedience. One quietly reached beneath the table. Wrapped carefully in black cloth... Rested a small iron cube covered in ancient crimson runes. The man touched it reverently.

"The Black Box remains hidden."

"No one suspects."

Outside...

Laughter echoed from children still playing beneath the stars. Inside the tent... Plans were already being made to burn everything they loved. And high upon the castle walls... Bálint stood alone beneath the moon. He couldn't explain why. But for the first time in his young life... Home no longer felt completely safe.

The Crimson Covenant: The Moonlit Blood Chapter 6

 

ACT II THE FALL OF HOUSE VÁRHEGYI

The House on the Hill

Long before the village of Kisfenyő burned... Before black coffins. Before demons. Before blood stained the forests of Central Elyria... There had been peace. The lands of House Várhegyi rested in the heart of Central Elyria, where rolling emerald hills met ancient forests that had stood since before written history. Crystal-clear rivers wound through fertile valleys, feeding fields of golden wheat and vineyards that stretched toward distant mountains. White sheep grazed peacefully on grassy slopes while orchards heavy with apples and pears surrounded quiet villages. Unlike the great kingdoms of eastern vampires or the towering merchant cities of western Elyria, House Várhegyi ruled only a modest territory. Yet it was prosperous. Its people never went hungry. Travelers often remarked that the villages beneath the House's protection seemed unusually peaceful. Doors remained unlocked. Children played outside until sunset. Even merchants carrying valuable goods felt safe traveling the roads.

The people often said:

"A small house with honorable rulers is worth more than a great kingdom ruled by tyrants."

At the highest hill overlooking the valley stood Castle Várhegyi. It was neither the largest castle in Elyria nor the most magnificent. But it possessed a quiet beauty. Its pale gray stone walls blended naturally with the surrounding cliffs. Tall towers overlooked forests stretching for miles in every direction. Colorful banners bearing the crest of House Várhegyi, a silver wolf beneath a black eclipse fluttered proudly in the mountain breeze. Flower gardens surrounded the inner courtyards. Climbing ivy softened the ancient walls. Unlike many noble castles built solely for war, Castle Várhegyi felt... Alive. Servants chatted as they swept the courtyards. Stable boys laughed while brushing horses. The smell of freshly baked bread drifted from the kitchens every morning. The castle was not merely a fortress.It was a home. At sunrise... The castle slowly awakened. Golden light poured through stained-glass windows depicting generations of House Várhegyi. Servants carried baskets of fresh bread through polished stone corridors. Maids dusted portraits of ancestors whose eyes seemed to watch over the household. Gardeners trimmed roses blooming beneath marble statues. Kitchen staff hurried between ovens carrying warm pastries and steaming soup. The entire castle moved like a great family. Everyone knew everyone. Everyone looked after one another. The Lord of the House. Lord Ádám Várhegyi. He was a tall man nearing forty, broad-shouldered from decades spent wearing armor rather than sitting upon a throne. Though undeniably handsome, his face bore faint scars earned during old campaigns defending Elyria's borders. His dark blond hair was tied neatly behind his head, while a short beard framed kind blue eyes that softened whenever he looked upon his family. Even inside his own castle he dressed simply. Dark riding boots. Black trousers. A white linen shirt beneath a dark green noble's coat embroidered with silver wolves. A ceremonial sword rested at his side not because he expected danger... But because a lord should always remain prepared. Despite his title as a respected warlord, Ádám rarely raised his voice. His soldiers admired him. His servants respected him. His people genuinely loved him. He ruled not through fear... But through trust. Standing beside him was his wife. Lady Ilona Várhegyi. Where Ádám resembled the sturdy mountains surrounding their lands, Ilona carried herself with graceful elegance. She possessed long golden hair that flowed nearly to her waist, usually braided with silver ribbons matching the family crest. Her emerald eyes sparkled with warmth. Her smile could calm frightened children before they even realized why they had been crying. She favored flowing gowns of forest green, deep blue, and ivory trimmed with delicate silver embroidery inspired by vines and wildflowers. Jewelry mattered little to her. Instead, she often wore a simple silver pendant carved into the shape of a wolf. A gift from Ádám on their wedding day. She was beloved by every servant within the castle. Whenever someone fell ill... Lady Ilona visited personally. Whenever children were born... She brought gifts herself. Many villagers affectionately called her...

"The Lady of Spring."

"Mother!"

A cheerful voice echoed through the garden. Lady Ilona barely had time to turn before a tiny blond whirlwind collided happily into her dress. She laughed softly.

"There you are."

Little Zoltán Várhegyi looked no older than eight. Soft golden-blond hair fell messily around bright blue eyes that always seemed filled with wonder. Unlike most noble children who preferred elegant clothing, Zoltán somehow managed to cover himself in dirt before breakfast every single morning. His white shirt was already grass-stained. One sleeve had somehow torn. Again.

Lady Ilona sighed.

"You've been climbing trees."

"...Maybe."

"That wasn't a question."

"...Yes."

She smiled anyway.

A few steps behind him walked another child. Older. Calmer. Already carrying himself like the future lord of the house. Bálint Várhegyi. Only ten years old... Yet remarkably composed. His silver-blond hair was brushed neatly despite the morning breeze. Gray eyes quietly observed everything around him. His black training clothes remained surprisingly clean compared to his younger brother's complete disaster of an outfit. Where Zoltán ran... Bálint walked. Where Zoltán laughed loudly... Bálint smiled quietly. Yet whenever his younger brother stumbled Bálint was always the first to catch him.

"I found him."

Bálint said simply.

Zoltán crossed his arms dramatically.

"I wasn't lost."

"You climbed onto the roof."

"I wanted to see the hawks."

"You got stuck."

"...For a little while."

"You cried."

"I did not."

"You absolutely did."

"I was asking for assistance."

"You shouted."

"I requested loudly."

Lady Ilona covered her mouth to hide her laughter.

Lord Ádám emerged from the training yard carrying two wooden practice swords.

"Boys."

Both immediately straightened.

Even little Zoltán.

"Training?"

Both answered together.

"Yes, Father."

The castle's practice yard overlooked the valley below. Rows of armored knights trained with spear and shield. Archers practiced against distant targets. Young squires sparred beneath the watchful eyes of veteran instructors. Yet the lord ignored them all. His attention belonged solely to his sons. He tossed one wooden sword toward Bálint. The boy caught it effortlessly. The second He gently handed to Zoltán. It looked almost too large for him despite being made for children.

"Ready?"

Bálint nodded.

Zoltán grinned.

Then immediately charged.

Ádám sidestepped effortlessly.

Zoltán stumbled forward.

Before he could fall Bálint caught him. Again.

"You need to watch your footing."

"I was distracting Father."

"You ran into him."

"Exactly."

"That wasn't a strategy."

"It could become one."

Even Ádám laughed.

The training continued until noon. Bálint moved with surprising speed for someone so young. Every strike remained controlled. Every movement precise. He listened carefully. Adapted quickly. Meanwhile... Zoltán relied almost entirely upon enthusiasm. If a swing missed He simply swung harder. If he fell He stood right back up. Again. And again. Until finally He managed to push even his father back a single step.

The training yard fell silent.

Ádám blinked.

"...Well."

He looked genuinely impressed.

"That was..."

He rubbed his shoulder.

"...astonishingly strong."

Little Zoltán beamed proudly.

"I did it!"

Bálint smiled.

A real smile.

"Good job."

Receiving praise from his older brother somehow meant even more than praise from their father. The afternoon passed peacefully. Servants prepared lunch beneath shaded gardens. Maids carried fresh linens through open corridors. Blacksmiths repaired farming tools rather than weapons. Stable hands brushed horses. The village below bustled with cheerful life. Children chased chickens through the square. Bakers sold warm bread. Musicians played lively melodies beneath the old oak tree. No one locked their doors. No one feared tomorrow.

As evening approached, the brothers wandered through the village with baskets of fresh bread from the castle kitchens. Lady Ilona insisted that every week they help deliver food to elderly villagers who could no longer travel. Old Marta smiled as little Zoltán handed her a loaf nearly as large as himself.

"For you."

"And apple jam!"

He proudly produced a small jar from behind his back.

The old woman laughed.

"Thank you, young lord."

Zoltán puffed out his chest.

"I carried it all by myself."

Bálint quietly added,

"I carried him when he got tired."

"I only got tired once."

"Three times."

"...Twice."

As the sun disappeared behind the hills, the bells of Castle Várhegyi rang gently across the valley. Families returned home. Smoke rose peacefully from chimneys. Warm lights appeared behind cottage windows. From atop the castle walls, Lord Ádám looked upon his lands with quiet satisfaction.

Lady Ilona joined him, slipping her hand into his.

"Our boys are growing quickly."

Ádám smiled.

"They are."

For a long moment, they watched Bálint and Zoltán racing each other across the castle courtyard below. One quiet. One laughing. Complete opposites. Yet inseparable. Neither parent noticed the lone figure watching from the distant treeline beyond the fields. A traveler wrapped in black desert robes. His face hidden beneath a veil. He studied Castle Várhegyi for several silent moments. Then... He turned his horse toward the south. Toward Baalania. The peace of House Várhegyi had been seen. And somewhere far beyond the deserts... Someone had begun making plans.

The Crimson Covenant: Vol 1The Moonlit Blood Chapter 5

 

ACT I THE BLOOD COFFIN GUILD

Chapter 5  The Quiet After

The silence that followed the demon's destruction felt almost unreal. Only minutes earlier, the village square had been consumed by shrieking darkness and living nightmares. Now... Moonlight returned. The silver glow spilled gently across broken rooftops and scorched cobblestones. Smoke drifted lazily into the night sky, carrying away the last traces of battle. The forest surrounding Kisfenyő stood silent once more, its towering pine trees swaying softly beneath a cool autumn breeze. One by one... The crickets began singing again. The world itself seemed relieved. No one spoke. The villagers simply stared at the four travelers. The Crimson Covenant. The same people who had looked so terrifying only moments ago now stood quietly among the ruins. Bálint carefully wiped soot from one of his silver whips before recoiling both enchanted weapons neatly into the ornate black hilts hanging from his belt. His elegant black coat was dusted with ash, several cuts decorating its sleeves where enemy blades had barely grazed the fabric. Despite the battle, he remained composed, brushing dirt from his gloves as though returning from an evening ride rather than a battlefield. Nearby, Zoltán sat upon a broken wagon wheel, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. His blond hair had become wonderfully messy. Soot covered one cheek. His green traveling coat bore fresh scorch marks. One sleeve had been torn by a spear. His enormous axe, Sky Breaker, rested upright beside him, its glowing blue runes gradually fading as the weapon returned to its ordinary weight. The giant automaton, Őrök, knelt beside the church. Blue runes softly shimmered beneath cracked brass armor while tiny enchanted mechanisms emerged from hidden compartments within his forearms, repairing dents left by hammers and sealing fractures with streams of liquid silver. Not far away... Győző calmly closed the lid of his ancient black coffin. The elegant coffin seemed strangely ordinary beneath the moonlight. As though the horror everyone had just witnessed had never happened. The ancient vampire dusted ash from his velvet sleeves before adjusting the silver dragon brooch fastening his crimson cravat. His pale face remained perfectly calm. Almost bored. Finally... The village elder stepped forward. His hands trembled. Not from fear anymore. From gratitude. He slowly bowed. Then another villager bowed. Soon... Every surviving man, woman, and child in Kisfenyő knelt before the four travelers.

"Thank you."

The words spread through the crowd.

"You saved us."

"You saved our children."

"Our homes..."

"Our lives..."

An elderly woman quietly wiped tears from her eyes.

"If you hadn't arrived..."

She couldn't finish.

Bálint immediately looked uncomfortable.

"...Please stand."

No one moved.

He sighed quietly.

"I don't deserve that."

The village elder looked confused.

"But you defeated them."

Bálint glanced toward the ruined houses surrounding them.

"I arrived too late."

His voice was almost a whisper.

"People still died."

The elder gently shook his head.

"No."

"You arrived before everyone died."

For the first time that evening...

Bálint had no reply.

Several merchants approached carrying heavy sacks.

"Our savings."

"Please."

"Take them."

Gold coins jingled softly inside leather pouches.

One farmer even led forward his healthiest horse.

"It's all I own."

"It belongs to you now."

Before anyone else could answer Győző smiled warmly.

"No."

The villagers blinked.

The ancient vampire folded his hands behind his back.

"Keep your gold."

"But..."

"You need it far more than we do."

A baker insisted.

"You defeated a demon!"

"Surely that's worth something!"

Győző chuckled.

"It certainly is."

He looked toward the frightened children now peeking curiously from behind Őrök.

"Their smiles are sufficient payment."

The villagers exchanged confused glances. They had expected legendary adventurers. Mercenaries. Monster hunters. Instead... These people simply smiled. Without another word... The Crimson Covenant began rebuilding the village. Ōrök lifted entire collapsed walls back into place. Massive stone beams that once required twenty men now rested effortlessly within his enormous brass hands. He carefully lowered each one exactly where the village carpenter directed.

"Three centimeters left."

The automaton obeyed.

"A little more."

He adjusted.

"Perfect."

"Thank you."

"You are welcome."

Meanwhile...

Zoltán helped rebuild roofs.

Children followed him everywhere.

"Lord Zoltán!"

"Can we help?"

He smiled brightly.

"Of course."

He handed tiny wooden pegs to eager little hands.

"Can you pass me those?"

The children nodded enthusiastically.

Even carrying nails suddenly felt like important work.

Bálint silently repaired fences. His movements remained astonishingly precise. Every swing of the hammer landed perfectly. Every plank aligned flawlessly.

An elderly carpenter watched in amazement.

"You're surprisingly good."

Bálint shrugged.

"My father insisted every noble should know how to build."

The carpenter laughed.

"A wise man."

"...He was."

For just a heartbeat...

Sadness crossed Bálint's face.

Then he continued working.

Győző wandered through the village. Unlike the others, he repaired little himself. Instead...He listened. He comforted grieving families. Spoke gently with frightened children. Offered quiet advice to exhausted parents.He possessed the calm presence of someone who had witnessed countless tragedies across countless centuries. Somehow... Simply speaking with him eased frightened hearts. Near midnight... The village bakery somehow remained standing. Mostly. Its chimney leaned dramatically to one side.Inside, the baker and his wife insisted on preparing food for everyone.  Long wooden tables were carried into the square. Fresh bread. Vegetable stew. Roasted potatoes. Goat cheese. Warm apple pastries.The smell filled the village.

  Zoltán's eyes sparkled.

"...Can we?"

Bálint didn't even look up.

"You've already decided."

"I was asking politely."

"You were pretending politely."

"I wasn't pretending."

"You absolutely were."

Győző smiled into his teacup.

"Let the boy eat."

Bálint sighed dramatically.

"He already ate four times today."

"Growing boys require nourishment."

"Grandfather."

"Yes?"

"He's six foot three."

"He is still growing."

"...You're encouraging him."

"I certainly am."

The baker placed an enormous loaf of bread before Zoltán.

"Eat as much as you'd like."

"...Really?"

"As much."

The baker instantly regretted those words.

Fifteen minutes later... The entire table stared. The bread was gone. Three bowls of stew. Two roasted chickens. An entire apple pie.

Several villagers whispered among themselves.

"...Where does it go?"

"I don't know."

"He's impossible."

One little girl looked at Zoltán with complete admiration.

"You're amazing."

Zoltán laughed awkwardly.

"I... train a lot."

Bálint pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Our grocery expenses are legendary."

Then came an unexpected sound.

"...Excuse me."

Everyone turned.

It was Őrök.

The giant automaton stood politely beside the table. In one enormous brass hand... He still held the tiny cookie the little boy had given him earlier.

"I have observed..."

He paused.

"...that families usually eat together."

The square became quiet.

Győző smiled gently.

"They do."

"I would..."

Another pause.

"...also like to participate."

Zoltán immediately stood.

"Of course!"

He dragged over the largest bench in the village.

It immediately collapsed beneath Őrök's weight.

The children burst into laughter.

"...I apologize."

"It's okay!" one little boy giggled.

"We'll get two benches!"

Eventually... The automaton simply sat carefully on the ground. A little girl placed another cookie into his enormous hand.

"For dessert."

He carefully stored it inside a small compartment in his chest.

"Treasure acquired."

The children laughed even harder.

Later that night... The village finally slept. Families returned to repaired homes.Fires had been extinguished. Only glowing embers remained.The Crimson Covenant sat together beneath the old oak  tree overlooking the square. No one spoke for a while. The moon hung high above the forest. Zoltán leaned back against the tree, already half asleep. Bálint quietly cleaned his silver whips. Ōrök stood motionless nearby, keeping watch over the sleeping village. Győző looked toward the stars.

"You did well today."

Neither brother answered immediately.

Finally...

Bálint spoke.

"...We still couldn't save everyone."

The ancient vampire nodded.

"No."

Silence returned.

Then he smiled softly.

"But because you came..."

He looked toward the repaired homes.

"...most of them will wake up tomorrow."

Bálint followed his gaze.Children slept peacefully. Parents embraced their families. Warm light shone through repaired windows.For the first time in years... The quiet young heir allowed himself a genuine smile. Small. Almost invisible.But real.  Győző noticed. He said nothing. Sometimes... That was enough.Far beyond the peaceful village, hidden beneath the dark trees, a lone Baalanian survivor watched the sleeping settlement. His face remained hidden beneath black desert cloth. In his hand... He clutched a fragment of the shattered Black Box. Its cracked surface pulsed faintly with crimson light.  Then he disappeared into the forest.The peace of Kisfenyő would not last forever.

The Crimson Covenant: Vol 1The Moonlit Blood Chapter 4

ACT I  THE BLOOD COFFIN GUILD

Chapter 4  Grandfather Awakens

The battle was over. Or so everyone believed. The surviving Baalanian raiders had disappeared into the forests surrounding Kisfenyő. The wounded were being treated beside the old stone church while villagers and members of the Crimson Covenant worked together to extinguish the remaining fires. Night slowly settled across the village. The last rays of the sun disappeared behind the towering pines. An uneasy silence followed. Too quiet. Even the birds had stopped singing. Ōrök the guardin-class automaton stood in the center of the square like an ancient monument. Several children still sat upon his broad shoulders, laughing as he carefully carried buckets of water toward burning homes. Zoltán smiled as he helped an elderly carpenter lift fallen timber. Bálint quietly walked through the streets, ensuring every surviving villager had been accounted for. Everything seemed peaceful. Until... A scream echoed from the church. Not fear. Agony. Everyone turned.

A young guard stumbled from the church doorway, clutching his bleeding chest.

"Something..."

His voice shook.

"...Something is alive!"

Behind him...

A low metallic sound echoed beneath the stone floor.

CLANG...

CLANG...

Like iron striking iron. Again. And again. The village priest rushed outside.

"We found it!"

His face had gone pale.

"There was a hidden chamber beneath the altar."

"We thought it was another cellar..."

He couldn't finish. The stone floor beneath the church exploded upward. Ancient masonry burst into the air. A black iron chest erupted from beneath the earth. It landed heavily in the center of the square. The box stood nearly two meters tall. Every surface was covered in rust-black metal engraved with twisted symbols that seemed to move whenever someone looked away. Its seams leaked thick crimson light. The surrounding air grew cold. Painfully cold. The fires nearby flickered blue. 

One of the older villagers whispered with trembling lips,

"...A Black Box."

Another immediately grabbed his grandchildren.

"Run."

No one moved. It was too late. A crack spread across the lid. Then another. The metal groaned.Something inside... Was knocking.

BOOM.

Another impact.

The lid bent outward.

BOOM.

The ground shook. The villagers backed away. Even Bálint narrowed his eyes.

"Everyone behind Ōrök."

The automaton stepped forward immediately.

"Civilian protection acknowledged."

His enormous frame shielded dozens of villagers. The children who had laughed only moments before now buried their faces against his brass armor. The lid burst open. Darkness poured out. Not smoke. Not shadow. Something thicker. Something alive. It flowed across the ground like spilled ink before rising into the shape of a towering figure. Nearly four meters tall. Its body resembled a starving giant wrapped in black flesh stretched tightly across exposed ribs. Six elongated arms dragged across the ground behind it. Its head possessed no eyes. Only a massive mouth splitting vertically down its face. Rows upon rows of jagged teeth slowly unfolded. Then... It screamed. The sound did not enter their ears. It entered their minds. Several villagers collapsed instantly, clutching their heads. Blood trickled from noses and ears. One Baalanian survivor hiding among the trees tried to flee. The creature's arm extended impossibly far. It seized him. The man had time for only one scream. Then he disappeared into the monster's mouth. Bones cracked.

Silence.

Even Bálint took a step backward.

"...A demon."

The creature inhaled deeply. The darkness surrounding it expanded. The moon itself disappeared behind unnatural clouds. Night arrived all at once. Not ordinary darkness. Living darkness. The torches extinguished. The stars vanished. Even sound seemed muffled. The demon slowly turned toward the villagers. Its enormous mouth widened. Hunger. Only hunger.

Then...

A soft metallic click echoed behind everyone. The sound came from Ōrök's back. The ancient black coffin. Its silver clasps unlocked one by one.

Click.

Click.

Click.

The runes engraved across its surface awakened, glowing with pale silver light. A cold wind swept across the square. The children instinctively climbed down from Ōrök's shoulders. No one spoke. Even the demon stopped moving. As though... It recognized something. The coffin lid slowly opened. Darkness flowed outward. Not the chaotic darkness of the demon. This darkness moved with purpose. With dignity. With authority. Hundreds... Then thousands... Of black bats poured from the coffin. The sky vanished beneath beating wings. Their screeches echoed across the ruined village. The swarm circled overhead like a living storm.

The villagers fell to their knees.

Someone whispered,

"...Ancient Vampire..."

A polished black boot touched the ground. Then another. A young man stepped  out from the coffin. He appeared no older than twenty-five. His skin was almost impossibly pale, untouched by sunlight for centuries. Soft brown hair fell neatly to his shoulders, framing a handsome face that seemed carved from marble. His crimson eyes reflected the moonlight like polished rubies. He wore elegant black noble attire from another age. A long velvet coat embroidered with silver dragons. High leather boots. White gloves. A crimson cravat fastened by an ancient silver brooch. Everything about him radiated quiet nobility. Not arrogance. Authority. The kind possessed only by someone who had watched kingdoms rise... And fall. He calmly adjusted one white glove. Looked toward the terrified villagers. Then toward the demon.

Finally...

He sighed.

"I had hoped..."

His voice was gentle.

"...to wake under happier circumstances."

Zoltán smiled despite the terror.

"Good evening, Grandfather."

The ancient vampire nodded warmly.

"Good evening, Zoltán."

Bálint bowed his head respectfully.

"Grandfather."

"I trust you've behaved yourselves?"

"...Mostly."

"I expected as much."

The villagers stared. The terrifying being before them... Was their grandfather?  

The demon roared. The entire village shook. It lunged. Moving faster than any living creature should. The ancient vampire never moved. The demon's claws stopped inches from his face. Invisible darkness had wrapped itself around the creature's arm. Black tendrils. Elegant. Silent. Unbreakable.

Győző looked almost disappointed.

"So impatient."

He gently closed his hand.

The tendrils tightened. The demon's arm shattered. Not flesh. Reality itself seemed to crack. The creature screamed. The swarm descended. Millions of bats engulfed the battlefield. The villagers could see nothing. Only endless wings. Only darkness. Only screams. The demon lashed wildly. Each strike disappeared into the swarm. The bats became spears. Then chains. Then enormous jaws formed entirely from living shadow. Darkness itself obeyed him. Buildings vanished behind black mist. The battlefield disappeared.

Only the vampire's calm voice remained.

"You were never meant to exist in this world."

The darkness suddenly erupted. The bats scattered. Moonlight returned. The demon stood motionless. Its enormous body trembled. A thin black line appeared from head to waist. Then another. Without a sound... The creature separated into dozens of pieces. Instead of blood... Black smoke escaped its remains. Within seconds... Nothing remained. Not even ashes. Only silence. The bats returned. Thousands merged together into flowing shadows before disappearing beneath Győző's feet. The ancient vampire straightened his sleeves as though finishing an evening stroll.

The villagers remained frozen. Unable to breathe. Unable to comprehend what they had witnessed.

One elderly woman whispered,

"That..."

"...wasn't magic."

The village priest swallowed hard.

"No."

"...That was something older."

Győző looked toward the shattered Black Box. His expression, calm until now, grew serious. He knelt beside its broken remains. Ancient symbols lined its interior. He recognized them immediately. His crimson eyes narrowed.

"So..."

He spoke almost to himself.

"They've begun opening them again."

Bálint stepped beside him.

"Who?"

Győző slowly looked toward the southern horizon. Beyond the forests. Beyond the mountains. Toward the distant deserts of Baalania.

"The fools..."

His voice had lost all warmth.

"...are trying to awaken Hell."

The cold wind returned. No one spoke. For the first time that night, the villagers finally understood why stories were told in frightened whispers whenever travelers described the Crimson Covenant. Not because they rode with a giant made of steel. Nor because two young nobles possessed impossible strength. But because, when the black coffin opened... Night itself answered to the man within.

The Crimson Covenant: Vol 1The Moonlit Blood Chapter 3

 

ACT I  THE BLOOD COFFIN GUILD

Chapter 3  Uncle Őrök

The battle should have been over. The Baalanian captain had fled before Bálint's impossible speed. The remaining soldiers had been scattered by Zoltán's overwhelming strength. Yet war rarely ended cleanly. Across Kisfenyő, scattered bands of hardened Baalanian veterans still fought desperately, refusing to abandon their wounded comrades. Several had barricaded themselves behind burning wagons, firing arrows into the streets while inferno priests in black robes hurled flames toward anyone trying to rescue the injured. The village remained a battlefield. Smoke rolled between the cottages like a gray ocean. Sparks drifted upward into the crimson evening sky. The air smelled of burning pine, scorched earth, and hot iron.

Heavy footsteps echoed through the village.

THOOM.

THOOM.

THOOM.

Each step vibrated through the cobblestones. The surviving villagers turned. Children stopped crying. Even the remaining Baalanian soldiers instinctively looked toward the northern road. A giant emerged through the curtain of smoke. He stood over three meters tall. His enormous frame was forged from ancient brass, dark steel, and silver alloy unlike any metal known to modern blacksmiths. Thousands of engraved runes covered overlapping plates of armor, glowing softly with blue-white light beneath centuries of scratches and dents. Despite his immense size, every movement was precise. Elegant. Purposeful. His broad shoulders could have supported a castle gate. Massive cylindrical arms ended in articulated hands large enough to lift a horse with ease. Thick cables, crystal conduits, and intricate gears moved beneath gaps in the armor with an almost organic smoothness. His legs resembled reinforced fortress pillars, each step leaving shallow impressions in the stone road. Where a human face should have been rested a smooth steel helm. Two brilliant sapphire lights burned quietly within its eye sockets. They did not look cold. They looked... Gentle. Across his back rested an enormous harness of black iron. Secured within it... Was an elegant black coffin adorned with silver dragons and ancient runes. It appeared strangely small against the automaton's colossal frame.Some villagers gasped. Others stepped backward.

One elderly man whispered in terror,

"...The Guardian."

Another crossed himself.

"I thought it was only a story."

The children stared in fascination.

The machine stopped beside a collapsed house. Its deep mechanical voice echoed warmly.

"Civilians detected."

"Rescue operations commencing."

The voice possessed no anger. No emotionless monotone. It sounded calm. Almost fatherly.

A frightened woman screamed from beneath the ruins.

"My husband!"

"Please!"

"My husband is still inside!"

Without hesitation, the giant knelt. Massive steel fingers slipped carefully beneath enormous oak beams. To everyone's amazement... He lifted the entire front wall of the house as though it weighed little more than a blanket. Dust filled the air. Broken timbers groaned. Inside lay an unconscious farmer pinned beneath debris. The automaton reached inside with astonishing delicacy. His enormous metal fingers gently cradled the injured man as carefully as one might hold a newborn child. He placed the farmer upon the ground. The village healer rushed forward.

"He's alive!"

The giant inclined his head.

"I am pleased."

Across the square, an inferno priest raised both hands.

Black fire erupted around him.

"You relic!"

A blazing sphere of crimson flame shot toward the crowd. The villagers screamed. It would strike directly among the injured. The automaton simply turned. He stepped forward. And raised one massive arm. The fireball exploded.

BOOOOM!

Flames engulfed his body. Heat blasted across the square. Children cried out. When the fire disappeared... He remained standing. His armor glowed orange from the heat. Not a single villager behind him had been harmed. Molten metal slowly dripped from one shoulder where the spell had struck directly.

The priest stared.

"...Impossible."

The blue runes across the automaton's armor brightened. Tiny silver threads of light spread beneath the damaged plates. The melted section gradually cooled. The cracked metal slowly knit itself back together. The wound... Was healing.

"Self-repair protocol active."

His voice remained perfectly calm.

The Desert priest shouted in panic.

"Destroy it!"

Half a dozen elite Baalanian warriors charged.

Unlike the ordinary raiders, these men wore heavier armor beneath their black robes. Their faces remained hidden behind black cloth veils, revealing only sharp desert eyes hardened by years of war. Each carried specialized weapons. Heavy falchions. War hammers. Steel hooks. Veterans. They surrounded the automaton. Attacking together. One hammer crashed into his knee. Another blade scraped across his back. Hooks attempted to bind his arms. The giant did not move. One soldier looked confused.

"Why isn't it fighting?"

The automaton answered politely.

"You are standing too close to civilians."

He looked toward the frightened villagers still huddled nearby.

"Please move to a safe distance."

Bálint called from across the square.

"They're clear!"

The giant nodded once.

"Understood."

The battlefield changed instantly. The enormous steel hand shot forward. Not fast. Not flashy. Simply unavoidable. One warrior found himself lifted completely off the ground. The automaton carried him several meters away before calmly placing him atop a pile of hay.

"You will remain there."

The second attacker swung his hammer. The automaton caught it between two fingers. The weapon crumpled like soft tin. The third warrior leapt onto his back. The machine merely straightened. The sudden movement threw the man harmlessly into a water trough. Another charged with twin curved swords. The automaton took one step. His shoulder collided gently with the attacker. The armored veteran flew through a wooden fence and landed unconscious inside a cabbage field. No unnecessary force. Nor cruelty. Only enough strength to end the fight. Then the inferno priest began chanting once more. This time... A pillar of black fire rose toward the sky. The spell rapidly expanded.

Even Bálint looked concerned.

"Zoltán!"

"The civilians!"

Already moving, Zoltán gathered children behind overturned wagons while Bálint darted between rooftops, cutting down burning debris before it reached the crowd. The automaton stood alone before the inferno.  His sapphire eyes brightened. Ancient runes ignited across both gauntlets. Blue light surged through countless engraved lines. He drew one enormous fist backward. Then punched the air. The impact released a brilliant arcane shockwave. Invisible force exploded outward. The black flames shattered apart like fragile glass. The desert priest was hurled backward into the remains of the village gate. Silence followed. The last Baalanian warriors threw down their weapons. Even they understood. Nothing they possessed could overcome this ancient guardian. As the final raiders fled into the surrounding forest, the battle finally ended. Only crackling fire disturbed the evening. Villagers slowly emerged from hiding. The giant immediately resumed his rescue work. He carried the wounded to the village square. Lifted fallen beams. Extinguished burning buildings using enormous water barrels. Gathered frightened livestock. Repaired broken wells. Several villagers noticed deep cuts covering his armor. One arm bore fresh dents. His left shoulder remained cracked where the inferno spell had struck. Without ceremony, he knelt beside the old stone well. Blue runes glowed softly. Tiny mechanical arms unfolded from hidden compartments beneath his forearm. Minute enchanted tools adjusted gears, sealed fractures with liquid silver, and replaced shattered rune plates. Damaged brass slowly flowed together as ancient magic repaired wounds accumulated over centuries. It was like watching a living creature heal. Not flesh. Steel.

A little boy cautiously approached.

He could not have been older than six.

"Excuse me..."

The automaton looked down.

"Yes?"

"...Are you scary?"

There was a brief pause.

"I hope not."

The boy smiled.

"My papa says giants eat people."

"I have never consumed a human."

"...Would you like a cookie instead?"

The villagers burst into laughter. The boy eagerly offered a slightly burned biscuit rescued from his family's bakery.

The giant accepted it with both hands as though receiving a priceless treasure.

"Thank you."

"I shall preserve it."

The fear disappeared. Children slowly gathered around him.

One little girl tugged gently on his enormous metal hand.

"Can I climb?"

"You may."

Within minutes, half the village's children were sitting on his broad shoulders, laughing as he carefully walked through the square with slow, steady steps. Another child hung from one massive forearm. A tiny girl had somehow fallen asleep against the black coffin strapped to his back. The giant adjusted his pace so gently that none of them stirred.

Watching from the church steps, Bálint folded his arms.

"He likes children."

Zoltán grinned.

"He always has."

One elderly woman blinked in disbelief.

"That thing..."

"...is a war machine?"

Bálint looked toward the towering guardian, now letting children pretend to steer him through the village.

A faint smile touched the corner of his mouth.

"No."

"He used to be."

"Now..."

"...he's our uncle."

Above them, twilight settled over Kisfenyő. For the first time since the attack began, the village felt safe. But strapped silently to Őrök's back, the ancient black coffin remained closed. Its silver runes glowed faintly in the growing darkness. Inside, something had begun to stir.