Chương 18: (18) B1 C18: Who Are They?

My knowledge of FFO was useless. Five years of my life—days upon days of sleepless nights—were simply without meaning anymore. My favorite Merchants must've closed up shop ages ago, the small alchemical troves I'd kept secret would've become public knowledge by now, and the few pieces of gear I'd left behind might've rusted to nothingness in the years following my absence. I knew the land, but everything else was different. At least the Nation and City names hadn't changed over the centuries.

If those were different from how I knew them, I would've been truly lost.

"I've answered all of your questions, right? You'll let me go?" Norman pleaded. I turned back to him, the grief within me shoved down as I brought my attention back to the slaver. I refused to show my weakness to an enemy, so I squashed down the emotions running rampant in my mind as I lifted him closer to me.

"Why should I? You're a slaver, aren't you? Why should I spare you, because as far as I'm concerned, the world becomes a better place when men like you disappear from it," I smiled. As I spoke, Norman closed his eyes and sighed while his body shivered in fear.

"By the hells, you are one of the Crownless," Norman mumbled. That name again. Crownless. I'd never heard of them while I was still an ordinary FFO player. Were they some sort of bandit organization that had popped up over the last few centuries? Norman looked up at me, tears in his eyes, "We never did anything to you people!" So the Crownless were fighting the Slavers? If they were after Slavers, maybe they were more than just a ragtag group of outlaws?

If the Crownless were anti-slavery, rather than just a group of outlaws intent on causing as much destruction as possible, then they couldn't have been the elves from yesterday. Whoever these Crownless were, they sounded less like a military unit and more like vigilantes. The elves, on the other hand, felt more like a specialized military group—organized, official, and tactical, with the goal to rescue one specific slave while leaving as few witnesses as possible.

They'd killed the rest—probably so that news of their presence didn't spread—which I found to be an unlikely tactic for a group of justice-seeking vigilantes. If that was the case, would they be willing to help me? I desperately needed help—more so than at any point in my two lives—but I still knew too little about them to reliably conclude whether they'd be a good choice to bunk with.

"I think you're confused, Norman. I am not one of these Crownless," I replied, "But upon hearing how they have beef with slavers like yourself, I think I might like them. Who are they? Where can I find them?"

"You…" Norman stammered, "You're not one of them? Then why? Why did you ambush us?" I felt a smile grow upon my face. Why did I attack them? The answer was simple. They were slavers, yes, and that gave me the moral excuse needed to go on the offensive. But if I was being completely honest with myself, I was just thirsty. I shook the thought away, then turned back to Norman.

"Start talking. Who are they and where can I find them?"

"You'll let me go after, right? I'm answering all of your questions!"

"I'll think about it." I replied with a shrug. Norman squinted his eyes at me, his fear betrayed by the blanket of sweat coating his brow, before he slowly gave me a nod.

"The Crownless used to be the Consortium's largest anti-monster extermination group. In their prime, they went after dangerous Monsters—griffons, phoenixes, creatures like that—but a few decades ago, around the time the council head died and was replaced by his grandson, the Crownless became outlaws. They went after caravans, outposts, and anything they'd be able to assault while keeping far from the eyes of the law."

"They raid caravans? Were those caravans like yours, or were they more… respectable?"

"... They usually go after slave caravans," Norman answered, "But I assure you, my trade is perfectly respectable in the eyes of the law!"" Oh, I'm sure," I sighed sarcastically, "Let me guess: The Crownless are the big baddies for you, but they're well liked everywhere else?"

"You… The Crownless haven't been involved with law enforcement for nearly a century, but that doesn't stop them from viewing themselves as 'patriots' and 'saints'," Norman sneered, "They'll try to shut down anything they believe is 'unlawful', so they'll attack slave caravans, gang hideouts, and whatever they can get their hands on, but they don't ever care about the collateral damage that follows in their wake. The Crownless are nothing more than narcissistic vagabonds unwilling to see reason."

"So they are vigilantes," I nodded. I wasn't sure if I liked the idea of putting my hopes in a group of dangerous outlaws, but the way Norman was painting them made them seem a better alternative than allying with the slavers I'd already shown hostility to, "And you don't know where they are?"

"They're nearby, I know that for sure. A week ago, one of our caravans was attacked and looted. There were no survivors among my colleagues, yet the slaves the caravan transported were simply gone. No bodies or anything," Norman continued, "We only found out about the attack hours after it happened."

"There weren't any witnesses?" I tried to clarify, "How do you know it was the Crownless?"

"They left their autograph," Norman shuddered with a face gone pale with horror. When I cocked my head to the side, confused, Norman elaborated, "When we investigated the wreckage to try and see how our caravan guards were killed, we couldn't find their heads." Whoa.

"So they don't use guns? Or fire, or anything like that?"

"No?" So the Crownless definitely weren't the Elves behind the dock attack. I'd already assumed that was the case, but it was nice to know for sure.

"And you don't know who they are?"

"Nobody does. All of the original members, those that directly defected from their role as monster hunters, have already died from old age. Those that joined after did so secretly, and now the organization is full of ghosts. The only fact that we do know is that their leader is an extremely talented telekinetic, and that he was responsible for the Highmarket Garden Disaster fourteen years ago."

"I see. What about the attack on your caravan? Surely you've tracked them down since then, right?"

"To no success," Norman nodded, "It was as if they simply vanished after the attack. The Crownless are impossible to pinpoint—the entire Consortium's been trying for almost a century. A single slave camp won't be able to succeed where they failed." Interesting. Were they able to teleport, or were their members all specialized in stealth tactics? Either way, without the ability to track them down, I probably wouldn't have the chance to meet them anytime soon. At least they were in the area.

If I got lucky, I'd randomly stumble on them during one of my hunts. Of course, I still had to struggle with the decision of whether I'd even try to meet them. The fact that they used to be monster hunters didn't sit well with me, but I was desperate for help and lacking all other options. If the Crownless ever learned that I was a Vampire, they'd only be more hostile than these slavers would be. At least these bastards would want to keep me alive. But what if I managed to keep it a secret?

Perhaps I'd be able to stock up on blood so I looked normal, then pretend to have a skin problem so that I didn't have to go out into the sun? It was… possible? I didn't intend to join their organization or anything, but maybe I'd be able to fool them long enough to get an escort to Mercentoria? It felt suicidal, but I had no other choice. I needed help—desperately. As it was now, I was stuck in the forest, so I needed to find something I could use to help me escape.

The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation. I had to meet the Crownless, but I had to do so with caution. These weren't going to be perfect allies—hells, they were almost as dangerous as the slavers I was opposing. I'd become stronger over the last two weeks, but I was still weak and pitiful on the grand scale of FFO.

"I'm good, right? That's everything?" Norman pleaded. I looked back at him, my eyes narrowed as my mind quickly worked to find anything else I'd be able to ask him. Thanks to him, I knew exactly where we were, where the nearest town was, how long it'd been since my FFO days, and the nearby existence of the Crownless. I had a feeling that there were a few things I was forgetting, but I honestly couldn't think of anything else important enough to have a discussion on.

"That was everything," I nodded. Norman sighed in relief, his body hunching forward as he rested his hands upon the ground. With one hand, he pulled the dagger from his stomach, winced slightly as the blade slid from the wound, then sighed in relief as the sides slowly stitched themselves together with blue thread. Healing magic, of some kind. As he turned his eyes away from me, I caught sight of his neck, which still sported the red wound sliced open by my dagger's blade.

The blood coating his collar had thoroughly soaked its way into the fabric, yet the wound itself was already fully closed with the same blue stitching currently working around his abdomen.. As my eyes fell upon the dried blood coating his shoulders, I felt a rumble echo from within my stomach. A fierce heat rose to my fangs as the thirst in my throat began to spread to the other parts of my body.

Although I'd told Norman that I'd spare him once he told me everything I wanted to know, a part of me knew that I'd never had any intention of following through with that hollow promise in the first place. I crouched low, so that my eyes were on the same level as his. Then, just as he began to look back up at me, I pounced. I moved quickly, and before he even had the chance to scream, my fangs were snapped shut around his neck. My teeth tore open his jugular as my claws tore into his arms.

Then I lifted him closer to myself, so that his nose was facing upwards as I began to pull the blood from his system. Norman screamed with horrified agony before he began to push against me with all of his might. I held on tight, but the effort I put into my hold simply wasn't necessary. Mere moments after the struggle began, I felt the strength within Norman's body begin to wane. When he pushed against my shoulder, his palm barely pressed into my skin.

His shouts of alarm and pleas of desperation had become weaker—now nothing more than a frightened whisper belonging to a man who could barely hold his own consciousness. With every second that passed, Norman lost more of his strength. Then, not even twenty seconds after my fangs found their way into his neck, I felt one of Norman's arms slam into my thigh as it fell back to his side. He was staring at the stars, his eyes vacant of life and his mouth agape with shock.

His skin was pale—dealthy cold—and a thin film of tears had begun to drop from the corners of his eyes. I lifted myself from my prey, gasping with glee as I did so. +1, 720 BP (Level 17 Human Artificer) Congratulations! You have acquired enough Blood Points (BP) to shed away your Monstrous complexion! New Complexion: Famished (60% - 79%) You appear largely indistinguishable from an ordinary person, though experienced hunters may notice the subtle signs of your true nature.

Those who have never encountered an Undead are unlikely to suspect anything beyond an unusual appearance.

"Delicious," I mumbled in a low growl. I dropped Norman upon the ground with an unceremonious thud, then turned my attention to the blood dripping from my chin. I licked what remained, my throat moaning in delight as I tasted the final remnants of my kill. Every time I fed on human blood, the experience had left me completely satisfied and begging for more, "Absolutely delicious."

I didn't think there was ever going to be a day when I'd find myself disgusted with the taste, and the thought of what that meant for me only left me excited for what the future held in store. I took a deep breath, then turned my attention back to Norman's corpse. To my surprise, he had been an Artificer. Artificers were still capable of outputting quite a lot of damage, just a little less so than sorcerers and mages, but they were still only crafting classes, and thus excelled outside of combat.

Why he was out here, in the middle of the field, when he should've been holed up somewhere safe to focus on his creations? Was he not the crafting type, despite his class? I turned my attention to his wounds. Both the slash on his neck and the stab running through his abdomen were nearly healed. The spell behind the blue stitching had been dispelled with his death, but the healing caused from its care lingered.

Even with the spell, Norman had an incredible regeneration speed, and I found myself wondering if he'd been using an item to boost it? As an Artificer, he should've been better equipped than his comrades. I looked down at his neck, then to his hands. He wasn't wearing an amulet, but he did have a single ring wrapped around his right index finger. The ring was dark gold, yet smooth and simple. In the center of the ring was socketed a small green gem barely the size of a pebble.

I quickly pulled the ring from Norman's fingers, then held it closer to my eyes to inspect it more thoroughly. Common Ring of Health Regeneration | INCOMPATIBLE - Worthless Prototype A Common Ring of Health Regeneration that was purchased for a few silver coins at a recent Auction. The Ring originally belonged to a Caeltharion Pirate, then was reinforced with an Emerald to provide a bonus to Health regeneration.

The crafter was too low level to accurately handle the magical gem, unfortunately, which resulted in a ring quality bordering on useless. It'll do in a pinch, but honestly you'd be better off finding something else. – Incompatible Gemstone: Emerald Gemstones fail to produce an effect when used by Vampires. To restore this item to a functional state, you must replace the Emerald Gemstone with an alternative that is more accepting of your nature.

"I see," I nodded as I dropped the ring into my pocket. The ring was useless to me—a bummer considering how powerful artifacts could be—but I figured it'd make for a good item to sell once I found my way to civilization. I wasn't sure if the auction houses still existed in this world, but the ones I was familiar with were easy enough to navigate. So long as some of them were still standing, assuming they survived the five centuries of history, selling a single magical ring would be a piece of cake.