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Hunter of Zero (Bloodborne/Familiar of Zero) ch. 6
🕑 Added 2025-10-05 05:25:15 +0000 UTC+++
The blacksmith's fingers drummed impatiently on the counter, tension gripping his every bone. His eyes remained fixed on the door, watching, waiting. He was a proud Tristainian, a good one, and he wanted nothing more than to serve his homeland. His duty was clear: forge weapons for the army. A storm was brewing over Halkeginia, and he would not allow Tristain to be caught unprepared.
Through letters exchanged with cousins and contacts, he had learned of the worsening situation in Albion. The Royalists were faltering, while the rebels claimed victory after victory. If the island fell entirely to rebel control, Tristain would have no choice but to brace for the inevitable.
But what was the Royal Court doing?
Nothing.
He had not been summoned. The guilds had not been contacted. No preparations were underway.
The blacksmith sighed, his frustration mounting.
Then, the door creaked open.
His hopes soared. Was this an officer from the court?
"This is the blacksmith?" a refined, accented voice inquired from the doorway.
"This is the blacksmith? Why, I am the blacksmith...?" the man trailed, his words halting as one of the tallest women he had ever seen stepped into his shop. Her attire was plain, a simple brown dress and bodice, but the fabric and stitching hinted at wealth. A shawl, decorated with delicate white flowers, framed her pale face, a contrast to her long blonde hair and piercing green or gray eyes.
"Er, yes, you're in a smithy," he stammered before regaining composure. Plastering on his best salesman's smile, he asked, "How may I help you, fine lady?"
"Evetta," she introduced herself, her voice soft but deliberate. "I am looking for a sword."
"A sword! A sword!" the blacksmith bellowed, his enthusiasm returning. "I have swords, axes, spears and all sorts of death-dealing tools of every kind! Take your pick!"
Evetta began to browse, her gaze sweeping across shelves lined with weapons. The blacksmith's clientele often included nobility, and he prided himself on offering a wide selection to satisfy even the most discerning of tastes. Judging by her dress and bearing, she was no exception.
"Might I suggest-" he began, but she interrupted, her voice calm.
"This," she said, her fingers brushing against an object that made his stomach sink.
"Are you sure, my lady? That is a piece of-"
"This is special," Evetta murmured, handling the blade with reverent care. "Isn't it?"
"Finally! Someone who recognizes greatness when they see it!" the sword cackled, its voice echoing through the shop.
"Quiet, you!" the blacksmith barked, glaring at the blade. "You're going to scare away my customer!"
"Buddy, if anyone should be scared, it's you," the sword retorted.
"How much for this blade?" Evetta asked, unperturbed.
The blacksmith scratched the back of his head, reluctant. "You know what? I'll give you a discount. Take it for-"
Evetta reached into her dress and retrieved a gleaming golden bar, holding it out with a steady hand.
"Would this suffice?" she asked. "I am unfamiliar with your country's currency."
"Why, yes!" the blacksmith exclaimed, his eyes widening with greed. "More than enough!"
Evetta smiled faintly, pressing the sword close to her chest as she placed the gold bar on the counter. The blacksmith snatched it up, his fingers running over the cool metal. It was real, solid gold. He laughed to himself, already contemplating an early closure for the day.
"Let me clean up that sword for you-" he offered, turning back to her. But the shop was empty.
"Eh?"
Far down a dirt road, Evetta walked under the blazing sun. She paid it no mind.
"You frighten me," the sword admitted, its voice quieter now.
"There is nothing to fear, Little One," Evetta replied, her tone soothing.
"My memory may be cracked beyond all measure, but even I know what you are," the sword accused.
"And I know what you are," Evetta said with a soft smile. "That makes us…compatible. As the Good Hunter calls it, friends."
"Friends? Is that the basis of our relationship? That we're both freaks of nature?"
"We shall be good friends because we will travel together, you and I," Evetta explained. A farmer passed by on his creaking wagon, drawn by oxen. She stepped aside, offering the man a wide berth. He tipped his hat in return.
"We both know you don't need a weapon, lady," the sword pointed out.
"But I do," Evetta countered. "The Good Hunter does not wish to frighten the little ones more than we have to."
"I'm not just any sword, you know," the blade warned. "I need wielders who know what they're doing."
"What is your name, Good Sword?" Evetta asked.
"Derfflinger," the sword said, its voice proud.
"Sir Derfflinger," Evetta repeated. "It is a pleasure to meet you."
"Don't 'sir' me; I work for a living," Derfflinger snorted. "And you, scary lady?"
"I am Evetta," she said simply.
"Alright, Evetta," Derfflinger replied. "Show me what you've got."
Evetta's smile deepened, her expression shadowed by something unreadable. "I sense the Good Hunter may need us soon. Perhaps I can demonstrate then?"
"Let's go," Derfflinger laughed, a thrill in its voice. "I thirst for blood! It's been too long!"
"I shall acquiesce, Good Sword," Evetta said, sliding the blade into its sheath as she resumed her journey. Her face darkened, a shadow falling over her pale features.
"Tonight," she murmured, almost to herself, "you shall be blood-borne."
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[SPOILER="TITLE DROP"][URL unfurl="true" media="youtube:inzDhPrkdMU"]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=inzDhPrkdMU[/URL][/SPOILER]
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Shouts echoed from outside.
The Good Hunter paid them no mind as he gently laid the sleeping form of Louise onto her bed. She stirred slightly, letting out a faint groan, but remained as still as a stone. He hadn't expected her willpower to drain so quickly. Perhaps that was his fault egging her on like that. He had only a vague understanding of this world's magic system, but he equated a mage's willpower to a mana pool of sorts. Louise had, quite literally, obliterated a landmark. If nothing else, it proved just how powerful his master truly was. A simple explosion spell had drained her completely. What she needed now was training.
Straightening up, his shadow fell across her bed. "Sleep well, Louise," he murmured before turning toward the door.
When he stepped outside, chaos greeted him.
He already knew its cause. The institution had witnessed one of its hills being obliterated, but no one seemed to know what had caused it. While the answer was obvious as Louise was the only one around capable of such destruction, her reputation as a failure shielded her. To everyone else, it was some unexplained magical anomaly.
His footsteps echoed in the hallway as he walked.
Then he stopped. Eyes were on him.
"You can come out," he called.
A figure emerged from the shadows. A girl with short blue hair, her face an emotionless mask. "You," she said flatly. "Follow."
The Good Hunter tilted his head. "Only my master can command me."
The girl raised her wand, her tone unchanging. "Wasn't asking."
He couldn't help but admire her boldness. "You saw how I handled Guiche. You would still dare to challenge me?"
"Not Guiche," she replied. "Would win."
"You're brave," The Good Hunter said with a faint smile. "Very well."
He followed her without further protest.
The walk was short. She led him into a room that smelled faintly of scented candles and...other, less pleasant things. Such was the curse with a good nose. But he wasn't here for that. As soon as he entered, he sensed the wand pointed at him.
"Monster."
The accented voice belonged to Kirche, her voluptuous form standing by, fiery eyes glaring at him. Behind him, the blue-haired girl, Tabitha, if he remembered correctly, closed the door. By her bedside, a Salamander hissed, its low growl filling the room.
"I am no monster," The Good Hunter answered simply. "I am Louise's familiar."
"You're more than that," Kirche snapped. "The other familiars fear you. Louise looks like she hasn't slept in days. And now, you appear from nowhere with her, and a hill explodes?"
She shook her head, her voice dropping to a growl. "No. You're a changeling. A monster."
"We researched," Tabitha said softly from behind him.
"Exactly," Kirche affirmed with a nod. "Others may be blind, but we aren't."
"If I wanted to hurt anyone, I would have done so already," The Good Hunter replied calmly. "This inquisition has no power over me especially not from a girl who has spent her time tormenting my master."
Kirche's eyes flashed with a mix of anger and shame. Schooling herself, she shot back, "Stop changing the subject! You're a monster."
The Good Hunter chuckled, low and dangerous. "Girl, you bullied my master for her seeming disability. I'll not take lip from someone like you."
"It's expected! Our families are feuding!" Kirche retorted.
"Enough," Tabitha interjected, her voice cutting through the rising tension. "Distracting."
"Quite," The Good Hunter said. "So what was your plan? Kill me in your room?"
Kirche opened her mouth, then closed them. The Good Hunter stared. "Assuming I was that which you've convinced yourself, did you seriously take a dangerous thing inside your room to threaten it? Without even a plan?"
"We'll tell everyone what you are!" she quickly added.
"And because everyone knows your family and Louise's are feuding, they will think that you are slandering her," The Good Hunter pointed out. "And because I utterly humiliated Guiche, they will hesitate to latch onto that in fear of me."
He turned around, looking down upon Tabitha. "And you went along with this?"
"I can hurt you," Tabitha whispered.
"But why?"
"Because," Tabitha said. "Monster."
The Good Hunter stared. Annoyance drummed loudly inside his non-existent heart. He could break their minds but that required him to put effort. He could wipe their memories and be done with it. But again, that required effort. An idea however formed inside his head, remembering the feud between their families. And thus, the Good Hunter resorted to a weapon that was deadly, but effortless.
"Shame on you."
"What?" Kirche blinked.
"You heard me. Shame on you," The Good Hunter drawled. "Louise finally gets a windfall, and you two conspire to take it away from her."
Kirche bristled, her fiery demeanor flaring up. "You're twisting this! You're unnatural. You don't belong here."
He let out a low chuckle, the sound reverberating through the room like a predator toying with its prey. "You call me unnatural, yet you've spent your time making Louise's life a waking nightmare. Tell me, Lady Von Zerbst, who is the real monster here?"
"I-" Kirche began, but he cut her off with a sharp, almost dismissive wave of his hand.
"Spare me your excuses. 'Our families are feuding,' you said. If you truly cared for Louise, you would have never bullied a girl who has done nothing but struggle to prove herself. And now, when she finally has a chance to protect herself, you conspire to tear it away. How noble of you."
Tabitha's quiet voice broke through. "You are deflecting."
"Am I?" He turned his gaze to her. "Or am I merely holding up a mirror? You followed Kirche here, didn't you? You, who prides herself on logic and observation, allowed yourself to be dragged into this…spectacle. Why?"
Tabitha's grip on her wand tightened. "Because you are dangerous."
"Ah, yes," he said with mock understanding. "Dangerous. And yet, here I stand, speaking to you instead of acting on the supposed threat I pose."
"You don't fear me." he continued. "You fear what I represent. What if Louise decides to take revenge for all the pain you lot gave to her? Well, worry not. Louise is not that petty."
Kirche was many things. Coy, provocative, passionate. But even despite all that, she was still a young girl. A young girl who was still trying to make sense of herself and the world. She did this because she truly felt that was protecting the school and her friends. Louise's familiar turned Guiche mute, and Flame was scared shitless about him. But the more the familiar spoke, the more it tugged at Kirche. She did not hate Louise, not really. Her teasing of her was out of familial obligation, not hatred. In truth, she pitied her. But did she really have a leg to stand on? True feelings aside, she did bully Louise and she, if she had to be true, enjoyed parts of it.
Her breath hitched. Her wand arm lowered. Flame had stopped growling. His words kept ringing in her skull. Shame on you.
She opened her mouth to protest. "I only-" The words dissolved before they reached air. Her throat tightened, and her stomach sank with the awful realization that he was right. To anyone looking in from the outside, they did look like conspirators cornering a defenseless girl's protector. And to Louise, how must it have looked all these years?
Heat rose to her cheeks.
"God," Kirche whispered.
"Exactly. Think about what you just did, both of you," The Good Hunter admonished, his tone paternal. "I will spare Louise the details of what just happened here but from now on, you better apologize to her for the pain you gave her. Do you understand?"
Kirche nodded once, unable to meet his gaze. "I...I understand. I am so sorry."
A different image then formed in Kirche's mind of Louise's familiar. The way he spoke, so exasperated and paternal, flipped a switch in her. She did not see him as a monster, no, but as someone truly protecting Louise, like a father shielding his child from trouble. And the way he admonished her, so confident and assured, reminded her that familiar, status aside, was a grown man and she and Tabitha childishly cornered him as if he was a boy.
Goodness they looked immature, childish. Petty.
"I am leaving," he declared. "Correct yourselves, or I shall correct it for you," the Good Hunter warned.
Kirche flinched as the Good Hunter turned and left, the door closing behind him. Tabitha did not stop him.
There, Kirche stood motionless, staring at the closed door as if it might fling open again and the Good Hunter would return to chastise her more. The room felt stifling now, the faint scent of candles doing little to mask the tension that lingered. Flame, who had been growling moments before, now lay curled at her feet, his tail tucked low, subdued.
Her wand hung limply by her side, forgotten. Tabitha said nothing, her expression unreadable as always, but Kirche could feel her gaze. That calm, unflinching presence was more unsettling now than ever. Kirche turned toward her, searching for something. Agreement, reassurance, or even a challenge. Anything to break the suffocating weight of silence. "Say something, Tabitha."
"Idiot," Tabitha said softly.
Kirche blinked. "What?"
"We had a plan. Confront him, make him admit what he was, but he slipped away," Tabitha whispered softly. "We did not get that."
Kirche stared. But he...
The thought snapped through her like a pulled wire.
Kirche sank onto the edge of her bed, her head in her hands. The pieces clicked together in her mind, each one fitting too perfectly to ignore. He hadn't denied their accusations outright, nor had he confirmed them. Instead, he'd turned the entire situation onto them, leaving them floundering with guilt and doubt.
They played right into his hands.
Tabitha said nothing, but her silence said enough.
Kirche's cheeks burned. The shame she had felt moments ago now mingled with anger. She had let him control the conversation. She had let him win. And worst of all, she had let him make her feel like the villain. Her breath left her in a slow, trembling exhale. The indignation was back now, cold and steady, but beneath it lay a coil of fascination she couldn't quite crush. He walked in, dismantled them with nothing but words, and left unscathed.
Yes, as much as it angered Kirche, it also fascinated her, a dark twisted fascination. She was a coy girl after all. She could respect those who knew how to play the game.
"He's good," Kirche muttered, both in frustration and admiration.
"Don't forget," Tabitha admonished her.
Kirche waved her off. "I won't, I promise. Next time, we'll get him."
"Louise," Tabitha said. "You promised."
"A promise given from manipulation!" Kirche yelled.
"You still bullied Louise," Tabitha said. "Good for your soul."
"I..." Kirche paused. She still did feel a terrible sense of remorse for what she did to Louise. What she was starting to be irritated now was that familiar. That infuriating man.
"I'll apologize," Kirche promised. "But that familiar! If he thinks this is over, we will get one over him!" she declared as she stood.
"Good."
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As the door closed behind him, the Good Hunter fought back a growing sense of irritation. Teenagers, he thought ruefully, shaking his head. A quick glance toward Louise's room confirmed she was still fast asleep, her breathing steady and undisturbed. The Workshop, too, was empty.
To him, that was alright.
She needed the rest after everything that had happened. He wasn't about to interrupt her, not after she'd drained herself completely. He recalled the misery of sleepless nights back when he still had his humanity. That memory, faint as it was, reminded him to let her be. For all his power, he still clung to those fleeting fragments of his human past. They kept him grounded, and allowed him to savor the simple pleasures of life.
He turned to leave when a cheerful voice called out to him.
"Oh! It's you!"
The Good Hunter stopped and turned, finding a familiar face.
"Siesta," he greeted, inclining his head.
The maid smiled warmly, pushing a basket of laundry in front of her. "Good Hunter," she said brightly. "I never got the chance to thank you for saving me."
"It was nothing," he replied with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Guiche's behavior was disgraceful. Someone had to step in."
Siesta blushed slightly, shaking her head. "No, it was my fault. I should've been more careful."
He raised an eyebrow. "You don't strike me as the clumsy type. If you were, I doubt you'd have kept this job for long."
"Ah, well, maybe not," Siesta admitted with a small laugh. "But I was worried that day. My contract with the Academy was about to end, and I didn't know what I'd do next. I was…distracted."
The Good Hunter tilted his head. "Your contract?"
"Yes," she nodded. "But it's all sorted now! A noble offered me a position at his estate. He said he'd take care of everything if I worked for him."
Her smile faltered slightly, though she tried to hide it.
The Good Hunter didn't miss it. "You don't sound particularly excited about this noble," he observed.
"I…" Siesta hesitated, fidgeting with the edge of her apron. "Count Mott is…well…"
She trailed off, shifting uncomfortably. She didn't need to say it outright; her unease told him everything he needed to know.
"I see," he murmured, his voice low and understanding.
"But it's fine!" Siesta said quickly, forcing a smile. "The wages are good, and if it means my family can have some stability, then it's worth it."
The Good Hunter's gaze softened. "How much is your contract worth?"
"Eh?" Siesta blinked, caught off guard.
"Your contract," he repeated. "How much does it cost to buy out?"
"Ten thousand ecus," she said after a moment, her voice hesitant.
He frowned slightly. "I admit I'm not familiar with the value of that number. Is it high?"
"For a noble, it's nothing," Siesta explained. "But for a commoner, it's a fortune."
"I see," he said, his tone neutral.
Siesta hesitated, her cheeks flushing as she continued, "I…I think the Count offered such a high price because of…my looks. And because…"
"And?"
She coughed, her blush deepening. "Because I'm…unmarried."
The Good Hunter's expression darkened. "What a real piece of work," he muttered, his voice laced with disdain.
Siesta quickly waved her hands. "No, no! It's fine, really! I'll manage. It's too much money to even consider, and-"
She blinked mid-sentence as the Good Hunter cut her off. "Worry not," he assured her. "You will find a better employer."
"Who?" Siesta asked.
"You'll see," he assured her. "If you would excuse me..."
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Count Mott hummed as his carriage trudged the road, the sun was already starting to dip, and he was anxious to return home. After all, he was due to partake in such a delectable thing. That girl, Siesta, she was an exotic creature with her black hair and eyes. And her voice! How sweet she would sing to his ears!
He grinned.
Then suddenly, his carriage stopped.
He blinked.
"What's the holdup?" he roared.
"Ahead, sir!" his driver cried. "Someone's blocking the path!"
He blinked.
"Who?" he asked.
"I dunno sir! It looks to be a man and a woman!" the driver cried out again. Blinking again, he opened the door of his carriage and stepped out. His boots hit the ground and sure enough, he saw them in the distance. The woman was perhaps the tallest he had ever seen, a shawl around her hair, and brown garments. The man, just as tall as her, strode forward. His guards, on horseback, bristled, their horses whining anxiously. Count Mott tensed, his hand reaching for his wand.
"Who dares stop Count Mott?" he cried out.
The man stopped and his guards reacted, their swords flashing, their horses whining even more.
"You have a Siesta of Tarbes contract," the man spoke softly. "I wish to purchase it."
Count Mott's eyebrows furrowed. "I just bought that girl! Absolutely not!"
"Not even for a generous price?" he asked.
"Do you know how many black-haired and narrow eyed girls are around here?" Count Mott retorted. "Exactly! You can take your money, and shove it!"
"Then so be it," the man shrugged. "Evetta. Go."
Evetta moved like water, fluid and precise. Her blade flashed once, twice, and the first guard fell from his horse with a sickening thud. Another rider lunged at her, having controlled his horse, and brought his sword down at her but she sidestepped elegantly, her blade slicing across his chest in a single, clean arc. Her face remained expressionless, detached, as though she were performing a choreographed dance. Mott's ears rang as her sword seemed to laugh, the steel singing through the air with every swing.
"YEAH!"
The cry was sharp and guttural, almost gleeful, as she dispatched the third and fourth riders in quick succession. One fell clutching his side, the other slumped over his horse, lifeless. The road went still, save for the soft whimpers of the remaining horses, their riders strewn about like broken dolls. Evetta turned to him, and began to walk, her sword dripping wet with blood. Count Mott however, would not take this lying down.
"You dare attack a noble!?" he roared. His wand flared to life, a brilliant red light dancing at its tip. The surge of magic crackled through the air, heat radiating outward as his voice boomed.
"Fireball!"
The spell shot forth, a roaring sphere of flame hurtling toward her. The air around it shimmered with heat, its destructive power burning the air. But Evetta didn't move. She adopted a fencer's stance, blade raised to her lips. The magical projectile collided with the blade, and for a moment, the ball of fire seemed to resist, roaring angrily as though alive. Then, with a loud slurp and a flash of light, the fireball vanished.
Her sword let out a satisfied burp. "Ahhh, spicy! Haven't had one that good in a while!"
Mott froze, his mouth agape.
"What...?" he stammered, his wand lowering slightly as disbelief overtook his fury.
"Evetta," the man said softly.
Count Mott yelped as his vision twisted. Standing one second, then high the next. He groaned as he felt metal poke at his shoulder. The woman had pinned him against his own carriage, like a doll with needle. He struggled, trying to reach the sword out, but she was stronger than she looked. Bootsteps echoed as the man approached.
"You will pay for this!" Mott yelled, then screamed as Evetta twisted her sword.
"Where is Siesta's contract?" The Good Hunter asked.
"In my carriage!" Mott cried, pain coursing through his body. "In my bag!"
"Thank you," the main replied cheerily. He moved behind the carriage, and grabbed hold of his bag. Mott's heart pounded in his chest as the Good Hunter tore through his belongings. There was nothing else to be found there but documents, some books, and letters.
"Hold on," the Good Hunter suddenly said. "What?"
Mott paused, Evetta turned. "Good Hunter?" she asked, worried.
The Good Hunter drew back, a lockbox of sorts. To Mott, it was worthless. But the Good Hunter stared at it as if it was cursed. "Where did you find this?" the Hunter demanded.
"That...? I bought it from a merchant. He explained that it was a magical artifact tough I never got to open it." Mott stammered.
The Good Hunter glared at Mott, as if trying to gauge if he was lying or not.
"Good," The Good Hunter said, stowing it and taking a closed paper from his bag. "Consider Siesta bought," the Good Hunter declared.
"I will get you for this," Mott growled.
"I think not," the Good Hunter said.
Mott was about to retort. But then, he saw it.
F̝ͣ̒ͯ̋o_̨̡̞̖̬̮̈́̎̊̅̃͛̓̀̉r̵̸͎͈̺͉̺͈̻͔̒̀̄̎̑ͨͫ̃͘̚͜͡͡ğ̸̷̨̧̛̛̳͖̦̘̙͈̜͉͉͖͕͗͊ͣ̓ͩ͂͐̿̀̈́̃͛͛̎̄́̕͟͢͢͡ȩ̯̰͕͇͎̱̖̮̼̪̊̍́̂͊ͮͣ̇̓̍̉͗̃͛́̃͗̎͜t̝̖̤̥̽̏
His tongue lolled out of his mouth, drool dripped. He went slack.
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A/N: Halkeginia has an odd power of taking things from other worlds. Why not make it horrific. And for those in the know, what sort of lockbox would emit dread and make a Great One worry (For people)
