Vampire Knight: Memories

Strange Stranger

Could it be that a spy from the castle had been sent to scout the wasteland? Garland couldn't help but feel a wave of tension. In front of the enemy, even the smallest movement became dangerous.

The young man signaled his younger brother to lower his body, making sure not to be discovered. Meanwhile, he swiftly mounted his horse and carefully approached the enemy… From a distance, he could make out two figures sneaking around, peeking in all directions. As he got closer, he saw that they were dressed in the uniforms of castle soldiers.

It was the first time Garland had ever seen castle soldiers in person. The customs and appearance of the northern fortress were entirely different from those of the tribes—one could recognize them at a glance. The two northern foot soldiers were tall and sturdy, with fair skin and light-colored hair. One, with a red face, was slightly chubby, while the other was thin and sharp-featured. They both wore long padded armor with leather vests over it and iron helmets on their heads. Each carried a machete and a hammer. Judging by their weary faces, they had likely traveled a long distance.

As they slowly walked into range, Garland silently nocked an arrow and aimed toward the sky. The red-faced soldier was the bigger target—this first shot was for him. Long-distance archery required experience to judge the correct direction and angle, and in this, Garland was an expert. He drew his bow with all his strength, held his breath, and released. The arrow soared into the sky before twisting slightly midair as it descended. Not too far, not too close—it struck the soldier's shoulder precisely. A distant scream rang out.

The two enemies quickly turned in the direction of the arrow and spotted Garland. They shouted to each other and gave chase. Though Garland couldn't understand the northern tongue, he could easily guess their words—likely cries of "enemy attack" or "kill him!"

Facing a two-on-one fight, the young warrior had no advantage. Seeing them coming after him, he shot another arrow while turning his horse to feign retreat. However, his short-legged pony wasn't as fast as the northern foot soldiers. The thin one was closing in fast. Garland turned in the saddle and loosed an arrow—this time striking the sharp-faced soldier right in the face.

Riding ahead, he soon saw the red-faced soldier blocking his path with a raised iron hammer. Garland quickly steered his horse to the side, seeking a more favorable terrain. He knew the wasteland's geography like the back of his hand. With a swift detour, he ascended a small hill. By then, the red-faced soldier had caught up and swung his hammer down fiercely.

Garland dodged backward, but in his haste, he tumbled from his horse, rolling onto the ground. The enemy, seeing him dismounted, also jumped down and closed in step by step. Drawing the dagger from his belt, Garland took a defensive stance.

They circled each other cautiously. The enemy likely thought that a mere boy wouldn’t have much strength and would be at a disadvantage in hand-to-hand combat. With a loud cry, he raised his hammer high and swung it toward Garland’s head. The young warrior swiftly dodged. The hammer struck the ground with a heavy thud. The red-faced soldier then swung horizontally, but Garland flipped aside, rolling away just in time.

However, his balance faltered, and he slipped, tumbling down the slope. The soldier smirked, believing the fight was over. He lifted his hammer high, preparing to deliver the final blow.

But just as the hammer came crashing down, Garland suddenly sprang up in a kip-up maneuver—he had been faking it! The soldier, caught off guard, had swung too hard, and his hammer sank deep into the muddy ground.

Now, Garland had the upper hand. As the enemy struggled to free his weapon, there was a split second of hesitation. That was all the young warrior needed. In a flash, his dagger flickered like lightning. The red-faced soldier staggered and fell. When he regained his senses, he realized that one of his hands had been nearly severed.

Overcome with fear, he let out a terrified scream. Garland couldn’t help but chuckle—so much for adult warriors. Holding his dagger, he stepped forward, aimed for the enemy’s throat, and swiftly ended him. Blood gushed out in an instant, and the man collapsed lifelessly.

Garland picked up the fallen hammer. It was more of a crude tool than a proper weapon. Iron was a scarce resource in the wasteland, making the enemy’s iron weapons and helmets valuable loot. The chief would surely reward him for bringing them back.

He stared at the soldier’s corpse for a long moment before a sudden scream in the distance snapped him out of it. He had forgotten—the thin soldier hadn't taken a fatal hit, and Saji was still hiding nearby!

“Saji!” he shouted, searching frantically. The spring wind rustled the grass, creating waves of movement, but there was no sign of his brother.

“Damn it!” A chill ran down Garland’s spine. That sharp-faced soldier must have taken Saji! But where could he have fled? He scanned the surroundings for clues. Then, from nearby, he heard a faint whimper.

It had to be Saji! Garland sprinted toward the sound.

In front of him, a small cliff—only half a man’s height—lay hidden from view. Below, the injured soldier was grappling with Saji. The soldier was pressing down on Saji with his full weight, his machete forcing down toward the boy. Saji, straining with all his might, was barely holding him back.

Garland sprang forward without hesitation. He grabbed the enemy from behind, twisting the arrow still lodged in his wound, forcing him off Saji. The soldier turned his blade toward Garland instead.

They wrestled, struggling for control. In a sudden burst of strength, Garland twisted sideways and flipped the soldier beneath him. The enemy’s own blade slashed across his throat.

After a brief struggle, the man went still. Garland exhaled deeply, collapsing onto the ground.

Saji, still trembling, finally let out a sob of relief. Seeing his older brother safe, he threw himself into Garland’s arms, crying out, “Big Brother—!”

“Yeah, it’s okay now.” Garland stroked his brother’s head reassuringly.

Garland carefully searched the northern soldiers, confiscating all valuable items from their bodies before hastily burying them.

"Why did they come to the wasteland in the first place?" Garland still had doubts, but there was no way to question the dead.

"Looks like we really can't camp out tonight," he said. "Let's go back and report to the chief."

"Alright..." Saji nodded reluctantly. The two enemies had completely ruined the excitement of the day. Even if his brother still wanted to camp, he wouldn’t dare anymore.

Just as the brothers were about to leave, they spotted another sneaky figure up ahead!

"Not good, those soldiers might have more companions!" Garland whispered.

By this time, the sun had already begun to set. Under the red glow of dusk, visibility was not as clear as before. In the distance, they could make out a hunched figure moving sluggishly through the grassland. The person was alone—there was no horse.

Garland signaled his younger brother to stay put while he picked up his bow and cautiously approached.

As he got closer, he realized it was a frail, shriveled man crouching on the ground, trembling.

Garland let out a sigh of relief and said arrogantly, "Lift your head."

The man obediently raised his head, and Garland nearly fainted from shock. How could someone be this ugly?!

The man’s head was lopsided, his back hunched, and his chest sunken in—his entire body was twisted. He had a flat face, tiny eyes, and a mouth full of rotten teeth. His skin was rough and his bones jutted out, making him look ghostly and sickly. His expression was vacant, his movements suspicious, and his whole demeanor screamed wretchedness.

Garland had never seen anyone so hideous in his life. Even if he gathered all the ugly people he had ever encountered and combined their worst features, they still wouldn’t be as repulsive as this man. He had taken ugliness to a whole new level.

The man was dressed in tattered rags, clearly a slave. In broken tribal language, he pleaded, "Don't... don't kill me!"

"Who are you?" Garland demanded.

"I am... a slave," the man answered, dropping to his knees and bowing repeatedly, as if Garland were some kind of deity.

Looking at the slave’s worn-out clothing, Garland recognized hints of the wasteland tribes’ style. He knew this particular design belonged to a group that roamed between the wasteland and the northern castle, living as nomadic traders. That tribe had a bad reputation—they were called "the punished sinners."

"You're from the Kuka tribe?"

"I was once their slave," the man explained humbly, confirming the origin of his clothes.

"But later, I became a slave of the northern army. I escaped just a few days ago. The soldiers you killed were actually sent to recapture me."

Garland had heard that northern people divided themselves into strict social classes. They enslaved prisoners of war, treating them like livestock.

"Please, don't kill me! I don’t know anything! I'm just a slave!" The man knocked his head against the ground in a desperate plea.

His status as a slave was unmistakable—his submissive, groveling nature had been ingrained into him for life. Garland had no intention of killing him. He simply said coldly, "The gods do not permit sinners like your tribe to live in the wasteland. Get lost."

Hearing that Garland wouldn’t kill him, the slave was relieved. But he was starving—he hadn’t eaten or drunk anything in days. He hesitated to leave and instead crept closer with a fawning smile.

"Oh, noble young warrior! You saved my life—you are my savior! I should serve you with all my heart to repay your kindness. From now on, you are my master. Please take me with you!"

Garland was utterly disgusted. What? There's actually someone who would rather be a slave than be free?!

He frowned, wondering if he had misheard.

"What do you mean? If you're looking for free food, you won’t get any from me. I can barely feed myself, let alone a disgusting freak like you!"

The moment the slave realized Garland was reasonable, he became even more shameless. He crawled forward and clung to the young warrior’s leg, begging.

"Young master, I am smart and capable! I can take care of myself—and I can take care of you too!"

"Are you insane?! If you can take care of yourself, why do you need a master? Get away from me!"

The slave clung to him tightly, refusing to let go no matter how much Garland kicked and struggled. He even had his own twisted logic.

"Young master, look at me—I’m this ugly! No matter where I go, people will bully me. If I say I’m a free man, who would believe me? In the end, I’ll just get captured again and forced to do the hardest, most grueling work. But you… you are different! You are kind. As long as you give me a bite to eat and don’t let those bad people t*****e me to death, I will repay you with my life..."

"No! If you keep clinging to me, I’ll kill you!" Garland raised his dagger, ready to end the wretch’s life.

But then the slave suddenly changed his tune.

"Wait! Don’t kill me! I can speak the northern language! I know a lot about them! They're planning to attack you—you don’t know that yet, do you?!"

Garland froze.

"So the northerners really are planning to attack us?! What else do you know? Tell me everything!"

"Heh heh… no need to rush." The slave was cunning. He had discovered Garland’s weakness and was now using it to his advantage.

"Young master, take me back with you. I’ll tell you everything I know. You’ll be the one to take the credit—it’s a win-win!"

"You! You just said you didn’t know anything, and now suddenly you know everything?!" Garland clenched his fists, furious but unsure how to argue back. He was a straightforward person, unlike this slave, who had clearly survived countless life-or-death situations by being slippery and deceitful.

"Young master, don’t be mad. Whatever you need me to know, I know. Heh heh heh."

"We should take him back," Garland said, turning to his brother.

"Alright," Saji agreed easily.

"But he’s dangerous. Let’s tie him up." Garland shot the slave a sharp glare.

The slave only grinned obsequiously, showing no hint of protest.