Patricia Was Her

There was a small girl named Patricia. With blonde hair in ringlets of aristocracy and demure piety.

She looked at her reflection in the town river. Her cheek was swollen and scarlet. A scarlet similar to her deep ruby eyes, laden with tears.

She didn’t know human touch all that much. It was hard to remember the last time she was hugged. All alone, and with no one to hug away the pain, she did know the feeling of being hit. And also the sting of the silver behind it. If her adventuring teammates used and abused her hard enough, if all memories were to be lost in this trauma, there were three rules she would never forget.

New Laws of The New Kingdom’s Vampires:

1. Never suck the blood of another

2. If a servant to you is to be born, they must be laid to rest

3. If you enter a hunger frenzy and become Bloodthirst, you must be laid to rest

Breaking any of these was punishable by death.

Three decades ago, there was a beautifully cruel Vampire who managed to survive in the sunlight. Running amok through the kingdom on sins, he ascended the throne and made livestock out of the humans. But his livestock did not overlook that there was another trait that belonged to the Vampires: the torment of silver. When the humans abused the Vampire King’s remaining weakness, they overthrew the tyrant’s unvanquishable rule.

The humans oppressed their oppressors and created a new order. The New Kingdom encouraged all civilians to carry IDs containing traces of silver.

As such, the young vampire Patricia always faced her innate weakness, constantly in a state of peril.

The kingdom gave the adventurers full right to kill Vampires who broke the New Law. It was clearly distinguishable, too, as their tongues would change color when they went on frenzies. Colored tongues were a prized spoil of battle, as much as their ruby eyes.

These mesmerizing, ruby eyes Patricia wished she never had.

Her vision flared, sending mystic lines of hunger into her brain nodes. She was hungry. This cursed body.

Like the Witches burned at the stake, a Vampire’s beauty was another curse. A lot of Vampires relegated themselves to being servants. To the nobles, it was the perfect profession. Vampires were eye-candy while devoting themselves to humans who remained untouchable, mentally and physically.

To the minority known as Vampires, their mistreatment was shy of slavery.

Patricia didn’t see maidhood that harshly. If you could contribute to the happiness of a single person through kindness, it was a celebratory feat. To dedicate yourself to one person was incredible.

Between maidhood and adventurer, however, she chose a clear winner. Dungeon crawling was the most respected job for her race. It really wasn’t meant to be any more than that when she set off on her journey to Xeras, famous for its dungeon.

A monster ambushed her on her journey to this port city and drilled the feeling of helplessness into her. Vampiric powers were ordinarily nothing to scoff at. Monsters didn’t always have silver. Yet, true Vampiric powers only came about when hunting, in an active state of Bloodthirst. Entering it was illegal under the New Laws. In this unfair predicament, Patricia was no different than an average young girl.

No matter how much she attacked, she could not significantly damage the monster. It forced her to feel how weak she was through real battle.

The claw hard-hit her again, sending her slamming into the trees.

Even if she didn’t retrograde her powers, did she have a chance?

She had two choices or none: die now at the claws of a monster, or later, at the claws of humans.

She was indignant.

In this chessboard of a world, their king had already been toppled. So why, why did the world always hold her in check, always bearing fangs for checkmate, tearing at her throat? Even though she was supposed to be the Vampire…!!

She was dangled high, blood clotting around her choked neck.

Unable to decide in time, Death decided for her.

Suddenly, a blade and chain slashed away the burly arm suffocating Patricia.

A hero of the kingdom, a top seven, saved her.

A girl with beautiful long hair. Her honored name was Aira—

…

“Oh, the Miss!”

“She is most definitely not the Miss of your story. Could you please not go out of your way to disgrace my hero?”

“There are only so many top seven.”

“You probably stole Aira’s likeness for your bumbling lies.”

“I mean, we could test the Emerald right now.”

“Spare me. I don’t want to know what nefarious magic is really in it.”

“Damn, what a sharp tongue. I was wondering why you were so subservient with your bullies. Guess this is how you are when no one else is around.”

That implied Corin was seeing a side of me that no one else did.

That man really makes my blood boil! I don’t like him. Ah, I REALLY don’t like him!

I felt my cheeks turn warm with rage. Mystic lines of hunger took my vision.

“Don’t interrupt me again. You want to be entreated by my story, don’t you? It would do you well to shut up and listen.”

…

When Aira saved her, she displayed an incredibly powerful charged shot from her blade. Chains ringing, she told Patricia that she had the potential to become equally as strong.

“You’re only level 1 and inflicted that much damage before mine arrival. Fascinating. Taking on a big monster is an admirable feat. Take care of yourself more. I want to see what you may become. You have the shining potential to be like mine presence.”

To dedicate yourself to one person was already incredible. Aira had sooo many people counting on her.

Patricia’s drive was only ever supposed to be to seek out the best alternative profession, to become your average adventurer.

Patricia never thought her heart could race this way.

Emotions overtook her as she floated to the city. She saw to registering at the Guild, but stopped short at the building’s doors. What was this brisk manner?

She would be mindful as to not allow abdication of thought. She solved her aspirations punctually, and correctly.

Cleaned, her ringlets shining once again, she strutted the planks of the Guild, perusing the mercenary mission papers. She found that she couldn’t fight strong monsters that well on solo dungeon raids. Thus, she relegated herself to apprenticeship of anyone willing.

Of course, in doing so, her dreams were crushed as reality swung like a war hammer.

Her party abused her as a pack mule.

Cleanliness lost its meaning when she was treated ickily. She felt a part of her had rotted. It was an awful feeling.

This is how people deteriorate if they don’t catch themselves, she knew.

Little did her bullies know that the cycle of oppression spins and keeps spinning throughout time. It would come back to bite them.

Her party was, quite frankly, ripe for disaster.