Hellhounds were a werewolf variant that fed on devils, mainly imps. One could sniff out an imp from miles away. Seeing one hellhound meant there were at least a dozen nearby. It was already too late to run when Vergil saw their eyes flash. There were flash-bang grenades that could handle them, but few adventurers could afford them when the hounds were a problem.

 

When someone thought about a hellhound, they probably weren’t picturing black-skinned girls with dog ears and patches of black fur covering their bodies. That was true until the monsters transformed. Then they looked like monstrous mixes between bears and wolves. Unlike the werewolf, the hellhound didn’t scratch or bite people to turn them. They attracted adventurers with pheromones and then transmitted their curse through sex.  

 

Fortunately, it was well known they couldn’t climb. Moreover, it was months out of their breeding season, so they might not try too hard to chase Vergil if he made himself scarce. Running was out of the question; they would chase him if he turned his back and ran. They might hang around for days even if he made it up a tree.

 

Vergil risked a look at the sky. It was still early in the morning. If he hadn’t parked his car to rest, the imps wouldn’t have gotten to him. He had next to no fighting experience against devils. If one of the hellhounds transformed, it would be over in a flash. Only classed adventurers with solid common and uncommon rituals could handle hellhounds, and Vergil hadn’t signed up. Those class-based rituals were unavailable to him.

 

He turned his head at the sound of pounding hooves, and his blood ran cold. Golite raiders were known to travel the exile road for easy prey. Vergil turned to see a long blonde-haired, busty centaur galloping in full steel plate armor. Morning light glittered off the spiraling sun heraldry on the centauress’s shield. Intricately carved runes on the centaur's lance glowed with their own light.

 

How many lives were sacrificed to empower those runes to make them glow bright enough to hurt devils? How many more were needed to affect hellhounds who were devil adjacent. A centaur’s lance was rumored to take the lives of over 50 humans to properly empower. Adventurer lives were precious resources used to empower their equipment further.

 

Before she hit the pack, they scattered upon seeing the shield and lance.

 

Vergil inched for the forest. Trees lined both sides of the road, broken by patches of grass and old stumps. If he managed to get up one, centaurs couldn’t climb.

 

The centauress would save him and demand a life debt. Vergil saw the hill where her group waited. At a glance, he counted 20 centaurs and over 100 slaves.  

 

Did they unleash the hellhounds?

 

He remembered studying the centaur culture of the Gol. They were against slavery unless a life debt was involved. If someone owed a centaur their lives, then they were practically slaves. Life debts could be sold in auction to other centaurs. It was a matter of honor for the Golites to collect many life debts to help upgrade and maintain their equipment.

 

Vergil felt a wave of pain from his fourth ritual hit him as he moved closer to the opposite tree line. The centaur trotted after him exchanging her lance for a spiked man catcher, and Vergil sprinted. Ritual pains weren’t enough to slow him down when his life was on the line. He saw the human skulls on her saddlebag; the stories were true.

 

When his hand touched the tree bark, he shimmied up it using his newly enhanced strength. The fifth ritual hit him and paralyzed him halfway up the tree.

 

Vergil turned his head and climbed higher as the centauress galloped towards him. She raised her helmet, and he saw red lipstick. Her sky-blue eyes squinted up at him while he shimmied higher. The centauress jumped, lifting her front hooves and slamming them down on the tree.

 

Exploding bark hit his back, and the tree trunk shrieked. He climbed higher. While the branches of other trees slowed its descent, Vergil jumped, reaching for the next tree. He grabbed the closest tree and gripped its trunk tightly.

 

The girl glared at him and shook her man catcher in the air. “Your life I earned, your debt owed to me must be paid. Give your savior your life in trust. You must surrender to me by all that is just.”

 

“I disagree,” Vergil said.

 

“Those hellhounds had you dead to rights; what could you have done. Do you think you could have reached the tree without me? Come down, and you will have leniency.”

 

“You can have my car as payment; the scrap alone is worth a slave,” Vergil said.

 

“No, you’ll march your dainty two legs down, or I will keep breaking trees. My herd will back me up. You barely made it when I broke one tree. So you will inevitably be with me.” The centauress said.  

 

“You’re right. I should get some distance.” Vergil said and jumped to the next tree, and thanks to his shoes, he slipped. He stabbed a hand into the tree bark and stopped his fall.

 

A few of his fingers felt broken.

 

His eyes widened, and he raised his leg, barely escaping the centauress’s clutches. Vergil took off his shoes and let her have them.

 

“What’s going on. Oh, it’s a centaur; they are powerful specimens who can take many rituals. This one seems young and likely has only had a few rituals. Aren’t you glad you have me?” Exia preened. “Of course, centaurs have stronger bodies, and their rituals aren’t so lop-sided. Did you break three fingers? No, you broke two one in two places.” Exia said.

 

“I tell you what, human, surrender yourself, and I will make you my chambermaid. Do it now, and you may be paid.” The centauress said with a blush.

 

“Why are you rhyming? That is a stable boy,” Vergil said.

 

“It’s the most important position a human slave can have in the herds. So come down, and you will be honored to shovel my turds.”

 

He was dealing with an overpowered clown that collects human skulls as trophies. Vergil dug his fingers into the tree trunk and climbed like his life depended on it. Light exploded below him, and the tree trunks around him were severed.

 

His centauress clown stalker collapsed the trees around him. Trunks split open, limbs snapped, and he heard galloping hooves. Vergil ran on branches and jumped between trees. He wasn’t the fastest or most durable, but he had strong legs and a great long jump. Holding his advantage kept him out of her clutches. While Vergil remained in the trees, he could change locations even if she cut some of the forests around him.

 

Vergil felt like a barbarian from the Eastern continent, evading roving bands of blood drinkers. He was like Thoreon Dawn, the explorer who risked dying at sea to escape the aristocracy. If he could choose someone to emulate, Vergil chose Thoreon.

 

Thoreon used the greed of the vampires to gain capital for his expedition. Vergil would exploit a simpler weakness. Centaurs were great on flat, predictable fields, plains, and roads. Downhill, attacking, and looking up wasn’t in the centauress’s favor.

 

“This is a bad idea. We don’t know what rituals she’s been through or if she can use her light show again. Do you think she completed the goat ritual? I think she has; everyone knows the classic Gol weaknesses. They traded some interesting rituals for the kin ritual of the goat.” Exia said.

 

“It put us on the back foot.” Then, he made another perfect jump. “I can’t keep this up,” Vergil said.

 

“Do you think it's interesting that the Eaglite Confederacy has the largest share of territory but with the least humans per capita? There are fewer humans by your knowledge of the last census than last year. That downward trend has been constant, but nothing has been done to rectify it. Instead, borders are invaded with impunity while adventurers and soldiers quarantine dungeons. Do you remember emperor Majorian?” Exia asked.

 

His body was covered in sweat, and Vergil wheezed out every breath. More strength didn’t mean more endurance. Vergil’s vision tunneled until he saw the world through a pinprick. After that, only the next step mattered.

 

“One of my favorite emperors,” Vergil said.

 

“Don’t I know it before the ritual of blood and the fall of the great Kaiba Republic, there was the second-largest land empire Wallochia and its invincible emperors. The last Emperor, Majorian, took his army and retreated from the undefendable Wallochian lands back to Dracula, the capital city. The Goth barbarians broke their spears there, and the Wallochia empire experienced a resurgence. He reformed the republic that would later inspire the Kaiba Republic. If not for the ritual of blood and the invasion by Prestor John Wallochia might have returned greater than before. So be Majorian.”  Exia said.

 

“So don’t fight a battle I can’t win. I should surrender.” Vergil said.

 

Exia used one of his favorite characters in history against him. The lesson learned did apply, but Majorian didn’t surrender to a foreign power. He strategically retreated and defended what he could. In other words, he chose his own battles.  

 

He saw her mid-trot with all her hooves off the ground. She would have shot him if she was an archer instead of a lancer. Gol didn’t have much in the way of factories or railways to transport goods. Few could afford firearms. Who needed firearms with bodies that could handle 3x the rituals than most races? This centaur was young; he could tell by her tactics.

 

After he reached his top speed, Vergil realized he couldn’t stop. Even going downhill through a forest, the centaur kept up. If he tried to slow, she would catch him. But he would run out of the forest and drop if he didn't stop. He jumped and felt something wrap around his body. Down below, his centaur friend tripped into a massive centaur-sized web.

 

Several monsters could be behind the ambush. There were dozens of different types of forest driders. Their proximity to the Devil dungeon narrowed down a few possibilities. “Human,” one called as it crawled in close to use the web net to cocoon him in silk. “Take him back to the nest, the horse meat, too; it's breeding season.” Exia translated.

 

He reached out and caught one of the drider’s legs. It was luck, pure and simple. He pulled and began swinging. Light flashed, and the centaur unleashed her lance again. The trees around him fell in different directions pulling the silk he was stuck in apart. An oily substance covering the drider’s legs helped him unstick himself while he struggled.

 

Vergil saw the drider’s beautiful face, exotic purple eyes, and long wispy white hair. All he had was strength, so it was strength he used. The world was cruel, and he knew the fate of those who mated with drider.

 

He punched with everything he had. She struggled in the beginning. The other one lunged with her venomous fangs, but he no longer had tunnel vision. After having the advantage, he wouldn’t surrender it. Vergil felt the first drider die from its injuries by the bounty it left behind.

 

There was a greedy monster inside of him. He had a taste of power and wanted more. Vergil braced his feet against the corpse, let the blow stretch the silk, and punched the drider. He peppered it with hooks that rattled its brain as they fell. His power was devoted to ending the threat before it came to its senses.

 

The drider should have kept its distance and covered him with sticky web. He was lucky; that was the only reason he had a chance. By the master of mankind, he would end his struggling enemy. His blows ruined her body while she scrambled to turn the tables. This one time, he was lucky, and it might never happen again. Vergil took full advantage of the situation.

 

He felt the bounty enter him.

 

+4 stat points

 

“Some monsters know rituals that even humans can use. Even if you can’t, with enough knowledge of rituals and your body, I can make them work.” Exia said.

 

Vergil watched a few male drider carry off his centaur stalker towards their nest. The driders weren’t that durable. He could have killed them faster if he didn’t have two broken fingers or weak hands.

 

“Four points in the ritual of the boar,” Vergil said.

 

Stronger hands meant he didn’t have to hold back. Killing the driders in their own silk palace was nearly impossible. The driders he was dealing with were forest driders in their mating season. He would likely be invited in if he walked up to their nest as a volunteer.

 

As a follower of Mannis, it was his duty to wipe out monster strongholds on human lands. Exia could take pictures and upload them using Sweet Devil City’s wifi. In addition, he could use this deed to make a good impression on the Mannis church. It was said the church had its own rituals that the public was unaware of. So he felt no hesitation in doing what he knew was right.

 

Vergil didn’t need to fear the male drider’s informing the nest. Male driders were basically animals capable of following basic commands. While they could mate with the females, driders considered them little more than tools and preferred males from other species.