Castlevania: Blood of the Covenant

TWO

Sunday, it was said, was the Lord's day, a day of rest. And for Montrose Belmont, whose days were filled doing what he roughly interpreted as the Lord's work of guarding the relic of Dracula's rib, it was the day he justified indulging in his own forgivable amount of sin. Unable to fully accept the solitary existence forced upon guardians when saddled with the task of keeping the dusty old remains of humanity's greatest scourge out of the hands of those too stupid to know the dangers of reviving the vampire lord, and unwilling to let the world forget about the wonder that was Montrose Belmont, he made his home in the hills along the mountains' southern border. It was a comfortable city, a wealthy city to complement the admiration he was due by right of his birth, and provided Montrose with all he needed to finish out his term of guarding the relic. He'd made it through the first four years of his assignment and was only obligated to carry on like this for one more before he'd be allowed back out into the wilds to do what a Belmont was meant to do.

The past week had been just as dull and uneventful as every other he'd suffered through over this assignment, and Montrose gave one final check on the relic's safe nestled in the floorboards beneath his bed before heaving the mattress back in place. Satisfied that it was secure and hidden from anyone who might be foolish enough to break into the home of a Belmont to try to meddle with it, he tied his coin purse to his belt, flashed a charming smile at the handsome blue-eyed man in the mirror, and stepped into the crisp twilight to head into town. The festival of Harvest's End was to kick off in the morning, which meant there would be no shortage of new faces to impress with his status gathered at the tavern. Fantasizing about the exotic foods and drinks—and women—which would be in town allowed the short march to pass quickly for Montrose and he entered The Rusted Bucket with the same flourish the locals had long ago grown bored with him flaunting.

On normal weeks, the patrons rolled their eyes at his pompous little show, only Florin the bar keep showing any amount of pleasure in the arrival of Montrose and his family's money. Tonight, though, was different. The crowd ignored him the same as usual, but not from some sort of petty envy of his status or intimidation of his legendary might. Excitement bubbled up from each table, music squeezing through the rumble of conversations between the locals and those who had come through to peddle their wares at the festival. Montrose's rugged face lit up with a wide grin.

This was why being a Belmont was so important. Without the diligent watch of monster hunters, none of these people would be able to enjoy such celebrations. They'd be locked up in their homes, trembling in fear as vampires and demons tore through their shutters. It wouldn't be unfair to assume that Montrose's very presence so close to the town could be credited for why it had been left to flourish in peace over the past four years. Ever the champion, if only in his own mind, Montrose swaggered through the crowd, leaving an appreciative look with two scantly-dressed women dancing provocatively atop a table of gawking drunkards, to make his way to the bar.

"Has it been like this all night?" Montrose asked Florin as the bar keep slid downthe counter, mug of ale already in hand.

Florin grinned as he looked over the crowd and patted the bulging pouch on his belt with his free hand. "Last night and this one, too." He plopped the mug down on the bar and tapped the side of his head. "Hard on the noggin, but great for the purse."

Montrose scooped up his drink and turned to lean back against the bar, eyeing the two dancers yet again. Far from a shy or prudish man, it was easy for Montrose to appreciate the flowing curves of their bodies as they twisted about on display for the enthusiastic crowd. Their skin was uniformly bronzed, even in the places where their short skirts peeked up to near indecency, their faces smooth of the ravages of the sort of work common for the average woman of the region. The taller of the two met Montrose's eyes as she spun about, her emerald gaze holding his longer than a simple, fleeting glance justified, and she tossed him the beginnings of a smile before flitting the rest of the way around to charm the men on the other side of the room out of their money.