Chapter 3: The Scent of Humanity

The cluster of lights on the System’s map resolved into the faint glow of hearth fires. Vesperus moved out of the dense forest, the ancient trees giving way to a more managed landscape. The air, no longer heavy with damp earth and wild game, carried the distinct scent of woodsmoke, livestock, and, most potently, humanity. It was a different kind of allure than the boar's primal vitality—more complex, more refined.

He stopped at the edge of a field, stalks of some unknown grain rustling softly in the cool night breeze. Before him lay a small, unremarkable farming village. A handful of timber and wattle-and-daub cottages huddled together, a few faint lamps casting weak pools of yellow light from their windows. Dogs barked lazily in the distance, a sound his enhanced hearing translated as bored rather than alarmed. This wasn't a place of power or great riches, but it was brimming with life. And lives were exactly what he needed.

His 80% Rimuru-esque pragmatism assessed the situation: a small, isolated settlement meant fewer guards, less organized resistance. A perfect proving ground. But the 20% Redo of Healer ruthlessness hummed beneath, whispering of the vulnerabilities of these soft creatures, of how easily they could be broken, then remade. The Charisma he’d pumped stat points into felt like a tangible hum under his skin, a magnetic pull he was eager to test.

He approached stealthily, moving between the narrow lanes of the village. The houses were dark now, their inhabitants asleep. He could hear their breathing, the steady thrum of their heartbeats—each one a potential meal, a potential subject. The thirst, having been sated by the boar, was now a quiet purr, a satisfied hunger that gave him clarity rather than desperation. He could afford to be discerning.

A single cottage, set slightly apart from the others, caught his attention. Through a crack in its wooden shutters, a faint, flickering light emanated, and with it, the distinct, steady pulse of a single human heart. A woman’s. The scent was richer here, laced with something soft and vulnerable.

He moved to the window, peering through the gap. Inside, a young woman sat hunched over a crude wooden table, a small oil lamp casting dancing shadows on her face. Her hair, a simple brown braid, was beginning to unravel, and her eyes were red-rimmed. She was stitching a tear in a worn tunic, a pile of mending beside her. She looked tired, perhaps worried. Alone.

Lord Vesperus felt a strange pull. It wasn't just the hunger. His Redo of Healer side saw an opportunity—a solitary figure, potentially desperate, easy to manipulate. His Rimuru side, however, felt a flicker of something akin to curiosity, perhaps even a nascent desire to understand this world's inhabitants beyond their blood. And, of course, the System reminded him of his overriding goal: recreation.

He could burst in, take what he wanted. But that wasn’t his style now. Not fully. The System rewarded willing participation, even if that willingness was influenced by his formidable Charisma or the inherent allure of his vampiric nature. And he preferred to begin his kingdom not with screams, but with awe, or at least, confused surrender.

He melted back from the window, moving to the cottage door. He didn't bother with the latch; his newly acquired Strength easily parted the simple wooden planks with a soft groan that was just loud enough to be heard within.

The young woman looked up, her needle poised. Her eyes, wide with surprise, fixed on his silhouette in the doorway, framed by the faint moonlight. She was pretty, in a rustic, unadorned way. Fear flickered in her gaze, but also a flicker of something else, something uncertain.

Vesperus stepped inside, letting the door fall back into place with a soft thud. He let his presence fill the small room. His Charisma, supercharged by the System points, pulsed outwards, an invisible wave of compelling power. The air seemed to thicken, the flickering lamplight softening the sharp edges of the room, making him seem less like an intruder and more like a mysterious, inevitable force.

"Forgive my intrusion," he said, his voice a low, melodic rumble, far from the reedy tones of his past life. It was a voice designed to soothe, to enchant, to disarm. "I am... a traveler, lost in the night."

The woman stared, mesmerized. Her needle dropped from her fingers, clattering softly on the table. She seemed unable to move, held captive by his gaze. Her fear was still there, but it was being slowly, inexorably, overlaid with a strange fascination, an inexplicable trust.

His internal monologue noted the effect of his Charisma. It was even more potent than he'd imagined. This was going to be easy. And potentially, very enjoyable.

He took a slow step closer, then another, his gaze never leaving hers. He could hear her heart picking up pace, a frantic drum against his ears. Not just fear now, but anticipation. Desire. He could practically taste the sudden surge of adrenaline in her blood. This was the moment. The start of his kingdom. And the start of his harem.

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