The Price of Immortality and a Village’s Despair

Inside the Smith family office at Paimon Fortress.

The warm sunlight pierced through days of overcast skies. It streamed through the spotless floor-to-ceiling windows, filling the entire room with its glow.

Baron William Smith, his brows finally unfurrowed after days of tension, leaned back against his chair as if all strength had left him. He gently waved the report in his hand, a slight curve gracing his lips.

“Beasts are beasts, after all. Faced with the combined might of the army and the Church, they ultimately failed to breach my castle walls and instead moved on to other places…” His finger tapped softly on the desk. “I wonder what methods the Church employed; they’ve actually managed to cure the infected. Hmm… I can’t easily antagonize these individuals just yet. This organization’s true depth is indeed not to be underestimated.”

However, if this calamity had yet to conclude…

…he would have no choice but to seek help from *that* individual.

Baron William Smith’s thoughts drifted back to a night decades ago.

Decades ago, late one night while he was working in his office, a strange sound echoed from outside his window. He opened it, and a blood-red figure promptly flew inside. As he stood in astonishment, the figure introduced themselves and proposed a transaction.

Baron William Smith, a nobleman and a devout follower of the God of Light, instinctively recoiled upon encountering a vampire, a creature of the demonic race. His immediate thought was to contact the Church. Yet, when the entity offered him eternal life, his once agile body grew numb and rigid, like an old man on the verge of death.

Immortality—what a beautiful and captivating word. As a nobleman, he had always dreamed of forever enjoying his enviable wealth and status. For a man like him, devoid of any magical talent, eternal life had been nothing more than an unattainable fantasy. Yet, suddenly, he found it within reach. Thus, for the first time, he, who had once unswervingly believed in the God of Light, began to question his faith and loyalty.

[I must warn you: to gain something, you must inevitably lose something of equal value. As your esteemed human alchemist once said, everything in this world is merely an equivalent exchange.] Dracula’s smile was utterly chilling.

Equivalent Exchange—a concept proposed by the great alchemist, Edward Elric.

The inherent law of alchemy dictates: comprehension, deconstruction, and reconstruction. Alchemy must adhere to the principle of “equivalent exchange.” This means that to obtain something, an item of equal value must be given in return. If the cost is insufficient, a part of oneself—be it a limb, memories, or anything else—will be exacted as compensation.

What, then, would be the price of eternal life?

Faced with such an immense temptation, Baron William Smith hesitated for decades.

Now, somewhat advanced in years, and amidst the current calamity, a restless yearning began to stir within his heart once more.

‘If death is inevitable, I might as well seek out that individual and try…’

A sharp *shk* echoed.

The sound of a door opening interrupted Baron William Smith’s thoughts. He instinctively looked up, seeing his son, Albert, pushing the door open and entering.

“Father, it’s been confirmed!” Albert exclaimed, dark circles prominent beneath his eyes from sleepless nights, yet unable to conceal his agitated expression. “The water source in Grann Valley is contaminated!”

“Contaminated water?” Baron William Smith didn’t chide his son for entering without knocking, his mind already focused on the serious matter at hand. “So, that’s the source of the plague?”

“Yes, the Church has confirmed it; there’s no mistake. They’ve already dispatched people.” Albert nodded, then added wearily, “Now, the main priority is dealing with the living dead and the monsters.”

Baron William Smith shook his head. “That part is manageable. The living dead attack indiscriminately, even turning on the monsters themselves, so they won’t appear together. The monsters, for now, are hiding in the ruins of the Elven Defense Line, having ceased their assault. However…” Baron William Smith clasped his hands together, his expression turning grave. “I’ve received reports from my subordinates indicating that something seems capable of controlling the wills of these living dead. They are now spreading towards the villages near us.”

“They intend to attack the nearby villages first, then slowly encircle Paimon Fortress?” Albert asked, a hint of unease in his voice, stunned by this ‘rural encirclement of the city’ tactic. “How many of the living dead are there?”

“A few hundred, perhaps…” Baron William Smith replied, sounding uncertain. “Possibly even a thousand.”

“Those living dead…” Albert swallowed nervously, a hint of fear in his eyes. “They possess at least LV15 magical power. A thousand of them…”

Suddenly, a thought struck him, and he asked with a touch of uncertainty, “Father, you said the living dead are spreading to nearby villages… does that include Green Village?”

“Most likely,” Baron William Smith replied, puzzled. “Why do you ask?”

“Nothing…” Albert turned away, a hint of disappointment in his voice. “She should… be alright…”

‘That woman, with her powerful magic, she should be safe, shouldn’t she?’

****

At this moment, the tranquility of Green Village shattered. Ever since Village Chief Roan announced that something terrifying was gathering near the village, every household began to pack their belongings, scrambling to escape the area. In an instant, the village transformed into a bustling marketplace, yet chaotic, like an ant’s nest set ablaze.

Flight, refuge, survival—these became the collective consensus of everyone present.

Some, reluctant to abandon their possessions, continuously loaded valuable belongings onto their carts.

Others, however, could no longer wait.

“Take this pot,” a villager woman insisted, struggling to lift a heavy black iron pot. “I’ve used it for decades, and we can cook on the road.”

A villager woman laboriously lifted a black iron pot, intending to cram it into her already overflowing luggage.

“What time do you think it is?! Bringing useless things like that!” Her husband, a fellow villager, swatted the pot away, then hastily pushed his wife out the door before shutting it behind them. He cast a lingering glance at the home they had shared for decades, then took a deep breath, gritted his teeth, and with a resolute expression, dragged their heavy baggage and his wife towards the village exit.

“Daddy, where are we going?” the child on the cart innocently asked. “Aren’t we eating at home today?”

Hearing his child’s question from behind, the villager suddenly felt a pang of amusement. ‘This silly boy, at a time like this, and he’s still thinking about food.’

He continued pulling the cart, saying without looking back, “Where we’re going, I haven’t decided yet. Let’s just head east for now. We won’t be eating at home today.”

“Then where will we eat?”

“Alright,” the child’s mother said, patting his head. “Don’t ask so many questions. Your father is very tired.”

“Mm…” The child pouted. “But you still have to tell me when we’re eating. I’m so hungry…”

“Sigh…” The villager husband sighed, then, after a moment of thought, said, “We’ll go to Mondstadt. Once we’re there, we’ll enter the city and have a good meal.”

Mondstadt, a vital economic hub and coastal open city, held an economic standing within the Empire comparable to that of the imperial capital, Vienna. An imperial diplomat once remarked that the Holy Roman Empire could no more afford to lose Mondstadt than the Church could afford to lose the Holy City of Jerusalem.

Upon hearing a definitive answer, the child finally quieted down obediently.

Yet at this moment, as he watched the villagers flee one after another into the distance, a scene more bustling than any autumn harvest, Village Chief Roan’s heart was a mix of conflicting emotions.

‘In the end, everyone must still leave the place they’ve lived their entire lives, won’t they?’

Roan felt a sharp ache in his lower back and spine, likely from the sleepless nights he had spent working here. He laboriously found a spot to sit, watching the fleeing villagers with a serene gaze.

“Village Chief, why aren’t you leaving yet?”

Roan’s gaze swept over to a young man with a square face. He searched his memories for a moment.

He recalled baptizing the young man at the church himself when the boy was born.

“I’m not in a hurry. You all go first; I’ll leave later,” Roan said, waving his hand at the young man. “I’m just one person; I don’t need much.”

Yes, alone. Roan suddenly felt a pang of self-mockery. He was over sixty, yet still alone.

Roan’s appearance wasn’t handsome, but he was considered one of the most upright and proper men in the village. In his youth, with his robust physique, he had no shortage of admirers.

Yet, surprisingly, he had never married over the decades, even though the thought had sometimes crossed his mind.

But…

His gaze fell towards the direction of Rolan’s house, and he let out a heavy sigh.

‘Still, I can’t let go of that old obsession.’

‘Why? Hasn’t that person already died? Why won’t you accept me?’

‘Why…’

‘How many times have I hinted over these years…’

‘I know you understand my feelings, yet you simply don’t care.’

‘Sigh…’

‘Never mind. After all these years, I’ve grown accustomed to it.’

‘Just being alone.’