Hell's Actor-Chapter 93: Allaryx

Allaryx was born to a pair of Dark Elves, a race subjected to extreme discrimination throughout the Old World.

Being sold as slaves was a common fate for these supposed ’lesser people.’

Allaryx’s fate was no different.

His earliest memories were of an underground prison. The smell of iron bars and blood-soaked ground was the first scent that he could remember. Born in darkness, his eyes could see nothing until he turned a year old.

Just like his destiny, his first words weren’t common either.

’Worn Iron’ was what he said, looking at the bearded man glaring at his tiny head.

Right there, he was removed from his mother’s care, who had no strength left to stop them.

Allaryx would not see her ever again.

Worn Iron was a cult that worshipped the Craven Lord, the god of murky flames.

Depending on how one saw it, it was either the worst possible fate or the only hope for a Dark Elf.

Like the rest of the slaves, Allaryx was subjected to horrifying experiments. But unlike others, the young child showed far better results.

The tests only turned extreme from there on.

They cut and bleed him to familiarize him with the brink of death.

They made him drink blood that tasted distinctly different than his own and watched as he squirmed.

They peeled his skin and recorded its regeneration.

What they were creating him into, Allaryx did not understand. He had neither the strength nor the reason to fight back.

The torture he endured ended at the age of fourteen when he broke free from his shackles and slaughtered every man and woman that came in sight.

He escaped the prison in the dead of the night. It was the first time he saw the moon or the sky.

’How could the ceiling of the world be so high?’ he questioned.

Even that little natural light was enough to burn his skin and irritate his eyes.

Throughout the night, he kept running through the mountainside.

As the sun rose, its bright rays burned his skin a charred red. Instead of looking for food, he searched for shelter and remained hidden during the day.

His aversion to light was not solely because of his life spent in the darkness of the keep. He was experimented on with the blood of dark and filthy creatures. Without his knowledge, he had been infected with vampire blood.

He had long become some part vampire, and this is where his strength and regenerative abilities came from.

He understood early on that he would have to spend the rest of his life hiding and covered from head to toe.

At the age of seventeen, after spending three years in the wilderness, he sought out civilization.

Wrapping himself from top to bottom in tattered clothes, he enlisted in the army of the Riever kingdom.

Averie, having lost himself in the memories of Allaryx, sighed.

He could still remember his first time seeing the rows of rickety bunks topped with cold mattresses and thin blankets.

While very few recruits complained about it, he was the only one who found them far more favorable than what he was used to. It only added to the number of things the rest of the batch hated about him.

They called him the Rotting Elfling because of a misunderstanding that his skin was rotting beneath all that cloth.

Perhaps that was why no one drew close, and that is how Allaryx preferred it.

But trouble would always find him. The outline of his pointy ears would show even through his mask.

He could still recall how his eyes would float from one soldier to another, trying to assess when they would try to harass him.

Caution aside, emotionally, he was indifferent to it. He had only seen the worst of mankind, and this paled in comparison to his birthplace. It was all so natural to him. Nothing about it felt wrong.

After years of service and exceptional results, he remained a foot soldier. While less capable found better offices, he remained forever paired with his worn spear.

He wasn’t taught any skills worth mentioning—just the most basic spear maneuvers. Yet no one could best him in combat.

His elven body allowed him to be exceptionally nimble. His vampiric traits granted him unbelievable strength. And because of the way he had lived, he had become quick in body and mind.

As if to prove his superior martial ability, he also developed his own method of wielding a spear.

Even though no one in the army saw fit to reward him for his contribution, there was one person who had taken a keen interest in him.

Sister to the Crown Prince Trellise and daughter to the dying king, Princess Elizia of Riever kingdom.

She watched him train for weeks, read the reports of his expeditions, and met him one day after his training.

"Why have you stayed here for so long?" she asked him. "A place that refuses to acknowledge someone as capable as you does not deserve your service."

If he had an answer, he would have given it to her.

But he did not know why he was there either. Since leaving the prison, he had been drifting aimlessly in this vast and unfamiliar world.

"Enter my service, and never will you be ignored," she promised him.

She offered him riches, land, and titles for his service. Most importantly, she granted him what he had never experienced: fairness.

Allaryx accepted.

After learning about his condition, the princess gifted him a black full-plate armor and a glaive to accompany it.

’Let the adversity be your strength’ was what she told him then. He had it carved in his blade.

Officially, no one knew about his vampiric blood. Despite that, history would recall him as the world’s first Vampire Knight.

There would be stories written about him, and bards would sing songs about his exploits in taverns and alehouses.

Over the long years, Allaryx served the princess faithfully. If there was an important business to take care of, everyone knew whom she would turn to.

And it wouldn’t be long before he had his first taste of war.

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