Domenico Gagliardi—Dom, to the common folk—had spent the last five months wandering through much of northern Italy like a restless traveler.

His goal, which was far from sightseeing in regions steeped in political instability and ongoing wars, was nothing more and nothing less than survival. Just as he had been doing for as long as he could remember.

And today, after an entire day of exhausting walking, Dom finally found himself seated at a table in a village tavern. Before him lay a half-eaten plate of porridge, the remains of a loaf of bread that had been reduced to little more than a bite, and a cup of watered-down wine to wash it all down.

It wasn't much, really.
Dom would even dare to say it was the standard fare in any establishment throughout the Duchy, but he wasn't in a position to be picky: he was running low on money, and if his calculations were correct, the few coins he had left should be just enough to cover the cost of food and lodging for the night.

They should... As long as prices hadn't gone up again. Which wasn't entirely certain.

"That'll be eleven soldi for dinner and the room," the woman—presumably the innkeeper's wife—told him a while later when she noticed him counting the contents of his purse.

By then, Dom had already finished eating. Only a little wine remained, which he planned to drink once the pressure of settling his debt lifted from his shoulders.

"Isn't eleven a bit steep?" he pondered, keeping his composure. He had just realized he only had five soldi left, and while he was confident he could charm the owners into giving him a discount, he still needed to gain their trust first. "At the inn I stayed at a couple of days ago, they let me have everything for seven soldi."

"Must be a fine place to stay, then."

"Oh, it certainly was! I almost regretted having to leave."

"Well, in that case, don't worry. If you leave now, as soon as you pay me for dinner, I'm sure you'll make it to that marvelous inn before sunrise and still get at least an hour of sleep wherever they set up their guests in the hayloft."

"Ah, but such is the life of a wandering traveler. One gets bored staying in the same place for too long," Dom continued nonchalantly—he had enough experience to know there was no point in confronting people like her. "Tell you what. Five soldi, and I'll sleep in the stable."

The woman sighed but said nothing before walking away, presumably to tend to other customers.

Dom smiled to himself, taking that as a sign of acceptance. Now he could relax with his drink while observing the other patrons in the bustling tavern. With a bit of luck, he might find a gullible soul willing to buy some so-called miraculous amulet or pay him a few soldi in exchange for one of his epic tales.

It was already past ten at night, so the place was packed with potential victims—most of them already drunk. It was just a matter of patience and listening carefully. Sooner or later, someone would admit they needed something.

"They attacked another child again," one of the drunks was solemnly telling the innkeeper.

"Who? Wild dogs?"

"No, man! Who have we been talking about these past few weeks, the one scaring the kids?" After a pause, during which the innkeeper should have answered but didn't, the man continued, "The vampire, of course!"

"The vampire, huh? So, what did he do this time?"

"Well, it happened on an evening like any other, just as the sun was beginning to set. Renzo—you know, the third son of the Bagni family, do you know him?—was out in the family fields with some friends..."

"Oh, I know those boys," the innkeeper interrupted with mild interest. "Aren't they the same ones I always find playing in the square instead of tending the livestock?"

"Their habits aren't the point here! The thing is, it was almost time to head home when, all of a sudden, a thick fog rolled in," the drunk continued, fully committed to his role as a storyteller. "And then, in the darkness formed by this sudden change in weather, the children saw a terrifying figure rising several meters above their heads."

"I didn't know vampires had such long legs."

"He was flying, I tell you! They only saw a black, human-shaped mass, but the sight was so terrifying that almost all of them ran away."

"Wait, and how do they know it was a vampire if all they saw was a silhouette?"

"Would a normal human fly?"

"You'd be surprised how some folks behave during festival season when they get onto my roof. They may not stay airborne for long, but long enough to make you question some people's agility."

"It was a vampire!" the customer insisted, as if he had witnessed it firsthand. "And it would have eaten our children if they hadn't had the good sense to run."

"But it didn't eat them."

"You don't believe me, do you?"

"No, no. Plenty of idiot—er, I mean, people—have come to complain to me about supernatural beings before. But you have to understand why I find it hard to believe that a predator like a vampire, in an open field full of sheep, would choose to go after small, scrawny children instead."

"Have you ever eaten children to compare? No? Then shut up."

"Cannibalism isn't exactly well-regarded around here, as I'm sure you know."

"For your information, His Lordship is aware of the rumors."

"Count Sforza? That's just what we needed. And what's he got to do with all this?"

"He's concerned that word of a bloodsucking vampire preying on the young in his lands might tarnish his reputation."

"Ah yes, our Most Excellent Lord, always with such noble concerns..." The innkeeper's sarcasm was unmistakable, and who could blame him? Few lords truly cared about their vassals. "His reputation, you say?"

"Focus! There have been several attacks already, and there could be more if no action is taken in time! That's why the Count is offering fifty scudi to whoever can hunt down the vampire."

Upon hearing such a sum, Dom—who had remained silent until that moment, concealing his mild amusement during certain parts of the conversation—began choking on his wine, resulting in a coughing fit that drew the attention of both the innkeeper and the drunk.

Fifty scudi! Managed wisely, that kind of money could last him years. He wouldn't have to take the first miserable job offered to him wherever his travels took him, nor worry about where to sleep just to save a few soldi. He could rebuild his life far from Milan, even!

Of course, this fantasy rested on the fragile hope that he knew how to manage money—something he had, thus far, utterly failed at—but who cared? One couldn't achieve great things without dreaming big.

"Excuse me," he said, approaching the counter once he had stopped coughing up a lung, "I couldn't help overhearing. There's a bounty for catching a vampire, is there?"