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ArabicArknights: The Scarlet Devil of Terra — Chapter 3
Chapter 3: First Meeting with Talulah
Flandre watched their clumsy movements and offered a bright, encouraging thumbs-up. She remained planted in the snow, waiting patiently for the two humans to finish their business.
“Father… is she looking for the people from the Reunion Movement?” Peter asked, his voice trembling slightly in the freezing air.
Old Peter gave a slow nod. His mind raced, trying to piece together why a Sarkaz Vampire would wander all the way to the frozen wastes of Ursus just to find Reunion. A specific name surfaced in his thoughts: Buldrokkas’tee. The Wendigo known to many across the tundra as Patriot, a core cadre of the Rebellion. Old Peter could think of absolutely no other reason a Sarkaz of her caliber would seek them out.
“So, are we going to help her?” Peter cast a wary glance at the small girl. She stood a short distance away, wearing a quiet, pleasant smile that somehow made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. He kept his voice to a harsh whisper, desperate for his father’s guidance.
Old Peter considered their grim reality for a moment before addressing her. “Where do you come from, Your Excellency?”
Hearing the older man spout a string of harsh, guttural syllables, Flandre blinked in mild helplessness. She opened her mouth and replied in a rapid succession of the several languages she actually knew.
“Flandre does not understand a word you are saying. If you can understand Flandre, please switch to something else.”
Naturally, both Old Peter and his son only spoke the Ursus tongue. They stared blankly at the blonde girl, completely bewildered by the melodic string of foreign words. The reality of their situation settled over them like a heavy blanket: a complete language barrier.
“What should we do?” Peter asked, entirely stumped.
“We take her with us. She saved our lives,” Old Peter decided, grinding his teeth against the cold. He did not make the choice out of blind trust, but out of absolute necessity. Without a shared language, he had no way of knowing her true intentions. The lore surrounding Vampires painted them as temperamental, bloodthirsty, and exceptionally cruel. If he refused her now, what was stopping her from turning them into her next meal? Given the terrifying reputation of her kind across the continent of Terra, Old Peter dared not risk a rejection. If they managed to reach the organization, they could always use the language barrier as an excuse to avoid punishment if things went sour.
Seeing the old man point at her, then at himself, and finally gesture toward the scattered corpses of the Ursus Patrol, Flandre gave an agreeable nod. The father and son immediately set to work stripping the dead. They scavenged thick undergarments to layer over their own, desperately covering their fresh scars and the jagged, black marks of Oripathy that marred their skin. They gathered up the fallen soldiers’ hand crossbows, short knives, water canteens, and rations of dry Khleb.
After forcing down a meager meal, they offered Flandre an awkward, silent nod. She merely watched them with a speechless expression. Shouldering the heavy stolen supplies, the two Infected led the way into the wilderness.
Weighed down by their injuries and the heavy gear, their pace was agonizingly slow. Yet, Old Peter proved his worth as a seasoned hunter. He guided them through the biting north wind until they reached a secluded hollow on the leeward side of a towering mountain. Nestled among the dense pines and high rocks, their tracks were hidden from the elements and potential pursuers. It was a rare sanctuary in the unforgiving tundra.
Using a lighter pried from a dead soldier’s pocket, Old Peter coaxed a small fire to life. He draped the stolen Ursus coats over the surrounding branches, creating a makeshift windbreak that trapped the heat and completely masked the firelight from a distance.
Flandre sat motionless by the crackling flames, her ruby eyes reflecting the dancing light. Seeing her so quiet, Peter subconsciously broke off a piece of hard Khleb and offered it to her.
Flandre looked at the dry, unappetizing bread hovering in front of her face and shook her head. She had drained two humans completely dry just yesterday. Her stomach was perfectly full, and she would not need to feed again for quite some time.
Noticing the boy’s confused expression, a playful urge seized her. Flandre flashed a brilliant, innocent smile, locked her crimson gaze directly onto the pulsing vein of his neck, and let out a highly exaggerated, deliberate gulp.
The terrifying bedtime stories of blood-crazed Vampires flooded Peter’s mind. All the color drained from his face. Trembling violently, he scrambled backward through the snow until his shoulder pressed against his father’s side, only then finding a shred of safety.
“Father, do those Vampires really drink blood?” Peter stammered once he caught his breath.
Old Peter had watched the entire exchange. Unlike his terrified son, he sensed no actual killing intent from the girl. When she swallowed, her eyes held the exact same mischievous spark Peter used to have when pulling pranks as a little boy. The realization eased the heavy knot of tension in the old man’s chest.
“I do not know for certain, but the legends of Vampires drinking blood have existed for centuries. I doubt they come from nothing,” Old Peter replied softly. “But do not let her size fool you. The way she flew through the air, the Originium Arts she used to crush those soldiers into paste without lifting a finger… those are not the actions of an ordinary person. Do not get any foolish ideas just because you look a few years older than her.”
Peter’s face flushed a deep, embarrassed red. He had secretly thought she looked rather cute sitting quietly by the fire, which was the only reason he had gathered the courage to approach her in the first place.
“Besides,” Old Peter continued, his tone turning grim, “we need to hurry and rendezvous with the Rebellion. George and the others are still trapped back there. We must find enough people to mount a rescue.”
The reminder of their imprisoned comrades sobered Peter instantly. The thought of the miserable, freezing conditions in the mine pushed his fear aside. They could not afford to stop.
After a tense night of rest, the trio resumed their trek at dawn. The journey was suffocatingly quiet. Aside from a few hushed exchanges between father and son, Flandre did not utter a single syllable. It was not out of a desire to be aloof; she simply had no way to communicate until she found someone who spoke her language.
When night fell again, they made camp. This time, however, Old Peter did not bother stringing up the stolen coats. He built the fire out in the open, letting the flames blaze brightly against the dark snow.
“We are only twenty kilometers from the base,” Old Peter explained to his son. “Logically, there are outposts patrolling this perimeter. This fire will draw them straight to us.”
He cast a cautious glance at the blonde girl. “Whatever this Vampire truly wants, it is best we resolve it here, surrounded by our own.”
Old Peter felt a pang of guilt for treating their savior with such suspicion, but he refused to lead an unknown, wildly dangerous entity directly into the heart of their hidden camp. He needed the scouts to intercept them first.
Just as he predicted, the blazing campfire quickly caught the attention of the hidden sentries. The strange composition of their group—two ragged Infected men and a pristine little girl—drew immediate scrutiny from the shadows.
“I know those two,” a scout whispered from the treeline. “That is Old Peter and Little Peter. Did they not march out with the others to raid the mine? Why are they the only ones back, and why in the world are they burning a beacon out in the open?”
“I have no idea about them,” another scout muttered, his eyes wide. “But look at the one sitting next to the fire. What are those things extending from her back? They look like wings made of floating crystals.”
Deeming the situation too bizarre to handle alone, the scouts remained hidden in the dark and dispatched a runner back to the main base.
Deep within the hidden encampment, Talulah sat around a heavy wooden table, discussing their next tactical movements with Buldrokkas’tee and the other core leaders. The heavy flaps of the command tent parted, and Frostnova stepped inside, carrying the fresh scout report.
“Three people have appeared twenty kilometers from our perimeter,” Frostnova announced, her breath misting in the cold air. “Two of them are the Peters, the father and son who left with the rescue detachment for the mine. The third is a complete stranger. Old Peter intentionally lit an unshielded fire to draw our scouts in.”
She slid a piece of parchment across the table. “This is the physical description the scouts provided of the stranger. They are waiting for your orders.”
Talulah picked up the report, her eyes scanning the hastily written words. “About ten years old, blonde hair, possessing a pair of highly unusual wings adorned with hanging, crystal-like objects.” She frowned slightly. “A child? And what of the rest of the rescue team?”
Talulah was fully aware of the mining operation; she had personally authorized the strike. For the Rebellion, freeing even a handful of enslaved brothers and sisters was worth the risk to bolster their strength. She never worried about betrayal from the rescued Infected. Ursus had already trampled them so deeply into the mud, enforcing such brutal discrimination, that turning on their own kind was unthinkable. But she had never anticipated that a detachment of that size would return with only two survivors.
“I will go. Peter is my soldier,” Buldrokkas’tee stated. His deep, resonant voice commanded the room. His intent was absolute: as their commanding officer, he would bear the responsibility for this anomaly.
“We will go together,” Talulah said, rising from her chair. “It is strange that only the two of them made it back. They have been gone far too long without sending word. I will not have peace of mind until I see this for myself.”
She turned her gaze toward a young sniper standing quietly near the entrance. “Faust, please inform Alina that I will be returning late tonight.”
She then looked back to the white-haired caster. “Frostnova, the security of the camp falls to you while we are away.”
Both of them nodded in silent agreement.
“Let us go.” Talulah gestured to the towering Wendigo. Together, they stepped out of the tent and vanished into the freezing darkness of the tundra.
Back at the campfire, Flandre Scarlet had long since noticed the heavy gazes boring into her from the surrounding woods. The scouts had tried their absolute best to mask their presence, but to a Vampire’s heightened senses, the frantic, surging rhythm of their heartbeats was as loud as a beating drum.
She sensed no killing intent from the hidden watchers, leading her to the comfortable conclusion that they had finally crossed into the Rebellion’s territory. Since she had come all this way to find them, she did not mind letting them observe and test her from the shadows.
A short while later, an incredibly powerful, slow heartbeat began to approach from the distance, echoing through the earth like a war drum.
Flandre stretched her arms above her head and stood up. If her instincts were correct, the person she had been waiting for was finally here.
Seeing the terrifying girl suddenly rise, the two Peters scrambled to their feet, scanning the dark woods in sheer panic.
“Stop looking blindly, they are right over here…” Flandre pointed a small finger toward a cluster of dense pines. She stopped mid-sentence, letting out a heavy sigh as she remembered her escorts could not understand a word she said. The language barrier was proving to be an absolute nuisance. Once she finally made it to Lungmen, Flandre decided she would definitely enroll in a language course and study properly.
A few dozen yards away, Talulah observed the glowing campfire with a look of mild surprise. She had clearly heard the girl speak with a flawless, pure Yan accent. Yet, her physical appearance was entirely foreign.
Seeing the strange child point directly at their concealed position, Buldrokkas’tee realized their stealth was compromised. The towering Wendigo stepped out from the treeline, his massive armored frame casting a long, terrifying shadow over the snow.
“State your purpose, Vampire,” he demanded, speaking in the harsh, ancient tongue of the Sarkaz.
Hearing the familiar language, Flandre turned her attention to the giant emerging from the forest. She tilted her head all the way back just to see his face.
“Oh my goodness, you are incredibly tall!” she chirped. She then offered a flawless, elegant lady’s curtsy. “Hello there. My name is Flandre Scarlet. You may simply call me Flandre. It is a genuine pleasure to meet you, the last Pureblood Wendigo, Buldrokkas’tee.”
She spoke fluently in the Sarkaz language. After straightening her posture, Flandre shifted her crimson eyes to the imposing female figure stepping out beside the giant. She scratched the side of her head.
“Flandre is actually here to find the one standing next to you. How is her Sarkaz?”
“There is no issue. You may speak freely, I understand you perfectly,” Talulah replied, her own Sarkaz pronunciation crisp and clear.
A look of pure, unadulterated joy washed over Flandre’s face.
“Oh, that is wonderful! Now Flandre will not have to repeat everything once in Sarkaz and once in Yan language every single time she opens her mouth,” she said, letting out a dramatic sigh of relief.
Talulah maintained her composed exterior. As expected of the vessel carefully groomed by the Deathless Black Snake, her education was absolutely flawless across all fronts.
Flandre did not waste any time. “Flandre has two things to discuss. First, the Sarkaz civil war has officially ended. Queen Theresa was assassinated, and all of Kazdel is now under the control of Theresis and his pro-war Military Commission. They are currently preparing for a grand revenge that belongs solely to the Sarkaz.”
She waved a dismissive hand. “Do not worry, Flandre is not here to drag you back to join their little war. Their current target is not Ursus, so you can rest easy knowing those flames will not burn their way up here anytime soon.”
She clasped her hands together behind her back, rocking on her heels. “Second, and most, Flandre hopes to stay with your group for a little while… just until next spring. Once the snow melts, Flandre plans to travel to Lungmen to see if there is a way to settle down permanently.”
Flandre looked directly into Talulah’s eyes, her tone completely frank. “This is the main reason Flandre came looking for you. Before making this trip, Flandre received intelligence suggesting that you, Miss Talulah, possess some lingering connections to Lungmen. Flandre was wondering if you might be willing to provide an introduction, or ideally, help secure a temporary residence permit.”
A heavy silence fell over the snowy clearing.
“No. Vampire. Untrustworthy,” Buldrokkas’tee rumbled, his voice like grinding stones. Carrying the ancient, inherited memories of the Wendigos, he knew intimately how vile and treacherous the Vampire courts could be. He refused to place an ounce of trust in the smiling child before him.
“Buldrokkas’tee, do not be so rigid,” Talulah chided gently. “At the very least, this child has approached us with goodwill, and we should answer that goodwill in kind.”
She turned her attention back to the blonde girl. “Miss Flandre Scarlet, was it? Would you mind resting by the fire for a moment while I ask our companions a few questions?” She gestured toward Old Peter and his son, who were currently standing frozen in absolute bewilderment, unable to comprehend a single word of the Sarkaz exchange.
“Of course. That is your right as the leader,” Flandre agreed cheerfully. She spun on her heel, walked back to the warmth of the fire, and sat down in the snow.
Only then did Talulah beckon the two humans forward.
“What happened out there? Were you not sent to rescue our people? Where is the rest of the detachment, and why in the world did you bring a Vampire back to our doorstep?” Talulah asked, speaking in Ursus to accommodate them, knowing Buldrokkas’tee’s vocal cords made the language difficult.
Old Peter and Little Peter practically tripped over themselves to recount the entire nightmare. They explained how their strike team had been ambushed and captured upon reaching the mine, their desperate and accidental escape into the tundra, and how Flandre Scarlet had descended from the sky like a god of death, slaughtering the entire Ursus Patrol before they could be dragged back. They explained the absolute language barrier, and how she had simply pointed at the Rebellion insignia carved into Peter’s flesh. Realizing she was seeking their faction, they had guided her back.
Glancing at the pile of high-grade Ursus Patrol gear the two men were carrying, Talulah found no reason to doubt their story. She had interrupted them several times to press for specific tactical details, and their answers were fluid and consistent, proving this was a lived trauma, not a fabricated lie.
Finishing her interrogation, Talulah turned back to the towering Wendigo.
“I believe her. Since she is the one who saved our soldiers from execution, we can trust her words for now.” She looked toward the small girl humming by the fire. “And she only asks for shelter for a single winter…”
“Vampires. Cruel and cunning. Not to be trusted,” Buldrokkas’tee repeated, refusing to yield an inch of his stance.
“Then leave her to me,” Talulah stated with absolute finality, her eyes narrowing with a leader’s resolve. “I will keep a close eye on her personally. It is only for one winter. It will not be a problem.”