Not far away, beneath the window of another house, an exceptionally burly man in crude leather armor stood pressed against the wall like a statue.
He seemed entirely absorbed in eavesdropping on the conversation inside, a rather foolish grin on his face.
The moment he noticed Charles watching him, he straightened warily.
Resting one muscular arm on a nearby boulder, he asked in a deep, booming voice, “Who are you? What do you want?”
“I ran out of Incense and had to leave the sewers.” Charles slowly put away his weapon and spread his hands to show that he meant no harm.
“I only want enough to replenish my supply. Once I have it, I’ll leave immediately and won’t linger.”
The burly man was clearly a guard hired by a family with enough means to protect their home during this chaotic night.
Amid the monotony and constant tension of standing watch, listening to the neighbors’ muffled conversations through their doors and windows had probably become his only meager source of amusement and comfort.
“I see. A Hunter looking to restock.” The man relaxed slightly and scratched his stubbled chin with thick fingers.
Then he jerked a thumb toward the door behind him.
“You can ask my mistress about the Incense. She may have some to spare. But I’m warning you, don’t try anything!”
“Rest assured, I’ve come only for Incense.”
Charles cautiously approached the sturdier window guarded by the man and lowered his voice as he spoke through the gap.
“Excuse me, could you spare me some Incense? I need it to keep out the poisonous fumes in the sewers, and I’ve exhausted my supply.”
“Who… who are you?”
A timid, childish voice came from inside, tinged with caution.
“My name is Charles. I’m… a townsman from beyond the city walls, just passing through.”
He chose an identity that seemed safe enough and unlikely to arouse too much suspicion.
“I don’t recognize your voice…” the little girl said hesitantly.
Then she seemed to sniff lightly near the window.
“But I know that smell… blood mixed with gunpowder. Are you a Hunter?”
“Yes.”
Charles was quietly astonished by the child’s ability to identify someone by scent.
Such keen senses were far beyond those of an ordinary girl.
“Mr. Charles!” Her voice suddenly filled with urgency and hope.
“Could… could you help me find my mother? Father went out Hunting and never came back… Mother said she was going to find him, but she… she disappeared too… I’m all alone at home, and I’m so frightened…”
With both her parents missing on this dreadful night, and after apparently quarrelling with her older sister, the helpless daughter of Hunters seemed to regard Charles, another Hunter, as her final hope.
“I’ll keep watch for her while I’m tracking the monsters.”
Charles agreed almost without thinking.
He could not bring himself to refuse such a fragile plea.
The little girl’s voice brightened with relief.
Charles could almost imagine her curtsying inside the room.
“Mother has beautiful long golden hair that she usually wears pinned up. She wears a long black velvet dress, with a beautiful glowing Red Jeweled Brooch fastened at her chest. You’ll recognize her for certain!”
“Oh, right!” she added, as though suddenly remembering something important.
“When you find Mother, please give this to her!”
A small, exquisitely crafted Tiny Music Box was carefully passed through the gap in the window.
“This plays Father’s favorite tune. Whenever he… forgets us and loses himself in the Hunt, Mother plays it to help him remember. But when she went out to look for him this time, she forgot to take it!”
There was certainly something strange about this family.
The girl had an older sister, yet claimed to be alone, while both parents seemed either prone to some form of forgetfulness or consumed by the Hunt.
Charles attributed the inconsistencies to the temporary mental strain caused by prolonged fear and separation from her family.
He did not dwell on them.
For now, keeping his promise mattered more.
“Since they are… the family of fellow Hunters, I’ll make certain to help.”
He carefully put away the Tiny Music Box, still faintly warm from the girl’s hands.
The little girl’s home stood near the bloodstained fountain square Charles had visited earlier.
For some reason, a large number of unusually violent Hunting Dogs had suddenly appeared in the area.
They were swifter and more vicious than many of the human enemies he had encountered.
Concerned for her safety, Charles decided to clear the area once more before leaving and make sure no threats remained nearby.
Following the bloodstains and claw marks left by several fleeing Hunting Dogs, he discovered a deliberately widened hole in the stone railing at the edge of the square.
The animals had clearly dug it out themselves.
It led to a secluded street on lower ground.
The street lay in shadow beneath the square and was lined with rusted iron cages containing countless dogs once kept as pets by the townspeople.
Their eyes were crimson, drool streamed from their mouths, and festering sores covered their bodies.
They gave cries that no longer sounded canine, mingling agony with madness.
These were the earliest signs of Beast Transformation.
The rabid dogs roaming the streets and attacking every living thing were those that had managed to break free from their cages.
“Not only people. Even loyal pets can’t escape this calamity…” Charles murmured heavily.
The reach and cruelty of Yharnam’s Scourge of the Beast were far worse, and far more hopeless, than he had first imagined.
He showed no mercy to any mutated dog he encountered, regardless of size.
He did so both to fulfill his duty as a Hunter and to protect the little girl waiting behind that window.
Outside a cramped courtyard reeking of mold, a pack of Hunting Dogs was hurling itself frantically against a wooden door that looked ready to collapse.
Just as he was about to turn away, a hoarse voice, trembling with nervous agitation, came from behind the door he had just “saved.”
“Who… who’s out there? Oh, from the sound of it… you’re a Hunter, aren’t you?”
“…More or less.”
Charles stopped and answered cautiously, unsure whether the person behind the door still possessed her reason or whether this was another trap.
“Then… then you must know something! Tell me, where is it safe?”
Her voice was filled with anxiety and an almost aggressive urgency.
“Someone told me I would be safe if I stayed home and locked the door! But look at things now. Monsters are everywhere! If you Hunters had done your duty and cleared out the Beasts sooner, we wouldn’t be in such despair! You ought to help me, do you understand? It’s your responsibility!”
“I’ll do my best to ask the other Hunters if they know of a safe refuge…”
Charles was caught off guard by her sudden agitation and accusatory tone.
“And then what?” she pressed, raising her voice.
“Are you going to tell me now? You know somewhere safe, don’t you?”
“Of course I would tell you. It’s only that… I truly haven’t found anywhere universally regarded as completely safe.”
Charles answered honestly.
“I should have known! You’re utterly useless! You have no respect for your elders. If you don’t want to help, just say so!”
The old woman refused to listen to his explanation.
She berated him in bitter disappointment, her voice laden with the resentment of someone who felt abandoned.
“You outsiders force your way into our city, yet you’re never any good to anyone!”
“…I’m sorry I couldn’t help you.”
Charles felt an inexplicable pang of guilt, as though facing a mother rendered unreasonable by age and fear.
“Admit it! You think we’ve all gone mad, don’t you? You think this old woman is spouting nonsense?”
Her shouting became incoherent as she lost control of her emotions.
“Enough! Take your things and leave! I’ve seen through all your Hunters’ tricks and empty promises!”
A rough cloth bundle was abruptly shoved through the gap beneath the door.
It appeared to contain several pieces of hard, dry bread and a short stick of Incense.
Charles stood before the sealed door for a long while.
In the end, all he could do was bend down, pick up the “gift,” offered as much to drive him away as out of charity, and leave in silence.
Twilight deepened as he walked alone through streets filled with deathly silence and the occasional distant howl.
His fingers unconsciously brushed the cold Tiny Music Box at his waist.
The little girl’s bright, hopeful eyes and the old woman’s desperate, frenzied cries intertwined again and again in his mind, weaving a suffocating image of Yharnam’s despair.
The city was not merely transforming its people’s bodies.
It was also driving their minds into separate abysses of madness, leaving them isolated, helpless, and suspicious of one another.