The moon looms high in the sky above the dark forest. The creatures of the night awaken to feed off the living. The howls of the werebeasts pierce the night air. The townsfolk are locked safely within their homes. The forces of the night have grown bolder, but Richter feels no fear.

He lives for this.

The ground crunches wonder his feat as he leaves the village he calls home.

Maria worries about him. Ever since he was forced to kill Annette and defeated Dracula, Richter has become more reckless, or so she claims. But Richter is fine. He feels perfectly fine. He has finished mourning, though the regret still lingers. He's stopped weeping. Annette is free now. There's no reason to shed a tear. And though the townsfolk only seem to acknowledge him when something has to be killed, they are grateful. The village children always demand a tale of how he slew Dracula. Nothing is wrong.

That's what he tells himself at least.

It's cold tonight, a sign of winter's approach. It would be wise to track down the terror killing the cattle soon. Richter grips his whip in his hand, and stands at the darkened road before him, ready to hunt the night like all the Belmonts before.