Disclaimer: I do not own Castlevania.

Conversation and shouting echoed in the shadows of the filthy tavern. Worn down men were relishing whatever little ale and beer their single coin could buy them, while women with half-raised skirts and half-hearted smiles were walking around carrying empty glasses only to refill them. The tavern was emptier than it once was – many a man had gone seeking for redemption in the wars far away in the Holy Lands. Perhaps they found it; so far, none had returned.

Outside, rain was falling without cease, like He was pouring his sorrow down on earth. The crimson flames dancing in a corner were the only source of warmth; the patrons unconsciously kept edging closer to them, the threat of a spark grazing their rough skin always present.

A gust of crisp wind blew through the shaky door, announcing the presence of a new customer. The waitress turned her gaze to greet them. The greeting never left her lips.

That man was beautiful. Androgynous even. Porcelain skin that would make any woman jealous, not a single hint of stubble on his jaw, yet it did not look as if he shaved. Long eyelashes framed blue eyes lighter than the sky, accented by the elegant arch of his eyebrows – yet another feature that was more fitting on the face of an angel than a mortal man. His golden locks only added to the effect, creating a golden halo that seemed to glow on its own, falling on his cheeks messily.

She would mistake him for the other sex, had it not been for his lean yet muscular frame revealed by a tight leather undershirt of excellent quality and shiny chainmail. It was all partially hidden by his coat, bold in red and white and needless detail, with a red cross on the back – yet he did not seem to be one of the Holy Knights – and fastened by two intricate belts. No crests on his clothes, no armour save for his gauntlet, not even a sword. Only black tight leather with countless metal studs as decoration, with boots above the knee, and gloved fingers that fell on a whip of all things.

The sight of the black weapon sent a shiver through her spine. Whips were tools for handling animals and slaves. What kind of man uses one as his weapon of choice?

The other man was easily as unique as his fair companion. He was an elderly man, as indicated by his long with braided hair and numerous wrinkles – older than most men ever managed to become. Yet his frame was still muscular and powerful. He was obviously a foreigner, his skin dark, and his blue, white and yellow robes were outlandish to say the least. He was most likely one of those mutts who had taken over the Holy Lands. She quickly searched him with her eyes for any weapons – it was her duty to take note of dangerous customers – but all she saw in that large pouch was a bunch of books and herbs.

For the first time in forever, the young woman could not tell the status of her customers. The thought unnerved her. A scholar and a mercenary? Or was it something sinister?

The two men sat in the coldest corner of the tavern possible: right next to the door of all places, deeply engaged in conversation. The tavern was too noisy to hear what they were saying. She knew she would have to serve them, but first, information.

Her best bet were the nights drinking at the back. "My apologies, kind sir, for the intrusion" she started, knowing that she had to show them outmost respect as His knights "but it would elate me to know the identity of that man." She pointed to the blond.

"Huh?" asked one of the more sober ones. He turned to see where she was pointing at. His eyes nearly popped out of their sockets. "My Lord, th-that's Baron Leon Belmont!"

His shout was loud enough to draw the attention of most people in the surrounding tables.

"B-Baron!?" she stammered. How could she miss a baron?

"He has been missing for months now!"

"I can barely recognize the man…"

"Oy. Didn't he drop the title?"

"Why would he drop his title? Doesn't he have any idea what shame he brought to his family?"

"Something about his betrothed being abducted. Right after we lost Mathias…"

The men ignored the waitress for their conversation. To her surprise, the oldest of them, a graying man, rose from his seat with a scowl deeply embedded on his face. Without a word, he strode to where the two bizarre men were sitting. Leon and the other man, in spite of their discussion, noticed him approaching right away. Now that she could take a closer look at him, she realized just how scandalous his way of dress was. It was as if he was seeking the lust of women on purpose.

The old knight evaluated the blond from head to toe, making his own assumptions. "I never thought you would become this kind of man, Leon." He was clearly eyeing the whip and the clothes, and who would fault him. "What does your betrothed think of this?"

"Sara is dead."

Both the waitress and the old knight staggered. The man's voice was a perfect monotone, and absolutely murderous. He did not even bother looking at them as he answered, instead glaring straight ahead. The waitress had no way of knowing this, but the old knight was shocked to his very core. Never could he imagine that Leon Belmont could muster such hatred and coldness in his voice; he, who were always seeking for the best in all people, was now burning with righteous fury.

"An acquaintance of yours, Leon?"

Their attention shifted to the dark-skinned scholar. He had a surprisingly good accent for a foreigner, and his deep voice had a tone as if they were merely engaged in a friendly conversation. Obviously an attempt to change the subject as fast as possible.

"And you are…?"

The man rose from his seat only to bend to a proper bow. "Rinaldo Gandolfi, sir. A merchant." So her earlier assessment was wrong.

"And what do you trade?"

The merchant straightened his back and looked the old knight straight into his eyes, a flame of challenge in his own gaze. "Herbs, sir."

The waitress did not know what could be so provocative about herbs, but obviously the knight did, if his scowl was anything to go by.

"So, Leon. Pray tell us how Sara met her end?" So much for changing the subject.

"A vampire" replied the young man, his tone a bit easier. "Walter Bernard."

"Walter Bernard!? The one in the forest of Eternal Night?"

"The very same."

"But, his curse on the forest has been dispelled…" His voice was thick with disbelief, as he connected the dots. "Leon, were you the one to end him!?"

"I was."

Before the old knight could question him any further, a piercing howl tore the wind and raised the hairs of all those present. "That isn't no wolf…" muttered the old knight.

"So they have returned" noted Leon.

"Wait, who?"

"Not who. What."

"What?"

A female voice shrieked from outside. "LEON BELMONT! WHERE ARE YOU, YOU SCOUNDREL!?"

"Well, the lady certainly seems upset" commented the merchant lightly, a humourous smile on his face.

"And here I thought the rain would stop her…"

"Do you want me to help you?"

"I can take care of her on my own" replied the former knight, drawing the whip from the hoop of his belt.

He turned to the patrons of the tavern, clearly upset over their lack of insight of the events, and cracked his whip on the floor. The loud smack echoed sharply and attracted the attention of all present. He addressed them with his most commanding voice.

"Nobody is to leave this place until I have vanquished this threat; they may have come for my life alone, but they have little regard for yours."

And with these words, he walked out to the downpour, a glint of determination in his eyes. A mix of slight fear, confusion, and above all, curiosity made the old knight and the merchant follow him. The waitress stayed behind, not wanting to disobey the man with the whip.

"So you've finally decided to grace us with your presence… Leon Belmont!"

It was indeed a woman who was standing out in the rain, and her presence and posture were both puzzling. She appeared you but had harsh lines over her face. The noblewoman's dress she was wearing was tattered in all possible manners and odd places, barely covering her shockingly muscular frame. From head to toe she was covered in dirt, her hair long and disheveled. Her nails cracked and untrimmed, covered in something that looked eerily like dried blood, feet buried in the mud. She made no effort to preserve her little modesty or hide the numerous scars that adored her flesh.

Those were the things that the old knight noticed first about the woman, and he spluttered the first thing that came to his mind. "A witch?"

"Don't dare insult me, human."

Human? Witches were humans fallen to temptation, were they not?

"Sir." Leon interrupted his thoughts. His gaze had not left her even for an instance. "Please stand back. She is not a foe you can match."

Now, the old knight was insulted. "Do not assume I'm too old to handle a single madwoman, boy!"

Her voice was full of mockery. "Oh? Whoever said that I do not have an escort?"

As if on cue, shadows started crawling from the leaves and the bushes, their glowing yellow eyes visible long before their forms. Beastly growls escaped their throats, and the veil of darkness revealed animalistic, mutated forms, wolves of particular viciousness, their hide a purple deeper than their night, their starving bodies standing hunched.

The old knight was in absolute shock. "Wh-what are those things!? What devil's work is this, you harlot!?"

"Werewolves" supplied Rinaldo, his tone notably unperturbed. "They are quite powerful on their own, so it is quite rare for them to form packs. However, if they do, then unlike normal wolves, their leader is always female."

"…Female? Then…" Was this woman…?

"So you decided to bring your pack" noted Leon, his voice holding a hint of mockery. "Are you too afraid to face me on your own?"

The knight was astonished at his gal. "What? Have you lost your mind, Leon!?"

"Of course not" replied the woman, ignoring the knight completely. "But someone needs to take care of that alchemist." With that she pointed directly to Rinaldo.

So I was right… thought the old knight to himself. Soon it was the least of his concerns.

The woman's nails started growing longer, turning into dark claws, her boned bent in odd places, fur started growing from her back and limbs, her ears became pointed, and her teeth turned into fangs. Her eyes were glowing with a sickly yellow glow. She snarled straight at Leon.

"I'll keep you for myself!"

Several things happened at once. Before he knew it, the old knight had been knocked back with enough force to cut off his breath, and he barely rolled away in time to dodge an incoming swipe that went straight for his throat. He took a blind swing at the creature that attacked him, only for a sphere of fire of all things to incinerate it on the spot. He turned to see where this had come from, but the sight in front of him had him rooted in place.

Is that really… Leon Belmont?

The blond and the she-wolf had engaged in a one-on-one duel, but it was nothing like what the old knight had seen before. No short and brutal beatdowns. No unceremonious defeats. It was not even one-sided. This was not fighting; it was dancing.

The she-wolf lunged, Leon jumped to the side and rolled, spun on his feet and lashed his whip at her – she leaped over it and aimed a kick at his head. Leon backflipped away from it, but the female forced herself on the ground and slid down aiming at his feet. Leon stepped back and she rose on her feet, leaning forward and unleashing a flurry of slashes, punches and kicks at her adversary, which Leon either dodges or blocked with his gauntlet. When he finally got an opening, he jumped over her head, then jumped again while on air, landed and attacked her from behind, his whip coated in what could only be lightning.

The she-wolf howled in pain. She then broke into crazed laughter. "The so-called knight of God, using alchemy! HERESY! You're so pretentious, you HUMAN!"

The old knight could only gaze in awe.

Magic…

"Are you alright?" The knight turned to see the dark-skinned alchemist standing above him, using bright bursts of light to obliterate the werewolves where they stood.

"This is magic, isn't it?" The other man said nothing in response, and instead waited for him to continue. He did not. He merely got up on his feet, and once again took hold of his sword, not once tearing his gaze from the magnificent display.

How long? For how long had Leon been capable of such feats of agility? For how long did he own the bizarre clothes on his back? When did he master the whip?

"From what he told me…" started the dark-skinned man, not once ceasing his assault "Leon could jump in the air for a while now, though he rarely showed it off. I personally enhanced his gauntlet, and the whip… Well, that's of my own design." The alchemist's explanation hardly made it better.

They should burn at the stake. That was what any knight of any company in the service of any church would do. Leon Belmont had traded all his titles and prestige for magic and alchemy, a life of honour and prosperity for the road, glorious war against heathens for filthy forbidden fights hidden in the dark.

And Lord forgive him for this thought, he had never been more in awe of the man.

He could see now that his old armour only slowed him down, that his old sword was too stiff for him. Before Leon Belmont would stand tall and proud, but now he was flying.

This was, beyond a shadow of doubt, a man who found his calling.

So the old knight heaved a heavy sigh and stepped forward, his blade held steadily before him. He ignored the surprised look on the alchemist's face, only telling him to keep the monsters off his back.

Almost an eternity later, the last of the demons fell. The she-wolf was a bloody and burned carcass. The rain washed away the blood from their clothes. The three men walked back in the tavern, and it was as if the building itself was holding its breath the whole time.

The three men returned to their seats, not a word exchanged between them. They paid the shaken waitress. Leon nodded at him grateful, and the knight returned it with respect. He watched on as the strange duo finished their meals and took their own path.

"Where is he going?" one of the soldiers asked him.

"To his own crusade" he answered. "He is hunting the night."

Author notes:

This had been sitting buried in my notes app for far too long. I was fascinated by Leon Belmont and wondered what his life would be like after the game. I tried to make the narration reflect the conditions of the age, but I don't have the slightest idea if I was successful or not. Probably not.

The female werewolf comes from one of the Chronicles games (can't remember which) where one of the bosses was a female werewolf - the only female werewolf.

Also, Leon can double jump right from the beginning of his game, which struck me as odd, because that implies it was something he could always do. How do you discover such a thing? And wouldn't that skill be a death sentence in the era he lives in? Too bad we can only speculate about the answers.