The village was devoid of men, only crazy looking women inhabited the area. They screamed and wailed as they looked for unsuspecting victims. From the map Francis had inspected earlier in the upper Cathedral Ward, this village led to the castle. He had to reach it and find his destiny. That vision he had during his blood ministration had given him a new sense of purpose. He had to reach the castle and find the source of all evil that contaminated the city. His only clue was to reach this village and find a way from it towards his destination.

The way towards the hamlet was filled with traps and a different breed of dogs. These were fierce and monstrous. Bigger than the ones he had seen in the city. If it weren’t for his new abilities, Francis was sure that he would never be capable of advancing any further within Yharnam.

In retrospect, he managed to reach his objective and the money he had invested in this expedition had finally paid off. He knew the risks but he never imagined how deadly the city was. In fact, he was following a myth that no one believed in; not even himself. He was an old man on his way to his grave after all. His children were waiting for the moment he would die in order to inherit his expansive wealth. The meeting with Karla, and later on with Surgit, had given him a new breath of life. He was always interested by the origins of men and scientific evolution. He funded a few institutions back in his country for scientific advancement, but the results were slow and he didn’t have the time to wait for further results. All he wanted was to find a way to cure people from the different sicknesses that ravaged mankind. He yearned to achieve human ascension to immortality so that everyone could live in peace and harmony.

His vision showed him a place where knowledge had been buried, where he could find the answer to all the questions that raced through his mind. At that moment, he was standing on top of a hill that gave a good view of the town. It wasn’t as beautiful as Yharnam. The village was built over a multitude of small hills on top of which houses were aligned in a disorganized manner.

Houses were built out of wood and the streets were dirty and dusty. Most of the buildings had tile roofs and were composed of just a ground floor, except for bigger ones that seemed to have an industrial function. Lights were seen in some of the big buildings and thick gray smoke protruded from their chimney pots. In the street below him, Francis saw two women patrolling and letting out painful screams from time to time. Their heads twitched before they screamed and the little white hair they had left made them look like insane inmates who have recently escaped from the asylum. They held sickles in their hands and wore long gray robes.

From what he observed, Francis concluded that some activity was still in order in the village. The snipers and dogs outside the village were guarding it in order to chase away any intruders from finding out what was going on inside. The women on the other hand, must have been in charge of the production of something of value.

His business trips from long ago taught him as much. If there’s anything of value produced in a small hamlet, the men would protect it with all their might while women were the laborers in charge of manufacturing. He had accumulated his wealth from exploiting such poor areas and providing them with manpower and means to protect their assets. After all, becoming rich wasn’t about intelligence alone. Francis had to use whatever means he could in order to protect his valuables, and assert his position in the market.

Finding the castle could wait a little bit more, Francis wanted to know what was so valuable that even women in the streets were ready to fight in order to protect. He went down in the streets and faced the first two enemies that patrolled it. Their fighting style was sloppy to say the least.

All they did was aim at his body and strike with their sickles. Disposing of them was easy, all he did was dodge a few of their attacks and cut off their heads in one swift move from his Chikage. The weapon he chose was sharp and extremely deadly. He was happy with his choice as the latter responded well to his will and seemed to go where he wanted it to go. It was as if he formed a certain bond with it.

He walked through the dusty street and soon emerged into a clearing. It looked like the main square of the town where villages gather to celebrate different cultural holidays. The houses that surrounded the square were simple wooden huts. Most of the doors were closed and silence seemed to be the main theme of Yharnam and its surrounding villages. He didn’t feel in danger in this place, but he felt uneasy.

Something terrible must have happened in this village to give it this eerie atmosphere. He saw an open door to one of the huts and went inside. He almost fainted as a putrid smell penetrated his nostrils. He lit a torch he took from the upper Cathedral Ward and waited for his eyes to adjust to the new light. Sacks were scattered all over the hut. They were no simple sacks however as they were long and seemed to conceal something humanoid.

With his sword, Francis cut one of them open and discovered that the hut concealed dozens of corpses. They were all mummified and had one common feature. None of them had eyes, as if they were extracted before the mummification. That explained the smoke coming out of the buildings.

Maybe some of them were still active and still burning corpses on slow fire. He had seen this kind of process before and found it disgusting. Some cultures would burn their dead on a slow fire in order to conserve their humanoid appearance. Dry skin and protruding mouths were the only thing left to be seen on the mummies. Francis was never a fan of this kind of “burial”.

After he got acquainted with Yharnam’s atrocities, he found what he was looking at fascinating. There must have been a use for this. Perhaps mummification was the way Yharnamites use to bury their dead. And if smoke still came out of some buildings, someone must be sane enough to make sure this process didn’t stop.

His thirst for knowledge pushed him to explore the village further. He wanted to know everything related to Yharnam and its surrounding areas. It was his way of finding out more about the history of the place and purpose of the creation of the healing church. He knew that it had a connection to the old blood, as the doctor Oedon chapel had told him before. But she didn’t have enough information as to the source of the old blood.

Some said that it was Old One’s blood. Others said that it was taken from a holy medium. No one knew of its exact nature. The knowledge was long lost in the annals of history. He came back to the main square and proceeded onward, towards the biggest building in town. He went through a narrow street. Houses surrounded him and he felt trapped. If a horde of enemies ambushed him, he wouldn’t have any way of avoiding the attack. He remained on guard and moved slowly.

He heard some footsteps in the distance, heavy ones that shook the earth beneath him. At the end of the street, he saw the source of the noise. A hulking giant wearing a black hoodie and holding a gigantic axe was patrolling a small clearing among the disordered houses. The space Francis had was narrow so his movement would be limited when confronted to this enemy.

Francis knew that he could use his insight in order to get to know more about his opponent. The woman doctor told him that hunters and church doctors used an item called madman’s knowledge in order to obtain insight. This gave them the ability to see extraordinary beings and eventually communicate with the great ones. The item however, was extremely rare and finding it meant that its owner was in luck.

Francis found one in the possession of the woman who had administered blood to him and used it instantly to gain insight. He suffered from a terrible headache soon afterwards but after a short rest, he felt even more powerful. He also learned that by using his “third eye” he could gather more information regarding his foes.

For instance, their names and their fighting ability were told to him in a form of murmurs. The one in front of him was an executioner. He wore a steel armor on his chest and the black hoodie hid his face. On top of being huge, he was also fat and large. His fighting ability was assessed as high and extremely tenacious.

The executioner held his great axe to his chest in both hands, as if to protect himself from any upcoming attack. He walked slowly towards Francis, assessing his opponent and trying to look for an opening. Francis stood firm in his position, awaiting the executioner’s first move. The latter didn’t dally for long and swung at him with his axe.

Feeling the wind blow his gray hair backwards, Francis stepped backwards, enough to avoid the attack and stay within range to counter attack. The swing was wide and left the executioner’s left side open. He stabbed the executioner, aiming for his ribs. A ringing sound was heard as he hit the armor and his arms slipped, causing him to lose balance. His aggressive opponent struck again with a slam from his axe, directed towards Francis’ head. The latter rolled forward and avoided the deadly attack in the nick of time.

It didn’t occur to him that his weapon could not pierce armor, he was used to the ease with which he disposed of his foes earlier. He had his back to one of the huts and the giant foe was running towards him, shaking the ground as he moved. Francis waited for his horizontal swing and he jumped high in order to avoid it. He took his gun and shot the executioner in the face. The fat man stumbled back, giving Francis enough time to slip behind him and cut one of his legs.

The executioner tried to swing his axe as he was falling down. His fighting spirit didn’t wither; in fact he was more enraged. Francis got hit by the back of the axe and was sent flying. He crashed on a door, breaking it and landing on top of another pile of corpses. The executioner, bleeding and huffing, used his axe to support himself and hopped towards Francis.

The old man stood up, almost choking from the smell of rotting corpses and exited the hut. A strong slam welcomed him as he went out. He avoided the attack by quickstepping to the right and shot the giant in the injured leg. The executioner let out a painful scream and fell to his knees. It was Francis’s opportunity to finish him. He climbed on top of him and as if slaughtering a sheep, cut off the fat giant’s head.