Ch.112Chapter 112: A Battle of Wits

#

After a brief exchange of blows as they sized each other up.

“…”

“…”

Pale Sanguin observed his long-time nemesis.

Though his appearance was quite different from what he remembered.

But the crimson flames that had just been revealed during that light attack were unmistakable—something no one could possibly imitate.

“Fafnir.”

Sanguin spoke his nemesis’s name without hesitation.

“How long has it been since we last faced each other like this?”

His voice was deliberately stripped of emotion, projecting calm detachment.

In the past, during what humanity’s history recorded as the Great Holy War.

They would have immediately projected killing intent and fought with everything they had.

But a thousand years was such a long time that even meeting an old nemesis stirred a strange feeling of nostalgia.

And this sentiment seemed to be shared by the one facing him.

“Since you disappeared after being stabbed by Lumen’s holy sword… it’s been nearly a thousand years.”

The crimson flames that had been softly emanating from his body temporarily subsided as his nemesis responded in an equally dry voice.

Like his current appearance, his voice was very different from what Sanguin remembered.

“Hmph…”

A light, hollow laugh escaped from Sanguin’s lips as he realized this.

The reason for his laughter was simple.

He had suspected it, but hearing the voice confirmed it completely.

The opponent conversing with him now was indeed his once insufferable nemesis.

Undoubtedly the strongest individual among dragons, creatures that stood at the apex of all species.

“Judging by your condition, it seems you can only appear in that form.”

He clearly recognized that his nemesis no longer remained in the form that Sanguin remembered.

The red-haired man who until moments ago couldn’t properly block even a casual knife-hand strike and had collapsed.

Rising despite weakened breathing and pulse, clearly not in a normal physical state, yet launching a sharp counterattack—this dear nemesis had appeared by borrowing that man’s body.

That was the only conclusion he could reach.

Perhaps because he had accurately identified the situation:

“You see correctly.”

Fafnir made no attempt to deny Sanguin’s observation and calmly acknowledged it.

Moreover, pointing at himself—or rather, the body he had borrowed—with his right index finger:

“This one is still too weak to face you properly. I’m just borrowing his body while he’s unconscious.”

With these words, he indirectly revealed his current state.

Hearing this, a hypothesis was forming in Sanguin’s mind.

That this irritating yet admittedly impressive old nemesis.

Like himself, who had lost most of his prime power to the holy sword.

Was also in a state where he couldn’t fully exert his original power.

When he first faced his nemesis, a vague sense of frustration and fear had rippled through his mind, thinking he wouldn’t be able to properly complete his assigned mission.

The dissonance he felt seeing his nemesis display calm restraint rather than the ferocity he remembered, focusing only on keeping him in check, had led Sanguin to form this hypothesis.

Whoosh

But this hypothesis needed immediate revision when Fafnir, right after their brief exchange, once again enveloped himself in crimson flames that went beyond a subtle glow to emit distinct heat.

Unlike during the Great Holy War era when they would immediately throw everything into battle upon recognizing each other.

Fafnir, wreathed in flames, merely gave Sanguin a calm gaze devoid of any intimidation or killing intent.

“Hmm…”

Meeting that gaze, Sanguin unconsciously swallowed hard.

Like himself, who had lost much of his prime power after being stabbed by the holy sword.

The power and spirit emanating from his opponent, who had clearly lost his original body and could only exert limited influence on the material world.

Was somehow so impressive that it seemed hardly different from what he remembered from those days.

Perhaps the nemesis before him, unlike Sanguin who had yet to recover most of his power.

Could exert his full power, albeit for a very short time?

Sanguin’s mind grew more complex as he gauged the capabilities of his long-absent nemesis.

He wasn’t here on a mission to infiltrate the fortress to assassinate someone or destroy facilities.

He had been ordered by Adorator, who posed as the mistress of the Obsidian Palace and despised this fortress more than anyone, to weaken the fortress’s defenses.

His entire mission today was to steal the magic stones gathered at the fortress’s central mana conduit.

He had accepted the somewhat unreasonable mission without complaint, judging that there would be few threats to him in this fortress, except perhaps for the human who had emitted that terrifying holy light days ago.

‘This is not good at all…’

Now that such an opponent had appeared before him, one who crumpled his earlier confidence like paper.

Sanguin had no choice but to focus on something more important than the order he had received from Adorator.

That was his own life.

To rebuild the Night Clan, which had been scattered and significantly weakened in the magical realm after he was incapacitated by the holy sword and unable to maintain steady activity for a thousand years, the clan’s leader needed to remain alive.

“Neither of us seems to have much time left, so I’ll ask directly.”

Sanguin was on high alert as Fafnir, enveloped in crimson flames, spoke to him.

In his prime during the Great Holy War, he would have immediately resorted to physical force in such a situation, either blasting away or subduing his opponent without hesitation.

But his current pitiful self, having lost most of his power to the holy sword.

Would be fighting for his life if he merely touched those crimson flames emanating from his nemesis.

So Sanguin simply exercised patience.

He needed to quickly decide his course of action based on what words fell from his opponent’s mouth.

Though he felt shame rising in one corner of his mind.

This too was a familiar emotion for him, having lived as a fugitive for a long time, persecuted as part of the Dark Clan.

So it wasn’t difficult for him to maintain an outward appearance of composure.

Fortunately, perhaps because his hostility wasn’t strongly manifested beyond his gaze and voice.

“I’ll let you leave if you just walk away now. If that’s not possible, then we’ll have to have a proper fight after all this time.”

Fafnir offered Sanguin two choices.

“…”

And Sanguin’s mouth remained closed, busy suppressing his surprise and bewilderment at receiving these options.

It was astonishing.

While Sanguin himself didn’t have much to say either.

The fact that they could clearly recognize each other.

And yet, instead of immediately fighting, one was offering a choice whether to fight or not.

This was extremely unfamiliar to both Sanguin himself and the Fafnir before him.

Sanguin’s expression, which had remained rigid from tension throughout the proposal, nearly crumbled, but he barely managed to compose himself as memories of their typical exchanges from the past surfaced in his mind.

-You damned lizard!!

-Shut up! You blood-sucking mosquito!

-What? Mosquito?!

-Why? You called me a lizard first, and now you’re angry at that?!

-Such impertinence! Completely devoid of dignity! I truly cannot get along with you, Fafnir!!

…When they used to exchange heated words, abandoning all dignity as the leader of the vampire clan.

To think there would come a moment of choosing whether to fight or not like this.

If he had enough time, he would have been tempted to express his feelings about the current situation in a poem.

But with time being absolutely scarce for Sanguin now.

“How strange. To hear you, of all people, asking me to choose whether to fight or not.”

Sanguin briefly expressed his personal sentiment before responding to Fafnir’s proposal, trying to appear as relaxed as possible to hide his predicament.

Hearing Sanguin’s barbed comment, Fafnir seemed to recognize how unusual his proposal was.

“Well, you and I were used to fighting whenever we met, so I know it’s strange to say this, but as you’re aware, this isn’t a good situation for a carefree fight.”

Fafnir’s voice carried an unmistakable air of confidence as he shrugged the borrowed body’s shoulders.

‘Still full of bluster…’

Sanguin had to struggle to suppress a snort as he thought about how Fafnir’s attitude remained unchanged, still pressuring him and appearing relaxed despite not being in his own body.

Through their conversation, he naturally came to understand.

Like himself who had lost most of his power after being stabbed by the holy sword.

This ancient dragon, who had lost his body in battle with the revered Divine Demon, also had major constraints in fully exerting his power.

Having fought for so long.

Like himself who couldn’t fully exert his power.

This old nemesis couldn’t maintain his current state for long, which was why he sought to resolve the situation through negotiation rather than direct confrontation.

Though he wanted to seize control of the conversation by mocking his opponent’s condition.

He was too burdened by the thought of facing the holy sword wielder when time resumed to risk provoking his opponent, who, like himself, could only draw upon limited power.

“With white snow falling and the time I’ve stopped about to move again, I can’t say this is a good situation.”

Sanguin’s voice carried a calm tone, acknowledging that the current situation was unlike the past when they would fight on sight.

With those words, the atmosphere changed completely.

Despite the considerable distance between them, Fafnir completely withdrew the crimson flames that affected Sanguin more adversely than the holy sword’s light.

“Then withdraw.”

His voice was plain and direct.

Though it was an odd sort of negotiation.

The moment Sanguin heard Fafnir’s voice, which seemed reluctant to engage in violent conflict in this fortress where many resided.

The usual Sanguin, who never considered challenging a fight he couldn’t win and wasn’t ashamed to retreat immediately, would have vanished the moment Fafnir finished speaking.

“Hmm…”

But for some reason, instead of disappearing, Sanguin let out another sigh, his expression revealing his concern about what might happen if he simply saved himself.

One might wonder what was making the king of the vampire clan so troubled.

“Don’t worry too much about this half-blood girl. The Empire isn’t so reckless as to physically harm a dhampir girl suffering from the unexpected manifestation of her bloodline traits.”

At Fafnir’s words, which seemed to have read Sanguin’s concerns.

“To think I would leave behind one of my own blood, even if she is of mixed heritage…”

Sanguin uttered these words with profound regret.

Having recognized that the immediate threat to his survival was resolved, he was clearly ashamed of having forgotten about matters related to his own bloodline.

It was easy to see that this king of the vampire clan did not discriminate against those who shared his blood, even if they were of mixed heritage, but treated them as equals.

“If anything unfortunate happens to my kin, there will come a time when you’ll regret letting me leave safely.”

With these words, further demonstrating his care for his bloodline, Sanguin’s body finally dispersed like thin mist.

This was the unique ability of Sanguin, who stood at the pinnacle of the vampire clan, specialized in transforming his body into mist to escape dangerous situations no matter how urgent.

“I’ll take good care of the one in here, so don’t worry too much about that.”

And as Fafnir watched Sanguin disperse like mist, he spoke words promising not to burden the opponent who had retreated as a result of their negotiation.

Whoosh

With the cold wind sound reminiscent of a blizzard.

Time began to flow again in the fortress landscape that had been frozen.

The leader of the vampire clan.

The strongest of dragons, said to stand at the apex of their species.

The encounter between these powerful beings, who seemed capable of carving mountains just by facing each other, ended so anticlimactically.

“…I didn’t expect borrowing this body even briefly while he was unconscious would be this draining.”

As if to reveal that the one who had worked to create this anticlimactic ending wasn’t in such good shape.

“Yaaawn…”

After letting out a yawn that seemed to tear at his throat, Fafnir carefully sat the borrowed body down on the snow-covered ground.

“Next time… I’ll have to… train him much… harder…”

With these final words, he dropped his head as if falling asleep.