Ch.67

That night, Sidorov had a nightmare.

He was crossing a narrow log bridge over a swamp when countless white hands thrashed about, trying to grab his ankles. No matter how hard he tried to cross, the bridge kept getting longer, and he couldn’t reach the other side.

With a scream, he finally woke up. Not just his underwear but even the bedsheet was sticky with cold sweat, and his rolled-up blanket was tightly wrapped around his waist.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

Cursing repeatedly, Sidorov struggled free. He threw on whatever clothes he could grab and went outside.

The late spring night was still cool. Cool enough to give a cold to someone who had wandered out after getting lost in a bad dream. But Sidorov needed to clear his head. Clarity. Calculation. Profit. Like a madman, he muttered to himself while pacing around his house, wondering how much compensation he would have to pay, how much he could salvage, and if there was any way to avoid it.

Eventually, he sat on the fence. In the distance, he could see the Count’s castle. The castle tower was cutting the round moon in half.

Sidorov covered his face.

It was a trial he should never have lost. A month ago, when the cuckolded husband threatened a blood trial, he had confidently accepted because of his review of precedents. He nearly went blind reading hundreds of documents, but thanks to the help of a British lawyer, he had gotten through it relatively easily.

What was his name again? Jonathan Rider? Anyway, that suspicious man had guaranteed it. Twice, three times.

“I’m certain. The Count can read blood memories, but he can’t read a person’s entire life at once. It’s similar to reading. Even a master of speed reading who can read a page in an instant can’t see a book that’s still on the shelf. In the end, you have to open the page, look at the table of contents, and then turn to the relevant page. The Count is the same.”

Sidorov had held several mock trials with that parasite-like lawyer, Jonathan Rider. It was a perfect trial, legally, logically, and aesthetically!

In the mock trial, Volkov was an incompetent man who couldn’t pay his debts on time and took out his frustrations on his wife. The unfortunate Sidorov had tried his best to raise money and begged Volkov to please pay what he owed, but the rancher had simply vacated his home.

Of course, falling in love with Volkov’s wife in the process was an unexpected development. But that was a moral failing, completely unrelated to the matter of payment, wasn’t it?

Moreover, no one had forced anyone. Did the husband who failed to properly fulfill his marital duties really have no blame? A widower and a neglected wife! What a combination!

A relationship that began with resentment and pleading, gradually progressed to getting to know each other, and finally, the wife, tired of a husband who didn’t love her, wore loose clothing that revealed her cleavage and caressed the thigh of the unfortunate cattle merchant. How could that be solely Sidorov’s fault?

The noble and merciful Sidorov had even prepared a tearful appeal promising never to covet his neighbor’s wife again, and had even declared that he would “not charge the price of one cow!”

Besides, the reason Sidorov had to meet Volkov’s wife so often was because he had to go collect payment since Volkov wouldn’t pay! The root cause of all responsibility lies with Volkov, that fat, arrogant miser. It’s not Sidorov’s fault!

Now Sidorov was the one who had fallen into the abyss.

His body now belonged to the Count. If war broke out, he would belong to the Count’s “guard.” Everyone who had given blood to the Count had to do so. To live and die as nothing but the Count’s puppet. The fact that Volkov was in the same situation provided no consolation.

What mattered was that Sidorov had to pay massive damages to Volkov. As he barely resisted the urge to strangle himself, he heard footsteps.

A brisk sound, yet somehow dragging the heels. It was that Dutchman.

The Dutchman introduced himself as a merchant, scientist, and antique collector, but for some reason used the alias “Vladimir.” Yet strangely, he wrote his real name on contracts. He wore a long hat and carried ropes and coin pouches around his waist.

And this man was the devil who had tempted Sidorov himself.

“Having trouble sleeping, I see?”

Sidorov gritted his teeth.

“You bastard!”

He didn’t stop at words. He grabbed the unpleasant visitor by the collar and slammed him to the ground. It was the traditional wrestling move that every Russian man knows. This fool from the Netherlands couldn’t respond at all.

“Cough, cough!”

“It’s because of you! It’s all because of you! You tempted me, you devil!”

The Dutchman laughed, still lying on the ground.

“What was the problem? I heard the livestock disease ointment worked very well. And you successfully seduced the rancher’s voluptuous wife, didn’t you? The perfume containing processed musk aphrodisiac. It has no effect at first, but after continued contact becomes addictive, and eventually the body responds before the mind does. Though I never understood why you coveted another man’s wife.”

Sidorov grabbed the Dutchman by the collar and pulled him up.

“It’s because of you! All because of you! I was drunk then. It was after having that kind of trivial talk men have in taverns! Everyone in five villages knows how arrogant Volkov is. Men were lining up saying they’d pluck the Tsar’s beard for just one chance to squeeze his wife’s breasts! And then you came along saying you had just the thing…”

Sidorov ground his teeth.

“You tempted me. You corrupted me. It’s all your fault! You cunning snake!”

“Ah. I see.”

The Dutchman grabbed Sidorov’s arm. The next moment, Sidorov’s wrist was twisted and began to swell uncontrollably. Sidorov screamed, but the Dutchman skillfully stuffed a balled-up handkerchief into his mouth.

“Then what does that make you, who handed gold to the snake? I clearly said I wasn’t forcing you. Weren’t you the one who paid for it, Sidorov? I even assigned you a lawyer.”

The Dutchman grabbed Sidorov’s hair. When his large, pot-lid-sized hand seized his hair, not just his scalp but his entire face contorted.

“Behave yourself, pimp. Otherwise, I’ll donate your corpse to the Amsterdam Medical College. If you want to be an exemplary Slav who lived in alcoholism after losing a lawsuit and died of acute cirrhosis, keep being so disrespectful.”

Vladimir yanked out the handkerchief. With a scream, Sidorov’s front tooth came out.

“I’m ruined.”

Sidorov lamented with unclear pronunciation.

“My body is bound to the Count.”

“Bound?”

Vladimir’s eyebrow twitched.

“What do you mean by that? Bound?”

Sidorov was the one who was dumbfounded.

“Didn’t you say you knew about the Count! That you knew about the blood trial and the Count!”

“Ah. I know ‘well.’ I didn’t say ‘how much’ I know. Sidorov. Sidorov. I’d like to propose a deal that you’ll find appealing.”

“I won’t listen to you.”

“What exactly is the Count’s power? Why does everyone fear the blood trial? Is it because he can read memories? Or is there another reason? The villagers seem reluctant to talk about it.”

“Can’t say.”

“Oh. I see. You know what? You’ve really made me angry.”

Vladimir’s strong hand choked Sidorov’s neck. As Sidorov opened his mouth, gasping, Vladimir stuffed the handkerchief back in. He delivered a strong punch to his back, and as Sidorov collapsed, he quickly took out the rope from his waist and tied his wrists behind his back.

“Time for a lesson, Sidorov.”

Vladimir placed Sidorov’s body on the fence. Then he removed his pants. Since Sidorov had hastily dressed before coming out, his belt wasn’t fastened, so they came off easily.

“No. No.”

Sidorov sobbed. Vladimir took off his own pants. Then he pressed against Sidorov’s helpless body draped over the fence.

“Well. How shameful. How shameful. Sidorov the boar. How are you any different from livestock in heat? Now I understand. It seems you like being humiliated.”

“Please!”

“Last chance, Sidorov. Tell me about the Count’s power and authority. Tell me everything the villagers won’t say! I’m trying to help you, you fool! I need to know so I can free you from the Count!”

“Really?”

Sidorov twisted his body violently.

“You can free me from the Count?”

“I will if you tell me properly.”

“If I tell you, will you let me go?”

“I will.”

Sidorov told him. About the secret that the five villages had been hiding all this time.

Those bound by the blood trial become the Count’s slaves for life. Even if they live normally, when the Count’s order comes, they must obey even at the cost of their lives. Also, the Count can read everything about a person through their blood. Ambitions. Dreams. Even shameful secrets.

“What about the Count’s children? Can they do it too?”

When Vladimir pressed, Sidorov shook his head.

“No, no. Only the one who inherits the blood lordship can do it.”

“You said the Count’s wife is human? Is it possible for children to be born between a blood lord and a human?”

Sidorov nodded. Vladimir’s eyes filled with greed.

“Good. Good. I have a business plan. Sidorov. Interesting. You should stay out with me tonight. If you tell me everything you know about the Count, I’ll pay all the compensation you owe to that arrogant Volkov.”

Sidorov nodded.

“Fine, fine, please untie me.”

Vladimir pulled his hips back and then thrust forward forcefully. A scream erupted from Sidorov’s mouth.

“You didn’t say you’d let me go!”

“What are you talking about, Sidorov? We just made a new contract.”

Vladimir skillfully grabbed Sidorov’s neck. A strange flute-like sound came from the victim’s throat.

“Then I must pay a deposit.”

Vladimir’s hips moved back and forth. The fence groaned. Somewhere, there was giggling. It was those foreigners who had come with Vladimir.

Among them, a young foreign couple who were particularly enjoying the spectacle playfully threw gold and silver coins at Sidorov and Vladimir. Vladimir let out a shout that mixed victory and sadistic climax.

“What’s this.”

Vladimir slapped Sidorov’s back with his palm. There was no response. He was still breathing, but he had already fainted. Vladimir, whose excitement had cooled, pulled up his pants.

“Weak bastard. Tsk.”

Clap, clap, clap.

Vladimir’s companions approached, applauding. Among them, a young woman handed him a handkerchief. A man wearing a matching wedding ring with the woman made a joke.

“As expected, professor, you’re quite virile. I’d like to learn from you.”

“I taught you before, didn’t I? I remember giving both 1:1 and 2:1 private lessons?”

“My wife and I need more of your teachings.”

The woman clung to Vladimir’s arm flirtatiously. Vladimir smiled.

“Later. Later. Did you gather much information? Have you spread rumors?”

“It’s not easy. Their fear or loyalty to the Count is too strong.”

The young lawyer, Jonathan Rider, spread his arms like a theater actor.

“I’ve been going around the village trying to talk to people, but it’s not working well. Country folk are quite conservative, you know.”

“You shouldn’t force it, Jonathan Rider. I told you. You shouldn’t indoctrinate people with ideology. You have to let them realize it themselves. Make the people themselves realize how much the Count has oppressed them, have them drive out the Count with their own hands, and then we receive our reward of gratitude and leave.”

The lawyer’s wife looked confused.

“I still don’t understand what that ideology means. All that talk about the masses, chains, revolution. I repeat it like a phonograph, but I don’t really get it.”

“What does it matter? People listen to you, don’t they? That’s enough. What’s the problem if you spout words you don’t understand?”

Vladimir calmly explained while checking Sidorov’s pulse. Sidorov didn’t seem likely to wake up anytime soon.

“When the revolution succeeds, the rest will fill itself in. It will justify itself. Someone like Lenin will take care of it. I hear he finished his Siberian exile and fled to Germany?”

“But professor, if the revolution succeeds, won’t capitalists like us be driven out?”

Jonathan Rider groomed his mustache. Vladimir giggled.

“Jonathan, Jonathan Rider! You are young. Ideology and revolution are certainly great. But people are not. It doesn’t matter what flag they stand under, what their religion is, or what they had for dinner. In the end, everyone wants power. The right of all against all to penetrate and be penetrated.”

Vladimir pointed to the Count’s castle.

“And this Count’s domain is at the peak of discontent. That detestable nobleman has been sucking the ‘lifeblood’ of his people for a very long time, hasn’t he? Maintaining the power of the old era.”

Jonathan, Mina, and the others nodded. As they traveled through the five villages, they spread the question of why people had never thought it strange that a blood lord should rule this land.

And they whispered about a secret wave. That over there, a world where farmers become masters has arrived. That they are driving out the bloodsuckers who collect taxes while doing nothing!

It was half successful. The number of doubters had increased. But it’s not time yet. The voices opposing the Count, expressing discontent, are still too few. The Count’s support base is too solid. Now, it’s time to move to the next stage.

“Before that, let’s imagine. You all heard what this boar said, right? What if we could ‘sell’ the Count’s power to the rulers of the new era? He would become a superman. He would hold all the secrets of those who gave him blood, and with a single gesture, he could send them to the battlefield. What ruler would refuse such mighty power?”

None would. The messengers of revolution smiled like accomplices. Vladimir continued.

“So, we must take the power from the hands of that stupid bloodsucker. That power is something anyone would covet. All that remains is to find someone who will pay a good price. It will be the greatest deal ever. A deal about fate and domination, conducted under the supervision of me, Ishmael van Helsing!”

An eerie laugh echoed across the Count’s land. Van Helsing’s gang dragged Sidorov into his house.

On the windy hill, a black wolf as large as a grown bull calf was watching them. It was completely black except for its silver mane. The wolf memorized each of their faces, then turned and disappeared into the forest.