Chapter 392: Lightning Didn’t Fall From the Sky (11)

“WHICH! FILTHY! BASTARD! THREW THIS—?!”

The beast’s roar shook the earth.

His voice sounded as if blood would burst out from his throat as a deep and thunderous growl reverberated across the Cloud Waterfall.

A moment later, heavy, pounding footsteps followed—like an elephant stomping the earth.

The ground trembled and the air quaked with every step.

As everyone instinctively shrank back in fear, a massive shadow loomed beyond the Cloud Waterfall’s mist.

Tearing through the fog, a blood-soaked giant emerged.

His matted hair was drenched in blood while his beast-like, pointed ears lay flattened against his head.

In one hand, he clutched a gleaming white dagger, his rage and pain pouring into his howl.

“Come out now—! If you do—! I’ll kill you quickly—!”

Lunken the Bloody.

The last surviving boar beastkin in the world.

That alone made him unique, but he was even more infamous for another reason.

He was an Elder.

One of thirteen vampires personally sired by the Progenitor herself.

Among them, he was the strongest and most ferocious.

Nicknamed the Bloody because he was always drenched in blood by the end of the battle—

But today, before the fight had even begun, he was already soaked in it.

Most likely because of Hilde’s Holy Sword that had been thrown away, but that didn’t matter.

Lunken snorted, steam pouring through his nose when he saw the unmistakable form of an angel.

“You bastard—! You’re an angel—!”

– BOOM. BOOM. BOOM.

Lunken charged towards the Thunderarch just three steps, launching his entire body shoulder-first into the angel.

It was a sudden attack—

But the angel was smaller than he had expected.

He had been deceived by the dazzling lightning and miscalculated his trajectory.

Instead of crushing the angel, Lunken plowed through the lightning wings, electrocuting himself and tumbling across the ground.

“KRUAAAGH—! You coward! Fight fair—!”

He had attacked first, yet he was the one on the ground.

A sight so absurd that even the cheapest plays wouldn’t dare to stage it.

Yet, the Thunder Guardians, even the Thunderarch herself, who witnessed it themselves, held their breath.

He had reached them the moment he appeared from the mist

The whole process only took a few seconds.

Had the Thunderarch been careless, or had Lunken adjusted his aim just slightly higher, she might have taken that charge head-on.

The guardians tensed, but before they could regroup, another voice rang from beyond the mist—

A young girl’s voice.

“H-heeeeh… That damn boar! Has your stiff fur finally pierced through your skull and burrowed into your brain?! Try using your head before you move!”

A girl clutching a small doll emerged.

She wore a flowing black dress and a frilly white headdress. Her delicate, doll-like face betrayed all of her emotions with dramatic expressions.

She looked just like a noble lady on a stroll.

But her true nature was far too terrifying to put into words.

Kavila the Bloodweaver.

An Elder and a black mage.

The discoverer of Bloodcraft and a Seeker of Anathemas.

A walking blasphemy, embodying everything the Sanctum despised in a tiny, doll-like body.

The legendary Elder stood with her hands on her hips, pouting as she snapped.

“We’re here to meet our sister, NOT to go on a blood raid! Even a beast like you should have the restraint to tell the difference!”

Her sharp tongue lashed out as Lunken scrambled to his feet, protesting in frustration—

“FUCKKKK! You think I jumped in for nothing?! It’s an angel—!”

“Then you should strangle them SLOWLY! If you puff up your fur and charge like an idiot, do you think they’ll just let themselves get hit?! Are you an imbecile or a MORON? Or wait, are you BLIND?! You couldn’t even hit her when she was standing still!”

She stomped her feet, but despite her fury, her expression seemed oddly refreshed.

As if she found joy in having an excuse to hurl insults.

Just as Lunken hesitated and Kavila prepared to unleash another round of abuse…

A large hand gently blocked her path.

“Alright. Enough. Let’s think this through.”

A young man with a greatsword resting on his shoulder raised his hand.

Despite her relentless, merciless tirade, she immediately shut her mouth at his words.

A brief silence followed.

The young man stroked his chin, deep in thought.

“I can feel it. The Progenitor is here. Our beginning and our end. We have come to escort her… but the path is… obstructed.”

A greatsword with a crimson blade.

Fiery red hair, yet pale and emotionless features.

Such traits were common among humans.

But among vampires, especially among the Elders, there was only one name that could match those descriptions.

Everyone recognized him, but he soon reached his conclusion too.

“Then, we shall remove the obstacle.”

The first Elder sired by the Progenitor.

The Duke of the Duchy of Mist.

The Blood Knight.

Valdamir, the Crimson Duke.

A monstrosity that preyed upon humans.

Each Elder alone was an existence that mankind should fear and loathe.

And yet, three such beings had arrived.

Among them was Valdamir, the Duke of Sanguine.

Even the Thunderarch herself could not hide her tension.

For centuries, the world had tried to kill him, yet no one had succeeded.

Who could possibly remain calm before such an undying nightmare?

As fear spread through the air, Lunken scraped the ground and cheerfully roared.

“So we’re wiping out these bastards, right Valdamir—?!”

“Negotiations first. There’s no need to discard the easier option when it presents itself.”

“Uuuh—…”

With just a few words, Valdamir shut Lunken down.

Then, with pinpoint precision.

He pointed directly at the Thunderarch and spoke.

“This path. Will you clear it yourself, or shall I?”

Valdamir’s lips curled into a faint smile, as if testing the Thunderarch.

He already knew her answer.

Becoming the Duke of the Duchy of Mist, a land where the Progenitor herself still reigned, was no small feat.

What did it take to rule in such a place?

Strength?

Authority?

Wisdom?

Political acumen?

The answer was all of the above.

Valdamir, the Crimson Duke stood alone above all others.

Despite being fundamentally no different from any of the other Elders, all of them recognized him as their leader.

He was a ruler capable of governing an entire nation and the only one deemed worthy of welcoming the Progenitor’s return.

The Thunderarch understood—no matter what excuse she gave, this terrifying being had already seen through it.

There was only one option for them, battle.

…After all, if he hadn’t come to fight, then why would the Crimson Duke have come in person?

No vampire was welcome anywhere, so why would one of their greatest leaders walk into another city uninvited?

“Vampires… why are they here?”

“It’s still daytime!”

The Thunder Guardians muttered amongst themselves when the Thunderarch raised her hand, silencing the confusion as they awaited her command.

[Fear not. These are the Elders of the Duchy. I don’t know why they came without warning, but this is clearly an invasion—an attack against our city and our people.]

Valdamir rested his sword on his shoulder, watching silently.

He showed no intention of acting until she finished speaking.

For a moment, the Thunderarch hesitated.

Would it be wise to order an attack against the calamity that had suddenly appeared?

But the hesitation was brief.

If they lost, everything would be over.

The vampires of the Duchy of Mist treated humans as livestock—they held no morals, and no respect for human dignity.

If they surrendered, they might spare their lives, but at what cost?

They would become walking blood bags, dragged into the perpetual darkness as living cattle.

It was a fate worse than death.

Her faith was not misguided.

Vampires must be eradicated.

These wretched creatures had no place in the world.

And as a Primarch, she had to protect the city—even if it meant standing against them.

[I, the Thunderarch, command the Guardians—drive them back. Do not let these wretched bats set foot in our city!]

The Thunder Guardians roared in response, ready to engage in battle.And the Elders?

They had been waiting for this moment.

“YES! That’s what I wanted! Let’s FIGHT—!!”

“HEEEH! Have they been struck by lightning one too many times?! They think they can ‘eradicate’ us? Look at the cattle barking~! Hhhet!”

Lunken charged forward while Kavila grabbed her doll, her instincts fully awakened to the scent of blood.

Behind them, Valdamir stroked his chin and muttered—

“The angel intends to stop us before we reach the Progenitor. That confirms it—she is here.”

The Progenitor must not meet the Elders.

Tyrkanzyaka was their god—their heart.

If she and the vampires reunited, they would transcend their limits.

Vampires who had once been confined by the sun had, under the Progenitor’s darkness, once marched to the very doorstep of the Sanctum.

They must be stopped separately.

Those were likely the Thunderarch’s thoughts, but Valdamir saw through her plan immediately.

He lifted the greatsword from his shoulder.

“Angels never clean up their own messes. I suppose I’ll have to do it myself.”

The stab wound still hurt.

Hilde had healed it, but that didn’t mean my body had fully recovered.

Just because the form was restored didn’t mean the damage was erased.

Blood had been lost, organs had been ruptured.

And no matter how well it was patched up, a once-broken body can never return to its original state.

It wasn’t as if running a lap around the field and going back to the starting point would somehow make the exhaustion disappear.

Still, I couldn’t rest yet.

Not before I spoke to the Lightning Thief, Franc.

“Not doing it. I said I’m not doing it.”

Amidst thick clouds, under a sky rumbling with distant thunder, a man held onto a piece of rope connected to something flying over the low, swaying grass in the slanted ridge.

A massive kite, folded neatly like a letter to the sky.

Its iron frame was lined with thin fabric,rising at an angle as it caught the wind.

It was bound by a tether, yet it soared freely, drifting like a bird riding the breeze.

The wind howled, heralding approaching rain and thunder.

As the small blades of grass bowed, the Lightning Thief tightened his grip on the string and spoke.

“Human King. Do you know what will happen if the string breaks?”

What kind of dead man speaks in such a rude tone on the first meeting?

But as the King of Humans, I must respect all people equally.

I answered politely.

“It will either crash to the ground… or fly away, never to return.”

“Exactly.”

The kite danced in the sudden gust, yet the Lightning Thief expertly loosened the string, letting it ride the wind.

It balanced itself perfectly.

“The same goes for humans. We need something to hold onto. Something to remind us of where we came from. Of what values must never be forgotten. The only thing in this world that can do that is—“

“Faith?”

“…Yeah.”

The Lightning Thief looked mildly irritated at having his lines stolen, grumbling under his breath.

“When I died, they were supposed to sanctify my corpse and enshrine my relics in a place no one could ever find. My deeds would be wrapped in legend, turned into the myth of the Lightning Thief, a tale whispered by the Sanctum. It was an honor, so I agreed. I finished my work in Claudia and walked to the Sanctum myself.”

“But now here you are, a relic yourself.”

“…Tch. I didn’t expect to treasure a damn kite of all things. I only needed it to send the Thunder God to the sky.”

The cold wind carried the first drops of rain.

A storm was coming.

The rain began to thicken and the kite trembled in the wind.

“I only ever wanted to use alchemy to establish order. To help the shattered Fallen Dominion rise again with the power of lightning, but instead, I became a ‘Divine’? Just because I was a little more talented than others? Tch. If I could go back, I’d have stop myself before it happened.”

“Why?”

“You don’t need to know.”

“Tell me. If you were so great, maybe you can convince me.”

“It’s not about persuasion. It’s a simple difference in perspective and belief.”

The Lightning Thief turned his back and began reeling in the string, signaling the conversation was over.

But since when could the dead turn their backs on the living?

“What’s the point of a perspective no one else can see? What’s so noble about a belief you can’t pass on? If you’re going to die clutching everything to yourself, then just stay a corpse. Don’t waste the living’s time.”

The Lightning Thief paused, the string slipping away slightly through his fingers.

He turned back and spoke.

“At some point, beliefs and faith stopped being about conviction and started being a tool for self-justification. Empty cries of ‘for humanity’ ring hollow.”

– Drip. Drip, drip.

The raindrops grew heavier.

The slanted rain, driven by fierce winds, struck both of their faces with weighty force.

The kite, caught in the storm, trembled pitifully in the turbulent air.

“I am the King of Humans. If you truly acted for humanity, tell me. Unlike certain others, I listen to every voice—as long as it belongs to a human.”

Lightning struck nearby.

It was getting closer.

Soon, it would reach this very place.

It wouldn’t miss the marks etched into the ground, guiding its descent like a beacon.

Sensing its own impending fate, the kite trembled violently, as if urging the Lightning Thief to let go.

The string bit into his skin, cutting deep.

Yet, even then, he did not release it.

Instead, he slowly pulled the string tighter and spoke.

“To protect humanity’s purity. If I had left the people of the Fallen Dominion as they were, they would have evolved into something else—just like the vampires did.”