Chapter 398: The Blood Drinking Human

Hilde had been observing the Regressor throughout our journey.

There was nothing to learn anymore about Tyr—ancient, powerful, and already well-documented, she was practically a walking force of nature.

Instead, Hilde always kept her eyes on the Regressor and me, constantly testing our reactions with minor trials.

Her observations were more akin to research.

Appearance, origin, personality, voice, speech patterns, footsteps, even Qi Arts—she studied everything, breaking it down and reconstructing it over her own image.

She would dissect the traits that made a person unique and weave them into her own performance, enhancing her ability to deceive others with a more compelling presence.

In the process, she sometimes uncovered secrets that others wished to keep hidden.

It was through this method that she deduced the Regressor’s true gender—by playing the role herself.

｢Shei’s weakness is clear: close-quarters combat. Not a battle of overwhelming forces or grand clashes of powers, but a fight within the realm of humanity—there, she’s only slightly above average.｣

The Regressor was undoubtedly strong.

However, perhaps due to her reliance on relics, she had gaps in her combat skills against humans.

A butcher’s knife is unwieldy for slaughtering chickens, just as a sword meant to cleave the sky and earth finds it cumbersome to strike down mere mortals.

That was likely why the Regressor had struggled against Patraxion or Historia in past timelines.

Even more so when facing someone who had achieved the Axiom.

Hilde had not reached the Axiom, but she had once been a member of the Crusaders.

Her “faith” had granted her a miracle comparable to the Axiom.

…Though in her case, her faith was mutable, manifesting as a shapeshifting holy sword.

“…In that case~”

Two short swords flew toward the Regressor’s arms in rapid succession.

One intercepted the grip of Jizan, while the other clashed against Chun-aeng’s hilt, neutralizing its momentum.

At this close range, where one’s breath met with another, the advantage in combat lay with daggers.

Hilde relentlessly pressed the attack, each strike flowing seamlessly into the next.

Just as the Regressor managed to counter with Heavenly Counter Domain and prepared to retaliate—

｢I am Historia, the Gunmaster of the Military State. Pseudo-Explosive Discharge Domain.｣

The Regressor flinched.

Before Heavenly Counter Domain could react, her past experiences did.

A chilling déjà vu washed over her—a sensation she had encountered countless times across her regressions.

Always keeping the enemy at gunpoint, manipulating the battlefield with precise positioning—this was Historia’s signature combat style.

Historia, a master of both the gun and blade, always kept gunfire as her trump card, establishing advantageous positions through the threat of a single, decisive shot.

Even without firing, the mere possibility of an Explosive Discharge Domain shot forced her opponents into a losing game.

Now, Hilde was replicating Historia’s combat style perfectly.

Realizing this, the Regressor twisted her body, channeling her energy into Chun-aeng.

At that moment, Hilde’s holy sword flashed, erupting with explosive force.

Both blades elongated mid-swing, grazing each other as they clashed.

Their trajectories shifted as they collided in midair.

“…This is?! The Gunmaster’s—!”

“Oh? You countered that quite skillfully.”

It was different from Historia’s.

Instead of using Explosive Discharge Domain, Hilde leveraged the elasticity of her body and the explosive force of the holy sword.

It lacked the speed but made up for it with sheer cutting power.

Had the Regressor not taken two more steps back, it would have sliced her in half.

Different, yet eerily similar… it was enough to send a shiver of recognition down the Regressor’s spine.

“This is only the beginning~ Stay focused! If you slip up again, you’ll find this holy sword buried right between your eyes!”

Meanwhile, Lunken charged headlong into the crowd of Thunder Guardians.

No more warnings.

No more battle cries.

The thrill of combat was secondary to him—his sole focus now was executing the Progenitor’s orders.

His hands tore through the battlefield indiscriminately, sweeping soldiers away as if they were nothing more than dirt.

Humans were dying.

And Azzy refused to accept that.

Snarling fiercely, she lunged at Lunken from behind—

“I don’t have time to play, King of Dogs—!”

At that moment, Lunken grabbed a half-dead Thunder Guardian and held them up.

The battered human dangled limply in his massive grip, limbs crushed and broken, but still alive.

That was enough to make Azzy halt in her tracks.

“Woof! Woof Woof!”

Azzy leaped frantically, barking in distress.

Pleading for Lunken to stop the slaughter and turn his attention toward her instead.

But Lunken ignored Azzy’s cries.

Instead, he chased after the fleeing humans.

“I’ll deal with you later—after I carry out the Queen’s will!”

With each human he slaughtered, the darkness around Lunken thickened.

The Progenitor’s power—shrouding vampires in shadow to shield them from the sun’s ever-lasting curse—granted him its blessing.

Beneath its veil, he felt no resistance from the lingering sunlight.

With no restraints, he unleashed his full power in service of the Progenitor’s decree.

A storm of blood surged forth.

At that moment, Valdamir raised his greatsword.

Wrapped in a red mist of Blood Aura, he took a step forward.

That was all it took—the space where humans could survive shrank.

His sharpened, refined Blood Aura swirled like a storm of blades.

Even in the midst of slaughter, Valdamir murmured indifferently.

“Such a fortuitous encounter.”

That was the extent of his reflection.

Now, it was time for work.

Valdamir stomped the ground.

The crimson mist rippled and in the blink of an eye, he was in the middle of the battlefield.

The Thunder Guardians, rushing to protect the Thunderarch, flinched at the sudden appearance of his towering figure.

Before they could react, his greatsword swept through them, carrying a tidal wave of blood.

Only the Thunderarch managed to respond.

[…Crimson Duke!]

She lunged, hurling a thunderous strike with her charged arm.

In that moment, her body became one with the lightning, closing the distance at near-instantaneous speed.

Condensed to its limit, the holy lightning burned even the crimson aura to cinders.

Knowing that ordinary power could never kill an Elder, she had willingly let herself be captured, ensuring the perfect strike.

The judgment of heaven descended to smite the Elder.

The power that fueled Claudia itself was now being wielded to kill a single vampire—

But Valdamir was faster.

With a simple pivot, he slipped the hilt of his greatsword into the Thunderarch’s arm, twisting just enough to shift their positions.

The greatsword spun like an axle, reversing their stances.

Her attack missed, striking nothing but empty air.

Blinding white lightning coursed down the Cloud Waterfall.

And along with it, the city’s might was wasted in vain.

No matter how powerful an attack, if it was wielded by a human, it could be overcome with human skill.

A prodigy since birth, a master swordsman even in death—having received the Primordial Essence and honed his strength through experience over lifetimes, Valdamir had already reached the pinnacle of human technique.

There was no need to withstand a mighty blow when he could simply deflect it.

That was but a mere fragment of his skill.

[…Ah.]

The difference in level was staggering.

Strength, technique—everything was beyond her reach.

If an immortal beast polished its swordsmanship to the extreme, how could any mere human ever hope to match it?

The Thunderarch’s body faltered after unleashing her strike.

The inevitable moment of weakness before her power could replenish had arrived.

Valdamir stepped in.

Gripping the spine of his greatsword, he gave a short, powerful thrust.

The Thunderarch’s twisted posture left her defenseless.

With a single seamless motion, he nullified her guard and tore through her flesh.

Her shoulder was nearly split in two, blood staining his blade.

She instinctively reached to push the sword away with her other hand.

“You are tougher than expected.”

That was his only remark.

If she was more resilient than anticipated, he merely had to apply more force.

His greatsword surged with Blood Aura, sinking deeper into her flesh.

The Blood Codex.

Like pressing a hot blade into ice to melt it, his greatsword gnawed through her arm.

It was only a matter of time before he cleaved her apart.

Just then, Valdamir sensed something.

A massive force was bearing down upon him.

Without hesitation, he withdrew his sword and raised his arm to block.

– BOOOMMMM.

His Blood Aura-coated arm exploded on impact.

Amidst the scattered blood, a small fist wrapped in cloth came into view.

Valdamir furrowed his brow.

“A Saintess?”

“…”

Surprisingly, his powerful body crumbled in an instant.

It wasn’t due to sheer strength or technique—something on an entirely different level was imbued in that fist.

Coolly assessing the situation, Valdamir adjusted his grip on his greatsword and struck at Feruel.

The attack was swift, efficient, and brutal, aimed straight at her abdomen—

– Thunk.

The greatsword, which should have cleaved through her, rebounded as if it had struck solid steel.

Despite carrying enough force to collapse a building, it failed to leave even a scratch on Feruel.

Not a single dent or bruise marred her skin.

Even an Elder at full power could not alter the predetermined outcome of her precognition—her existence was already set in stone.

“In that case, I suppose I cannot kill you. That must be your fate.”

Valdamir accepted the fact.

His stance shifted, movements changing from overwhelming force to something more deliberate.

He lowered his posture and held his greatsword in a tighter grip.

Was he planning to flee?

No—his bloodstained blade was still aimed at humanity.

Seeing this, Feruel clenched her fists and spoke.

“Fate… can be changed. Just as fate has already been twisted, but not by a vampire. A cursed being like you has neither the power nor the right to change it.”

An Elder’s immortality was formidable, but it was not absolute like the Progenitor’s.

If one were to crush their head, pulverize their heart, and scatter their remains into the sunlit ocean, they would have no means of returning.

Her goal was Valdamir—the Crimson Duke and one of the most powerful vampires.

Feruel had seen her future through precognition and she would close the gap between them.

Her strike was beyond mere strength or resilience—it was an unavoidable certainty.

It was no longer an attack but fate itself.

Truth manifested in a single blow.

Faced with it, Valdamir—

｢I can’t let this happen! I have to stop the Crimson Duke! No one else can—!｣

—yielded.

He did not resist Feruel’s precognition.

Instead, he wove himself into the inevitable flow.

As Feruel’s fist threatened to crush his arm, he used his body as leverage to redirect the force elsewhere.

The moment their wills clashed, his bloodstained greatsword moved unpredictably, spinning in an arc that no one could have foreseen.

And at the end of its trajectory stood the Thunderarch.

The wounded angel of lightning noticed the descending greatsword only at the last moment.

But she had no strength left to stop it.

The greatsword cleaved through her body.

The blade sank into her shoulder, cutting down to her chest before passing through.

There was no hesitation in the cut.

Unable to kill Feruel, Valdamir instead distanced himself, harvesting the lives of the wounded with merciless efficiency.

Feruel’s precognition was absolute—within herself, that is.

But she had not foreseen the fate of the Thunderarch.

Feruel, realizing too late that she had lost the Thunderarch, turned toward Valdamir and shouted.

“Fight back! If you truly wish to escape your dreadful fate!”

Valdamir ignored her provocation, as if speaking to her was beneath him.

Instead, he answered by lifting his foot high and stomping down on a groaning human beneath him.

Warm blood splattered onto Feruel’s face.

Enraged, Feruel unleashed a flurry of devastating blows, but Valdamir remained composed.

A strike coming from the front?

He simply let it land.

A fist too powerful would pass clean through his body, but it would fail to stop him.

Even with a gaping hole in his torso, the Crimson Duke continued his slaughter.

A sweeping attack?

He read her movements and redirected the force against her.

When Feruel tried to shatter his greatsword, he twisted his grip ever so slightly.

When she aimed for his head and heart, he sacrificed other parts of his body to protect them.

No matter how much she broke him, he regenerated and methodically slaughtered the remaining Thunder Guardians.

The Regressor’s judgment had been correct.

More than anything, his massacre was swift and precise—there was no waste, no hesitation.

Unlike Lunken, whose rampage was accompanied by bloodcurdling screams, Valdamir’s victims simply fell, leaving only silence in his wake.

Those unfortunate enough to be caught in his path collapsed to the ground, missing limbs or heads.

This was the extent of his devastation, even with Feruel attempting to stop him.

And the only one who might have been able to slow Valdamir, the Regressor, was locked in combat against Hilde, who had revealed all her tricks.

If this continued, no one would survive.

…And that was why Peru moved.