Chapter 441: A Far Away Tale – Recess

Vampires of the Duchy possess the ability to sense blood.

It is a trait that allows predators to locate their prey—an area in which otherwise dull-sensed vampires are exceptionally keen.

For that reason, writing messages in blood can serve as an urgent signal among them.

The signal Valdamir received was such a message.

Especially so, as the sigil pulsing from a distance was one he had shared only with his own Ancillae—a mark meant to summon him and him alone.

In times of upheaval like this, information is invaluable.

Valdamir moved swiftly, seeking the knowledge his subordinate had discovered.

It was a bit of a distance.

Slipping underneath the notice of the other vampires, Valdamir retraced the events of the recent trial.

For vampires, ten years pass in a blink.

His thoughts traveled back not only to the trial, but to its very cause.

Back to when he killed an Elder with a pallid complexion and sharp fangs.

Back to the moment before the Elder died—when Luscynia had come to him with blood trickling from the corner of his mouth.

Whether from injury or inner collapse, his Bloodcraft was unstable.

Valdamir could sense the wild Blood Aura surging uncontrollably within him.

That loss of control meant he could be manipulated by other Elders.

At that moment, Luscynia was exceedingly vulnerable.

And yet—

“Ha ha ha! Valdamir, I’ve found it—I’ve finally found it!”

His maniacal laughter was unchanged.

Valdamir turned to face him.

Luscynia.

The Duchy’s problem child.

If one traced the roots of all the issues happening in the Duchy, almost half would lead to him.

He killed too many humans, prompting other Elders to lodge formal complaints.

He spread fear to such a degree that his Ancillae fled en masse.

He would rage if a subject was executed under the law, only then to show up days later causing mayhem.

It always fell upon Valdamir to clean up the mess.

Elders typically paid little mind to one another, but the two of them were exceptions.

If they didn’t keep an eye on each other, the entire nation could be shaken.

With the certainty that Luscynia had caused another incident, Valdamir asked plainly.

“What have you done this time? Say it quickly so I can handle it.”

“I’ve no memory of making a mess! Though, yes—perhaps this time I have! But if revolution is a mess, then so be it!”

If all his past disasters didn’t count, then what now?

While Valdamir mentally prepared for the worst, Luscynia collapsed into a chair and shouted.

“I’ve found a way to break the Blood Shackles! I really am a genius!”

Indeed, this was a catastrophe.

A major one. Valdamir would have felt a chill if he were still alive.

“You finally did it.”

“And you—you knew and said nothing. You’re more devious than I am!”

“Says the man who shared his blood with his own wife and daughter.”

“And what of it?”

The fact that he could ask that in all seriousness was typical of Luscynia.

Valdamir explained again.

“You can’t feel love or lust. Sure, I can understand sleeping with women for nostalgia, but you cut and scraped her body to impregnate her. You have no right to call anyone devious.”

There was no mutual understanding.

These weren’t words meant to persuade.

Still, Luscynia’s reaction was unlike his usual self.

“Love? Did you say love? A block of stone like you, lecturing me?”

Luscynia had always acted on impulse, but his choices were calculated.

His impulsive nature made him choose all means necessary as long as it would achieve the goal he desired.

Even making his consort bear his child was just another cold, calculated decision. It was done only because no one could stop him.

But now… something was different.

He was more emotional, even.

Valdamir felt a dissonance from him.

“Do you have proof it was love?”

Vampires do not know love.

They do not feel flutters or excitement.

Their hearts do not beat and every drop of blood in their bodies is under their complete control.

Thus, vampires are said to lack both blood and tears.

They do what needs to be done.

For example—

“Your consort, wife, and Ancilla, Lily. Wasn’t it you who executed her yourself? I remember your outrage clearly when she fled.”

Even that—executing one’s wife for breaking the law—wasn’t unusual for a vampire.

It was also expected that Luscynia did not show affection to his wife and daughter.

Even if a vampire had a child by some means, they would not feel affection towards their own offspring.

Much less for his wife.

She was his retainer before she was his wife.

Her blood was his, and thus only he could take it back.

He had even greedily consumed her last drop.

No one questioned it.

Luscynia might’ve been a madman, but at the end of the day, he acted just like any other vampire—cold, calculating, and cruel.

But now he was speaking of that moment with a different tone.

“Even geniuses such as I make mistakes.”

“Mistakes?”

“Yes. I didn’t understand what love was. No—more precisely, I thought it didn’t exist. That it simply wasn’t in me, but you don’t name every thought. You don’t understand everything.”

Luscynia looked at Valdamir with… sympathy.

A gaze Valdamir had never seen before.

“I only needed her blood, but she would eventually die. So I turned her into a vampire.”

That much, Valdamir had understood.

He hadn’t interfered.

“But after her turning, she changed too much. Her blood no longer tasted the same. That dumb expression she made when afraid of me was gone. Her every drop was mine, yet that made her all the less valuable. I ruined her with my own hands.”

“You tried to fix her by breaking the Blood Shackles. I know.”

“No, you don’t.”

Luscynia’s eyes blazed.

Valdamir sensed something he had never before felt from him.

Sure, he was a madman, and he would calmly implement any idea that came to his mind.

His actions always brought about unexpected results.

Yet Valdamir judged that, sometimes, that madness was necessary for the Duchy.

So he would observe and even help Luscynia if needed

“Emotion? That’s nothing. It’s just the fancy name we give to whatever drives us to act. Looking for delicious blood? That’s emotion. Regret over losing that blood? Emotion again. We didn’t lose emotion… we never had it to begin with.”

But can madness ever truly be explained with logic?

Valdamir sensed that this wasn’t merely unpredictable madness—it was true insanity.

“We merely give up. The maker controls our blood. Any impulse that defies their will simply cannot arise. We were taught vampires lack emotion. And yes, in a sense, that’s true.”

“So… you regained emotion?”

“You still don’t get it, do you? There was never any emotion to begin with!”

Luscynia lunged forward in his chair.

A pointless move, but he made it because he wanted to.

And that was enough.

“We simply act, but the Progenitor controls our blood. If anything strays too far from her will, we can’t even try. It’s not that we lack feeling—it’s the logic of power and control!”

“Watch your words. You seem agitated—”

Agitated?

A vampire?

As Valdamir said it, he felt something off.

Then it hit him… Luscynia had truly broken the shackles.

“You really succeeded.”

“Halfway! That foolish child botched it. If she’d done it right, it would’ve been perfect, but she failed!”

“The child…?”

Luscynia snapped his fingers.

A bloody mess of flesh floated in from outside Valdamir’s office.

Valdamir recognized it immediately—Lyre Nightingale.

Luscynia’s daughter.

She had been used to sever the Elder’s Shackles.

Luscynia sneered.

“She was lacking. She managed to control my body, but not dominate it. Still, it was enough. My control created the loop: the retainer controls the maker, and the loop severs the shackles.”

“Exactly what you hoped for.”

“…In a way, I suppose.”

To grant control to one’s own retainer, only Luscynia would dare such recklessness. If she had been incompetent or malicious, she could have killed him.

That he survived was sheer dumb luck.

“Thanks to that, she’s dying, but she served her purpose. That’s fine. It had to be done…”

Valdamir let Luscynia’s dazed muttering pass by and replied calmly.

“So in summary, you’ve succeeded in breaking the shackles. Understood.”

“Do you really understand?”

“It’s an unexpected situation, but with the Progenitor absent, it’s not my place to judge. I’ll defer judgment on breaking the Shackles. I don’t think any other Elder will try to follow your lead, but the danger remains, so the method will remain a secret.”

Up until now, that had always been a perfect judgment that satisfied the entire Duchy.

But Luscynia didn’t agree.

“I thought you, of all people, might understand… but I suppose not.”

He staggered up from his chair.

“We swear loyalty to the Progenitor. We revere her, but to the Progenitor, we are nothing. We are nothing more than limbs, and limbs always move as commanded.”

“Loyalty is not given with the expectation of reward. We have already received our due.”

“Is that the best you can do? Do you truly think that’s what the Progenitor wanted?”

Luscynia glanced briefly at his dying daughter, then jerked his head away and continued.

“Then why does the Progenitor sleep outside the Duchy? Why has she kept herself distant for decades? Centuries even? Why did she leave the nation in your hands and wander the world?”

“How dare you presume to judge the will of the Progenitor.”

“That’s it! That’s the problem!”

Luscynia shouted with all his might.

“No one asks. No one questions. So there’s no need for her presence! What you call loyalty is just negligence, complacency, and indifference! That’s why the Progenitor is no longer with us. She’s abandoned us! She left us behind!”

“…”

“But isn’t it a relief? Thanks to that, we’ve been able to live apart from her. Perhaps that’s what the Progenitor truly desired.”

“Such reckless assumptions—”

“They’re necessary! Without them, nothing will ever change!”

Valdamir always judged by certainties.

Assumptions only raised possibilities.

Until a more definite truth was revealed, he would prepare countermeasures, but withhold judgment.

A slow but deathless approach, fitting for a vampire.

Up until now, Luscynia had only hinted this.

Even then, Valdamir had withheld his judgment.

Because this was Elder business, he had intended to wait until Tyrkanzyaka’s return if possible.

“To offer true loyalty, we must first break the Shackles! Loyalty under a leash means nothing!”

But once something became clear—he never hesitated.

“Attacking the Progenitor is the only act of loyalty left to us!”

And so, Valdamir swiftly disposed of Luscynia.

Valdamir stared down at the sigil drawn beneath his feet.

A sword and shield—his old emblem, when he swore to become the First Blade of the Progenitor and her steadfast shield.

Long ago, he had lost everything.

In the age after the fall of the empire established by the King of Humans, many claimed its legacy.

The Dharma King who had overthrown the Overlord was blessed with extreme good luck, but lacked the power to unite all.

As challenges to kings and gods multiplied, his bloodline, overwhelmed, made a drastic choice: they divided their kingdom among warlords.

It was a reckless but brilliant move.

The blades meant to be turned against the victor now turned on one another.

Thus began an era of warring states where the weak were culled.

Valdamir, who inherited the Duchy at a young age, was one such casualty of the times.

Though once destined to become a hero, he could not overcome the tide.

Caught during a period of power vacuum, he lost his land, his people, and his honor.

He fled in disgrace, hunted, and ultimately died with a sword through the chest, lying in a wretched heap.

It was then that he saw the pale girl.

He thought her a divine messenger.

Even as he died, he prayed pathetically.

“Take everything I have—just give me one more chance at life.”

But the girl wasn’t an apostle of the gods.

She was closer to a demon.

She didn’t offer a second life—only a twisted continuation of the first.

Back then, she wasn’t even a vampire or the Progenitor.

She shed her blood into Valdamir’s wound.

It was an age flooded with too much blood.

Enough that even when a swarm of vampires drank it, the blood would still flow.

Before anyone realized the danger, Valdamir had consumed an entire nation.

That was the bare minimum act of his revenge.

And what remained for him afterward?

Loyalty? Reverence? Gratitude?

No.

Vampires feel no emotion.

Those human sentiments faded the moment he became a retainer to the Progenitor.

What Valdamir had was duty.

Only after breaking free from the shackles could he finally confront the heavy sense of duty that had driven him for a thousand years.

Though not because of Luscynia, Valdamir had also gained freedom, thanks to the Progenitor, who had herself cast off the shackles.

Now the only question is: how should he use this freedom?

He decided to deal with the immediate issue first, before pondering that further.

“… This was rather unexpected.”

Snapping out of his thoughts, Valdamir turned toward the shadow loitering near the sigil.

“I considered the possibility of a false signal, but for the one who drew this sigil to not even be a vampire…”

It wasn’t a coincidence.

Nor a lucky guess.

This was written by someone who knew precisely what Valdamir’s sigil meant—meant only for him.

And it was done using pulsating Bloodcraft by a human supposedly taken down by Dogo’s strike.

An impossible feat.

As he considered the only possible explanation, Valdamir stared at the boy—no, the girl—standing before him and asked,

“What’s your business?”