Chapter 448: Trial That Defies Fate (11)

If vampires have one bad habit, it’s their unshakable belief that time is always on their side.

Never pursued by time, they often indulge in leisure, like now, when they paused to listen to Kavila’s words.

Even Lunken, who had just been pounding Tyrkanzyaka, was no exception.

“Hnng! So you accept the challenge now? Good! I should’ve slammed him like I would any other weakling from the start!”

Leaving behind a trace of regret, Lunken snorted heavily again.

Though boar beastkin are known for their narrow vision and recklessness, Lunken hadn’t always enjoyed fighting.

The beastkin who recklessly picked fights had long been culled and only those with moderate temperaments survived through natural selection.

Beastkin inherited certain animal traits, keen hearing and smell for instance.

Lunken once led his kin as a mercenary, utilizing those strengths to achieve results.

However, without overcoming their inherent tunnel vision, many like him ended up as expendables on the battlefield.

While being hunted like an animal, after his unit was shattered, Lunken received blood from Tyrkanzyaka and became an Elder.

Under her banner, he trampled both the army that had killed him and the comrades who had abandoned him.

But even then, a thirst lingered within Lunken.

His sharp senses dulled, and now he could smell only blood.

He no longer felt the dry wind ruffling his fur, nor did he need to grind his tusks against trees.

At first, he welcomed the disappearance of life’s little irritations, but in removing every survival-driven hardship, all that remained was boredom and apathy.

His once-sensitive body now felt hollow.

The only time his blood stirred again was in blood-soaked combat.

And not for metaphorical reasons—it stirred literally, spilling in ways he could no longer predict.

So Lunken threw himself into endless battle.

“I thought I was being considerate enough to give you fair warning about that weak human, but I guess the message didn’t get through! Ha! So even the King of Humans thinks like a beast, huh!”

Snorting with renewed excitement, Lunken charged Tyrkanzyaka once more.

This time, she didn’t even defend herself.

She simply raised her arms to cover her head and endured the blows, flailing like a reed caught in a storm.

As said before, vampires have one fatal flaw: they always believe time is on their side.

It was not just the ascetic Dogo. Even the others tended to watch, observe, and learn every move of their opponent before acting.

Whether it was because they were immortal or because they simply enjoyed the spectacle, they always took their time.

And so the Elders watching the clash between Lunken and Tyrkanzyaka were a little slow to notice.

“…Lunken. That’s enough. Cease this at once.”

“Enough—? Hrrng. Why would I?!”

Lunken scoffed and charged again.

He was so violent and explosive that no one else dared intervene—anyone attempting to interfere might get caught in the crossfire.

So the other Elders simply stood back and watched this dull, one-sided brawl where no real damage was being done.

“Leave it to this lowly servant and Bakuta. Mere brute punches without any power won’t cause real harm.”

Erzsebet’s control and Bakuta’s devouring abilities were enough to challenge the Progenitor’s power.

But brute force like Lunken’s, however painful, would accomplish nothing.

Even after realizing this, Lunken dismissed Erzsebet’s advice with ease.

“No—it does matter! Pain is enough!”

“Utterly meaningless…”

“It’s not meaningless! Pain changes people! You get hit and you wake up! That’s how it works!”

– Thud. Thud. Thud.

His assault was repetitive, one-sided, and painful, but far from fatal for a vampire.

If his goal were to defeat Tyrkanzyaka, it was indeed a foolish and boorish act worthy of his species.

But if that wasn’t the goal—

“Does it hurt? Then fight back—! With everything you’ve got—!!”

“Lunken, you—! Someone, get him off her!”

“Do whatever you want! I only care about fighting! Against someone worthy—!”

Like forging steel, Lunken kept hammering away at Tyrkanzyaka.

Under a barrage of blows, she began to adapt: slightly bending her knees to better absorb the impact, adjusting her stance to minimize pain, combining her power and Bloodcraft to counteract Lunken’s power with technique.

It wasn’t that Tyrkanzyaka lacked power.

Her raw strength still overwhelmed Lunken.

She simply didn’t have the experience or tools to wield it effectively.

Even if the strength disparity was great, taking this many hits should’ve killed her, but she was the Progenitor of Vampires.

Despite being smashed again and again, she regenerated in an instant.

After hundreds of deaths, she had learned how not to die.

“Figure it out! I know you have the strength! Use it all, Progenitor—! I don’t want to fight a half-baked version of you!”

“You damned boar!”

He was quite literally carving the art of combat into her.

Crude, yes, but effective all the same.

Still, Lunken’s aggression wasn’t born of loyalty or strategy.

He simply enjoyed clashing with the strong.

Even if it meant forcing them to become stronger.

Realizing this, Erzsebet regained her composure.

“Leave Lunken be. Let us proceed.”

The other Elders, having watched long enough, finally began to move to claim the Progenitor’s blood.

No one can expect much teamwork from vampires.

Unless they were retainers, their coordination was terrible.

But that never stopped them—they didn’t hesitate out of fear of harming allies.

“…Beastkin… full belly. Fulfilling one’s kind—what should be natural is also a duty.”

Rahu Khan thrust his massive spear forward and charged.

As a lone centaur, even a simple charge became a cavalry strike.

A gust-like flash of wind cut through the air as his lance pierced through the darkness surrounding Tyrkanzyaka.

– Crack.

Something shattered—and Tyrkanzyaka was sent flying.

“You damned horse! You dare interfere—?!”

“You’re the one interfering.”

Rahu Khan spun his massive spear like a windmill, a storm of power swirling around his four-legged lower body.

The Watcher, once the scourge of the Wasteland, now fallen due to his cursed lineage, spoke with grim determination.

“The Clan Chief abandoned her duty. I will protect our kind. The centaurs must save themselves.”

“Hrnng! It took you this long to figure that out?!”

As the two beastkin barked at each other in the narrow hallway, Muri slipped down beside Tyrkanzyaka like mist.

Wreathed in shadow, the Progenitor looked like a small, blackened orb.

The darkness—once meant to stand against the light of the Sanctum—was now dense enough to trouble even the Elders.

But to the Phantom Dancer Muri, it was of little concern.

With a dancer’s grace, she sliced through the gloom.

Her crescent-blade slashed the shadows like silk.

Through the gap she created, Muri whispered.

“My heart flutters~ Progenitor, were you truly betrayed by love? Abandoned by the lover who shared your heart? Ah~ it would make for a lovely tragic ballad–”

The darkness recoiled, as if rejecting her words.

But the Phantom Dancer let it slip past like a ghost, unbothered.

Eventually, Tyrkanzyaka gave up on shaking her off—and asked.

“…Muri.”

“Yees~?”

From within the writhing darkness, the wounded Progenitor spoke with a chilling tone.

“Are you enjoying this?”

“As if— Or… maybe? I don’t know. I really don’t know~”

In stark contrast, Muri replied in a lilting tone, as if singing.

“To see you—my heart, my queen, my faith, my everything—so utterly shattered… I can’t even describe it. My heart races. Thump-thump, is it betrayal or ecstasy—?”

“…What is it that you want to do?”

Muri, who called herself the Progenitor’s dancer and contributed to the Duchy’s art scene, had always been questioned: What is music to a vampire without emotion?

Yet from that very coldness, refined art was born.

She used humans as her audience to observe their reactions.

Recalling those days, Muri ran her fingers along her lips and muttered.

“Dance, song, painting—all for ‘display.’ I guess… I wanted to show my songs, my dances—to you~”

“…If you brought me dance and song, I would have continued watching them.”

“But not like this—not feeling them like you do now~!”

Muri flourished her hands.

Ghostlike blades sliced through the darkness and pierced Tyrkanzyaka in eerie, graceful arcs.

Her skin split open and for a brief moment, the Progenitor’s blood—her Primordial Essence—was exposed.

It healed quickly, but in that brief instant, her power faltered ever so slightly.

The pool of blood Erzsebet had conjured reacted instantly to the scent of blood.

Like a wraith, she lunged forward to seize it.

Even the smallest wound is still a wound.

Bleeding on this land is dangerous.

Tyrkanzyaka, eyes fixed on Muri’s elegantly flickering blade, let out a faint groan—and Muri cried out.

“Look at that—! This reaction! It’s different now! Watch me—watch me! When I perform, applaud. When I sing, hum along. That’s what I wanted. I wanted response—a return, an echo of my performances!”

Muri shouted like a confession, swirling her blade like a dancer’s ribbon.

Her footwork made her movements unpredictable.

Just as Tyrkanzyaka’s gaze missed the flicker of the blade for a split second, Muri’s edge carved a line across her arm.

A flinch.

A tightly clenched jaw.

A small, escaping gasp.

Muri savored every response as she stepped in rhythm with the Progenitor.

“Let us dance together, my dearest Progenitor~”

Muri was an oddity, a vampire who went out of her way to dodge attacks.

She was often scorned for her excessive movements, but to someone like Tyrkanzyaka, who had nothing but raw power, she was like an elusive bird, impossible to catch with mere brute strength.

And thanks to that, her body was being cut constantly.

Not for harm, but as if she and Muri were performing together.

As if they were executing choreography.

With each step and slash, Muri matched the Progenitor’s movement, always attacking, yet always retreating.

Her small body was insufficient.

To unleash her immense power, she needed another method.

Even if it was a crude, straightforward technique that might not work on vampires, like spilling her own blood.

Like loading a gun, Tyrkanzyaka sliced her own finger and pointed it at Muri.

“Aaahn.”

A boy suddenly popped out and chomped down on her finger.

The Bloodleech, Old Bakuta.

The Remnant of Gluttony.

The monster from the deep swamp who devoured blood to make it his own.

He didn’t just drink blood to satisfy his hunger, it became his strength.

Like a predator, he swallowed Tyrkanzyaka’s finger whole, eyes dazed in rapture.

“Tasty… Mamas finger… Just one bite and I’m full…”

It was her Primordial Essence.

Not something digestible in such a short time.

It might even spread through his body and dominate him.

But in the face of bottomless hunger, future threats meant nothing.

The finger regenerated quickly.

But the blood that had been swallowed remained inside him.

A fierce tug-of-war ensued between her authority and his devouring force, but Gluttony tried to consume even the Primordial Essence.

Bakuta was overwhelmed with bliss from the fullness inside him.

“I was starving… but now, I feel full… I’m happy…”

He had wanted release from his hunger, but the vampire’s life had stolen even the joy of feeling full.

To feel satisfaction, one must first know deprivation.

Without longing, there is no fulfillment.

Not just Bakuta, every Elder had walked the same path.

Like Tyrkanzyaka before her heart returned, each who broke free from the shackles began to run wild with their rediscovered longing.

“Hu… Are you truly the king of all these beings…?”

And the one who would smile at this chaos.

The one who had given Tyrkanzyaka her heart and senses back.

The one who had made the Elders remember what it was to want something again.

Recalling the one she once believed to be love, Tyrkanzyaka writhed under the weight of her pain.

“Was I too… just human? Did you grant my wish merely because I was human? Is that all it means… to be human?”

The King of Humans had once said: Tyrkanzyaka, too, was human.

That simple acknowledgment had made her happy because she longed for an ordinary life.

But now that she understood the true meaning behind those cold, detached words, shame and despair surged like a tidal wave.

Even the time they spent traveling, even the nights they shared, meant little to him.

Even her sincere, precious feelings too… probably—

“…Not once… not even once, did you call me anything special.”

Anything humans could do was mundane to the King of Humans.

Though Tyrkanzyaka held Hu as someone special… to him, she was not.

She was merely another human, worrying, hoping, and he had simply listened.

Had it been anyone else—an Elder, an Ancilla, a Neonate—he would have listened the same.

…Maybe that was why Finlay could manipulate her.

Maybe if she hadn’t been distracted by that thunderous strike, hadn’t remembered an old desire, hadn’t let her will slip for just a moment…

Maybe if Hughes hadn’t given her that chance to hope, none of this would’ve happened.

It felt like the world was crumbling.

She didn’t come back to life to feel this pain.

She thought that once she regained sensation and emotion, everything would be filled with joy.

But now… she wasn’t sure what remained.

Hughes wasn’t even by her side anymore.

It hurt.

Her chest felt torn to shreds.

Her body had broken and healed countless times, until she no longer knew what pain really was.

But they say life is pain.

Since her heart returned, Tyrkanzyaka had felt more alive than ever before.

“…Hu. Is this the world you longed for? The world where everyone yearns?”

And now, a new longing stirred within her.

She wanted to end this pain—

To reclaim her happiness.

To find joy once again.

No longer as the Progenitor of Vampires, the Maker of Elders, the Queen of Shadows, or the Blood Ocean.

But simply as a somewhat special human… with a little more strength than most.

“…Um, Progenitor? Your reactions are getting dull Are you bored already~?”

No matter how much she scraped her with the blade, there was no reaction.

Had she already grown numb to the pain?

Tilting her head, Muri pulled back her blade and spoke teasingly.

“Perhaps it’s time for something a little more stimulating? Should I paint on that white skin? Pin your hands and feet with blades? Or—maybe I’ll decorate your consort’s corpse and make it into a doll?”

If her goal was to provoke the Progenitor—

She had succeeded far too well.

Tyrkanzyaka’s eyes flared—and a massive hand rose up and seized Muri.