Chapter 478: A Far Away Tale. A Wrong Class Reunion

Between the mountains and the coast lay a land veiled in thick mist.

Descend a little further, and the fog lifted to reveal a wide plain.

The sunlit plain was a terrain vampires loathed.

It wasn’t only that there was no cover from sunlight, there was a deeper, more historical reason.

The blessed Enger Plains.

To humans, a land flowing with milk and honey.

To vampires, a wall of lamentation.

Sunlight bathed the land, gentle breezes danced, and rivers brimming with nutrients flowed, on those fields, countless vampires bled into the earth in battle.

No matter how strong or regenerative, vampires riddled with weaknesses could only be tossed around helplessly on such open battlefields.

Flowing waters, blinding sun, and inescapable distances.

Their prey seemed always within reach, yet never caught.

Those who overextended were punished by blades of holy light cutting down their arrogance.

Immortal vampires withdrew, carrying the pain of a defeat that would never fade.

It wasn’t fear that drove them back, but their glaring vulnerabilities laid bare for all to see.

Pushed back and pushed back again, until they were forced to the Sea of Shadows at the edge of the continent.

The misty coasts became their haven, but just as the world could not belong only to vampires, the Duchy could not be all misted shores.

Where the mountains ran wild, rivers broke through to the sea.

The eastern plains, bordering the Military State.

It was the land with the most humans, and thus, the most vampires.

Because the plains received abundant sunlight, the vampires of the east clung to tradition: they slept by day and rose at night to rule over men.

Yet the vast, fertile plains recalled the nightmare of Enger.

Vampires of Ancilla rank and higher avoided staying there long.

Plenty of humans, but few high-ranking vampires.

And it bordered the Military State.

Anyone escaping would inevitably pass through the eastern plains.

Humans and vampires alike believed so.

“…He’s quite the nuisance.”

Erzsebet clicked her tongue.

She was dispatched to this place by the will of the Progenitor.

Vampires were dull in some senses, yes, but for a fugitive to slip past hundreds of humans and vampires and cross half the nation?

It couldn’t be explained by stamina alone.

His skill was remarkable.

Crafting false trails to confuse, breaking through defenses to slip into crowds, navigating forests and fields to survive.

If he hadn’t been adept at even one of those, he’d have been caught long ago.

“Madame Erzsebet, we’ve found him.”

Of course, even the most profound skill cound only bought a few days in the face of relentless pursuit.

Erzsebet unfolded her blood-red fan, covering her lips.

“But this is the end. When the destination is limited, cornering him is easier than twisting a baby’s wrist. He’s bound for the plains. There’s nowhere left to run.”

Dogo was already ahead, near the border.

The Progenitor’s consort was not powerful enough to defeat an Elder and Ancilla force.

In this carefully prepared corral, Erzsebet’s job was simply to calmly herd and seize him.

Murmuring to herself, she concluded her mental plan.

“If I present the consort to the Progenitor, perhaps I’ll be forgiven for my sins…”

She cut herself off abruptly.

Erzsebet had broken free of the Progenitor’s control.

She possessed her strength but with full freedom intact.

Which meant the fear she felt now was wholly her own.

The reason was simple: she remembered the Shadow of Calamity.

The Progenitor’s Authority made flesh, her servant crafted from the power, history, and terror of vampires.

Like a shadow, always at her side, yet with cruelty and strength beyond any Elders.

Before that shadow, Erzsebet could attempt nothing.

Though the shadow was Tyrkanzyaka’s servant, it was a being far above any other vampire.

It was a primal terror, the kind that assured her no struggle could avail her.

The fear of a field mouse before a tiger.

Her long-buried instincts clawed their way back, screaming at her.

And it screamed one thing.

That shadow was something beyond reason.

“…What was that thing…?”

No answer came, no matter how long she pondered.

Carrying her unease, Erzsebet moved toward where the consort had last been sighted.

A windmill stood alone in the vast field.

Unlike the coast where sea winds stagnated against the mountains, here the breezes swept unimpeded, caressing every blade of grass.

The windmill was humanity’s audacious attempt to harness even nature’s gentle touch as labor.

The Progenitor’s consort was inside.

The report said that upon sensing pursuit, he had sighed deeply, entered the windmill, and calmly taken his rest.

Erzsebet nodded.

“They called him the King of Humans? At least he carries himself with dignity. I appreciate that he doesn’t cheapen himself with pointless resistance.”

“What will you do, Madame?”

“I shall escort him, of course. He is the Progenitor’s consort. Not a single blemish upon him… No.”

The Progenitor’s consort was still human.

It would do no harm to show courtesy.

Having sinned, Erzsebet chose to dismiss the Ancillae and go herself.

“I shall attend him personally. You may withdraw.”

“As you command, Madame Erzsebet. I shall go report to the Crimson Duke.”

Countess Erte, the Crimson Duke’s Ancilla, bowed deeply and left.

Though her manners were flawless, Erzsebet found her distasteful all the same.

Officially, she was there to assist her, truthfully, she was there to watch her.

“Such impudent…”

But having rebelled against the Progenitor, Erzsebet could hardly raise her voice.

She shot her a small glare, then strode toward the windmill.

Inside, she still felt a deliberate presence.

The consort didn’t seem intent on fleeing.

Erzsebet assumed this meant the conversation would go smoothly.

Composing herself before the windmill, she spoke.

“Consort, I have come personally to escort you.”

No answer, but the presence remained.

She took the silence as assent and moved her blood.

Blood seeped into the wood.

She commanded the door with a thought and swung it open.

“Forgive the intrusion, but if you would—”

But the scene inside was not what she expected.

The consort was there, but not alone.

A mage stood before him, unnoticed until now.

Scowling as if deeply irritated, the mage spared her a glance, then relaxed his face and muttered.

“So I wasn’t the only fool tricked by the impostor. Another idiot’s stumbled in.”

Erzsebet blinked.

According to her Ancillae, only the consort had entered.

And yet here was a mage seated as if master of the place.

Whether he recognized her or not, the mage spoke with brazen arrogance.

“Should I be grateful the world is full of fools, or despair that I’m one of them? Ah… I’m doomed to be nothing more than the right-hander’s pawn, a cliché first seat.”

He didn’t seem to consider Erzsebet worth noticing.

He had no idea where he was, or whose presence he trespassed upon.

To not recognize an Elder in the Duchy?

Even the proudest mage should know better.

Erzsebet decided to give him a lesson, not that he’d live to remember it.

“Bow your head. I’ve no business with you.”

Her blood bloomed like flowers.

Before the mage could react, a crimson conflagration surged and exploded around him.

Without watching the result, Erzsebet turned her gaze back to the consort.

“Forgive me for showing you such unpleasantness. But I could not allow such insolence before us…”

“Consort? I don’t know what you mean, but that one’s a fake. Just wearing Huey’s face. He’s not the human you’re looking for.”

The voice came from behind her.

The mage, alive.

Erzsebet stared in disbelief.

The blood flames had engulfed him, drained him for nourishment, yet he stood unscathed.

No, it hadn’t even touched him.

The blooming petals had curved away, shielding him instead, as if in deference.

The red-haired mage looked utterly relaxed.

“Unless an Elder like you is hunting for a doppelganger, you’ve got the wrong target. You’re just another mortal like me, though I daresay I’m a cut above you.”

He hadn’t failed to recognize her, he’d deliberately dismissed her.

No mage that arrogant would risk his life needlessly.

Which meant he was confident he could survive her.

Erzsebet extended her fan.

That little greeting had been nothing.

Could he be tougher than an immortal vampire?

She reached out toward him—

And the consort stopped her.

“Don’t attack him.”

Erzsebet paused, fan in hand.

“A friend of yours?”

“We know each other… though he doesn’t know me.”

“So not close, then.”

Her fan twitched.

Vast blood currents coiled like a serpent, ready to fill the windmill.

Now that the Progenitor was freed from the Blood Shackles, no one alive could command blood better than Countess Erzsebet.

She glared at the mage.

“In that case, killing him should be fine.”

Her fan swept, and blood surged like a flood.

Enough power to crush a city was unleashed upon one mage.

The windmill rattled violently, its gears spinning from the force, creating winds instead of catching them.

Blood engulfed the mage, twisting like serpents. It should’ve ground him to dust.

“…Hmm?”

But he still stood unharmed.

The currents raged on, but never touched him.

As though an unseen force wrapped him.

Erzsebet realized what it was.

“Unique Magic… So you had a trick up your sleeve.”

A mage who completes their Imagery gains Unique Magic, enforcing their personal law upon the world.

Often it takes the form of separating themselves, blocking all external assaults.

But that was only the result.

Each Unique Magic was different, and so too were the ways to overcome them.

Erzsebet readied to unleash more.

But again, the consort stopped her.

“Stop. Madame Erzsebet. It’s pointless to attack him. In his Unique Magic, the ‘Right-Handed World,’ all attacks miss and strike elsewhere.”

Erzsebet hastily withdrew her power.

The windmill was already on the verge of collapse, any more and even the consort might be caught.

To harm him here would mean being served as a meal to that shadow.

｢…But it doesn’t feel like a mere barrier.｣

She sensed something stranger.

Not that her blood was being blocked, but that it slipped endlessly into unreachable void, as if the very space differed.

Unsettled, she fixed her eyes on the red-haired mage.

｢He can’t hurt me. But could I break his Unique Magic to hurt him? Not anytime soon. Where did such a being come from, and why here, of all places, where the Progenitor’s consort is?｣

The answer was beside her.

She turned to the consort.

“You keep strange company, dear consort. Who is he?”

Hilde, disguised as Hughes, was not the consort Erzsebet sought.

But having once lived in the Military State as an eternal actress, she knew this mage’s identity.

She stared at him, the red-haired mage who had once thrown her nation into chaos, and murmured.

“The hope of the Military State. A comet that shone brighter than any. And then… fell to earth as its worst criminal.”

Years ago, Hamelin had seen the rise of three prodigies, hailed as the hope of the Military State.

Not remnants of the Kingdom, not pawns of the Saintess, but true children of the State, as if heralding a brilliant future.

He had been the brightest of them all.

Brains without brawn were useless in the State.

Martial heroines were hardly rare.

But a magical genius born in barren land was rare and precious, destined to change the State’s history.

He was the most anticipated rising star.

In a land devoid of Arcane, he mastered Standard Magic to its limits and forged his own Unique Magic.

A reborn miracle.

But his brilliance poisoned him.

In the end, he betrayed the State and left as its most reviled criminal.

“The Fallen Comet, Colonel Lankart. Once my classmate… and my friend.”