When the steward’s report was received, the Duke felt neither anger nor anxiety.
Upon comprehending the content with his sharp and astute mind, the two thoughts that arose were simply, “As expected,” and “Ah, I see.”
That one had always been his child, albeit in a roundabout way—too gentle, like his mother. Yet, the Duke chuckled, reflecting that “blood runs thicker than water” indeed.
Upon reflection, it was not only ordinary but also an extremely natural progression of events. When one of the few female emperors in the history of the Threefold Empire, a relative, hinted at relinquishing the head of house position, he found himself looking around and realizing he might be the only suitable candidate. At that moment, what did he do?
He tried to flee, didn’t he? Without any sense of shame or propriety, he attempted to abscond with all he could carry, seeking asylum in the East. But everything he attempted was utterly crushed, and the ship he clung to in desperation had its cargo violently searched by her—her proud and mocking “her,” who then promptly forced him to wear the signet ring symbolizing the position of head of house. The memory was unforgettable, haunting his dreams to this day.
Ultimately, what he had done was something even a child could have done.
With a soft laugh, the Duke drew out a moth from his robes.
The moth was a silkworm in its adult form, a species of insect most dependent on human care, cultivated for centuries by the Duke as a “familiar.” It had reached a point where survival without human intervention was nearly impossible—a creature driven to the extreme for its function as a familiar, filled with obsession. This silkworm was his masterpiece, capable of the most extraordinary feats.
“Go find it,” he commanded.
In the Threefold Empire, Martin Werner Erlstrich’s name was more widely known as a researcher of magical lifeforms within the Celestial Order sect, a reputation far surpassing his status as former head of house or even emperor. Among the many creations he had made, the “tripod hounds” that now populated the entire land were particularly renowned.
The silkworm familiar, released into the air, split into fragments as required, proliferated instantly, and dispersed throughout the city to track a scent. Though such mechanisms might not inherently exist in silkworms, this specimen was equipped with the ability to “reconstruct” the necessary organs to fulfill its master’s command.
A universal tool, needing only a single specimen to enable communication, investigation, protection, and attack—this perfectly honed familiar responded to every desire of the Duke. If he wanted a note, it could extend its fine wings and inscribe words, altering the color of its scales. When gathered, it could form tools, transform into shields or spears as needed, and could even produce sounds if necessary to summon someone. Now, it was weaving through the air, tracing the “thought waves” of its target.
However, the familiar’s search for the targeted individual’s specific thought waves proved futile in the surrounding area. Therefore, it resorted to tracking a similar scent, a task akin to what even the keenest canine noses might struggle with.
The result was the discovery of a young boy, cloaked and fleeing—someone who bore little resemblance to the Duke’s own daughter, who had been the target. Moreover, no other scent in the vicinity was comparable, leaving the situation rather perplexing.
“But, to have been imbued with my daughter’s scent to this extent suggests that he might know something.”
The Duke scratched the antennae of the returning silkworm, then slipped away from the castle, disregarding the imminent calls from the steward and the emperor’s agents regarding a speech about flying vessels mere minutes from now.
What did he care? Surely some close engineer would step in if necessary, and the emperor himself had already visited the demonstration multiple times. The worst-case scenario was that he could deliver the speech later.
As he flew off, the targeted youth had just fallen into the water, having been struck by an arrow fired from a nearby royal huntsman. Tumbling over the railing, he landed in the waterway.
One might commend the huntsman for a job well done—but something was amiss. Death would be inconvenient; it wasn’t just the trouble, but the sheer tedium involved in dealing with such a situation. Yet, apparently, there was no cause for worry.
A faint magical aura beneath the water suggested otherwise. This undecorated, pure spell could not have been crafted by seasoned mages or assassins accustomed to magical combat.
What was more, it resembled the thought wavelength he had memorized earlier.
It belonged to someone who had once excitedly broken down the barriers in a craft display booth, a feat of immense talent despite the faint sorcery aura. Had it not been for this individual, the Experimental Hall display, where the Duke had eagerly anticipated some promising young talent, would have been a letdown. In light of the potential shown—a flame capable of burning even a vampire’s body, honed beyond normal cutting edges or weapons—he had eagerly intended to fund the young inventor’s research.
Thus, their meeting had taken this unexpected turn. The Duke, who had lived for four hundred years out of sheer interest in such discoveries, found himself grinning.
It wasn’t that he desired the spell. The boy’s devotion to magic was not for personal glory or advancement.
It was the sheer delight in unraveling the unknown into the known, the ecstatic joy of witnessing ideas beyond his own grasp.
This was the sole reason the Duke had persisted through the centuries, living life with unflagging enthusiasm.
A person capable of devising such ingenious spells and linked to his daughter’s escape surely had the potential to bring him the kind of novel wonders that would make him laugh heartily.
With renewed motivation, he summoned another “precious pet” from among his creations—a necessity when dealing with an exceptional mage.
The boy had escaped into the sewers. The guards would certainly focus their efforts on the waterways for the time being, but realization of his survival wouldn’t take long. The aquatic guards stationed in the lake, which doubled as the castle moat, would no doubt discover him quickly.
Thus, the Duke needed to ensure his interference was minimized.
Entering the sewers through an inspection hatch, he navigated toward the secret lower levels, known only to a handful of people—places like the emergency escape route connecting to the imperial castle and the central purification chamber of the magical lifeform known as “Lord of Filth,” crucial to the city’s purification systems.
The sewer system was integral to the infrastructure of the Imperial Capital. With its manipulation, one could collapse an entire city into a trap.
Hence, these hidden underground locations were strictly guarded. Certain vital areas, like the passages connecting to the imperial palace or the main purification chamber housing “Lord of Filth,” were so confidential that only a few individuals knew of their existence.
Using such an important path, the Duke descended into the purification chamber.
Amid pillars standing like in a temple, within a space spanning dozens of cubic meters, strong alkaline slime-creatures surged. As their dark bodies writhed like the nighttime ocean, their movements echoed around the chambers, distorting like death groans into the ears. This was a place akin to hell, with volatile alkaline gases invading the atmosphere. The Duke, a vampire impervious to such barriers, merely floated and smiled.
At the “Lord of Filth,” a disciple he had once tutored as a child in a laboratory dish, he waved.
“Hello there, old chap. Though I doubt you understand my words, I’ve known you since your early days in the lab.”
The Duke hadn’t been part of the slime’s development team but had helped in other ways, offering opinions and lending a hand during the gathering of its initial research team, a group led by a patron with Long-lived lineage.
From this, the Duke had learned about this place, its nature, and its properties.
And a way to make a particular request.
Using extraordinary knowledge that could potentially flood an entire city, the Duke pursued the boy into a hidden chamber prepared for flood emergencies. Surely, if the bureaucrats in the Water Control Department of the Imperial Administrative Office learned of this, they would lose face and protest vehemently. In the Threefold Empire, even the lower ranks were granted the freedom to criticize the higher. Most of these protests, however, would simply vanish into recycling bins or be perpetually shelved.
Thus, equipped with capriciousness and mischief, as well as a taste for novelty, the vampire who had spent four hundred years indulging in hobbies stood before the boy.
The boy was an adequate magic user. His straightforward spellwork lacked artistic flair, but it was understandable given the utility of his spells—supporting his sword swings, facilitating movement, and building emergency defenses. His proficiency as a swordsman, however, was extraordinary.
Focusing on magic as a supplement and utilizing simple spells, he attacked with relentless precision, displaying efficiency that far surpassed mediocrities in magical combat. His forward momentum, relentless striking, and purposeful thrusts toward life itself were dazzling. Even an ordinary swordsman might find an unbreakable barrier impossible to pass, yet he had cleanly shattered seven layers of it. At this point, the Duke marveled—a head cleanly severed and a heart sliced, such a wound would have utterly destroyed a newly turned vampire into ashes.
How could such skill be attained at such a young age, for a Human who, upon stopping their heart once, would be called away to God?
“Magnificent,” the Duke murmured, blood spilling from his mouth. A spell far beyond expectations had struck him; despite the simple sequence of magic, its redundancy was clear in its ability to be reconstituted continuously. Disrupting just one or two processes wouldn’t hinder it significantly without dismantling the likely catalyst altogether.
Ultimately, it was brute force amplified by the advantages of his species, the Duke reflected wryly.
Setting aside his self-deprecation, the spell was truly wonderful. Scanning his body with a light magical aura, he found all his organs crushed, his flesh retaining only its human form, a “bag of meat” barely maintaining its structure. Even the formidable three-headed hounds, Shufti and Gauna, had been overturned and foaming, suffering severe damage to their robust respiratory systems. They would require rest in a clean, high-altitude villa while being pampered to recover.
Of course, his magical servitor, Schneeweiß, was completely annihilated. While its hidden phase might remain unscathed, summoning it again would take minutes to recover.
Now, how could such a simple multi-layered spell shatter defensive barriers and damage the flesh of a Long-lived species known for its durability? The question intrigued him endlessly.
However, indulging in such curiosity would have to wait.
First, he had to attend to the boy approaching for the final strike amid the settling dust.
Regenerating his body, the Duke prepared himself as the boy launched another projectile bottle, which shattered mid-air, spreading a viscous liquid that ignited.
Though initially mistaken for a simple flame spell, a growing suspicion unsettled him. Given the depleted oxygen levels moments ago, why did the flames still burn?
This sticky, magical fire latched onto his body, unrelenting against basic flame-extinguishing spells designed to remove oxygen. The burning pain seared his flesh and sent excruciating waves through his nerves. Fire, cursed offspring of the Sun God’s enmity toward vampires and the eldest of the divine punishers, was especially harmful to vampires. While not as immediately lethal as silver, whose effects were physiologically repulsive, the wounds healed far slower than regular injuries.
His flesh burned under the intense heat, his eyeballs boiling and bursting. Not only was the fire persistent but also carried a tremendous amount of heat.
The pain was deep, reminiscent of death, yet tolerable. The Duke, having lived long enough to endure assassins who went through immense trouble to kill him, recognized this agony as familiar. He had even survived assaults involving fire capable of conceptually consuming objects, making this relatively trivial.
Reacting immediately, the Duke manipulated his blood, causing his body to explode.
The scattered tissues disrupted the flames, leaving behind a gruesome sight of exposed muscle fibers. Despite its gruesomeness, it was preferable to burning and being unable to regenerate.
Regeneration began with the sensory organs to ensure no disruptions in casting other spells. The eyes, having boiled and burst, regenerated in reverse, restoring the luminous silver gaze hidden beneath a mask.
The first thing the restored eyes captured was the boy, running forward with a sword on his shoulder, gripping an object in his left hand that glimmered ominously.
Experience and instinct screamed at him—this boy knew how to kill a vampire.
The stern face of Grand Monk Rampel flashed in his mind. The monk, famous for his theological essay, “The Oath of the Receiver,” that outlined what vampires ought to be, was revered among the night shadow god’s followers. The silver coin depicting the bald Rampel was renowned for its high silver content and revered as a vampire talisman—used both for protection by vampires and as an emblem to ward off the less disciplined among them.
This was unacceptable. If that object were driven into his heart, it would be insurmountable, even for a centuries-old vampire.
Silver, an emblem of divinity’s grace to curb vampire arrogance, and sunlight, a punishment for their transgressions, were heavy shackles placed upon their eternal life.
The Duke became serious, unleashing a raw, uncontrolled burst of magic in an instant. For survival, to continue reveling in life’s pleasures…
Because if this minuscule heart stopped beating, there would be no joy or purpose in existence…
…
[Tip: Grand Monk Rampel—a figure in the Threefold Empire who, prior to its establishment, articulated in his writings that vampires, unless they humble themselves and seek love, remain mere fiends. Although deceased, he is considered a patron saint of vampires within the monkhood and is deeply respected by devotees of the God of Night Shadow. It is believed his spirit dwells with the deity, both watching over and cautioning vampires.]
Each message of gratitude restores my enthusiasm, no matter how many times. Thank you.
Even a last boss making a cameo in the first episode, only to be critically hit and nearly killed, happens from time to time. It was so unexpected that he hurriedly returned, earning nicknames like “small fry,” “coward,” or “somebody nearly demoted due to hubris,” resulting in unfortunate climactic scenes.
