“Hey, wait just a moment! Surely this is against the rules!? Why are you here!?”
This was the first thing the Duke said after being pulled out of the red mist, his limbs having been torn off and his neck grabbed.
“Ho? You still have a sense of humor as always, my young lord,” the woman of the vampire species said, provocatively collapsing her Tyranian toga, flashing her fangs in the characteristic grin of her race, one filled with menace and intimidation. The Duke shuddered at the unpleasant sound of the Threefold Empire’s antiquated language, spoken in a roundabout fashion rather than directly.
He disliked these words, this sound, and above all, the speaker. Despite being conscious of avoiding the archaic words and grammar typical of older vampires, here she was, using them anyway.
“If you speak of deviation from the norm, you should apologize first. For the likes of the ragged little human boy lying there and the adorable niece who came crying to me in tears,” she said.
And above all else, for interfering with her rather splendid dinner. The woman, her downturned eyes and raised mouth corners belying a smile far from genteel, emanated an overwhelming and violently menacing aura…
The Empress, a historical rarity for the Threefold Empire— Theresia Hildegard Emilia Ursula von Erlstraich—broke her own nephew’s neck.
“Guuhh…”
The elegant hands, suited for fine cutlery and fans, crushed seven bones in the neck at once with an unexpectedly powerful grip, choking him so tightly that any kind of reconstruction was forbidden.
It was a common outcome in battles among the undead, who cannot easily gain divine favor to repel their kind and who cannot wield silver, a double-edged weapon that harms them as much as it does their foes. Thus, such fights are often straightforward: pure violence. The neck is squeezed with an overwhelming pressure that does not allow any reactivation, continuing the assault until the opponent has given up, thereby killing their spirit.
It is said that no matter how one might reside in an immortal shell, the mind within is delicate and fleeting, difficult to call truly immortal.
“First, those who were once emperors should not squawk like chickens when a single relative calls them to account. At my present stage, I am merely a retired playwright. My slender arms are accustomed to holding nothing but a pen,” she said.
The duke, whose throat and windpipe had been crushed along with the bones, struggled, wanting to shout at her about her ‘slender arms’ but unable to even scream in agony.
What was particularly unpleasant was that while the duke had trained himself as a mage, this ‘aunt’ had pursued the nature of her existence as a vampire to its very limits, becoming a different kind of mighty warrior. From the moment the fight turned into a close-range conflict without any preliminary exchanges, his chances stood as poor as they could be due to how unsuitable their strengths were against each other.
She could turn her body into mist, leap vast distances, heal by drinking blood, and wield extraordinary strength far beyond the norm. In this simple but fearsome ‘strong style,’ she showcased the advantages of her species, as if declaring, “This is what it means to be a vampire—can you say otherwise?”
With his bones crushed and continually dying, the duke could not even attempt to form magical incantations. All he could do was stare angrily at his aunt, who stared back at him with disdain, her silvery gaze treating him as if he were nothing.
“Observe the gentle child over there. I am reminded of my own youth, when I pined for Lord Richard,” she said lightly with a sensual sigh.
Under that gaze, the nun of the vampire kind carefully lifted the faintly breathing human body, holding the holy emblem tightly.
The pungent smell of blood inevitably aroused her instincts, extending her fangs. Each sharp tip that touched her tongue seemed to whisper to her soul, teasing it. She imagined tasting the lingering, enchanting flavor of the blood she had once tasted, as whispers of sweet desire enticed her mind.
The repast lay before her, crafted by the gods of fate, the very finest feast prepared just for her.
“…Oh gods.”
But restraining herself tightly, she, Cecilia, who was a nun serving the God of Night Shadow—not Constanzia Cecilia Valeria Kathrine von Erlstraich, the temperamental vampire—called upon the deity in earnest supplication, piercing her very tongue with her teeth in the process.
“O merciful goddess of nocturnal shadows, gazing upon us from her throne, hear me.”
Without wiping the blood flowing from the corner of her mouth, she began to speak, seeking the sacrament that she had long been denied despite her priestly rank.
“I am one who desires to give, not one who desires to take. Extend to us the tender hands of a compassionate mother to heal the sorrow.”
In harmony with the solemn incantation, an eerie light faded as a gentle light shone from an unknown source. It was undoubtedly the gaze of a compassionate mother illuminating the path for the lost child in the dark.
“With my body as the offering, release my cherished child from his agony. Let this be our teaching and testament.”
In response to this sincere prayer, the goddess wielded her divine power to “correctly” distort the world.
The miracle was pure, without the slightest flaw, bringing about phenomena far beyond the capabilities of mere human magic or sorcery in the blink of an eye.
As Cecilia carefully aligned the torn-off limbs like precious fragile items, the limbs returned to their proper positions smoothly, as if they had always been there. All traces of grievous wounds vanished, and fresh, vital skin emerged, erasing every trace of the cruel injuries.
This was an occurrence completely beyond the ordinary. A feat that even the magic wielded by humans would rarely achieve. Through the name of the deity governing the inner workings of the world, this limited form of omnipotence would never fail to answer the wishes of its devoted followers.
However, the gods—the protector and supervisor alike—do not simply give without expecting something in return, commensurate to the magnitude of the miracle granted.
Because if they were to forgive this, humans would cease to be humans and would instead become mere livestock of the gods.
“Ugh… Aahh… Ughkwa… Hihh…!”
With gruesome sounds, the limbs of the nun were marked and her muscles, flesh, and bones were torn off, as if these unnatural phenomena were exacting their cost.
Limb loss is irreversible. Even far-future technology, under most circumstances, couldn’t reconnect severed limbs.
But if one insisted upon such an impossible limb restoration, the gods naturally demanded an appropriate price.
In flesh for flesh, in bone for bone.
This was a miracle that transferred and transformed another’s wounds onto oneself. The regeneration of limbs was the supreme level of healing miracles, far different from the lower-level miracles that required only prayers be offered as penance for harsh fatigue or purification rites.
Her left arm and left leg were torn off in exactly the same manner as Erich’s. This was the cost demanded by the sacred mysteries descending from the gods.
Needless to say, a nun who had lived without ever knowing pain had suffered greatly. The pain of her limbs being violently twisted off was of the same quality as what Erich had endured, but far worse than his, which had been numbed by the excitement of battle.
Her wounded, famished body craved blood. The innate monstrosity she carried within herself as one of the “magical species” stirred in her heart, whispering to consume, suggesting that the life-saving cost was not too high.
If she could bury her fangs into this prone body, how pleasurable would it be? How sweet?
It must be a pleasure so intense that it would never be forgotten, a nectar so sweet that one might never find its equal in this lifetime, her instincts telling her so.
“Hih… Kuh… Fuu… Aaaahhh!”
Battling the unbridled desire of her species, she stood up, realigning her twisted muscles and whipping herself despite her tangled heart.
Then, the young vampire stood to face her opponent. To face the great aunt born in the founding era of the empire who had grabbed her by the scruff of the neck, the father born in the age of dawn.
“Father, I hereby explicitly declare my intention.”
The blood-stained nun, who had decided to act selfishly just as her father had, glared at him. How could she ever acknowledge that he was right and she was wrong just because they were father and daughter?
Don’t presume to impose on me what was forced upon you by my great-aunt.
“I shall not ascend to the imperial throne. How could a young one such as myself, not yet an adult, possibly fulfill the responsibilities of both the Erlstraich head and the emperor? Even our own uncle would surely object.”
Though the duke appeared to have something to say, unfortunately, the pressure of the stranglehold on his neck had not lessened at all. Facing such a colossal authority within the family, there was simply no room for dissent.
All of her cute familiars had been knocked out. Though they would probably wake up soon, it was unlikely they could stand against Theresia for more than five minutes, except perhaps the pure white snow.
“That said, I have decided to dedicate myself to my faith as a cleric of the Church. Indeed, the initial reason I was placed in the manor was out of the concern of you and Mother, and this remains unchanged. However, now I am choosing this path on my own accord.”
Above all, when she looked into those eyes, it was impossible. Those eyes, distinct to vampires, glowing crimson and filled with unrestrained will, reminded her of his wife, a gentle woman who held a steely and unyielding resolve once she made her decision.
She combined grace with strength, compassion with strictness, and most importantly, though she respected her husband, she never lost herself.
It was beyond hope at this point. Though she may take up her responsibilities in times of crisis, she would not yield under any circumstances, especially now. The moment she reached out to her great-aunt, one of her most fearsome relatives, was proof of her seriousness.
“Once again, I declare it: I shall not ascend to either the imperial throne or the position of family head.”
With this ultimatum and even the invocation of a ‘ghost card’ from family politics, the duke had no choice but to nod in agreement.
Just as he was about to give in with a sigh, the duke noticed something. There was anger embedded in the emotions reflected in her eyes.
Hmm, what is she so angry about? It’s understandable that she’s angry for trying to impose the role of family head on her silently and pushing her towards the imperial throne, which was akin to marrying the nation—so occupied with duties there’d be no ordinary married life. After all, even he had been furious about it himself, going so far as to fight his aunt to the death multiple times after becoming emperor.
Still, there seemed to be other elements to her anger, and they were quite significant.
“And one more thing…”
Is it because I called the assembly of monks that brought her to the capital? Or was it her discovery of the extravagant banquet I had planned for the abdication announcement, with seven costume changes planned and me getting quite excited? Could it be this comprehensive blowback from the relatives I roped into this scheme?
“Therefore, I no longer wish to know anything about ‘Patty’! I hate her!”
The shock ran through him like lightning. Today’s biggest shock—no, surely the biggest shock of his life. A phrase more striking than the time a silver dagger grazed and pierced his heart.
“St-stanztzi!?”
A scream-like voice escaped him, despite his mouth, which was supposed to be crushed beyond speech. He called out the nickname of the daughter he had named but was rarely called by, his face scrunching up sorrowfully in a rare show of emotion.
“My name is Cecilia! Haven’t I been telling you for a long time that it’s my favorite and I want you to call me that?!”
“This one you gave is better, ha-ha-ha, excellent, my dear niece. Umm, rest assured, this old woman will see to it that I allow you to have your way,” she said.
Turning her back on her father, who was stunned, she headed toward the young boy who had begun to breathe softly. Since her great-aunt had decided to take the rest of the procedures, it was better to leave the boy on the cold ground, given the circumstances.
After all, he was the hero who saved her from an unwanted marriage to the empire.
“Why… Stanztzi…”
“Ooooh, how pitiful… Why is it that men always imagine they will always be loved by their families, no matter what… Well, that’s fine. Perhaps it’s time to give you a good lecture on that, my young lord.”
Without regard for marring her monk’s robes, Cecilia sat on the ground, lifted him up, and laid his upper body across her knees. No matter how minutely every minor wound had been transferred, even miraculous healing could not restore lost blood. She couldn’t let his cold, blood-drained body touch the cold stone room.
His peaceful sleeping face, the neck visible due to the tilt of his head due to his loss of strength, spoke of the same beauty she had been drawn to ever since she first took her sip of blood from the goblet.
This man, was he perhaps inherently a vampire hunter? Cecilia smiled slightly. She adjusted the collar of his armor, ensuring he wouldn’t catch a cold.
The instinct whispered—what an idiot. Not to strike one’s fangs into such a delicious prey. It would be simple to mold him into her ‘lover,’ perhaps even to ensnare him as her eternal servant.
Her instinct responded in turn—would that not make her a brigand? Wasn’t that exactly what the former Lampel Grand Prior had sharply criticized about vampires?
I am a vampire, yes, and a believer in the God of Night Shadows. Therefore, I shall repay kindness with kindness. I will not steal his life away.
Besides, she was enjoying herself just a little. It reminded her of a play she had seen once when a concealed noblewoman had been saved by a traveler-hero and they ran around in an amusing way, reaching a happy ending typical of such stories.
The maiden saved by the hero didn’t act in such a way. Instead, she takes the offered hand, gives a gentle smile, and gently embraces the weary hero.
From then on, they would move forward, with her in the shadow, supporting him as he continues his hero’s journey.
In this sweet reverie, where she placed herself in his place, the gods would surely not hold it against her. She wanted to immerse herself in the fact that he had saved her.
As if affirming her dreams and nature, the holy emblem, shaped like a moon, rang softly with a “ching…”
