Ludger had left.
When the Owens members heard the news, each reacted differently.
“Haah. I’m going to lose my mind. Though I already knew it would come to this.”
Hans pressed his fingers against his temples as if his head hurt.
“Are we really just going to let the Owner go alone? We should at least help.”
Violetta was restless at the thought of Ludger leaving on his own.
Everyone here knew exactly where he was heading.
It was a death trap.
A stage where the strongest figures of the continent would gather to declare a single purpose.
Did Ludger really go there to end things peacefully through conversation?
Even if that was his intention, there was no way the others would accept it.
It would inevitably turn into a fight.
“It was his own decision. We don’t have the right to interfere.”
Phantos, who usually remained silent and merely observed, spoke in Ludger’s defense.
Alex agreed with him.
“Even if we said we’d follow him, do you think the Leader would like that? It’s better to send him off properly and wish him well.”
“But what if the Owner gets hurt?”
“Hurt?”
It was Phantos who reacted to Violetta’s concern.
He snorted—something he rarely did.
“Even if everyone here attacked him together, do you think that man would even flinch?”
“What do you mean...?”
“You don’t know. Most of you probably don’t. The power we’ve seen from that man—it's only the tiniest fraction of what he truly possesses. Like an iceberg hidden in the depths of the sea.”
Phantos remembered.
When he first targeted Ludger as prey.
When they fought—and he witnessed just a sliver of the man’s true strength.
He knew then, without a doubt: there had never been, and never would be, anyone on this continent who could surpass him.
As a beastkin bound by bloodline, yet born with the near-miraculous talent of a hero, Phantos could sense it instinctively.
Both his animal intuition and his warrior’s instinct spoke as one.
Ludger was not walking toward his death.
“All we have to do is prepare for what’s coming next. So that when he returns, we can act immediately.”
At Phantos’s words, Hans clapped his hands together.
“Either way, talking about it won’t change a thing. All we need to do is trust the Boss and keep doing our job.”
There was no choice but to trust him.
That became the unspoken conclusion among everyone in Owens.
* * *
Night had fallen.
Grander stood alone in the center of the crater.
This was land where life could no longer grow—scarred by the aftermath of a battle between a saint and a great demon.
But Grander knew.
It wasn’t because of the great demon Suruna that life could not return here—it was because of the divine power that had seeped so deeply into the earth.
She wasn’t curious about what had really happened that day.
The so-called battle between the demon and the saint, as recorded by the Holy Theocracy of Bretus, was a rewritten history.
The truth had to be something else entirely.
“So what if it was?”
Perhaps because it was the end, she felt strangely sentimental.
Grander looked around.
Beyond the crater’s rim, people were moving busily.
Individuals of great power and fame—even by continental standards.
When the time came, they would unleash their attacks upon her.
‘A meaningless act.’
None of them could kill her.
Even so, the assault they planned at midnight was nothing more than a performance.
A show meant to declare to the world that the Holy Theocracy had finally hunted down the progenitor vampire who had long threatened them.
Grander would have preferred to die cleanly by a sacred relic, but that sly man, Patricio, intended to wring every drop of spectacle from this execution.
‘He said it would be over quickly—that it was only for show.’
But Grander knew better.
Patricio had another purpose besides simply killing her.
Behind that kind, gentle smile, she could see the calculation. Her long years of insight easily pierced through the mask.
Still, Grander didn’t bother to expose him.
She was about to die anyway. Whatever schemes he had were no concern of hers.
‘I only need to obtain the death I’ve longed for.’
Death.
To her, the word was foreign.
She preferred to call it rest—or perhaps solace.
Something she had thought forever beyond her reach.
And now, it shimmered just before her eyes, within her grasp.
So why, then—
‘After yearning for it for so long, why is the last thing that comes to mind ◈ Nоvеlіgһт ◈ (Continue reading) that disciple’s face?’
She knew their parting had been unintentional.
He had made promises on his own, and broken them just the same.
Ludger was probably more confused than grateful.
She felt a faint regret for leaving things unsaid—but it didn’t matter.
It was all over. She had decided to let go of everything.
She was an immortal monster.
He, a mortal man.
He might feel disappointment now, but eventually he would forget and live on.
That was enough for her.
It was a selfish conclusion, disregarding his feelings—but so what?
She had always been, and still was, utterly self-sufficient in her solitude.
“So it begins.”
Midnight arrived.
Grander raised her head.
The night sky above was black, the stars like scattered dust, and the moonlight looked unusually clear—and sorrowful.
Then came the rising flares across the darkness.
Holy incantations, spells, and modern weaponry.
Thousands of them—all aimed at the center of the crater.
At her.
“Yes. Since this is the end, I suppose I’ll accompany them on their way.”
Around Grander, a crimson aura began to form—so vivid it glowed even beneath the bluish moonlight.
* * *
“It’s begun.”
Far from the crater, in a tent beneath a ridge, Clinton Rothschild murmured as he sensed the rising energies outside.
The hunt had started—the pursuit of the vampire who had long been the enemy of the Holy Theocracy of Bretus.
Clinton was present among the gathered forces, but he took no part in the battle.
To him, talk of vampires or the enemies of the Church held no importance.
What interested him was that the target was a magician of legend—classified as an [8th-Circle: Grander]-level mage.
‘They said the titles came from the ranks themselves—but who would have thought she was still alive?’
Clinton recalled his first meeting with Grander.
—You’re quite something, for a human.
Those were the words spoken by a girl who looked like a porcelain doll, to an old man far past his prime.
No one else would have dared say such a thing to him, a human who had reached the 7th-Circle, [Impera]-level.
Yet when he compared their magical ability, Clinton could only acknowledge the truth of her words.
In fact, to be told “quite something” by an 8th-Circle mage was almost flattering.
What he hadn’t known at the time was that she was a vampire—one who sought death.
History would remember her as the enemy of the Church, a monstrous vampire.
But Clinton, as a magician, held deep respect for her. He believed her death would mark the decline of magic on this continent.
Still, even with that conviction, the name of a 7th-Circle mage was not enough to stop what was happening.
He could only watch from afar.
‘What a pity.’
Explosions rumbled beyond the ridge.
Even from this distance, flashes of light burned through the tent walls.
If he got any closer to the crater, the blasts and flashes might blind and deafen him.
Countless powers converged on a single point, creating utter destruction.
And at the center of it all, he felt a massive presence—curled inward, as if in a cocoon, resisting with occasional bursts of red lightning, yet overwhelmed by the storm of attacks.
But Clinton knew.
If she fought seriously, she could wipe out everyone there in an instant.
The only reason she didn’t was because she had chosen to take part in this ridiculous play.
‘Yes. A farce—a ludicrous circus.’
Clinton stroked his beard and stood up.
Every magician longed to reach that ultimate realm.
Even if the one who possessed it was no longer human, Clinton respected Grander as a fellow mage.
And yet, to see her—an 8th-Circle—end like this, was bitter indeed.
It made him feel that all his beloved magic amounted to nothing.
More bitter still was the knowledge that he couldn’t do anything about it.
He was once hailed as the strongest human magician, the youngest to ever earn the title of Sage.
His words once carried weight enough to move nations.
But with age came the realization: even at the 7th-Circle, he was nothing.
At the 6th, he had believed he stood at the top.
It had taken him years to realize he was just a frog in a well.
When he saw how twisted the world truly was—and how powerless he was to change it—he accepted that submission to reality was the only answer.
Because it was the “right” thing to do.
Even now, as the greatest magician in history met her end, that belief remained unchanged.
“Knowing too much is its own torment.”
Clinton dusted off his coat and stepped outside the tent.
He could neither stop this nor interfere. All he could do was silently wish for everything to end well.
With that thought, he turned to leave, intending to return to the Empire.
Staying here any longer would only foul his mood.
But just as he moved, his eyebrows twitched.
He felt something—some presence far in the distance.
“What... is that?”
* * *
Cardinal Patricio Romelo stood atop the mountain, looking down into the crater below.
Flashes of light and deafening roars filled the air, the “valley of death” below burning like a stage.
Even from far away, the brightness stung the eyes and the noise pierced the ears.
Inside, it was no different from a smelting furnace—anything thrown in would melt and boil away in seconds.
Even the greatest warriors of the continent would leave not a single cell behind.
And yet, within that inferno, something still lived.
Or rather—something that could not die.
“Your Eminence.”
A senior priest approached him and spoke.
“The preparations for the Divine Stake are complete.”
“Well done. But I intend to wait a bit before using it. It isn’t time yet.”
“Why go this far, Your Eminence? Wouldn’t it be right to destroy our Church’s greatest enemy at once?”
“Haha. High Priest Melvin, are you curious? Yes, the Divine Stake is indeed a sacred relic made to eliminate our Church’s greatest foe. I understand your eagerness to use it immediately. But Melvin—this is not merely about destroying an enemy.”
“Then... there’s something more?”
“Exactly. In truth, this is just bait to draw out our real target.”
Melvin’s eyes widened at the confession.
The Cardinal had just admitted that the progenitor vampire—the very creature the Church had spent centuries trying to kill—was only bait?
It was unthinkable. To use a being powerful enough to destroy nations as mere lure—
“What in the world is the true target?”
“If I told you now, where would the fun be? You’ll find out soon enough.”
Patricio smiled gently as always, but Melvin felt a chill crawl up his spine.
“What if... it doesn’t come?”
“Even then, it doesn’t matter. We’ll have eliminated our greatest enemy regardless, and that alone will be a fine outcome.”
At that moment, a holy knight hurried up and whispered something into Patricio’s ear.
The smile on the Cardinal’s lips grew wider, sharper.
“Prepare yourselves.”
“Y-yes?”
“It’s time to use the Divine Stake.”
