The vampires of the duchy possess a unique ability—to sense blood. It is a skill inherent to predators searching for prey, and for beings whose senses are otherwise dulled, it remains their one heightened instinct.
Thus, writing in blood could serve as an urgent summons, a distress signal calling a vampire immediately.
Vladimir had received such a signal.
More importantly, this was a specific signal—the mark he had shared only with his own thralls, a symbol meant solely to summon him. It pulsed from afar.
In times of rapid upheaval, information was precious. Vladimir moved swiftly to retrieve whatever knowledge his subordinate had uncovered.
It was a considerable distance away.
Moving discreetly, avoiding the attention of other vampires, Vladimir replayed the trial in his mind.
To a vampire, ten years was but an instant. His thoughts quickly drifted back—not just to the trial, but to its very cause.
Back to the moment when he had slain an Elder.
Back, just a little further—to the moment when Ruskinia had come to him, blood trailing from his lips.
Something had wounded him. His hemocraft wavered erratically.
Even Vladimir could sense the rampaging blood coursing ❖ Nоvеl𝚒ght ❖ (Exclusive on Nоvеl𝚒ght) wildly through Ruskinia’s body. Losing control meant one thing—another Elder could seize that control.
Right now, Ruskinia was in extreme danger.
And yet—
"Hahaha! Vladimir! I found it—I finally found it!"
Even as he laughed madly, he was still the same.
Vladimir turned to face him.
Ruskinia. The problem child of the duchy.
Trace back half the troubles in the duchy, and they would inevitably lead to him.
Killing too many humans and drawing public complaints from other Elders.
Instigating such fear among his thralls that they staged a mass escape.
Being executed under law, only to return a few days later and cause chaos again.
It was always Vladimir who had to clean up his messes, which meant they often crossed paths.
Elders rarely took interest in one another.
These two were an exception.
If they ignored each other, the entire duchy might collapse.
So, with absolute certainty that Ruskinia had caused another disaster, Vladimir spoke.
"What trouble have you caused this time? Say it quickly so I can deal with it."
"I don’t recall causing any trouble! Well, I have caused trouble this time—if you consider revolution to be trouble!"
If all his past incidents weren’t even trouble in his mind, then what had he done this time?
As Vladimir prepared countermeasures in his head, Ruskinia collapsed into a chair, arms thrown wide, and declared—
"I’ve discovered how to break free from the shackles of blood! As expected, I am a genius!"
That was trouble.
No, that was a catastrophe.
If Vladimir were still alive, he would have felt a chill run down his spine.
"So, you finally succeeded."
"And you—you knew, and yet you kept silent! You’re even more insidious than I am!"
"Hardly. You, who so easily shared your blood with your own wife and daughter, have no right to call anyone else insidious."
"And what of it?"
Ruskinia’s response was genuine—an honest question, devoid of shame.
Vladimir explained once more.
"It would be one thing if you took women to bed as a mere indulgence, even without desire or love. But you cut yourself open, extracted your own flesh, and forced her to conceive. Of all people, you are in no position to call anyone insidious."
There was no need to argue.
They would never understand each other.
Words were merely a means to express justification.
Vladimir spoke without expectation of comprehension—yet, Ruskinia’s response was unusual.
"Love? You say I have no love? You, of all people—a man as cold as stone—say that to me?"
Ruskinia had always been erratic.
But that was because he acted on ideas the moment they formed.
To achieve his goals, he would use any method, limited only by the necessity of avoiding obstacles.
Even having his concubine bear his child had been just another means to an end.
There had been no one to stop him, so he had done it.
But now... he seemed emotional.
Vladimir sensed something off.
"Do you have any basis to believe you possessed love?"
Vampires do not understand love.
Their hearts do not beat with excitement.
No blood rushes through their veins in passion or longing.
They control every drop of blood in their bodies at will.
That is why vampires are devoid of tears and warmth.
If something must be done, they do it.
For instance—
"Your concubine, wife, and thrall—Lily. You personally executed her, did you not? I recall how enraged you were when she tried to escape."
A human would not even consider carrying out the execution of their own wife.
A vampire, however, would do it without hesitation.
Because that was what vampires were.
No one had ever expected Ruskinia to care for his wife and daughter.
Even if a vampire somehow conceived a child through some unnatural means, they would not feel any parental attachment.
No one had been surprised when Ruskinia executed his own wife.
Before she was a wife, Lily was a thrall.
And her blood belonged to Ruskinia.
He was obligated to reclaim what was his.
He had done so with ruthless efficiency, without wasting a single drop of her blood.
He had acted precisely as expected—like a vampire.
No one had doubted him.
Despite being a madman who forced his concubine to bear his child, he had still behaved as a vampire should.
He had reclaimed his thrall’s blood with cold detachment.
And yet, now—now, Ruskinia spoke of his feelings from back then.
"Even a genius like me makes mistakes."
"A mistake?"
"Yes. I didn’t understand what love was. No—more precisely, I mistakenly believed love existed and that I simply lacked it! As if something as abstract as thought itself could have a name!"
For the first time, Vladimir saw something in Ruskinia’s eyes—something he had never seen before.
Pity.
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Ruskinia looked at him with pity.
"I needed her blood. But at that rate, she was doomed to die eventually. So, I turned her into a vampire."
Vladimir understood.
That was why he had taken no action.
Ruskinia continued.
"But once she became a vampire, she changed too much. She could no longer even taste blood. That stupid expression she made whenever she feared me—gone. Every last drop of blood in her body was mine, but because of that, she was worthless to keep by my side. I had ruined my own possession with my own hands."
"So you sought to undo it—even if it meant breaking the shackles of blood. I know that much."
"No. You still don’t understand."
Ruskinia’s eyes gleamed wide, blood-red and wild.
For the first time, Vladimir saw something unfamiliar in his gaze.
Ruskinia had always been a madman, calmly carrying out whatever reckless ideas came to mind. His actions constantly led to unpredictable outcomes.
And yet, that madness had been deemed necessary for the duchy’s survival.
Vladimir had often turned a blind eye, at times even enabling Ruskinia, out of pragmatism rather than sympathy.
But now—
"Emotions? They’re nothing."
"They’re just a grandiose label we attach to whatever compels us to act."
"The urge to hunt for delicious blood is an emotion. The disappointment of losing that blood is also an emotion. We never lost emotions to begin with—because the very concept of emotions never existed in us."
But...
Is madness something that can be explained through reason alone?
Vladimir felt an unshakable sense that this Ruskinia could not be explained.
In other words—
For the first time, Vladimir truly felt madness.
"We do not lack emotions—we merely resign ourselves."
"A master dominates our blood, controls our bodies. That leaves us no room for impulse. With no driving force to defy our master’s will, we simply do not act. That is why we are known to have no emotions. In that sense, it is true."
"So, have you regained them?"
"Look at you—still not understanding! I already told you—there were never any emotions to regain!"
Ruskinia suddenly leaned forward, stretching his body toward Vladimir.
It was an unnecessary motion—there was no need for it.
But he did it anyway.
And that alone was reason enough.
"We merely seek to act. But the Progenitor, that immense existence, dominates our blood. The moment we stray even slightly from her will, we lose the ability to even attempt those actions!"
"It’s not some abstract nonsense about lacking emotions—it’s power! The logic of the force that governs us!"
"Watch your words. You sound agitated—"
Agitated?
A vampire, agitated?
Even as he spoke, Vladimir felt the wrongness of the statement.
And then, he realized.
Ruskinia had truly broken free of the shackles.
"You really succeeded, then."
"Halfway! If that foolish girl had done it properly, it would have been perfect! But she failed!"
"Girl?"
Ruskinia snapped his fingers.
And from the shadows of Vladimir’s office, something lifted into the air—
A bloodied, mangled, half-corpse.
Vladimir recognized her immediately.
Lir Nightingale.
Ruskinia’s daughter.
And the one used to sever an Elder’s shackles.
Ruskinia sneered.
"A foolish child. She succeeded in controlling my body—but failed to dominate it. But even so, for just a moment—it was enough."
"In that moment, my control created a loop. My thrall gained control over me, and in that cycle—the shackles finally broke."
"So you achieved what you sought."
"Achieved what I sought... Yes. I suppose so."
Allowing a thrall to control their master—
It was a reckless, foolish experiment that only someone like Ruskinia would attempt.
If the thrall were incompetent, the experiment would fail.
If they were competent but harbored malice, the thrall would usurp the master’s power.
If Lir had harbored true malice and killed Ruskinia in that instant, she would have inherited his dominion.
The fact that he survived was sheer luck.
"Thanks to that, she’s dying—but she served her purpose. Yes... Yes, it had to be this way..."
Vladimir ignored Ruskinia’s delirious muttering and spoke.
"To summarize, you succeeded in breaking free of the shackles. Understood."
"Do you, now?"
"An unexpected outcome, but the Progenitor is not present. I cannot make a ruling in her stead. The matter of breaking free from the shackles will be put on hold. No Elder is likely to attempt what you did, but the method remains dangerous. I will ensure it remains a secret."
It was a decision that satisfied the duchy’s order.
A rational judgment, free of fault.
But Ruskinia—Ruskinia refused to accept it.
"I thought you, of all people, would understand. But I see now—you cannot."
Staggering, Ruskinia rose from his chair.
"We revere the Progenitor. We swear loyalty to her."
"But to her—we are nothing."
"We are merely limbs, tools that act according to her will."
"Loyalty is not given in expectation of reward. We have already been granted all that we need."
"Is that truly the best we can do? Do you truly believe that’s what the Progenitor wants?"
Ruskinia glanced at his dying daughter for a brief moment—then swiftly turned away.
And he spoke.
"Then tell me—why does the Progenitor slumber outside the duchy?"
"Why does she remain distant for decades, centuries, keeping herself apart from us?"
"Why did she entrust the duchy to you and leave this world to wander?"
"It is not our place to question the Progenitor’s will."
"That’s it! That’s exactly the problem!"
Ruskinia’s voice roared through the chamber.
"We do not ask. We do not challenge. And so, there is no reason for us to exist."
"What you call loyalty is not loyalty—it is negligence, complacency, and indifference! That is why the Progenitor abandoned you, abandoned all of us! That is why she leaves us ignored and forsaken!"
"..."
"And isn’t that fortunate?
"Because of it, we have been able to grow apart from the Progenitor—to carve out our own way of life."
"Perhaps the Progenitor wants it that way."
"Assumptions are—"
"Necessary!"
"Without them, nothing will ever change!"
Vladimir had always judged based on certainty.
Assumptions were merely possibilities.
He would prepare contingencies, but he would never make a decision until concrete facts emerged.
It was a slower process—but for an immortal vampire, it was appropriate.
Ruskinia had dropped hints before.
And Vladimir, even then, had withheld judgment.
This was a matter concerning the Elders.
If possible, he had wanted to postpone it until Tyrkanzyaka’s return.
But—
"To truly be loyal, we must first sever these shackles!
"Loyalty bound by shackles means nothing!"
Vladimir’s philosophy was absolute—
He delayed judgment until all possibilities were clear.
But once he was certain, he acted without hesitation.
"Attacking the Progenitor is the only true loyalty we have left!"
And so, Vladimir killed Ruskinia.
Standing over the ancient sigil at his feet, Vladimir stared at the symbol.
A sword and a shield.
The mark he had once borne in solemn vow—
A pledge to become the Progenitor’s greatest sword.
A vow to serve as her unbreakable shield.
Long ago, he had lost everything.
Now, for the first time in a thousand years—
He was free.
But what would he do with that freedom?
Before he could ponder it further, his attention turned to the figure standing near the sigil.
Emerging from his thoughts, Vladimir spoke.
"I had considered the possibility of a false signal... but I did not expect the one who drew this sigil to not even be a vampire."
It was no coincidence.
This was no accident.
Whoever had written this knew exactly what Vladimir’s sigil meant.
A human.
One who had supposedly been struck down by Dogo.
A human who now pulsed with hemocraft.
A scenario so impossible, it should not exist.
Vladimir turned his gaze upon the young figure before him—
Or rather, the girl.
And he asked—
"What is your business here?"