"No."
At the childlike refusal, Kabilla’s expression stiffened for a brief moment.
But Tyrkanzyaka no longer cared about Kabilla’s reaction.
Tyrkanzyaka spoke.
"You want me to die again? To lose this revived heart and these newfound emotions, only to return to an existence of nothing but boredom and weariness?"
Once she had realized what it meant to live, there was no going back.
To Tyrkanzyaka, asking her to abandon her heart was tantamount to telling her to die.
The reason the Progenitor had always chosen long slumbers was simple—
Whether she was lying in a coffin or awake, there was no difference.
She had no sensation, no emotions—
Unless she was annihilating the Holy Crown Church, there was rarely anything that held her interest.
Even those fleeting distractions lost their appeal once she realized the Holy Crown Church simply used her wrath to solidify their own power.
Her greatest amusement had been to wake from slumber and witness the changes in the world.
When she opened her eyes, she would find new knowledge, refined music, and unique art waiting for her.
She had only ever read and observed them mechanically, but for Tyrkanzyaka, those were the only meaningful changes in her existence.
"You would ask me to return to solitude and stagnation?"
"How absurd."
"I am the Progenitor."
"Your beginning and your end."
"And yet, you dare demand something of me?"
"Sister, it’s not a demand, it’s—"
"My authority no longer extends to you, but all of it still resides within me."
"I am still myself."
"You say that I have changed, but it is the opposite."
The Progenitor had changed—
Yet, her manner and actions remained the same.
As she always had, she returned to rule.
She did not actively govern, nor did she interfere.
She simply slept or quietly oversaw the nation—nothing more.
Tyrkanzyaka had not changed.
The ones who had changed—
"Were all of you."
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"It was not I who abandoned you—"
"It was you who abandoned me."
“...Sister, not me. I only did this for you—"
"Kabilla. Do you think I do not know?"
Tyrkanzyaka’s crimson eyes swept across the chamber.
Muri, Lahu Khan, and Bakuta.
None of them were actively fighting back against the Abyssal Horror’s shell.
Only Bakuta, unable to suppress his hunger, had ripped off a pincer to eat it.
The others merely observed—waiting calmly for Tyrkanzyaka’s decision.
Even without thinking deeply, it was obvious that this entire situation had been orchestrated.
Vampires had lived in peace for far too long to be capable of true political scheming.
They did not experience fear or nervousness, but that did not mean they were capable of deception.
"It was you who awakened them and incited them, wasn’t it?"
"If not, then why would those who had slumbered for centuries suddenly seek me out?"
"N-no, Sister. They were awakened by Ruskinia’s followers, who wished to frame you—"
"If they truly intended to oppose me, their first priority should have been awakening Dullahan."
"They would have revived him first and acted under his command."
"They would not have bothered reviving Lahu, who only watches, or Muri, who has always been loyal to me."
Kabilla froze, realizing she had been seen through too easily.
Her expression remained neutral, but the silence and the hesitation in her words gave her away.
Tyrkanzyaka had been right.
She pressed on.
"You deceived me and sought to stop my heart, Kabilla?"
"I was the one who saved you from execution, when you were condemned for your accursed magic."
"I cherished you."
"And yet, you are the most ungrateful of all."
This was no longer the cold fury of a vampire—
This was the indignant wrath of a betrayed sovereign.
Kabilla, watching Tyrkanzyaka’s expressions shift vividly, finally realized—
The Progenitor had ➤ NоvеⅠight ➤ (Read more on our source) truly changed.
A bitter smile formed on her lips.
“...Sister, you are unfair.”
Kabilla slowly rose, stepping away from Tyrkanzyaka.
"Only you have the right to command us."
"But even that, you could not be bothered with."
"You abandoned this nation, slumbering in distant lands."
"And when you returned after decades, all you did was observe what had changed."
"Are you saying that everything we did was not for you?"
"Loyalty to you was the only emotion we had left."
"But now, you have not only neglected us—"
"You have discarded us."
"You have stolen our only joy."
Kabilla’s words rang through the chamber.
Tyrkanzyaka felt something welling up inside her.
A sensation she had never experienced as a vampire—
Fury.
Resentment.
They surged through her veins, narrowing her vision and sharpening her tone.
Her long-awaited beating heart was truly acting on its own now.
And yet, even in this rage, she could not deny it.
"At least you had joy."
"I had nothing."
Tyrkanzyaka stepped forward, meeting Kabilla’s gaze.
"To sit upon this throne and watch over the world—"
"Was no different from closing my eyes."
"Not only you—"
"But Ain, and Yeiling, all danced as my puppets."
"Only when I was absent did this land govern itself."
"Only then did its people focus on their true duties."
"That is why I left this castle, to slumber in another land."
"For only in waking to a new world—could I find even the slightest reprieve from my endless monotony."
For the first time, Tyrkanzyaka voiced the truth she had never spoken to anyone before.
Then, she raised her voice, addressing all of the Elders.
"You claim that your only joy has been taken?"
"I have endured this for over a thousand years."
"And yet, you who owe your lives to me—"
"Cannot bear even three days?"
Kabilla understood.
Vampires may have no blood or tears, but that did not mean they were incapable of comprehension.
And yet, they could also act without hesitation—
No matter what they understood.
Kabilla delivered her final warning.
"Sister. Will you truly not reconsider?"
"I would rather leave this land behind—"
"Than return to a frozen heart."
"That... will not do."
Squelch.
A thin layer of blood seeped beneath her feet.
The force was subtle, almost imperceptible—
Yet immense in its scale.
A lake of blood.
A tide of overwhelming bloodcraft.
Only one other could wield such vast control over blood, apart from Tyrkanzyaka.
Countess Erzebeth Aine.
Careful to keep her skirts from staining, she stepped gracefully through the crimson tide.
Each step sent a splash of blood echoing through the chamber.
"To cast aside the highest authority in existence—"
"And choose to live as an ordinary human."
"Oh, Progenitor."
"How truly blessed—"
"And how utterly arrogant you must be."
"Erzebeth."
"Do you seek to stop my heart as well?"
"Oh, heavens, no."
Erzebeth smiled coldly.
"Opportunities slip by so quickly—"
"When they fall into our hands, we must clutch them with all our might."
"Kabilla’s proposal was your final chance to restore everything to the way it was."
"But since you refuse...."
And then—
From the pools of blood on the floor, thorns erupted.
Tyrkanzyaka felt it—something sharp piercing into her body.
The thorns burrowed into her flesh.
Her delicate, youthful skin could not withstand the crimson thorns of the Blood Rose.
However, the bloodcraft within her was different.
The moment Erzebeth’s blood attempted to invade her body, Tyrkanzyaka’s own bloodcraft rose in defiance, engaging in a battle of dominance.
Naturally, Tyrkanzyaka won the tug-of-war.
But it was a victory in name only.
She had already separated her body from its original state.
The tainted blood Erzebeth wielded could not be fully absorbed into her own power.
"Erzebeth...!"
"Progenitor."
"Your power is no longer yours alone."
"That blood exists to rule over all, to command and protect the kin."
"If you choose to abandon your chains and forsake this land—"
"Then there is no reason for you to hold onto that power."
With her signature crimson smile, Erzebeth spoke as if it were a simple truth.
"Progenitor."
"If you wish to leave behind this nation and its throne—"
"Then leave your blood behind as well."
Countess Erzebeth Aine.
A manifestation of ambition and vanity.
Perhaps it had been for the best that she became a vampire.
After all, her insatiable desire for recognition had been entirely devoted to the Progenitor.
Yet, that desire had never truly disappeared.
She called herself the Progenitor’s chamberlain, meddled in internal affairs, and still clung to the same desires she had in life.
Desire does not fade.
The longing for something more never vanishes—
No matter what form it takes.
The vampires filling the hall began to move.
Not toward the Progenitor, but toward their own lords.
Kabilla, unable to watch, averted her gaze.
Perhaps she could not bring herself to stand directly against the Progenitor.
Instead, she climbed atop the Abyssal Horror’s shell, sitting silently as a spectator.
After all, her proposal had been kind.
Unlike the others—who had no hesitation about attacking the Progenitor.
"So this... is your decision?"
She was one—and against her stood all the vampires present.
At least Kabilla and Runken were not fully engaged—but that was little comfort.
"Grrr. Now that I think about it... they’re not wrong!"
THUD.
Runken rose from his seat, his movements loud and unruly.
As he strode forward, blood splattered in his wake.
Positioning himself between Tyrkanzyaka and the other Elders, he grinned at her.
Erzebeth, expecting this, chuckled.
"So, you’ve finally made up your mind."
"You always complained about hating long-winded discussions."
"I suppose it’s good that you’ve finally decided to use your brain."
"Shut up, woman."
"...Woman?"
With disrespect beyond reason, Runken silenced Erzebeth in an instant.
Grinning, he bared his fangs.
"Thinking?"
"Khh. Thinking is for the weak."
"No matter how much you yap with your little teeth—"
"Nothing changes without power."
Lowering his stance, Runken locked eyes with Tyrkanzyaka.
His protruding molars twitched, as if he had been waiting for this moment.
"All this flowery talk—"
"In the end, the world is ruled by strength!"
"To decide the head of the pack—"
"There is only one way! Strength determines the leader!"
"And I will be the first to challenge!"
Runken let out a thunderous roar toward the Progenitor.
"FIGHT ME!"
"Progenitor, it is time to accept the challenge—"
THUD!
Runken launched himself forward.
A battle that had been delayed for centuries—
Had finally begun.