Runken’s charge was catastrophic. Bursting forward in a storm of blood, he lunged at the Progenitor, leading with his fangs. Sharp tusks bore down on the small figure of Tyrkanzyaka.
Runken’s charge was powerful but straightforward. No martial arts principles were needed to predict its direction. Tyrkanzyaka chose to stand her ground. The blood magic filling her body moved according to her will. Her small fist shot toward Runken’s face.
To an onlooker, it might have seemed like Runken would tear the girl into a bloody pulp. But Tyrkanzyaka, who had long separated herself from the world, was unshaken. Her fist blurred for an instant, shattering Runken’s tusks and plunging halfway into his skull.
With a sickening crunch, Runken’s body crumpled grotesquely, as if from a twisted fairytale.
Boom! Runken was sent flying, crashing into the wall. The fortress of blood let out an agonized wail at the impact.
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“Khng! Small fists, but damn, they sting!”
Yet, in an instant, Runken regenerated. Kicking off the wall, he snapped his tusks back into place as if nothing had happened. He wiped his nose with the back of his hand and bellowed.
“But I can feel hesitation! Progenitor, is that all you’ve got?!”
“Kh....”
Tyrkanzyaka’s fists were dull. The reason was simple—sensation, emotion. The very things she had longed for were now weighing down her fists.
She felt the pain of her flesh being torn. It was momentary, but the opening it created was long enough. She was angry at Runken, but it wasn’t the same burning hatred she had felt when fighting the Holy Crown Church’s servants.
Nothing was going as she willed it. Not the Elders, not the battle, not even love. The only thing she had full control over was her own body.
‘Is this... the life of an ordinary person that I wished for?’
She had become weak. Compared to the divine power she once wielded, it was almost pitiful how much of her authority was now trapped within this small frame. As a fallen god, for the first time, Tyrkanzyaka felt helplessness.
‘If only Hugh were here....’
The thought flickered in her mind, but she quickly shook it off. Was her body weakening so much that even her heart grew frail? Even if the King of Humans were here, stripped of his power, he would only end up as a hostage.
“Take the spirit of a warrior! Progenitor, if you had power, you could do as you pleased. But if you lack it, you must fight and seize it!”
Runken charged once more—straightforward, again.
This time, instead of his fangs, he brought both hands down as if to crush her. It was slightly more refined than before. Tyrkanzyaka intended to meet him head-on, relying on her regenerative abilities, but the thought of the pain she would endure made her flinch. She hastily withdrew her outstretched fist to block instead.
Seeing her choose defense over offense, Runken let out a thunderous roar.
“WRO—ONG—!!”
Once on the defensive, it was difficult to counterattack. Runken, emboldened, rained down a flurry of blows on Tyrkanzyaka. Having chosen to block, she had no choice but to keep blocking. Her arms ached with the strain, and she was continuously forced backward.
“Is that all?! Is that really everything you’ve got?! Fight me properly—!!”
“Urgh...!”
Wham!
Runken’s sudden kick slammed into Tyrkanzyaka’s stomach. The searing pain, as if her guts had been pierced through, stole the breath from her lungs. Compared to the attacks she had landed on him, it was a minor blow, yet the sensation made it feel far worse.
Her body skidded across the floor.
A battle between vampires was often a drawn-out struggle, each gnawing away at the other’s dominance. But now, with her senses returned, Tyrkanzyaka felt she might succumb to pain before anything else.
‘So in the end, sensation and emotion are nothing more than shackles weighing me down....’
Her resolve wavered. A dark temptation crept in—to stop her own heart, to pass through this pain and crisis and leave the battle for another time.
Runken, exhilarated, roared as he relentlessly pursued her.
“Ha! This is what a real fight feels like! Maybe shaking off that so-called shackle did me some good—my body feels lighter than ever!”
“You... Runken....”
“Not enough! More, more! Give me everything you’ve got, Progenitor—!!”
Boom! Boom!
Massive fists and brutal kicks pounded against Tyrkanzyaka. Runken felt no pain. Even as his body was crushed and torn apart, he didn’t care—he simply fought with the intent to kill.
Tyrkanzyaka, unable to withstand the pain, reached for another power. Darkness gathered.
She, who had once stood against the light, now called upon the authority of the abyss.
From the depths of the floor, countless black knights arose, summoned to strike down her enemy.
“Black knights without even a shroud of blood? How pitiful... I can only lament at the sight of a Progenitor who has grown so weak.”
The moment the black knights stepped onto the blood-soaked ground, crimson buds bloomed beneath them, as if sensing their presence.
With a sudden whirl, the blood flowers surged up, spiraling around the knights.
Snap.
The buds twisted shut, wrapping around the knights, crushing them in an instant.
With a single flick of Erzebeth’s hand, the black knights were reduced to dust.
The remnants of the darkness that remained coalesced, forming a barrier between Tyrkanzyaka and Runken.
“Tch. This?”
Of course, Runken was unaffected by the abilities Tyrkanzyaka had honed to counter the Holy Crown Church’s light. He tore through them in an instant, hammering his attacks into her relentlessly.
Unable to endure any longer, Tyrkanzyaka flung her arm out in desperation. The force behind it remained as formidable as ever, sending Runken hurtling backward like a cannonball. It was an ineffective attack against a vampire, but the brief respite it provided was what she needed.
If she stopped her heart here...
She might be able to reclaim her dominion.
But if she did that, she wouldn’t be able to restart it again—not after what happened last time. She already knew the consequences: she would lose control, rampaging beyond even the Elders' ability to contain.
She could execute every Elder, annihilate this entire nation, and simply demand that it «N.o.v.e.l.i.g.h.t» all be reversed... but no matter how she thought about it, that wasn’t a rational solution.
...Besides, could Hugh even use that power again? That authority had been something he discovered while he was still human—a fragment of Tyr herself. A toy he had discarded and reclaimed at will... but would it work the same way now?
"We’re in the middle of a fight—FOCUS—!!"
Runken, realizing that she was distracted, charged forward like a wild boar. It was as if the previous exchanges had been mere warm-ups. Digging his hands and feet into the ground, he launched himself at her with his entire body.
A strangled, choked noise escaped Tyrkanzyaka’s lips. The impact sent her crashing into the wall, her senses drowning in sheer agony.
Kabilla watched as Tyrkanzyaka staggered, battered and pitiful. A note of pity laced her voice.
"Ahh... my poor sister, bringing suffering upon herself. You should know by now, I’m the only one who truly cares for you. Not the Elders, not Vladimir... not even that so-called lover of yours. None of them put you first."
Even amidst the chaos of battle, Kabilla’s murmured words carried to everyone’s ears.
Runken paused.
Tyrkanzyaka, panting heavily, turned her gaze toward her.
“...What do you mean? What about Hugh?”
Unfazed by the attention, Kabilla casually withdrew her Dragonbone Soldiers. It was an open secret that her creations were modeled after Tyrkanzyaka’s Black Knights. The difference in power, however, was immense. Compared to blood-strengthened Black Knights, her Dragonbone Soldiers were little more than playthings.
But Kabilla had never given up. She had spent centuries refining them, improving them... though there were no Black Knights left to compare them to anymore.
"Sister. That man... the one you introduced to us as the King of Humans. Everyone dismissed that title as trivial, but they were blind. Only Vladimir and I paid close attention to what he was really doing."
“...You were watching Hugh?”
"Watching? Kihit. Sister, there was no need for that. He never even tried to hide his actions."
The small, ancient necromancer, who had once pitied the Progenitor abandoned by the Elders for choosing love, now recited her knowledge with a voice devoid of warmth.
"The King of Humans. Before we existed, before the Holy Crown Church sought to erase him from humanity, he was the incarnation of savagery. Sister, he—no, ‘that’—could never belong to you."
A necromancer. A madwoman who pursued the forbidden knowledge denied to humankind.
For Kabilla, who became an Elder at a young age, black magic had been her only means of catching up to the others. Magic that used one’s own body as a catalyst was a perfect match for vampires. The more her research bore fruit, the deeper the once-innocent girl had been drawn in.
The last Elder. A betrayal steeped in True Blood.
Not merely a subordinate, but an ally.
The Grand Witch of the South—the greatest friend to vampires.
Kabilla, having once sought knowledge from the keeper of forbidden wisdom, recalled the truths she had discarded as unnecessary.
"Did you know? The deeper one delves into black magic, the more they begin to sense the shadow of savagery.
Human sacrifice, offerings, cannibalism, curses, profane rituals—every forbidden act that utilizes the human body has existed since time immemorial.
Since the era when beasts roamed in packs, when the King of Humans walked the land freely.
And even then, he was still king."
She murmured, recalling knowledge she had once deemed irrelevant.
"He is neither good nor evil. He accepts all things that humans do. No matter how monstrous, even if it is betrayal against himself, he does not deny or reject it. He is the King of Savagery. He is not just your king, Sister... he is the king of us all, whether we acknowledge him or not."
"What... are you saying...?"
"Ahh, my poor sister. So naive, so trusting. It’s no wonder you’ve been deceived by such a wretched man. Do you still not understand?"
Kabilla turned to Tyrkanzyaka, her voice like a dagger slicing through flesh.
"He knew about the betrayal against you. Even that fool Ruskinia dared to attack your lover—how do you think they found the courage for such recklessness?
He met with the Elders. He sought out those who would defy fate alongside him."
"Hugh was attacked? When?"
This was the first she had heard of it.
In the past, Tyrkanzyaka had ruled the duchy as if it were an extension of herself, knowing every event within its borders. But without her dominion over blood, her reach had weakened. If Hugh had been attacked, she would have taken immediate action.
Was it the desperation of her current predicament that made her feel... just a little betrayed?
And then—
"Sister. ‘When’ isn’t what matters."
Kabilla delivered the final blow.
"What matters is that he never told you."
Her voice was soft, yet it struck like a hammer.
"He stood by. He did not stop it, did not warn anyone beforehand.
Even after the attack, he walked about as if nothing had happened.
To accept all things means to turn a blind eye.
He even accepted the betrayal against you."
Kabilla had not originally intended to reveal this much.
Like the others, she lacked the emotional depth to understand the agony of a lover’s betrayal.
But when she saw it—the expression on Tyrkanzyaka’s face, so utterly shattered, when even Runken’s brutal blows had failed to move her—
She regretted not telling her sooner.
Ah, if only I had broken this news to her earlier, she thought.
"Sister, your man was never yours alone.
He can never give you the love you seek. Not now. Not ever."
Tyrkanzyaka’s emotions spilled forth, and the darkness that had gathered lost its shape, scattering in ominous disarray.