Vassals are often compared to a master’s limbs. That is not just a metaphor. A vassal is governed by their master's mood, will, and commands.
Consider the right arm. It moves when ordered. When one wishes to grasp something, there is no need to consciously control each finger or joint—it moves instinctively to seize it. At times, it may falter due to limitations or unforeseen issues, but it does not act on its own. At least, not unless it belongs to an infant still learning to control its body.
A vassal is precisely like that—a limb. The progenitor wielded thirteen such limbs, using them to wage war upon the world, for she herself possessed only her power and no means to fight directly. But now, those very limbs had been severed and turned against her.
So then... what happens to the power and knowledge that these limbs acquired? Do they belong solely to the limbs, to be lost forever should the chain binding # Nоvеlight # them be severed?
For the most part, yes. But not entirely. A master who has experienced and learned far more through their limbs than they ever could alone is forever changed.
Muri was struck directly by the enormous arm shrouded in darkness, and for a moment, confusion overwhelmed her. Not from the impact itself.
Long ago, the most dangerous enemy of vampires was neither the Holy Crown Church nor humans. It was light—the sacred force that alters all things. Vampires, whose bodies were frozen in death, were unable to change or adapt. To them, sunlight, which transformed the very medium of their bloodcraft, was the most lethal of poisons.
Tyrkanzyaka was no exception. She wrapped herself in blood to shield against the light, using powerful bloodcraft to create a barrier of coagulated blood. That blood, tainted and corrupted by exposure, soon turned pitch black. Yet even its crumbling fragments were repurposed as shields against the sun.
Darkness itself is not a power. It is merely the absence of light, nothing more. If one can block the light, darkness can be created endlessly. Tyrkanzyaka did nothing more than utilize darkened blood as a tool.
However, humans, having long seen vampires enveloped in darkness, feared it as a force that opposed the divine.
And when enough people share a belief, even reality bends to accommodate it—especially when it concerns humans. That was how Tyrkanzyaka came to wield darkness, independent of bloodcraft.
Yet Muri, who was intimately familiar with darkness and had inherited a portion of that power, knew its true nature well. It was nothing more than decayed blood, mere remnants meant to block the light. It lacked the authority even to channel bloodcraft properly.
It had become a false idol—an accumulation of superstition rather than genuine power.
And yet...
For just a moment, this darkness had overwhelmed Muri.
"Blood energy—? No, even if this were a Black Knight wrapped in blood energy, this—."
Escaping from the darkness, Muri clung to the ceiling. Her eyes pierced through the gloom, locking onto Tyrkanzyaka.
"Progenitor—?"
Tyrkanzyaka had extended her arm.
Not the one that had struck Muri—her slender, delicate arms could not reach that far.
What had struck Muri was Tyrkanzyaka’s shadow. Rising behind her, the writhing darkness mimicked her motion, stretching out a hand just as she did.
It was the same imitation shadow she had once shown in the Abyss. The only difference was its staggering strength.
Tyrkanzyaka spoke.
And as if mirroring her, the shadow parted its mouth as well, droplets of darkness falling from its lips.
["Muri. Is it not strange?"]
"What is—?"
["You who once swore eternal loyalty turned against me in a single night, as easily as flipping over your hand."]
Vampires do not feel fear. Their hearts have stopped, their pain receptors dulled, and even if they are injured, they regenerate with ease. The very concept of fear is absent from their being.
And yet... was it because she had severed the chain? Or was it simply because her opponent was the progenitor herself?
Muri felt something akin to a cold droplet sliding down her spine.
Perhaps this was what humans called fear.
["For a thousand years, I lived in an unchanging world. I believed that loyalty, love, and emotion, like myself, were eternal."]
The voice wrought from Tyrkanzyaka’s shadow shook the very space around it.
And before the ominous presence that evoked such fear, Muri felt an odd impulse—
The desire to sing.
["...I also believed that my feelings for Hue would never change. Even last night, I thought every moment with him would continue forever. Gazing at his sleeping face filled me with happiness."]
"Progenitor, you who have obtained the happiness you long desired. You who have now realized a joy once unknown to you. Tell me... what of you now?"
Muri’s voice carried a melody, weaving song into her question.
And the shadow answered in a voice thick with despair.
["I hate him. I hate him so much I cannot endure it. I thought I would give him my everything, and yet it is unbearable that I cannot become his everything."]
["A single night has passed. A single whispered word from you was all it took... and my heart—this heart that I believed eternal—has changed. Is a will so fragile, so soft?"]
"The heart is a reed—, the heart is a reed—. When the wind blows, it bends without resolve, the heart is weak and yielding like a reed—."
["And you are no different. A thousand years of loyalty amounted to nothing but a horse bound by its reins. The moment the blood’s fetters vanished, you all turned your blades against me."]
"Who let the wind into the reed field—? O tree standing silent in the slanted world, did you see? Who was it that brought the wind to this reed field—?"
["And what pains me most of all... is that I cannot deny it was Hue who wished for this."]
As Muri’s song wove through the air, Tyrkanzyaka’s shadow trembled with emotion. She lowered her hands in resignation.
["Perhaps... had you not risen in rebellion, I could have spent more time with him."]
["This bitterness festers into sharp thorns, lashing out in every direction. I want to stab something—anything. To pierce and make it bleed. And yet I know..."]
["I know that the one who let in the wind was none other than Hue himself."]
As Tyrkanzyaka’s words fell silent, the fortress itself began to move.
Built with bricks fortified by blood, Erzebeth manipulated the castle’s structure with her bloodcraft, opening a clear path directly to Tyrkanzyaka.
And at the opposite end of that path stood the Elders.
Erzebeth, filled with ambition.
Lahu Khan, desiring an unbroken lineage.
Runken, craving endless battle.
Kabilla, bound by twisted loyalty.
Bakuta, consumed by hunger.
And Muri, who sang.
"Progenitor."
"Clan leader."
"Sister."
They were no different from Tyrkanzyaka, who had longed for a heart. Those who had arrived, carried by the wind, had come seeking something from her.
Feeling the wind sweeping through the vast space, Tyrkanzyaka murmured to herself.
["...Hue. So this is the sight you wished for. I think I understand now."]
Until now, Tyrkanzyaka had never needed to ponder such matters. She had limbs—vassals—to move in her stead.
But now, with all her limbs severed, Tyrkanzyaka gathered everything she had ever experienced and witnessed.
Perhaps the Elders were more skilled in battle. But bloodcraft—bloodcraft was hers. Even if she did not fully grasp the intricacies of combat, every application of bloodcraft used in battle fell under her dominion.
All power converged to a single point.
Black darkness gathered, shaping itself into a body. A massive shadow, mirroring her form, rose behind her.
["Once, I was a corpse, and in that state, I was both a nation and an ancestral god. I was the land upon which you stood."]
Foll𝑜w current novℯls on ƒrēewebnoѵёl.cσm.
Like any shadow, it was a perfect replica of Tyrkanzyaka—only ten times her size. But unlike an ordinary shadow, it possessed a distinct physical form.
["You do not wish for a living nation, nor for land that moves as it pleases. And so, you reject my existence. That is your will."]
With a powerful surge of intent, the blood energy that had filled Tyrkanzyaka’s body flowed into the towering shadow. She had become its heart.
The shadow stretched its limbs. Its crimson-tinted arms scraped against the castle walls.
Crunch—!
The fortress walls crumbled without resistance.
This was no longer a mere shadow. It had surpassed the level of a puppet molded from darkness. It was, without question, Tyrkanzyaka’s very flesh and body.
If blood could not leave the body, then the very definition of ‘body’ would be expanded. With power and bloodcraft, she forged a titan—a being identical to herself, only drenched in black.
["Then, I will ask not with right, but with strength. Are you ready to face a tyrant?"]
Before the blood energy that burned like molten lava, the god who had reclaimed her heart questioned her former subjects.
A great tide surged forward.
The Island Whale and the Cloud Ray—two sea beasts so vast they could be mistaken for natural phenomena, yet still living beings of the great ocean. One could not always watch over the other.
She had warned that the sky-dwelling Cloud Ray would one day break the sea to voice its 'rightful protest' against the Island Whale, which blocked the currents and hoarded its share.
Vladimir found himself speechless—not because of the content of the prophecy, but because it had been spoken for vampires rather than against them.
Until now, the prophecies of the Holy Crown’s saintesses had always been wielded in opposition to vampires. Vladimir had been so distrustful of their words that he had considered capturing the one who spoke them and extracting the truth through interrogation.
But he had refrained for two reasons.
One—there was no harm in preparing for a prophecy. If he arranged for humans to withdraw from the coastline during Night Tide, at worst, they would suffer mild inconvenience. As long as there was no significant loss, a lack of opportunity cost was an essential matter to Vladimir.
And the other—he could not yet gauge the power of his opponent.
Each of the Holy Crown’s saintesses possessed a unique and bizarre ability. The Iron Saintess, Peruel, was a prime example. A saintess who could foresee and enforce her own future was virtually invincible. Not even Vladimir could directly harm her.
If this one was a saintess as well, she could not be taken lightly.
What did she know?
How had she obtained the two swords?
Too many unknowns. The risks of acting recklessly were far too great.
Most of all—
"Ah, Vladimir."
There was another matter that demanded his attention.
The Black Knight, Dullahan, had arrived.
"A familiar face! You feel the same, do you not? Though I lack a face myself, hahahaha!"
Clutching his severed head under one arm, Sir Lahan laughed at his own joke.
Vladimir, ever the vampire, did not return the smile. Instead, he coldly asked,
"Lahan. You have awakened?"
Before becoming an Elder, the Black Knight Dullahan had been the mightiest warrior of their kind.
And now, looking upon an old adversary and long-time friend, the knight gave his head a cheerful shake.