The Crescent Moon Illuminates Myuri
With movements as mysterious as the shadows themselves, Myuri melted into the darkness—literally. Once a renowned dancer and a member of a secret assassin order, she had once attempted to assassinate Tyrkanzyaka upon commission. Instead, she caught the progenitor’s eye and was turned into an Elder.
Assassins undergo conditioning from a young age, trained to follow orders without purpose or will of their own. For Myuri, who had once been nothing more than a puppet obeying commands, the life of an Elder was a better alternative. There were still many who wanted to kill her, just as there were still many she had to kill, but at least she no longer had to live in constant tension, fearing death at every moment.
And so, Myuri resented Tyrkanzyaka for liberating her. Her current attack was nothing more than a childish tantrum.
Through a tiny crack in the broken wall, barely large enough for even a head to fit, Myuri slipped out like flowing water. Seizing the advantage of the narrow darkness, she positioned herself behind Tyrkanzyaka. Without the slightest trace of hostility or presence, she thrust her dagger at the progenitor—Moonfang, aiming straight for her target.
"Your dance is yours. But your blood is mine."
A quiet murmur was followed by a massive fist sweeping through Myuri.
Vampires typically did not concern themselves with defense. And when that defense was merely a shadow forged from darkness, ignoring it and breaking through was often the better choice.
However, Myuri could not underestimate the sheer, overwhelming power emanating from the giant. Taking a hit wouldn’t kill her, but an ominous sensation crept up her spine, urging her to abandon the attack and evade the incoming fist.
Whoosh!
The massive fist, shrouded in a storm-like force, grazed just past her. The texture was solid, the presence was overwhelming, and beyond it—Myuri could feel the blood pulsing within, concealed behind the pitch-black darkness.
“Brimming with vitality, huh? Even without your Authority, your strength alone is enough to fill a giant?”
“Vitality!”
Catching the scent of prey, Bakuta lunged at the giant. His maw gaped open monstrously as he sank his fangs into the giant’s right hand, tearing away a massive chunk of shadow-infused blood.
But as Bakuta chewed on the severed darkness, he frowned and muttered, displeased.
“This is... rather tasteless.”
As he idly voiced his disappointment while gnawing on the shadow, the giant seized Bakuta in a single hand. Without the slightest hesitation, as if exacting vengeance, the giant brought Bakuta toward its mouth.
Crunch.
The giant’s jaws crushed Bakuta’s lower half completely. For the first time in his life, the insatiable devourer found himself in the position of being devoured.
Chomp, chomp.
The shadow meticulously chewed and swallowed one of Bakuta’s legs, dark blood dripping from its maw as it murmured:
"You’re just as tasteless yourself."
“Oh? Mama’s hungry too?”
Even as he was being eaten, Bakuta asked cheerfully. However, Tyrkanzyaka’s shadow scoffed and denied it.
"Not particularly. I just needed a way to silence you."
“...What a shame. I thought Mama had finally awakened to hunger.”
"That, I already understand. For I still crave."
A vampire’s power lay in hemocraft, the ability to manipulate blood. Tyrkanzyaka still wielded hemocraft, but her fixation on keeping blood where it belonged had prevented her from harnessing its full potential.
So she deceived the blood.
A colossal upper body rose behind Tyrkanzyaka. The blood that should have been within her flowed into the giant instead. That giant, the one surrounding her, was another body fashioned in her own image.
Even if it was created through an Authority, every element of it remained identical to Tyrkanzyaka. The blood, seeking to return to where it belonged, was unaware that it was merely being absorbed into a fabricated body. But that was fine—Tyrkanzyaka had more than enough blood to fill an entire lake.
“...The Clan Leader has mastered her strength.”
The Watcher, Lahu Khan, muttered.
The ruler of the wastelands, Lahu Khan, possessed the ability to concentrate vitality, enhancing bodily functions. Though this ability could be applied to the entire body, it was most commonly used to sharpen vision—hence his moniker, Watcher. True to his title, his crimson, flame-like eyes scrutinized Tyrkanzyaka’s shadow, analyzing the intricacies of her technique, her methods, and the potential ways to counter her newfound power.
“Powerful. That much is certain. It’s the same as Vladimir—though her vitality surpasses his, it’s crude.”
Lahu Khan unsheathed his unfettered spear.
The giant was a mere magnified form of Tyrkanzyaka, devised to properly harness her overflowing power. It was undoubtedly formidable and practical, yet it remained shackled by the constraints of a corporeal frame.
And yet... perhaps because she was the master of hemocraft, she absorbed power at an unprecedented rate—almost as if reclaiming something that had always been hers.
No, if one truly considered it, that was the case. It was only a matter of time before Tyrkanzyaka fully assimilated all the Elders’ strength.
“Once she completes this power... no one will be able to restore the original Clan Leader.”
The Watcher instinctively understood—this was a turning point.
Runken was the last remaining boar beastman. The centaurs under Lahu Khan were also nearing extinction. Vampires were living relics, beings eternally preserved in time, frozen at the moment before their species’ demise. As one burdened with the duty of preserving his race, Lahu Khan could not allow the progenitor’s whims to dictate their fate.
The progenitor had to remain eternal—so that the centaurs could also be eternal.
Even if it meant earning the progenitor’s wrath and dying for it, the centaurs he had purposefully left behind would survive to continue their lineage.
“Hup!”
Seizing the opening, Lahu Khan launched forward.
His hooves slammed against the ground, leaving deep imprints in the corridor as his quadrupedal form surged forward with a speed that no bipedal creature could match.
A flaw had emerged in the giant’s form—an unavoidable structural gap, a straight line from the elbow to the wrist.
Lahu Khan’s spear pierced straight through it.
The whirling spearhead tore through the darkness. Blood flowed from the broken, shattered body. The giant convulsed violently, but Lahu Khan nimbly evaded each thrash, methodically dismantling and destroying its form.
The giant, now reduced to mere remnants, let out a wailing scream.
And yet, even as it sustained injuries, the giant’s eyes moved.
Blood-red pupils, like those saturated with an overwhelming thirst, locked onto Lahu Khan’s movements.
“So easily... you grasped my sight?”
The Watcher’s piercing gaze met the giant’s.
The techniques of the Elders, now replicated through the progenitor’s hemocraft.
Lahu Khan realized, with chilling certainty—this was the only moment to act.
This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.
Neither Vladimir, who had surpassed the progenitor in sheer might, nor Dullahan, who had once triumphed against her—neither of them would remain superior for long.
Before that happened—they had to arrive first.
Dullahan and Vladimir. The only ones with the power to stand victorious against the progenitor.
***
The Most Dire Situation Since Arriving in the Principality
Five Ain. One Elder. A simple headcount made six, but in terms of power, that was practically an army in the Principality.
In contrast, I was just a regular human, and Hilde was a mere Sixth General. The title alone carried weight, and a Sixth General wasn’t someone to be underestimated, but if you ordered one to march into the Principality and act brazenly, they’d scoff. Strength was one thing, but Ain were virtually immortal—killing even a single one was difficult, and now they had an Elder backing them? Running away was the only viable option.
If that was even possible.
“If I offer myself as a hostage, would you consider it?”
“Dispose of him.”
“Didn’t even think about it, huh.”
They were advancing, forming a literal wall of blood to prevent any escape. If it were just one Elder, I could have exploited an opening and deceived them. But with five Ain, surrounding us from all directions, I didn’t even have room to breathe.
Damn it. I had no choice but to leave this to Hilde’s discretion. Just as I was about to resign myself to that fate—
“Wait.”
The crimson tide parted, and another Ain stepped forward—Count Erthe.
She was the Ain I had encountered the most in the Mist Duchy. Seeing her now, in this critical moment, I instinctively called out.
“Count Erthe! You’ve come to save us!”
“That seems to be the case.”
Count Erthe admitted it readily.
My reinforcement! You arrived just in time! A little late, but that’s forgivable. After all, a true protagonist always makes an entrance at the last moment for maximum catharsis.
“Erthe. You are Vladimir’s vassal—what reason do you have to stand in my way?”
Countess Erzebeth Aine frowned in displeasure.
Even as an Elder, she couldn’t treat another Elder’s vassal however she pleased. Rank mattered. Even if an Ain was of lower status, they were still an extension of their Elder’s will. Killing or harming another Elder’s subordinate out of personal distaste would be stepping over a dangerous line.
And Count Erthe wasn’t just any vassal—she was personally trusted by Vladimir.
Erzebeth, recognizing that Erthe’s actions were connected to Vladimir’s will, sought clarification.
Even so, an Ain could never overstep an Elder. Erthe knelt before Erzebeth and respectfully responded.
“This is the decree of the Crimson Duke. His Lordship does not wish for the situation to escalate until his arrival.”
“Vladimir’s decree?”
No Ain would dare falsely claim an Elder’s orders, and if it was Vladimir, deception was even less likely.
Even so, Erzebeth probed further, just in case.
“Did he specifically mention whether his ‘decree’ included his concubine’s survival?”
“There was no explicit mention... but it is likely.”
“And why is that?”
“How could I presume to know the will of a great Elder? I merely obey.”
“...Tch.”
"Vladimir is an indispensable force. He must have his reasons... if possible, I should comply with his wishes."
But Erzebeth had overlooked one thing—Elders had long since broken free of their constraints. They were now wild, untamed forces.
She acted impatiently.
“There was no order to save his concubine, either. Let’s dispose of them quickly and deal with the rest later.”
“Lady Erzebeth, please—”
“Do not concern yourself. Continue as you were.”
An Elder’s vassals were extensions of their will. The wishes of another Elder held no weight here. Ignoring Erthe’s intervention, Erzebeth’s Ain unleashed a tidal wave of blood, surging toward Hilde and me.
Hilde cleaved the first wave apart with her sacred sword, but the next waves came in relentless succession, steadily forcing her back.
Well, of course. A betraying Elder wouldn’t just stop because someone invoked Vladimir’s name.
Right now, words wouldn’t do the job. Only strength mattered.
“Madam Erzebeth, please halt!”
“There’s no time to waste.”
“No, the Crimson Duke has arrived!”
At Count Erthe’s declaration, hurried footsteps echoed from the distance.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
The rapid, urgent rhythm made anyone instinctively want to turn and check what was happening. The footsteps grew louder, drawing closer, approaching the corridor’s bend.
Count Erthe kneeled, facing the approaching presence.
And at last, my reinforcement truly arrived.
“Phew. That was close.”
The disheveled figure who came rushing in, completely abandoning all semblance of dignity, was none other than Vladimir, the Crimson Duke.
Stopping precisely in front of Count Erthe, he casually handed over the bundle in his hand before scanning the room.
His gaze passed over Erzebeth, her vassals, Hilde, and me— instantly grasping the situation.
Erzebeth, unfazed, greeted him.
“You say that was close, but you’re already too late, Vladimir. On such an important day, where exactly have you been?”
“I went to wake Dullahan.”
“I’m aware. And taking that into account, why were you still late? Seeing as you ran here on foot, I suppose it wasn’t laziness... but weren’t you riding Lalion?”
“Lalion left me behind midway and ran straight to the progenitor.”
Lalion, the Blood Demon, was Tyrkanzyaka’s steed.
Or rather, her first vassal, the final remnant of her humanity.
Though Tyrkanzyaka might not have been the most skilled creator, she had poured everything into making Lalion—loyalty, devotion, strength. Lalion would never betray her.
Erzebeth reminded him of this fact.
“Separating Lalion from the progenitor—that was your plan, wasn’t it?”
“No. I traveled with Lalion not to separate him from her.”
“Then why?”
Vladimir answered matter-of-factly.
“Because Lalion is fast. I was short on time, so I borrowed his strength.
I regret using the progenitor’s steed for personal reasons, but I had no other choice due to urgent circumstances.”
Of all the reasons to ride a horse, Vladimir had chosen the most straightforward, primitive one.
For a moment, Erzebeth simply stared at him, dumbfounded, then snapped back.
“How long could waking Dullahan possibly take...? But more importantly—where is he? Did he also rush off to the progenitor like Lalion?”
“He is here.”
“Here?”
The way Vladimir spoke—it sounded as if Dullahan was present.
Yet, no matter where she looked, Vladimir was alone.
All he had brought was the bundle in his hand.
Finally, Erzebeth’s gaze settled on that bundle.
Yes.
Inside that heavy bundle was a gift.
I survived.
I approached Count Erthe and gestured for her to unwrap it.
She glanced at Vladimir for permission, and once he nodded, she carefully untied the blood-sealed bundle.
The fabric unraveled—and what it revealed was—
A severed head.
A human head, its bloodshot eyes glaring at Vladimir with rage and hatred.
A head still very much alive.
And in a voice laced with blood and venom, it spat out a name.
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“...Vlad...imir...!”
The Dark Knight, Dullahan—his head had appeared in the most unexpected of places.