Chapter 43
Chapter 43
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 43
Chapter Title: The Uninvited God
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It wasn't one of the Empire's top ten trading companies, but the Leighton Company, run by Viscount Leighton Valencia, easily ranked within the top thirty. It was the biggest source of wealth in Vlad territory, and he'd even used that money to buy himself a baronial title in the Empire.
For a man who could rightfully be called one of the Empire's big shots, he now hung his head with sad eyes. These days, life felt unbearably hard.
*Why was I born a vampire?*
They said money could buy anything, but there were truly some things it couldn't.
No matter how much he struggled, there were things he could never have—curses decided the moment he was born a vampire. The most obvious was freedom.
No matter how much he owned or acquired, it meant nothing.
Duke Shumira could take it all away at any time. She held his life in her hands.
Higher vampires wielded absolute blood dominance over lower ones. In front of their progenitor, Duke Shumira, all other vampires were nothing more than marionettes she could manipulate at will.
*No matter how much I gain, I'll always be a vampire without true freedom.*
"Darling..."
His wife, Laila, quietly embraced him. She gazed at her husband, who let out only silent sighs, until she couldn't hold back her own sobs. But both stifled their weeping to keep any sound from escaping.
The man cautiously reached out toward the silk-wrapped bundle.
"Ee-hee."
"Yes, it's Daddy. Papa's here."
Viscount Leighton gently peeled back the silk to stroke the baby's plump cheek. Every time he looked at the child, his heart felt like it was tearing apart, and he couldn't hold back the tears. The baby's eyes were a blank grayish-white; he'd been born blind. His son didn't even know his parents' faces.
Since he'd been that way from birth, the child saw it as normal. He recognized his parents only by the warmth of their touch and smiled brightly. But the boy couldn't even roll over properly—his arms lacked strength, and he was missing one leg. He'd been born with deformities.
"I'm sorry. So sorry. If your dad weren't a vampire, you surely would've been born healthy."
But did he think it was just his one child?
Not at all. The sun curse, imposed directly by the Ancient Gods, couldn't be escaped by hiding from the sun.
Touch the sun, and you died instantly. Avoid it, and you still withered away.
Because the sun didn't vanish just because you couldn't see it. It still shone from its place, illuminating the opposite side of the world. Strictly speaking, the sun curse had never once been absent from this world.
As long as you didn't touch direct sunlight, the curse worked slowly and gently, so on an individual level, it seemed like no issue at all. But looking at the race's history as a whole revealed the gravity of the problem—though few vampires cared to realize it.
"Lord me and Lady you bore a child who's no lord."
Viscount Leighton hugged the baby tight, then carefully set him down, finally exhaling a sigh.
"He's just born a regular vampire. Our race's end might not be far off."
"Do we really have to just sit here, waiting for extinction...?"
"Sooner or later, Her Majesty will have to face the truth. But she doesn't even want to know."
The viscount gave a wry smile. In truth, even that smile was forced.
He wasn't in the mood to laugh at all. His generation might endure somehow.
If he was lucky, even his son's time. But after that?
No future. Unless the sun suddenly went out one day, it would be eternal.
Already, half the children born to common-rank vampires were deformed.
Rather than solving the problem, Duke Shumira culled the deformed to preserve vampire bloodlines. Not that she had a solution anyway—there wasn't one anywhere.
Even if it was just his son's deformity, Leighton had searched everywhere desperately.
—Viscount Leighton, it's true the Church doesn't refuse donations, but only when they come from the faithful's sincere hearts. We won't accept yours. For your sincerity, we'll forgive a vampire trespassing in the Goddess's temple. But take your son back. The Goddess doesn't embrace your kind, and neither does she make exceptions for that child.
The Triad Church wouldn't even treat him as a conversation partner. No matter how much money he offered, those who prioritized faith over gold didn't rise to the Church's upper ranks.
The cardinals, archbishops, and temple heads were always ready to choose the Goddess's will over personal gain if they conflicted. Even if he'd brought ten times his fortune, they'd have refused outright.
He'd managed to bribe a priest from a minor church.
The god that priest served turned a blind eye to the massive donation and allowed one exception. But even divine power had no effect. The god returned the offering, saying it was a result of altered cosmic laws, beyond his power to fix.
A decision of the Ancient Gods. A consequence of the universe's laws.
No one could touch something like that—not even personal gods, let alone medicine or surgery. He'd even tried acupuncture from the Eastern Continent, but the child still missed a leg, remained blind, and lagged in development.
"What? A priest of the Ancient Gods?! Is it certain?"
This hopeless darkness, where no light appeared anywhere, was far more despairing than outright ruin. The downfall dragged on so slowly that few felt urgency.
Foresighted worriers about the future were rare and rarely heeded. Viscount Leighton might have kept sighing forever if senior soldier Handel hadn't come.
"It's certain, my lord. I saw it with my own eyes. It wasn't direct sunlight, but a wound from solar mana—no, a whole burned hand—regrew completely. Who but an Ancient God could perform such a miracle? The sun curse comes from the Ancient Gods themselves!"
For a common-rank vampire, Handel was sharp—the viscount had looked after him often. He was like a trusted retainer. They'd shared stories, including about the sun curse.
Hearing it all, Viscount Leighton's mind spun. He staggered unconsciously until Handel steadied him. His body shook violently, teeth clattering. Without another glance, he geared up.
"Laila, report to Her Majesty. Say I'll meet and host the suspected Ancient God priest myself."
With those words, he burst out the door. Of course, he knew better.
No guarantee Handel was right, no certainty it was an Ancient God priest. But to someone groping through pitch darkness, that sudden sliver of light was irresistible. He couldn't stay still.
Crash!
He nearly toppled the shoe rack as he charged out. Handel saluted crisply, comforted Laila, then left.
"Milady, it'll be fine. The young master will be okay. That priest surely lifted a sun curse. He'll fix the young master too."
"My child... could he really be healed?"
Lady Leighton couldn't hide her turmoil. Her eyes shook mercilessly.
What did a deformed child mean? A mongrel without superior vampire blood.
At least, that's how Duke Shumira saw it. So their son, Zig, had to hide forever in this small house. That way, the duke wouldn't notice.
For such a child to stand tall in the world, make friends, find love—that was more vital than regaining sight.
The moment he was discovered meant death, so escaping that life of hiding was enough for Laila to give everything. Liver? She'd hand it over. Gallbladder? She'd rip it out. Even her heart!
"Of course. Don't worry too much, milady. I'll take my leave."
"Go carefully."
Handel comforted her and vanished outside. She locked the door tight, finally relaxing.
Lords were vampire nobility—equivalent to human aristocrats. Laila could command several common vampires as servants if she wished. But she didn't, to protect the child's secret.
Now, the vast house held only her and the baby. Her hands trembled uncontrollably. Fearing she'd drop him, she gently laid him back on the silk bed, stroked his hair, and murmured over and over.
"Baby, my baby... our little one..."
This child, hidden even from the queen.
Zig might see the world. Might walk on two legs.
That thrilling hope filled her heart, making the world brighten. She even prayed—something she never did.
Not to a specific god; if anything, to fate.
Vampires, a branch of demonkind forsaken by gods, didn't pray to them.
"Please, let that man be an Ancient God priest and help us. Pity us, show us mercy!"
—Happy?
A voice.
Just a voice.
It came from inside and outside her simultaneously—otherwise, just a voice. Like her inner self speaking, or someone asking.
—Enjoying it?
Clack. Her teeth chattered involuntarily.
Instinct, shared by all life, rang alarms. The baby wailed loudly, but she forgot to soothe him. Fear overwhelmed her mind.
—Then invite us to that happy place too.
Knock knock. A knock echoed from the distant front door.
A faint knock from so far away, normally inaudible, reached clearly to this deep inner bedchamber. As if a small hand tapped cautiously.
—Please.
The chirping plea, like the baby's anguished cries, dredged up memories she'd never wanted to recall. Her legs gave out, and she collapsed.
Clutching her head, eyes squeezed shut, a single tear trickled from her closed lids.
When the woman refused to face her sin, the sin came to her.
Knock knock. It knocked. The dreaded confrontation approached.
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