Chapter 163
Chapter 163
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 163
Chapter Title: The High Lord's Demise
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Frederik couldn't make out what the knight in front of him was saying, but somehow, he grasped the meaning.
It was blatant mockery or provocation.
Yet, as the sole child permitted to bear the name of Duke Helmund, ruler of the Helmund Clan—the one who walked by day—he couldn't even think of getting angry.
His opponent was one of their kind, utterly immune to his presence.
Which meant...
"Wait..."
"Alright, then! I'll shove this mace up your mouth and ass! Graaaargh!"
Kwaaaa!
Frederik's eyes widened just as he was parting his lips.
If his own presence was the torrent of a river, the one now swirling and crashing toward him was a dizzying tsunami.
'I have to dodge!'
His instincts screamed it, but crushed by the tsunami-like presence, Frederik couldn't budge an inch.
Even so, his fierce will to survive let him muster his own presence.
Pang!
A hefty mace whistled through the air toward Frederik's head.
But just as the ugly, jagged studs were about to smash into his helmet, Frederik's smooth face suddenly turned into pitch-black smoke.
Thung!
The now-masterless helmet crumpled under the blow and flew off into the distance, while the empty armor and clothes tumbled down beneath the horse's saddle.
"Huh?"
Galpredic's eyes bulged at the sight of his near-victim vanishing without a trace.
At that moment, the black smoke that had escaped Frederik's body right before the mace strike darted away from the battlefield.
Fwoosh!
"Gyaaah!?"
Reyma, who had been trembling a short distance away, was grazed by the black smoke, his clothes shredding to pieces.
"Magic? Damn bastard!"
Catching on late, Galpredic hurled his mace and battle axe at the black smoke.
But of course, smoke wouldn't take damage from weapons.
"Hey! You cowardly vampire shit! Don't you dare run!"
No matter how furiously Galpredic bellowed, Frederik in his smoke form only sped away faster.
'I'm safe!'
Using the mystical power only high vampires could wield, Frederik had barely escaped death's door. He inwardly cheered.
But who could've imagined the Duke of Batla was Duke-level himself? And thank the heavens the duke seemed clumsy with his presence.
'Is he insane? Why would someone that strong come all the way to Brantia to stir up trouble?'
Transformed into his ethereal mist, Frederik pondered this as he raced from the battlefield.
Then, his gaze suddenly locked onto one spot.
'Gah!?'
The black-armored knight who had slaughtered all his vampire knights underlings was staring right at him.
'That guy's?'
He couldn't clearly see the expression or eyes, but he could tell the black knight wasn't surprised at all.
Even a knight—a human—would be shocked to see a vampire turn into ethereal mist, yet this one was utterly calm.
'Arrogant bastard. Next time, I'll kill you myself.'
Given the circumstances, all Frederik could do was grind his teeth inwardly.
Just then, a reddish glow flickered from inside the black knight's helmet, which had seemed empty save for sword aura.
An inexplicable chill gripped him, and Frederik hurriedly tried to accelerate.
Kwaaaa!
Suddenly, everything was dyed in crimson-black light.
'Th-this is...!?'
Frederik had no choice but to stop.
Hundreds of sharp, razor-like auras had woven into a massive net, blocking his path.
'Presence? Presence!?'
He'd have preferred being surrounded by silver walls. The shock hit Frederik like his soul was fleeing his body. Fear and confusion soon followed.
The Duke of Batla had clearly been unpracticed with presence.
So then, this must be...
"You. Quite the curious trick, knowing how to use it."
A whisper right behind him.
'Hngh!'
Had he not been in ethereal form, Frederik—High Lord dignity be damned—would've leaped into the air in panic.
Grab!
In that instant, Eugene's hand seized Frederik's ethereal mist.
Kraaaah!!!
A scream horrific enough to freeze a human soul echoed out.
Fwoooosh!
Kwaaah! Kraaaaaah!
"Hm?"
Eugene was puzzled.
He'd only grabbed it to stop the escape, but the smoke touching his hand erupted in crimson-black flames.
At the same time, fragments of Frederik's knowledge began flooding into Eugene's mind.
It wasn't like learning something new—it felt like forgotten memories resurfacing.
Sssr...
Then, from the burned areas, it crumbled into sand-like grains and scattered.
The vampire High Lord, who had lived nearly a century, vanished so pathetically.
"Damn it."
Eugene could only click his tongue at the unintended result.
He'd thought a vampire High Lord would be something special, but who could've guessed it'd disintegrate this quickly?
But it was only natural.
A vampire's ethereal mist was immune to physical attacks but extremely vulnerable to magic or mental assaults.
Moreover, the hand grasping Frederik's mist carried the presence of the Origin, sovereign of all vampires.
It was like poking a balloon roughly—it was bound to burst against such overwhelming presence.
Of course, Eugene himself had no idea.
"Still, I figured out how the transformation works, so it's not a total loss."
Whether this new High Lord died or not didn't matter. The knowledge transfer cut short upon disintegration, but unlocking the mist form ability left Eugene satisfied.
Without a care for what ripples his actions might cause.
* * *
"I offer my deepest gratitude to Duke Batla."
Kneeling on one knee in prostration, Reyma Fransil spoke in a voice thick with emotion.
But Eugene looked down at him with somewhat displeased eyes.
Because Reyma was stark naked right now.
He'd been caught in the blast when the vampire High Lord Frederik turned into mist nearby, shredding his clothes.
"Rise."
"Yes, Your Grace."
As Reyma cautiously stood, Eugene's eyes narrowed further.
"Oho! Look at the sturdy goods on this guy. I mean, really."
"Kieek!? N-not bad, huh? But! Our master's big and beautiful... Kwek!"
The spirit, about to blab an Origin secret, was squished midair.
"You... too mu..."
Like a lonely falling leaf, the spirit drifted slowly to the ground.
"Big and beautiful? Oho! Oh hooo..."
Ignoring the spirit's fate, Galpredic alternated glances between Reyma and Eugene's crotches before locking eyes with Eugene.
Snap!
"As expected of my master's body!"
"Right! Truly my master's lord!"
Eugene ignored the oddly compatible familiar and spirit—who could chat since gaining communication—and spoke to Reyma.
"Put on some clothes."
"Pardon? But there's nothing fit to wear..."
"The dead ones'. Grab anything."
"Ah, yes."
Not very noble behavior. But it was an order from his lifesaver, so Reyma rummaged through the fallen knights' corpses, gathering wearable garments and donning them.
Soon, having reclaimed even the armor and weapons taken by the Brodia royal knights, Reyma bowed politely to Eugene once more.
"How can I ever repay this grace? Your Grace's valiant and honorable deeds—I shall surely inform my father. Though we shall soon be one family through the sacred rite of marriage..."
"Shut up."
"...Pardon?"
To the baffled Reyma, Eugene said coldly.
"You. What were you thinking? Why'd you go blabbing that I'd marry your sister?"
"Th-that's because... Huh?"
Reyma finally grasped Eugene's reaction a bit and paused mid-sentence.
Thinking about it, there was zero evidence linking his youngest sister to Duke Batla.
Lorrain had simply traveled with the duke's group after capture.
No one knew if it was by choice or force.
"Uh... then..."
"Yeah. Your knights dead, you captured. All because of that baseless fantasy."
"......!"
Reyma's jaw dropped.
His family's precious knights dead due to his own foolish decision?
And his sister still a prisoner.
'No way, me too?'
The realization snapped Reyma alert.
"Figured it out, huh. You're my prisoner now too."
"Gasp..."
Reyma's heart sank, his mind reeling.
The direct heirs of House Fransil—both captured by one man. Unprecedented.
But the shocks didn't end there.
"Want a chance to make up for your mistake?"
"Pardon!? What do you mean?"
At Eugene's offhand offer, the dazed Reyma looked up sharply.
"Contact your father, Lord Fransil. Tell him the ransom I want is this."
As Eugene's words continued, Reyma's expression grew graver.
"...If Lord Fransil accepts my proposal, I'll release you. Refuse..."
Eugene pointed to the knights sprawled in pitiful death.
"...and you'll end up like them. Your house too, eventually."
"......!"
Reyma shuddered involuntarily before replying with resolve.
"My father will accept Your Grace's proposal. I'll make sure of it."
"Good. As expected of the eldest son. Better than your idiot sibling."
He flinched at the open slight against his beloved sister, but it was accepted fact in House Fransil, so Reyma dared not retort.
"Um, but if he accepts, you'll release Lorrain too, right? On your knightly honor..."
"What? When did I say I'd release your sister too?"
"Pardon? But just now, the letter to Father..."
"Your ransom separate. Her ransom separate. Obvious, no?"
"......"
Reyma looked up at Eugene in disbelief.
A peerless knight of unbelievable skill, one of Brantia's top nobles: Duke of Batla.
His warhorse, armor, sword, lance—all top-grade.
Yet for such a figure, wasn't he a tad greedy and stingy?
But Reyma wasn't foolish enough to show it.
"O-of course. Yes, Your Grace is right."
"Good you get it. Now, let's go."
"Ah! Yes!"
As Reyma moved to mount up, Eugene turned to him.
"You're a prisoner. Earn your keep."
"Pardon?"
Eugene nodded at the sprawled corpses.
"Loot anything worthwhile. Waste not, want not."
"......Yes."
Reyma was convinced.
Not just a bit. The peerless knight and great Duke of Batla was 'truly' greedy and stingy.
"Master! Master! Can I loot the dead guys' money? Ung ung?"
"Go ahead."
"Kieet! Yay! Kieet! Silver coins~ Gold coins~ Money good for me and master~ Scrape it all up~ Put it in master's piggy bank~ 'Oh, my spirit's so good~' He'll love it~"
And there was the greedy spirit, perfect match for such a duke.
Anyway, after gathering all intact gear from the knights, Reyma loaded it onto the two horses that had fled and returned, wiped his sweat, and said.
"Whew! All done. Now we join Your Grace's army and head to my home?"
"What're you talking about?"
"Pardon? Then how will you deliver the letter to my father..."
"Send a messenger. We hit the Brodia royals right now."
"......!"
Reyma paled, suddenly recalling something.
"Th-then! If my house accepts Your Grace's proposal late..."
Eugene bared his fangs in a grin, thumbing his throat.
"You die."
"Right now! I'll write the letter first!"
Truly greedy and stingy—but far more ruthless—the duke's words hurried Reyma's heart.
(To be continued in the next chapter)