Chapter 6
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 6
Chapter Title: A Mother's Fury
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Carriage.
The temperature inside the room plummeted in an instant.
The orc kneeling on the floor had stopped thinking long ago.
Rachel was acting differently from the original story.
Normally, she would have despised Ian so much that she wouldn't even spare him a glance.
Ian had been a wastrel, the kind who stirred up trouble in the office every single day.
But then he suddenly started showing filial piety, and now Rachel had become... strange.
Griiiip—like something clogged had finally come loose.
Even the headaches from paperwork vanished, replaced by convenient ideas she'd never heard of before.
Problems that would have taken ten subordinates months to solve? Handled in a snap.
Was a knack for work a talent that bloomed late? It was so sharp it even left her flustered and suspicious.
On top of that, morning greetings she wasn't used to, apologies for her discomfort delivered with maids leaving stacks of heartfelt love letters at her door.
That had become her daily joy long ago.
The emotion called love had seeped into her desert-dry heart.
The reasons her heart had withered came down to three.
Her husband, forced into marriage, hadn't visited her chambers in who-knows-how-long.
Too busy with their own duties, she couldn't even run into her eldest or second son in the manor anymore.
So she buried herself in the office, tackling work.
Satisfied with snippets of her sons' news from newspapers or overheard chatter among maids and knights.
But the Ian she hated most had shattered all that.
If no morning greeting came, she'd suddenly worry his illness had worsened.
No evening letter? She'd feel slighted.
Her own fountain pen wouldn't grip right; she couldn't focus. It shocked her.
In the gaps she hadn't even noticed, Ian had seeped into her heart.
She waited only for his letters now, evenings passing in idleness.
Daily reports of his growth, magic formulas unraveled.
Was that why she lingered in the office? She even felt the stirrings of pure motherhood now—not just duty.
Finally coming to her senses, huh.
I love him.
I miss him.
But this is odd.
No reason for her heart to race in the carriage.
She should be worrying about him.
"S-sorry."
Ian panicked, startled expression as his hands kneaded her breast without thinking.
Yet she didn't shove his shoulder away.
It meant, deep down, she didn't mind.
Trapped now in his arms instead, her nose pressed close to his nape, a faint masculine scent brushing past.
His hands lifting away, her mind filled with the embarrassing wish for more.
When their bodies touched, it felt like—
Yes.
This was a heaven-defying emotion.
Rachel had decided.
Such emotions.
Like oil.
Once ignited, they erupted into massive flames.
Her beloved youngest son.
The child she'd birthed in agony.
That precious body, not even painful to hold in her eyes.
Touched by that filthy, ugly monster.
"...You touched him."
Chill,
"..."
Just those words made the orc merchant convulse like he might burst.
"How dare you..."
A ferocious mana she'd never shown before enveloped the entire room.
The creature still hadn't grasped the situation, frozen solid from a single word.
And that was fuel enough to ignite Rachel's rage.
Trembling with fury, she clenched her fist so hard it shook.
The ground quaked in response, her black hair rising into the air, wrapped in blue mana—like a mage wielding telekinesis.
"You must not value your life."
A terrifying glare that could kill the orc outright.
Just meeting that piercing stare felt like facing execution.
The stone surroundings froze over.
Familiar sensation from the carriage ambush.
"......"
"......No answer? Fine. Then I'll just behead everyone connected to you for the insult."
Her icy expression and emotionless tone made it all too believable.
No— it was true.
A figure like Rachel could have a slave trader like this publicly executed with a mere breath.
So despair was inevitable.
"S-sorry...!!!!!"
He slammed his head down.
Bitter iron blood numbed his tongue.
The only sensation: the woman's heel grinding his head.
"Shut up."
If apologies fixed things, this never would've happened.
A volcano on the verge of total eruption—she barely clung to her fraying reason and approached Ian, who gripped her arm.
Blood dripped, plip, plop from his arm.
Skin torn.
A blue bruise bloomed in the center of his pale flesh.
Her brows furrowed harshly; her anger gauge shattered its limit.
"Mother, I'm fine—"
"Don't lie. Your body's not that sturdy to begin with. A whip like that might've cracked bones. Take that slave back to the carriage now. The butler there can treat your wounds."
A commanding tone brooking no argument.
So resolute Ian couldn't even speak.
"Ugh."
The floor, starting to freeze solid, grew ever colder.
The room had plunged below zero, like a blizzard raging inside.
Before it got worse, he threw open the door and pulled Yuria out.
She huddled, shivering violently in the cold.
No wonder—a scrap of cloth like that offered no protection.
"Yuria. You okay?"
"......."
No reply came.
Her head drooped limp as she let him lead her by the hand—far from a good sign.
He crouched to meet her gaze.
Her upturned eyes held nothing but loss.
"..."
Not the look of a child—not by any stretch.
Her lips twitched, parting and closing repeatedly.
She wanted to say something.
Thank you for saving me.
Sorry, for being useless.
Because of me... I, I... because of me...
She didn't know which apology to voice first.
"B-because of me... D-did Ian get hurt bad...? S-sorry. Hic, sob."
Her formal speech crumbled; she wasn't in her right mind.
Ah. She's crying.
That would've been the normal reaction.
But look closer—it was different.
Her combat power split sharply: whether she'd taken that tiny sip of blood or not.
Elder Vampire.
A noble house vampire already at hero-tier potential.
One of the rare noble vampires with a special racial class, reserved for the chosen few.
In other words, true to the world's apex predator. Given the right conditions, she was insanely strong starting now.
—Plip, plop.
Tears fell from below her blood-red sclera.
Glands long withered now flowed freely.
Her heart, seeming frozen like a cold corpse, pounded wildly without cease.
Sharp nails bared, she exuded killing intent unbelievable for a child.
Ian, numb to such sensations, felt little, but any knight seeing this would've fainted in froth-mouthed terror.
But she was too furious, too furious.
She wanted to drop to her knees and wail out her lost emotions.
These first feelings she'd ever known stabbed her chest raw.
Like a stake ripping out her heart, gouging a gaping hole.
Painful.
So very painful.
Hurt him.
Because of her.
Ian's pained gaze overlapped her trauma.
His unwavering care.
Each time it pierced her heart, tears brought more agony.
What could she do?
What was there?
She couldn't even cook human food—didn't know flavors.
Didn't know what he wanted.
The more she dwelled, the more her heart twisted.
Unthinkingly clutching her chest, she'd stopped in her tracks.
"I... should just kill myself."
"..."
A cold wind whipped between the two now outside.
"Master."
Yuria halted him mid-run with that call.
His body lurched forward then yanked back sharply, like being reeled in reverse.
Grip— even straining forward, raw strength alone couldn't beat a vampire.
"Why... did you buy me?"
This was weird.
This man was weird.
He knew she was a vampire—internationally illegal. And a leader among them. Giving blood to one? Only a madman would.
But it wasn't madness.
So it puzzled her.
Truth be told, after that fresh sip, the cold meant nothing to her anymore.
"That's..."
—Ruuuuumble!!!!
The eardrum-shattering boom snapped her reverie.
There, predictably, Rachel clashed bloodily with what looked like mercenaries.
He'd thought that earlier strike had ended it.
But now, the worry wasn't her safety.
It was theirs.
Shattered debris didn't just vanish like in cartoons.
The looming black shadow stirred primal dread.
But that wasn't the priority now.
Yuria had zero combat experience.
So she couldn't adapt to superhuman speeds.
Meaning a startled jump could be 3 meters... or 10.
And that spelled danger.
Right now, Yuria's mind blanked to "just leap to empty space."
If so, she'd escape fine, meters be damned.
Not wrong.
She was a freakish superhuman; dodging this much was certain.
However.
The spot she leapt to, holding Ian? Where the carriage had stood.
Her numb gaze turned.
Ian was screaming his lungs out.
"Dodge!!!!!"
What.
"Dodge!!!!!!!!!!!!"
There.
The place where panicked carriage horses rampaged from collapsing debris noise.
Her eyes locked on the incoming black shadow.
Panting hooves charging.
Hundreds of kilos of carriage at god-knows-how-many km/h. How many could survive a direct hit?
Full-powered Yuria might yawn it off, but this Yuria was a fresh sprout.
'No defensive instincts yet—if that hits dead-on...'
Dead.
No matter who.