Chapter 443: Trial That Defies Fate - 6
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 443: Trial That Defies Fate - 6
Just before the Order of Gaia fell and the faith of the Sanctum spread across the land, countless beliefs were scattered throughout the world—faiths that sought to forge a brilliant future.
But amid the flames of war, faith turned to cynicism.
No faith offered them salvation.
No prayer eased their suffering.
No teaching provided an answer.
The monks, once considered a sect of the Order of Gaia but in reality having little to do with it, groaned as they watched the world. Some, deciding to turn their backs on the filthy secular world, became hermits. Others, unable to bear it any longer, entered the world to alleviate the suffering. They preached their teachings and guided those weary from pain.
…However, the war did not spare even the most enlightened monks. Operating on principles and doctrines different from the secular world, the monks caused friction wherever they went. If not for the martial monks, who had trained for ages, the ascetics would have been reduced to just another group of commoners engulfed in the fires of war.
The secular world was filthy and cruel. The enlightened monks who had descended with grand ambitions were met with discouragement and despair. Some returned to the mountains, while others became tainted by the world and built their own power. Two factions, born from the same root, now split. Their paths were so different that it was inevitable they would come to condemn each other.
The martial monks, who had once weathered storms with a single purpose, gradually weakened as they turned on one another, fighting as enemies. One side condemned those tainted by the world as fallen monks, while the worldly ones treated the others as hypocrites who merely stood by, feigning nobility. The friction between the two factions grew.
Contrary to their unified faith, more pain and anguish were born.
“To treat the calamity bearing the name Kanzyaka as a mere girl because of her appearance is a folly that ignores her true nature. This humble monk will break his vow of silence to speak to you.”
And Dogo, one of the fallen monks tainted by the world, grew skeptical of his meaningless teachings and resolved to cast himself into even greater anguish.
“Progenitor Tyrkanzyaka. This humble monk does not know what you are. But it is said that vampires feel no pain, no anguish. In words alone, that is the state of enlightenment we seek.”
He would devote himself to the nobles of the night, the vampires.
“I do not know if there is value in an enlightenment granted without agony and contemplation, without asceticism and training. But perhaps that, too, is a form of penance. This humble monk wishes to subject this body to an even greater trial.”
All Elders are the Progenitor’s Kindred. But that does not necessarily mean they shared her will.
“Make this monk a vampire. In return, I offer you this worthless body.”
Some for revenge. Some for their lives. Some out of curiosity. Some from a sense of duty.
Some for ambition. Some for eternal life. Some out of recklessness. Some for the love of a good fight.
Some for faith. Some for their race. Some out of fear. And some, just by chance.
Their reasons were all different, but after becoming the Progenitor’s Kindred, they became Elders.
What did Dogo truly feel?
Or did he feel nothing at all?
Tyrkanzyaka was at a loss for words, faced with a situation she had never experienced. Until now, every Elder had acted as Tyr wished. They shared her emotions. Even Dogo, who would not so much as speak to a woman, let alone raise a fist to one, would unhesitatingly plunge his fist into the chest of anyone who believed in the Sky God.
The fist of a martial monk, filled with rage, did not discriminate by age or gender. It discriminated only by faith.
Dogo, too, had been a faithful Elder. It was a natural result, as he directed his faith in the Path toward the Progenitor.
But now, that same Dogo was raising a banner of rebellion against his Progenitor.
“…Are you in your right mind? You would put me on trial?”
“It is not only Luscynia’s daughter who must face a trial, but all of us. Progenitor, you are the beginning.”
Though his body was withered, his eyes blazed. Blood Monk Dogo. His coven courted suffering and rarely craved human blood, earning them the respect of many humans. In a good sense, they were uncompromising; in a bad sense, they were rigid. Dogo’s coven was responsible for handling matters of law and order in the duchy.
And now, their leader had stepped forward to condemn the Progenitor.
“Progenitor. The reverence this monk pays you is not something innate. I became a vampire to cast off all anguish and suffering and reach a state of enlightenment. Until now, we have both been faithful to our roles. However.”
Dogo looked at Tyrkanzyaka with a hint of pity.
“For you, who has lost her dominion and wastes her days in a room with a man, lost to carnal pleasures, this humble monk can feel no reverence.”
He did not exchange fists or words with women. They were beings who hindered ascetic training and disturbed the mind. It was an antiquated doctrine, but Dogo, an antiquated man, had followed that belief.
And now that the shackles were gone, Dogo began to weigh the Progenitor against his doctrine.
Tyrkanzyaka’s emotion in the face of Dogo’s rebellion, his defiance of fate, was…
“…Huh?”
Above all, bewilderment.
Tyrkanzyaka had no senses, no emotions. While the other Elders were dominated by the power of Bloodcraft and synchronized with her, Tyrkanzyaka, the matriarch of all vampires, felt no inspiration from anything she saw. No scent or taste could move her heart. Only her hatred for the Sanctum remained, and she clung to it all the more blindly.
But revenge alone could not quench the thirst in her heart. That was why Tyrkanzyaka had wished for her heart to beat again. She wanted to melt back into the world, to solidify her hazy form, to have a body that could feel something.
However, she had never seriously considered what might happen in the process, or what would become of the vampires she held as her Kindred.
Because for over a thousand years, every vampire had been Tyrkanzyaka’s Kindred, her own limbs—beings she could control as she pleased.
Tyrkanzyaka had been the Progenitor from the very beginning. Whatever their stories, those who received her blood became her Kindred. Tyrkanzyaka felt nothing about this fact. It was merely the thought that she had gained another limb to use.
Rebellion and defiance were not possibilities Tyrkanzyaka had ever considered.
“Are you serious, Dogo?”
“I am.”
“…Is that your thought alone?”
“How could this humble monk possibly know all the mysteries of the universe? Even my eyes cannot pierce the turbid hearts of others. Now that the shackles are gone, their minds, murky as ditchwater, must be churning…”
Dogo glanced at the Elders seated beside him—Lunken, Kavila, Erzsebet—and their expressions as they simply observed the situation, even in the face of this defiance.
The Elders’ rebellion is not Dogo’s idea alone. For a fleeting moment, Tyrkanzyaka felt her heart sink.
It felt as if her own limbs had detached themselves to point accusingly at her. She was speechless as an event that had never happened, that could never happen, unfolded before her eyes.
It wasn’t that she felt her life was in danger. She was simply surprised by the unexpected situation. To Tyrkanzyaka, who had never had a heart to begin with, fear and bewilderment were both foreign emotions.
Bewilderment soon turned to anger. Tyrkanzyaka glared at Dogo, who dared to defy her, with terrifying eyes.
“Your original blood came from me. Can you handle the consequences?”
“This humble monk asks you the same.”
Blood Monk Dogo.
The martial monk who was, more than anyone, worldly and human. The fallen monk who was, more than anyone, corrupt, having killed countless humans. The ascetic whose fists were never dry of blood looked up at the girl and murmured.
“Progenitor, can you handle this humble monk?”
“You dare…!”
She understood the situation well enough. Now it was time for anger. The Progenitor slowly walked down and stood before the withered old monk.
“Even if I have reclaimed my heart and drawn a boundary, I am still your matriarch. Do you think I cannot subdue you?”
“…Easily.”
“You’d best not regret those words.”
Tyrkanzyaka clenched her small fist. A fist that looked like it couldn’t harm a soul balled up tightly. Tyrkanzyaka aimed at the upright Dogo and drew her fist back. Bloodcraft, the art of controlling blood, moved her body.
Knowing that Dogo, the ascetic, would not evade the blow, Tyrkanzyaka threw her punch with all her might.
Dogo did not dodge. As always.
The duchy trembled for a moment.
They were invisible—Tyrkanzyaka’s fist and Dogo’s body. Plenilune Castle shuddered, and shattered rock came crashing down a moment later. A straight tunnel had been carved through Plenilune Castle, a fortress built and bound with blood. The wind generated by a human body shook the castle to its foundations.
The power wasn’t gone. It had merely changed. It was a fact all vampires knew intellectually, but now they were experiencing it firsthand.
Only one person, Tyrkanzyaka herself, felt that something—something very small—was missing.
‘…Does it hurt?’
Until now, she had been able to use her own body as a tool because she felt no pain. She could just regenerate, after all. Trusting in her powerful regenerative abilities, she had used all her strength to crush her enemies.
But after several days of regaining her senses, Tyrkanzyaka had become sensitive not only to pleasure but also to pain. As overwhelming power surged through her arm, shattering it, a sharp pain tugged at her. The blow should have been faster, stronger.
Despite the overwhelming display of power, Tyrkanzyaka felt a sense of dissonance.
“…Is this the best you can do?”
She wasn't the only one who felt it. A simple blow could not kill a vampire. It was true no matter how formidable the power behind it. Though Dogo had been half-crushed by the immense force for a moment, he had begun regenerating the instant he collided with the first wall.
Echoes of Agony and Tempest.
The Qi Art learned by an ascetic in a distant past, now known as Demonic Martial Arts.
Pain and suffering are not to be avoided, but endured. A body swaying like a reed does not fight the wind and waves, but is swept along by them. He did not evade the blow, but withstood it. As long as he didn't die, being hurt and in pain was acceptable. The ascetic’s strange Qi Art had only grown stronger after he became a vampire.
Though he was overpowered, Dogo endured and walked steadily forward.
“A child’s brawl, with no Arcane, no power. Is this your enlightenment?”
“You dare speak above your station!”
Her dominion was intact. It just didn't apply outside her body because she now felt pain and distinguished her own form.
If so, the solution was simple.
She just had to touch Dogo’s blood. If she could touch his original blood, even for a moment, she could reclaim the power that made Dogo an Elder.
It was likely the first time in her life Tyrkanzyaka had ever schemed in order to fight. It felt a bit of a waste to kill an Elder she had lived with for so long over something like this, but the enraged Tyrkanzyaka decided to accept the cost.
Scrape. She drew her nails across her skin. She felt pain, but this much was bearable. Just as she had done before, Tyrkanzyaka decided to attack Dogo by scattering her blood. If the wave of blood so much as scratched Dogo’s body, Tyrkanzyaka would reclaim the original blood mixed within it.
As Dogo approached to meet her, Tyrkanzyaka flicked her fingers, scattering her blood. A sanguine wave instantly surged forward and swept over Dogo. The corridor was filled with a crimson light…
However, the ascetic only allows a single blow.
Dogo was an Elder. One who had immersed himself in power. He was also a renowned martial artist who had been powerful even in life. Sensing Tyrkanzyaka’s movements and the flow of her blood, he moved, leaving behind red footprints.
Adversity.
He moved obliquely against the rushing force. The impact was endured entirely by his body. Broken bones and torn muscles were also part of his penance. Using Bloodcraft to move his body, he floated through the sanguine wave like a water-plant.
It was the pinnacle of martial arts. Dogo, having overcome the calamity, threw a punch aimed at Tyrkanzyaka’s jaw, but stopped short.
Tyrkanzyaka did not try to block. That was not the way of a vampire. Instead, she tried to snatch Dogo with her retracted hand.
Hardship.
Fwoom! A massive shockwave erupted, pushing Dogo and Tyrkanzyaka apart. It was a simple application of Heaven and Earth, but redirecting the combined force of his blood energy and his opponent's power outward was something not just anyone could do. Especially not when the force was so immense.
Having instantly created distance between them, Dogo closed his eyes, pressed his palms together, and concluded.
“My business here is done.”
“Who said you could finish whenever you please!”
Tyrkanzyaka shouted, fuming, but Dogo did not answer. He did not exchange fists or words with women. To Dogo, women were beings for bearing children, utterly unhelpful in terms of ascetic training, and thus he treated them as if they didn't exist. The kindness Dogo showed to women stemmed not from gentleness, but from contempt.
A Progenitor who had lost her dominion was not the being who had granted Dogo enlightenment. She was just a female who had given her body and soul to a consort, blinded by lust. Dogo retreated as if Tyrkanzyaka was beneath his notice.
“…You!”
Just as the enraged Tyrkanzyaka was about to gather the darkness, something chilling grazed her arm and neck.
For a moment, the Progenitor’s arms and legs dangled loosely. Of course, it was only for an instant, and her body quickly reattached itself. But the Progenitor’s body flinched from the momentary pain.
In that opening, a slightly drawling, playfully coquettish voice was heard.
“Hee hee~ Progenitor, a blade has pierced your body~? How~ could that be?”
A shadow with sleek curves shimmered in the darkness.
It was a female dancer, her navel and armpits exposed. She held a round dagger in each hand, standing lightly on the darkness with bare feet. The dancer looked at the dagger that had just lightly pierced Tyrkanzyaka’s body and licked the blade as if it were candy.
“Muri…?”
“Something that should never happen. Our taboo. Why, now that I’ve tried it, does it work~? Why can’t you punish my impudence~?”
The Enforcer of Darkness. The Assassin of Silence. The replicator of a false idol who finally obtained the darkness only the Progenitor could wield.
The Phantom Dancer, The Waning Moon Muri.
Before her appearance was even complete, a clattering sound echoed. It was the common sound of horse hooves, but… the strangely orderly rhythm hinted at an intelligence a horse would not possess.
A man-horse demon. A beastkin once called a Centaur slowly revealed himself.
In the old days, horses were wealth, power, and weapons to humans. In an era before Qi Arts were so developed, a human on horseback could exert several times the power of an ordinary person. That category of ‘power’ included numerous factors like strength, combat prowess, mobility, and transport capacity. The horse itself was a strategic resource and a weapon.
And a certain royal family, who broke the taboo of Splicing as if it were a daily meal, succeeded in their attempt to merge that weapon with a human. Human from the waist up, horse from the waist down. These beastkin, born with the power of cavalry, displayed exceptional ‘strength’ and swept through wars.
…However, like all things created by the Agartha royal family mixing with their own bodies, they were fated to naturally die out due to the extreme difficulty of producing offspring.
A certain Centaur, who inherited that great blood, made an extreme choice to protect his few remaining tribesmen. He decided to entrust his body to a vampire to preserve his race.
“Clan Chief. Is this betrayal? Have you truly forsaken the tribe?”
The Bastion of Barbarism. The Lord of the Wasteland. The destroyer of civilization who swept through countless nations before his fall, staining each with blood… a descendant of the man called ‘Khan,’ the King of Savagery.
Watcher Rahu Khan. He approached, a spear slung diagonally across his back.
Crunch. Crunch.
The sound of someone chewing on rocks filled the air.
Plenilune Castle was made of bricks solidified with blood. The power of a vampire strengthened and supported its walls. The castle itself acted like a giant vampire, possessing the trait of automatically repairing itself even after being broken. The wall Dogo had been sent flying through was slowly restoring itself.
But one section was not regenerating, as if it had been chewed off.
“Hun…gry. I feel hunger. How long… has it been?”
A boy who had been chewing on a rock stood up, murmuring sadly. The shattered stone tore his throat as it went down, but he didn't care. As long as he could fill his empty stomach, it didn't matter what it was.
“I became a vampire to get rid of hunger. If so, then I am…”
The boy, who looked as if he could barely drink water, let alone stone, sorrowfully threw away the half-eaten rock.
Gluttony is a human instinct. A starving person will eat and swallow anything.
Among humans who have not learned of taboos as taboos, there are some who treat their fellow humans as food. Eating a dead body is a grave sin, and killing and eating the living is a taboo beyond sin.
When news of cannibalism spreads, the people nearby are the first to try and kill the perpetrator. If that fails, soldiers come to capture them, and if even that is impossible, an extermination squad is formed. Eventually, the enforcers of the Sanctum come, bearing fate on their shoulders.
Most are subjugated and killed, but the few gluttons who survive grow stronger. Or perhaps they survived because they were strong. In any case, the gluttons who won their life-or-death bets devoured all their enemies and became that much more powerful.
A glutton who survived as a wild man, knowing no parents, no country, no letters. One who carries an entire village in his belly. The Maw of the Deep Swamp. The Human-Eater.
Old Bakuta the Bloodleech.
Even in life, they were monsters who had dominated an era. After becoming vampires, they became legends who lived through all eras. Such were the Elders.
The Elders, who were known to be asleep, had broken their long silence and appeared, having heard the news about the Progenitor.
Lyre is an Elder. No matter how experienced and powerful an Ain is, they stand no chance against an Elder. So those vampires’ true intention was to watch Lyre and me in case something happened.
However, Hilde, who had infiltrated before them, had managed to find me.
“Father. I have a report.”
Hilde, her face devoid of its usual smile, reported crisply.
“Luscynia’s ains are going around waking the sleeping Elders. They’re inciting them, claiming that the Progenitor has abandoned them.”