Chapter 448: The Trial That Defies Fate - 11
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 448: The Trial That Defies Fate - 11
If vampires have one bad habit, it is their belief that time is always on their side, which makes them act with a certain leisure. Unpressed for time, they wasted a moment listening to Kavila's words.
The same was true for Lunken, who was in the middle of pummeling Tyrkanzyaka.
“Hmph! So you accept the challenge! I like it! Just as I thought, I shouldn't have gone easy on you just because you're the consort! I should have just charged right in!”
Setting aside his minor regret, Lunken snorted again.
Boar beastkin were known for their tunnel vision and recklessness, but he hadn't always been a lover of battle. The beastkin who picked fights indiscriminately had been killed off long ago; through survival of the fittest, only the relatively docile ones remained.
Beastkin, having inherited some animal traits, possess keen senses of smell and hearing. Lunken had led his people as part of a mercenary unit, achieving great success by leveraging these strengths. However, unable to overcome the disadvantage of their narrow field of vision, they were eventually used as sacrificial pawns on the battlefield.
While they were scattered and being hunted like animals, he received blood from Tyrkanzyaka, who had come to collect the bodies, and became an Elder. Under her command, Lunken crushed both the army that had killed his people and the one that had abandoned them.
However, a thirst lingered in Lunken's heart.
His keen senses were gone, leaving only the scent of blood. He could no longer feel the dry wind rustling his fur, nor did he need to sharpen his itchy tusks against a tree. At first, he rejoiced at being free of such bothersome chores, but when all the little troubles that had defined his survival were stripped away, only ennui and lethargy remained. The keener his senses had once been, the vaster the emptiness he now felt, and Lunken fell into despair.
The only time Lunken's blood stirred was during a bloody battle. The reason was simple: in the most literal sense, his blood was being spilled.
Lunken threw himself into an endless cycle of battle.
“I gave a warning, trying to be considerate of that frail human, but it seems the message didn't get through! Haha, so you're saying a challenge must be accepted! That's right! Just as I thought, the King of Humans is a beast after all—!”
With a heavy snort, Lunken charged Tyrkanzyaka once more. This time, she offered no real defense, merely raising her arms to shield her head as she was battered about. Like a reed in a storm, Tyrkanzyaka was ravaged by Lunken's assault.
As mentioned, vampires have a bad habit: they believe time is always on their side. Even without being an ascetic like Dogo, they have a distinct tendency to witness and confirm every one of their opponent's attacks and techniques. Perhaps it is a luxury born from being immortal beings who cannot die from injury, or perhaps they simply enjoy the spectacle of it all.
The Elders watching Lunken and Tyrkanzyaka fight were slow to realize what was happening.
“…Lunken. Stop. That will be enough.”
“Stop—? Grrr. And why should I!”
Lunken scoffed and rushed the Progenitor again. He was so violent and explosive that it was difficult for anyone else to intervene. Worried they might get in his way, the other Elders hesitated to join the fight and continued to watch.
…this tedious, meaningless fight in which neither could land a decisive blow.
“Leave it to myself and Bakuta, and stand down. Your brutish punches, devoid of any real power, cannot cause any harm.”
Erzsebet's dominion or Bakuta's gluttony could challenge the Progenitor's control. But fighting with brute force like Lunken would only cause a bit of pain and nothing more.
Erzsebet realized the futility of the fight and tried to stop him, but Lunken brushed her off with ease.
“No, there is a point! Inflicting pain!”
“Meaningless…”
“It does have meaning! People change when they feel pain! A good beating usually helps you come to your senses!”
Thud, thud, thud. The attacks were monotonous and one-sided—painful, certainly, but not fatal to a vampire. If his goal was simply to harm Tyrkanzyaka, it was a foolish and idiotic attempt, just as one would expect from a boar beastkin.
But if he had another goal in mind...
“Does it hurt? Then fight back—! Use everything you have—!!”
“Lunken, you! Everyone, get him off her!”
“I don't care what you do! I... will simply fight—! Against an opponent worthy of the fight—!”
As if tempering steel, Lunken relentlessly hammered Tyrkanzyaka with all his might. The ceaseless pain raining down upon her began to change her.
She bent her knees slightly, adopting a stance to better absorb the impacts. She began to move subtly with each blow, lessening the pain. She combined her power and Bloodcraft, forging them into techniques to counter Lunken's monstrous strength. It wasn't that Tyrkanzyaka lacked power; in terms of raw strength, she already overwhelmed him. The problem was that her methods for wielding that power were so crude that they yielded no results.
Anyone else would have died from such a beating, regardless of their power, but Tyrkanzyaka was the Progenitor of vampires. She regenerated in an instant even from blows that felt like they were crushing her entire body. After hundreds of deaths, she had found a way to survive.
“Think! Progenitor, I know you have power! Unleash everything you've got—! I have no desire to fight this clumsy version of you!”
“You damned boar…!”
He was beating the art of combat into her. It was a crude method, but a sure one.
Still, this didn't mean Lunken was siding with Tyrkanzyaka against the Elders. He simply enjoyed crashing against the strong—even if he had to forge his opponent into a worthy one himself. Realizing this, Erzsebet regained her composure.
“Let us pay Lunken no mind. Let's proceed.”
The Elders, who had been observing for a moment, moved in unison to claim the Progenitor's blood.
It is difficult to expect teamwork from vampires. Unless they are Kindred ruled by a Lord of Lords, their coordination is poor. However, they never hesitate for fear of injuring an ally.
“Beastkin... Bellies... full. To build a clan... for some, that simple, natural thing is both a wish and a duty.”
Rahu Khan lunged forward, leveling his massive spear. As a centaur, a cavalryman unto himself, even his simplest rush became a mounted charge. His spear became a gale, piercing through space and tearing apart the darkness that enveloped Tyrkanzyaka. With a sharp crack, something shattered, and her body was flung backward.
“Chatterbox! You're interfering?”
“You are the one who interfered.”
Rahu Khan spun his great spear like a windmill, a tempest swirling above his four-legged torso. Watcher Rahu Khan. The scourge of the Wasteland, who had once swept across the world only to fall due to the immutable circumstances of his birth, spoke with grim determination.
“The Clan Chief... abandoned her duty. I protect the clan. The centaurs... must save themselves.”
“Grrr! To think you're only realizing something so obvious now—!”
While the two part-beast men bickered in the narrow hallway, Muri drifted down beside Tyrkanzyaka like a wisp of fog. Shrouded in thick darkness, Tyrkanzyaka looked like a pitch-black sphere.
No matter that the darkness was a power meant to counter the light, its density was now enough to trouble even the Elders. For Muri, the Phantom Dancer, however, it was of little concern. She played with her blades as if in a dance. The crescent blades pierced the darkness, carving it away.
Muri spoke into the opening she had created.
“My heart is racing—. O Progenitor, were you truly betrayed by your love? Abandoned by the lover who shared your heart? Ah, what a fine comedy this would make for a song—.”
The darkness recoiled as if in disgust, but the Phantom Dancer evaded it with ghostlike movements. Finally, Tyrkanzyaka gave up trying to push her away and spoke.
“…Muri.”
“Yeees—?”
From within the swirling darkness, the wounded Progenitor spoke in an eerie voice.
“Are you enjoying this?”
“Of course not—. Or am I? I don't know—. I just don't know!”
In stark contrast, Muri spoke as if singing a melody.
“The sight of you, Progenitor—my heart, my queen, my faith, my everything—so utterly broken—. It's indescribable. My heart is racing. Thump, thump... I can't tell if it's depravity or excitement—.”
“…What was it you wanted to do?”
Muri, who had styled herself the Progenitor's dancer and contributed to the arts of the Duchy. One might wonder what music could mean to emotionless vampires, but she had produced a great deal of coldly refined music. She had even used humans as an audience to observe their reactions.
After a moment of reflection, Muri stroked her lips and murmured.
“Dance, song, and art. They are all for an audience. I—I suppose I wanted to show my songs and my dances to you, Progenitor—!”
“…If you had brought me your dances and music, I would have always watched.”
“But you never felt them, not completely, not like you are now—!”
Muri's hands moved in a dazzling display. The phantom blades carving away the darkness dug strangely into Tyrkanzyaka. Her skin split open, revealing the Progenitor's blood—the original blood—for a fleeting moment. Though it healed instantly, her dominion over blood wavered, if only for a fraction of a second.
The pool of blood Erzsebet had created did not miss the opening. The instant it sensed blood, it lunged like a phantom.
A wound was a wound, no matter how small. To bleed upon this ground was dangerous. Tyrkanzyaka let out a soft groan as she watched Muri's elegantly dancing blades, and in that instant, Muri cried out passionately.
“See—? This reaction! It's different, isn't it! Watch my movements properly. When I perform my tricks, applaud in admiration. When I sing my songs, hum along with me. This is what I wanted. I wanted a response, an echo!”
Muri cried, as if pouring out her heart, and swung her blades. The tips danced, beautiful and dazzling, their movements impossible to predict. The moment Tyrkanzyaka's eyes lost track of them, the blades seized the opening and drew a line across her arm.
The flinching arm, the tightly pressed lips, the soft groan that escaped. Muri savored every reaction as she matched Tyrkanzyaka's steps.
“Let us dance together, Progenitor—.”
Muri was an oddity among vampires, one who actually tried to dodge attacks. She was often criticized for her needlessly flashy movements, but to a being of pure power and no technique like Tyrkanzyaka, she was like a bird that could never be caught.
Her body was being cut, but the cuts were not the goal. It was as if Muri's true purpose was to match the Progenitor's rhythm; she would retreat as she attacked, and pursue as Tyrkanzyaka withdrew.
Her body was not enough. To properly unleash this explosive power, she needed another method. Even a one-dimensional technique like spraying her own blood—a tactic she wasn't even sure would work on a vampire. Like loading a pistol, Tyrkanzyaka cut her own finger and aimed it at Muri.
“Chomp.”
A boy suddenly appeared and, with a snap, swallowed Tyrkanzyaka's finger.
Old Bakuta the Bloodleech. The Remnant of Gluttony. The monster from the deep swamp that devours blood. His power was to consume other beings—especially their blood—and make their strength his own. Having swallowed Tyrkanzyaka's finger whole like a predator, he smacked his lips with an ecstatic expression.
“So... tasty... Mother's... finger... One bite, and I'm full...”
This was the original blood of the Progenitor Tyrkanzyaka. It couldn't be digested so quickly. It was a power that, given the chance, could spread through his body and dominate him.
But in the face of endless hunger, the threat of what might come later was a distant concern.
The finger regenerated in an instant. But the 'eaten' original blood remained within Bakuta's body. A fierce struggle for control ensued, as the power of gluttony attempted to digest even the original blood.
Bakuta reveled in the blissful satiety that filled his body.
“I was starving... but because of that... I can feel full... I'm happy...”
He had longed to be free from his endless craving, yet the life of a vampire had robbed him of even the slightest sense of satiety. Satisfaction requires deprivation. One cannot attain what one does not desire.
It wasn't just Bakuta; all the Elders were the same. Like Tyrkanzyaka before her heart was revived, they had broken their shackles and recalled their own small desires. Now, they reveled in their freedom, running rampant.
“Hughes… are you truly the king of them all…?”
And there was one who would rejoice at this situation. The one who had made the Elders recall their desires, just as he had returned a heart and senses to Tyrkanzyaka.
Remembering the man she believed she loved, Tyrkanzyaka writhed in agony.
“Did you grant my wish simply because I, too, am human? Does the fact that I am human mean I am nothing special?”
The King of Humans had said that even the Progenitor Tyrkanzyaka was human. Tyrkanzyaka, who had yearned for an ordinary life, had been overjoyed to hear it.
…But now, as she understood the hidden meaning behind those cold, cruel words, waves of shame and self-loathing crashed over her on a tide of sorrow.
Even the time they had spent traveling together, the nights they had shared, meant nothing special to him. Even Tyrkanzyaka's precious, innocent love was likely…
“…Not once did you ever call anything special.”
To the King of Humans, everything a human could do was ordinary.
To Tyrkanzyaka, Hughes had been special, but to him, she was not. She was simply a human with an ordinary wish, and he had granted it. He would have listened just as earnestly to the wish of anyone—an Elder, an Ain, a Yeiling.
…Perhaps that was why Finlay had been able to control her, even if only for a moment.
If he hadn't drawn her attention with lightning at that exact moment. If he hadn't reawakened her long-held wish. If she hadn't, for an instant, relinquished the will to control her own body.
If Hughes hadn't given Finlay the chance to fulfill his wish. None of this might have happened.
It felt as if her world was collapsing. This wasn't the pain she had wanted to feel when she came back to life. She had thought the world would be full of joy once she regained her senses and emotions. Now, she didn't know what was left.
And now, even Hughes was no longer by her side.
It hurt. Her heart felt like it was being torn into a thousand, a million pieces. Her body had been shattered and regenerated so many times that she no longer knew what pain even was.
Life is suffering, they said. Since her heart had been revived, Tyrkanzyaka had never felt more alive.
“…Hughes. Is this what you wanted? A world where everyone has a desire.”
And a new desire was born.
She wanted to end this pain and find happiness and joy once more.
Not as she had been before—the complete Progenitor of Vampires, Lord of Lords to the Elders, Queen of Shadow, and the Ocean of Blood. But as a special human who possessed a little more strength than most.
“Excuse me, Progenitor—? Your reactions have grown dull—. Are you bored already—?”
No matter how she nicked her with the blades, there was no response. Has she already grown accustomed to the pain? Tilting her head, Muri withdrew her blades and spoke probingly.
“I suppose I'll have to put on a more... stimulating performance—. Shall I paint a picture on that pale body of yours? Or perhaps I should pierce your hands and feet with my blades? Or maybe... I should adorn the consort's corpse and turn it into a doll—?”
If her intention was to provoke the Progenitor, it was a resounding success. Excessively so.
Tyrkanzyaka's eyes flashed. In the next instant, a massive hand erupted and seized Muri.