Supreme Hunter of Beautiful Souls-Chapter 455: Ten years ago, when everything was still bad.
Ten years earlier.
The winter that year hadn’t just been cold—it had been cruel.
Elizabeth couldn’t remember exactly when she’d stopped counting the days. Perhaps it was after the third consecutive night sleeping huddled behind a closed tavern, her stomach aching so much it felt like it was being devoured from the inside. Perhaps it was when she realized that no one called her by her name anymore—because no one knew what it was.
She was twelve years old.
And she was dying.
Not all at once. Not dramatically.
But slowly.
The illness had come first as a low fever and a persistent cough. Then, constant weakness. Her arms were too thin, her legs too unsteady. She tried to work—carry water, clean floors, anything—but her body simply couldn’t take it. The tavern and shop owners had no patience for a child who could barely stand.
Then there was the garbage.
She had learned the times when the kitchens discarded leftovers. She had learned which bags to look for. She had learned to ignore the smell. Sometimes she managed to get pieces of stale bread. Sometimes bones with some remnants of meat. Most of the time, just peels and scraps already fought over by rats.
She even tried to steal.
Once.
She saw an apple in the cart of a distracted merchant. Her fingers had been quick—but not quick enough. The slap she received echoed in her memory for days. Then came kicks. Someone yelled to get "the pest" out of there.
She didn’t try again.
Not because she didn’t want to.
But because her body wouldn’t allow a second escape.
That particular night, the cold was worse than usual. The sky had a metallic hue, as if it were about to snow again. Elizabeth was sitting near an alley, hugging her knees, trying to contain the shivering that wasn’t just from the cold.
She had heard stories.
Stories about vampire territory.
About cities that glowed at night.
About creatures that drank human blood.
About quick death.
Or slow death.
She didn’t know which were true.
But she knew one thing: the vampire territory lay just beyond the northern border of the human city. And, unlike the human part, there were always parties there. Banquets. Luxury.
Where there is luxury, there is waste.
And where there is waste... there is food.
It was a simple thought.
Desperate.
Perhaps the last rational thought of a starving child.
She walked for hours, crossing the almost invisible border between the territories. No one stopped her. No one noticed her. A girl too thin, too dirty, didn’t attract attention—neither among humans nor among monsters.
When she finally spotted the first vampire buildings, she gasped.
The architecture was different. Tall towers with dark stained glass. Ornate stone bridges. Lanterns that shone with a bluish light instead of yellow. Everything seemed... too refined. Too dangerous.
She stayed in the shadows.
Always in the shadows.
The city was alive that night. Music echoed through the streets—instruments she had never heard before, deep strings and mesmerizing melodies. Laughter filled the air. Tables lined the avenues, covered with red tablecloths, with dishes that made her stomach ache just looking at them.
Roast meat.
Glistening fruits.
Soft breads.
Cups of dark liquid.
A feast.
Or something very close to it.
Elizabeth stood still for a few seconds, just observing. Vampires passed by her without noticing her presence—or perhaps simply ignoring her. Their clothes were elegant. Their movements, graceful. Their eyes, many of them red or gold, shone under the lights.
She had never seen such abundance.
Never.
The smell of the food almost made her stagger.
She crept along the edge of the crowd, keeping her head down, her makeshift hood covering part of her face. Her plan was simple: wait for the discard. Wait for something to fall. Wait for the right moment to grab whatever remains and escape.
Then the sound changed.
The music faded.
A murmur swept through the crowd like a wave.
A huge carriage appeared at the end of the main avenue.
It wasn’t just large—it was imposing. Black, with intricate silver details that reflected the blue light of the lanterns. Four dark-coated horses pulled it, their manes adorned with silver threads.
The vampires began to line up.
Some bowed.
Others simply lowered their heads.
Elizabeth didn’t fully understand what was happening.
But she felt it.
She felt the weight of the presence even before she saw who was inside.
The carriage moved slowly down the center of the street, as if time itself had slowed down to respect it.
And then...
It stopped.
Abruptly.
Not in the center.
Not in front of the main crowd. 𝑓𝓇𝘦ℯ𝘸𝘦𝑏𝓃𝑜𝘷ℯ𝑙.𝑐𝑜𝓂
But slightly off-center.
Too close to where Elizabeth was hiding.
Her heart raced.
The carriage door opened.
And she stepped out.
The woman seemed to be from another reality.
Long hair, black as the deepest night, falling in soft waves over her shoulders. Pale, flawless skin. A dark red dress that flowed like spilled wine. Her eyes—intensely red—shone in the lantern light.
Silence.
Even the music ceased completely.
Elizabeth felt her stomach churn.
Not from hunger.
From instinct.
Predatory.
The woman—the Vampire Queen, Liza Tapes—raised her gaze.
And looked directly at her.
Not at the crowd.
Not at the nobles.
At her.
At the dirty, thin, trembling girl in the background.
Elizabeth felt the world stop.
She saw me.
Panic came first.
She turned.
She ran.
Or tried to run.
Her weak body barely responded. She took two clumsy steps, stumbling over her own feet.
And then—
—a presence behind her.
Impossible.
She turned, breathless.
The woman was there.
There was no sound of footsteps.
There was no movement of air.
Just... there.
"A human?" the voice was soft. Musical. But there was something sharp beneath the tone.
Elizabeth froze.
The fear was absolute.
"What are you doing here, little one?" the woman asked, tilting her head slightly.
Elizabeth tried to answer.
But her throat was too dry.
Her body trembled.
It wasn’t just the fear of dying.
It was the certainty that she was facing something she couldn’t comprehend.
The queen’s red eyes scanned her body.
Slowly.
Analyzing.
Not like someone assessing prey.
But like someone examining... an enigma.
She gave a small sigh.
"You are dying," she said, almost casually. Elizabeth blinked, confused.
"Chronic fever. Severe malnutrition. Compromised lungs." The queen observed as if reading an open book. "Her heart can barely keep up with its own rhythm."
Elizabeth staggered slightly.
How does she know?
The queen took a step closer.
The crowd watched from a distance, but no one interfered.
No one would dare.
"Why are you here?" Liza repeated.
Elizabeth forced her voice out.
"Hunger..." was all she managed to say.
The word came out broken.
Small.
Liza was silent for a few seconds.
Her eyes showed no disgust.
Nor anger.
Just... assessment.
Then she sighed.
"Come."
Elizabeth blinked.
"What?"
"I’ll give you food," Liza said, as if inviting her for a casual stroll.
Elizabeth didn’t move.
She didn’t trust.
She couldn’t trust.
Liza raised an eyebrow slightly.
"If I wanted to kill you, little one, I would have done it already."
True.
Elizabeth knew that.
She didn’t have the strength to run.
She didn’t have the strength to fight.
If this was a trap, at least... it would end quickly.
And perhaps... with food first.
She took a hesitant step.
Then another.
Liza turned, walking back to the carriage.
The crowd immediately parted.
Elizabeth felt eyes on her.
Curiosity.
Disapproval.
Contempt.
A human.
In their territory.
Chosen by the queen.
She climbed the carriage steps with difficulty.
Liza waited inside, seated with impeccable posture.
The interior was even more luxurious. Velvet cushions. Heavy curtains. A faint aroma of something sweet in the air.
Elizabeth remained near the door, as if ready to leap at any moment.
Liza made a discreet gesture.
A servant entered immediately, carrying a tray.
Fresh bread.
Meat.
Fruit.
Elizabeth felt tears burning in her eyes.
"Eat," Liza ordered softly.
She didn’t need to hear it twice.
She pounced on the food like a hungry animal. She forgot etiquette. She forgot dignity. She tore the bread with her hands. She bit into the meat urgently. She swallowed too quickly, coughing slightly.
Liza watched.
Without judgment.
Without haste.
When Elizabeth finally slowed down, breathing heavily, the queen spoke again.
"You will not survive the winter like this." Elizabeth held a piece of bread, looking at her.
"Why... are you helping me?" she managed to ask.
Liza tilted her head slightly.
"Because I can."
A simple answer.
But there was something more beneath it.
Something Elizabeth would only understand years later.
The carriage began to move again.
And, unknowingly, on that cold winter night—
—a dying orphan ceased to be invisible.
The room was silent.
Too silent.
After the warmth of the bath, after the soft touch of the towels and the clean fabric against her skin, Elizabeth sat on the edge of the bed as if touching something sacred. The mattress yielded under her light weight, sinking gently. It was too soft. Too comfortable.
She ran her hand over the sheet once.
Twice.
As if she needed to confirm it was real.
Then something inside her broke.
It wasn’t a loud sound. It wasn’t dramatic.
It was internal.
An invisible crack.
She hunched her shoulders slowly, her hands still resting on the light fabric. Her breathing began to falter—first subtly, then unevenly. The air went in too quickly, out too shaky.
The memory came unbidden.
The carriage.
The warm bread.
The red eyes that didn’t judge her.
"You won’t survive the winter like this."
Liza Tapes.
The only woman who looked at a dirty orphan and saw something beyond misery.
The only one who called her by name after asking what she would like to have.
Elizabeth.
It was Liza who chose.
It was Liza who said she needed something strong. A name that would survive.
Elizabeth brought her hand to her mouth as the first sob escaped.
She tried to hold it back.
Tried to take a deep breath.
Tried to maintain control as she had learned over the years—vampires don’t cry in public. Vampires don’t show weakness. Vampires don’t crumble.
But there was no audience there.
No court.
No rules.
Just a strange room.
A bed too soft.
And an emptiness that seemed bigger than the world.
She leaned forward, her still slightly damp hair falling around her face.
Liza is dead.
The sentence didn’t fit.
It wouldn’t register.
It was like trying to hold back smoke.
Dead.
No body.
No coffin.
No funeral.
No farewell.
Elizabeth pressed her fingers against the fabric of her nightgown, her chest burning.
How did she die?
No one said clearly.
Rumors.
Internal attack.
Betrayal.
Poisoning.
Ancient magic.
But never a body.
Never proof.
Just an announcement.
Just a decree.
The Queen is dead.
And then chaos.
And then the accusation.
Filthy blood.
She tasted the metallic taste of her own blood when she bit her lip too hard, trying to hold back the tears—futile. The tears began to fall, first silently, then uncontrollably.
"I didn’t do anything..." her voice came out broken, almost inaudible.
She remembered their last conversation.
Liza was tired that day.
Sitting near the high window of the private drawing room, looking out at the night gardens.
"Elizabeth," he had said, in that calm tone he always used when he wanted her attention. "Regardless of what they say... you are not a mistake."
Elizabeth hadn’t understood why that sentence had been said with such weight.
Now she understood.
Or she thought she understood.
The pain tightened its grip.
What if I hadn’t been there that day?
What if I had stayed by her side?
What if I had noticed something?
What if—
"It was you."
The voice echoed in her memory.
It wasn’t Liza.
It was someone else.
A council member.
Cold.
Accusatory.
"Her blood was always unstable."
"A wrong symbol."
"A stain."
Elizabeth shook her head, as if to expel the words.
"No... no..."
She fell to her knees beside the bed without realizing when she began to move. Her fingers dug into the mattress as her body trembled.
Dead without a body.
How does someone like Liza die... leaving nothing behind?
Vampires don’t simply disappear.
Especially not the Queen.
She was strong.
Stronger than anyone in the kingdom.
Older.
Smarter.
Elizabeth had always believed that Liza was... eternal.
The idea that someone could have killed her was absurd.
The idea that she could simply have been removed from the world as if she were nothing—
—was unbearable.
"Why...?" the question came out choked between sobs. "Why me?"
Why was she marked?
Why did the King—who had taken over so quickly—need someone to blame?
Why unclean blood?
She had never asked to be born as she was.
She had never asked to be transformed.
She had never asked to be welcomed.
Liza had chosen.
Liza had decided.
So why did the blame fall on her?
Tears soaked the dark wooden floor.
The room remained silent.
Safe.
Protected.
But inside her there was war.
She pressed her forehead against the mattress, her shoulders trembling violently now. The crying wasn’t pretty. It wasn’t restrained. It was raw. Childish. The cries of a twelve-year-old girl who had lost the only person who had ever called her daughter.
"I’m still waiting for you to come back..." she whispered, her voice almost lost in the air.
