<div> Vladimir let out a small, contemplative hum.
 Unlike the others, Dullahan was the only Elder who had become one through defying the progenitor. The Dark Knight. A legendary figure who had roamed the battlefield, severing the heads of knights far and wide—a headless knight feared by all.
 That made it almost fitting for Dullahan’s head to be separated from his body. After all, his legend spoke of him wielding his own severed head like a flail. But no matter how fitting it might have been, there had never been a case where he appeared only as a disembodied head.
 It wasn’t the head that made Dullahan terrifying. It was the body.
 I turned to the severed head and asked,
 “Sir Dullahan. Why have you arrived with only your head?”
 “You... bastard...!”
 His voice was a harsh rasp, like a dull blade scraping against stone. Likely because he had no body to produce sound properly.
 Even an Elder’s strength had limits—in this state, even I wouldn’t lose to him.
 Seeing the strongest reinforcement appear in such a helpless state, Erzebeth widened her eyes and turned furiously to Vladimir.
 “Vladimir? What is the meaning of this? Where is Dullahan’s body?”
 “I left it behind. If his head and body were together, he would undoubtedly have tried to resist the progenitor.”
 “...What?”
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 <div></div>
 </div> She still didn’t get it.
 Why, if Dullahan was meant to oppose the progenitor, would his head alone be brought here?
 She should have understood by now.
 “Your mind is quite rigid, Madam Erzebeth. Must I spell it out for you?”
 For the sake of her understanding, I decided to explain it clearly.
 “The Crimson Duke is not on your side. Unlike you lot, he has no intention of attacking Tyrkanzyaka. Unless, of course, you’re a rebel who dared to betray the progenitor.”
 Erzebeth finally realized it.
 She finally understood why Vladimir had disappeared.
 Why he had gone to awaken Dullahan alone.
Foll𝑜w current novℯls on ƒrēewebnoѵёl.cσm. Why he was feigning ignorance while subtly positioning himself closer.
 Just as Erzebeth prepared to react, Vladimir moved first.
 She flicked open her fan in an attempt to drive him away.
 The blood pooled on the floor responded to her command, rising into a wall that separated her from Vladimir.
 At the same time, crimson vines intertwined with the very brickwork of the building, lashing out to entangle Vladimir’s legs—as if the world itself was trying to bind him.
 Vladimir’s response was swift and direct.
 He raised his greatsword high and brought it down in a single, decisive slash.
 Everything in his path was cleaved in two.
 The vines.
 The bricks.
 Even the liquid blood that surged like a tidal wave.
 He cut not just matter, but even the authority of hemocraft itself.
 No one knew Vladimir’s strength better than Erzebeth.
 But instead of countering with skill, she chose sheer quantity—a deluge of blood crashed down like a red waterfall, trying to overwhelm him.
 In terms of hemocraft power, Erzebeth was dominant.
 Even if her blood refused to respond to Vladimir’s authority, he could only control his own body and his sword in this space.
 But that was enough.
 Vladimir merely flicked his fingers.
 Was it aura manipulation? Hemocraft? Or something beyond both?
 Regardless, his greatsword moved on its own.
 It spun rapidly, its rotations growing faster and faster until it became a storm.
 The whirling blade shredded through the crimson torrent as Vladimir leaped over Erzebeth—catching the # Nоvеlight # spinning sword’s hilt midair and bringing it down in one clean stroke.
 A strike so absolute that it split the world in half.
 Erzebeth fought back with everything she had, but even her supreme mastery of blood dominion could not withstand a blow that shattered all things.
 Her fan was cut in two, and the scattered blood lost its structure, dissipating into the air.
 Vampires did not fear death.
 Was it because they were immortal beings, immune to pain?
 Perhaps.
 But more than that, it was because they lacked the will to live.
 Just like how gambling with counterfeit money lacked true thrill, the undead had no stakes in life.
 But now—for the first time—Erzebeth had something she wanted.
 Now, she was desperate.
 “P-Protect me! Protect me!”
 She screamed at her vassals.
 But no one answered.
 Her Ain had already been subjugated—Erthe had overpowered them with the Crimson Duke’s forces.
 Vladimir’s Ain were different.
 They had learned from other Elders.
 They were trained to fight not humans, but vampires themselves.
 And so, two Ain alone had subdued Erzebeth’s entire entourage.
 Now, in this do-or-die moment, Erzebeth clung to Vladimir’s sword and cried out,
 “Vladimir...! How dare you betray me?!”
 “Betrayal? I have never betrayed anyone.”
 Vladimir pushed his sword deeper into her, murmuring indifferently.
 As an Elder, Erzebeth could not die from mere physical damage.
 Even if her dominion over blood was disrupted, her willpower remained strong.
 But now, with her true body crushed beneath Vladimir’s blade, she had no strength left to resist.
 “You... You were the one who told me!” she gasped. “You told me the Principality needed change! I moved because I agreed with you!”
 So that was it.
 The lazy Elders had suddenly started moving far too aggressively—I should have known.
 It was Vladimir who had pushed them into action.
 But would an Elder really move on mere suggestion?
 Not without rational justification.
 Someone with Vladimir’s power and influence would have needed to promise support for them to act.
 So he had been behind the rebellion all along.
 They just didn’t realize it was a trap.
 Vladimir pushed his sword deeper and clenched his left hand into a claw-like shape.
 The blood around him coalesced, forming into giant fangs.
 Erzebeth’s eyes widened in horror.
 “The Blood Leech! You stole Bakuta’s power?!”
 “I learned it. It’s useful when dealing with Elders.”
 An Elder could only be slain by another Elder.
 To eliminate one, you had to sever their head, break their dominion, and reduce them to nothingness.
 But with devouring abilities, it was even easier.
 By consuming their blood, one could strip them of their very existence.
 Even if his gluttony wasn’t as extreme as Bakuta’s, Vladimir would wield it far more efficiently.
 Erzebeth, realizing her fate, frantically pleaded.
 “Vladimir! Instead of the progenitor, why not become the King of the Principality?”
 Vladimir paused.
 Encouraged, Erzebeth continued desperately.
 “I am certain! With your power, it is possible! Tyrkanzyaka cannot defeat you! She has lost her strength, and you—you could rule this land!”
 Vladimir let out a small, amused hum.
 Erzebeth saw hope.
 She smiled weakly, whispering seductively,
 “If it were Tyrkanzyaka, I could never trust her... but you—you, I could entrust myself and this nation to. I would devote myself to you... with all my heart and soul....”
 “I have no need for that.”
 Splurt.
 Vladimir’s hand engulfed Erzebeth’s head.
 His fingers closed around her like jagged fangs, devouring her whole.
 The blood that seeped from her flowed between his fingers, but even as the remaining remnants of her body tried to reform using hemocraft, Vladimir pursued the source of her strength with relentless precision.
 He sliced, tore, and shattered her essence, preventing her from fully reconstructing.
 This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.
 And in the midst of Erzebeth’s collapsing form, he reached in—and grasped it.
 The very core of her regeneration.
 The Progenitor’s True Blood.
 Once Tyrkanzyaka’s, but now, after centuries within Erzebeth, it had become something else—the twisted True Blood that had sustained an Elder’s existence.
 Even now, as her source of life was laid bare, Erzebeth still refused to die.
 Vladimir narrowed his eyes.
 "Hmph."
 Vladimir could have destroyed Erzebeth completely with just a bit more force. But he stopped just short of the final step.
 She was a traitor, but the True Blood within her was still a part of Tyrkanzyaka.
 Instead of finishing her, he reclaimed the True Blood, letting Erzebeth’s fate remain uncertain. Without sparing me a glance, he spoke.
 “Concubine.”
 “Huh?”
 “Well done.”
 “For what?”
 “For holding Erzebeth back. Thanks to you, the progenitor was relieved of a burden.”
 This way of speaking—Vladimir’s way of thinking—was both intriguing and difficult to deal with.
 He hadn’t guessed my thoughts.
 He had simply decided what to think.
 He didn’t believe that I had lured Erzebeth for Tyrkanzyaka’s sake. Instead, he acknowledged that my actions had, in the end, helped her.
 Vladimir didn’t make assumptions about my intentions.
 He judged only the outcome.
 He might misinterpret the situation, but he would never let someone else’s words sway his judgment.
 “It wasn’t really for Tyrkanzyaka’s sake—I just wanted to survive.”
 “Wise.”
 “Not really. Because of your little scheme, I was nearly trapped in the castle and killed. You expected the Elders to betray you, so why didn’t you stop them in advance?”
 Vladimir answered as if the question was pointless.
 “Until they act, it is not betrayal.”
 He hadn’t cut off the rebellion before it started, even though he had suspicions.
 Even if he had instigated Erzebeth, he had simply watched and waited until she made her move.
 Vladimir wasn’t a mind reader.
 And honestly, neither was I—despite my abilities, I couldn’t blame him for it.
 He and I were similar yet opposite.
 I observed because I wanted to see people’s intentions take form.
 He observed because he could not know people’s intentions—only their results.
 Was that thoughtful or fearless?
 ...Well, for now, we were walking the same path, so it didn’t really matter.
 “...”
 “What? Why are you staring at me like that all of a sudden?”
 Vladimir had been about to leave for Tyrkanzyaka but instead looked at me silently.
 A chill crept up my spine—something ominous was forming in his mind.
 Then, he muttered to himself while picking up his greatsword.
 “...Until it happens, it is not betrayal.”
 “Huh?”
 “Even if the King of Humanity were to reject the progenitor’s love—until he does, it is not betrayal.”
 “Even if he neither loves nor sympathizes with the progenitor... until she experiences it firsthand, it is not my place to intervene. No matter the outcome, if it is a new experience for the progenitor, it is valuable.”
 What was this man?
 It wasn’t that he was loyal to Tyrkanzyaka—he was dedicated to her.
 He had no thought of betraying her, but he didn’t see her as a god or a ruler, either.
 This feeling...
 “Vladimir, can I ask you something?”
 “I will listen.”
 The way he phrased things always rubbed me the wrong way.
 I grumbled internally and asked,
 “Like Erzebeth said, you could have become the second progenitor. Why didn’t you?”
 “Because I had no reason to.”
 “Well, obviously. But...”
 It was a short answer, plain and honest, but not what I was truly asking.
 Damn.
 I could read a vampire’s thoughts, but trying to piece together emotions from centuries of memories was inefficient.
 And back then, emotions had been too faint—even picking out significant memories was impossible.
 It was easier to prompt a response with questions and read the answer from their mind.
 What question would work?
 After some careful thought, I asked,
 “What do you expect from Tyrkanzyaka?”
 “Expect?”
 That must have struck close to the core.
 For the first time, Vladimir furrowed his brow in thought.
 A Vampire’s Memories Never Change
 The moment a human accepts blood, they become frozen—in body, mind, and emotion.
 The first memory that surfaced in Vladimir’s mind was the moment before his death.
 He had lost everything—his family, his land.
 He had sworn revenge but had failed.
 Despite using all his power, all his resources, all his cunning, he had been defeated and forced to flee.
 Hunted down by his enemies, he collapsed in an unnamed forest, awaiting death.
 But instead of a beast, a girl appeared.
 A pale girl, wrapped in rags.
 Despite walking barefoot through thorns and brambles, her skin was unscathed.
 He had expected to die to wild animals, yet here was this girl—witch or angel, he didn’t know.
 “What a pitiful sight.”
 Vladimir had done his best, but he had failed.
 Even if he had vowed revenge, it was only possible if he had the strength—and even after throwing everything at his goal, he had still failed.
 That was the limit of his humanity.
 “I have heard your story. A rebel who challenged the Great King out of vengeance. You fought well but have reached your end. How tragic.”
 Was it, really?
 Unlike rumors, Vladimir had never ranted about revenge.
 He had always been practical.
 Even when facing his greatest enemy, he never let hatred blind his judgment.
 At the same time, he was a romantic.
 Even knowing it was impossible, he had chosen to fight rather than run.
 “Perhaps someone like you—someone like me—could withstand eternal solitude and endless trials.”
 The girl bit her own finger.
 A drop of blood—what would later be called True Blood—fell, suspended in midair.
 Like a ruby, the droplet lingered in space, then slowly seeped into Vladimir’s dying body.
 The dominant power of her blood replaced his own failing lifeblood, seizing control of his body.
 “I will give you a chance to start anew. If you wish to live, accept my blood.”
 But Vladimir had no more regrets.
 He had already avenged himself.
 His soldiers were dead.
 His followers and family were either enslaved or executed.
 His alliances were shattered, his companions turned to fugitives.
 He had gambled everything, and he had lost.
 Even if he was given another chance, wouldn’t it be shameful to cling to life after already failing so completely?
 Vladimir had been both practical and romantic.
 Gaining power from some unknown force would not be his own victory.
 Even if he was defeated, he could not allow himself to become pathetic.
 But just as he was about to reject the offer, the girl spoke in a voice cold and lonely.
 “And... after you fulfill your vengeance, you will become my sword and aid in my revenge.”
 So in the end...
 The witch or angel had needed him just as much.
 Even with endless power and bottomless hatred, the young, ancient progenitor needed Vladimir as a tool.
 He had already lost everything.
 His responsibilities were dust in history.
 Becoming someone’s tool was a convenient excuse to survive.
 He had failed—but she still had a chance to succeed.
 And so, Vladimir chose to live.
 He opened his mouth and accepted the blood.
 Now, his sole purpose was to serve.
 Not because he was enslaved.
 Because it was the only future left.
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 <div></div>
 </div> Back in the Present
 Vladimir turned to me.
 A brief image flashed in his mind—Tyrkanzyaka in a wedding dress, smiling radiantly.
 Then me—grinning shamelessly, reaching out and grabbing her hand first.
 Vladimir’s mood soured instantly.
 He grabbed Dullahan’s head and Erzebeth’s heart, then turned away.
 “I said I would listen. I never said I would answer.”
 Without another word, Vladimir strode toward the castle—off to deal with the traitors.
 I was left alone.
 Reflecting on what I had just read from his mind.
 ...
 So he was a complete fool for her.</div>
 
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Chapter 454: Reversed Judgment: Conclusion

Vladimir let out a small, contemplative hum. Unlike the others, Dullahan was the only Elder who had become one through defying the progenitor. The Dark Knight. A legendary figure who had roamed the battlefield, severing the heads of knights far and wide—a headless knight feared by all. That made it almost fitting for Dullahan’s head to be separated from his body. After all, his legend spoke of him wielding his own severed head like a flail. But no matter how fitting it might have been, there...

Omniscient First-Person’s Viewpoint

Chapter 454: Reversed Judgment: Conclusion

Omniscient First-Person’s Viewpoint - Chapter 454: Reversed Judgment: Conclusion