There is a saying: why use an ox-slaying knife to kill a chicken? Critical new generations might scoff and ask what's wrong with doing so, but that's spoken out of ignorance. When dealing with small things, smaller tools are more useful. Advising someone to use an ox-slaying knife to kill a chicken is approaching the world from the perspective of a weapon, not a tool.
The same holds true for worldly affairs. Dealing with a mere Ain is not something to trouble Tir with. Even if the Progenitor Tir brought an Ain, he wouldn't achieve the desired result. That's why I asked the practical management running the Castle of the Full Moon—Count Erte.
...Though this Count Erte, a vampire himself, is also a figure on par with a lord of a territory. Beloved concubine, indeed. A rolled-in stone ordering the lord around with a flick of the chin—the realm will surely decline.
Count Erte, who had briefly disappeared somewhere, quickly returned.
"At present. There is only one blood kin of Duke Ruskinia remaining near the Castle of the Full Moon."
"One? That's quite few."
"The Ain of a slumbering Elder's blood kin are busy. They must take on even the affairs of the sleeping Elder. Duke Ruskinia... didn't keep many Ain, so that tendency is particularly pronounced."
'More than "many"—he frequently created Ain and frequently killed them. Like consumables, or test subjects.'
As a mind reader, I easily read the thoughts hidden beneath those cloudy words. The more I read, the more curious I became about what kind of person the dead Elder had been. He didn't seem like just an ordinary madman.
"I've sent word, but would you like to meet them?"
"Yes. Let's."
"...Understood."
'It's fine to meet them, but in this turbulent time, why go out of the way to meet a dead Elder's blood kin...?'
Count Erte harbored a question in his mind but followed without protest. There was the Red Blood Duke's command to attend upon me.
If it weren't for me being the one asking—if it were the Red Blood Duke—he wouldn't have even raised a question in his mind. As if he had become their hands and feet.
If the Red Blood Duke were to die like Ruskinia, what would become of Count Erte? Seeing this Ain of Ruskinia would give a rough answer.
Judging solely from the thoughts I read, this person Ruskinia was an atrocious madman, the most shunned existence even among vampires. But the place Count Erte guided me to meet Ruskinia's blood kin was, unexpectedly, a hospital.
Three stories. Not tall, but wide. Unlike the Blood Art Workshop or the Castle of the Full Moon, which had at least a minimal aesthetic sense, the hospital was a square structure that prioritized efficiency.
In this hospital, dominated by the remaining blood kin of that madman... surprisingly, relief and joy flowed. The humans who visited here, even if they suffered pain, felt the relief of having survived.
Sitting in a reception room where a faint smell of blood lingered, a vampire entered, guided by Count Erte.
"The Progenitor's concubine? What business? Neither the Elder nor that Yeilring who claimed to be an Elder and took over the hospital is here."
It was a vampire wearing a unique garment—a sleeveless gown. He spoke as if my visit was very bothersome.
"Rutrik. Please watch your words. This person was chosen directly by the Progenitor."
"So what? They're still a pet. It's troublesome if livestock promoted to a pet expects the same treatment."
"I clearly warned you to watch your words..."
A faint anger bloomed from Count Erte. The shallow smell of blood floating around the hospital reacted to Count Erte's blood manipulation art.
In this touch-and-go situation, the first to retreat was... the other party, Rutrik.
"Tch. The grievance of having no Elder shows even here."
Rutrik sighed in dissatisfaction and spoke with a toss of his head.
"I apologize. Our side has our circumstances, so I was a bit sensitive about the concubine. So, what business does the concubine have?"
I'm not sure if throwing out a provocation and then saying sorry counts as anything, but anyway. With leisure on my side, I had been quietly reading Rutrik's thoughts.
Hmm. Aha. Oho.
Even for a crazy Elder's crazy progeny, calling the Progenitor's concubine a pet just like that. If that pet chirps and tattles, things would become quite troublesome for him.
Ain are the Elder's hands and feet, and the Progenitor is the liege lord of those Elders. Looking at it coldly like Count Erte, I'm higher in rank. Yet that Ain just threw out "pet."
"Forget your place"... that expression fits too. Since his Elder right above him was gone and the hierarchy vanished.
But is that really all? No, it isn't. Rutrik intended it to some degree as well.
'The Progenitor's concubine came in person? A tiger opening its maw, and you crawled right in.'
Behind Rutrik's indifferent expression, a tremendous secret flickered.
'Thanks. Because you holed up in the castle with the Progenitor for days, it was easy for us to move. Valdamir and the other Elders were busy hovering near the Castle of the Full Moon, so they couldn't find out what we were doing. Your existence helped... I'll kill you in front of the Progenitor someday, but for now, I'll let you go.'
Wow. This is the first time I've seen someone so openly thinking about rebellion. Plotting rebellion brazenly right in front of the Castle of the Full Moon? He must have quite a bit of confidence in his acting.
Then again, perhaps because he's a vampire, there's no sign of anxiety in his expression or body language. That very emotionlessness is awkward, but since the other party is a vampire, even the awkwardness feels natural.
I came to investigate Ruskinia's death, but to read such an interesting issue. Should I call it lucky or unlucky?
One thing's for sure—my mood is a bit foul.
"Concubine?"
"Haha. No, I'm just feeling a bit unpleasant."
Scratching my head, I replied with a cold laugh.
"A mere progeny of the Progenitor's progeny—and a lizard's tail at that, having even lost its Elder—calling me a pet? Give me a break. Did you perhaps leave your guts outside just because you're a vampire? Shall I pound everything but your guts and make you into salted preserves?"
The most surprised person by the violent language was Count Erte. She had somewhat taken my side against their insolent words, but now she was suddenly put in a difficult position and looked at me. It didn't show much because she's a vampire, but Count Erte was facing the greatest crisis of her vampire life.
Surprisingly, Rutrik, insulted to his face, was calm.
"A provocation?"
"You provoked first. I am the King of Humans, and even the Progenitor you worship as a god is my inner self. It's not like your lord-progeny relationship, but I can't stand some puppet babbling about me being a pet."
Since ancient times, throwing one's weight around backed by a powerful figure and running amok has been the model behavior of a beloved concubine. As I went beyond mere rampaging into outright berserk fury, Rutrik was flustered yet secretly pleased. In a sense, he now had a justification.
I provoked him further.
"Do you want to die? Then I'll kill you. Another one of your Ain rattled on in front of me and got executed, so I'll send one more to keep them company."
Unable to contain herself, Count Erte cried out.
"Concubine! Stop!"
"Huh? Count Erte, didn't the Red Blood Duke command you to attend upon me? Why are you telling me to stop?"
"It is for your sake! You were never like this before, why so suddenly!"
"Why suddenly? Did that person curse with any proper context? Are those kinds of words appropriate for me, a guest the Progenitor personally brought?"
While Erte and I argued, Rutrik's mind spun rapidly.
'I thought they knew their place because they stayed with the Progenitor, but they're this erratic. What should I do? I want to let the Progenitor's guard down before carrying out the grand plan. If I lay a hand on the Progenitor's concubine here...'
Why are you agonizing so much? I even gave you a pretext on a silver platter.
The Elder died, and Tir lost his dominion. Other vampires are still trapped in their shackles, but Ruskinia's progeny have completely thrown off the blood fetters. Nothing binds you anymore.
They should bow their heads and die, not this.
'...However, Erte witnessed the concubine provoking first. Since they gave me an opening, even if I attack the concubine, it would be understood. Whatever the result, it won't affect the grand plan.'
Did he erase from his mind that he started the provocation first? A bit audacious.
'Thank you, concubine. You diverted the Progenitor's eyes, stripped away his dominion, and even gave me a pretext. You gave us, who would have crumbled when our Elder died, a chance at liberation. It's all thanks to you. Even if you didn't intend it.'
Since you said thank you, I'll let it pass. If you're going to do it, do it quickly.
Because I did intend it.
"Though I lost my Elder... I have not lost my pride."
Count Erte sensed the intensifying aura and urgently cried out.
"Rutrik. Do not do something foolish!"
"Foolish deeds have already occurred. Who, and how far can they go mad. That is all!"
Rutrik raised his arm. On the shoulder of his sleeveless gown, torn stitches were visible. It must have once been a gown with full sleeves, but someone had ripped them off with powerful force, turning it sleeveless.
What had torn the sleeves? That was immediately revealed.
Rutrik's arm, exposed outside the sleeveless gown, twisted. As if his joints multiplied in an instant, his right arm bent at eight angles like bamboo segments and curled round. Grinning, Rutrik took a step forward and flung his right arm like a whip.
Ruskinia was a Blood Qi Engineer. The blood kin of an Elder who researches the very structure of the body itself uses the body as a "tool."
Just as Jaz learned to use arms like wings, Rutrik learned to use his body like a whip.
A strike launched by breaking his bones strand by strand, granting elasticity to muscles with blood, and combining Blood Qi Engineering with martial arts. The essence of a technique that maximizes destructive power even at the cost of destroying one's own body. The explosive force generated at the tip of the whip surpassed Historia's bullets.
Red nails gleaming at the fingertips rush in at invisible speed. A blow that, once caught, cannot be blocked or evaded, whether rock or otherwise.
At that moment, a red line was drawn before my eyes.
Swoosh.
A red flash before my eyes, and when I gathered my senses, Rutrik's arm was scattered in the air, severed into five strands. The cut fingers and bizarrely shaped joints danced wildly.
Rutrik muttered even as his arm was being severed.
"Blood Threads...!"
Five strands of taut red threads intervened in Rutrik's trajectory. The strike launched with the resolve to destroy himself ended up wounding even himself. Just by reading the attack and setting up Blood Threads, Count Erte had severed Rutrik's arm.
Rutrik regenerated his arm and spoke.
"You learned another blood kin's technique. Have you no pride?"
"How dare you attack the Progenitor's concubine? Have you lost your mind?"
Rutrik's provocation and my response were both issues, but that was ultimately just a conflict. Rutrik's attack carried clear murderous intent, and that made Count Erte serious.
"This is rebellion, Rutrik. From this moment, I consider Ruskinia's Ain Rutrik a rebel, and will destroy you!"
"This moment? No, you're wrong. Erte."
Rutrik smirked.
"From the moment Duke Ruskinia died so vainly, we were already rebels!"
He shook his shoulder. Then blood spurted from the severed surface and reconnected as if threaded. The vampire who regenerated his arm in an instant charged forward with a fierce roar.
"Die!"
"Not if I can help it!"
Count Erte pierced her own body and scattered Blood Threads. A red spider web unfolded before my eyes, splitting the space between me and Rutrik. The Blood Threads Count Erte produced were tough and sharp; if carelessly touched, Rutrik would be sliced.
But Rutrik, facing the spider web woven from Blood Threads, harbored a sneer.
"The tighter the thread is pulled, the easier it breaks."
There's no need to destroy the entire thread. If even one part of a taut thread is weakened, the thread loses its tension and snaps.
Blood Threads are also a product of Blood Manipulation Art. They were made with Erte's Blood Qi, but Rutrik could also exert limited influence. Just now, when his arm was sliced, the scattered blood droplets clung to the Blood Threads, and Rutrik used Blood Manipulation Art to move the droplets and gnaw away at the threads.
At the unfamiliar sight, Count Erte was horrified.
"Blood Leeches...! Another blood kin's technique!"
"Learning techniques isn't the exclusive privilege of the Red Blood Duke!"
Boom. Since his arm couldn't be severed again, Rutrik struck the spider web with his shoulder. No matter how sturdy the Blood Threads, with Blood Leeches gnawing at them, it was helpless. The web snapped with a crack, leaving only a slight resistance. Now the only obstacle between him and me was a single table. Count Erte urgently reached out her hand, but it was too late.
In the crisis of life and death, I hastily overturned the table. However, Rutrik's arm, swung like a whip, tore through the table like paper, and then, becoming a red bolt of lightning, struck me.