The vampires of the Principality possess the ability to sense blood. It is a predator's ability to find prey, and the only area in which the otherwise dull-sensed vampires are sensitive. Therefore, writing in blood could serve as an urgent signal to summon a vampire.
The signal Baldamir received was just that. In particular, that signal was an emblem Baldamir had only shared with his thralls, pulsing from afar for the sole purpose of summoning him. In this rapidly changing situation, information was precious. Baldamir moved to obtain the information his thrall had uncovered.
A fair distance away. Moving while avoiding the eyes and ears of other vampires, Baldamir replayed the trial that had just taken place.
Ten years or so was but an instant to a vampire. His thoughts soon traced all the way back to the cause of that trial.
To the time Baldamir killed an Elder with a pale complexion and sharp fangs...
His thoughts stopped a little further back from the point of that death. At the point when Ruskinia had come to him with blood dripping from his lips.
Perhaps injured somewhere, his Blood Art was wavering. Baldamir could feel that he could not control the violent Blood Qi rampaging through his body. Losing control meant there was a possibility of being controlled by another Elder. Currently, Ruskinia was in a highly dangerous state, yet.
"Hahaha! Baldamir. Found you, I found you!"
His appearance as he laughed madly remained the same. Baldamir turned to face him.
Ruskinia. The troublemaker of the Principality. If you traced back the problems that occurred in the Principality, about half of them led back to him.
Killing too many humans, prompting other Elders to protest publicly.
Fomenting fear until his thralls caused a mass exodus.
Executing someone according to the law, only for him to show up a few days later and throw a fit.
Baldamir was always the one to solve the problems, so the two often crossed paths. Elders had little interest in other Elders, but these two were exceptions to each other. If they didn't pay attention, the nation could falter.
Baldamir asked with the firm belief that he had caused yet another accident.
"What accident have you caused this time? I must deal with it swiftly, so get straight to the point."
"I have no memory of causing an accident! Well, I definitely caused one this time, I suppose! If a revolution counts as an accident, that is!"
If the accidents up until now weren't even considered accidents, what on earth had he done this time? While Baldamir prepared a response in his mind, Ruskinia collapsed into a chair and shouted.
"I've found a way to break free from the Shackles of Blood! As expected, I'm a genius!"
Indeed, this was an accident. A massive one. If Baldamir were still alive, he would have felt a dizzying sensation.
"So you finally succeeded."
"And you, who kept your mouth shut even though you knew, are an even more insidious fellow than I am!"
"Look who's talking. You calmly committed the act of sharing your blood with your wife and daughter."
"What's wrong with that?"
Facing Ruskinia, who asked back in earnest, Baldamir explained once more.
"Taking a woman without feeling love or lust could be excused as a passing fancy. But you cut and scraped your own flesh just to impregnate her. You are in no position to call anyone else insidious."
They couldn't empathize with each other anyway. Words were merely a means to express justification. Baldamir spoke without any real intention of making him understand, but Ruskinia's reaction was different from usual.
"Love? Did you say there is no love? A blockhead like you, saying that to me?"
Ruskinia was always impulsive, but that was because he had the intention of immediately acting on whatever idea came to mind. He was someone who, for the sake of his goals, only concealed his means enough to avoid interference. Making his concubine bear his child was also one of those means. Because there was no one to interfere.
But right now, he was somewhat... emotional. Baldamir felt a slight sense of incongruity and spoke.
"Was there any basis for you to judge that it existed?"
Vampires do not know love. They do not experience the throbbing or excitement that comes when holding someone in their heart. Their hearts do not beat, and they control every single drop of blood flowing through their bodies with their own will.
That is why vampires are bloodless and tearless. If something must be done, they do it. For example.
"Your concubine, wife, and Dhampir, Lilir. Didn't you personally execute her? I clearly remember you being infuriated when she escaped."
The execution of a wife who broke the law—something a human wouldn't even order, let alone delegate—vampires volunteer to do themselves. Because that is what vampires are.
It was also expected that Ruskinia would not harbor affection for his wife and daughter. Even if a vampire had a child through some method, they could not feel affection. Even if Ruskinia personally executed his wife, no one found it strange. Before being his wife, Lilir was his thrall, and her blood was Ruskinia's property, so Ruskinia had to reclaim it.
Ruskinia even took her blood greedily, as if not wanting to waste a single drop. No one doubted Ruskinia. He was a madman who made his concubine bear his child despite being a vampire, but he was still a vampire. He acted as everyone expected. Like a heartless vampire who knows no such thing as affection, he reaped the flowing blood of his thrall.
However, Ruskinia now spewed out the emotions of that time.
"Even a genius like me makes mistakes."
"A mistake."
"Yes. I didn't know what love was. No, to be precise, I 'misconceived' that love existed and that I lacked it! In the first place, thoughts wouldn't be given names. You understood nothing."
In Ruskinia's eyes as he looked at Baldamir while saying that... there was pity. A gaze Baldamir had never seen in his entire life.
"I just needed her blood. But if things continued as they were, she would surely die someday. So I made her a vampire."
Baldamir also understood that. So he took no action. Ruskinia continued speaking.
"But once she became a vampire, she changed too drastically. I couldn't even taste the blood, and that foolish expression she made when she feared me disappeared. Every drop of blood flowing in her body became mine, but because of that, her value by my side dropped. With my own hands, I ruined what was mine."
"So, you tried to fix it even if it meant shattering the Shackles of Blood. I know."
"No, you don't know. You still don't."
Ruskinia opened his eyes wide, the whites showing. Baldamir felt an unfamiliar sensation from his eyes. He was originally a madman, and had calmly realized whatever ideas came to mind. His actions always brought unexpected results. Judging that such madness was also necessary for the nation, Baldamir had often stood by, almost assisting.
"Emotions? They are nothing. We just put grand names on the driving force that makes us do something. Seeking out delicious blood is an emotion, and regretting the loss of that blood is also an emotion. We haven't lost our emotions. Because the very concept of emotion didn't exist from the beginning."
However, can madness be explained with reason? Baldamir felt that the current Ruskinia could not be explained.
In other words, he truly felt madness.
"We only give up. Because the Sovereign dominates and moves my blood, I can't even harbor any impulses. There is no driving force from the start to do anything that goes against the Sovereign's will. So we became known to have no emotions, and strictly speaking, that's correct."
"Did you reclaim your emotions?"
"Look. You still don't understand! Emotions never existed from the start!"
Ruskinia leaned his upper body forward while still sitting. It was an unnecessary movement, but he did it. The reason, 'because he wanted to,' was enough.
"We just try to do something. But because that massive existence called the Progenitor dominates our blood. If it goes against that even slightly, we can't even attempt it! It's not some pie-in-the-sky talk about not feeling because we lack emotions. It's power! It's the logic of the power that dominates us!"
"Watch your words. You seem to be getting excited..."
Excited? A vampire getting excited? Baldamir felt a sense of alienation even as he spoke.
And belatedly, he realized.
That Ruskinia had truly cast off his shackles.
"You really succeeded."
"Only half-way! If that foolish child had done it right, it would have been perfect. But she failed!"
"That child..."
Ruskinia snapped his fingers. And over there, the corpse-like lump of flesh that had collapsed in front of Baldamir's office floated up and moved. Baldamir, who knew the personal details of every vampire, knew that the bloody figure was Lir Nightingale. And that she was Ruskinia's daughter.
And that she had been used to sever the Elder's shackles.
Ruskinia spoke with a mix of sneer.
"An insufficient child. She succeeded in controlling my body, but couldn't dominate it. But even for a single moment, it was good. My dominance created a loop. A circulation where the thrall I dominate, dominates me. Within that, the shackles were finally severed."
"It went as you wished."
"As I wished... I suppose so."
Allowing a thrall to dominate. That was a dangerous and foolish thought only Ruskinia could have. What if the thrall was incompetent? Or competent but harboring malice? If Lir had harbored malice and killed Ruskinia, the loop of dominance would have been given to Lir. That he survived was sheer luck...
"Thanks to that, that thing is dying, but it was well used, so it's fine. Yes. It had to be..."
Baldamir ignored Ruskinia's hollow murmuring and spoke.
"To summarize, you mean you succeeded in breaking the shackles. Understood."
"Understood?"
"It is an unexpected situation, but since the Progenitor is not present, I cannot pass judgment. I will suspend judgment on breaking the shackles. There doesn't seem to be an Elder who would copy what you did, but the danger remains, so you must keep that method a secret."
It was a flawless judgment that had satisfied everyone in the Principality until now. However, Ruskinia did not agree.
"I thought you might understand, but it can't be helped."
Ruskinia staggered up from the chair.
"We are loyal to the Progenitor and revere her. But to the Progenitor, we are nothing. Just limbs that act as ordered."
"Loyalty is not given with the expectation of reward. We have already received our compensation."
"Is that the best? Do you really think the Progenitor wants that?"
Ruskinia looked at his dying daughter for a moment, then snapped his head back and continued.
"Then why does the Progenitor sleep outside the Principality? Why does she stay away from us for decades, centuries? Why does she leave the nation to you and wander the world?"
"How dare you judge the Progenitor's will."
"That's it! That's the problem!"
Ruskinia shouted with all his might.
"You don't ask. You don't question. So there's no need for it. What you do isn't loyalty. It's disloyalty, it's standing by, it's indifference! That's why the Progenitor is away from all of us, including you! Leaving us to our own devices and ignoring us!"
"..."
"It's a relief! Thanks to that, we could distance ourselves from the Progenitor and live our own lives! Perhaps the Progenitor wanted that too!"
"Hasty assumptions are..."
"Necessary! Otherwise, nothing will change!"
Baldamir always made judgments based only on certain facts. Assumptions only presented possibilities, and until a more certain fact was revealed, he only prepared the means and suspended judgment. It was a bit slow, but it suited vampires who didn't die.
Until now, Ruskinia had shown signs. Baldamir was still suspending judgment. Since it was a matter concerning an Elder, he intended to postpone it until Tirkanjaka returned if possible.
"To be truly loyal, we must first sever these shackles! Loyalty while bound by the shackles has no meaning!"
However, if it became certain, he would deal with it without delay. That was Baldamir's way.
"Attacking the Progenitor is the only loyalty we can show!"
That was why Baldamir killed Ruskinia.
Baldamir looked at the emblem drawn at his feet. A sword and a shield. An emblem symbolizing his former self, who had sworn to become the Progenitor's foremost blade and the shield that would protect her.
Long ago, he lost everything.
The empire built by the human king had fallen, an era where everyone claimed to be its successor. The Conqueror King, who had overthrown the Hegemon King, was granted heavenly fortune, but lacked the strength to unite all. As the groups challenging the king and the gods gradually increased, the Conqueror King's clan, finding it difficult to handle, made a brilliant decision. They divided their nation and distributed it among the warlords.
That judgment, which seemed like carving off their own flesh, was both a self-defeating move and a brilliant stratagem. The points of the swords that should have been aimed at the Conqueror King turned toward each other. Eventually, the era of warlord rivalries unfolded, and the weak were weeded out.
Baldamir, who inherited the Principality at a young age, was also a victim of the times. He was a man who would have become a hero, but could not overcome the flow of the times. Facing a powerful enemy that invaded during the vacuum of power and military might, he lost both his territory and his people. Even losing his honor, he fled wretchedly, was pursued, and lost his life. With a hideous and terrible appearance, a sword driven into his chest, he had nearly perished right then and there.
It was unavoidable that he considered the pale-white girl who appeared then to be an envoy of God. Even while dying, he prayed wretchedly.
That he would give everything he had, if only she would give him a chance to turn back this life.
The girl was not an apostle of God. She was closer to a demon. She didn't give him a chance to turn back his life. She only gave him the chance to overlay a life upon his death.
The girl, who was neither the Progenitor nor a vampire at the time, shed her blood and poured it into Baldamir's wound.
It was an era when too much blood flowed. So much that it wouldn't be noticed even if a vampire devoured it.
While they didn't even realize the danger, Baldamir devoured an entire nation. The minimum revenge he could exact.
After that, what remained for Baldamir?
Loyalty? Reverence? Gratitude?
No, vampires have no emotions. The moment he became the Progenitor's thrall, such human emotions had already faded.
What Baldamir had was duty. Only after casting off the shackles could Baldamir face the heavy sense of duty that had moved him for over a thousand years. Although he did not follow Ruskinia's proposal, ultimately, thanks to the Progenitor who had cast off the shackles, Baldamir also gained his freedom.
Now, how to use this freedom, that was the only remaining concern.
Before thinking a little more about that, Baldamir decided to deal with the matter right in front of him first.
"...This is unexpected."
Baldamir, emerging from his thoughts, spoke to the shadow lingering near the emblem.
"I even considered the possibility that someone sent a false signal... but I didn't expect the one who drew this emblem wouldn't even be a vampire."
It wasn't a coincidence. Nor could it have been a lucky guess. It was written by a human who knew exactly what Baldamir's emblem meant. Moreover, by a human who was said to have been struck by Dogo's single blow, using a pulsing Blood Art.
Something realistically hard to happen. Recalling the possibilities that could explain it, Baldamir looked at the boy before him—no, the girl—and asked.
"What is your business?"