Chapter 727: The Supreme Class Does Not Die

"Too exaggerated. Even for a newborn, his blood thirst is far too intense. He is practically an uncivilized beast."

On the abandoned watchtower, Yannik calmly looked below, like someone watching a stage play from the front row.

By comparison, Thales had to hold up the spyglass and rely on both the tube and the Sin of Hell's River, plus the fireworks that burst across the night sky from time to time, before he could barely make out the battle ahead.

Lausanne the Second roared repeatedly, crazed, chasing Catherine up onto the roof, only to be dragged down by the net hood that suddenly rose and vanish into the alley.

"A newborn, huh."

Thales muttered disdainfully in his stomach.

Your family's newborns look like that?

"I suspect this is because he has always been blindly suppressing his blood thirst. Desire is like a flood. Forcefully blocking it is worse than slowly channeling it. The more one ignores it and violently suppresses it, the more terrifying its power and harm become when it rebounds."

The bloodkin from the Banquet Territory narrowed his eyes, watching the movement below.

"So when he is crushed by blood thirst, he cannot even maintain basic reason. He completely becomes another person, or another kind of animal."

Yannik's eyes flickered, and he spoke with feeling:

"As a bloodkin, if you cannot coexist with your desires and reach a compromise, then you and they will split completely. When one side takes power, the other is driven out, and each acts on its own."

No wonder Lausanne the Second had committed so many bloody cases and needed to do so much cover-up.

"Like Jekyll and Hyde," Thales said absently.

"What?"

Thales came back to himself and very naturally shook his head.

"Not important. A legend about a two-faced demon from around the Western Wasteland. Not many people know it."

Yannik nodded thoughtfully.

As the encirclement trap was triggered, this simple cluster of homes in the new suburb seemed to suddenly wake. Lamps lit inside and out, showing shifting human silhouettes, and shouts of killing rose one after another.

But the homes outside the encirclement remained quiet, shrouded in darkness.

As if there existed some unspeakable tacit understanding between them and the battlefield.

Unable to find the target, Thales could only lower the spyglass.

"Catherine, the Blood Bottle Gang boss with a grudge against him, insisted on presiding over the ambush herself. She must have counted on this point too."

Phantom Blade's plan was to stimulate Lausanne the Second's blood thirst, force him to lose reason and transform into a beast, leaving him unable to fight with clear and orderly high-level swordsmanship, making him easier to catch in the jar.

For now, it seemed to have some effect.

Only, how many connections and manpower had she mobilized, including those from the Black Street Brotherhood?

How much effect could they have?

If her plan failed...

"Now you have seen it with your own eyes, Yann. The situation is like this."

Thinking to this point, Thales's gaze sharpened, and he went straight to the topic.

"What do you think?"

The bloodkin councilor was silent for a while, but his answer was watertight.

"In my view, Your Highness, this bloodkin killer's clan elder either failed in discipline, failed in restraint, or never intended to teach him how to ease his blood thirst in the first place."

He narrowed his eyes, intentionally or otherwise.

"Who knows whether it was unavoidable, or sinister in intent?"

Thales's brow moved slightly.

"And according to my race's traditions and laws, all harm and guilt created by a reckless newborn shall be borne by his elder, even by the clan to which they belong. Only they are most suited to restrain him..."

"Well said."

Thales interrupted his diplomatic phrasing in time.

"That is why I found the parent and invited someone from the Corleone family. Unfortunately..."

Thales sighed and gestured toward the place where Lee had stood.

The parent was irresponsible and ran off with one slap of the backside.

Leaving the problem child to keep making trouble.

Yannik revealed an understanding smile.

But Thales changed direction.

"Yet Count Lee left so cleanly and decisively that I cannot help beginning to wonder: what if this truly was not done by the Corleones?"

Yannik's eyes moved.

"Your Highness?"

Thales raised his head, hinting at something.

"What if Lee ignored the mess left by Lausanne the Second because he truly had no need to take responsibility? Because the Nation of Night truly has no kin elder for this bloodkin, and Lausanne the Second was not transformed by the Corleones, so naturally he is not under their restraint?"

"Even if this killer is not a descendant of the Corleones, that cannot clear their suspicion."

Yannik first affirmed Thales's doubt, then quietly changed the direction of suspicion.

"Or perhaps the opposite: the Corleones deliberately used such a stray newborn, one unrelated by blood and therefore not their responsibility, so they could wash their hands clean at the crucial moment."

That's right.

They really did wash their hands clean.

Thales glanced at Yannik, intentionally or otherwise.

"But if Lausanne the Second is not a Corleone, and not even a descendant blood relative of the lower seven branches from the Nation of Night, then..."

"Please rest absolutely assured."

Yannik smiled and blocked his words in time.

"For my race, developing descendants is a grave, solemn, and complex clan affair. Once anything goes wrong, the losses are enormous. Therefore, even the most senior and experienced elders must be cautious, then cautious again.

"Not only are quotas for granting descendants strictly limited, the procedure itself is difficult and long. From need, reporting, public discussion, approval, then selection, cultivation, testing, and deciding the candidate, it must pass through layer after layer of checkpoints. Only the final step is what the public understands as the blessing of long life, which is transformation.

"We, at least the Immortal Council, are extremely strict in our rules and oversight in this regard. From the speaker and elders down to newborns and blood slaves, every bloodkin is recorded. Their affiliations are clear. If their actions deviate even slightly, the origin can be traced and there is nowhere to hide."

He looked at Thales and gave a conclusion that allowed no doubt:

"He cannot have come from the Banquet Territory."

So absolute?

Thales smiled playfully.

"But what if someone, for selfish reasons, deceived those above and below and created a descendant behind your council's back?"

Yannik denied it immediately.

"No. The Convention of the Human Nations and the Long-Lived Species ensures this. The Immortal Council will never allow unapproved bloodkin newborns to be born beyond our sight."

His gaze sharpened.

"As for privately creating descendants, that is an enormous crime that threatens the survival of the race and destroys the order of my people. Whoever violates it, regardless of status or blood relation, is sentenced to the sun punishment and condemned by the entire race."

Yannik's expression was solemn, his gaze cold.

Thales looked at him for a while, then laughed.

"Do not be so nervous. I did not say you did it. Perhaps when Lausanne the Second was fleeing, he was bitten by some random wandering bloodkin outside and transformed into..."

"Also impossible."

Yannik interrupted him, wearing a smile that was not quite a smile.

"Transforming a bloodkin is far from so easy. It requires source blood."

Thales's brows moved.

"What blood?"

Yannik said solemnly:

"Source blood. The most precious essence blood in my race's bodies, and the important medium used to create descendants and pass on the 'blessing.' However, pure source blood can often only be actively condensed by supreme-class bloodkin."

If the source blood absorbed during transformation lacked purity, was diluted too much, or mixed with impurities...

Then it could cause the tragedy of flesh and blood collapse, something not uncommon in the early history of the bloodkin. The most famous case was none other than the eldest son of the bloodkin's progenitor.

Or worse, the newborn might go completely mad during transformation, degenerating into a blood slave with no reason, only thirst, nearly a beast.

Inviting the next calamity of wolf enemies.

Thinking this, Yannik continued:

"Furthermore, source blood is extremely sensitive. Once it condenses outside a bloodkin's body, it will completely evaporate in less than an hour. Even injected into a human body, it will not remain for more than a day."

Thales understood.

"Which means..."

"This is not something 'some random wandering bloodkin' can do."

Yannik's tone was grave.

"The one who granted Lausanne the Second the blessing and transformed him into a descendant must be an old and senior supreme-class bloodkin with a known name and an extraordinary position."

He added, intentionally or otherwise:

"For example, second-generation bloodkin directly blessed and transformed by the Nightwing King himself, such as the Queen of the Night Curtain and Count Lee."

Thales raised a brow.

"Or Selina Corleone, who is on the run?"

Yannik said nothing. He only smiled.

--------------------

For an instant, Robel suspected that what had just happened was only a nightmare.

In the nightmare, that axe blow had come to claim her life, splitting open her chest and bringing indescribable agony.

The pain in her memory made Robel draw in a cold breath.

But now...

In the alley, Robel sat on the ground in a daze and stared blankly at her own chest.

Split leather armor, blood-soaked lining, pale skin, and an incredibly ugly axe scar.

What happened?

Her weak body, the pool of blood across the ground, and the faint shouts and responses in the distance all proved that it had been more than a dream.

"Do you feel hungry..."

A dangerous hoarse voice came.

In that instant, every hair on Robel's body stood up.

She entered a combat state and forced herself up from the ground, only to see stars and collapse again.

"You filthy vampire..."

No.

No!

Where were her weapons?

Move!

"...dizziness, nausea, emotional fluctuations, excessive sensitivity, numbness in the wound, and even repeated low fever," the hoarse voice ignored her and continued. "You need rest, and food."

The sound of a human body being turned over came. It seemed the monster was searching Old Bu's corpse.

What did he say?

Hungry?

Food?

Robel came back to herself and tried hard to think.

No.

Impossible.

She stared blankly at the scar on her chest.

Her wound was fatal. It was impossible for her to live. Even if she survived, she could not possibly recover so quickly...

Unless...

Food.

Robel thought of something, and her face turned deathly pale.

No.

She trembled, propped herself up on her arms, and looked through gritted teeth at the monster before her. His clothing and armor were damaged, his whole body filthy, and he was so battered that even his goggles were gone.

But without question, his gaze was now sharp, his movements steady, no longer haggard and weak as before.

Almost at full strength.

As for the reason, the giant's skin-and-bones corpse on the ground explained everything.

"You, you..."

With wariness and fear, Robel said in a trembling voice:

"With such heavy wounds, I could not possibly be alive, unless..."

"Yes."

The monster had only found a short axe, several daggers, and a money pouch sewn into the lining of the giant's clothes. He looked rather dissatisfied.

"I gave you a drop of source blood."

And the purest kind he could give.

"You survived."

It was over.

Robel trembled all over and collapsed weakly to the ground.

No...

The enormous shock and despair ruthlessly assaulted her mind.

Source blood.

The blood vampires used to create descendants and transform newborns.

Impossible.

She pressed her chest, feeling the faint phantom pain, and sat there as if turned to wood.

Impossible.

Around them, shouts of killing continued and firelight flickered.

A few seconds later, equally enormous anger and humiliation replaced her previous emotions and drowned Robel's heart.

"How dare you? How dare you..."

She gritted her teeth and trembled violently.

"I will become, become..."

Just then, a swordsman carrying an Everlasting Lamp rushed into the alley in a panic. At first glance, he saw Robel on the ground and the giant's corpse, and spoke in shock:

"What happ..."

Thud!

The monster flashed before the swordsman in an instant. Before the latter even saw his shadow, he fell.

"What does it matter?"

The monster lowered the limp swordsman and picked up his lamp tray and longsword.

"You survived."

From now on, you will stop aging, live forever, and perhaps become stronger and faster. Is that not good?

Looking at the fallen swordsman, Robel froze.

Lausanne the Second skillfully picked up the steel axe Danfo left behind and effortlessly threw it in another direction above the rooftops.

The steel axe swept over countless roofs and landed far away beyond countless walls, producing a piercing crash.

The surrounding shouts of killing immediately gathered in that direction.

"Screw you, monster!"

The shouts returned Robel to herself. She grabbed the alloyed silver blade and aimed it at Lausanne the Second.

"No. I am human. Human. Only human..."

She gritted her teeth, eyes red.

You cannot...

You cannot do this to me!

I still have to inherit my mother's trade, hunt vampires, hunt...

Thinking of this, Robel's gaze gradually dimmed, and the tip of her blade shook without stop.

Hunt myself?

Feeding on blood, hunting lives to sustain herself, hiding in darkness, unable to see the light, forever trapped by blood...

No matter where she went, bringing death, terror, and destruction to people...

Robel's heart chilled.

No.

Every story she had heard since childhood, every bit of training she had received, became the final straw that crushed her at this moment.

Robel took a deep breath and tremblingly, yet resolutely, turned the crescent blade around.

The tip pointed at her heart.

"No."

Her gaze was firm.

"I will never become a monster that harms others to benefit myself."

Never.

Robel closed her eyes and gripped the hilt tightly.

Farewell, Mother. And the nineteen cats at home, especially the picky one.

Lausanne the Second rubbed the longsword in his hand and narrowed his eyes.

"Didn't your mother teach you?"

Robel paused.

"How vampires transform?"

What?

Robel opened her eyes, anger surging.

How did he still have the face to mention her mother?

"Of course I know!"

Vampires force their source blood into innocent people, turning them into things like themselves: mad, out of control, cursed monsters who forever avoid the sun.

At least, that was what Grandmother had told Mother.

Before Grandmother's uncle died, he had told Grandmother the same thing.

And Grandmother's uncle had received the true teachings of his paternal aunt.

That aunt was even more impressive. You had to know that her stepfather was the cousin's nephew of the human protector, the specially appointed accompanying secretary and bard of the first generation Long-Life Hunter Corps.

Sunset bore witness: that secretary had once marched shoulder to shoulder with Kaila and his comrades. On bloody battlefields, he had feared no danger, sung war songs for them, and recorded glory.

But such ancient, great, and glorious inheritance was tonight ruined by this...

"That makes sense. A rookie like you, who can get stabbed in the back, would naturally think that is enough to become a vampire," Lausanne the Second said casually.

Wait.

Robel calmed down and widened her eyes.

What had he just said? Vampire transformation?

Unknowingly, she lowered the crescent blade and spoke in surprise and joy:

"You mean... mean I will not, will not become a vampire?"

But Lausanne the Second snorted coldly.

"You will."

Robel's smile froze.

"From the moment source blood enters the body until it is metabolized out and completely loses effect requires at least twenty hours," Lausanne the Second said coldly. "If you die during that time..."

Killed in battle, killed in a fall, by illness, by old age, even by stupidity. No matter the method of death...

"You will transform."

Lausanne the Second said faintly:

"Revived by source blood and turned into a vampire."

Of course, the premise was that she endured the torment during transformation and the mental blow after transformation.

No.

Robel thought blankly: he said I will transform.

I will die, then revive, and become a vampire with fangs...

Hope found and lost again, unable to bear the blow, Robel sat limply on the ground, her mood falling back into the valley.

It was over. There was no hope.

"Why?"

She was lost, despairing.

"Why is fate, why are Sunset and Daybreak, even the Bright Moon, so unfair to me?"

She had set her ambition when young, studied and trained hard, finally encountered the first vampire of her life...

Only to change from hunter to prey.

Was there a fate more tragic than this?

"That's right. That is the nature of gods," Lausanne the Second said coldly. "Creating injustice."

He still came to kick her while she was down.

Robel cried, snot and tears running down, heartbroken.

"No."

She raised the crescent blade while crying.

"I refuse!"

She would rather die than...

"I will kill myself now," Robel sobbed.

She would rather die than become a vampire. Become a disgusting, filthy monster.

"Are you sure?"

Lausanne the Second said coldly:

"Twenty hours have not passed yet."

Robel remembered something and trembled all over.

Right. I cannot kill myself.

He said that if I die within twenty hours, I will become a vampire!

Aaaaaah!

The crescent blade fell to the ground, and Robel clutched her head, utterly despairing.

After a few short seconds, she sorted out her thoughts, her gaze firm.

"It is fine. Patience is a hunter's most reliable sight. Then I will wait the full twenty hours!"

For these twenty hours, I will lock myself in a room and go nowhere.

When the time comes that even if I die, I will not become a vampire...

Then I will kill myself in one stroke.

Having found a solution, Robel picked up her weapon, her eyes full of hope.

In that case, I definitely will not become a vamp...

Huh?

Robel's smile froze.

Wait.

Holding the crescent blade, she mechanically turned her head.

"If... if I do not die during those twenty hours?"

"Then the source blood will be expelled by your body, purified, and vanish forever," Lausanne the Second said without raising his head.

Robel froze.

Expelled, purified?

"Then if I am still alive at that time, will I still become a vampire?"

Lausanne the Second ignored this foolish question and only looked at her with disdain.

Robel's eyes grew wider and wider.

Wait. According to this, as long as I do not die within twenty hours...

"Ah!"

Robel, having figured it out, burst into hot tears and collapsed to the ground, crying with joy.

That is wonderful!

Gods, thank you for favoring me so much!

I swear I will save cats to repay you until I die!

"Remember. Next time you encounter a mercenary who deliberately avoids crowds, acts alone, even changes his appearance..."

Lausanne the Second glanced at Danfo, already dead through and through.

"There is definitely a reason."

Not bad.

Lausanne the Second turned around and no longer looked at the vampire hunter behind him.

Just stupid.

"Wait!"

Robel woke with a start and gritted her teeth.

"You are a vampire. You would not help me for nothing. But I am telling you, no matter what conspiracy you have..."

But her words stopped abruptly. At some point, that hateful vampire had disappeared.

Only Robel remained, sitting blankly in a pool of blood.

--------------------

Thales looked at the other party for a long time before lightly nodding.

"Fine. Lee has run off anyway," the prince said helplessly. "As the only bloodkin expert left at my side, what you say counts."

Yannik first looked flattered, then humbly stepped back and bowed.

"Your Highness overpraises me."

Yannik changed direction.

"Only, there is still one point I do not understand..."

"Which point?"

"The Corleone family is cunning, fickle, and sinister in intent. That is indeed loathsome. But why would they choose this killer as a descendant?"

Thales froze, not quite understanding the question.

"Uh. Perhaps because Lausanne the Second was already a formidable supreme-class killer before? After transforming into a bloodkin, he would have greater value?"

"Precisely because of that, it is even stranger."

"What do you mean?"

Yannik patiently explained:

"In the eyes of us bloodkin, compared to a fixed, experienced, profoundly knowledgeable supreme-class warrior, we would rather select an ignorant young person with limited experience as a descendant and grant source blood."

"Why is that? Oh, is it like saying older people are more fixed and difficult to change than young people?" Thales guessed.

Yannik nodded approvingly.

"Your Highness is sharp. For a person to become a supreme-class expert means his life has already taken shape, his cognition has stabilized, and his body, thoughts, spirit, memory, including the personality and habits shaped by all his experiences in life, are difficult to shake."

He sighed.

"Therefore, transforming a supreme-class expert into a descendant carries enormous risks. Whether it is the possibility of rebirth failure, rejection and pain in the flesh and blood, or after successful rebirth, the obstacle of adapting again to the shell, changing thought, and accepting the identity of bloodkin as a newborn, all are far greater than when transforming an ordinary person. Greater beyond imagination."

More often, it was even a futile waste of source blood, not worth the loss.

Thales frowned at that.

"Let alone the blood fangs, the Corleones, who rule the Nation of Night. Even the most ordinary lowest-level bloodkin should know this," Yannik said.

So this was the principle by which bloodkin developed descendants: the less experience, the better; the smaller the burden, the better.

Thales pondered.

But they still chose to transform Lausanne the Second, abandoning the easy for the difficult.

Yannik thought for a while, then said very naturally:

"So I wonder: does Lausanne the Second have another secret to his identity? One related to the old case of Emerald Palace?"

Thales nodded.

"That makes sense."

Of course there was a secret.

After all, Mallos had privately said that Lausanne the Second had once been a student of Master Huaqin.

"Since that is so, why should Your Highness abandon what is near to seek what is far?"

"What do you mean?"

Yannik bowed again.

"One must know, no matter how strong this killer is or how many people he has slaughtered, he is only a sword. In the end, he is merely a bounty problem."

Thales narrowed his eyes.

"You and I both know that compared to this sword..."

Yannik smiled slyly toward the encirclement below.

"The key to Jade City's game should be in Emerald Palace."

Jade City's game.

Thales laughed helplessly at that.

"I think so too."

Unfortunately, Zayen was impervious to oil and salt, and Federico was too slippery to handle.

Their identities were also sensitive, so Thales had to be polite and could not go hard the way that pretty Western Wasteland face did.

Meanwhile, the hidden Secret Intelligence Department was sneaky and ghostly, and royal power lurked behind them like a shadow.

Only he was caught in the middle, unable to advance or retreat.

How am I abandoning what is near to seek what is far? Clearly I am bullying the soft and fearing the hard.

Thinking this, Thales sighed and looked below the tower.

"However, I only just spoke with those two brothers not long ago. Guess what they care about most at this moment?"

Yannik's eyes lit up.

"I see."

"Yes. I do not know whether it is coincidence or trickery, but their game has always revolved around Lausanne..."

Halfway through, Thales suddenly shivered and stopped.

"Revolved around?" Yannik asked strangely.

Thales was silent for a while.

He frowned at the still-smiling Yannik and felt an indescribable strangeness.

"Yannik," Thales stiffly changed the topic, "as a bloodkin, what is your anomalous ability?"

Yannik's gaze moved slightly.

"Your Highness?" He looked puzzled.

"Is it related to the mind?"

Yannik froze.

But Thales narrowed his eyes and continued asking:

"For example, unconsciously guiding someone, drawing out their true secrets?"

The air atop the abandoned watchtower quieted.

"Your Highness truly likes to joke."

A second later, Yannik first looked embarrassed, then smiled bitterly.

"The human heart is complex and difficult to understand. How could I possibly have such an ability?"

Thales suspiciously studied him for a while.

"Oh. Good if it is not."

The prince narrowed his eyes.

"Otherwise, I would think you were probing for the secrets of the old Emerald Palace case."

"I am deeply sorry."

Yannik reacted and apologized sincerely.

"My words must have caused Your Highness to misunderstand."

Yannik naturally turned his head aside, avoiding Thales's gaze.

"We should still think about how to resolve this killer. They cannot hold him down anymore."

Damn it.

Thales was startled and raised the spyglass again.

Through the tube, light and shadow flickered across the alley walls, and the senses of hell sent faint cries of pain.

Fine. If Catherine could not handle him, then he would have to...

"Which means, as the key to the problem, so long as we capture that murderer, everything will do, yes?"

Thales frowned and turned back.

"Yannik?"

Yannik bowed lightly.

"Since that is so, I am willing to lend Your Highness my aid."

"But earlier you..."

"An uncontrolled stray bloodkin indiscriminately killing innocents in Jade City is bad for our race's reputation no matter how one looks at it."

The handsome bloodkin councilor shook his head decisively, his gaze cold.

"Naturally, we are duty-bound."

Thales froze for a second.

Bullshit!

Thales sneered inwardly.

That was not what you said earlier.

What you clearly said was, "Then go find his parents!"

"Really? No additional conditions?" Thales asked suspiciously.

"Since it is a righteous deed..."

Yannik stared fixedly at the encirclement below, making one feel respect.

"What conditions are there to speak of?"

Hmph.

Thales sneered inwardly, while his face released a smile.

"That actually makes me a little uneasy," he teased. "After all, free things are the most expensive."

"It is not truly free."

Yannik smiled at him.

"You have given me an opportunity to befriend, rather than offend, the future king of Stars. That is payment enough."

He smiled slyly.

"After all, not all cold-blooded species are rigid and stubborn."

I knew it.

Thales snorted inwardly.

"Then I may have overpaid. No change?"

Yannik laughed.

"When making someone do something outside their duties..."

He blinked.

"There should always be a small tip."

Thales narrowed his eyes and observed him for a while.

"Are you sure you have no problem?"

Thales looked down at the battlefield.

"Long before transforming into a bloodkin, that fellow was already a supreme-class killer. After transformation, his body can only be stronger. Oh, or are you a supreme-class expert too?"

Facing the prince's probing gaze, Yannik smiled.

"Your Highness is young, yet you can put yourself in another's place so considerately. I am truly moved."

"But perhaps there is something you do not know," he continued. "After a human transforms into a bloodkin, the body's mechanisms and tissues are completely changed. Even the Power of Eradication disappears without a trace, and it is almost impossible to preserve the original strength and combat style."

Completely changed...

Thales thought back to Lausanne the Second's words and actions and could not help falling into deep thought.

The next moment, the bloodkin councilor's eyes turned cold.

"Second, whether supreme class, super class, or common class, these are only sayings. Old sayings spread by human knights hundreds or thousands of years ago, long since rotten with age."

Thales froze at that.

"They may be used to identify strength and weakness, to give a high or low reference, to deceive outsiders and beginners," Yannik said, putting his hands behind his back, "but they can never determine victory or defeat, much less life and death."

Rank is only a saying.

It can identify strength, but cannot determine victory or defeat.

Thales pondered this.

Why did that sound strangely familiar?

"Furthermore, in recorded history, among supreme-class warriors who truly died to opponents of the same level..."

Yannik withdrew his killing intent and smiled at Thales.

"They do not even make up half."

Thales's mind moved.

Which meant that among the supreme-class experts who had been defeated and died in history, more than half had died to...

"After all, the old speaker said: if the old does not go, the new cannot come."

The night wind blew softly, and Thales felt something.

But when he turned his eyes, there was already no one at his side.

"The supreme class does not die..."

Yannik's faint sigh came from the darkness.

"What use is the super class?"