Chapter 730: The Billet Forger

After hearing the secret Lee had revealed, Thales got through his first wave of astonishment and calmed down.

"According to you, not only should today's disaster not be blamed on you," the prince said suspiciously, "it should be blamed on the Jadestar royal family for failing to watch over that drop of source blood properly, allowing Lausanne the Second to become bloodkin and leave endless trouble behind?"

"I absolutely did not mean that," Lee replied respectfully, though his assessing gaze never left Thales for even a moment. "But with this clue in hand, Your Highness must be closer than we are to the truth behind that killer."

Thales frowned.

How sly.

This old fellow had thrown the mystery back to him, along with the thread for solving it, while openly and covertly distancing Corleone from responsibility.

But the move did work. Thales could not help wondering:

Lausanne the Second, this killer who murdered without blinking, had returned to the Kingdom of Stars after many years. It was definitely not merely to settle an old grudge with the Blood Bottle Gang.

How had he obtained the source blood that should have belonged to Crown Prince Midier?

What relationship did he have with the Jadestar royal family?

Just then, Lee suddenly turned his head and very naturally looked down from the tower.

"The junior from the Hollier family has engaged him."

Thales took a deep breath, cleared more doubts from his mind, and forced himself back to the present.

"Thank God."

He raised the telescope and only after some effort found the target.

"At least they're fighting on the rooftops. At least that lets me see them."

Though with the rhythm and speed of Yannik and Lausanne the Second's exchange, apart from blurred figures flashing back and forth, Thales could not see anything clearly.

"However, Your Highness should still be careful."

"Because Yannik might not be his match?"

Lee shook his head.

"As far as we know, this Yannik Hollier took charge of his family at a young age. He specializes in sowing discord, manipulating power, and seizing openings. He is deeply trusted by the Ghost Lady."

As for the Ghost Lady, Visalia Hollier herself, she was an old figure from the Unyielding Night, the leader of the rebellion that broke away from the Nation of Night, and a troublesome person whom even His Majesty Nightwing had to guard against, dread, and love and hate at the same time.

Lee thought this, but his words did not stop.

"In Your Highness's view, why would the Hollier family, which has long lived in the Banquet Territory, choose this moment to visit Jade City?"

Thales's thoughts stirred.

For the Emerald Celebration?

To see the prince?

To deliver a letter to Ugly Face?

Thales remembered his encounter with Yannik at the Feast of Battles.

"For balance," he said faintly.

Lee nodded lightly.

"Since it is for balance, will he truly do his utmost as Your Highness wishes?"

Thales frowned.

Of course, you know.

A voice in the prince's heart told him:

Yannik had actually known the truth long ago.

This elegant bloodkin had long since seen the filth beneath Jade City's surface, and guessed that one of his own kind was secretly hunting within the city. That was why, at the Feast of Battles, he had left behind those meaningful words:

"...At this moment, undercurrents are surging in Jade City. There are many dirty things here."

But he, the acting master of the Renewed Court, the young bloodkin of the Hollier family, had been unmoved. He had even been happy to see it happen.

He had waited for the day when Jade City's ruler, whether Thales or Zayen, would suffer because of it and be driven into a frantic mess.

All so he could gain a greater return.

The question was, Thales...

The voice in his heart said faintly:

How are you going to use this?

Clang!

Metal rang as the two men and two swords on the rooftop wheeled back and forth. Their offense and defense were too fast for the naked eye to distinguish, leaving only indistinct afterimages.

"Don't you find it strange, child? You have never accepted your identity as bloodkin. You refused to join them and be used by them..."

Yet in the fierce battle, Yannik's voice remained gentle and calm.

"Then why did the Corleone family keep you instead of simply slaughtering you..."

An exquisite sword move suddenly rose out of the dazzling exchange, instantly cutting Yannik off.

The bloodkin councilor, caught unprepared, gave a muffled grunt. His figure immediately retreated, and he appeared on another rooftop to land.

"They tried."

Lausanne the Second raised his head, his face as white as a corpse and without the slightest vitality.

"They couldn't."

After saying this, he revealed his badly damaged longsword.

The blade was covered in black blood, dripping down drop by drop.

Yannik frowned deeply. He loosened the left hand pressed tight over his abdomen: the wound was extremely deep, and black blood was pouring out in a steady stream.

Damn it. How exactly had he thrust that sword?

If he had still been an ordinary human...

But when Lausanne the Second saw this scene, he frowned slightly.

It had missed.

That strike should have gone straight for the heart.

"Couldn't? Oh, the once-unrivaled Prince Philip thought the same," Yannik quickly raised his head and replaced his expression with the standard smile of a diplomat and councilor, "until Lanly Corleone overturned him from his throne and turned him into an old story in the history books."

Lausanne the Second did not answer.

Or rather, he answered with action.

The killer leaped forward, and sword light rose once more.

Can't he wait a little longer?

Yannik cursed inwardly. Unable to wait for his wound to heal, he was forced to meet the attack again.

What was wrong with this age? When experts crossed moves, should they not respect each other at least enough to let the opponent finish speaking?

Clang!

Sword light crisscrossed. Lausanne the Second pressed forward without pause, while Yannik retreated and evaded without hesitation.

The bloodkin killer's movement was slightly inferior to Yannik's, but his swordsmanship was exceptional. Every strike landed at a crucial point his opponent had no choice but to defend. In only a few exchanges, Yannik was struck again and hurriedly retreated more than ten meters away.

This time, Yannik's posture was no longer so elegant. His figure swayed, and he dropped to one knee.

A terrifying wound of split flesh slanted down from his right shoulder, even cleaving open his collarbone.

Almost.

Lausanne the Second shook the black blood from his sword, not very satisfied.

Just a little more, and he could have taken his head.

"Just like this," the killer said softly. "They fear me."

Those filthy creatures of the Nation of Night, especially the old things who had lived for centuries or millennia, were selfish, greedy, and afraid of death. They feared his swordsmanship, feared his anomalous ability, feared his resolve, and feared even more the countless experiences in killing he had accumulated over decades. How many people had those old things killed? What kind of people? Farmers walking home at night? Blood meals trembling in little black rooms? Human blood servants who revered, loved, and feared them?

In short, they were unwilling to pay a high price to kill him.

"Fear you?"

Hearing this, Yannik could not help laughing. At this moment he was doing his utmost to repair the heavy injury to his shoulder and neck, so speaking was somewhat difficult.

"Poor child. You were... you were deceived..."

Lausanne the Second raised his eyes and stepped forward without delay.

And you are about to be killed.

Posturing filthy creature.

"Perhaps you do not understand Corleone," Yannik said with a pained expression, "but I can tell you this is not fear. It is politics. The Corleone family put on a play to make you think they feared you."

Deception?

Politics?

Interesting.

Lausanne the Second was disdainful.

If that had been a play, then the price they paid had been far too great.

That night, in order to execute him, the filthy creatures of the Nation of Night had come one after another, only to rush up one by one and add fuel to the feast, until they triggered the uncontrollable ferocity and anomalous ability inside him.

The Corleone family lost control of advance and retreat, while the other families among the lower seven branches of the Nation of Night suffered grievous casualties...

Lausanne the Second was just about to raise his sword when he suddenly froze.

Other.

Other families.

He looked directly at Yannik again.

One after another.

In the Nation of Night, apart from Corleone...

The other families?

Without realizing it, Lausanne the Second tightened his grip on the sword hilt.

"What do you know?" he asked softly.

Yannik gave a miserable laugh.

"A terrifying friend, or perhaps opponent, told me. And unfortunately, she is connected by blood to the Corleone family."

Lausanne the Second frowned.

"Yes. Corleone deceived you because they wanted to make better use of you."

Yannik trembled as he stood. The wound on his abdomen had already healed, but the serious wound on his shoulder was still recovering, closing at a speed visible to the naked eye.

"Because if you felt they did not fear you, you would become wary. You would resist them to the end, refuse to compromise, let alone cooperate."

Yannik sneered again and again.

"Only by making you feel they feared you could they, at least in your eyes, be forced as a matter of course to let you go, keep you alive, and have no choice but to let you move freely."

Lausanne the Second said nothing. He only stared fixedly at the other man's wound.

"As for why..."

Yannik gave a soft snort.

"A living chess piece is always more useful than a dead one."

Chess piece.

Lausanne the Second's sword point trembled slightly.

Yannik gestured toward him.

"Look at you now. Are you not willingly and without complaint being driven by others? You even naively believe all of this comes from your own will, that everything you do is for yourself, that it comes from free will, that you are moving freely?"

The bloodkin councilor laughed.

"In that case, as a chess piece, are you not more vivid, more motivated, and more willing to work with all your might?"

At this point, Yannik seemed to remember something and could not help looking around.

"It is just like the land under our feet. The National Conference created by the wise king allows every person who can sit in and listen, from kings, nobles, generals, and ministers to peddlers and foot soldiers, to believe they have the power to influence national policy, the capital to make rulers fear them, the right to speak for themselves, and the qualifications to act freely."

He sighed emotionally.

"And so, they become negligent in suspicion, forget hatred, and needless to say, no longer resist."

They accept with peace of mind the seat granted to them by the towering kingdom, as though they were born to have it.

Lausanne the Second lowered his head.

"Now, the question is this. You too have reached the most crucial node in this power struggle, where every move can summon wind and rain."

Yannik moved his shoulder. His wound had finally healed.

"How should you react?"

He smiled broadly.

"A chess piece who thinks itself free?"

What answered him was Lausanne the Second's sword light, colder than before.

On the abandoned watchtower, Thales was silent for a long time before he finally lowered the telescope.

"Let's make a deal."

Lee Corleone's eyelids moved.

"Your Highness?"

"No matter whether Yannik or someone else tries to interfere, Count Lee, bring Lausanne the Second to me. He must still be breathing and capable of being interrogated."

Thales turned around.

"Do that, and your years of sheltering exiled political figures, including smuggling a bloodkin killer into Jade City, bringing disaster to the city and subverting a duke of the kingdom, all that rotten debt will be wiped clean."

Lee frowned at these words.

"I am grateful for Your Highness's generosity, but this person carries Prince Philip's source blood. His anomalous ability is strange and terrifying. I fear we are powerless..."

"If a single drop of blood is so terrifying," Thales interrupted him without courtesy, "then where is Prince Philip now? Why hasn't he ruled the world?"

Perhaps this question was too sensitive. The bloodkin count closed his mouth and did not answer.

Thales stared at him for several seconds before turning his head with a smile.

"Do you know? When the Blood Calamity caused heaven and earth to collapse in Dragon Clouds City, the instigator also told me: the calamity was too terrifying, and even if they wanted to stop it, they were powerless."

Hearing several key words that could be called secrets, Lee's gaze shifted.

Thales turned back and looked toward the brightly lit Emerald Palace in the distance.

"But afterward, I also found myself wondering: as the people who planned the conspiracy and invited the calamity in, perhaps they were not powerless."

He spoke faintly.

"They simply did not wish to exert themselves."

Thales turned back toward him, his gaze like a sword.

"What do you think, Count Lee?"

Lee was silent for a long time before stepping back, respectfully bowing. Yet his words yielded not an inch.

"Your Highness must understand. Before I came here, Her Majesty Catherine repeatedly ordered us to behave properly in your country and not create unnecessary trouble."

Thales exhaled.

"But Catherine also said you should have the ability to adapt to circumstances."

Lee did not take up his words. Instead, he changed the subject.

"This killer is a chess piece in Young Master Federico's game against his cousin."

Lee looked down from the tower, expressionless.

"Since Your Highness intends to make a move against him, does that mean you have already chosen a side between them, and have also made a decision regarding Jade City's fate?"

Chosen a side?

No matter which side I choose, it will be troublesome.

Thales thought of Zayen and Federico. His head ached, but he continued thinking: What does the other party care about?

"If what you are worried about is revenge against Zayen, or fear of Iris Flower's retaliation, then I can guaran..."

"I am not worried about the Covendiers," Lee said, not letting him finish. "Historically, the Blood Fangs have successively formed grudges and hatred with three masters of Emerald Palace. But however great the hatred, once their mortal lifespans ended, it vanished like smoke. When interests demanded it, relations recovered as before."

"Then why..."

Lee's gaze shifted.

"What I am worried about, rather, is Your Highness. Before making this decision, did you communicate with Renaissance Palace and request instructions?"

Thales frowned slightly.

He remembered King Kessel's letter:

"Handle it as you see fit."

But...

Thales's expression did not change, but his words were not sincere.

"Naturally. His Majesty has already ordered me to handle all matters here with full authority."

"If that is so, Your Highness should not additionally ask us to lend assistance."

The regent of the Nation of Night had a calm attitude, but there was meaning hidden in his words.

"Because our cooperation with the kingdom's Secret Intelligence Department, or rather, with Renaissance Palace, has already been settled. And the rotten account Your Highness is using to threaten me, the one you say can be wiped clean, should not have been counted against us in the first place."

Thales frowned.

"You said earlier that when facing a calamity's rampage, the instigators might not have been powerless, but merely unwilling to act," Lee said faintly. "Perhaps that is because the one truly too terrifying was someone else?"

Thales fell silent.

"After leaving Jade City, I will set out north as a national envoy to meet His Majesty Kessel and present the diplomatic letter."

Lee glanced at him and bowed.

"Why must Your Highness make things difficult for me?"

Thales looked at him and silently pondered.

Lee turned away.

"After Catherine returned to the country, she lost two major helpers. Her days have not been easy, have they?"

Thales suddenly spoke.

"Otherwise, she would not be so eager to see an Jade City that maintains friendly exchanges and mutual trust."

Lee did not respond.

Thales took a deep breath. Having thought it through, his tone became firm.

"But sometimes, it is precisely because we are unwilling to do what is difficult that someone becomes so terrifying."

Lee's gaze shifted.

"What does Your Highness mean?"

Thales exhaled and said resolutely:

"In fact, everything I am doing now may be far from Renaissance Palace's will. So let us make a new deal."

Lee narrowed his eyes.

Thales took a step forward.

"Catherine said that although she walks in the dark night, when she opens her eyes, the starlight fills her vision and illuminates the road ahead like daylight, correct?"

Lee curled the corner of his mouth.

Thales looked down from the tower.

"Tell her I understand."

"Understand what?"

Thales looked expressionlessly at the night scenery of the new suburb.

"I stand upon the earth. When I raise my head, there are the stars."

He gazed toward the brilliant silver river in the night sky and spoke softly.

"I only wait for the sun to set and night to fall, then reach out and pluck the stars."

Whoosh!

A blade flashed. Yannik rolled down from the rooftop to the ground, retreating three steps before barely standing firm. His body was drenched in blood, and he looked utterly battered.

Not good.

This fellow who would not listen to advice truly relied on nothing but one man and one sword, not on the strength of his body, only on peerless swordsmanship, yet he firmly suppressed bloodkin speed, agility, dexterity, and strength.

Those in history who could do this were all famous supreme-class experts.

For example, the famous Wolf Foe, Kayla. Faced with his seemingly ordinary blade, even the Penitent, Parilai Rehart, who was known for strange and bizarre footwork and had once maneuvered against the Nightwing King, could not gain an advantage.

On the other side, Lausanne the Second landed lightly.

"Your swordsmanship is not bad, vampire," he said slowly.

Several moves even hid the shadow of profound martial studies.

Unlike the other filthy creatures, who only knew how to rely on the bloodkin's physical advantages and charge around wildly, such as the beasts of the Castigan and Loriloya clans.

In the next second, Lausanne the Second's figure erupted forward, closing the distance at high speed.

Yannik, who was still recovering from his wound, had no choice but to raise his sword again and respond in haste.

Clang!

The two swords pressed against each other.

Lausanne the Second was stuck in the position most suited to exerting force. He shook his head coldly.

"But in the end, you are still a little short."

It was this ordinary-seeming little bit that separated an insurmountable gulf between experts.

Under Yannik's incredulous gaze, his opponent's blade twisted strangely, and in the instant before he was about to counterattack, it plunged straight into his chest.

Lausanne the Second sent the blade forward without hesitation, driving it deeper until it pierced the other man's heart.

It was this little bit that would decide the final matter of life and death...

Hm?

Lausanne the Second's hand trembled, and he immediately sensed something wrong.

This was not the feel or direction of piercing the heart.

Hiss!

Amid Yannik's muffled grunt of extreme pain, he used his narrow sword with all his strength to deflect Lausanne the Second's sword. The blade shifted slightly aside and, scraping against his ribs, stabbed into his upper abdomen.

Lausanne the Second's pupils shrank.

For a bloodkin, this counted as a serious wound, but it had not been fatal.

In the next second, Yannik's gaze turned fierce. He roared and raised his head, counterattacking with the narrow sword in his right hand while his left hand transformed into sharp claws.

Bad.

Lausanne the Second reacted extremely quickly and immediately drew back his sword to defend.

Whoosh!

In afterimages too fast to see clearly, the two figures touched and parted.

Clatter.

Both weapons fell to the ground.

Hiss.

A great amount of black blood sprayed out, splashing through the air.

Yannik retreated several steps and, trembling, dropped to one knee. Black blood gushed from the wound between his chest and abdomen, gathering into a stream beneath him.

Lausanne the Second leaned weakly against the wall. The flesh of his chest had been torn open by vicious, ferocious claws, and a large piece of flesh had been gouged away. Pale ribs were faintly visible, shocking to behold.

Both sides were badly wounded.

The bloodkin physique took effect instantly. From the wounds of both men, flesh trembled and extended granulation tissue, doing its utmost to heal.

But it was obvious that Yannik recovered extremely quickly. Before long, the bleeding stopped.

Lausanne the Second, however, gave a pained grunt. The speed at which his wound healed had become unbearably slow. He did not have the strength.

"Blood."

The craving inside him rose at the proper time.

After a long, bitter battle, his blood vitality was severely insufficient.

He urgently needed replenishment.

"Blood..."

But compared with that, what concerned him even more was...

Enduring the severe pain, Lausanne the Second raised his head with difficulty.

"It seems your swordsmanship may not be as miraculous as they say, lost child."

Yannik smiled coldly, his words teasing.

Lausanne the Second found it unbelievable.

His killing strike, launched from an absolute advantage, had been deflected by the opponent at the border between life and death?

To meet sword with sword, escape and counterattack under such a disadvantage, and force mutual destruction...

No.

Unless...

He looked gravely at Yannik before him.

Unless what the opponent used...

Was an even more refined and superb sword art.

But...

Yannik stood with difficulty, took out a small bottle the size of a finger, twisted off the cap, tipped his head back, and drank it down.

The instant the other party opened the bottle, Lausanne the Second's nose twitched. He clenched his teeth in pain.

"Blood, blood! Need blood!"

In the next second, Yannik's whole body trembled, and the wound between his chest and abdomen healed at high speed.

Yannik breathed out comfortably and recovered his smile.

"This is blood essence refined by the Scholar clan, the Mersheds. Highly concentrated, convenient to carry. Ah, their family just loves inventions and creations."

He shook the empty bottle in his hand, took out another small bottle, and smiled kindly.

"Want one? My treat. Guaranteed non-toxic and harmless."

After saying this, he truly tossed the small bottle toward Lausanne the Second.

"Blood!"

The killer's expression tightened, and he dragged his badly injured body aside to avoid it.

With a slap, the bottle shattered on the ground, releasing a small puddle of blood.

"Sorry, almost forgot. You haven't been trained, so you can't maintain reason while feeding."

Yannik looked as though he had only just remembered this point, his face full of apology.

"What a pity."

After all...

One bottle was very expensive.

Yannik sighed.

Lausanne the Second clenched his teeth tightly, forcing himself not to look at the puddle of essence blood on the ground.

No.

No!

Very quickly, though both had been heavily wounded, Yannik recovered as good as new, while Lausanne the Second's wounds had only stopped bleeding. His self-healing had nearly stalled.

The scales of victory and defeat changed in an instant.

"This is not your true strength."

Lausanne the Second tore off his clothing with difficulty and, as though he were alive again, clumsily yet skillfully bandaged the wound.

"It is your anomalous ability."

Yannik frowned.

"Why do you say that?"

Lausanne the Second snorted coldly and spoke through the severe pain.

"Every time I gain the upper hand, my sword still accomplishes nothing. It is not because your swordsmanship is strong, but because my sword..."

"No, no, no."

Yannik interrupted him, his gaze sharp.

"What I am asking is, why do you believe those mysterious, complex anomalous abilities, which require countless prices to understand and become familiar with, to train and to use, cannot be considered true strength?"

Lausanne the Second's expression changed.

Yannik smiled.

"In other words, if you die by my hand tonight, Lausanne the Second, then however high your swordsmanship is, however strong your so-called true strength is..."

At this point, the bloodkin councilor was no longer flippant. He solemnly picked up his weapon, his expression serious.

"What meaning would it have?"

Before his voice had even fallen, Yannik's figure vanished instantly.

Lausanne the Second's eyelid jumped. He struggled and threw himself toward his sword.

In the next second, Yannik flashed before Lausanne the Second, and their swords crossed again.

Clang!

Metal rang. Once again, the two touched and split apart.

But this time, Yannik retreated three steps in an orderly way, his posture calm and composed.

Lausanne the Second's longsword flew from his hand. With a pained grunt, he fell to his knees, another wound appearing on his body.

No good.

He had been too badly injured. His body was weak and powerless. His vision drifted unstably. His sword had lost precision, and his footwork was a mess.

"Blood!

"Blood!

"Blood!"

Shut up.

The killer knelt on the ground and thought dimly:

So many excellent and exquisite sword moves, enough to reverse victory and defeat at this moment, could not be used.

It really was...

The momentum was gone.

He simply did not know...

What anomalous ability was the opponent using to start from an absolute disadvantage and reverse everything step by step?

"Ah, even in this state, you can still bite me back."

Yannik looked at an extra cut on his elbow and could not help praising him.

"Truly excellent swordsmanship."

Perhaps even among the upper six branches of Banquet Territory, the Paplan family of Silent Guards, who researched peerless martial arts, had no one who could compare with him on the path of the sword.

Lausanne the Second snorted in disdain.

"What a pity."

Yannik did not press the attack. He only looked down from above and sighed sincerely.

"If you were not so stubborn, if you had accepted the identity of bloodkin, made good use of our race's abilities, grown accustomed to our constitution, and even achieved your true form, then paired it with this rare, extraordinary swordsmanship..."

He looked into the distance, his gaze profound and his words bewitching.

"What height might you have reached?"

Lausanne the Second was disdainful.

"Nonsense."

Had those filthy creatures of the Nation of Night, and even that Covendier brat, not already nagged him with such words?

Lausanne the Second thought this while barely clinging to life, tightening the bandage around his wound.

His posture was ugly. He trembled, swayed, and only with great difficulty managed to touch the longsword that had fallen to the ground.

Just like...

Just like the Hundred-Step Ranger earlier.

The thought flashed past, and Lausanne the Second forced himself to forget it.

He clenched his teeth and propped himself up on the sword.

"If I had not refused to become a filthy creature, if I had not refused to spend all my time and energy sucking blood and grinding my teeth..."

If he had not used day-and-night, nearly insane sword training to constantly remind himself of what it felt like to be human in life, forcibly suppressing the blood thirst that made his soul tremble from its depths...

No. It should be said, if he had not been born with this broken personality that would not look aside, would cling to the end, and was hated by everyone; if he had been like Aknet, smooth and flexible, loved by all...

Holding hatred and anger no one could resolve, Lausanne the Second said coldly:

"Then do you think I could still have trained this damned swordsmanship?"

Yannik was stunned.

"Precisely because... precisely because I am stubborn enough, focused enough, unwilling enough to turn back, and treat this powerful shell as worthless..."

Because he looked down on that strange anomalous ability that had kept him sleepless night after night...

Because he turned a deaf ear to the nightly temptations of those filthy creatures...

Because he sneered at the temptations of eternal life and undying youth...

Dragging a body that was about to collapse, Lausanne the Second stood with difficulty.

"Precisely because of that, I could train, and be worthy of, this swordsmanship that is... still passable."

A person was not a bottomless bag. One could not hold everything.

Not even with endless lifespan.

Impossible.

Right, old Huaqin?

"Well said."

Yannik was shaken by his words and sighed again and again.

"Tsk, truly, hearing a single speech from you..."

His words halted. He seemed to realize something and shook his head.

Mm. It seemed to be of no use at all.

Lausanne the Second closed his eyes.

Damn it.

If he had not hesitated just now, if he had not listened to the opponent's nonsense about "Corleone deceiving you," and instead had pressed the attack after heavily injuring the man's shoulder and neck, going straight for the vital point, then he would not...

"Are you thinking that if you had not hesitated then, if you had not given me time to recover, it would have been better?"

Yannik suddenly spoke, startling the killer.

"That would have been useless too."

The bloodkin councilor smiled gently.

"You would still lose."

Lausanne the Second was stunned.

"Because the issue is not, if you had not hesitated then."

Yannik's eyes burned.

"It is, why did you hesitate then?"

Why?

Why did I hesitate then?

Lausanne the Second's pupils contracted.

That's right.

Why would I go against the killing instinct I had built over years...

And hesitate because of his words?

At that moment, as he looked at Yannik, he suddenly understood something.

"So that's it," the killer murmured.

What the opponent's anomalous ability affected...

Was not his sword.

Yannik gave a soft snort and walked forward with his sword.

Lausanne the Second closed his eyes.

He accepted his fate.

But in the very next second, Yannik, who had still been smiling, changed expression.

The young head of the Hollier family suddenly went into a daze, then closed his eyes and collapsed forward.

At that moment, Lausanne the Second abruptly opened his eyes, roared, and swung his sword at Yannik.

It was not over yet.

This filthy creature was right.

Anomalous abilities were also strength.

Hiss!

In the next second, the blade cut into Yannik's neck.

But it could go no farther.

Lausanne the Second looked at the scene before him in disbelief.

At some point, Yannik had opened his eyes wide in anger. His hand had transformed into claws, and he was gripping the blade tightly, avoiding the fate of decapitation.

What happened?

Lausanne the Second trembled as he watched his opponent pry his sword away inch by inch.

"This is your anomalous ability?"

Yannik gritted his teeth, his neck covered in blood.

"The so-called Evil Whispers?"

At this moment, Yannik's expression was bitter and complicated, his words angry and humiliated.

Seeing his appearance, Lausanne the Second could not help laughing.

"So, what did you see in the whispers?"

He could no longer contend against Yannik's strength, and could only watch as the opponent pushed his blade away.

But the killer did not care. His smile was mocking.

"Was it what you fear most in this life? What you dread most? What you regret most? What made you happiest? What moved you most? Was it a memory that, even when old and on your deathbed, you could never forget?"

Yannik's gaze trembled, and his figure moved instantly.

Whoosh.

In that instant, Lausanne the Second only felt pain in his right hand.

His entire body lost balance and collapsed weakly into the pool of blood.

Clatter.

Lausanne the Second opened his eyes wide.

His right arm, together with his weapon, had left his body and fallen by his feet.

The fingers gripping the sword were still twitching on their own.

"Child, you are barbaric and crude. You have no respect for time and the past. You fiddle recklessly with other people's memories."

Yannik flicked his arm. The narrow sword shot out and pierced Lausanne the Second's right arm, which was yearning to find its body.

Disgust and anger flickered in his eyes, and the wound on his neck slowly healed.

"Truly rude to the extreme."

The right arm, deprived of nourishment, twitched once and finally withered and shriveled on the ground, like a dried corpse.

Lausanne the Second did not care about the arm he had lost. He only looked gravely at the other party.

This vampire...

Facing his anomalous ability, he had broken free in less than a second?

Even that different prince needed several seconds to wake.

Was it that, under heavy injury, his control had declined?

Or was the opponent too formidable?

"How pitiful. After you reincarnated, no one of your kind, especially no elder, ever taught you these things, right?"

As if he knew what Lausanne was puzzled by, Yannik sneered.

"So you do not know. The reason anomalous abilities that affect the spirit are so rare is because such abilities often have complex mechanisms and are difficult to understand. More importantly, the first thing they affect is always ourselves."

Lausanne the Second was startled.

Yannik tapped his own forehead.

"If you wish to make someone believe without doubt, you must treat them with sincerity.

"If you wish someone to love you deeply, you must first entrust your true heart.

"If you wish to make someone panic and fear, you must taste terror in every form.

"And if you wish to turn another person into a madman, you must first experience the feeling of going completely insane."

And tenfold, a hundredfold, a thousand times, ten thousand times.

Even more.

Lausanne the Second froze.

"That is why the Nightwing King dislikes those of his kind with rare mental anomalous abilities and is forever biased against them."

And that same bias ultimately led to the great split between eastern and western bloodkin.

Yannik shook his head.

"But the most ironic, most laughable, and most absurd thing is this: he himself is a master of this path."

Spreading a pair of night wings, lowering endless darkness.

At this point, Yannik Hollier laughed softly.

"And so, in the end, Lanly himself went mad."

Completely and utterly mad.

Mad enough that the whole world became his enemy.

Repeating, again and again, the tragic destiny represented by his surname.

"This is why every bloodkin, when they begin practicing mental anomalous abilities, is strictly watched by experienced seniors and warned in every possible way."

Yannik twisted his neck, feeling the wound that had just finished growing closed, his gaze complicated.

"Be cautious and restrained. Stay vigilant at all times. Protect yourself. Avoid endangering yourself and losing the road back."

Lausanne the Second understood. He raised his head in relief.

"So that's it. Like me," the killer said softly. "Your anomalous ability also affects a person's... spirit."

A manipulator of mental anomalous abilities.

This was why the opponent could so quickly escape Evil Whispers.

Lausanne the Second frowned.

"Its mechanism is probably to make my spirit and will slacken unconsciously at the most crucial moment, causing success to collapse at the final step."

Ingenious, mysterious, almost without trace.

Yannik smiled faintly, neither admitting nor denying it.

He looked at this "kinsman" on the ground, who had lost the hand that held his sword and whose defeat was already decided.

"My anomalous ability," he said softly, "is named Discord."

Discord...

At the edge of death, Lausanne the Second sank into thought.

He wondered what kind of swordsmanship could break through such an anomalous ability.

Yannik looked at his opponent, but what he thought was something else.

What a pity. This killer had peerless martial skill, one of a kind in the world, but mentally he was not as wary and alert as that boy.

By the time he saw through the oddity and reacted, it was already too late. He no longer had strength to resist.

What a pity.

Such a pity for this peak swordsmanship.

"Even now, you still refuse my help?" Yannik raised an eyebrow.

Lausanne the Second remained silent. He only turned his head away.

"It doesn't matter. In any case, you have no right to refuse."

Yannik smiled faintly, not caring at all.

"We will have a very good time."

He reached a hand toward the other party.

Lausanne the Second clenched his teeth, preparing to make one final struggle for his dignity.

Just then...

"He is not your toy, junior."

Yannik's arm froze.

But his expression did not change. Smiling, he turned around and even had the leisure to straighten his bloodstained and torn collar.

"I am very glad to see you have returned, Count Lee."

Lausanne the Second, who had been almost in despair, opened his eyes wide.

Lee Corleone, with his far eastern face, was walking slowly toward them in the middle of the road.

His steps were silent.

It was him.

That filthy creature.

Lausanne the Second turned his head away in disdain.

Lee ignored Yannik and instead looked at the inhumanly mangled Lausanne the Second, frowning.

"Even like this, with death at hand, you still refuse to feed?"

What answered him was Lausanne the Second's disgust-filled "pah."

Seeing this, Yannik laughed loudly.

"Ah, if I had known the count would still have the cheek to return, why did we part unhappily just now, with you storming off in anger?"

Lee turned his head lightly and looked at the sly-eyed Yannik.

"Or perhaps you had already made up your mind to bow your head and yield, but insisted on waiting until the benefits were at their greatest before returning, so you could take them all..."

Yannik narrowed his eyes.

"I imagine even someone as clever as the North Star was bluffed by you until he was stunned, and thought he was the one begging for your assistance?"

Lee did not answer.

"Just as Mother said, you appear wooden and restrained, but in truth you are old and treacherous."

As Yannik spoke, he looked intentionally or unintentionally toward Lausanne the Second.

"One has no choice but to be on guard, right?"

At that moment, Lee suddenly spoke.

"Junior, you have quite a bit of your mother's style."

Yannik's eyelid jumped.

"Oh, then I am honored..."

"But you think that as long as you are like this, Visalia will forget her misgivings, treat you like her own child, and trust you like a deputy," Lee interrupted him, "as if she had never suffered the pain of losing a son?"

The count's voice was calm, without the slightest rise or fall.

Yet Yannik's expression changed slightly.

The head of the Renewed Court's eyes turned cold in an instant, no longer relaxed and easy.

Lee said no more. He only walked expressionlessly toward Lausanne the Second.

But Yannik's figure flashed, blocking his path.

"Junior, you have overstepped," Lee said, neither surprised nor agitated, as if he had expected this long ago.

But Yannik's expression was cold.

"I just remembered something, Lord Regent of the Corleone family. It seems this fellow came to Jade City on your ship, transported by you?"

Lee did not answer.

Yannik narrowed his eyes.

"Then are you trying to help him escape alive, so he can continue stirring up the conspiracy, or are you simply going to silence him, so he cannot admit the fact that you were colluding together?"

Lausanne the Second lay quietly on the ground, his eyes empty as he gazed at the night sky.

Lee could not be bothered to answer.

"Move."

"Forgive me, but I cannot obey. I am acting under His Highness's command to eliminate evil for the people. How could I let you..."

"There are only us here, junior. Stop concealing it."

Lee said coldly:

"Even if you fan the flames here and push the waves along, what can you gain?"

Yannik's smile also disappeared.

"Very well. It seems you know too. At this moment, the key to Jade City's struggle lies with this chess piece. Whoever captures this chess piece gains the initiative in the situation."

Chess piece.

So in the end, I am only a chess piece.

A chess piece following the lines of the game.

Lausanne the Second, lying on the ground waiting to die, subconsciously clenched his right fist.

No, his right hand was already gone.

Strange. Was this phantom limb and phantom pain?

So he clenched it tighter.

Just like before, that boy who called himself a ranger.

"Therefore, he is no longer only a chess piece, but also a bargaining chip."

Yannik sneered.

"Then, in order to smoothly obtain this bargaining chip and exchange it for the Kingdom of Stars' support, Lee, what are you willing to pay?"

"It is not yet your place to question me, junior."

"Then the Nation of Night's diplomacy..."

At that moment, Lee and Yannik both changed expression.

In the next second, the two of them swayed together.

Lee dropped to one knee, his eyes tightly shut, his face bitter.

"Please, Master, Grandmaster, Senior Brother... I cannot, I cannot..."

He murmured, but the words that came out were not in the common tongue, but another unfamiliar language.

"Let me out, out... Let me out... Just a while, just a while..."

Yannik's condition was somewhat better. He covered his forehead and withdrew several meters, barely stabilizing his balance.

Damn it. This anomalous ability is...

He had just recovered from his fright when shock and anger surged together. He turned his head toward the other side.

At some point, Lausanne the Second had already stood, holding the sword in his left hand.

"You bastards..."

Though his wounds were terrifying, though his figure was swaying and close to collapse, the bloodkin killer still glared with eyes full of hatred and forced himself to step forward.

Step by step, he walked with difficulty toward the far eastern bloodkin kneeling on the ground, who had lost consciousness.

"You, you always have your own reasons. For every sort of excuse, every kind of interest, every sort of ideal, haha, you fight without end, struggle without end..."

"You think that with those reasons, you have the qualifications, that you can dominate other people's fates without any burden, and even take pride in it, looking so selfless and ready to die. You, you make me sick. Sick..."

Yannik frowned.

At this moment, Lausanne the Second's eyes were dazed and muddled. He held the sword in his left hand with difficulty, pointing it at Lee's head.

Lee still had his eyes tightly shut, submerged in illusion and completely unaware.

"No, it should not be me, should not be me. I am not worthy, not worthy. Forgive me, forgive me..."

Yannik was about to step forward, but when he saw Lee's condition, his eyes turned, and he withdrew the step he had taken.

Why should he stop this?

Lausanne the Second's gaze lost focus, his face desolate.

"But actually, actually, you are all nothing but shit."

Nothing but shit.

Nothing more than another chess piece in this pitiful game.

"You are all part of this world's fate, and you should all end with it!"

Lausanne the Second clenched his teeth, turned ruthless, and cut out with his sword.

Behind him, Yannik quietly curled the corner of his mouth.

Hiss!

The sword edge cut into flesh.

In the next second, Lausanne the Second felt brilliant light burst before his eyes, so dazzling that he instinctively turned his head and shut his eyes.

Yannik, who was watching, was similarly startled. He raised a hand to block the light and retreated swiftly.

What happened?

But Lausanne the Second, whose eyes were closed, felt a drilling, burning pain in his left hand. His sword instantly left his grip.

"Ahhhhh!"

He grunted in agony. He only felt an indescribably scorching wave of heat coming from ahead, making him want to curl up and hide his head.

Under the heat wave's assault, the already weak Lausanne the Second fell to the ground. This instead restored a moment of clarity to his mind, and the killer opened his eyes with difficulty.

He froze.

It was flame.

At some point, Lee had disappeared. In his place was a human figure covered entirely in firelight.

Raging flames swept over the figure's limbs, body, and head, emitting waves of terrifying heat that were impossible to withstand.

The burning man stepped forward.

The heat wave rolled in.

The earth and stone he stepped across melted, scorching and black, releasing ominous smoke.

The surrounding streets were illuminated as bright as day.

Within sight, even the air twisted and warped.

The dazed Lausanne the Second shuddered. A voice from deep within his blood immediately roared madly at him:

"No! No! No! Run! Run! Run! Run now, run now!"

Lausanne the Second had just opened his mouth and tried to crawl backward when his vision went black.

Every part of every tissue in his body shrank the instant it touched high temperature, stiffening until movement became difficult.

Burning pain.

Unable to move.

Unable even to die.

All the fighting forms and skills this body had once known so well were, in that instant, suppressed by instinctive fear and vanished completely.

No.

Lausanne the Second trembled. Only now, at this moment, did despair truly fill his heart.

No.

Yannik, who had retreated into the distance, was equally astonished. He stared blankly at the terrifying "burning man" who was slowly advancing along the street and roasting everything around him.

What made him even more uncomfortable was not this scene, but the fact that he discovered...

His own body was trembling uncontrollably.

Inside his body, every organ and every piece of flesh that belonged to bloodkin was crazily urging him, forcing him to turn and flee.

Fire.

That was fire.

Fire!

It was the second natural enemy of all bloodkin in this world, besides the sun.

In the next second, the piercing flames on the burning man's body suddenly dimmed, then went out.

The surrounding scene became clear once more.

Yannik's eyes widened.

After the flames went out, what remained in the embers was a humanoid monster wearing simple metal armor, its flesh red, turned outward.

With one hand, it gripped Lausanne the Second's neck and effortlessly lifted him.

The bloodkin killer trembled, powerless to resist.

"Do you see?"

The monster spoke. Its voice was hoarse and unpleasant, like torn silk.

"This is my true appearance. This is my essence before I obtained immortality."

The monster twisted its neck, revealing red skin that was clearly healed burn tissue. Its pitted head and face had no hair, the tissues layered over one another, its features twisted and inhuman.

Its appearance was hateful.

Ugly and loathsome.

Like a demon.

The monster, once Count Lee, gave an unpleasant laugh.

"I too was once a chess piece, ground down on destiny's chessboard. I passed through ignorance, doubted myself, and struggled all the way before finally reaching where I am today, step by step."

Those were the years before his death, when he still counted as human. They had left him with blessings and curses.

Haunting eternity.

Impossible to flee.

Impossible to be released.

"Brat."

The burned-beyond-recognition Lee still had scattered embers and sparks on his body, but he did not care.

"Your little moans of grievance still fall far short."

Lausanne the Second, gripped by the throat, felt the burning sensation at his neck almost suffocate him. He wanted to raise his hand to resist, but from his skin outward, so long as any part of him slightly approached Lee, whose lingering heat remained, it would stiffen in pain and lose control, unless he retreated backward.

Not only that, from the other party's body, the ground he had walked across, and even the air, every wisp of smoke, every lifted ember, every bursting spark made him tremble violently as terror bred within him.

Only when Lee snorted disdainfully and threw the curled-up Lausanne to the ground did it end.

Like throwing away a rag.

Escaping the hell of high-temperature roasting, Lausanne the Second trembled and finally regained the ability to move.

But after reason returned, the shame he felt was even greater than the pain.

"Why... why..."

Lausanne the Second raised his head in disbelief.

"Fire. Fire."

He endured the fear filling his heart, trying hard to understand this violation of common sense before him.

"But how could..."

Was fire not the nemesis of immortals and all evil things?

Historically, was the method people used to identify and deal with vampires not burning them to death with fire?

But this old vampire...

Why?

Why could he...

This violated reason at its root!

"I had heard of it, but this is also my first time seeing it. Truly breathtaking."

The one who spoke was Yannik.

Looking at the trail of fire left behind the other man, the head of the Hollier family subconsciously raised an arm to shield himself while approaching carefully, flinching from time to time as if avoiding splashing sparks.

"Historically, there have been bloodkin who could control fire. But a bloodkin who fears no flame, who wears fire as clothing, who can even be reborn by bathing in fire..."

He looked at the monstrous-faced count of the Nation of Night with complicated feelings.

"There is only this one."

Lee did not speak and did not turn back.

"The last of the terrifying Four Wings under the Night King, or perhaps, the foundation of the Four Wings."

Yannik was nervous and fearful.

"The logistics officer, though that is only a flattering title. To be precise, the execution officer: Red Wing, Lee Corleone."

Bloodkin.

Unafraid of flame.

Wearing fire as clothing.

Reborn in fire?

Lausanne the Second opened his eyes wide. His expression was as though he had heard someone say:

Sheep fed on wolves.

Insects survived by eating birds.

Rabbits specialized in hunting hawks and falcons.

"According to my mother, he was a blacksmith in life."

A blacksmith?

Lausanne the Second still could not understand.

But...

"But not an ordinary blacksmith."

Under Lausanne the Second's shocked gaze, the bloodkin councilor stared fixedly at the expressionless Red Wing, his tone grave.

"Legend says that during the War of Eradication, the first legendary anti-magic armament, the Rising Sun Saber..."

Yannik narrowed his eyes.

"He was the one who forged its billet."