The interrogation stretched on for nearly an hour. The vampire squirmed under Leo's gaze, every answer dragged out with either a glare, another subtle squeeze to his chest, or Arthur's cold blade poised too close to his throat.
Piece by piece, the truth came out.
Right now, the great castle of the north stood nearly empty. Lucius had taken the bulk of his forces into the Shadowland, leaving only a handful of retainers behind. But not unguarded.
Carl remained. Lucius's brother. An A3-ranked vampire and also a werewolf strong enough to be compared to him. They commanded what remained of the garrison. And beneath the castle, in the deepest of its prisons, they learned the whereabout of Luciana. Shackled and hidden away.
At last, Leo rose from his chair. His shadow seemed to stretch unnaturally long across the tavern floor, and his bloody hand left streaks across the wood as he set it down. He gave the vampires a smile that was cold and terrifying.
"You'd better run while you can," he said softly, each word carrying weight. "And when you reach your master... tell him this. Tell him Victor Black is here for him."
The vampires needed no more urging. Terrified, they bolted from the tavern and fled toward the castle.
Arthur watched them go, his expression unreadable. "Are you certain we should've let them leave? They'll alert the whole stronghold."
Leo nodded once. "Exactly."
Briva frowned, confusion plain on her face. "You're saying that like it's a good thing."
Arthur's eyes flicked to Leo, and then the corner of his mouth curled in faint understanding. "Ah. I see."
Briva huffed, folding her arms. "Well, I don't. Someone explain."
Elna's voice was calm, almost matter-of-fact, but her blue eyes gleamed. "Vampires can dissolve into shadow or smoke. It isn't the same as Shadow Step, it's cruder, slower, but in confined spaces it makes them dangerous. The same goes for some of their blood abilities."
Briva tilted her head. "But... aren't you and Leo also vampires?"
Elna shook her head. "Not exactly. I'm still only B-rank. I can't face an A3 and win. And Leo..." She glanced at him briefly. "...Leo isn't a complete vampire."
Leo's smile returned, though it was sharper now, edged with something predatory. "That's right. And when those three reach the castle, Carl will know I'm here. He'll hate it---hate it enough to come out himself."
Arthur gave a single nod, hand resting on the hilt of his sword. "So instead of storming the castle on their terms... we draw them out onto ours."
Briva blinked, then grinned slowly as realization dawned. "Oh. Oh, I get it now. You're setting the bait."
"Exactly." Leo's gaze drifted toward the distant silhouette of the castle. "Carl won't be able to resist. He's too arrogant. And when he comes to us, we'll be ready."
The group exchanged grim nods. Already, the air outside seemed to shift, thicker, heavier, as if the night itself knew what was coming.
"Then let's prepare," Arthur said.
No one argued.
...
The throne hall of the dark castle was vast, but it felt suffocatingly empty. Stone pillars stretched upward into shadows that swallowed the ceiling, and the only sound was the low crackle of braziers burning with pale, sickly-blue fire.
Carl sat upon the throne like a storm barely contained in human form. His claws tapped against the armrest, each scrape echoing across the hollow chamber. None of the lesser vampires dared approach. They had all felt it, the rage rolling off him like heat from molten iron.
Yes, he was angry. Furious. Ever since the day he failed to claim the Heart of Nemesis, his brother had looked at him with disdain. Lucius had stripped him of respect, stripped him of glory, and left him here, guarding scraps and surrounded by weaklings.
Only one thing had brought him satisfaction: the screams of his sister as he broke her mind and body in the dungeons below. Even the memory of her pain curled his lips into a smile.
But the smile died as quickly as it came when the great doors slammed open and a frantic vampire stumbled inside.
"My lord! My lord!"
Carl's voice was a low snarl. "How dare you barge in unbidden?"
The vampire's eyes were wide with terror, his body trembling, but he ignored the threat. "My lord, it's him. The mage. Victor Black, he is in Reistara village."
For a heartbeat, silence reigned. Then Carl's eyes widened, gleaming blue in the firelight. A savage grin split his face, equal parts hatred and wild joy.
"That cursed bastard..." he growled, rising to his full height, his shadow stretching monstrously across the hall. "I'll rip him apart with my own hands."
"My lord, wait!" the messenger stammered. "Shouldn't we draw them into the castle, let them come to us…"
One glance from Carl was all it took. The lesser vampire froze, his body stiffening, eyes wide. Blood poured from his ears and nose, and with a single ragged gasp, he crumpled to the floor, lifeless.
The hall fell into absolute silence.
Carl licked his teeth, then let his form unravel into black shadow, his body dissolving into a boiling mass of smoke. The braziers flickered violently as he rose into the air, a living darkness seething with fury.
"I don't wait for prey," his voice echoed, layered and distorted, as he drifted toward the doors. "Prey waits for me."
And with that, he slipped out of the throne hall, a storm of shadow hurtling toward Victor Black.
...
When Leo and the others prepared for battle, they left the village behind. They would not risk civilians; the clash ahead would shatter more than stone. Step by step, they marched toward the looming silhouette of the northern castle, its spires cutting into the storm-dark sky.
But halfway down the cracked road, Arthur froze. His hand went to his sword.
"He's coming."
Leo smirked. "Then let's welcome him."
The air split with a thunderous roar. From above, a red comet of blood and fire streaked down, crashing into the earth before them. The impact shook the ground, dust exploding outward. Out of the haze, Carl emerged, his blade already swinging in a killing arc meant to cleave them in half.
Steel rang like thunder. Arthur's sword caught the strike, sparks flaring between them. The ground beneath their feet cracked under the pressure.
Carl snarled, his fangs bared. "Who the hell are you?"
Arthur's gaze was cold, steady. "I'm the one you're going to fight."
But Carl's eyes had already shifted past him, locking onto Leo. Recognition flared—along with hatred.
"Long time no see," Leo said, his mocking smile like a knife in Carl's pride. "How are those injuries healing?"
Carl's face twisted, rage boiling over. With a burst of speed so violent the air howled, he broke past Arthur and charged at Leo. Yet Arthur was there again, steel flashing, blocking his blade before it could strike.
"I told you," Arthur said, his voice unshaken, "I'm your only opponent."
"Damn you!" Carl roared, blood exploding outward from his weapon in a scarlet storm.
The clouds above churned unnaturally, twisting into a spiral. Carl thrusted his sword skyward, and from the heavens descended a tornado of blood—writhing, screaming, alive. It crashed down, encasing Arthur in a prison of gore and wind.
Carl's lips curled into a savage grin as he spun and lunged for Leo, his sword descending in a brutal crimson arc.
Leo braced, Thorn's blade flashing—but Carl's strike tore straight through it, the force hurling Briva and Elna off their feet. The earth split beneath the blow.
For a moment, it looked as though the battle was over.
But then Carl's grin faltered. Where his sword had landed, there was no one. Only broken ground and empty air.
Behind him, Arthur's voice rang out. "You should've seen through it."
Carl spun just in time to glimpse Arthur's blade already descending. He twisted desperately, but too late. The sword carved clean through.
Dust and debris exploded outward. From the haze, Carl stumbled free—one arm gone at the shoulder, blood spraying in crimson arcs. He staggered to one knee, clutching the wound, his eyes blazing with fury and disbelief.
Arthur lowered his sword, his voice calm, almost disappointed. "I told you—I'm your only opponent. That was Real Illusion. A faint aura of magic lingers around such tricks. With your vampire sight, you should've noticed. But you didn't. Seems you're more of an idiot than I thought." He gave a faint smirk. "I just lost a bet to Leo."
Carl's teeth ground together hard enough to crack. "Don't think this is over!"
He roared, and the blood spraying from his wound began to writhe like living tendrils. Before their eyes, muscle fibers stretched out of the stump, knitting together. Bone cracked into place with a sickening snap. Flesh bubbled and reformed, steaming, until a new arm emerged—fresh, raw, and glistening like it had just clawed its way out of a womb.
In moments, his body was whole again. His chest heaved, his eyes burning, and the tatters of his sleeve fell away.
The smile returned—dark, feral. "Now…" His voice was low, vibrating with hunger. "…you'll see what a true vampire looks like."
...
Leo, Elna, and Briva were nearly at the castle gates when Leo suddenly stopped and glanced back with a sly smile.
"What is it?" Elna asked.
"I won the bet." He grinned wider, then turned back to the looming fortress. "Let's go."
The massive doors of the castle stood half-open, and waiting before them was a towering werewolf with mottled gray fur. His body was crisscrossed with scars, each one telling the story of old battles survived. Around him stood a pack of smaller werewolves and a few vampires, their glowing eyes fixed on the intruders.
"Welcome," the massive wolf said, his voice a low rumble that carried easily across the courtyard. "I am Dorin Dassler, second-in-command under Lord Carl." A cruel smile split his muzzle, sharp teeth glinting in the gloom. "And unlike him, I'm not an idiot."
"Elna," Leo said without hesitation, his voice suddenly hard, "go find Luciana. Remember what I told you—if you sense danger, you say the praying."
She gave a sharp nod and began to slip into the shadows.
"What about me?" Briva asked, bow already in her hand.
"You're with me," Leo replied. His eyes never left Dorin. "We're going to kill that big wolf."
Briva's gaze flicked to their opponent. His sheer size was overwhelming—his fur bristling like iron spikes, muscles rippling under his hide, every scar making him look more like a beast forged for war than anything mortal. She swallowed. "Can we even kill him?"
Dorin's deep laugh rolled out like thunder. "Kill me?" His nostrils flared as he sniffed the air, his sharp nose twitching. "Even from your scent, I know everything about you. Your mana capacity, your muscle strength, your bloodline." His crimson eyes fixed on Briva. "You… you're barely a B-rank at best. And you—" his gaze snapped to Leo, narrowing. "Strange scent. Wrong. But you're no more than A-rank. Maybe A-."
He threw his head back and howled, a piercing, guttural sound that shook the ground beneath their feet. "I am Dorin Dassler, an A2 werewolf who has lived for over two centuries! I've fought in wars you children cannot imagine—and bathed in the blood of kings and monsters alike."
Leo sighed, visibly annoyed. "Did you ramble this much before every fight? Or is it just when you're stalling because you're scared?"
A growl rumbled deep in Dorin's chest, and then he howled again. The very air trembled with the force of his cry. A wave of pressure burst outward, a blast of wind that would have hurled any normal human off their feet. Briva shielded her face with her arm, teeth gritted as the gale tore at her, but Leo stood unflinching.
"Let's begin." Leo's voice was calm as steel. Thorn materialized in his hand, pulsing with his aura. He charged forward without hesitation.
At the same time, Briva loosed her bowstring, arrows of condensed mana flying to cover him. Elna slipped completely into the shadows, gone from sight.
"Find that woman!" Dorin barked at his pack without looking away from Leo. "Do not let her free Luciana!"
The lesser wolves and vampires broke into a sprint toward the inner castle, their snarls echoing through the courtyard.
And then Dorin leapt, his enormous claw wreathed in red aura.
The collision was like thunder. Sword and claw met midair, the shockwave bursting outward in every direction, rattling the ancient stones of the castle walls.