233
Undercover Operation (2)
Rumble…
A distant thunder echoed, causing the walls and floor of the banquet hall to tremble. The chandelier hanging from the ceiling swayed back and forth, its crystals clinking like a dance of light.
Viscount Lavirusk, watching the chaotic display with a deep frown, let out a heavy sigh and lowered his head.
He spoke, “Sometimes, life throws you a curveball.”
The banquet hall was a sea of blood. The floor, which had been scrubbed clean daily by the head maid, was now smeared with entrails and flesh. The table, crafted from the finest wood of the Tsar’s land, was shattered, fit only for firewood.
And in the center of the hall, on a sofa, sat the one responsible for the carnage, casually swinging a leg. Not just a leg, but an axe in hand as well.
“Live for four hundred and thirty years, and you see a lot of those curveballs. It’s like living eight or nine human lifetimes, so you get eight or nine times the trouble. But you know what?”
“What?”
“Of all the chaos I’ve seen, never have I been as dumbfounded as today.”
The warrior didn’t respond, merely swinging the axe with a blank expression, devoid of any emotion, as if questioning whether he was even human.
Watching that impassive face, the viscount recalled two hours earlier. Back then, the warrior had the same blank look, bound in sturdy chains.
“Forgive my unannounced visit, gracious Viscount Lavirusk. The quality of the prey we caught was so exceptional, I came without permission to present it while it’s still fresh.”
The baron had bowed his head, dragging the warrior and his companions to the castle gates. But as soon as the gates closed behind them, the “prey” turned and began slaughtering the guards.
That was two hours ago. The blood-soaked banquet hall told the rest of the story.
The warrior and his companions had smashed and killed their way from the gates to the banquet hall, where they now sat, swinging an axe, laying out terms that were more threat than negotiation.
“Do you know it’s been a hundred and fifty years since this fortress was breached?”
“Should I?”
“It was when I legally took over this fortress from the previous viscount, according to the count’s decree.”
“Not interested. Why do you keep bringing up irrelevant details at the negotiation table?”
”…”
Negotiation? More like a threat disguised as one. The viscount felt his insides churn at the warrior’s attitude.
In any other situation, a high-ranking vampire and a transcendent of the fifth order like him wouldn’t be so easily threatened. He would have swiftly dealt with the intruders and punished the baron for treason.
The viscount and his undead army were among the top ten forces under the vampire count. Any intruders would be few, and there were defenses in place.
The problem was that most of these few intruders were transcendent beings of the fifth order or higher. The baron, who should have been held accountable, was now just a head rolling near the sofa.
“Stop with the unnecessary talk and make a decision. Are you in or out?”
The warrior’s demands were outrageous.
“You want me to offer you and your companions to the Blood Altar, and in return, you’ll spare my life?”
“That’s right. Instead of dying here, I’m giving you a chance to live.”
“Did you offer the same deal to the baron and his hunters?”
“I did.”
The viscount tilted his head. The axe that had beheaded the baron was the same one swinging now.
So, how can I be sure I won’t be killed?
Of course, asking that would likely stop the axe’s swing and send it flying toward him, so the viscount chose his words carefully.
“Why did you kill the baron?”
“I said I’d give him a chance to live, not that I’d let him live.”
“What?”
The warrior shrugged.
“Think about it. Even if I spared him, would he have survived?”
The viscount shook his head. He would have executed the baron for treason himself.
“Exactly. I’m giving you a choice. Die here now, or take your chances when I face the Blood Altar.”
Rumble…
The hall shook again. The viscount closed his mouth and looked up.
The distant thunder was part of the domain the warrior had opened. A storm of fire and lightning raged within the fortress walls, yet the warrior showed no signs of strain.
Moreover, his companions were still fighting the undead army throughout the fortress. Judging by their presence and abilities, they were clearly transcendent beings.
Even if he managed to evade the demigod-like warrior before him, could he escape the encirclement and pursuit of multiple transcendent beings?
The calculation was quick. The viscount rubbed his aching forehead and spoke.
“I’ll guide you to the Blood Altar. Give me some time to prepare.”
“Finally, some sense. Four hundred years, and you haven’t wasted them.”
”…”
“I’ll wait with my companions in an empty room. Don’t try anything foolish.”
The warrior rose from the sofa and left the hall. The viscount watched his back in a daze.
Chains emerged from thin air, cleaning the axe before returning it to his belt. At the door, he scratched his head, muttering to himself.
“Hmm? Four hundred years is still young? That’s your species, not mine. By human standards, I’m more than old enough…”
Thud.
The heavy banquet hall door closed smoothly, and the dark storm clouds outside dissipated.
The viscount finally let out a deep sigh and leaned back in his chair. He was certain of one thing.
That guy is insane.
“I have no idea where the altar is. I need to move quickly, even if I have to skip a few steps.”
And in his four hundred and thirty years of life, he’d learned one thing: never mess with a madman.
Despite asking for time to prepare, the period the viscount requested wasn’t long.
From what Dalen had experienced beyond the monitor, offering a sacrifice to the Blood Altar involved a complex procedure.
High-ranking vampires from the altar would visit to verify the sacrifice, and only after verification would the time and place for the offering be set.
Of course, given the viscount’s status, he could likely simplify the verification process, which is why Dalen had engaged in this negotiation.
‘Even so, just three days? Skipping the entire verification process?’
It seemed impossible without the viscount personally guaranteeing the sacrifice. Had the negotiation really gone that well?
Indeed, when dealing with ancient beings, sitting down for a conversation often proved more effective than swinging an axe.
[Dalen. What you did to that vampire was more of a threat than a conversation.]
Some might see it differently, but with so many people in the world, there are bound to be diverse opinions.
Sitting in the carriage on the way to the meeting place, Dalen thought this as he raised his chained hands to scratch his chin.
Then, he felt something drop. Looking down, he saw the chain binding his hands had snapped.
“Dalen. The chain’s broken.”
“Tsk. I don’t understand why they make the chains for sacrifices so weak.”
“It’s not the chain that’s weak, it’s your strength that’s too great. Let’s see. Tommy, can you handle it as you were taught?”
“Yes. Elle—Memento Elegus.”
A golden light illuminated the dark carriage.
Tommy, sitting across from Dalen, began to rewind the timeline of the chain binding Dalen’s hands, following his mentor’s guidance.
“You’ve improved a lot.”
“No, I’m still far behind you, Master.”
The young blond wizard shook his head, maintaining his focus.
As a disciple brought in by Felber during his time as an elder wizard, Tommy had grown significantly, despite his modesty.
It seemed like just yesterday he was kidnapped by a group of frogmen controlled by a disgraced senior, nearly reduced to a mere test subject.
Now, he not only assisted with Felber’s time manipulation spells but could also handle timelines without direct intervention from his master.
‘Come to think of it, Farn has improved a lot too. He’s grown taller and more muscular since his growth spurt.’
Farn.
Once a rogue mercenary employed by the Gallios Trading Company.
Now officially a member of the Holy Knights, he was progressing through the ranks, starting as a squire and working his way toward becoming a full-fledged knight.
Lucia had mentioned that the head of the Holy Knights, Edgar Reinhardt himself, was personally training the boy.
If the commander, known as the “Guide” due to his divine revelations, had called the boy a “young swordmaster” upon their first meeting, it was likely the boy would achieve great things one day.
“Even though he lost an eye and an arm to the Witch of Ashes. But that shouldn’t matter.”
Having a physical disability didn’t preclude one from becoming a hero.
Especially in this world, where magic, mysteries, and even gods were real.
After all, the formidable commander himself was known as the one-armed swordmaster, having lost not just an arm but both eyes.
“You seem deep in thought. Are you worried?”
“No, it’s not worry.”
“Then what is it?”
Was it a faint hope? Or perhaps a light excitement?
Whenever he saw the budding potential of those who might stand against the apocalypse, diverging from the fixed future he had witnessed hundreds of times, he felt a strange sensation.
Perhaps it was because, in many of those futures, Dalen had tried to end the apocalypse on his own rather than gathering allies.
In any case, it wasn’t a bad feeling. Gathering his thoughts, Dalen turned his head to look out through the bone bars.
Thud, thud, thud…
The bone carriage raced across the desolate plains.
Since they were on their way to offer a sacrifice directly at the Altar of the Blood Spirit, it was only natural that the carriage wasn’t traveling alone.
Surrounding it were dozens of skeletal chariots, over a hundred ghostly knights, and a massive escort of grotesque undead creatures with twisted bones and muscles.
Dalen and his companions were seated in the back of the carriage at the center of this procession.
Raising his hand cautiously, Dalen scratched his chin out of habit and spoke.
“They’re slowing down. We must be nearing the rendezvous point.”