The battlefield had grown still—so still that even the drifting embers refused to move.

  Draculius Corvan stood at the heart of that silence, his hand wrapped effortlessly around Zero’s throat. The hybrid’s body dangled, helpless, twitching in terror.

  Those ancient crimson eyes…

  Eyes that had seen the birth and death of kingdoms…

  Stared coldly at the Vatican’s champion.

  “Blinded by arrogance,”

  Draculius murmured, tightening his grip.

  Zero gagged, blood streaming down his chin.

  But Draculius suddenly shifted his gaze—not to Zero, but to Elric Callus.

  The Callus patriarch stiffened as the progenitor’s gaze touched him.

  Not in threat—

  But in familiarity.

  Draculius exhaled softly through his nose.

  “…You are the father.”

  A faint, amused breath escaped him.

  “Blinded by pride and ego… tch.”

  He chuckled quietly, nostalgia brushing the edge of his voice.

  “You are more alike than I thought.”

  Elric’s brows furrowed.

  “Alike…? To who?”

  Draculius’s eyes softened with distant memory—

  the silhouette of a tall, broad-shouldered man standing behind Elric…

  His son.

  Callius Corvan, long dead.

  “Yes…” Draculius whispered, almost to himself.

  “There it is. The bloodline. The stubbornness.”

  Elric felt both warmth and dread crawl through his chest.

  But the moment broke abruptly.

  A streak of radiant gold crashed down between Draculius and Zero.

  FWOOM—!!

  Wings of pure celestial fire unfurled—four in total, their feathers singed and torn.

  A blade of holy light swung toward Draculius’s neck.

  He raised a single hand.

  CLANG—!!

  He caught the holy blade as if it were a falling leaf.

  The attacker—

  Battle-worn, bleeding, winged—

  slid back gracefully, landing in a kneeling stance as her wings cushioned her fall.

  Her silver hair was torn.

  Her armor cracked.

  Her aura fraying.

  But her eyes were empty and cold.

  Saint Serena Corvan.

  His daughter.

  Long thought dead.

  Draculius did not glare.

  He did not roar.

  He did not retaliate.

  His face softened—not with tenderness, but with a deep, soul-worn sadness.

  “…Serena,” he murmured.

  She showed no reaction.

  Only raised her blade again.

  Draculius’s heart tightened.

  Puppet strings… even now…

  Those eyes were empty, her soul shackled.

  In a single, gentle motion, he redirected her strike and pushed her aside with a small gust of controlled force. Serena glided back, her wings spreading to steady her landing.

  She remained motionless, expression blank, battle stance ready—

  but waiting.

  Draculius’s eyes narrowed.

  For her to appear so precisely…

  His gaze flicked to Zero’s trembling form.

  …someone commanded her to intervene the moment his life was at risk.

  “Killing you would complicate things,”

  Draculius spoke to Zero without looking at him.

  “It seems you are more important than I assumed.”

  Zero’s instincts exploded in raw panic.

  He ran.

  He didn’t think—he simply ran, driven by the primal terror that eclipsed pride and reason.

  He made it three steps.

  Draculius raised one hand.

  Shadows rushed in like a tidal wave—

  forming tendrils that wrapped Zero’s chest, limbs, mouth, dragging him back screaming silently.

  Zero struggled viciously—but nothing budged.

  As the shadows swallowed his body, only his eyes remained visible, trembling.

  He thought one final desperate plea:

  Save me… Master…

  The shadows constricted—

  folded—

  collapsed—

  Then vanished into a single point.

  Zero was gone.

  Serena’s wings stiffened.

  She no longer sensed her command target.

  She returned to her battle-ready stance, expression unreadable, holy light flickering through cracked feathers.

  Draculius exhaled.

  Since she has appeared… then where is…

  A calm voice responded behind him.

  “Right here.”

  Kevlar walked into the battlefield, stepping over broken stone and fallen banners.

  His four black wings were gone.

  His feet touched the ground.

  His expression relaxed.

  “Did you think she would defeat me?” he teased.

  Draculius allowed himself a smile.

  “If that were the case, I’d drag your unconscious body across the floor myself.”

  A soft laugh passed between progenitor and Shadowborn.

  But the next presence made the entire battlefield inhale sharply.

  A voluptuous silhouette materialized at Kevlar’s side—

  long dark curls, dangerous curves, elegance dripping from every motion.

  Lilith Corvan.

  Her arrival was quieter than Serena’s, yet far more arresting.

  Every soldier paused.

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  Seraphine Valencrest’s eyes widened—staring directly at Kevlar.

  Lilith noticed immediately.

  She smirked.

  Then slid an arm around Kevlar’s, leaning her body against him with shameless intimacy.

  She raised her chin and threw Seraphine a playful, taunting look.

  Seraphine froze, biting her lip in irritation.

  Lady Mereth, noticing everything, stifled a teasing smile and glanced at Theoren—who sighed heavily like a father watching teenage drama during the apocalypse.

  Before any words could break the awkwardness—

  Kevlar raised his voice.

  His tone echoed across the entire battlefield.

  He stood tall, shadows coiling behind him.

  “I am Kevlar Callus. The Shadowborn you’ve spoken of. The one your crusade sought.”

  A ripple went through soldiers on both sides.

  “I stand here now not to escalate this bloodshed—

  but to end this conflict.”

  His voice lowered as he looked around at the wounded, the dying, the fallen.

  “The instigator—Zero—is gone.

  His generals defeated.

  There is no purpose left in this slaughter.”

  Silence.

  Then—

  “Cease your weapons.”

  “Tend to your wounded.”

  “…and bury the unrest.”

  Those last words carried sorrow and weight far beyond his age.

  Kevlar turned to the Vatican knights.

  “Your commanders have fallen.

  Your crusade has ended.

  Gather your people and return to your holy land.”

  His voice turned cold.

  “I offer mercy… once.

  Never twice.

  Tell your master.”

  The Vatican knights hesitated—

  looked at Serena—

  then at Kevlar—

  then at the unconscious generals being carried away—

  And finally withdrew toward the realm border.

  Serena ceased her stance and also followed suit with the Vatican knight. Even retreating she remained silent and emotionless, leaving only a single glance at Kevlar.

  With their departure, the Four Houses began tending to the wounded.

  The battlefield slowly shifted from war to grim recovery.

  The heads of the Four Houses—Elric, Mereth, Kazane, and Theoren—and their heirs formed a circle with Draculius, Kevlar, and Lilith.

  Tension hummed between ancient and mortal.

  Until Kazane finally broke the silence.

  “So what now? Are we supposed to wag our tails because a vampire saved us?”

  Mereth sighed.

  “Lord Kazane, do not lump them with common vampires. Those three standing before us are… beyond classification.”

  Lilith chuckled.

  “That is high praise, Lady Mereth. From someone who has killed more of my kind than most mortals alive.”

  Mereth smirked.

  “It is because of that experience I know the difference.”

  Theoren spoke next.

  “But truthfully… we have never met an Ancient One in living history. Only read of them.”

  Draculius replied casually.

  “Humans have met several throughout the ages.

  Most simply lacked the lifespan to tell the tale.”

  Seraphine blinked.

  “So… someone survived?”

  Draculius smiled—not at her, but at Lilith.

  Eslene gasped.

  “She… she was human once? But no human-turned-vampire becomes an Ancient—”

  Draculius lifted a hand.

  “Unless they are turned by me. And my daughter here does have a unique body constitution than normal human”

  Kazane crossed his arms.

  “So there are special cases of humans with unique bodies turning into absurd monsters?”

  A brief silence fell after Kazane finished speaking.

  It was Draculius who broke the quiet—slowly, deliberately.

  His voice carried that ancient cadence that felt older than time itself.

  “Yes… it has happened,” Draculius said, the weight of ages pressing into every word.

  “Though far less frequently now. In the earliest centuries, human bodies were far more… receptive.”

  That statement alone made several of the younger hunters swallow nervously.

  The veterans stiffened.

  Lilith folded her arms, her gaze drifting away as though recalling memories she wished she could forget.

  Draculius continued,

  “Since long before your written history began, humanity produced rare individuals whose physical forms were… anomalous. Resistant to fire… skin like tempered stone… senses that pierced night… bodies that mended as fast as they were damaged. Such traits were not supernatural—merely exceptional.”

  Mereth lifted a brow.

  “We have those recorded. We called them ‘gifted.’ They rarely lived long.”

  “Naturally,” Draculius replied,

  “because kingdoms, tribes, and warlords coveted them. And when one of these gifted humans was turned into a vampire—if the sire was strong enough—the transformation would magnify the gift into a supernatural faculty.”

  Kazane crossed his arms thoughtfully.

  “So the legends were true. Fire-bloods. Iron-skinned. Beings who walked through arrows unscathed…”

  “Some,” Draculius affirmed,

  “could even conjure flame from their blood, or harden their bodies beyond steel… though most lost their minds in the transformation.”

  Sarville murmured under his breath,

  “They would’ve been monsters…”

  Draculius turned his gaze toward him.

  “They were children of their circumstances. I pity them even now.”

  Elric’s expression tightened.

  “Then why are they no longer seen? Our records after the 2nd Vampire War show no such beings.”

  Draculius’s expression finally darkened—seriously, gravely.

  “Because a Royal One attempted to exploit this phenomenon.”

  Everyone stiffened.

  Even Lilith’s expression hardened.

  “A Royal One?” Mereth echoed.

  She knew what that meant—not just a noble, but a vampire of the highest sovereign lineage.

  Draculius nodded slowly.

  “He was… brilliant. Talented. Ambitious. But… utterly deranged.”

  A faint tremor ran through Lucien’s hands.

  The elders of every House leaned in closer despite themselves.

  Draculius spoke, each sentence colder than the last:

  “He believed the vampire race had stagnated. That we were too predictable, too limited in potential. So he devised a theory:

  If special humans possessed ‘seeds’ of power… then turning them would cultivate those seeds into supernatural fruits.”

  Seraphine’s breath hitched.

  “So he hunted them?”

  “Yes,” Draculius answered,

  “in secret, he orchestrated a centuries-long operation. Entire villages wiped out. Tribes erased from existence. Children stolen from their homes at night. Adults abducted and experimented upon.”

  He paused.

  “Some he turned. Others he dissected alive to understand their bodies.”

  A few hunters turned pale.

  Even the hardened warriors felt bile rise.

  Lilith looked down, her jaw clenched.

  She had lived through those centuries—she had seen enough to understand.

  Kazane exhaled shakily.

  “Hundreds died…?”

  Draculius met his gaze.

  “Thousands.”

  The realization crushed the air out of the gathered warriors.

  Draculius continued, voice solemn:

  “A fire-resistant child turned into a vampire capable of creating wildfire with a touch.”

  “A stone-skinned warrior turned into something akin to a walking fortress—invulnerable to blades or arrows.”

  “A woman with heightened senses turned into a beast whose perception rivaled gods—who could hear hearts beating from leagues away.”

  Elric whispered, horrified:

  “This… this would have been a catastrophe beyond any war.”

  “It would have been,” Draculius replied,

  “if they retained their minds.”

  Kazane nodded grimly.

  “Let me guess—they didn’t.”

  “No,” Draculius confirmed,

  “the transformation shattered them. Their enhanced traits were too overwhelming for an undeveloped psyche. Most lost their sanity within hours.”

  Eslene covered her mouth, trembling.

  Lucien placed a hand on her back.

  “Those that lived longer… became hungry. Ravenous. They consumed everything—blood, flesh, even stone.”

  The atmosphere grew frigid.

  Even the wind seemed reluctant to move.

  Sensing the heaviness settle onto the crowd, Draculius finally revealed the final truth.

  His eyes darkened—not cruel, but resigned.

  “I killed them.”

  No theatrics.

  No arrogance.

  Just pure sorrow.

  “Every last one.”

  Silence.

  Dead, suffocating silence.

  He continued:

  “Not because they were evil. They were victims. But if they were allowed to grow… their hunger, their powers… would have consumed entire kingdoms. Perhaps the world.”

  Mereth whispered softly,

  “…you spared them the guilt… the pain…”

  Draculius nodded with a heavy sigh.

  “It was the kindest mercy I could give.”

  Kazane swallowed.

  “And the Royal One who created them?”

  Lilith answered before Draculius could.

  “My father killed him too.”

  Draculius looked away, expression unreadable.

  Not proud.

  Not remorseful.

  Simply tired.

  “I erased every last trace of his work. His laboratories. His research. His lineage.”

  He finally looked at the House leaders.

  “I did so not for dominance… but to prevent the Age of Monsters from ever arriving.”

  The hunters looked at each other—truly looked—and the pieces clicked:

  This was not a tyrant.

  Not a calamity.

  Not the monster Vatican scriptures painted.

  He was…

  a guardian.

  A warden of balance.

  And the Houses felt a strange shift, a new perspective forming in their hearts.

  If he had not acted…

  the human race might not exist today.

  Shock.

  Gratitude.

  Fear.

  Respect.

  All mixed in the Houses’ eyes.

  The progenitor was nothing like history painted him.

  Kevlar sensed their swirling doubts.

  He spoke calmly.

  “Respected Heads… I know your minds are clouded.

  But do not doubt your ancestors.

  They protected humanity to their last breath and only did what was needed.

  That truth stands.”

  Those words struck deep.

  Each House leader felt something settle in their chest.

  But Kevlar wasn’t done.

  “There is one lie, however…

  that has lasted far too long.”

  Elric inhaled sharply.

  “The Vatican,” he said quietly, bitterness twisting his voice.

  Kevlar’s gaze shifted to him.

  “The Callus House is a victim of that lie,” he said gently.

  “Your loyalty and your honor were used.

  Do not blame yourself....... Father.”

  Elric froze.

  Father.

  The word he believed he would never hear again.

  His breath shook.

  His vision blurred.

  “I… I am sorry…” Elric whispered, choking on the guilt as he covered his eyes with tears.

  “My son… I am so sorry…”

  Mereth placed a hand on his shoulder.

  Lucien stood beside him silently.

  Kevlar’s eyes moved to his brother.

  “…Hello, brother. It has been a while.”

  Lucien swallowed hard, tears building.

  “Yes… brother.

  A very long while.”

  Their reunion—raw, broken, emotional—finally cracked the hearts of every warrior present.

  Even Kazane sniffed discreetly.