The two survivors’ gazes froze solid as they watched Utia’s bloodstained hand withdraw from the cavity in Lance’s chest with elegant poise.
Dark red blood traced a viscous arc through the air, splattering onto the floor.
A final, broken groan escaped Lance’s throat. The last spark of light in his pupils extinguished completely. He collapsed like a pile of mud.
“Run—!!!”
Cisse’s roar was like a final, desperate bellow.
His reason shattered before the absolute gap in power. Only primal instinct remained. Facing this monstrous vampire woman, he felt no urge to even attempt an attack.
Yet in the next moment.
Pfft…
A faint, muffled sound.
Cisse’s movements halted. In disbelief, he looked down to see a pale, slender arm protruding straight through the center of his own chest.
Strangely, that hand was spotless—not a single drop of blood on it.
Time froze once more…
Dill saw the expression of shock and agony locked on Cisse’s face.
She saw his mouth move as if trying to speak, only for a gush of blood mixed with chunks to pour out.
Then she saw Cisse’s head tilt backward at an utterly unnatural angle… severed from his neck.
“Ara, it’s been so long since I killed humans. I forgot how fragile your bodies are. Should I have left one alive?” Utia said lightly, casually flexing her wrist.
Then, with a smiling gaze, she turned to Dill, who stood rooted in place.
“You’re lucky, little cutie. You get to be last~ Hehe~”
She laughed softly and approached, her steps still leisurely and graceful.
“I suggest you behave. I don’t want human blood sticking to me.”
Looking at the slowly advancing woman with that smiling face—and then at the two broken, still-bleeding corpses on the ground—
Dill’s body began to tremble violently. Her voice, suppressed to its limit with rage, squeezed out from her throat.
“You… bastard!!!”
In the next instant, she drew her dagger and thrust fiercely at Utia’s face. But the latter caught her wrist precisely, stopping it effortlessly just three centimeters away.
“Wouldn’t surrendering nicely be better?” she said in a tone almost pitying.
But then Utia suddenly noticed… a dark opening on the back of the blade.
A gun barrel?
Bang!
A deafening gunshot exploded in the narrow alley. Flames erupted from the dagger’s hilt.
Utia’s head snapped backward from the blast. A bloom of blood burst on her pale forehead as the bullet embedded deep in her skull.
Success?
Yet that hope was crushed in the next second.
Utia’s tilted head slowly… straightened back up.
The bullet lodged deep in her frontal bone let out a faint sizzle.
The playful, teasing expression on her face vanished, replaced by pure, icy fury.
“You… hurt me.”
The instant her words fell, the hand still gripping Dill’s wrist clenched with sudden force!
Crack—
A crisp snap of bone rang out.
Agonizing pain surged, but Dill had no time to scream. An overwhelming, irresistible force slammed into her abdomen.
Utia kicked her squarely in the stomach.
Boom!
The terrifying power sent Dill flying like a kite with cut strings, hurtling toward the Western District.
Only then did Utia realize.
Oops… I might have used a bit too much strength.
…
Thud…
A muffled boom echoed across the skies of Eternal Night City.
Sylvie, hurrying toward the grand hall, stopped abruptly. She instinctively turned toward the sound.
“What happened over there…”
She murmured to herself, shaking her head and pulling her hooded cloak tighter.
Better not get involved…
Sylvie quickened her pace, rushing toward the Queen’s hall.
The priority is to get back before Lady Klal notices.
Sylvie wrapped her hood snugly, leaving the distant boom and faint commotion behind.
Fights, hunts, or accidents in Eternal Night City had nothing to do with her. She didn’t want to interfere—and had no right to.
After all, she was just a lowly blood livestock. Nothing more.
Near the city center, patrolling vampire guards passed her without question. They recognized this frequent hall visitor as the Queen’s blood livestock.
Soon, the towering black palace came into view. Its soaring spires pierced Eternal Night City’s dome, inspiring instinctive dread at first glance.
Climbing the stairs to the hall, vampires on either side cast contemptuous looks. Sylvie was long accustomed to it. Eyes down, she hurried onward.
The Queen should be asleep by now… she thought as she ascended.
What she needed to do was slip back to her small room, pretend nothing happened, sleep it off, and return to normal service.
No—that wouldn’t work.
What she needed was to kneel honestly, abjectly, before the Queen’s hall all night—until the Queen woke and acknowledged her.
Because that was the kind of person Klal was…
Sylvie knew it all too well.
That exalted Queen possessed near-eternal life and boundless power—matched by arrogance and temperament etched into her very bones.
Her forgiveness was never a gift. It was alms—earned through doubled caution, base humility, and prolonged punishment.
Being discovered secretly feeding blood to another vampire—regardless of reason or willingness—was, in Klal’s eyes, unauthorized overreach.
If she slipped back quietly, pretending ignorance… it would be seen as worse negligence, even “disrespect.”
What awaited wouldn’t be lucky peace, but far greater torment.
So she had to confess.
She had to declare it openly, in the most direct, abject way: Sylvie knows she was wrong and begs Her Majesty the Queen for forgiveness!
She had to endure the deserved punishment until the Queen grew bored… or her mood improved.
Sylvie stopped before the massive black doors of the hall. The usual guards—Sulga and Utia—were absent.
Probably off capturing those humans…
She took a deep breath and gently pushed the doors open.
The pitch-black hall was shrouded in deathly silence, as always. At the far end, the throne was veiled in flowing scarlet canopy. Cold moonlight poured from high windows, lending ethereal beauty to the dais.
She’s already asleep, as expected.
Sylvie crept lightly to the throne, then slowly—and with practiced ease—knelt on the floor.
She deliberately quieted her breathing, bowing her head like a devout, humble pilgrim. She remained utterly still, her petite figure seemingly about to be swallowed by darkness.
She didn’t know how long she would kneel.
Perhaps until dawn. Perhaps longer.
Perhaps until the Queen woke by chance, glanced at her indifferently… or simply forgot.
Sylvie’s longest had been six full days.
Looks like I’m in for it again…
Sylvie sighed helplessly in her heart.
Yet just as she settled to quietly await the Queen’s forgiveness,
From behind the canopy came a teasing, sultry voice.
“The floor… is quite cold.”
“Huh?”
Sylvie jerked her head up, expression startled.
Not asleep?
She wouldn’t have been watching through the veil the whole time, right…
“Sylvie is begging her master’s forgiveness. The torment of the cold floor may ease the… guilt from Sylvie’s earlier unforgivable sin.” She said calmly, abjectly.
“Oh? Guilt?”
The voice behind the canopy held lazy amusement. It paused, as if appraising the prostrate figure below.
“Then do tell—what unforgivable sin have you committed?” she asked unhurriedly.
“Sylvie… without your permission, presumptuously used her blood to nourish another vampire, defiling what you bestowed as… solely yours. This is the sin of overreach—worthy of ten thousand deaths.” She answered carefully.
Silence filled the hall once more. Then a very soft, pleased, teasing laugh drifted from behind the canopy.
“Your answers are always so perfect… perfect to the point of seeming unreal.”
As the latter words fell, the amusement in her tone turned abruptly cold.
Behind the veil, the figure seemed to lean forward slightly. Even through the canopy, Sylvie felt that gaze piercing her skin, seeking any trace of falsehood.
“Perfect… because every word Sylvie speaks is true.” Her voice remained steady and humble, now tinged with just the right touch of grievance.
“Everything about Sylvie—her thoughts, actions, even the meaning of her existence—stems from reverence for you. That… is the reason Sylvie continues to live.”
Another suffocating silence.
“Heh.”
At last, an ambiguous soft laugh broke the quiet, followed by an icy command.
“Come up…”