Volume 8, Chapter 5 – Those Whose Paths Differ Cannot Make Plans Together

Located in southern Cold Night, the vampire territory—excluded by both the Cold Night royal capital and the Fire Cat lands—was a land eternally shrouded in darkness. No one knew why this place was a perpetual night. Even back when the World Tree continent was still regarded by the gods as the “Land of Exile,” there had been no distinction between day and night here. By this grace, nearly a quarter of all vampires on the continent resided in this territory.

The vast expanse of land received no sunlight, making ordinary vegetation nearly impossible to cultivate. Conversely, plants and magical beasts that could only thrive in darkness were abundant here. And with ordinary vampires’ fear of sunlight and their need to subsist on blood, a unique ecology had naturally formed.

Vampire society emphasized bloodlines with extreme, rigid hierarchy. Commoners and lesser vampires were obligated to serve as blood bags for higher-ranking vampires and purebloods—a duty that most often resulted in being drained to death. As for how lesser vampires survived, those with some capability might raise beastmen, who bred like rabbits, as blood slaves. Those even more lowly could only dwell along the territory’s borders, like bandits and mountain thieves, taking advantage of the night to raid neighboring beastmen settlements.

Such a blood-soaked, fearsome existence should logically have been jointly suppressed by the lords of surrounding territories. Yet the vampires’ formidable physical and magical prowess, combined with the eternal darkness of their domain, gave other lords pause. Anyone considering a campaign against the vampires must first weigh their own strength, then consider what benefits they might gain even if victorious.

Moreover, this was Cold Night. The beastmen who governed local territories were less lords in the continental sense and more akin to tribal chieftains. Their lands were small and fragmented. Someone in Cold Night had once roughly tallied the beastman tribes surrounding vampire territory. Setting aside the Fire Cat lands—separated by a natural chasm—the other two directions hosted at least three hundred tribes. So many tribes dividing such meager land could hardly unite into a force capable of opposing the vampires.

Thus a peculiar state-within-a-state had formed. Though nominally Cold Night’s domain, the vampires’ word carried more weight than the Cold Night king’s. Surrounding tribes, seeking peace, regularly paid tribute to the great vampire families. Those families, in turn, restrained their subordinate vampires from harassing beastman settlements—as if it were unclear who truly ruled.

Now, seated within a carriage draped in luxurious red carpets, was Estelle—the sixteen-year-old countess of the Oro territory in the Duchy of Bart, wearing a red gown with only a single strand of her blonde hair tied into a side ponytail.

The horses drawing her carriage were a Cold Night specialty: centaurs, beings half-human and half-horse. They were stronger than ordinary horses, superior in both endurance and speed. More importantly, they possessed intelligence and required no driver, able to navigate ruts and obstacles on their own. In Cold Night, only upper nobility could typically afford to hire six adult centaurs to draw a carriage.

“Haah.”

Gazing out at the gray plains beyond the window, Estelle lowered the curtain. She stretched her slender, white-stockinged legs toward the empty seat across from her and yawned broadly.

The maid attending her—a lesser vampire seated diagonally opposite—offered a wry smile.

“His Lordship the Count seems displeased.”

“I’ve told you not to call me ‘His Lordship the Count.’ Call me Estelle, or milady.”

Estelle stretched languidly. Her remarkably slender waist and moderately developed chest, paired with the lazy and soft moan of a cat arching its back, could drive countless souls to madness. Fia had been right to think so: if Estelle were fitted with cat ears, she would make countless women burn with envy at her devastating allure.

Indeed, even her adjutant maid found herself momentarily transfixed.

Estelle propped her head on one hand, her blood-red eyes filled with helplessness.

“This may be my homeland, but it’s too gloomy. I’m far more accustomed to my own territory. And this carriage is excessively luxurious. It makes me feel guilty. My domain has only just begun recovering, yet here I am enjoying such lavish treatment. If Sister and the people in my lands found out, I dread what they’d think.”

“It was a gift from that princess, was it not? You need only use it with peace of mind. Besides, if you arrived poorly dressed, your main family would surely mock you. As for preferring your own territory—that is like a noble lamenting the peasants have no bread. Only a pureblood of your exalted status has the privilege to walk freely in the Oro domain. Lesser vampires like myself can only leave the castle at night. Here, where it is eternal darkness, it suits us vampires far better than anywhere else.”

The maid accompanied her words with a placating smile.

“Still, I do not care much for this place either. Everyone here feels so lifeless. Not like milady’s territory—there, one feels vitality.”

“That’s precisely what I mean.”

Estelle sighed again. Initially, she had been eager to find her original family. Yet now that she had actually arrived in this land, she found it far removed from what she had imagined.

A noble who rules a domain should strive to make it prosper—not merely indulge in the privileges of their station. Her father and sister had taught her this. But here, she saw slaves everywhere, emaciated to skin and bone, while burly men cracked whips, driving them to till crops that could grow even in eternal night. Low, decayed hovels lined the streets—damp, dark, crumbling. Estelle thought this place even worse than her own devastated Oro territory.

Fortunately, Fia had warned her of such things before departure. At least she was mentally prepared.

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Amid the numbing creak of carriage wheels, they finally passed from the outskirts into the city. Estelle’s carriage was so magnificent that the guards did not even bother checking her identity before permitting entry.

The city was scarcely livelier than the countryside. The same monotonous black edifices stood everywhere. Beastmen on the streets were equally gaunt. When they noticed Estelle observing them through the window, they either fell to their knees in terror or fled shrieking into alleys. Estelle’s fangs and beautiful features marked her as a vampire. Only high-ranking vampires and purebloods possessed such beauty. Here, either could decide the beastmen’s fates—or use them as blood bags—with a single word.

Unpleasant.

Estelle already regretted wasting time searching for her main family. Now she fully understood why her adoptive father, the Count Oro, had fled the vampire lands for the Duchy of Bart. To rule a territory for so long yet leave it so lifeless—such a one did not deserve the title of noble. It ran counter to everything she had always believed.

Those whose paths differ cannot make plans together. I will complete this recognition ceremony, then leave at once. Never associate with them again.

Having made this private resolution, Estelle felt her carriage slow to a halt. Before her loomed a black castle, flanked by two companies of lesser vampires serving as guards. Ahead of even the guards stood two strikingly beautiful vampire maids in revealing attire. They appeared utterly oblivious to the stares their voluptuous figures drew from those around them, smiling as they approached the carriage.

“Might you be Her Excellency Countess Estelle Oro? The head of the family has awaited you for some time. Please step down from the carriage and accompany us into the castle. The lords and ladies await you within.”

“How arrogant.”

Estelle’s maid curled her lip within the carriage. A maid should wait for her mistress to alight before speaking, perhaps checking the invitation at most. To call out orders from outside the carriage, commanding a noble to descend—this was to treat the guest with utter disrespect.

Estelle withdrew her slender legs from the opposite seat and rose.

“Do not speak so. I have come to be received by my family. Some arrogance on their part is within acceptable bounds. If it becomes too much, we can leave early and never return.”

“I only hope they do not presume too far. You are an honored guest with the elf princess and the Fire Cat Holy Son as your guarantors.”

“Do not wield status to oppress others unless absolutely necessary. That would spend Fia’s credit. Let it rest.”

Estelle smoothed her gown, composed herself, and stepped slowly from the carriage.

The instant she emerged, she felt countless gazes converge upon her. The soldiers behind the maids, the pedestrians gathered behind the carriage to watch—all widened their eyes in awe, then shifted their attention to her single wing. Murmurs arose. Fingers pointed.

Estelle paid the surrounding stares no mind. She approached the maids, whose perfume was cloyingly thick, and gestured with a wave.

“Lead the way.”

Yet the scantily clad maid did not obey. One of them scrutinized Estelle from head to toe, suspicion undisguised in her gaze. The other maid’s eyes shimmered with mockery.

“Ah… you truly are Her Excellency the Countess? Though your wings do grow from your waist, as befits a pureblood—yet you have only one wing. The Syris family has never produced such a specimen. To my knowledge, only vampires of impure blood manifest thus.”

“A mere lesser vampire dares question a pureblood?”

Estelle’s maid glared fiercely.

The maid hid her smile behind her hand.

“Even lesser vampires must be judged by whom they serve. A lesser vampire attending the head of a household cannot be compared to some lesser vampire fresh from the countryside. Ah, forgive my rudeness. I should first bring Her Excellency the Countess before my master. Please, follow me.”

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“Tch. Your Excellency, please be cautious.”

“This is, after all, my main family. They would not go so far as to harm me.”

Estelle offered her maid a resigned smile, instructed her to wait outside, and narrowed her eyes slightly as she followed the maid into the black castle.

Within minutes, Estelle arrived at a lavish grand hall on the castle’s third floor. It was resplendent with gilt statues and crystal chandeliers. A banquet was in progress, attended by nearly a hundred pureblood vampires—their wings all growing from their waists. Even high-ranking vampires here served merely as ornamentation. Perhaps due to local custom, Estelle noticed numerous beastwomen kneeling against the walls, scantily clad and bound with ropes, weeping softly.

When Estelle entered, some of the vampires in the ballroom paused. They turned to look at her. Like those outside, their welcoming smiles stiffened into bewilderment at her half wing. The awkward atmosphere persisted until a mature woman of around twenty-seven or twenty-eight, radiating noble elegance, stepped forward from the crowd.

“Oh? Is this… the Countess of the Oro territory in the Duchy of Bart?”

“Estelle Oro, at your service. Due to certain circumstances, I was separated from my family in early childhood. I have come today to be received by my kin. And you are?”

Estelle discreetly appraised the tall, elegant lady. Though it was summer, she still wore a shawl of fine fur over a complex, vivid red gown. Even among this assembly of vampires, her beauty was exceptional. She bore the natural aura of a leader.

“I see. No need to stand on ceremony. I am the one who replied to your letter. Debir Syris—current head of the Syris family. And I am Estelle’s… hmm, grandmother? Yet I would prefer you call me ‘sister.’ It makes me feel younger. Come with me.”

Exhibiting none of the disdain shown by the other vampires, this self-proclaimed Debir—a pureblood herself—approached Estelle. She offered a bewitching smile, then clapped her hands sharply, quieting the hall.

“Now, now, everyone. Allow me to make an introduction. I wonder if any of you still recall that tragic incident at our border over a decade ago? My eighth child was slain by a Darkborn, and my granddaughter vanished. I grieved long over this matter. Purebloods are few; the loss of any is a grievous wound. Yet just last month, that long-lost granddaughter of mine sent a letter to my hands. The circumstances she described match precisely those surrounding my eighth child’s sacrifice. She is my granddaughter.”

“I must also inform you that she is Countess of the Oro territory in the Duchy of Bart. All within that domain answer solely to her. To have such an outstanding granddaughter is the Syris family’s fortune. I have invited you all here today to celebrate my granddaughter’s return to the family. In the past, the Syris family numbered thirty-one purebloods. From today, that number becomes thirty-two!”

With this, Debir patted Estelle’s shoulder and nudged her forward, clearly expecting Estelle to introduce herself.

Is the main family always this warm?

Estelle found this somewhat overwhelming.

Still, she was nobility by birth and had witnessed more lavish occasions than this. She lifted the sides of her red gown and, with dignified grace, executed a slight curtsy toward the assembled purebloods, whose expressions ranged widely.

“Estelle Oro greets you all. Should I give any offense, I humbly beg your indulgence.”

“Now it should be Estelle Oro Syris.”

Debir corrected her with a smile. Amid a round of applause and welcoming murmurs, she began drawing Estelle forward to meet the assembled nobles one by one. Yet Estelle disliked this atmosphere. The gazes of the purebloods around her made her uncomfortable. The female purebloods regarded her with contempt and jealousy; the males surveyed her with appraisal and greed.

Before arriving, she had made inquiries in other vampire cities about pureblood life. Due to their scant numbers, neither the Syris family nor others shied away from consanguineous marriage ¹ Consanguineous marriage is defined by human geneticists as the unions of second cousins (forth degree relatives) or closer relatives . They cared little even for marital institutions. Extramarital affairs and promiscuity were simply part of life. A female pureblood might be nominally the wife of one male pureblood while having slept with every male in the family. Estelle found this difficult to accept.

Yet, considering this was local custom, she had resolved to pretend ignorance. Moreover, these nobles clearly did not welcome a half-winged pureblood. Their exclusionary stares were deeply unpleasant. She merely wished to complete the recognition ceremony and depart at once. This banquet was entirely unexpected.

Before Debir could begin her introductions, Estelle spoke—not loudly, but at a volume all present could hear.

“Grandmother, when might I pay my respects at my parents’ graves?”

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“So soon, Estelle? Very well. I shall take you after the banquet concludes.”

“Leaving before you have even met your own brothers and sisters? What impropriety is this!”

The moment Estelle finished speaking, an exceptionally harsh male voice cut through the air. Estelle turned toward its source. The speaker was a square-jawed, powerfully built middle-aged man standing at the flank of the assembly. Estelle remembered him: when she first entered, this was the man who had regarded her with contempt.

His words seemed to ignite a powder keg. Suddenly, scornful remarks flew from all directions. “A backwoods girl growing insolent.” “A half-winged bastard wanting to join the Syris family?” Estelle’s brow furrowed repeatedly. Had Debir not treated her kindly—and had she not been a guest—she would already be at odds with these people.

“Ryan, say no more. You are the only one in the family yet to find a partner. Estelle may have only one wing, yet she remains a pureblood. You two are a match made in heaven. Treat each other well—who knows, perhaps a beautiful union will blossom.”

“Hmph.”

The square-jawed man crossed his arms and snorted emphatically. Estelle’s frown deepened.

“Grandmother. What do you mean by this?”

Debir’s eyebrows rose in surprise. She regarded Estelle as if she were some rare curiosity.

“Why, that only a pureblood is worthy of a pureblood. Unless Estelle wishes to wed a pureblood from another family?”

“I thank you for your kindness. But I already hold someone dear. I will not marry a pureblood.”

“Oh…?” Debir hummed, an ambiguous sound. Amused, she pressed, “Might I ask who this person is? Purebloods are few. To preserve the purity of our bloodline, no family permits a pureblood to wed any vampire but another pureblood. Yet you were not raised here. Should you provide sufficient grounds, I may grant an exception on your behalf.”

Unless I name a partner of sufficient standing, this topic will not end gracefully.

Estelle weighed her thoughts. She cared little what others thought, but she did not wish to offend this seemingly kind grandmother.

“Her Highness Dofilia Alexia Yushir, First Princess of the Kingdom of Silvar. In status and in strength, there is none in this world who can rival her.”

Estelle answered with neither arrogance nor obsequiousness.

“And you have mutually acknowledged one another?”

“No. She does not yet know.”

“A one-sided affection, then. That princess may be formidable, but the disparity in your stations is too vast. It would be best to abandon such futile fantasies.”

“How impertinent. Making a spectacle before our guest—”

“Ryan, calm yourself. Estelle has only just returned to the family. She is unfamiliar with many of our customs. This is natural.” Debir cut Ryan off, her smile undisturbed. “Enough, enough. Let this topic pass. What is unpleasant, let it be as if it never occurred. Estelle has journeyed from afar; as her grandmother, I must extend proper hospitality. Let no one speak ill of Estelle from this moment forth, lest they stand against the head of this household. Bring forth the refreshments. The freshest offering today must go to Estelle.”

Debir gestured. A retinue of high-ranking vampire attendants immediately pressed forward a washed, blue-haired beastwoman youth, forcing her to kneel before Estelle. Alongside the girl were presented an ornate dagger and a crystal goblet. The beastwoman knelt with her back to Estelle, a cloth gag stifling her mouth. Estelle could only hear faint whimpers from her throat. Livid rope burns marked her pale skin.

Debir placed the dagger personally into Estelle’s hand. She stood close, leaning slightly down, her tone gentle, almost mesmerizing, as she whispered in Estelle’s ear.

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“This is our welcoming rite. We vampires require blood to survive. These are carefully selected, long-bred sustenance. Purebloods are the masters of this land. End her. Draw forth her blood. Your brothers, sisters, and family guests await you. Do not disappoint them.”

Tch.

Debir’s demonic whisper provoked an inward click of Estelle’s tongue. She was no naive child. She understood perfectly what Debir meant. This beastwoman—and the other bound beastwomen beyond—were nothing but livestock in these vampires’ eyes. What she was now expected to do was slaughter this girl and claim the banquet’s first blood.

Preposterous.

Vampires need not kill to draw blood. This killing was purely entertainment—dressed up as tradition. But she need not accept their “tradition.” These creatures did not deserve the title of nobility. This violated the very principle she held most dear: her reverence for her father and sister, and her understanding of what it meant to be a noble.

Her regret at coming here deepened. Her disgust intensified, hardening into utter disillusionment. Estelle pushed the dagger away stiffly and stepped back from Debir.

“Forgive me, Grandmother. I am unwell. I must withdraw briefly. Might I call upon you privately another time?”

“Of course, of course. If you are unwell, perhaps you should retire to your chambers and rest? I shall have rooms prepared for you at once.”

“No… I shall return to my carriage.”

With this, Estelle turned and walked directly toward the hall’s exit. But her thoughts ran otherwise.

Leave here.

Never return.

My apologies to Grandmother, I will convey through a letter, sent with gifts.

Estelle Oro came here. This once, and only once. Farewell to you all, forever.

Having silently bid her farewells, Estelle felt her spirits lighten. Her step quickened.

Yet the matter was not so simply concluded.

“How dare you! Where do you think you’re going?!”

“An outsider bastard dares show us such disrespect?!”

The moment Ryan and the other vampires’ voices fell, the high-ranking vampires stationed at the entrance blocked her path. The entire hall crystallized into chill hostility.

Estelle halted. She was not one to tolerate others trampling upon her neck. Throughout this journey, she had felt her main family violated everything she believed a noble should be. Wantonly slaughtering civilians for sport—such conduct was utterly unconscionable. She turned. Instead of anger, she smiled.

“You wish to detain me? By all means, attempt it. But I wonder if you can bear the consequences.”