Volume 1, Chapter 54 – The Cunning Powerholder

At the same time, at the border between the Pescia Territory and the Niru Diocese.

“Move faster!”

“Quit dragging your feet!”

Two lower-ranked vampires were tugging at a rope tied behind them, to which an elderly man with black hair streaked with white was bound. Though his gaunt, branch-like face and arms betrayed the harsh conditions of his life, his piercingly bright eyes showed he had not yielded to his cruel environment.

He was the bishop of the Niru Diocese, captured by the vampires during the struggle over the corpse of the Demon King Ouranos.

As soon as he stepped out of the tent, a freezing wind carrying snowflakes made the old man shudder. Dressed only in prisoner’s garb in the dead of winter, the outside world was nothing short of hell for him.

Fortunately, it didn’t last long. The bishop was soon led by the soldiers to another tent. This one was far more spacious, with a fire pit warming the center and thick carpets covering the floor—a completely different world compared to the icy wilderness outside.

Inside stood a male vampire who appeared no older than thirty, yet his hair was entirely white. His luxurious attire marked his high status, and the firm lines of his face, his well-proportioned and broad frame, along with his sharp eyes brimming with unwavering resolve, gave off an air of such authority that lying in his presence seemed impossible.

This was Decreya Cyril Pescia, ruler of one of the thirteen vampire territories, renowned for his iron-fisted rule.

“Finally here.”

From the moment the bishop entered, Count Pescia’s gaze remained fixed on him. An ordinary person lacking resolve would surely have cowered under such scrutiny.

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But the old man merely straightened his back.

“You haven’t changed.”

“Hmph.” There was not a trace of respect in Count Pescia’s voice. In terms of age, the Count was nearly a century old—the bishop before him was practically a child by comparison. He waved a hand at the two lower-ranked vampires standing guard by the entrance. “Leave us.”

“Yes, Lord Count.”

A gust of cold air slipped into the tent as the vampires exited, leaving only Count Pescia and the Niru bishop in the spacious room.

After nearly three seconds of silence, the Count’s stern expression gradually softened. The tension that had filled the air vanished as if it had never existed, replaced instead by the calm of old friends reuniting.

Drawing a dagger from his waist, Count Pescia approached the bishop, who, as if anticipating his intention, extended his bound hands without hesitation.

Snap.

The rope restraining the bishop fell to the ground. The Count glanced up at the bishop’s face and let out a light chuckle.

“What, not satisfied with the treatment I’ve given you?”

“No. Unless I’m mistaken, this is the best you could offer, isn’t it?”

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The bishop’s expression softened as well, and he spread his arms wide as if in his own home. Count Pescia returned the gesture with a polite embrace before stepping back.

“You know how it is. If I simply kept you under house arrest, my subordinates would raise objections.”

“Of course I understand. It’s just that whenever I think of your daughter living comfortably in my territory, I can’t help but feel a little resentful.”

“Heh heh heh, you can’t blame me for that.” At the mention of his daughter, Count Pescia’s smile deepened. “But no matter how bad the conditions, this charade is coming to an end. The Pescia Territory hasn’t gone to war with the Niru Diocese in nearly a century, all thanks to you and the previous bishop. Those youngsters below us would never guess we’ve been secretly communicating all this time.”

“Don’t act so magnanimous now. If not for your precious daughter, you’d never have agreed to a ceasefire.” The bishop deliberately teased before walking to the table and pouring himself a cup of water. “Once the next bishop takes office, things won’t be so easy anymore.”

“So what? I’ve already trained Pescia’s army to rank among the top three strongest in the vampire territories. Even if the next bishop wants to start a war, they’ll have to weigh the consequences. As for Viel… she may not be skilled at nurturing subordinates, but I’ve prepared a group of elite guards and spies for her. At least for fifty years after my death, she won’t face any difficulties.”

“You’re hopeless, an absolute doting father.” The bishop clicked his tongue, then shook his head with a sigh. “Sigh… Who knows how long this precious peace will last? Some things are beyond the control of just the two of us.”

“That’s exactly why I’ve been doing my best to strengthen my territory—to avoid giving the Human Alliance any ideas. Speaking of which, how’s that treasure of yours at home? You used to talk about her all the time. It’s been a month—must be killing you not to see her, no?”

As Count Pescia said, the bishop also had a beloved daughter. The biggest reason the two got along so well was their shared experience of raising daughters. As the highest authority figures in their respective domains, they rarely had anyone they could truly confide in.

At the mention of his daughter, the bishop’s face unconsciously brightened.

“Heh heh heh, you always steer the conversation away from politics. Doria’s already at the age for marriage. As long as she’s happy, even if she falls for some ruffian, I’ll accept it. She doesn’t need me fussing over her anymore. The only regret I have left… is Ailis.”

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At the name Ailis, the bishop’s eyes dimmed, his expression growing heavy.

Count Pescia, aware of the circumstances, sighed as well.

“Wasn’t Ailis your youngest daughter? Still no trace of her?”

“No. Back then, due to the Church’s sacred laws, I had no choice but to leave her at someone’s doorstep. Though she was eventually adopted by that family, they disappeared without a trace a few months later. Fifteen years have passed, and there’s still no clue.” The bishop paused, as if suddenly aged by the weight of his words. “Perhaps Ailis has already returned to the embrace of the Goddess Ymir.”

“Don’t be so pessimistic. Who knows? Maybe one day she’ll find her way back to you.”

“May it be so.” As if forcing down his sorrows, the bishop drained the cup of hot water in one gulp. “It’s almost time for the prisoner exchange. Let’s get ready to leave.”

“I’d like to see Viel as soon as possible too. Well then, Bishop, allow me to arrest you once more.”

But no sooner had he spoken than a clamor erupted outside the tent—shouts of soldiers, the clashing of weapons, and the sound of something overturning.

Then, a soldier in armor rushed in frantically.

“Lord Count! We’re under attack! It’s an enemy assault!”

“Who? The Church?”

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Count Pescia glanced at the bishop, who shook his head slightly, indicating he had no part in this.

“Demons! A horde of demons! They’re attacking both us and the Church!”

“Tch. After a hundred years, they’ve come again, huh? Relay my orders—prepare for battle!”

“Yes, sir!”

Once the soldier left, Count Pescia turned back to the bishop.

“It seems plans have changed.”

“If possible, I’d prefer to return immediately. A sudden attack after a century—there’s no way it’s as simple as it appears. They must be after something.”

But Count Pescia merely shrugged.

“You know that’s not possible. You’re a hostage, old fox.”

“I knew you’d say that.”

As Count Pescia left, the bishop’s relaxed expression hardened into seriousness. Seating himself at the room’s only chair, he began eating and drinking heartily. If an opportunity to escape arose later, he would need every ounce of strength he could muster.