Everyone knelt.
Like a field of black wheat, they were reaped in unison by the sickle named "Ancestor."
Leon’s knees were trembling. It wasn't out of fear, but a primal, biological shiver ingrained in his genes at the presence of an apex predator. Margaret gripped his arm so hard her nails sank into his flesh. Using that pain to ground themselves, the two dropped into a half-crouch, blending into the crowd to avoid standing out like conspicuous tombstones.
Nine figures.
There were no savage fangs as one might imagine, nor bat wings that blotted out the sky. Dressed in exquisite formal attire, they looked like a group of nobles who had just finished an evening at the opera, strolling nonchalantly across the red carpet.
Walking in the very center was a little girl in a puffy dress.
Betty.
She clutched a raw, dripping leg of beef, gnawing on it as she walked. Her face was stained red with blood. Her ruby-like eyes swept boredly over the kneeling crowd as if she were looking at a pile of emergency rations.
“Why is one missing?”
Leon kept his head bowed, but his eyes were fixed on the high platform.
Ten high-backed chairs. Only nine were occupied.
The seat belonging to the First Ancestor, Leila, was empty.
The surrounding air was so thick it was suffocating. Those vampire nobles, usually so arrogant, were now keeping their breathing as shallow as possible.
On the platform, the Ancestors began to converse.
They didn't bother to mask their voices. Perhaps in their eyes, the ants below couldn't understand them anyway, nor were they worthy of understanding.
Leon narrowed his eyes.
As the heir of the Wolfgang family, lip-reading was a mandatory skill.
“Is that crazy woman Leila not coming again?” A gaunt male Ancestor swirled his glass, his lips moving slightly. “On a day like this, she’s still in that side palace?”
“Don’t even mention it.” Beside him, Betty slammed a beef bone onto the table with a loud clatter. “I went to call her. She wouldn't even open the door for me. She said she was in the middle of deriving some critical step for something called ‘calculus’ and told me to get lost.”
“Calculus?” another female Ancestor frowned. “Is that some new kind of black magic?”
“Who knows.” Betty curled her lip. “I don’t understand half the words that come out of that man’s mouth anyway. But Leila... tsk tsk. She’s like a bitch in heat, desperate to lick every bit of knowledge out of that man’s brain.”
Leon’s pupils shook with shock.
That man?
Bell Lucas?
And judging by the tone...
They didn't sound like they were talking about a prisoner.
It sounded more like... an idol they couldn't attain.
“Go.”
Margaret’s voice was as thin as silk as it reached Leon’s ear.
She had clearly sensed something was wrong. The atmosphere was too bizarre, and the Ancestors' perception was terrifyingly sharp. If they stayed any longer, their disguises would eventually fail.
Leon withdrew his gaze and nodded.
Staying low and using the crowd as cover, the two of them quietly began to retreat.
One step. Two steps.
Just as their heels were about to touch the shadows cast by the banquet hall doors.
A hand.
A pale, slender hand, devoid of any warmth, lightly came to rest on Margaret’s shoulder.
“My beautiful lady.”
An elegant baritone, laced with a hint of playfulness, exploded in Margaret’s ear.
“The banquet has only just begun. Why such a hurry to leave?”
Margaret’s body stiffened instantly.
The hand wasn't heavy. One might even call it gentle.
But the chill transmitted through those fingertips instantly froze the mana flowing through her body.
“Your heartbeat.”
The man lowered his head, his nose almost brushing the back of Margaret’s neck as he took a deep breath.
“One hundred and twenty beats per minute.”
“That is not the heart rate of a vampire who has been dead for a hundred years... Margaret.”
The final name was spoken as soft as a sigh.
Margaret spun around.
A familiar face, one that had haunted her nightmares countless times, was right in front of her.
Ed.
He wore a deep crimson tailcoat with his signature black rose pinned to his chest. His almond-shaped eyes were filled with the malicious amusement of a cat playing with a mouse.
“Long time no see.” Ed held two glasses of crimson liquid, offering one to Margaret. “Care to do me the honor? A dance with an old friend?”
The surrounding air seemed to freeze.
A few vampire nobles who had been kneeling noticed the commotion and peeked up.
When they saw that the man standing by the door was Ancestor Ed, they were so terrified they buried their heads even deeper, wishing they could crawl into the floor.
Margaret did not take the glass.
Her right hand was hidden in her sleeve, her fingertips already gathering a very subtle green light. It was a nature-element forbidden spell capable of blowing up half the banquet hall in an instant.
“And if I don’t?” Margaret looked at him coldly.
“Oh?”
Ed raised an eyebrow.
His gaze swept past Margaret and landed on Leon.
Leon’s hand was already on the wand at his waist.
“Is this your new flame?” Ed looked Leon up and down, his gaze as contemptuous as if he were looking at an ant. “A little wolf cub? Your taste has deteriorated, Margaret.”
“You—” Leon started to speak.
Boom!
An invisible, terrifyingly immense pressure descended instantly.
There was no warning.
Leon felt as though a dragon had slammed into his chest. All sound was choked in his throat, and the blood in his body seemed to stop flowing in an instant.
His knees buckled, and he nearly fell to his knees.
“You have some spine.”
Ed smiled.
He didn't look at Leon; his gaze remained locked on Margaret’s face.
“Dance with me.”
Ed took a step forward, closing in on Margaret.
“As long as you make me happy.” He reached out a finger and lightly stroked Margaret’s cheek, his touch ice-cold. “I’ll let this little wolf cub live.”
“Otherwise...”
His finger slid down, stopping at Margaret’s throat.
His nails grew long, instantly transforming into sharp blades pressed against her fragile skin.
“I will rip his heart out right here in front of you and soak it in wine for you to drink.”
It was a blatant threat.
And a crushing display of absolute power.
Margaret looked into those crimson eyes. She knew Ed would do it. This madman never joked.
She took a deep breath.
The green light in her sleeve slowly dissipated.
“Fine,” Margaret forced the word through her teeth.
She reached out and took the glass of wine.
Ed’s smile widened.
He grabbed Margaret by the waist, his movements forceful and brook no refusal, and dragged her directly into the center of the dance floor.
The music began to play right on cue.
It was a bizarre and magnificent waltz.
Leon stood where he was, his entire body stiff.
He watched Margaret held in that man’s arms, saw her face grow pale as they spun.
An unprecedented sense of humiliation gnawed at his heart like a venomous snake.
He was too weak.
In the face of a monster of this caliber, he didn't even have the right to draw his wand.
In the center of the dance floor.
Ed leaned close to Margaret’s ear, moving slowly to the rhythm of the music.
“You’ve aged, Margaret.”
“Your skin isn't as smooth as it used to be, and there are wrinkles at the corners of your eyes.”
“That is the tragedy of being human.”
“You refused when I offered you the First Embrace.”
“Do you regret it now?”
Margaret followed the dance steps expressionlessly.
“Regret?” She let out a cold laugh. “I regret not stuffing your coffin full of garlic while you were sleeping.”
Ed burst into laughter.
His laughter was wild, drawing the gazes of the surrounding vampires.
“Still as spirited as ever.”
His palm tightened around Margaret’s waist, and with a sudden spin, he dipped her low.
Their faces were almost touching.
“Beg me.”
Ed’s voice suddenly turned cold, the smile vanishing from his eyes, replaced by a morbid possessiveness.
“Just like you used to—get on your knees and beg me.”
“Then I’ll let you both go.”
Margaret looked at him.
In those brown eyes that were usually so gentle, a flame of absolute resolve now burned.
Beg him? In his dreams.
The mana circuits in her body began to reverse violently.
Even if she died here, even if she dragged the entire Moon Phase City down with her, she would never bow to this demon.
A second before Margaret was prepared to detonate her mana core.
Bang!
The doors of the banquet hall were violently burst open from the outside.
The loud crash even drowned out the music of the band.
Everyone was startled.
A guard in the uniform of the Night Rose Palace came scrambling in. His hat was askew, blood streaked his face, and his expression was one of absolute terror.
“Re... Report!”
The guard knelt below the platform, his voice cracking with fear.
“Her Majesty... Her Majesty is furious!”
The Ancestors, who had been watching the drama, suddenly changed expressions.
The beef leg in Betty’s hand dropped to the floor.
“What happened?” Ed stopped dancing and released Margaret, his brow furrowed. “Who provoked her?”
“It’s... it’s that man!”
The guard stammered.
“Her Majesty is crying from anger! She’s smashing things and saying she’s going to tear down the Night Rose Palace!”
The room fell into a deathly silence.
Ed’s lip twitched violently.
He glanced at Margaret, then at the empty throne on the platform.
Finally, he let out a long sigh.
That terrifying killing intent receded like a tide.
“Lucky you.”
Ed straightened his collar, regaining his elegant noble demeanor.
“Tonight is the Queen’s night.”
“If her coronation warm-up is ruined, that girl really will go insane.”
He gave Margaret a deep, lingering look.
“Get out.”
“Before I change my mind.”
With that, Ed turned and strode toward the platform without looking back.
The other Ancestors also rose, their faces wearing expressions of "parenting is hard" as they hurried toward the side palace.
A certain-death situation...
...had vanished just like that, all because of a ridiculous reason.
Rate on N.U.
