“No... I think I probably know the reason.”
Every sound in the secret chamber vanished at that moment.
Grant stopped his fingers from twirling the silver fork. Elizabeth’s grip on her stuffed bear tightened slightly. Altan’s two-meter-tall shadow was cast against the wall, remaining perfectly still.
Lilian stood before him, the tips of her Crown of Thorns casting fine shadows in the dark red light.
“Speak.”
Bell didn't answer directly. He turned and walked to the inheritance stone pillar, hovering his finger an inch away from its surface. The dark red flow of light moved between his fingers without triggering any repulsion.
“First, let me organize the results we just saw.”
He gestured toward Lilian.
“Your Majesty has the approval of the ten ancestors and holds the Bloodline Aria. Both conditions are fully met.”
He turned his finger toward Grant.
“Ancestor Grant possesses neither condition.”
Then he pointed toward Elizabeth in the corner.
“Ancestor Elizabeth holds the scepter, but lacks the collective approval.”
Finally, he turned his palm inward and pointed at himself.
“And I, a non-vampire, have neither.”
Bell took a step back, his back to the stone pillar as he faced everyone present.
“Four different permutations.”
“Four identical results.”
“The lines climbed to the same height, disintegrated in the same way, and the dust particles were the exact same size.”
He paused.
“This isn't right.”
Grant frowned.
“What isn't right?”
Bell raised his hand and pointed at the dark red light trace on the pillar.
“If the logic of the inheritance ritual was a 'qualification review,' then the feedback triggered by applicants of different statuses should vary.”
“Your Majesty possesses all the qualifications yet was rejected. We assumed the reason was psychological—that fear of Cecilia interfered with your soul resonance.”
“But what about Ancestor Grant?”
Bell looked at Grant.
“You have neither the scepter nor the collective approval. You shouldn't have even passed the initial screening. Yet your reaction upon touching the pillar was identical to the Queen’s.”
Grant’s fingers stopped on the silver fork, no longer spinning it.
“The lines climbed to the same spot and disintegrated. The exact same spot.”
Bell repeated it for emphasis.
“A person who is completely unqualified and a person who is fully qualified were blocked at the exact same stage.”
“This indicates that the stone pillar hasn't even entered the qualification review phase.”
Someone in the secret chamber gasped.
Elizabeth’s stuffed bear nearly slipped from her arms, but she caught it just in time.
Lilian stood where she was, her back stiff. Her face beneath the Crown of Thorns maintained the composure expected of a queen, but Bell noticed her left ring finger curl slightly.
Bell continued.
“Failing the qualification review is called an 'inheritance failure.'”
“But what do you call it when the review doesn't even start?”
He threw the question out to the room.
Silence followed.
Altan was the first to pick up the thread. His deep voice rumbled from the corner, each word carrying the texture of rock grinding against the earth.
“...A refusal of inheritance.”
Bell nodded.
“Correct.”
“It wasn't an inheritance failure.”
“It was the inheritance itself refusing everyone.”
Once those words landed, the air in the secret chamber shifted.
The silver fork in Grant's hand clattered onto the stone table. Elizabeth froze in her embrace of the bear, her pupils dilating. Several ancestors in the back row exchanged glances.
Lilian didn't move.
She stood before the stone steps, the weight of the Crown of Thorns pressing against her forehead.
“Refusal?”
Her voice was steady. Her training as a queen ensured she would not lose her composure in any situation. But as the word squeezed through her teeth, the end of it broke for a brief moment.
“Why would the inheritance refuse?”
Bell raised his hand, stopping several ancestors who were about to interject.
“That is precisely the key.”
He walked to the side of the altar and pressed his finger into the residual red dust on its surface, grinding it.
“What is the essence of the Blood Dance Tattoo’s inheritance?”
This time, he was asking Altan.
Altan remained silent for two seconds.
“The accumulated power of generations of kings. After each Vampire King falls, their lifelong blood source essence is poured into the inheritance stone pillar, waiting for the next successor to receive it.”
“After they fall.”
Bell seized upon those three words.
“In other words, the prerequisite for inheritance is that the previous holder must be dead.”
Altan did not answer.
He didn't need to. The logic was already clear enough.
Bell turned to face everyone in the secret chamber.
“Under what circumstances would the inheritance refuse all applicants?”
“Regardless of talent or conditions, intercepting everyone before the review even begins?”
He held up a single finger.
“There is only one possibility.”
“This inheritance currently has an owner.”
The temperature in the secret chamber plummeted several degrees.
This wasn't caused by magic. It was the simultaneous breath-holding of a dozen ancient beings who had lived for thousands of years.
Grant was the first to stand up.
“What are you saying?”
His hands braced against the stone table as he leaned forward.
“The previous Vampire King has been dead for nearly three thousand years. His remains were buried at the lowest level of the Abyssal Rift. This is a fact witnessed by all ancestors.”
Bell did not back down.
“I do not question the facts you witnessed.”
“But the reaction of the inheritance stone pillar is also a fact.”
“The two facts contradict each other.”
“Either your memories are incorrect, or the rules of the inheritance stone pillar have been tampered with.”
“Or—”
He paused for three full seconds.
“The previous Vampire King did not truly die.”
Those words exploded within the secret chamber.
Grant’s fist slammed onto the stone table, causing a crack to open in the surface.
“Absurd!”
Elizabeth sprang from her chair, ignoring her stuffed bear as it fell to the floor.
“I lit the fire at that funeral myself! I watched the ashes being placed into the sarcophagus!”
The ancestors in the back row began to clamor as well. Some slammed tables, others argued in low voices. A conclusion that had gone unchallenged for three thousand years was being torn open by a human using four sets of experimental data.
Altan did not join the argument.
He stood in the corner, his two-meter-tall frame casting a long shadow. But his head was bowed, his hands crossed over his chest, his thumb repeatedly stroking a very deep, old scar on the back of his hand.
The shape of that scar was a complete bite mark.
Bell noticed this detail.
A bite mark.
A bite mark left on the Third Ancestor's hand that hadn't healed in three thousand years.
Bell withdrew his gaze and didn't press the matter.
Lilian stood before the stone steps, her right hand gripping the scepter tightly. She looked up, her gaze passing through the noisy crowd to land on Bell.
“Leila.”
Bell heard the name come from Lilian’s mouth, spoken with extremely restrained calm.
“Does she know something?”
It wasn't a question.
Bell didn't respond.
He didn't need to answer for Leila.
But the image from earlier surfaced in his mind again. The speed with which Leila pushed open the stone door. The way she left without any explanation. And the moment exposed in her muscles when the inheritance fluctuation appeared—
Wariness.
The First Ancestor, who had lived for thousands of years, had shown a defensive posture the moment the inheritance stone pillar released its fluctuation.
It wasn't wariness toward Bell.
It wasn't wariness toward Lilian.
It was wariness toward the 'existence' inside the inheritance stone pillar.
She recognized that fluctuation.
Or more accurately, she recognized the person behind the fluctuation.
The argument in the secret chamber continued. Grant smashed a second stone table. Elizabeth crouched on the floor, cursing as she picked up her stuffed bear. Several younger ancestors had already begun to question whether there were loopholes in the funeral procedures Altan had overseen back then.
Lilian lifted her scepter and struck the ground heavily with its base.
A dull metallic thud echoed through the chamber.
All noise ceased instantly.
“Enough.”
Lilian’s voice was low, but every syllable carried an unchallengeable weight.
“Arguing like this... have you no shame?”
The ancestors quieted down. Not out of fear, but because of her bearing. Her face beneath the Crown of Thorns showed no sign of panic, her back was straight, and the scepter stood firm at her side.
This was the posture a queen should have.
Lilian turned to Bell.
“Your deduction has gone far enough.”
“What happens next is internal Blood Race business.”
Her wording was restrained. There was no intent to expel him, but she had drawn a clear boundary.
Bell nodded, not overstepping.
“Of course.”
He took two steps back, yielding the center to Lilian.
Then he turned toward the exit of the secret chamber.
“But I have a suggestion.”
Lilian did not refuse.
Bell pointed toward the closed stone door.
“Before discussing the next step, perhaps you should find Ancestor Leila first.”
“And ask her one question.”
The chamber fell silent once more.
Bell withdrew his hand to his side.
“That funeral three thousand years ago—”
“Whose body was it that she actually burned?”
Grant’s fist hung in mid-air, unable to strike down.
The bite mark on Altan’s hand cast a small shadow in the dark red light.
The joints of Lilian’s fingers gripping the scepter let out a faint crack.
In the corridor outside the stone door, a very faint sound of footsteps could be heard, fading into the distance.
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