Chapter 73: The Cold Precision: Where Pride Kneels

A heavy, unyielding silence settled over Kerwon’s face, the chilling weight of Vilucious’s words locking his jaw tight as they continued to march forward.

He didn’t offer a single word of defiance, nor a desperate plea for clarity; he simply forced his limbs to move, keeping pace with the monarch as the grand corridor finally gave way to a grand, arched opening, the cold stone dissolving into a sprawling expanse of twisted bark and tangled roots.

It was the palace’s indoor forest, a massive, enclosed ecosystem that felt less like a sanctuary and more like a captured wilderness.

Here, the eternal night of the realm held absolute dominion. In this world, the sun was a rare, fleeting visitor, appearing for only two erratic hours at irregular intervals, leaving the kingdom to rely entirely on artificial illumination.

Strips of harsh electrical lighting cut through the upper canopy, casting long, fractured shadows across the forest floor, while flickering blue flambeaus lined the dirt pathway.

The unnatural azure flames cast a sickly, ethereal glow over the pale leaves, making the entire forest look as though it were drowning under deep water. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth, crushed pine needles, and the faint, sweet smell of decay.

Vilucious came to a halt right at the threshold where the stone met the soil, his dark robes pooling over the dead leaves.

"Forest?" Kerwon said slowly, his eyes looking straight in the dark of the open area.

Vilucious folded both of his hands behind his back, his posture perfectly straight as his gaze swept across the dark, blue-lit expanse of the trees.

"The fundamental flaw of the human,"

Vilucious murmured, his voice velvety yet carrying a razor-sharp edge,

"...is their exhausting theater of humanity. They invent morals to comfort themselves. A vampire, however... a vampire is entirely realistic. We accept the world for the brutal hierarchy it actually is."

As the final words left the monarch’s lips, a shadow detached itself from the dense thicket ahead.

One of Vilucious’s royal soldiers stepped onto the dirt path, moving with absolute, noiseless precision. In his hands, he carried a heavy, polished silver tray.

Draped over the contents was a square of deep royal purple silk, the fabric pooling in rich, heavy folds that completely obscured the object beneath it. The soldier came to a rigid halt a pace away, dropping his head in silent deference.

A thin, slow smirk tugged at the corner of Vilucious’s mouth. Moving with effortless grace, he reached out and pinched the edge of the fabric, pulling it back in one smooth, sweeping motion.

Resting on the silver tray was a sleek, beautifully maintained hunting gun. The dark steel of the barrel caught the cold glare of a nearby blue flambeau, gleaming with a deadly, polished sheen.

Kerwon felt the air grow noticeably colder in his lungs as his eyes locked onto the sleek steel of the weapon. He took a half-step forward, his gaze shifting from the gun to the oppressive, ink-black depths of the tree line.

"My gracious Lord," Kerwon said, his voice measured and carefully level, though a subtle, sharp edge of calculation cut through his polite tone.

"The dark is absolute. How exactly do we intend to hunt in a night this thick?"

He tilted his head slightly, his eyes narrowing as he tried to pierce the gloom of the canopy, his hand resting casually near the hilt of his own sidearm, not out of aggression, but as a silent, physical anchor against the suffocating tension radiating from the vampire king.

Vilucious didn’t say a word. He simply reached down and lifted the hunting gun from the silk lining, his movements light and effortless.

Snap-click.

The crisp, metallic slide of the action chambering a round shattered the quiet, a sharp, mechanical bite that made the nearby leaves seem to shiver. Without a fraction of hesitation, he raised the heavy barrel toward the thick canopy, aiming directly into the ink-black ceiling of the indoor forest.

BOOM.

The gunshot erupted with a deafening, thunderous roar, the violent pressure wave slamming against the stone archway behind them and vibrating deep inside Kerwon’s chest.

High above, the concussive blast tore through the branches, causing a frantic, chaotic storm of rustling leaves and snapping twigs as unseen nocturnal birds shrieked in terror, their wings wildly beating against the artificial sky. The sharp, acrid stench of burnt gunpowder instantly flooded the air, stinging the throat.

The sudden, blinding muzzle flash caught Kerwon completely off guard. His composure flabbergasted for a split second, his shoulders involuntarily jerking as his eyelids snapped shut against the glare. Yet, by sheer force of old-world stubbornness, he forced his body back into a stiff, iron line, his hands clenching into tight fists behind his back to hide the sudden rush of adrenaline. He didn’t step back.

Vilucious slowly lowered the smoking barrel, the faint hiss of burning oil drifting from the muzzle. He didn’t look at the sky now; his dark, unblinking eyes were already fixed on Kerwon’s face just after that shot, watching the subtle struggle for control.

"Governor..." Vilucious murmured, his voice cutting cleanly through the ringing silence left by the blast. "You missed my point. And you know that I hate this flaw."

Just a few seconds later, another royal soldier stepped out from the dense, blue-shadowed thicket. He moved with the same uncanny, mechanical precision, carrying a cold, dented metal tray that was completely different from the first elegant silver one.

Resting on the cold metal was the carcass of a massive, midnight-plumaged hawk. There was no splatter of blood, no mangled feathers, and no prolonged agony; only a single, perfectly centered hole right through its skull.

The unreal precision of Vilucious’s blind shot was terrifying. The bird had been dropped instantly from the pitch-black canopy, dead before it even began to fall.

Lord Vilucious smiled, his eyes crinkling with genuine, soft amusement as he looked down at the carcass. He leaned over the tray, his dark robes brushing the metal edge, and spoke in a low, reverent murmur.

"A fortunate creature," Vilucious said slowly, his voice dripping with a bizarre, unsettling warmth.

"To be sacrificed so royally. It has found its true purpose."

With seamless, aristocratic grace, the vampire king offered the dead bird a slight, respectful bow, treating the carcass with more dignity than he had ever shown a living human.

Kerwon watched the display, the cold sweat on his forehead drying in the chilling forest air. He looked from the perfectly pierced skull of the hawk back to the unreadable face of his monarch. The message was entirely clear: obedience, purpose, and death were all a matter of cold, calculated reality.

"I take your point completely, my Lord," Kerwon said, forcing his voice to lose its rigid friction and smoothing it into a tone of deep, calculated reverence.

He stepped forward, his eyes fixed on the tray as he bent his spine in a matching gesture. "You are, as always, my greatest teacher."

Without a word of warning, Vilucious whipped the hot barrel of the gun directly past Kerwon’s face.

WHIZ-BANG!

The hyper-sonic crack of the bullet sliced through the air a mere inch from Kerwon’s eyelashes, followed by a violent gust of wind that sharply stung his skin.

The raw instinct of survival completely overrode Kerwon’s stubborn pride; his eyes snapped shut, his entire body flinching violently as his heart hammered against his ribs in sheer terror.

"An insect," Vilucious murmured, his tone entirely casual as he lowered the weapon.

"Its sting might be infectious, coming from the wild."

Still vibrating from the near-death experience, Kerwon opened his eyes to see the vampire king strolling toward a nearby brick structure jutting from the dirt.

Embedded deep in the stone wall, perfectly pinned beneath the smoking center of the bullet hole, was the crushed body of a wild honeybee. The precision was nothing short of monstrous.

Vilucious turned away from the wall, his boots rustling softly over the dead leaves as he closed the distance between them once more.

He didn’t stop until he was deep inside Kerwon’s personal space. Slowly, he raised a hand, placing his pristine, royal blue gloved palm heavily onto Kerwon’s rigid shoulder. The fabric felt ice-cold against his uniform. ℴℴ𝘮

Leaning in close, Vilucious let his voice drop to a chilling, razor-thin whisper right against Kerwon’s ear:

"Where is the bird, Kerwon? You should not simply pretend to understand me."

The implicit threat hung suffocatingly in the dark. Before Kerwon could even attempt a response, Vilucious smoothly withdrew his hand and strode past him, his dark robes sweeping through the blue gloom.

"Vermonia has shed a tear," Vilucious announced aloud to the shadows, his voice echoing sharply across the canopy.

"I want the imperial healers to check on her immediately."

Instantly, two royal militants stepped out from the thicket, bowed in perfect synchronization, and sprinted away, their armored formsvanishing into the dark corridor with frantic, respectful speed.

Seeing the window of mercy closing, Kerwon threw his pride entirely to the dirt. He rushed forward, cutting off the monarch’s path, and dropped heavily onto both knees. His bottoms sank into the damp earth as he bowed his head, his eyes locked onto the royal leather of Vilucious’s boots.

"My precious Lord,"

Kerwon spoke, his voice tight but fiercely driven, stripping away every ounce of his old-world arrogance.

"I am deeply ashamed of my shortsightedness. I will leave your presence this instant and handle every loose end perfectly, until I see absolute satisfaction in your Grace’s eyes."

Kerwon didn’t wait for a second warning. He offered a final, deep bow, pressed his palms briefly to the damp earth, and stood up.

Turning on his heel, he marched out of the indoor forest with a stiff, frantic cadence, his mind racing to calculate how to salvage his standing before the vampire king’s volatile favor turned into an execution order.

Meanwhile, back in the suffocating quiet of the secret base, the heavy, deliberate hand remained firmly planted on Fukuro’s left shoulder.

Fukuro didn’t even bother to look up at first. His left eye was still twitching from the sheer, agonizing jealousy of watching Cassius hug Florianthum, and his hands were still curled into pathetic little fists.

"Why the hell... get off me!" Fukuro hissed in a sharp, irritated whisper, aggressively shrugging his shoulder to dislodge the grip. Fukuro hissed in a sharp, irritated whisper, aggressively shrugging his shoulder to dislodge the grip.

"Can’t you see I’m already incredibly disturbed here? Go play main character somewhere else!"

The hand didn’t move. In fact, the fingers tightened just a fraction, the stone-cold pressure sinking deep into his collarbone.

Suddenly, a wave of primal, icy dread washed over Fukuro’s skin. The ambient air around him seemed to drop ten degrees in an instant, carrying a faint, terrifying scent that definitely didn’t belong to a common cell guard.

The realization hit him like a physical blow to the stomach, rendering his frantic arrogance completely hollow.

His face turned a stark, bloodless pale as a brutal reality check short-circuited his brain. Slowly, agonizingly, Fukuro turned his head to look at exactly who was standing right behind him in the dark corridor.

It was Kerwon.