The cavernous hall, designed to project an image of timeless, unassailable power, was violently fractured by the shockwave of Zhou Yi's strike.
The vampire butler, now a dark, motionless silhouette embedded high in the ancient stone, was a stark, brutal testament to the futility of challenging the Dawn Knight. The remaining air in the room vibrated with residual kinetic energy, an electric hum that rattled the fragile sensibilities of the court.
Chaos was immediately apparent in the subtle shifts of the remaining occupants. The vampire guards—the low-tier enforcers who had entered the castle behind them—were paralyzed, their earlier mixture of fear and hatred now curdled into absolute, bowel-wrenching terror. They scrambled, not to defend their lord, but to stay as far from the metallic giant as possible.
The core group, however, offered calculated non-intervention. The old man and the thin mechanic, whom Zhou Yi suspected were the Grand Duke's chief science advisor and engineer, respectively, watched the chaos with dispassionate, almost academic interest. For them, it was merely an extreme data point on the Dawn Knight's threat profile.
Blade, the ultimate pragmatist, was far more active in his inaction. He merely shifted his formidable bulk, placing himself squarely in front of the ornate archway that led deeper into the subterranean complex. His posture was clear: any summoned help would first pass through him.
He and his tacit allies were perfectly content to allow the enemy's internal hierarchy to be dissolved by extreme prejudice, effectively turning the Dawn Knight into an involuntary executioner for their side.
Zhou Yi, his armored boots silent on the stone floor, continued his relentless advance towards the Grand Duke. He had made his statement, and now it was time to collect the toll of their arrogance.
He expected a desperate, theatrical counterattack, or perhaps a sudden, craven surrender. What he did not expect was the sudden, defiant flash of courage from Nisha Maginos.
Nisha moved with a blinding, desperate speed that surprised Zhou Yi. She didn't approach him to fight, but to intercede. She threw herself in front of her father, her mink cloak falling away to reveal the tense, defensive curve of her body.
Her slender hands, now tipped with fully extended, silver-tipped claws, were raised not in surrender, but in a clear, warning display of pure maternal and aristocratic defense. She was a fragile, high-strung barrier against a force of nature.
The deep-seated, biological terror of Zhou Yi's solar-like presence was still there, a constant hum of agony in her mind, yet her loyalty—her filial duty and her need to preserve the political power that was her birthright—had momentarily overwhelmed her instinct for self-preservation. She was a prickly hedgehog facing an armored titan, willing to sacrifice herself for the integrity of her lineage.
Zhou Yi halted. His pause was not born of admiration for her beauty or her charm. It was a cold, purely strategic calculation.
Killing her now would be needlessly messy, turning a political negotiation into a senseless bloodbath, and it would disrupt the information flow he desperately needed.
The sudden, intense vulnerability and the raw display of loyalty, however, did give him pause. He recognized a fierce, powerful will that had survived millennia.
He lowered his head slightly, the Dawn Knight's helmet eclipsing the dim light of the sconces. He was tired of this posturing.
"Grand Duke Maginos," Zhou Yi's voice rumbled, the implicit threat now absolute. "I did not come to kill your puppets. I came for a clear explanation of this 'existential threat.' If you do not wish to be pulverized alongside your castle, you will remove your daughter and speak."
The old Duke's hand shot out, not to strike, but to press his palm flat against Nisha's tense shoulder. The force he exerted was considerable, a discreet, painful warning that arrested her defiant lunge.
"Please, Dawn Knight," the Duke said, his voice surprisingly soft and yielding, a stark contrast to his earlier bombast. He gently pushed Nisha aside and stepped forward, adopting a posture of supreme, abject humility. He bowed deeply, extending his arms in a gesture of utter surrender and respect.
"I offer my most profound apology for my arrogant, archaic manners. Please forgive the posturing of an old creature too long isolated in his own power structure. Your strength is beyond question, and my earlier words were foolish narcissism. This crisis... this mutant, as we call it, is not merely a danger to my vanity, but a profound, systemic collapse for my entire species. I humbly request your forgiveness for my unintentional mistake, and I implore you: do not let my pride cost us the critical time we have left."
Zhou Yi observed the Duke's performance. Such immediate, absolute concession was not normal. This level of humility, especially from a being who saw himself as royalty, indicated a crisis far more severe than any conventional war.
The Duke was not acting; he was pleading from a position of absolute, existential terror. This confirmed Zhou Yi's suspicion: the threat was genuine, and it transcended the petty politics of blood feuds.
Satisfied, Zhou Yi took a final, deliberate step forward, planting his armored feet in front of the Duke, then quietly retracted his cloak and returned to a position of contained stillness.
At the doorway, Blade, understanding the shift in tension, permitted himself a brief, chillingly white-toothed grin before relaxing his stance and returning to his observation post.
The Grand Duke, his hand pressed against his chest in a show of contrition, subtly clenched the fingers of his hand hidden behind his back.
His knuckles were white with suppressed fury, but he knew he could not retaliate. He gave Nisha's shoulder one final, sharp squeeze of warning, preventing her from offering any further verbal reprimand.
Instead, the Duke clapped his hands sharply. A man stepped forward from the shadows of a side archway. He was a vision of modern, corporate elegance: blond, stylishly dressed, and possessed of a practiced, serene composure that masked a faint tremor of nerves evident only in the rapid movement of his eyes towards the Dawn Knight.
"Allow me to introduce our legal and strategic counsel," the Duke announced, the formality a deliberate return to business.
"Kylo Conan," the elegant man introduced himself, extending his hand, first to Blade.
Blade snatched the hand, gripping it hard, his dark sunglasses preventing anyone from reading his eyes. He rotated his wrist, inspecting a faint, tattoo-like pattern on the back of Kylo's hand—a subtle, hidden mark of fealty to the Vampire Court.
"Human," Blade stated coldly, the word a verdict, not a question.
Kylo grimaced, tugging his hand free with some difficulty. He rubbed his numb fingers. "Just barely, I assure you. I am a solicitor. I represent the European Health Foundation, and I am the Grand Duke's legal counsel. I work with prevention, not aggression."
His attempt at self-deprecating humor fell flat. This was the precise type of human apostate Blade despised most—those who, in their desire for power or a desperate promise of immortality, abandoned their species to become willing, intellectual servants of the vampires. They were the treacherous facilitators who perpetually undermined the war on the undead.
Blade turned away without another word.
Kylo then approached Zhou Yi, visibly hesitant. Zhou Yi, arms crossed, met his gaze, his voice low and menacing.
"Conan," Zhou Yi said, pronouncing the name with calculated contempt.
"You are currently protected by a thin layer of human DNA. One day, your contract will be fulfilled, and your vampire master will grant you the immortality you covet. When that moment comes, when you cease to be human, you will contact me. I promise you an unforgettable initiation experience."
The murderous intent was clear and non-negotiable. Kylo's smile froze, and he offered a stiff, trembling nod, unable to articulate a single defense against such overwhelming, promised destruction.
Before Kylo could retreat, the Duke intervened with masterful political timing, walking past his pet lawyer and drawing the attention of both hunters to a display case housing an ancient, preserved specimen.
"As you may know, the primary method of our propagation—our habit of drinking blood—is not merely feeding," the Duke began, his voice taking on a clinical, lecture-like tone. "It is a virus. A complex, highly contagious pathogen spread through our saliva and bodily fluids."
He paused, admiring the specimen in the case. "This virus invades the human bloodstream, and within approximately 72 hours, it fully integrates, converting the host's tissue into a parasitic, autonomous organ. In three days, a living human becomes a new vampire. This, not procreation, is the bedrock of our civilization."
Blade slammed his fist against a nearby stone pillar, grinding his teeth. "Like cancer cells!" he spat, his hatred for the term palpable.
Blade's entire existence was a living testament to that contagion. His mother, attacked by a vampire just before his birth, had passed the pathogen in utero.
It had endowed him with the vampire's strengths, but spared him the traditional weaknesses of sunlight and silver—making him the legendary Daywalker, feared by the night creatures, yet forever divorced from the humanity he desperately sought to protect.
The Duke turned back to Blade, his face regaining a hint of his natural aristocratic disdain.
"No, Daywalker," Elida corrected, his voice sharp. "It is important to note: These are cancer cells that serve a specific purpose. They spread, but they do so to create a viable, intelligent, self-sustaining organism. Cancer devours and dies; my virus perpetuates and rules. It is superior evolution."
The Duke's temporary surge of pride vanished. He slumped slightly, the fear returning. "But even the most perfect biological weapon can suffer a catastrophic failure." He gestured to Kylo, who immediately regained his composure, seizing the professional momentum.
"Unfortunately, viruses also evolve," Kylo stated, his expression becoming appropriately grave and scientific.
He activated a small, portable holographic projector, which instantly threw a life-sized, three-dimensional video loop into the center of the room.
The video was taken from high-resolution, infra-red security cameras. It showed the horrific, blood-splattered scene of a subway tunnel's secret blood bank. The carnage was immense, but the focal point was a single, monstrous, female figure moving with shocking, erratic speed.
"We call the new evolutionary variant the R-variant," Kylo explained, his voice clipped. "And like all effective pathogens, it seeks out and quickly finds a perfect host. The host's name is Chadnoma."
The 3D image paused on a clear frame of the mutant: a woman whose body was grotesquely distended, covered in calcified, armor-like plates of skin. Her face was stretched and unnatural, but the most terrifying feature was her mouth.
It was a hinged, alien monstrosity that opened in vertical segments, lined with multiple rows of bone-white, needle-sharp teeth—a grotesque adaptation of the human jaw.
"That is her," Kylo confirmed, pointing a slender finger at the terrifying image.
The Duke Elida stepped close to the projection, his eyes fixed on the image with a look of visceral, profound revulsion that transcended mere fear.
"I am a vampire by birth, Daywalker," the Duke said, turning his gaze from the monster to Blade. "A being of the purest, ancient bloodline. But this creature… this biological nightmare…"
He trailed off, struggling to find the words, the ultimate irony of his life laid bare.
"This R-variant, our own virus, a twisted biological offspring of our own existence—it feeds on both human blood and vampire blood," the Duke finally declared, his voice trembling with a genuine, horrifying tremor.
"It is an unprecedented genetic error. It is a contagion that is not limited by the Masquerade. It does not perpetuate the line; it terminates it. This is what I meant, Dawn Knight, by the root of all chaos. This is not a rival, but the absolute end of our species."
The silence that followed was absolute, filled only with the faint, electronic hum of the Dawn Knight armor. Zhou Yi finally spoke, his voice ice-cold.
"A virus that attacks the host and the original parasite. You have manufactured your own doom, Maginos. What, specifically, do you need from me?"