Chapter 83: The Blood River Legacy

The River of Blood was the origin of vampire kind’s power, yet for reasons unknown, it had seemed to drift gradually into dormancy. Especially since the rise of humanity a millennium ago, not even the initiation of native-born kindred could ripple its sacred currents.

This was an ominous sign. If the Holy River truly fell into eternal slumber, the entire power of vampiric blood would inexorably wane. Though the strength of high vampire aristocracy appeared unhampered, a few key individuals had noticed strange omens—one of them was the Night’s Monarch Lilih, whose slumber lasted longer by each cycle.

Habs ignited the Sigil of Fire from his blood, sending tremors throughout the dark world’s foundations. Although the storm stirred by this feat had only just begun to swell tensions not only among clans, but within the ever-shadowing congress of Eternal Night. Then came this most pivotal moment—the River of Blood was awakened once more.

A reawakened Holy River meant prosperity for vampire kind. According to past precedent, whoever gained recognition from the river was bound to ascend as a Duke at least, or beyond. But such fortune brought risk to the Szpurc Clan—if that recognition arose from a rival clan, it foretold disaster.

Thus the tidings Habs described were both blessings and burdens.

More keen observers noticed something even stranger—none of the Dukes felt the resonance, yet Habs’ personal blood resonance was profound, and worse, he could still not deduce who received the boon—a circumstance thought impossible. Who indeed could accomplish this miracle?

In that moment, thoughts across darkness turned toward a name: Edward of the Paas Clade. If anyone present deserved blood river recognition, it would have to be the sacred heir imbued with the Night Monarch’s very lineage. Then once again rose the fears of many—how dire an outcome it would be if the clan that had commanded first-tier power for ten thousand years were allowed to produce another Great Duke.

As more minds converged upon this terrible certainty, the grandeur of the great hall gave way to silence.

It was then when Habs once more addressed the hall, his rich baritone reverberated directly upon each vampire’s inner blood core, as deeply resonant as solemn bells. *“Whosoever earned Sainted Waters‘ approval means naught but resurrection stirs anew. Tiding such is gift to Sanguinity. Regardless the bearer’s clan of genesis – we shall hold no cause for fear!”*

While never one to draw attention, tonight marked a transformation for this young prince so often hidden behind gentle countenance; his words, edged with magnetic authority, stirred the lifeblood in all his kin. Gazes once dispassionate now burned as bright as embers.

From among the crowd, a Duke strode forward sharply and fell to one knee below regal steps, placed palm to his own heart and bowed low with utter reverence. “Illustrious Prince Hazbus! Upon blood thrummed by soul, Lord Zhaorma pledges his allegiance!”

Murmurs rippled—an oath this formal was usually reserved only for addressing the Dark Emperor himself—surely even with allegiance sought, so extravagant a gesture still took many aback.

Prince Habs upon the throne merely observed with equanimity, as if accepting homage his inherent birthright!

The assembled aristocracy of Szpurc Clan and their allied elites, supplemented with gifted guests from subordinate clans, now collectively grasped: long-hidden talent at last emerged—beginning tonight.

Meanwhile, ancient sires—those who had lived countless eras—entertained darker contemplations. Could it be that the prince had not reached the zenith of his evolution? Dare hearts entertain the absurd—that Hazb could perhaps become the fabled Dark Sovereign never yet seen even within Firescint Crown?!

An impossible fancy—and yet now their blood burned again after millennia spent cooled.

Once dismissed, Hazbus sat still momentarily upon the throne before vanishing seamlessly. Reappearing instantly skyborne from clan fortress ramparts.

High above the Twilight Lands lay the most splendid heavens. Night descended not as darkness in black but twilight’s embrace—a tapestry of deep emerald and dusky amber. Silvery Moon now began ascent past horizon’s rim trailing iridescent after-images shimmering softly to its destined zenith.

Remaining still in the night wind, the noble fixated eyes over infinite void. During Holy River resonance, his perceptive acuity surged momentarily—revealing during that single heartbeat how his lingering connection to primordial darkness’ flame—the very trace he had left upon Empress Marshal Link Sinthar—became naught but fading phantasm.

This darkness thread was meant as an ancestral scar placed by him, never to fade—though the disturbance was not the mending of his ancient wound upon Sinthar, which would remove even illusion. Yet the spectral impression remains—proof only total mastery of Da Yen’s Celestial Arithmetic might accomplish such concealment. She who now resided beyond the tier he held might still, for now, evade his gaze only via full exertion.

Just during such instant, as perception brushed veil’s limit imposed, vast force struck—so colossal that only astral pulling could equal its mystery. No living being—not even the fabled Dark Lord—had ever pierced the inscrutable Fates’ Weaves like this.

Just precisely… what gambit Link Sinthar pursued?

As thoughts stirred toward eternal war’s embers still raging across Nevernoon’s expanse, an ill foreboding settled upon Hazbus, a whisper that whatever imperial machination had plotted against the Eternal Council, it might now—past the sealing’s formation—stand irretrievable undone.

Far from this land, within the Void beyond Night’s Continent, great tempests of raw essence roared through thousands upon leagues of space like a storm’s breath; Sovereign of the Lightless Realm, Madenzo, suddenly looked up in alarm, compelled to search the horizon’s depth. It took merely that distracted moment before slender beam of cosmic starlight, unknowable and ancient, flashed across his brow—a deathblow from afar.

Madenzo’s countenance contorted; aura surged forth, blood mist erupting—allowing narrowst dodge sideways through night. So terrifying in potency the light beam easily pierced Madenzo’s essence clouds; great portions of it evaporated with terrifying ease, leaving behind an immense breach—an irrevocable wound.

Those vital mists held the essence of Madenzo’s core being! Once harmed, no hasty replenishment existed—merely a future return via painful regeneration alone.

And yet to erode even fragments was unthinkable… for within his being was purest essence—indelible, unchallengeable—yet struck down!

That silken line skimmed past him, burning a minuscule sear at his lapel.

Though unmarred physically, his losses were dire—wiping his blood mists was grievous injury indeed.

Across the void, the Elder King descended ethereally with flowing eyebrows rippling gently in nonchalant smile.

“Madenzo, to grow negligent facing Majesty himself shows how full of hubris still, doesn’t it, old friend? That salvo alone shall see you return for no less than one full decade of refinement to mend.”

Unperturbed, Madenzo instead sneered. “‘Twas the sudden awakening of the Holy River that broke my concentration. It proves our kindred bear yet again one who gains Saint River Power. Soon comes our noble kin another noble Duke or even Princedom—how might you gloat over trifling advantage knowing that?”

The Elders King’s countenance turned graver, recognizing—if truth held within Madenzo—far more than simply elevating their kin by a noble might. Of darkness tribes in entirety, vampire’s blood bond to human hosts made them diametric enemies; unlike remaining trio dark races whose relations were less eternally bloodstained with mankind.

While River’s silence was merely hypothesis once, even hidden to inner Eternal Councils and Sanctums—the River echoing twice now within but one cycle could be seen and felt without doubt. Revival surging in sacred force, bloodlines thriving as with human empire resplendent in renaissance, all meant bloodrace’s might ascend.

Yet none could deny the Elder King as formidable soul unshaken easily.

“Time will answer River’s omen in course. Meanwhile, my aim?—perhaps only to grant you respite for three hundred long sleep centuries.”

Frost darkened Madenzo’s expression then.

“Rest? That I might dream? Try first, should you claim strength equal.”

Battles renewed across void.

Back upon fortress parapet of Eternal War’s host, Fjord Junttu and Lith狂·Lee found confrontation spiraling toward breaking point.

The chill about Lord Zhao thickened palpably with murderous aura when Lith interjected. “Down together. Me before you.”

“Fine.”

Moonlight wrapped cold radiance in Lith’s weapon flared. Descending rubble seemed certain, had not chaotic aura beneath shifted unexpectedly—a dark-gilded luminance suddenly pierced ruins to blaze skyward. Echoing, harmonizing with Saint River resonance.

Reflex saved Lith narrowly—a mere whisper from his forelock’s loss, severing strands with invisible cleavage.

Famed composure of Lith shattered, beads of dread pearled—this beam’s source utterly unfamiliar.

Lord Zhao also changed tone; this radiant flare defied all instinct, all perception.

Exchanging glances wordlessly—personal feud suspended—they leaped downward.

Amidst rubble’s deep veins, Qian Ye at last withdrew spirit from River’s memory, mindscape laden with infinite fragments newly remembered—dizzy under weight.

Unlike before glimpsing Saint Current via the Dark Book’s vision—these fragments belonged to sacred ancestral knowledge of vampire lore—not just different: contrary.

While most teachings echoed common knowledge, one segment caught attention: deep-gilded fragment unique among red-rimmed relics. Upon merging with perception—a torrent of hidden data imprinted consciousness.

A forgotten order revealed itself. Vastly differing present classification.

According to ancient record—golden combustion symbolized rank of Viscount—a prerequisite to noble standing: without this alchemic ignition, even a bloodbearer of full Viscount standard could enter upper echelons? No. They could never pass the sacred gates to true aristocracy of kind.

As per this structure—the step into Baron demands total transformation into golden blood fire; to step into Earlhood—the prerequisite was initial blood core crystallization.

Comparatively, the extant system seemed pitiful—dismissing almost all Viscount and Baron as mere common nobodies, nothing better than brute force nouveaux riches beneath this ancient tiered vision.

However despite such rigid system—by absorbing demonspawn’s noble essence, Qian Ye found self advanced nearly to level one Viscount—the step away? Merely breath’s width away.

That a singular drop of Marquise-grade blood-essence enabled near-transcendence between tiers was extraordinary—no simple matter. Having never felled high caste demon kin before—questions looms: accident? Or… is all bloodseed vital to vampire kin?

In event it indeed was the second, blood kin and shadowblood’s relationship turned much juicier—more complex, deeper than mere mortal hatred could ever convey.

Yet this, was just first ripple.

Far horizons still brooked many more storms on way.