Chapter 123

Chapter 123
## Chapter 123

The Ufersh Clan (2)

Visque Ufersh stood atop a high ridge that looked down upon the capital, having resumed his true visage alongside his followers.

He gazed down at the sprawling settlement below, his features twisted in an ugly grimace.

“Ha! So that is the reason?”

An inexplicable dread had plagued him from the moment they stepped foot into Raffella City, a persistent weight he could not shake, but the truth had finally crystallized.

“Brokoslack… That ancient phantom still breathes. And he is here, of all places?”

Confronted with this sudden revelation, he determined that this phantom must be the root of the irritation that had been gnawing at him.

Rationalizing the situation this way was far more satisfying than letting his mind wander through endless, unanswered questions.

‘Of course, it makes sense if the adversary is likewise of the Sacred Blood. My discomfort was merely a primal instinct warning me of a worthy competitor nearby.’

Forcing himself to swallow this explanation, a frigid smirk played across his lips.

The lingering unease remained, but it would vanish the moment he obliterated Brokoslack.

“…Visque? Are you implying that ‘Sacred Blood Brokoslack’ resides within those walls?”

Just then, Theodore Ufersh, who had been maintaining a silent vigil at his flank, knit his brows and inquired with visible caution.

The presence of another Sacred Blood on the enemy’s side was a variable completely absent from their strategic calculations, meaning their grand design was bound to suffer a massive disruption.

“Indeed, that archaic relic lingers there, however…”

Visque offered his reply with complete indifference, casting a sharp sidelong glance at Theodore.

A single eyebrow twitched upward, broadcasting his simmering irritation.

“What of it? With my presence guaranteed, what does a single extra phantom change? Do not imply that the vanguard of Ufersh harbors cowardice.”

Theodore swiftly dipped his chin, perspiration beading on his skin at the dread lord’s volatile temper.

“N-no, my lord. My sole anxiety lies in the potential for unnecessary drain on our ranks. The original doctrine dictated a swift decapitation strike with negligible losses, clearing the path for the immediate subjugation of the Talia Kingdom.”

Visque locked his eyes onto the crown of Theodore’s lowered head for a brief spell before making a clicking sound with his tongue and turning back toward the urban expanse.

Though his temper had flared due to the agitation that had dogged his journey, he understood that a certain toll in blood was unavoidable.

The defensive measures woven into the enemy stronghold remained a mystery, particularly with two True Bloods currently absent from the board.

Furthermore, Mulo Brokoslack, the clan’s former sovereign, was a spellcaster completely devoted to the arcane arts.

Few opponents proved more vexing than a sorcerer entrenched deep within their own sanctum, surrounded by countless layers of preparation.

“Regardless, they have undoubtedly detected our approach, so we strike immediately. We must deny them any further window to fortify.”

“Understood!”

For vampires, the undisputed monarchs of the dark, slipping past city defenses beneath the midnight shroud was as effortless as drawing breath.

Nearly fifty dark silhouettes vaulted the perimeter fortifications with silent, lethal grace.

—

“…Mulo? How fare your defenses?”

Briki, lounging with absolute indolence upon the cushions of the sofa inside Mulo Brokoslack’s private sanctuary, tossed the question out casually as she sipped her dark infusion.

The rigid anxiety she had displayed earlier had completely evaporated; she now resembled a collection of wilted greens, leaving one to wonder if she truly was the harbinger who had rushed to sound the alarm.

Naturally, the prudent Mulo chose not to voice such observations.

“I have issued mandates to muster every available auxiliary detachment and maximize our perimeter watches. Yet, crafting a precise defense is a blind endeavor without knowing the nature of the threat, so we merely reinforce what we can for now…”

“Ufersh is descending upon us.”

“…Pardon? The Ufersh Clan? What drives them to move so abruptly…?”

“Why demand answers from me when I have only just awakened? The burden of knowledge rests on you.”

“A fair point… yet this development defies all expectations.”

His features betrayed his mounting panic as he instantly broadcasted the impending peril to every bloodline relative within the estate.

In the face of an all-out assault, fracturing their numbers meant certain death; they needed to concentrate their entire martial strength into a singular defensive node.

Rising swiftly from his desk, Mulo hurried out of the chamber while rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

Briki merely offered a slow, lazy yawn as she trailed in his wake, but he could no longer afford to waste attention on her casual demeanor.

‘I have confined the mortal residents to their quarters until this storm passes, sealed behind specialized wards, so they should remain insulated…’

The far more harrowing reality was that Ufersh, occupying a throne among the three supreme vampire lineages and boasting the absolute peak of destructive power, was knocking at their gates.

Their hasty preparations were drastically outmatched by an invading force that had surely calculated every variable.

“Tell me, can you pinpoint their current position?”

Mulo directed his query toward Briki as he thrust open the heavy double doors of the grand reception hall, stepping into the space where his forces had congregated.

His intrinsic True Blood perceptions yielded absolutely nothing, a blankness likely manufactured by the obfuscation arts of Visque, the enemy’s Sacred Blood.

Given his specialization in pure arcane sorcery, sensory tracking was never his primary talent.

“Ah— Oh, that?”

Briki, performing a languid stretch at the rear of the procession, offered a careless murmur.

Yet, a sudden spark enlivened her tone, as if a dormant well of vitality had abruptly flooded her veins.

“They have just—”

It was the distinct sensation of a predator coiling its muscles, gathering its internal reservoir of power.

“What?”

“—breached the threshold.”

*Crackle—!*

The final syllable had barely left her lips when a violent tear ripped through the protective dome enveloping the estate, and the foreign signatures of dozens of intruding vampires flooded his senses.

They brought with them a suffocating wave of murderous intent.

—

“Well, look at this… To think your heart still beats, Brokoslack. I was under the impression your funeral was long overdue.”

“And your tongue remains as foul as ever, it seems. You share the exact lack of breeding as your predecessor. Is arrogance a hereditary trait within Ufersh?”

“Since you seem intent on dragging out your final days, I shall personally grant you eternal rest. Your cherished lineage will be extinguished alongside you, ensuring your journey into the void is a shared one.”

“Utterly incapable of digesting the words of others, as always. Must your very existence be so thoroughly repulsive?”

Two paragons of the Sacred Blood stood toe-to-toe, trading venomous barbs.

The interval between the forces assembling in the grand reception hall and the invading shadow-stalkers colliding was virtually nonexistent.

After all, the singular objective of Ufersh was the total eradication of the Brokoslack line to usurp their domain.

‘The situation is dire.’

While the supreme leaders exchanged insults, Mulo silently ground his teeth together, conducting a grim assessment of the battlefield balance.

In terms of raw headcount, his side held the advantage.

Though the mobilization had been frantic, this location served as their ancestral seat, allowing them to draw in a dense concentration of kin.

However, the disparity in individual caliber was stark.

‘Our ranks possess barely more than ten Purebloods, while the remainder consists entirely of unrefined Fledglings. They provide bulk, but against this threat…’

Furthermore, the estate was entirely devoid of Servants or thralls.

Such imperfect creatures, incapable of masking their corrupted nature, could never be safely deployed within Talaria, where the holy spires cast a constant shadow.

‘Even assuming Lady Briki manages to neutralize Visque Ufersh, their vanguard still deploys four True Bloods… This trajectory spells ruin.’

Mulo suppressed a bleak sigh and began to draw upon his inner reserves.

In truth, he possessed a hidden trump card.

His alignment with Heinz’s faction had granted him access to the “Refined Blood Essence,” a catalyst that had triggered a monumental leap in his personal evolution.

A dense, high-density current of crimson magic, born from his re-engineered predatory lineage, surged through his vascular system in perfect lockstep with his racing pulse.

“Tell me, who claims the mantle of your current sovereign? I am eager to witness what sort of creature inherited this rotting husk… Hmm?”

Visque, locked in a mental siege of fluctuating pressure against Briki, suddenly registered a disturbance, but…

The window for reaction had already slammed shut.

*Whoosh—*

The crimson arrays concealed throughout the architecture of the mansion suddenly erupted in a brilliant scarlet glow, warping the local dimensions.

The already cavernous reception hall stretched and multiplied its dimensions repeatedly, reshaping itself into a grand coliseum within a heartbeat.

Concurrently, the specialized warding matrix flooded his comrades with empowering energy while imposing a heavy, debilitating pressure upon the invaders, narrowing the chasm in raw strength.

‘Amplified by the matrix, I can project the localized authority of my personal chambers across the entire perimeter… yet this alone cannot turn the tide.’

The lower tiers of his kin could leverage this environmental edge to buy precious minutes, but it remained insufficient for turning back the tide of enemy True Bloods.

He required an immediate injection of elite martial force.

And within the fortified embrace of this domain, he possessed the exact mechanism to summon it.

“Heed my call. Freesia—!”

A swirling vortex of condensed blood materialized on the floor before Mulo as the incantation concluded.

From the sanguine depths, Freesia stepped forward, her weapons drawn and her aura primed for slaughter.

“My, I scarcely anticipated joining the vanguard so rapidly.”

Exhaling a sharp breath, she immediately dropped into a low combat stance the instant her feet touched the stone.

The extreme distance separating them from the primordial wilderness prevented him from pulling both True Bloods through the rift, but her arrival restored a semblance of equilibrium.

‘Our path to victory requires us to maintain a flawless defensive perimeter until Lady Briki can separate Visque’s head from his shoulders…’

Naturally, this arrangement still left them dangerously close to the precipice.

However, the structural integrity of this grand barrier was designed to withstand even the internal fury of a Sacred Blood for a measured duration, granting them the time they desperately needed—

“Ha, quite clever. I anticipated some resistance, but this proves mildly irritating.”

The whisper materialized from thin air right beside him.

A pair of pristine, porcelain-white irises locked directly onto Mulo’s dilated pupils before his thoughts could even catch up to the threat.

“The moment your life ceases, this construct collapses into dust.”

Before Mulo could register the motion, Visque had crossed the intervening space in an untraceable blink, his hand thrusting forward like a spear intended to impale the sorcerer’s chest—.

“You display far too much confidence in my absence, do you not?”

*Boom—!*

Briki intercepted the strike perfectly, her collision with Visque unleashing a shockwave that rattled the very foundations of the hall.

Exploiting the split-second reprieve bought by her intervention, Mulo folded the fabric of the surrounding space, slipping through a spatial seam to reappear a safe distance away while wiping cold sweat from his brow.

“…Very well, it seems the elimination of this ancient specter must take precedence.”

“Hah, a correction is sorely needed to adjust your atrocious manners.”

Visque, countered at every turn by Briki’s swift defense even within an unfavorable domain, bared his fangs in absolute fury at the repeated obstruction, while she unleashed her full, unbridled aura, refusing to yield an inch.

Just as the atmosphere between the opposing factions reached a snapping point once more,

*Crack— Crackle!*

An ominous, fracturing sound reverberated through a section of Mulo’s masterfully woven barrier.

“What madness is this?!”

Shock fractured Mulo’s composure anew, his eyelids twitching violently as he scrambled to stabilize the unraveling spatial coordinates.

An external force of anomalous origin was actively carving a pathway through his defenses.

While it was a fundamental truth that such boundaries were inherently more vulnerable to assaults launched from the exterior, this matrix had been forged with meticulous care, boasting durability vastly superior to its past iterations.

Even an external siege conducted by a True Blood should have required sustained effort to compromise, yet…

While the entire assembly stood paralyzed by this impossible anomaly, a pair of thick forearms, heavily armored in dark red scales and tipped with lethal claws, forced their way through the widening tear.

Then, utilizing a motion akin to sliding open a heavy portal, the hidden intruder began to forcefully tear the boundary apart from the outside.

*Crackle—*

The rupture expanded under the immense physical strain, revealing the entity on the other side…

The visage of a feral, hairy beast.

“Ugh, this ward was an unexpected nuisance. My intention was a clean, silent breach, but the delay was unavoidable.”

The beast-headed entity—or rather, a figure clad in the severed skull of a titanic monster—muttered under his breath as he hauled his massive frame through the threshold.

The instant his hulking, heavily muscled form cleared the gap, the barrier snapped shut behind him, repairing itself flawlessly.

The infiltration was performed with such terrifying precision that it bypassed the spell’s feedback loops entirely, leaving Mulo, the very architect of the array, frozen in sheer bewilderment.

“What? What manner of creature is that?”

“…A northern outlander? No, look closely at those arms…?”

Veins coursed across a bare, iron-like torso etched with primitive, warlike runes, while a mantle of crimson scales encrusted both arms down to the razor-edged talons.

The newcomer, possessing an entirely unorthodox appearance, surveyed the chamber with a pair of mismatched, heterochromic eyes that gleamed fiercely from beneath his monstrous headpiece.

He quickly noted that every weapon and gaze in the hall had shifted to focus entirely on his position.

“Which of you pathetic swine dared to lay a hand on our Hubert!”

Harley, the glory-seeking tribal vanguard who had marched into the fray to demand retribution for his comrade, delivered a thunderous roar.

*Crack! Crack—!*

Simultaneously, a series of sharp, popping noises erupted from his towering frame as his musculature expanded to its absolute peak.

It was the unmistakable prelude to an impending storm of absolute butchery.

“Hubert?”

“Hold, what nonsense is he spouting…?”

The vampires, entirely detached from the context of his arrival, exchanged confused glances while knitting their brows.

A mere fraction of the individuals present could connect the dots between this sudden, violent intrusion and the name he uttered.

Yet Harley’s focus…

Had already locked onto the ranks of the Ufersh invaders.

“Located you—.”

His jaw split into a wide, terrifying grin, baring a row of predatory, pointed teeth.

“It was you, wasn’t it? The bastard who reduced that fragile boy’s internal organs to a ruined slurry?”

His predatory, vertically slit pupils settled with absolute, lethal certainty,

Pinning Klein, the vampire distinguished by his crimson locks and matching blood-red eyes.