Focusing on her mission, V stood alone in the large room. Everything had been prepared in silence. Magical tools, ingredients, a holy incense burner, and candles.
Her four maids have disappeared completely, and after collecting blood from the guard and the two thralls, V allowed them to go out and have a little bit of fun.
The blonde maid decided to 'Use' the guard for the night. As for the other three, V could hear the moans and the cries of five people coming from the room next to her.
The elves, after transforming into vampires, asked their mistress to spare those two stable boys. The reason was simple: kindness.
Only those two men were kind enough to sneak food and warm cloaks to the slaves.
They gave kindness, and in the end, they received kindness. V decided to honor their request, and as such, the two boys were now part of her own kin as thralls.
"Ahh~.....Hghh~..."
"Why does it have to be sex?" V cursed silently, shaking her head as a disturbing image of something long and hard came to her mind. A thing that... let's not talk about it.
"Focus!" V sighed, slapping both cheeks. That was Morgana's influence, not her real thoughts. But the moans and the flesh-against-flesh sounds weren't helping either. Even the runes couldn't muffle everything, especially not when her hearing was as sharp as a wolf's, and her new daywalker desires were close to that of a succubus. Only the type of 'food' she preferred was blood, not that white creamy substance.
V shook her head again, and with a silver chalice filled with blood, she made a magical circle in the air by controlling blood particles. This was a way for the vampire to communicate. Morgana taught her this technique so V could send reports, ask for information, or seek help without a key.
....
Thirty minutes later.
"Haa... I'm tired."
V dropped head-first onto the soft bed, muffling her groan into the silky sheets.
The communication ritual was complete. The blood in the air had long since dried into a thin, crusted script that shimmered faintly with residual divine energy. The chalice was empty. Her patience, even more so. Her call with Morgana had gone exactly as she expected.
Morgana wasn't happy that V chose to call instead of using the key to teleport to the temple.
"You're avoiding me."
"I'm focused on the mission."
"You're afraid you'll pounce on me the moment we're alone."
"…No comment."
It had been less a conversation and more a verbal ambush coated in velvet and dripping with holy precum. Morgana's voice had oozed through the blood sigils like perfume—thick, warm, and unmistakably aroused. Not angry. Not annoyed.
Hungry.
By the end of it, V was forced to promise she would return to the Temple in the near future.
"It's like she wants me to fail just so she can 'punish' me," V mumbled into the mattress. "Dammit, Mother. This is your fault. Your touch, your eyes, your smile… Dammit! I can still taste you, see you, hear you, and even smell... and... and that thing…"
V squeezed her legs together, cursing how much her lower half quivered. She can't recall what happened after Morgana changed her into a daywalker, and since her body healed itself, V still believes that her new body was a virgin, but her soul knows...
She rolled over onto her back, staring up at the ceiling. The voices in the next room died out a while ago, but their smell still lingered in the air like sweet and cloying perfume. As for the blonde maid, she also finished her play with the guard, and after placing him under her spell, she let him go.
"I better get some sleep," V whispered, the pillows swallowing her frame as she adjusted them and covered herself in the thin blanket. "It's been a very long time since I could fall into a peaceful sleep."
Closing her eyes, V breathed out, letting the night wash over her. As a daywalker—the highest form of vampire in existence—sleep was more of a habit than a true necessary requirement. And because of her bond with the Night Mother, Morgana also granted her many gifts, transforming her into something that could be considered an extension of the goddess herself.
After a couple of seconds in silence, V slipped into her slumber with a single thought.
'Tomorrow I shall meet Liliana, hand her the keys, and then investigate that man.'
...
A sliver of morning bled past the covered windows, filtered through warded curtains enchanted to distort harmful rays. Gold turned to gray, sunlight defanged. The city of Vandor was stirring beyond her walls—market stalls creaking open, the chant of morning prayers drifting from the cathedral bells, and the distant sound of armored boots marching in formation.
But none of that mattered.
V already woke up listening to the maid's report of everything that happened last night, specifically that man from the Holy Order.
His name was Leonardo, and apparently, the guy was the Chapter Master of the Holy Order's 7th Division—a decorated knight who had once been a rising star within the Church, and for twenty long years, he was the acting general in charge of the entire southern army fighting against the elven kingdom.
"And now he's being publicly humiliated?" V mused, swirling a glass of blood-red wine between her fingers. The liquid caught the dim light, casting a faint crimson glow across her porcelain features. "Interesting."
The reason for this humiliation, based on the Church's public announcement, is that he was the traitor knight of Vandor, who, for some reason, refused to slay the filthy xenos and ordered his men to stand down.
In a zealot xenophobic kingdom such as Vandor, this kind of behavior was a quick way to a wooden pole in the middle of an inferno. The second-in-command immediately reported Leonardo's actions to the Church, and the day after, the guy was dragged all the way from the southern borders of the country to the capital, where the Church found him guilty, stripped of his titles and rank.
"My lady," the blonde maid, now freshly bathed and dressed in her immaculate uniform, bowed slightly. "According to the whispers in the streets, he refused to slay an elven village filled with nothing but children and old folks."
"A human knight who refused to slaughter elves?" V murmured, her lips curling into a slow, dangerous smile. "How... unexpected."
"According to the rumors, my Lady, he didn't just refuse—he protected them. Ordered his men to stand down and even fought those who disobeyed."
V's fingers tapped against the armrest of her chair. This changed things. The Holy Order of Vandor was infamous for its fanaticism, its brutal crusades against non-humans. For a high-ranking knight—a Chapter Master—to defy their doctrine so openly? That wasn't just heresy. That was rebellion.
And rebellions could be useful.
"Where is he now?" V asked, her voice smooth as silk.
"Still chained in the square, my Lady. The Church intends to leave him there for three days—starved, exposed—before transferring him to the Church."
"No execution?" V raised a brow, confused for a moment.
"Yes," the blonde maid nodded, her eyes glowing faintly in the half-light of the room.
"Being a Chapter Master means that he possesses angelic blood," she added after a moment. "The Church will most likely enlist him in the Order of Gray Knights, place him under mind control enchantments to fight for the rest of his life."
V set the wineglass down, her mind already ten steps ahead.
'A fallen knight with angelic blood. Public disgrace. Private containment. Enslavement, not execution.'
It didn't make sense. Not unless they wanted to keep him alive. Use him. Twist him.
"That's unlike the Church," she murmured, lacing her fingers together beneath her chin. "They don't spare heretics unless there's something to gain… or something to hide."
Her gaze shifted to the far window, veiled in enchanted curtains. The city beyond teemed with life, faith, and ignorance. The Holy Church of Light had ruled Vandor's soul for centuries, preaching purity and righteousness while burning dissent in its polished cathedrals.
And yet now, the people were watching one of their greatest war heroes rot in chains.
V rose from her chair and walked across the room, her heels silent on the marble floor. Her crimson cloak swirled behind her like spilled blood.
"Prepare my clothes," she told the blonde maid. "The diplomatic set. Subtle, noble, a little foreign. We're going to the square."
"Shall I prepare an escort?" The maid bowed deeply.
"No," V replied, her tone cool and final. "A lone woman draws more eyes than a parade of guards. Let them see me."
"Are you sure, my lady?" the maid asked, hesitantly. "Two days ago, the kingdom received the news about the death of one of her nobles."
V instantly recognized that the maid was talking about that noble, the one she sacrificed his soul to Morgana along with his wife before burning down his mansion.
"If anyone recognizes you—" the maid began, but V cut her off.
"Then let them recognize me," V spoke. Her crimson eyes narrowed. "I want the Church to remember the moment they let a monster walk their streets in daylight."