Глава 13

I think... it might be better to let him remain in that dream before the Sarkaz force their way in.

At least it'll be a splendid dream.

But me... despicable man that I am, dare not reach out to pollute—

The blood of the aged Youth Vanguard splatters my hands.

The Prince of Blood himself, the Sanguinarch of Vampires, looks silently at the extravagant decor of the Victorian palace.

The expression on his face could be described as... serene.

You came, Lettou.

Here I thought you'd find somewhere to hide.

No, of course not.

I was always going to come find Your Highness.

You seem spirited today, I'm pleased. Ever since that old Gaulish teacher of yours died, you've been quite the buzzkill.

I made a bet with my children, they wagered that you were about to die.

But I believed in you, Lettou.

Have a drink with me, to the defeat of your enemies, the death of the nation of Victoria.

I'll begin the ritual myself, bestowing the most ancient curse, the most tragic end.

And so I will be leaving soon. Even my own kin don't enjoy such an honor, you should be grateful.

You know, Your Highness...

By the time I was born, Gaul's capital had already been razed by the Duke of Wellington and his despicable accomplices.

A city annihilated, as one breathes a sigh.

Now it seems you will do the same to Londinium.

Will you weep for her?

I just... didn't expect it.

Duke Wellington dismantled Lingones, pulling those mobile plates apart. Heh, so silly, so boring, the Victorians.

Would you like to settle the blood debt with your own hands? I admire your persistence.

I could grant you such an opportunity.

Your Highness is most magnanimous.

I bow deeply, but I feel his gaze lingering on me.

Ah... pathetic.

Mean, fickle, cowardly, self-righteous.

Begging for mercy out of fear, self-destructing out of despair.

But I'm still very curious about you.

In the scheme of your insignificant life, we've spent quite some time together.

—Do you really think you can kill me, Lettou?

You won't.

My very blood grips my heart.

You may think to yourself, this Sarkaz is so arrogant, so contemptuous.

On the contrary... Lettou.

Considering what I am about to see, I am positively <i>filled</i> with affection for you.

You are a fool, yes, and despicable indeed. You should cherish your blood.

At first, I thought they might have some more interesting uses.

*Sigh*, such hasty farewells between us.

The Gaulishman's sword... I do my best to reach it.

The despicable man's sword.

Poor man. Keep trying, give it all you've got and you just might reach the hilt.

...I'll...

I'll... grant...

What is it you're trying to say?

I'm saying—

The blade cuts across my throat, cold, chilling.

I see my filthy blood gushing from my neck.

The crimson liquid stains his clothes and splashes his face.

Hah.

I'm saying... I'll... 'grant' you my blood, vile leech!

You'll never boast about the purity of your blood ever again!

Because the despicable René Lettou has polluted it!

How dull.

Did you think this would anger me? Offend me?

Did you think I would kick your corpse in anger? Curse your insolence?

I'm not going to do any of that, Lettou. René Lettou.

Insignificant man... same as the land itself in my eyes, an annoyance.

Did you think this act could give meaning to your pathetic life?

Still so conceited, Lettou.

I won't give you another thought, not so much as a momentary glance.

...Theresis.

Vampire.

If memory serves, I have some sort of role in your hypocritical 'Military Commission'.

But I haven't seen a war report from you in quite some time?

Nor have you attended any Commission meetings in quite some time.

You've always held the requisite command authority.

'Command authority.'

I don't need to command my offspring, they serve me naturally, they serve their court.

Then you need to manage them better.

The war's end approaches, and your underlings need to play a more significant role. Their wanton behavior vexes me.

The western front is wasting time.

This is necessary for the ritual.

Without enough blood and tears, how are we supposed to gather enough material for the witchcraft?

You and Theresa told me about the ancient door you found, covered in scabs.

Is the source of all Sarkaz suffering, the origin of our fate, really behind that door?

The preparations for the ritual are complete.

But one of the nodes, the town of Brentwood, is under attack by our enemies.

Are you dispatching me to resolve these trifling nuisances for you, Theresis?

Oh, that reminds me, oh revered 'Regent' of the Military Commission—

Since the Commission has noted this is such a <i>crucial</i> town, why did it not prepare any significant defense?

No shrouded casters, meat puppets, or any haphazardly bewitched, flesh-woven brutes?

...I indulged you and your sister on account of your dazzlingly powerful souls.

Weak Sarkaz call you Regent, and the Confessarii have gathered around you, bringing Theresa back to you.

The Regent and the resurrected 'King of Sarkaz', what a fascinating pair of siblings.

But all of this owes to your actions, your power, not your... status.

<i>Power.</i>

Hmph.

I have blessed this battlefield in order to cast the grandest of curses.

I, in my benevolence as head of one of the oldest of the courts, have awakened the power hidden within the blood of the Sarkaz.

And so, Theresis, have you felt it? Does my boon delight you?

Oh, but how much power can be drawn from your mixed blood?

The end is near, it's making you restless.

Conceal your weakness.

Or shall I say, do you need a reminder or two?

Heh.

I will complete the final part of the ritual for you, proud Regent.

But it is not in service of the narrow ambitions of you and your sister, eyes always fixed on that nomadic city bearing the false name of Kazdel.