"He's trying to take over the Lancer's body," Chiron said.
"A Command Seal can do that?" Achilles asked.
"This is absurd," Atalanta replied, unable to comprehend what she was seeing. Her wide eyes reflected disbelief.
"Fusing the soul of a Servant with that of a Master… not even Command Seals should be capable of something like this!"
The laughter that followed was unnatural, echoing across the battlefield with a timbre that could not be distinguished: was it Vlad's voice, or Darnic's?
"Hehe… Hehehe!! Oh, it's possible…" the fused creature replied, its form already distorted. "I can reduce him to nothing more than a monster in search of the Grail."
Its grotesque laughter reverberated through the air.
"Stop… STOP!!" Vlad roared, despair flooding his tone. "I AM THE KING OF WALLACHIA! THE SON OF VLAD II! I AM NOT A MONSTER, I AM NOT A VAMPIRE—AND YOU HAVE NO RIGHT TO DO THIS TO ME!!"
But his words carried no weight anymore.
His expression, once fierce, began to warp, shifting into a hybrid visage: part Vlad, part Darnic. An ambiguous, deformed mask of bestiality.
His body, his posture, his gaze—none of them were human anymore. Nor were they heroic. They were nothing more than the shell of a monster being born.
"No! As long as we are together, you are me, and I am you! All for the Holy Grail!!" the creature cried out in ecstasy.
"Damn you!! I'll never forgive you for this, Darnic!!" Vlad roared.
"My dream, my wish, will root itself within your existence. I shall live eternally!!!" Darnic proclaimed, his voice delirious.
Darnic's presence crawled within Vlad like a cancer, a devouring tumor that refused to die, spreading through every vein, every shadow of the soul.
Karna, who had been watching this grotesque struggle with the cold detachment of one observing a grim spectacle, felt something rare: disgust.
The noble soul of Vlad III—despite everything—had earned even the respect of the son of the sun god.
And now, before his very eyes, that hero had been reduced to an abomination, a detestable monstrosity.
Karna could not allow this to continue.
In the blink of an eye, he vanished and reappeared behind the creature, thrusting his spear with pinpoint precision at its spiritual core.
It was not pity, but compassion. Karna believed it would be kinder to end his suffering in an instant.
Yet, to his shock, the strike had no effect.
Instead of blood, a thick, black, viscous liquid—like a living shadow—spilled from the wound.
Karna stepped back, narrowing his eyes at the tip of his spear.
"My spear… had no effect on this monster."
Unthinkable. His spear was a divine treasure, a gift from a god. If even it could not pierce the enemy's soul, then what could?
"If this had been before his transformation…" Karna murmured, closing his eyes, "…this strike would have been enough to shatter his core and grant him rest."
As he spoke, a swarm of bats burst from the darkness, swirling and clustering until they formed a humanoid shape.
This was no longer Vlad III. It was something far worse.
No longer the Black Lancer, no longer the King of Romania—what stood before them was the vampire the entire world had learned to fear.
The name resounded like an inevitable curse, steeped in centuries of dread.
Though the vampire myth was young in the world's mysteries—barely a century old—its terror had spread across the globe.
And when humanity thought of the monsters of the night, there was only one name that came to mind.
A name that had become synonymous with fear itself.
In the hearts of men, women, and children alike, he was the true king of the night.
Dracula.
Dracula now turned fully to face them. The figure who once bore a trace of nobility and cunning had succumbed completely to irrationality. His once-perceptive gaze, sharp enough to measure both ally and foe with icy precision, was now a blade of madness: his eyes burned red with hunger and insanity.
His once-elegant black attire lay in tatters. Where skin should have been, there writhed something that did not belong to the realm of the living: a dark, fluid mass, pulsing and shifting beneath the shredded fabric as though shadows themselves had taken flesh. The stench of centuries of decay seemed to seep from his every move.
"Now… return the Holy Grail to me!! Once I have the Greater Grail, I shall grant the wishes of the Yggdmilenia family!!" Dracula roared.
The frenzied scream of the monster echoed through the corridors of the Hanging Gardens.
His predatory eyes scoured the surroundings before locking onto a single point: the Greater Grail.
"Eh! So the Lancer turned into a monster? Big deal!" Achilles scoffed. With a sharp motion, he raised his spear and, using his inhuman speed, hurled himself at Dracula like a living arrow.
"No!" Chiron shouted, trying to stop his student. But his warning came too late—the spear was already caught.
Achilles arched an eyebrow in disbelief as his weapon was stopped, not by a refined magical technique, but by the vampire's hands—hands strong enough to crush iron while regenerating torn flesh simultaneously. Though Dracula's grip shredded his own palm, within seconds the vampiric regeneration sealed the wound as if it had never happened. The sound of bones knitting back together was smothered by sadistic laughter.
The monster slammed Achilles to the ground with overwhelming force and brutality. Yet the hero emerged without serious wounds: as long as his opponent lacked true divinity, mere physical blows could do little more than scratch him.
But when the vampire bared his fangs, Achilles reacted on instinct, thrusting up his arm—battle-hardened reflexes kicking in. Before the beast's mouth could reach him, Chiron intervened, delivering a powerful kick that sent Achilles crashing into the base of a nearby column.
Groaning as he stood, Achilles snapped at his teacher: "What the hell are you doing, old man!?"
"Don't you get it yet?" Chiron replied gravely. "You may be almost invulnerable to attacks without divinity… but that's not the only way he can defeat you."
Achilles frowned. "What do you mean?"
"The ability he wields is dangerous. Even with your divine protection, caution is essential," Chiron warned.
Meanwhile, Dracula vanished into a blur of darkness and reappeared beside one of the homunculi that had followed them into the Gardens. With a savage bite, he sank his fangs into the creature's neck and drained it dry.
"Vampires can turn those they bite into thralls. There's no simple defense against something like that…" Chiron said, his face taut like a drawn bowstring.
"You mean… he's uncontrollable?" Achilles muttered, doubt creeping into his tone for the first time.
"This is a problem," Avicebron assessed calmly. "If he reaches the Grail, his hunger will become an army."
The weight of his words fell like lead on the group.
If Dracula obtained the Greater Grail, not only would his dark desires be fulfilled—the legend itself would anchor into reality. Vlad III, the Impaler, and the myth of Dracula would merge into a nightmare that would plunge Romania into eternal night. The cataclysmic potential was enough to chill the blood of any sane soul.
From the opposite corridor, two figures advanced quickly. Sensing them, Dracula lunged with predatory ferocity toward his new prey.
But the man following the young woman intercepted the strike, seizing the vampire's arm with a strength that startled everyone.
"Well, looks like I missed a few interesting things here, didn't I?" Arthur muttered. In the same instant, he delivered a sharp kick to Dracula's abdomen, launching him backward with enough force to scatter dust and petals through the air.
Jeanne furrowed her brow sternly. "A vampire…" she whispered. Her eyes not only recognized the beast but also saw the twisted concept within: a deep corruption that had defiled an honorable Heroic Spirit into nothing more than a monster. The greater danger was what that concept could unleash upon the vampire's homeland. If the Grail were corrupted by such intent, the legend would manifest into reality itself.
Jeanne's heartbeat quickened with urgency. She noticed Arthur's calm demeanor—his lack of surprise. It was as if he had anticipated this all along. But there was no time to dwell on that.
"I am already aware of the situation. To reorganize this Holy Grail War, I ask for your cooperation. I must request something of you all," Jeanne declared.
"You're going to make a request… as a Ruler?" Atalanta asked.
"Yes. I ask for a truce until we can defeat him. At all costs, we must prevent that vampire from reaching the Grail," Jeanne explained.
Chiron nodded in agreement. "I concur. The risk is far too great for us to continue fighting among ourselves now."
Karna inclined his head slightly. "That abomination is the enemy of us all."
"In the name of the Ruler, Jeanne d'Arc, I command every Servant gathered here—by the power of my Command Seal: destroy that vampire!!" Jeanne ordered.
---
(End of chapter)
"Hmph. If you really want to be useful, then entertain me, try to throw those pathetic power stones at me. Let's see if even your insolence can amuse a king."