"Kill me, give me a quick death. Kill me quickly!" The Priest's muffled pleas continued, sinking the entire Blood Clan Guard into stunned silence.
They were Vampires, but they were not devoid of emotion. No one could watch a comrade suffer a fate worse than death without feeling immense anguish. Yet, despite knowing that granting the Priest mercy was the only correct action, none of them could bring themselves to deliver the final blow.
Chuba turned away, burying his face in distress. As one of the more personable Vampires in the Guard, he was suffering more than the rest.
Rehart roared in frustration and punched the metal wall of the carriage. The panel dented slightly, and a sliver of sunlight pierced through. While not instantly fatal to a Pureblood—as long as it didn't hit a vital spot—the minimal exposure was agonizing.
Rehart's hand, exposed to the light, instantly charred black as if plunged into magma. He bit down, enduring the pain without a sound. Knowing the whole, ugly truth behind Machinos's actions, this self-inflicted torment was his only recourse for his profound guilt.
He knew everything Machinos had done, yet he was his master's sharp Blade, forced to obey, even if it meant leading his subordinates to their doom. Now, he couldn't even grant his suffering comrade a merciful end.
Weilian, the only female in the Guard, had long since buried her face in Light Axe's chest, unable to watch. She didn't notice the strange fear and desire flickering in Light Axe's eyes.
The only one whose expression remained perfectly neutral was Snow Man, the Vampire warrior whose swordsmanship was unmatched. He stepped forward, drawing his long blade. The dazzling flash of the sword was enough to make everyone flinch, and it was that light that finally silenced the Priest's screams.
The long blade sliced clean through the Priest's mutated jawline, splitting his entire cranial cavity in half. The precision was absolute, dividing everything, even the shrunken, yellowed brain. To any other creature, this would be instant, definitive brain death.
But the Priest was not "any other creature." After a brief moment of silence, the corpse began to struggle again. It thrashed and convulsed, its vitality terrifyingly tenacious, like a cockroach surviving without a head. Closer inspection revealed that the severed half of the Priest's head was still alive; his eye was blinking.
The horror of the scene made everyone's skin crawl. Chuba no longer screamed at Snow Man; he was too horrified. He raised his silver-plated firearm, normally fatal to Vampires, and sprayed a furious stream of bullets into the thrashing corpse.
Bullets tore the body to shreds, occasionally ricocheting off the operating table and the carriage walls. Fortunately, the creatures inside seemed unconcerned with the stray bullets, their focus fixed on the corpse that refused to die. Though its internal organs were pulverized and its bones shattered, the body continued to twitch; its heart was still beating, utterly defying the damage.
The chaotic attack revealed a new clue: beneath the torn muscles on the corpse's chest were completely fused, armored bone plates, tightly encasing the heart. Without the rhythmic beating sound, they wouldn't have known the heart was even there.
Snow Man acted again. He slowly shaved away the remaining muscle, fully exposing the bone plate. His expression was grim. He thrust his long blade into a minute crevice on the bone armor, located near the armpit.
The blade pierced through solid muscle, and the entire corpse thrashed wildly as if electrocuted. The sheer agony of the creature was palpable to the onlookers.
This confirmed Snow Man's target. He violently twisted the hilt, tearing the muscle surrounding the blade. This proved to be the final, fatal blow.
The corpse instantly ceased struggling, falling completely still. From the point where the blade entered, a faint blue flame erupted, slowly, yet quickly, consuming the body. After four or five breaths, the entire corpse turned to ash, like a normal Vampire death.
No, not entirely. The half of the head Snow Man had severed earlier was still blinking, isolated from the corpse, refusing to perish.
"I crushed the heart, but this..." Snow Man stared at the half-head, unable to find a fatal weakness.
Rehart suddenly stepped up. He picked up the half-head and stared intently through his sunglasses at the blinking eye—the last remains of his former comrade, now an immortal monster.
After a moment, he slammed the object against the tiny crack in the carriage wall, the one his fist had made earlier. The impact caused the brain matter inside to splatter, slightly widening the hole.
Through the crack, a deadly sliver of sunlight shot in. Under the concentrated light, the half-head instantly vanished into ash. Rehart ducked back, but a large patch of flesh on his hand was incinerated. Both his hands were now severely burned.
Ignoring his wounds, Rehart spoke with intense seriousness. "Besides the most heavily protected heart, the Sun is also their weakness. Remember this! I don't want to see this happen again."
"Heh heh!" Whistler, who had been watching the gruesome show, sneered. "Don't forget, Vampires. The Sun is just as fatal to you."
"Don't you worry about that, pal. You should worry about yourself and Blade," Rehart retorted coldly. To him, the old man was already a corpse waiting to be processed. He didn't need to argue. With Blade captured, Machinos would soon possess the power to make his warriors Daywalkers. Then, all debts would be paid. Rehart silently convinced himself that the horrifying sacrifices were worth it for the Vampire race.
Time resumed its normal flow. By the time Serana awoke, it was nearing dusk.
In the room, sealed tight by dark curtains, a single floor lamp cast a faint glow. Zhou Yi sat quietly, reading a book. Serana's unconscious movement as she stirred caused him to look up. He put down the book.
"It seems you rested well. How are you? Are you adapting to the environment?"
Serana rubbed her face, trying to wake up. She was only wearing one of Zhou Yi's oversized shirts, making the gesture look exceptionally cute.
"I feel great. I've never been this comfortable," she whispered. The experience still felt unreal, like a dream.
"Relax, this is just the beginning. Your life will only get better from here on." Zhou Yi sat beside her, gently stroking her soft, golden hair. Having bathed, Serana had unbound the pigtails he disliked, and her current shoulder-length hair pleased him immensely.
Serana didn't speak, simply burying her head into his chest, seeking warmth like a pet.
After a long silence, she finally voiced the question that had plagued her.
"Why did you bring me here? Why are you so kind to me?" Serana was not naive. She knew love rarely came without reason. Zhou Yi's treatment of her surpassed all logic. She needed to know the true motivation, even if the answer hurt her.
"Perhaps because you are very beautiful," Zhou Yi replied with a light smile.
"I'm not the only beautiful person, even among humans," Serana countered, clear-headed. Beauty was a factor, but never the decisive one. She pressed for the underlying truth.
"Do you know, Serana?" Zhou Yi responded with a philosophical deflection. "There aren't so many 'whys' in this world. Many people complain: 'Why does fate favor others, even though I'm equally, or more, capable?' To that, I can only say: this is fate."
"Perhaps you don't feel remarkable, or you feel you aren't worth this effort. But I can only tell you that some of your actions moved me. Just as fate chose you, I recognized your existence and wanted to keep you by my side. No reason is needed. Even if you doubt my motives, or think I merely want a pet, it is irrelevant. I have done this; keeping you here is a fact. And I, I never regret my decisions."
Serana remained still, embracing him tightly. After a long pause, she quietly replied,
"I won't regret it either."