"You rule over all, governing the boundary between life and death. You are the King of Kings, the God above Gods." Grand Elder Augustus's hands moved in extraordinarily twisted motions, his waist swaying left and right, his steps utterly chaotic — yet if one watched closely, a trace of mysterious meaning seemed to be concealed within. Milna, Harold, and the other dwarves following him in "prayer" had already been rendered dizzy by these complex "dance" movements. They struggled to imitate, striving to keep going, chanting ceaselessly: "You grant us life, grant us food, grant us the courage to face hardship, grant us kindness, integrity, compassion, and resolve."
At the great hall's entrance, in the otherwise empty space, four translucent figures watched the dwarves' prayer. "Their prayer gestures look quite similar to some of the rituals and hand signs from the ancient Arcane Empire," said the vampire bride Tess, using the Blood Kin's innate "short-range telepathic communication" to address the butler Galata, the overseer Wells, and the personal maid Edith who had accompanied her. Her tone was a mix of amusement and puzzlement.
They had actually found the hideout of the dwarven resistance!
Wells and Edith were both Blood Servants, born and raised on the Night Highlands. The farthest they had ever traveled was to a nearby vampire lord's castle. How could they possibly know about ancient Arcane Empire rituals? So when they heard Tess's words, they could only mutter obsequiously, at a complete loss for an answer — the library in the castle was hardly something Blood Servants were permitted to use. Wells, in particular, couldn't read a single word!
"My lady, the old dwarf's movements are far too complex and twisted — quite different from arcane rituals," the vampire butler Galata answered respectfully. "They're actually more reminiscent of the sacrificial dances from the early days of the Church of Truth."
"Hmph. The Church of Truth's original sacrificial movements were adapted from simple arcane rituals. And Galata, haven't you noticed? The reason the old dwarf's movements are so complex and twisted is that he alone is portraying six different mages, each facing a different direction with different motions. And he's actually managed to connect them all together…" Tess let out a soft snort.
Wells and Edith both lowered their heads, not daring to interject at a time like this. Those lowly dwarves might not understand, but how could noble Blood Servants like themselves not know? Their master, Count Vlad, had been struck during the latter stages of a war called "The Dawn" by a strike from the Church of Truth's Divine Arts, an injury that had never fully healed. For centuries he had frequently slumbered, never once leaving the Night Highlands. Thus, within the castle, the Church of Truth was a forbidden topic — only proper Blood Kin such as Lady Tess and Mr. Galata were permitted to discuss it.
"My lady, your eye for detail is remarkable. It does bear a resemblance." After observing carefully for a moment, the butler Galata acknowledged Tess's speculation. "But their prayer words certainly aren't incantations, so the ritual won't have any effect. That said, without recognizing the actual spell, I can't determine which specific ritual it is."
"It doesn't matter. The ritual won't produce any effect regardless. Once we've captured these foul-smelling dwarves, we can extract the information through interrogation," Tess said with a cold smile, standing firmly on the vampire side. "How dare they pray to a god? Don't they know I despise missionaries, priests, and bishops above all else? They're the reason my beloved Vlad can't keep me company!"
"Thanks to your sharp eye, my lady, we were able to notice something wrong with that little dwarf and find the resistance's hideout." Worried that Lady Tess might lose control of her emotions — which could easily result in harm to himself — Wells half-changed the subject and half-flattered her with an obsequious grin.
Tess smiled faintly. "He'd been a slave in that castle for at least three years, yet he still managed to retain his vitality and energy. Hmph — if there wasn't hope burning in his heart, he should have long since become as lifeless and dull as any normal dwarf. The contrast made it easy to spot. It meant he was likely hiding something — turned out he had connections to the resistance."
"You're absolutely right, my lady. Dwarves don't deserve hope. They're nothing but cattle to be penned!" Edith chimed in, eager to curry favor.
Seeing that the prayer ceremony was nearly over and there was nothing more to observe, Tess waved her hand. "Kill them. Hang their bodies on the castle walls to dry — it'll serve as a warning to the other dwarves. I won't have the other counts and viscounts laughing at us."
"Yes, my lady," Galata, Wells, and Edith replied in unison.
Harold followed Grand Elder Augustus in pressing his entire body to the ground in full prostration, whispering his prayer: "Great Lord of Life and Death, you show us mercy just as you wield supreme authority. We shall make all people speak your name and honor you as holy. May we, under the radiance of your glory, be delivered from all suffering and evil."
"May your holy Steam name ascend once more to the supreme heights!"
After finishing the prayer, he added silently in his heart: "May we, under your protection, rebuild the glorious Steam civilization!"
*Ah! Ah!*
The moment the inner voice fell, two piercing screams rang out in succession. Harold scrambled to his feet in shock and looked toward the entrance of the great hall.
Four figures slowly materialized — it was the familiar Lady Tess, butler Galata, overseer Wells, and maid Edith. Galata had seized a dwarf at the end of the formation, his two snow-white fangs sunk deep into the dwarf's neck, while Wells's fingernails gleamed with a metallic luster as he slit another dwarf's throat, blood spraying outward. Blood Servants were not entitled to drink blood — even wasting it was a privilege they could not overstep.
"How — how are you here?!" Harold blurted out in panic, his entire body trembling uncontrollably.
The beautiful vampire dwarf Tess produced a "Nightingale" silk handkerchief from the Holm Kingdom, dabbed gently at the corner of her mouth, and said with a half-smile: "Isn't it you who brought us here?"
The dwarven resistance fighters, stunned by the vampires' sudden appearance and their brutal slaughter, all turned to stare at Harold. Their eyes held suspicion, hatred, contempt, and venom.
"Harold — why did you betray us?" Quiggins seized his great axe, ready to cleave the shameless traitor in two.
The young dwarf girl Milna stared at her companion in disbelief. "I trusted you so much."
"No — I didn't betray you! Grand Elder, Milna, Uncle Warren, Uncle Quiggins — I didn't, I didn't! You have to believe me!" Harold explained desperately to the other dwarves, his mind so consumed by terror and despair that he had momentarily forgotten they were surrounded by vampires.
Tess let out a delicate giggle, signaling with her eyes for Galata and the others to hold off on the killing. She utterly delighted in this feeling of toying with people's hearts.
"I believe you, Harold. If you meant to betray us, you'd have simply led them straight through the door," Grand Elder Augustus said calmly.
"Grand Elder…" Harold felt as though dawn had broken, even though the only concept he knew of dawn came from the Grand Elder's stories.
Augustus shook his head with a look of sorrowful compassion. Then, raising his voice to the stunned dwarves, he declared: "Will you fight to the death and carve a path through blood? Or will you kneel and die numbly? The choice is yours!"
"Steam above all!" The dwarves seized the great axes at their sides and roared the battle cry, a surge of fighting spirit blazing through them.
Tess covered her mouth in disappointment. "How boring. Galata, finish them."
Galata adjusted his bow tie, turned a blind eye to the dwarf charging at him with axe raised high, and bowed. "As you command, my lady."
Just as a great axe was about to cleave into his back, his right foot suddenly stamped down — and he dissolved into a ghostly afterimage, vanishing behind the dwarf. His left hand formed a claw and raked forward. The dwarf let out a piercing scream that was then strangled off as though blocked by his own saliva. He toppled, rolling across the ground, legs kicking a few times before going still entirely, blood gurgling from his shredded throat.
Galata then plunged into the midst of the dwarves, his figure never stopping. Wherever he passed, a scream rang out. The dwarves barely managed to surround him with their numerical advantage — only for him to burst apart into a swarm of tiny bats that scattered in all directions, reconvening at a distance.
Some of the dwarves had already engaged Wells and Edith in combat. Their overall strength was roughly matched, and the great axes whistled through the air, keeping the two Blood Servants pinned down. Seeing that Galata could not be defeated, and that the gate-guarding Wells and Edith did not possess the strength of a true knight, the Grand Elder spoke through gritted teeth: "Charge for the entrance! Break out!"
Seven or eight dwarves exchanged glances, then shouted as one, throwing themselves at Galata to hold him back — trading their lives so the others could escape. But every ten-odd seconds, another scream erupted from among them. They couldn't hold on for long.
Grief-stricken, the Grand Elder cast one last look at those dwarves. The rest, tears streaming down their faces, charged toward the entrance and shattered Wells and Edith's defensive line, about to plunge into the passageway.
"Useless." Standing at the passage entrance, Tess spoke a single cold word. The meek and timid-looking girl grew two delicate, ghastly-white fangs from her mouth. She swept her right hand forward, and a wave of black mist enveloped the dwarves rushing toward her.
*Ahh!*
The shrill screams cut off abruptly. The black mist dissipated. The dwarves at the very front lay crumpled and withered, their skin deathly pale — as though every drop of blood had been siphoned from their bodies in an instant. The remaining dwarves felt terror seize their brains and scattered in every direction, but no matter which way they ran, none dared come within a meter of Tess.
Vampires were far more than mere hand-to-hand combatants!
"How can she be so powerful?!" Grand Elder Augustus, Harold, Milna, and the others in the rear murmured with ashen faces. Though the Grand Elder had always kept a clear head, knowing full well the resistance could never hope to stand against a high-ranking vampire, he had not expected that even an ordinary or mid-rank vampire could slaughter them with less effort than slaughtering cattle.
"All of our efforts, all of our struggle, all of our sacrifice — and it amounts to nothing?" The Grand Elder's legs gave out, and he collapsed to his knees with his back to the altar.
Tess did not continue casting dark magic. She took out her Nightingale handkerchief and wiped both hands. "You still don't understand? The reason you've survived this long is because the other Blood Kin found it amusing — they wanted to play a little game of cat and mouse. If you never held onto hope, you would never have been disappointed."
"Is that so?" Murky tears streamed from the Grand Elder's eyes as he struck his forehead against the stone floor. "So the dwarven race truly has no future? The sacrifice of our kin won't earn even a sliver of light?"
He turned around, weeping and smashing his head against the altar. "God of Steam, omnipotent Lord, Great Lord of Life and Death — please, save your chosen people!"
Screams from the dwarves rose one after another around them.
"Snap out of it. You really think some god is going to come to your rescue?" Tess taunted. "It's been thousands of years — maybe tens of thousands. And your dwarven race is still this naive?"
The Grand Elder had retreated entirely into his own world, chanting the god's name over and over while slamming his forehead against the altar until blood stained the stone red.
"Hahaha, what a bunch of idiots." Wells had finally recovered from the dwarves' assault and couldn't help but sneer.
Harold, Milna, and the other dwarves watched as fewer and fewer of their kin remained standing, while Galata carved through them like an unstoppable killing machine. One by one, they sank to their knees in despair.
"Is this how the resistance ends? Will the hope of the dwarven race never come?" Harold thought in anguish.
Then, a flash of light blazed before his eyes. He instinctively raised his head, and his expression froze.
The altar — the altar that had shown no reaction whatsoever until now — had risen a layer of sacred, majestic light! Beam after beam of pure white radiance and deep shadowy luminescence radiated outward in every direction!
After a momentary stillness, wild elation and overwhelming gratitude surged through Harold's heart. Tears streaming down his face, he prostrated himself on the ground: "Great Lord of Life and Death, you show us mercy just as you wield supreme authority!"
"We shall make all people speak your name and honor you as holy!" Grand Elder Augustus, Milna, Quiggins, and the other dwarves, jolted from their shock, turned to face the altar with tears streaming down their faces and prayed with fervent devotion: "May we, under the radiance of your glory, be delivered from all suffering and evil!"
"May your holy Steam name ascend once more to the supreme heights!"
Inside the "altar," a figure clad in a strange black formal suit slowly materialized.
"My Lord, you descend upon the earth, bringing the grace of salvation."
"Great Lord of Life and Death, wherever your glory shines, all shall be purified!"
Grand Elder Augustus, Harold, and the other dwarves grew ever more impassioned — the God of Steam had truly descended to this very place, come to save them?
Tess, Galata, and the others stared at the altar in stunned astonishment. What had just happened?