“Cough…”
Staggering, Bathory tried to stand upright.
Blood.
“This can’t be happening. It can’t be…”
She desperately tried to gather the leaking essence from the hole pierced by the gathered aura, wrapping her wounds.
However, her efforts were sadly in vain.
-Drip, drip.
Between the fingers, the red liquid continued to fall relentlessly.
Feeling the source of her power fading, Bathory’s eyes twisted in despair.
“Disgraceful.”
“Demonkind is known for their obsession with power, but to this extent?”
Luciana’s eyes narrowed.
Though the difference in skill was clear.
It was her precious victory, earned by relentlessly exploiting her opponent’s complacency to the end.
“Still won’t admit it? Your defeat, demon.”
Bathory, to Luciana’s eyes, seemed unable to acknowledge her and was futilely struggling.
“Ugh… my defeat…”
Only after hearing Luciana’s rebuke did Bathory manage to look at her straight.
Her cold gaze seemed devoid of emotion.
And the cold blade’s edge touching her neck was no less chilling.
“Ah.”
“So the demons send even these young and fragile ones to the battlefield. I will grant you mercy, now leave our lands.”
Only the hair color and gender had changed.
It was just like that day in the past.
“Indeed, even if not fully matured, the lineage of a great warrior continues.”
Haunted by the debts of the past and the pride of a vampire noble, Bathory reluctantly removed her hand, busy stemming the flow from her blood pouch.
“Cough. I acknowledge it. Your victory.”
Her right hand behind her back.
And to show her opponent, her left hand lowered.
It was the etiquette to show the utmost respect to the opponent after a duel.
“Heh. I thought you were just a novice. The deficiency was on my side, it seems.”
Only then did a slight color return to Luciana’s face.
She had defeated a high demon.
It was the restoration of the honor she had lost in a previous defeat.
“Just surrender quietly.”
“Surrender? Surrender… If I were to be captured by you so easily, what fate awaits me? Execution?”
“…I will grant you an honorable death.”
Facing a captured demon, execution was the basic precedent.
Bathory, with a wistful smile, responded to Luciana’s awkward answer.
“Cough! To think I haven’t yet avenged the one who falsely claims to be the Demon King, and to die in such a foreign land.”
“The Demon King…?”
“Indeed. To be swayed by such words. Still just a novice… Not that I’m one to talk, having lost due to my own complacency.”
Yes.
Though she seemed to have given up with those words,
Bathory was still biding her time.
Blood manipulation, a fundamental ability if you’re a vampire.
The deep wound had already healed.
What’s flowing now is due to Báthory intentionally leaving behind ‘blood stored in the origin, causing all of it to be consumed, thus significant magic can’t be used.’
Fortunately, there was something learned while teaching magic to Frost Mane.
-Such simple light magic. Useless beyond scouting in the dark, how could it be used in a duel?
-Well? It depends on how you use it, like this,
-Ah! My eyes! This worthless doppelgänger!
Even trivial magic has its uses, as shown.
-Flash.
“Ugh, what is this?”
“Lady, be careful!”
Luciana frowned at the intense brilliance.
When she opened her eyes again, what she saw was armor blocking her path.
-Was I careless?
The wings the demons had before were merely decorative, but being a high demon, it seems they can fly.
Wings that filled her view. Just a few beats were enough to distance the blonde.
The soldiers’ hastily made encirclement couldn’t reach the air.
The arrows fired by the soldiers, who recovered their sight too late, also missed terribly.
Luciana, clicking her tongue, ordered the creation of a temporary camp.
The first thing the soldiers made was a tent for her.
Exhausted, she did not refuse it.
Alone at last, the knight commander who had been protecting Luciana’s side spoke up as soon as the duel was over.
“Why didn’t you shoot the bow, or even before that, why didn’t you strike at that moment?”
“I didn’t expect to be blinded by light. It was my mistake.”
“No. Haven’t you experienced this in the martial arts tournament? By now, you should have reached the level where you can swing your sword at the target even with your eyes closed from that distance.”
Bardic saw it, the moment she was subjected to the flash magic, her hand reaching for the sword.
He couldn’t be deceived even if others were.
As Bardic said that, Luciana showed a bitter smile.
“Indeed, such insight befits the commander of the Spada family’s knights.”
She crossed her arms and recalled Báthory’s remarks for a moment.
“My level is still not proficient, so I hesitated.”
“…Hesitation?”
“Yes. I hesitated because I couldn’t subdue in that situation and had no choice but to kill.”
It was not out of sympathy, of course.
The hatred for demons was still boiling instinctively within her.
‘But, I shouldn’t act solely on my emotions.’
The Demon King.
That entity Bathory mentioned was nagging at her intuition once again.
Not just the rash bluff of a defeated vampire, but something ominous was whispered.
‘If there’s a threat to the north, I should find out in advance.’
“Since she’s wounded, she couldn’t have gone far. Order all troops to capture the demon from earlier.”
“May I ask your intention? Such a high demon should be executed immediately.”
Concerns of escape, danger, trophies… Bardic could list countless reasons to object.
However, “Everything is for the north. Do you dare to doubt the blood of Spada?”
The dry reprimand flew towards him. Bardic was momentarily speechless.
The dignified and graceful figure was reminiscent of his lord’s childhood.
The cold gaze that glared at him, holding his waist, implied not to dare doubt.
‘Indeed, as long as the sword is sharpened, that’s all that matters.’
He was a knight through and through.
Voicing opinions contrary to the lord’s wishes was a role for staff officers or civil officials, not his domain.
“…As you command. I will relay the orders without delay.”
“If anyone succeeds in capturing [the target], they will be greatly rewarded.”
Luciana casually glanced in the direction the vampire had looked.
***
-Click.
As Freedman walked through the snowy field, he found himself involuntarily grinding his teeth.
His uniquely sharp doppelgänger fangs clicked loudly together.
This was due to recalling the insufferably arrogant Levine noble he had encountered when accepting the mission.
-Báthory? A vampire noble?
-Yes. Since she is in the human realm, I request an assassination.
It was a highly challenging mission.
Infiltrating the human realm was a task that required risking death, and the identity of the assassination target made it even more daunting.
-How am I supposed to do it? I’m a doppelgänger; assassination is out of the question, let alone being targeted myself.
-…Hmm? That’s for you to figure out, isn’t it?
The disdainful look that followed meant only one thing.
[You must succeed, for the sake of your kin.]
As always, the Levine folks were insufferably arrogant, acting as if all minority races must obey their commands.
“Well, it’s fine. Those prideful folks wouldn’t lie. Just get the reward, and that’s all that matters.”
‘Freedman’ muttered quietly with a twisted face.
A grant of Báthory’s fiefdom.
Rights and residency for doppelgängers.
The offer from the Levine noble was dangerous, but it came with tempting benefits.
-Beep.
‘Close. It’s to the north.’
The artifact was working correctly.
The first target was moving slowly on the map.
“Accept your death quietly. Vampires are always so obsessed with clinging to life.”
Thinking they would die by human hands.
Why do these rotten bloodbags have to be so troublesome?
More annoying to assassinate than religious zealot gargoyles or the muscle-brained Levines.
But, their final emotions are all the more delicious for it.
Anticipation for the upcoming prey made his mouth water.
“It should be around here. Oh, is this a drop of blood?”
It wasn’t just for the public good of his race.
What would the flavor of the downfall of a noble from the three great demon clans taste like?
His tongue flickered between his teeth, already secreting saliva.
Thud.
Thud.
His deliberately loud footsteps echoed quietly as he walked.
“Should be around here. Indeed, a perfect place to avoid human eyes.”
He wandered around for a bit, then suddenly turned his head and strode towards the dense coniferous forest.
“Haah… Haah…!”
The faint sound of breathing suddenly froze.
Freedman’s lips stretched into a grin, then contracted.
“Are you Báthory, the once-renowned vampire noble of the Evildon Empire? Quite a pitiful sight for such.”
Ah, truly a beautiful feast.
The blonde woman, barely able to support herself against a tree, sat down in a slump.
A sweet scent of despair wafted from her.
“Human…? To think you’d find this place so soon. Is this where my life ends?”
Barely flicking her fingers was all the resistance she could muster in her final moments.
“Yes. Well, I’m not exactly human.”
Freedman’s face slowly became enveloped in shadow until only darkness remained.
Not just his face, but from his neck down to his waist, and then his legs, a race visible only by their sharp fangs and tongue.
“A doppelgänger?”
In that moment, the flow of emotions on his tongue changed.
‘What? Why does she seem pleased?’
A target welcoming their assassin was indeed unusual.
What should have been the finest feast was turning into an unremarkable mishmash.
At this moment, Freedman was genuinely puzzled.
Not once had he ever encountered such a reaction.
The moment one knew of his doppelgänger nature, horror, anger, resignation, or fear was the typical response.
“You must be sent by Frost Mane! Yes, he saw this coming. Haha. I must thank him later.”
“What nonsense are you spouting?”
Frost Mane?
He had never heard of a demon with such a nickname before.
“No need to hide it. You and your king share a priestly relationship and are comrades in arms with me. Now, lead me to him.”
Freedman looked at the vampire before him with a sour face.
Had she gone mad from losing too much blood?
‘Looking for a king of doppelgängers that doesn’t even exist.’
A king he, even as a noble, had only heard of in legends.
An entity not active for centuries, becoming forgotten even among his own kind, was now being mentioned by a noble of another race.
It was absurd.
“To survive, you’re making up nonsense.”
The sincerity in his taste.
He hesitated for a moment, but there was no reason to wait any longer.
And even if by some chance it was true, ‘A king that might not even exist is not my priority.’
-Woong.
The doppelgänger noble’s secret technique, emotional absorption.
A magic that drains all emotions from a being, leaving them a husk.
The magic spread from his hand towards Báthory, who could not resist.
“Agh! Why….”
Betrayal and confusion.
Among these immediate feelings, her memories mingled and flowed.
-Dare to touch my prey.
Slowly, Báthory’s memories seeped into his mind, including her mentions of Frost Mane.
‘This person claims to be the king of doppelgängers?’
Just a bit more.
As he tried to delve deeper into these memories to uncover more about this identity.
-Ssshhhk.
A sharp metal sliced through the air.
Between Báthory and himself.
Precisely, where he had been standing just moments ago.
“Tch! What’s this? An interruption?!”
“You seem to lack romance, ruining a power source that endlessly pours out emotions. Isn’t that inefficient?”
Freedman turned around with a sharp glare.
It was a pity.
Just a little longer, and he could have completed the emotional absorption.
The vampire behind him collapsed weakly.
-Crunch crunch.
Then, The figure approaching over the snow felt strangely familiar.
“Lady Báthory, surprisingly, harbors a subtly savory taste in her emotions. Not the pinnacle of delicacy or a spicy thrill, but enough to leave one satisfied. I couldn’t possibly let someone harm such a provider of fine emotions.”
The voice that he had heard the most in the memories and emotions he had just glimpsed.
Wearing the neat butler’s uniform that would typically be worn by servants.
Even though his face was hidden behind a golden mask, the undulating aura of shadows gave him away, “Are you Frost Mane?”
He couldn’t taste any emotions.
This was proof that he was a doppelgänger like himself.
The conjecture, gleaned from Báthory’s memories, gained credibility at that moment.
Above all, the most certain thing was the moment he saw him, an indescribable desire stirred within Freedman.
Now.
He could understand.
‘Frost Mane’.
That was the name of this being.
Over time.
‘Freedman’s’ name had always changed.
Oktar, Lebella, Taknus… A doppelgänger is by nature an ‘imitator’, ‘a thief’.
Being able to mimic only the intellect of those whose emotions they had stolen, it was natural to borrow their names each time.
‘But, if I were to become a king… ‘
Could I not claim a grand name like Frost Mane for myself?
Could I not fully establish my own existence?
Báthory was now of secondary concern.
A desperate thirst awakened for ‘being’ itself!
“Kraaah!”
Something indescribable shed the last vestiges of reason stolen from Freedman.
The shadow that had maintained a human form grew in size and transformed into a monstrous shape.
Solely.
To assassinate the ‘king’ before him.
Cliche Novel 