The Vampire Progenitor

In the grand hall of the Emerald Holy City, Kant knelt with his hands bound behind him, awaiting judgment on the cold, mirror-like tiles.
The tiles reflected his original face, feeling oddly unfamiliar…

Perhaps it was his first time entering the elven sanctuary so openly, he reasoned, a strange sensation natural under the circumstances.
He consoled himself inwardly as, beside him, Princess Felicia reported to the throne above.

Surrounding them were rows of elven royal guards, clad in finely crafted, enchanted jungle armor, wielding exquisite elven weapons.

As the saying goes, one walks alone, three form a crowd, five make an army.
Here, far more than five guards watched the prisoner’s every move, their collective presence oppressive.
Fortunately, Kant wasn’t ordinary; the pressure barely fazed him.

“…In summary, the criminal Kant, an outsider, committed numerous crimes in the Elven Forest.
Most gravely, he willfully killed an elven royal heir, a crime warranting the death penalty under elven law.”

Felicia concluded her solemn list of Kant’s offenses, her voice echoing in the vast hall.
All present maintained a grave demeanor.
When it came to the life and death of elven royalty, even the peace-loving elves showed no mercy.

Royalty was the backbone of the elven race.
If their safety couldn’t be assured, the unity of the elves would soon unravel.

Though Felicia held a status second only to the Empress, the final verdict rested with the pinnacle of power.
At the hall’s highest point, on the throne, a stunning elf in a resplendent royal robe slowly opened her eyes.

Her emerald eyes gleamed like flawless gems, but they held not softness but chilling majesty.
Her right hand rested casually on the throne’s armrest, her palm supporting her chin.
Her clear, authoritative voice rang through the hall.

“Criminal Kant, do you admit to the crimes listed by the princess?”

Her regal aura was undeniable.
Her tone alone could reduce an ordinary person to trembling submission.

Kant, unbowed yet respectful, knelt as a prisoner should.
Facing the Empress’s question, he raised his head for the first time.

Since entering, he’d kept his head lowered, mulling over solutions and their feasibility.
Only now, called upon, did he look directly at the Elven Empress.

In his twenty-plus years on Seraris, he’d dealt with many races but rarely elves.
Though kind to most creatures, elves held a natural aloofness toward cunning humans, especially those who kidnapped elven children for slavery.
Ordinary elves were rare enough—seeing the Empress was unthinkable.

Yet, upon seeing Empress Karina’s face, he was surprised to feel no overwhelming emotion.
Not because her appearance was plain—far from it.

Elven royalty were practically works of art, and Karina was stunningly beautiful and regal.
Though he felt awe, there was no shock, as if he were seeing an old friend, not a stranger.

What was wrong with him?
Did consuming the sacred fruit create some innate affinity with elves?
Puzzled by his recent peculiarities, Kant quickly responded with sincerity.

“I admit to all the charges.”

Silence fell, heavy as death.
The guards’ eyes turned to Kant as if he were already a corpse.

Admitting to killing an elven royal without excuse was tantamount to suicide before the Empress.
No matter if he was a mere human thief or an imperial prince, he wouldn’t leave this hall alive.

As expected, chilling laughter echoed from the throne.

“Heh, Saint of Thieves Kant, you’ve got some nerve.
It seems our gentle demeanor has made humans think elves are easy prey, bold enough to reach for our royalty.”

“You’ve admitted your crimes.
What’s left to say?
No need for a dungeon—execute him on the spot!”

With Karina’s icy command, the guards sprang into action.
The synchronized sound of swords unsheathing filled the air, their gleaming blades poised to sever Kant’s head.

Bound and unable to resist, Kant faced his end.
At the critical moment, Felicia stepped in front of him, arms outstretched, her eyes blazing with emotion as she faced the throne.

“Wait, Mother!”

Her cry halted the guards’ advance.
Karina, seated above, regarded the scene coldly, her emerald eyes devoid of warmth.

“What is it, Felicia?
Have you forgotten to add to his crimes?”

“No, Mother, now isn’t the time for execution.
More urgent is whether we can save my sister’s soul…”

Felicia recounted Kant’s proposed remedy.
As she spoke of preserving the soul, a flicker of emotion passed through Karina’s cold eyes.

She rose slowly from the throne, descending the steps, her gaze fixed unblinkingly on Kant.

“Your plan has merit.
I can indeed sense another soul’s presence in you.
But preserving it requires your life.
I’d need to dissect your body to extract my daughter’s soul unharmed.
Are you willing?”

Karina stood before Kant, looking down at the lowly thief, her emerald eyes glinting with the chill of authority.

Kant met her cold, merciless gaze, answering steadfastly.

“This is my sin.
If there’s a chance to atone, I’ll pay any price.”

“Good…”

Karina’s voice carried a cryptic sigh, her lips curling into an unsettling smile.
Her amused gaze sent chills, like being ensnared by a venomous serpent.

“Since you’re willing, give me your life!”

She struck suddenly, her hand lashing out like a beast’s claw, carrying a bloody gust.
Her emerald eyes flashed crimson, a thick scent of blood filling the air.

Kant’s pupils contracted as realization hit.

This wasn’t the Elven Empress!

In a life-or-death moment, his body’s potential erupted.

He snapped the enchanted ropes binding his hands with a thief’s skill, activated Wind Spirit Moon Shadow, and drew two hidden daggers from his waist, slashing forward.
His leg muscles surged, shattering the costly tiles as he propelled himself back dozens of meters.

Heavy breathing filled his ears.
Even with a restored body, unleashing the eighth segment of Wind Spirit Moon Shadow was taxing.

That speed was his only chance to escape.
Glancing at his daggers, he saw their blades curled—not from striking a weapon, but her nails.

This imposter, posing as the Empress, had damaged his refined daggers with mere nails.
What kind of monster was she?

“Who are you?!”

Kant crouched low, ready to spring, his eyes brimming with vigilance and killing intent, his question a low, threatening growl.

The “Empress” standing before him slowly raised a hand to her face.
Where her fingers touched, a cut appeared on her fair cheek, red blood trickling down.

Kant’s daggers, though damaged, had left a mark.

Touching the wound, she showed no anger or other emotion.
Instead, her curvaceous form trembled—not from rage, but from suppressing wild laughter…

Her lips twisted into a sinister grin, emitting a mocking chuckle.

“Hee hee hee, how amusing.
Themis trapped me here for so long, and finally, I meet an interesting elf!
Ah~ The taste of blood makes my body quiver uncontrollably.
Your blood will be the most delicious I’ve tasted in ages!”

The “Empress” raised her head, her eyes’ crimson fully overtaking the emerald glow.
The scene shattered with her laughter.

Golden hair burned into silver twin-tails, the royal robe transformed into a gothic evening gown amid dancing bats.
Her doll-like, delicate face bore a wicked, unrestrained smile that clashed with her appearance.

Kant saw boundless desire in her crimson eyes—a thirst for blood, for him.

“Vampire!”

The word escaped his lips.

No mistake.
The telltale signs—sharp fangs, pointed ears similar to elves’ but horizontally angled, like a bird’s wing feathers, as poets on Seraris described.

But this was no time for pondering.
Kant’s mind reeled.

Could someone explain?
In the heart of the elven holy city, the figure on the throne wasn’t the Empress but a vampire?
And this vampire was calling him, a living human, an elf?

What kind of racial joke was this?!