"Cough..."
Velra staggered, her knees threatening to buckle as she tried to stand upright.
Blood spilled freely from her lips.
"This... can’t be happening. It can’t..."
She pressed a trembling hand against the gaping wound near her chest, trying to force her essence back into her body, to seal the damage with sheer willpower. Threads of crimson energy flickered weakly around her palm—fighting, resisting, failing.
But it was useless.
Drip. Drip.
The sound of her blood striking the snow was almost rhythmic, each drop marking the slow collapse of her strength.
Velra’s once-fiery eyes dimmed, twisting with disbelief and fury. She could feel it—the core of her power, the very essence that had defined her existence for centuries—slipping away like sand between her fingers.
"Disgraceful..." she hissed through gritted teeth.
Alice exhaled slowly, her sword lowered but steady, the faint golden glow of her aura fading around her. "Demonkind is known for their obsession with power," she said coldly. "But to cling to it even as it destroys you... that’s pitiful."
Her voice was calm, but her gaze was sharp enough to cut.
The difference in strength between them was undeniable. Velra had been stronger—faster, more experienced—but Alice had fought smarter. She had seized on every moment of arrogance, every flicker of overconfidence, and turned it against her opponent.
It wasn’t brute force that won this battle. It was resolve.
Her resolve.
"Still won’t admit it?" Alice’s tone hardened. "Your defeat, demon."
Velra lifted her head, her body trembling. Her expression was unreadable—somewhere between defiance and exhaustion. The proud creature who once looked down on all of humanity now knelt before a single mortal, her power fading into the cold air.
"Ugh... my defeat..."
Her voice cracked, low and hoarse, but she finally forced herself to meet Alice’s eyes.
For a brief moment, the world seemed to still.
Alice said nothing, only stepped forward and pressed the tip of her sword gently against Velra’s throat. The steel gleamed cold under the flickering light, a whisper away from ending it all.
The vampire’s breath hitched. Her body tensed. But there was no fear in her gaze—only a hollow, chilling calm.
That look, even in defeat, sent a faint chill down Alice’s spine.
The battle was over.
And yet... something about Velra’s stillness felt wrong. Too composed. Too deliberate.
As the blade lingered at her neck, Velra’s lips curved faintly—almost imperceptibly—into the ghost of a smile.
"Ah."
Velra’s voice came soft at first—low, almost nostalgic. Her crimson eyes flickered faintly, as though seeing not Alice but a ghost from another time.
"So the demons now send such young and fragile ones to the battlefield..." she murmured, a faint smile curling her lips. "Very well. I will grant you mercy. Leave our lands."
Only the color of her hair and the curve of her face were different. Everything else—the pride, the defiance in her gaze—was the same.
Just like that day long ago.
"Indeed," Velra continued quietly, "even if not fully matured, the bloodline of that warrior still burns bright."
Haunted by the memory of a debt long unpaid—and burdened by the pride of a vampire noble—Velra finally withdrew her hand. Blood trickled down her wrist as she pressed her palm against her wound, the scent of iron sharp in the frozen air.
"Cough..." She let out a breath, her posture stiff but dignified. "I acknowledge it. Your victory."
Her right hand moved behind her back, while her left lowered gracefully before her.
It was a gesture of respect among warriors—an ancient etiquette that even demons observed after a true duel.
"Heh." Velra chuckled faintly, her tone still calm despite her injuries. "I thought you were merely a reckless novice... it seems the shortcoming was mine."
Alice exhaled shakily, her vision still swimming. But at those words, a faint color returned to her pale face.
She had done it.
She had defeated a high-ranking demon.
The weight of that truth began to sink in—the redemption of a name once tainted by defeat, the restoration of pride she had carried like a scar.
Velra tilted her head slightly. "So," she said with quiet amusement, "what will you do now, child of warriors?"
Alice’s hand tightened around her sword. "...Surrender quietly."
Velra laughed—soft, bitter, and cruel. "Surrender? Tell me, what fate do you imagine for me? If I were to kneel before you so easily... would I be granted mercy?"
"...You will be executed," Alice said evenly. Her voice trembled, but her gaze didn’t waver. "With honor."
Velra smiled faintly at that—an oddly serene expression, as though the thought didn’t frighten her at all.
"An honorable death," she echoed, her tone almost wistful. "How generous... for a human."
Then, lowering her head slightly, she whispered something too soft for most to hear.
"Yet mercy and victory often come at the same price."
Her crimson eyes lifted again—calm, gleaming with the faint light of defiance.
"Cough!" Velra spat blood into the snow, her breath ragged yet tinged with laughter. "To think... I haven’t even avenged myself against that fool who dares call himself the Demon King... only to die here, in some foreign wasteland."
Alice blinked, tightening her grip on her sword. "The Demon King...?"
Velra’s crimson eyes flickered, half-focused, half distant. "Indeed. To think I was swayed by his words... Still just a novice, I see. Hah." She gave a low, bitter chuckle, her voice trembling with a mix of regret and mockery. "Not that I’m one to talk—losing because I underestimated you. How humiliating."
Her tone sounded resigned. But Alice knew better.
The vampire’s body was too still. Her breathing too steady.
Velra wasn’t finished.
She was buying time.
A faint hum pulsed through the air—something only Alice’s sharp senses could catch. It was subtle, but unmistakable.
Blood magic.
The signature ability of a true vampire.
The wound that Alice had carved into her had already begun to knit itself together, the skin sealing as if nothing had ever pierced it. What spilled out now wasn’t real blood at all—it was a deliberate trap. Residual essence, left behind to fool the senses and limit her own magical output until the moment she struck.
’She’s restoring her power... little by little.’
Alice’s eyes narrowed.
It was a clever deception. The kind of trick only a creature centuries old could pull off.
Fortunately, Alice wasn’t the same naive swordswoman who had once lost to her.
A faint smile crossed her lips.
"Trying to play dead, are you?" she murmured.
Velra’s smile, barely visible through the curtain of her hair, deepened ever so slightly.
And then—light.
A sudden burst of it, sharp and blinding.
–Flash!
"Ugh—what is this?!"
"Lady Alice, be careful!" one of the soldiers shouted, shielding his eyes.
Alice winced, momentarily blinded. The brilliance burned white across her vision, disorienting her sense of distance.
When her sight cleared, she realized what had happened—
A dark silhouette now stood between her and Velra.
’Armor?’
The metallic gleam of a black breastplate glared back at her.
Her instincts screamed—too late.
’Was I... careless?’
The realization hit her all at once.
She had let her guard down, believing the battle was over.
And Velra, ever the predator, had seized the opening.
The air rippled. Shadows unfurled behind the vampire like ink spreading in water. Then, with a single beat, wings burst outward—sleek, crimson-lined, and vast enough to fill Alice’s view.
The last time she saw them, they had seemed decorative, mere symbols of pride.
Now she understood.
These were not for show.
With one powerful sweep, the air cracked like thunder, and Velra was gone—ascending into the sky, her laughter echoing faintly against the cliffs.
Alice’s heart pounded, the wind from the wings still whipping her hair across her face.
She clenched her teeth, frustration boiling beneath her calm.
"She’s retreating?"
"Yes," a voice replied from behind her—steady, grim. "She’s not running away. She’s regrouping."
Alice turned slightly. Sir Bardic, his armor still glinting with dust and blood, was already assessing the battlefield. His sharp eyes followed the crimson trail that streaked through the night sky like a dying comet.
"Velra’s not the kind to flee in fear," he continued. "She’s the kind to flee with purpose."
Alice’s breath came ragged, the adrenaline still coursing through her veins. She sheathed her sword, though her hand lingered at the hilt. "You think she’s preparing another strike?"
"Not immediately," Bardic said, his voice heavy. "She’s wounded, but not defeated. A creature like her... they always return when the scent of vengeance grows strong enough."
Alice’s gaze rose toward the darkened sky. The snowstorm had calmed, but the clouds above still pulsed faintly red—tainted by the blood magic Velra left behind.
"She’s marking the battlefield," Alice murmured. "Even in retreat, she’s laying her claim."
Behind them, the soldiers began to regroup, whispering in awe and confusion. Some cheered, believing victory had been secured. Others looked to the heavens with unease, sensing that the threat had merely changed form.
Silence fell for a moment. The tension lingered, thick as the fog curling through the cave entrance.