Omniscient First-Person’s Viewpoint-Chapter 392: It Didn’t Fall From the Sky - 11

“What kind of damned bastard threw this thing—!”

A beast’s roar reverberated through the world, the voice so forceful it seemed blood might spray from its throat. Deep and resonant, it shook the very mists of the Cloud Waterfall.

Accompanying it were heavy, thunderous footsteps, akin to an elephant stomping the earth. The sound alone made the ground tremble, the impact creating the impression of an earthquake.

As everyone instinctively recoiled in fear, a massive shadow emerged beyond the Cloud Waterfall.

Breaking through the mist came a giant, his figure drenched in blood. His shaggy hair clung to his head, slick with crimson, and his pointed, beast-like ears were pinned flat against his skull. In one hand, he held a dagger that gleamed pure white, his fury and pain etched into every fiber of his being as he bellowed:

“Come out now! If you do, I’ll kill you quickly!”

This was Runkin the Bloodstained.

The last surviving boar beastman in the world, a rarity on its own. But Runkin was known for something even more significant.

He was an Elder.

One of the thirteen vampires who had directly received true blood from the progenitor. Among them, Runkin was the strongest and most relentless.

Nicknamed “Bloodstained Elder” because he was always drenched in gore after every battle, Runkin was already covered in blood before this one had even begun. Likely, it was Hilde’s sacred sword that had injured him, yet upon spotting the angelic figure, he snorted.

“Youuuuu! An angel, huh?!”

Boom. Boom. Boom. With just three strides, Runkin closed the distance, charging forward to slam into the angel with his shoulder.

Though the attack was sudden, the angel was not as large as she seemed. Deceived by the dazzling display of lightning, Runkin missed his mark and charged straight through the lightning wings, only to collapse on the ground, twitching from the electric shock.

“Graaaah! You coward! Fight me fairly!”

To charge and fall on his own was a pitiful display, the kind of absurdity even a third-rate play wouldn’t stoop to. Yet the Thunder Overseer and her Guardians, who had witnessed it, still held their breath.

From the moment he emerged beyond the Cloud Waterfall, it had taken mere seconds for him to reach this place. If the Thunder Overseer had been caught off guard or Runkin’s aim had been more accurate, she might have been forced to endure the brunt of that charge.

The Guardians halted their steps, tense and unable to recompose themselves. Before they could even attempt to regroup, a youthful voice, dripping with sarcasm, echoed from the mist.

“Haaah. That damn boar! Has your stiff fur finally pierced through your skull and reached your brain? How about using your head before you move for once?!”

Stepping into view was a girl holding a small doll. She wore a fluttering black dress with white frills adorning her head. Her dainty, doll-like face was highly expressive, emotions flitting across her features with vivid clarity.

She appeared to be a young noblewoman out for a stroll, but her true nature was unspeakable—a presence so dreadful it defied words.

This was Kabilla the Bloodstitcher.

An Elder and a dark sorceress, she was the discoverer of blood magic and a seeker of forbidden knowledge. The very embodiment of everything the Holy Crown Church abhorred, crammed into a small body.

The infamous Elder, who had left an indelible mark on history, placed her hands on her hips and cried out indignantly:

“We came here to greet the progenitor, not to embark on a bloody expedition! Can’t you, of all people, show a little self-restraint and discernment?!”

As her scathing tirade continued, Runkin scrambled to his feet, shouting back in a tone full of grievance.

“Damn it! You think I did this for fun? It’s an angel—an angel!”

“Then all the more reason to approach carefully! Bristling your fur and charging straight at them—is that how you expect to take them down? What are you, a fool? A moron? Oh wait, are you blind as well? You couldn’t even hit the angel you were aiming for!”

Even as she stomped her feet and spat venom, her expression seemed oddly delighted, as though she found joy in having an excuse to lash out. While Runkin hesitated, Kabilla, emboldened by her momentum, prepared to unleash another volley of insults when a large hand stopped her.

“Enough. Let’s think this through.”

The hand belonged to a young man resting a greatsword on his shoulder. Despite Kabilla’s relentless tirade, she clamped her mouth shut at his single remark. After a brief silence, the man stroked his chin in thought.

“I can feel it. The progenitor is here. The one who marks both our beginning and our end. We came to honor her, and yet the path is obstructed.”

A crimson blade, blazing like fresh blood. Fiery red hair in stark contrast to his pale, cold face.

There were many individuals with such striking features. But among vampires, especially Elders, there was only one name that came to mind.

As his name surfaced in everyone’s thoughts, the man himself spoke decisively.

“Then we must clear the path.”

The first Elder created by the progenitor. The Duke of the Mist Duchy. The Blood Knight. The Mountain of Corpses.

Vladimir the Crimson Duke.

Three of the most fearsome vampire nobles had appeared, and one of them was Vladimir himself. The Guardians of Thunder and even the Thunder Overseer tensed. Who could remain composed in the face of such an immortal monstrosity, one who had survived countless attempts to destroy him?

As the learned fear spread among them, Runkin grinned, clawing at the ground as he shouted:

“So we’re clearing them out, Vladimir?!”

“Negotiation first. There’s no reason to reject an easier approach.”

“Ugh...”

One word from Vladimir silenced Runkin. He turned his gaze toward the Thunder Overseer, pointing directly at her.

“This path. Will you clear it? Or shall I?”

A faint smile played on Vladimir’s lips as though he already knew the answer and was merely testing the Overseer.

In the Mist Duchy, where the progenitor herself ruled, Vladimir had risen to the rank of duke. What did it take to achieve such a position? Strength? Authority? Wisdom? Diplomacy?

The answer was all of the above.

As the Crimson Duke, Vladimir was a ruler among rulers, standing above all other Elders. Despite their shared essence, every Elder recognized him as their leader. He was the only one deemed worthy to welcome the progenitor upon her return.

The Thunder Overseer realized immediately—no matter what excuse she offered, this terrifying presence had already seen through her. There was no option but to fight.

...After all, if they hadn’t come to fight, Vladimir himself would not have appeared. A vampire, especially one as infamous as him, would never venture into another city without purpose.

“Why is a vampire who should be in the Duchy here?!”

“And in broad daylight!”

The Thunder Overseer raised her hand, silencing her confused Guardians. They awaited her command in hushed anticipation.

“[Do not fear. These are Elders of the Duchy. Though I do not know why they’ve come unannounced, this is clearly an invasion. An attack on our city and our people.]”

Vladimir rested his sword on his shoulder, watching silently. He seemed in no rush to act, waiting for the Overseer to finish speaking. She hesitated briefly, unsure if ordering an attack was the right decision against this sudden calamity, but her deliberation was short.

If they lost, it was over. To bow to the vampires of the Mist Duchy would spare their lives, but only to serve as livestock—walking meals eking out a wretched existence in eternal shadow.

Her faith was resolute. Vampires had no place in this world. The Thunder Overseer would fight, even if it meant her end.

“[As the Thunder Overseer, I command you. Repel them all. Do not let these bats who see humans as livestock set foot in this city!]”

The Thunder Guardians responded with a resounding battle cry, moving decisively to eliminate their unmistakable enemies. Though there were only three opponents, the significance of facing three Elders could not be understated.

The Elders reacted with enthusiasm, their voices ringing out.

“Good! That’s the spirit! Let’s fight—!”

“Haaah! Did they get struck by lightning, or have they just lost their minds? Eliminate us? Hah, these livestock dare to yap like rabid dogs!”

Runkin charged forward immediately, while Kabilla picked up her doll, her instincts for bloodshed awakened. Behind them, Vladimir stroked his chin, muttering thoughtfully.

“The angel seems intent on preventing us from reaching the progenitor. As expected, the progenitor is indeed here, just as our information suggested.”

A meeting between vampires and the progenitor must never occur. Tyrkanzyaka, the progenitor, was both the god and heart of the vampires. If united, the vampires could transcend their limits, becoming unstoppable. Claudia, protected under the sun, had always been safe from invasion, but vampires shielded by the progenitor’s darkness had once marched to the very threshold of the Holy Crown Church.

It was better to fight them separately. The Thunder Overseer made this judgment, but Vladimir seemed to see through her thoughts as he hefted the greatsword resting on his shoulder.

“Angels create messes they never clean up themselves. I suppose we’ll have to tidy this one ourselves.”

***

The stabbing pain in his abdomen lingered. Though Hilde had healed him, repairing the damage didn’t mean his body had fully recovered. Blood had flowed, organs had been mangled, and while the wounds had been patched up, his body remained far from whole. Claiming it was good as new would be akin to saying running a lap around a track left no fatigue—utter nonsense.

But there was no time to dwell on it.

He still hadn’t even begun his conversation with Fran, the Lightning Thief.

“I won’t. I’m not doing it.”

Atop a windswept ridge shrouded in thick clouds, thunder rumbled in the distance. A man stood there, flying a kite.

The kite, folded neatly as though it carried a letter to the heavens, was crafted with a metal frame and thin fabric stretched taut. Despite being tethered by a string, it soared high, seemingly free as it danced on the wind.

The gusts grew stronger, heralding rain and lightning. The grass bent low, cowering under the force of the gale, while the Lightning Thief tightened his grip on the string and spoke.

“King of Humans, do you know what happens to a kite when its string snaps?”

He spoke casually, rudely even, as if the fact he was dead made etiquette optional. Still, as a king who respected all humans equally, he replied politely.

“It will either plummet to the ground or drift far away, never to return.”

“Exactly. It soars through the sky because I control it here, tethered and guided by this string. But if I let go, lose control, or if the string snaps, it’ll crash—or worse, shatter into pieces beyond repair.”

Suddenly, a fierce gust blew through, and the Lightning Thief quickly loosened the string to let the kite rise higher, stabilizing it against the turbulence.

“It’s the same for humanity. We need something to hold onto. Something to remind us of our origins, our values, and what must never be forgotten. And in this world, only one thing can do that—”

“Faith?” he interjected.

“...Yes.”

The Lightning Thief looked slightly annoyed that his line had been stolen. He muttered irritably.

“When I died, my body was supposed to become a sacred relic, my belongings sealed away where no one could find them. My achievements were to be immortalized as the tales of the Lightning Thief, passed down as legends of the Holy Crown Church. It was glorious, and I agreed to it. After finishing my work in Claudia, I walked willingly to the Church.”

“But this kite of yours became your legacy instead?”

“...Tch. I never thought a kite I sent into the sky would be what I held most dear. It was only meant to guide the Lightning God upward.”

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Cold raindrops began to fall, mixing with the fierce wind. Gradually, the drizzle turned into a heavier downpour, signaling the storm’s arrival. The kite trembled precariously, battered by the rain and wind.

“I only wanted to use alchemy to create order. To help the forsaken people of the Arcanists with the lightning stored here. And yet, a sage like me gets labeled a demon? Just because I was a little better than everyone else? If I could go back to before I became a demon, I’d stop myself.”

“Why?”

“You wouldn’t understand.”

“Tell me. If you’re as great as you claim, you might even convince me.”

“This isn’t a matter of persuasion. It’s about perspective and conviction.”

The Lightning Thief turned his back, winding the string around his hand as though the conversation was over. Even in death, he remained devout and resolute.

But when had the dead ever had the right to lecture the living with such arrogance?

“What’s the point of a perspective no one else can see? What value is there in a conviction that can’t be shared? If you’re going to cling to it and die with it, then do so as a corpse—don’t waste my time with half-hearted stalling.”

The Lightning Thief froze, his hands halting mid-motion. As I stepped closer to his back, I continued:

“Faith, conviction, ideals—they’ve all become excuses to justify oneself. Empty cries of doing it ‘for humanity’ ring hollow.”

The rain thickened, heavy droplets falling diagonally in the fierce wind, drenching both of us. The battered kite swayed pitifully, pulling at the string with increasing desperation.

“I am the King of Humans. If you truly acted for humanity, then prove it to me. Unlike certain others, I listen to any wish, so long as it comes from a human.”

A bolt of lightning struck nearby, the storm drawing closer. Soon, it would arrive in full force, and when it did, the lightning would surely find its mark. The kite trembled, as if foreseeing its fate, tugging violently at the string. It bit into the Lightning Thief’s hand, drawing blood.

Yet he refused to let go. Slowly, he pulled the string tighter and spoke.

“It was to preserve humanity’s purity. If I had left the Arcanists unchecked, they would have evolved into something else, like the vampires.”