[Elmenhilde POV]
I do not understand how Mihai could have entered a wager with me so completely unprepared, expecting that mere bravado would buy him his freedom. It is… irritating.
And the way he fought—clumsy, unrefined, pedestrian.
Yes, one could observe the echoes of battlefield experience. But equally apparent were the cracks in his composure, the rashness of his decisions.
He strikes like a cornered animal, attacking on instinct rather than strategy.
Predictable. Frustrating. Inelegant. Yet… there is potential.
I dragged Mihai from that Bucharest flat the Fallen Angel Governor had practically handed him as charity.
The boy was utterly hollowed out, slumped on the couch, eyes glazed and staring through the television as if the world around him did not exist.
And I could swear… he was high again.
Completely undisciplined. Yet, of course, entirely his own doing.
I crossed my arms, fixing him with a sharp gaze.
"You still need to train your vampiric abilities. This lethargy… it will get you killed."
Mihai didn't even look at me, lounging lazily.
"I… forgot," he muttered, voice flat, like it was no big deal.
I raised a brow, unimpressed.
"Forgot? You are aware this is not optional, yes?"
He shrugged, dragging one hand through his hair.
"Yeah, yeah. I know. Just… needed a break."
A break. From life, from responsibility… from everything.
I didn't ask. I grabbed his hand and lifted him from the couch before he could protest.
"We're training. Now," I said, tone flat, leaving no room for argument.
A flash of motion, and the world shifted. We appeared in a dense forest near the Nosferatu enclaves outside Sibiu.
The air was heavy, charged. The ley lines beneath the soil pulsed faintly, amplifying every trace of mist and dark magic.
"This is where your vampiric abilities will actually matter," I said, letting my gaze sweep over him.
He yawned, then stretched like a lazy cat.
"Cheers to that!" he replied in mock enthusiasm.
I narrowed my eyes.
"That is not enthusiasm — that is apathy," I stated flatly. "But we shall begin."
I raised a hand, drawing a faint circle in the air. The ley lines beneath our feet responded, and the mist in the forest deepened, curling like living silk.
"Vampires can manifest their aura in several ways," I explained, voice calm and controlled. "Mist magic and dark vampiric spells are extensions of your essence — reflections of your control, not your will."
He blinked.
"…Sounds like fancy words for 'magic fog,'" he mumbled.
I didn't bother correcting him. Instead, I began:
"First exercise — aura focus."
I extended both palms forward. A thin wave of violet‑tinged mist pulsed out, dissolving into the thicker fog around us.
"Concentrate on your core," I instructed.
"Not emotion. Not reaction. Control."
I turned slightly, giving him space but not permission to avoid the task.
"Call your aura," I continued. "Feel the ley lines. Let your presence align with them.
Then release a stream of controlled mist — not cloud, not fog, but condensed essence."
I watched him closely.
"Do not summon more than you can control," I said. "Focus on shape and density, not quantity."
He hesitated, brow tightening.
Then his aura flickered — a thin silver‑gray wisp at first, trembling like a candle flame in a draft.
I didn't comment. I simply observed.
He breathed again, slower.
Mist thickened around his feet. His aura responded. The wisp became steadier.
Good. Not strong. Not elegant. But steadier.
"Now," I continued, shifting my stance, "bend it. Form it into a slash — not a cloud. A defined strike."
A swirl of dark vapor gathered around his outstretched hand, uncertain, but there. It shaped into a loose line — barely a blade, but it was deliberate.
I raised an eyebrow — the tiniest sign of approval.
"Again," I instructed. "This time, refine it. Call it with purpose, not reaction."
For the first time since I dragged him from that miserable apartment, Mihai's eyes sharpened.
Not with anger.
Not with grief.
With focus.
A small thing.
Barely noticeable.
But I saw it.
I stepped back, letting the mist and frost settle into the forest floor, dark shadows curling lazily around us.
Mihai leaned against a tree, chest heaving, frost and mist clinging to his hair and clothes. His smirk was there — half defiance, half exhaustion.
"Not bad," I said, voice flat, arms folded. "You didn't die. That counts for something. But raw instincts won't carry you through a real battle. Remember that."
He groaned, pretending to be annoyed.
"Yeah, yeah… princess," he muttered. "Lesson learned. Or whatever."
I let a small curl of dark mist drift toward him, a subtle reminder.
"Good enough for now, Mihai. But do not mistake this for indulgence. You are my underling until you can repay the favor you forced from me — and that means mastering these powers."
He shrugged, smirk never leaving his face, though there was a flicker of something sharper in his eyes now.
"That's… fair, I guess," he said.
I didn't respond. Instead, I watched the ley lines pulse faintly beneath the forest, knowing this was only the beginning of what he needed to become.
The forest was quiet again, but this time it carried the tension of potential, not apathy.
That night, I received an invitation to a High Council meeting — a rather tedious affair, if I'm honest — convened to determine our position regarding LaVey's recent… incursions in Transylvania.
Most of these so-called lords would hesitate to call it a war.
How quaint.
And then there is Mihai, babbling on about the Szekely lands, likening them to some human enclave called "Kosovo."
As if the barbarity of men could compare to vampire affairs.
A war, they say, is all that is required now.
Meanwhile, bridging the chasm between us and the Tepes faction could take another millennium, and even then, I doubt it would be enough.
I sighed inwardly. How tiresome.
(scene break)
The Bistrița Citadel buzzed with activity, though the formality of centuries remained: men spoke to men, women to women. Any deviation usually ended poorly — a lesson learned long ago.
Millarca came bounding up, all smiles and energy, and practically threw herself at me.
"Elme, hiii!" she exclaimed, hugging my neck.
I allowed a faint smile, more out of courtesy than warmth, and patted her shoulder.
"Millarca, must you announce your arrival with such dramatics? One might think the entire citadel is waiting on you."
She blinked, taken aback, but clearly delighted by my attention.
Millarca relaxed her hug and sighed softly.
"I missed you, Elme. It's… been too long."
I allowed the brief warmth to pass over me, though my posture remained composed.
"Indeed, it's been a couple of days."
Mihai dragged his legs like an undead, hands in his pockets, hair messy. His presence carried the faint chill of frost.
Behind him lingered two girls, the Wind Spirit and the Yuki-onna who fought with him in Brașov.
I didn't ask about them. I had no reason to.
"Oh—look, it's Mihai!" Millarca perked up immediately, waving with far too much enthusiasm. "Hey! Over here!"
I nudged her, ever so slightly.
"Honestly, Millarca… must you announce it to the entire citadel?"
Mihai approached at his usual pace, unhurried, detached. He raised a hand in a half-hearted greeting.
"Sup," he said flatly. "Ready to sit through hours of nobles pretending they're not stuck in the 14th century? I've had enough of politicians lately. This feels like a historical movie in 4K."
Millarca blinked. I did not.
"Mihai," I said, voice cool and precise, "diplomacy is not a spectacle for your amusement. It is a necessity. Or would you prefer we simply hand Transylvania over to LaVey and be done with it?"
He shrugged, unfazed.
"Would save everyone some time."
"Eeeeh… that's a bit too honest, even for you," Millarca laughed, scratching her cheek awkwardly.
I exhaled softly.
"Your sense of timing remains as lacking as ever."
He didn't respond.
The courtyard was draped in the banners of Tepes and Carmilla, their emblems hanging in careful opposition.
Yet a third presence lingered among them — a delegation speaking Hungarian, their bearing distinct, their allegiance… deliberately unclaimed.
Vampires, after all, predated the Kingdom of Hungary. Titles and borders meant little to our kind. They could be Hungarian nobles, Germanic lords, Romanian boyars — such distinctions were… human conveniences.
And yet, they had come.
Curious.
One of them broke from the group and approached us with measured steps, his posture impeccable, his gaze assessing.
He stopped before Mihai, inclining his head just enough to acknowledge him.
"Jó estét kívánok," he said in Hungarian, voice smooth, controlled. "You would be the half-Hungarian youth who has so thoroughly captured LaVey's attention, I presume?"
I watched the exchange in silence, noting every detail.
"Yeah. That'd be me," Mihai replied, tone as flat as ever. "And you are?"
"My name is László Szilárd, Count of Győr," the man said with a slight incline of his head. "Allow me to express my appreciation for your… initiative in Budapest. Such decisiveness is, shall we say, uncommon."
A pause — deliberate.
"…for a Romanian."
I caught the faint twitch in Mihai's brow. Subtle, but there.
"Glad to be breaking stereotypes," he replied dryly.
Count Szilárd's expression did not change, though there was the slightest flicker of interest in his eyes.
"We stand firmly opposed to LaVey's consolidation of power in Hungary," he continued, voice even, composed. "His ambitions threaten not only your lands, but ours as well."
I studied him carefully.
So the Hungarian faction had chosen to show its hand.
How… pragmatic.
"Then we should work together to prevent his rise. Hajrá a magyarok, úgy?" Mihai shrugged.
Count Szilárd let out a low, faint laugh and an approving nod before disappearing into the crowd.
Mihai's strike on Budapest was reckless. Borderline suicidal.
And yet… for a human who had just lost his grandmother, I suppose restraint was never truly an option.
How very… human.
I found it deeply perplexing.
He stands among us, wields powers that are not his by birthright, shifts between worlds as though such contradictions mean nothing—
and still clings to that fragile, irrational core.
Inside the citadel, the tension was as thick as fog.
Banners hung in deliberate opposition—Tepes to one side, Carmilla to the other—while the Hungarian delegation remained slightly apart, speaking in low, controlled tones. The air carried the scent of wax and stone, voices restrained, every exchange measured.
King Tepes stepped forward. The hall quieted at once.
"The attack on Brașov cannot be overlooked," he said, voice steady, absolute. "Four thousand of our kind have fallen. This is no skirmish. No isolated incident."
A pause.
"It reads as a declaration of war."
A murmur rippled through the assembly.
Carmilla spoke without raising her voice, yet every ear turned.
"Let us not pretend this concerns only one faction. Vampires of both Tepes and Carmilla have perished in that assault. Oblivion has made no distinction."
Marius exhaled sharply, stepping forward with thinly veiled irritation.
"And yet we gather here over a human settlement," he said. "Brașov is not vampire territory. Why should this escalate into our affairs?"
A few voices murmured in agreement.
Another lord cut in, older, colder.
"You speak as though we are separate from that world. There are countless vampires embedded within human society—assets, influence, entire networks."
His gaze swept the hall.
"Or have you all forgotten where our power truly lies?"
Silence followed.
Not agreement. Recognition.
Tepes allowed it to linger before speaking again.
"That is precisely why we are here," he said. "For all our differences, indulgence in division now would be… short-sighted."
His gaze moved between both factions, then briefly toward the Hungarian delegation.
"The Tepes and Carmilla factions have convened to establish a temporary truce. Oblivion has overstepped. We will respond—together."
A subtle shift passed through the room. Reluctant. Necessary.
He continued, voice hardening slightly.
"And let this be understood clearly: any further attack on Romanian establishments—human or otherwise—will be met with appropriate resistance."
There was no need to elaborate.
From the Hungarian delegation, Count Szilárd stepped forward once more, posture impeccable.
"We find ourselves in rare alignment," he said, tone smooth, deliberate. "LaVey's ambitions within Hungary are… intolerable."
A measured pause.
"We will take all necessary measures to prevent his consolidation of power. For the present, our interests coincide with yours."
He inclined his head.
"Consider our position aligned."
I observed it all in silence.
Not unity.
But something close enough to be… useful.
Then Mihai raised his hand.
"If I may," he said, offering a polite bow—just enough to be acknowledged, not enough to submit.
No one interrupted him.
And yet, the unease was palpable. Tepes nobles regarded him with open disdain, Carmilla's women observed with faint amusement, and the Hungarian delegation watched with measured caution.
"I've been engaging Oblivion forces since their destruction of Nagano," Mihai continued, voice even. "Their operational pattern favors destabilization through sequential pressure points."
A brief pause.
"Projecting forward, their next likely targets are Sfântu Gheorghe and Târgu Mureș. Strategic value, proximity, and current momentum all align."
He shifted his gaze slightly, expression unchanged.
"As for LaVey—he is unlikely to escalate beyond Szekely territory before securing his position in Hungary. Consolidation comes before expansion."
A murmur passed through the chamber.
Count Szilárd stepped forward at once, tone still refined, but edged now with something firmer.
"LaVey will not be securing anything in Hungary," he said. "You may consider that outcome… improbable."
Mihai gave a faint shrug, neither agreeing nor challenging.
King Tepes spoke next, voice cutting cleanly through the hall.
"The assessment is noted," he said. "And accounted for."
His gaze swept the assembly, heavier now.
"We will proceed under the assumption that Oblivion intends to expand across multiple fronts. You would all do well to prepare accordingly."
A pause.
"A multi-theater war is no longer a distant possibility. It is a developing reality."
I watched in silence.
So. Even Mihai had chosen to play at strategy now.
Unexpected.
…Not unwelcome.
We were at war.
And the future hung on our next decisions.
___________
[Kokonoe POV]
I don't understand vampires. Not their politics, not their egos. And they sure as hell don't understand mine.
But… one small tactical win during this tedious conference? The Hungarian delegation.
They could be useful. Strike at LaVey in his own territory. Give me a backbone to lean on if Tepes or Carmilla start pressing allegiance hard enough to force my hand.
Beyond that… what else? You expect medals for arranging a truce in the face of a common enemy?
Congratulations. You're not a complete idiot.
Still, that doesn't mean I like any of this.
"I can't wait to get the hell outta here," I muttered to no one in particular.
I was slouched on the couch. To my left, Suzuka was absorbed in a book. To my right, Haruka tapped away at her phone like the world didn't exist outside her screen.
And me? I was staring at the TV, letting the images wash over me without really seeing them.
Haruka glanced up from her phone, a sly grin on her lips.
"Hey… is this about the vampires, Kokonoe-kun?" she asked, teasing, as if she already knew the answer.
I didn't even look at her.
"Partly," I muttered, voice flat. "Mostly about all the idiots trying to lecture me while pretending they're in charge."
She giggled softly, clearly entertained by my irritation.
"Figures," she said, returning to her game, though her eyes flicked toward me every few seconds.
"I used to think Rias was difficult," I muttered, voice low. "But these… these deluded bozos? They still act like Romania owes them something just for existing."
If I wanted to draw an analogy… even the Roma people I've seen had more unity than this lot of vampires.
I shook my head, eyes returning to the TV.
"Bag pula în ei de panarame," I muttered quietly.
Suzuka's hand gripped mine, though her eyes didn't leave her book.
"…You don't have to carry all of it on your own, Kokonoe-kun," she said softly.
A small pause.
"They can argue all they want… but you're the one actually doing something."
I didn't answer.
Just let the moment stretch—let their warmth steady me in the middle of this mess.
The quiet didn't last.
In the following days, the SFF—bloated with recruits from Harghita—opened two new fronts.
Mureș and Covasna.
Mureș stalled almost immediately. Too mixed, too stubborn, too hard to control. Taking that county was a nightmare even on paper.
Covasna, though…
That was different.
They hit Târgu Secuiesc and Sfântu Gheorghe at the same time.
The vampire response was divided—but adaptive.
The High Council sent Marius to lead a strike force in Târgu, while Elmenhilde was assigned to hold Sfântu Gheorghe.
Predictable.
Still… I wanted to see it for myself. Some of those places weren't just names on a map.
So, quietly, I decided to monitor both fronts.
Teleportation circles weren't exactly advanced anymore. Not after the training.
Kézdivásárhely stretched out before me, familiar in a way I hadn't expected. I used to come here with my family.
Anyu's birthplace.
Back then, I didn't think much of it. Now… it felt like a smaller Szombathely. Same old Hungarian architecture, same churches, same quiet weight of history.
I watched the battlefield unfold.
Marius was inefficient. His formations collapsed after the first real counterstrike, and he couldn't hold ground to save his life.
Worse… the SFF units were using garlic.
That wasn't normal.
It meant they knew. Or at least suspected they'd be fighting vampires.
Which meant planning.
Which meant this wasn't just a fluke.
I exhaled slowly.
Yeah. Târgu was a lost cause.
Sfântu, though… that was different.
More contested.
Hungarian-majority, sure—but less radical. Less willing to burn bridges.
Not everyone wanted to be cut off from the rest of Transylvania. From Brașov. From Sibiu.
That made all the difference.
The city wasn't much to look at from a distance, but… that was the point.
A quiet city, spread low and wide, with apartment blocks mixed into older Hungarian-style houses. Nothing grand, nothing imposing—just practical.
Romanians lived in the blocs, Hungarians in the houses.
Streets that actually connected things, small squares where people still gathered, churches that blended into the skyline instead of dominating it.
A train station that's seen better days, linked to the city by a worn bridge stretching over the Olt River. A statue for fallen Romanian heroes still standing—somehow untouched.
Closer to Brașov than people liked to admit. Close enough to matter.
I even almost worked here once, back in my old life. But commuting from Săcele just to run shifts at a Profi? Yeah, no thanks.
Elmenhilde cast me a sideways glance as Oblivion mages and vampires fought through the narrow streets around us.
"Mihai," she said, tone cool, edged with irritation, "if you have quite finished observing, I would appreciate it if you contributed something of actual value to this engagement."
A faint pause, her gaze narrowing just slightly.
"Or is standing there and watching your idea of assistance?"
I shrugged.
"Fine."
Nelu answered instantly, surging beneath me as we tore into the skyline.
No more watching.
Ice bloomed at my command—icicles, blades, entire constructs—launched in clean, deliberate volleys toward the Szekely lines. Enough to break their momentum.
A coordinated strike.
If this war was just beginning…
Then we'd end it before it had the chance to grow.