Chapter Ninety-Four: The Night Pilgrim

The same coffin?

Charles froze for a moment, then immediately understood something and looked to Farolinch.

“Are you a vampire too? Were you fooled by that bastard as well?”

Farolinch glanced at Charles.

“No.”

“Then why did you sleep in my coffin?”

Charles found it a little strange, and Farolinch, with unusual reluctance, bared his teeth in a faint smile before answering in a low voice.

“You have it backward. It was you who slept in my coffin.”

While Charles stood there in dumbfounded confusion, Moran suddenly laughed and asked him with a trace of irony:

“Do you know why Sandro went out of his way to find a special tomb in a special place, and then brought the special coffin from it back here? A man who would not even tell you what price you must pay to become a vampire would really go to all that trouble out of kindness for your sake?”

Charles was not stupid. He had only been blinded by desire before. Now, hearing Moran’s words, he immediately realized that the vampire’s use of him might not have been limited to the fact that he was Baron Charles.

“Exactly. More or less what you were thinking, or perhaps something even deeper. Sandro was only a small fry. The reason he did all this was because a higher vampire wanted to use you as a vessel.”

“A vessel?”

Charles turned pale with fear. Even the word itself was enough to make his instincts scream that something was terribly wrong.

“When Sandro transformed you, he did not cut his own wrist, did he? He gave you another source of blood instead?”

“He carried a small jar of blood with him. He said he regarded me as a brother, not a servant, so he would use the most precious blood to lead me into the night...”

Before Moran could say anything, Farolinch on the side could not help but snort.

How laughable.

Moran’s expression was deeply meaningful.

“In some respects, Charles, you must also be a gifted man. Otherwise, even if Charles Town had the most favorable geography, it would never have caught anyone’s eye.”

Moran unfolded an old map. It was the layout of Charles’s main mine tunnel. The entire former mining network had once revolved around that copper mine, divided into northern and southern entrances. They were headed for the main entrance; the auxiliary one had long ago been destroyed in a mountain collapse and was never restored, even after the copper mine was exhausted.

Studying the mine map made Moran think of Charles’s geography and regional layout as well. In a place like Charles, remote as it was, the straight-line distance to the imperial capital was not actually that great. It was, in truth, a very delicate location.

Knock, knock, knock...

Handel tapped on the rear side wall from outside. Moran slid open the small front window so that the driver’s seat outside and the carriage interior could communicate more easily.

“Professor, we’ve entered the mountain’s range. We need to stay alert.”

As he spoke, Handel pulled on the reins, and the carriage gradually slowed until it stopped.

“Mm. Charles, it is your turn.”

Moran patted Baron Charles on the shoulder, then opened the door.

“Go outside and sit with Handel. Stay calm. If you are frightened, take deep breaths. Your aura is not strong, so it is best that you expose yourself directly to the werewolves’ senses.”

“This... could you come out with me?”

“A few werewolves know me. They would be afraid.”

Moran gave a halfhearted answer, then pushed Charles out of the carriage. He glanced at Farolinch, who said with a dark expression:

“I don’t want to go out, and there isn’t room anyway.”

Charles smiled awkwardly and moved to the front. Handel reached out and pulled him up beside the driver’s seat.

“You needn’t be afraid, my lord baron. I’ll be out here with you. Giddy-up...”

The carriage started moving again. Thanks to the old prosperity of Charles Mining, the roads had been built on an exceptionally solid foundation, with large stones laid end to end. Though they were now overgrown with weeds, they still barely allowed a carriage to pass.

Charles and Handel sat together. At first, Charles was able to remain composed, but as the carriage ventured deeper and deeper into the mountains, he would occasionally feel something dart past in the distance at great speed. He could not tell whether it was a beast or a werewolf, and it made him extremely tense.

Werewolves were also creatures of darkness, but their tolerance for sunlight was far greater than that of vampires and the like. Although the forest was dim and the last glow of sunset still lingered, half an hour after the carriage entered the mountains, werewolves had already been seen running in the distance. Each time they appeared, they seemed to be a little closer.

“Don’t be nervous. They’re only beasts in the mountains.”

Handel knew perfectly well that they were werewolves, but lying to Charles could help steady his emotions somewhat. Even so, after an hour in the mountains, the werewolves grew ever more brazen. Although visibility in the woods was poorer, at such close range Charles could already make out their appearances.

To Moran and Handel’s slight surprise, Charles actually managed to maintain his outward composure, and even seemed calmer than he had at the start.

“Awooo—”

The werewolves began to howl. The carriage kept moving forward, and before long two of them were actually running right beside it.

Handel remained unfazed. He tried his best to control the horses so they would not be startled, and Charles likewise kept his composure, sitting beside Handel as though completely at ease. Moran, catching sight of the scene from time to time through the small window, was rather astonished and suddenly felt that Charles might truly be a man worth cultivating.

Soon, a huge mine entrance appeared ahead on the mountain road. This had once been the main entrance to the mining district. The carriage had no choice but to stop, because three werewolves stood blocking the entrance. The one in the middle was crouched low, yet even so he was visibly taller and more powerfully built than the other two, clearly a pack leader, though not necessarily the master here.

When the carriage stopped, the werewolf crouching in the middle of the tunnel entrance slowly stood up, a head taller than the others beside him.

Uuu...”

He had no language and seemed incapable of becoming human again, but what he was roaring at Charles was obvious even to Charles himself, especially after Moran’s earlier instructions.

“I have urgent business with your chief. It concerns Sandro. Take me to him.”

“Roar, roar, rrrr...”

The werewolf howled a few times and walked up beside the carriage. At close range he stared at Handel, whose hand on the reins had clenched into a fist, sweat soaking his back. He was astonished that Charles was still holding steady.

The werewolf then came to the carriage door and looked inside through the glass. Moran lowered the brim of his hat, while Farolinch wore the expression of a dead man.

The werewolf sniffed the air, then sneezed. The strong, cheap perfume soaked into the sack of explosives was enough to make a sensitive werewolf recoil in discomfort.

“Rrrr.”

The werewolf leader roared again. The wolves at the entrance stepped aside, and the carriage continued forward.

The road inside the tunnel was much rougher. Everyone inside and outside the carriage was jolted violently, but fortunately, thanks to the kerosene lamp Handel had hung on the outside of the carriage, they could barely keep it moving.

The two horses pulling the carriage were clearly terrified. Handel had to keep soothing them or yank hard on the reins to prevent them from bolting.

The tunnel grew deeper and deeper, and soon the carriage could not go any farther because the road ahead was blocked by a large pile of ore carts.

“My lord baron, the carriage cannot go on.”

Though Handel was speaking to Charles in name, he was in fact reminding Moran inside the carriage. Moran adjusted his hat again, opened the door, and came down from the carriage with Farolinch, each carrying a heavy sack over one shoulder.

“My lord baron, we can only continue on foot with our gifts.”

Moran glanced at the werewolves around him. None of them seemed to recognize him. Yet going deep into a werewolf den like this was still enough to make his pulse race and his nerves tingle with excitement. The mad seed buried in his soul was beginning to stir once more.

Although there was only one entrance to the mine, the interior branched in every direction, forming a vast labyrinth.

As they walked, Moran slowly drew closer to Charles.

“Charles, try. It all depends on you now. Do everything you can, and make sure you do it!”

Charles was under intense strain at this moment, but the gradual progression from their departure in the mountains to now had allowed him to adapt somewhat. Hearing Moran’s exhortation, a surge of spirit rose in him. After all, what they were about to do was madness to him. It was probably a once-in-a-lifetime deed.

Charles clenched both fists tightly. His face was grave and twisted, looking for all the world like a man suffering from terrible constipation.

Ugh...

After more than ten seconds, the two figures beside him suddenly let out low whimpering cries. Charles looked over and could feel that the werewolves’ attitude toward him had changed.

Moran narrowed his eyes slightly. As expected. In academic terms, it should be at least the fourth stage of the Blooded Path, the blood of a Night Pilgrim.

Strictly speaking, the first three stages were treated academically as a single rank. The awakening of the flesh counted as the beginning of the first stage, and the partial mastery of magical power still belonged to the first stage. The second stage was when both spirit and body broke through mortal limits and began to step into the Real, where one could hear the truth and glimpse the hidden world. The third stage was when the spirit reached a critical threshold, allowing one to interfere with the hidden world and begin using various elements aligned with one’s gift.

The pinnacle of the Radiant Knight was only the third stage. To reach the fourth stage, one had to evolve into a Victory Knight. The fourth stage was the beginning of abundance in power, the point at which one truly stepped into the Real.

As a rule, the totem embodying strength, will, and the power of existence would manifest when the third stage had matured or when the fourth stage was just beginning.

And vampires naturally had stages as well. That ancient path of the Blooded even gave every minor stage its own name. But once the fourth stage was reached, one was no longer merely Blooded; a branch emerged, one capable of influencing or even controlling werewolves. Even though the birth of these infected werewolves must be related to that path, Moran could be certain that the owner of the blood used to transform Charles was, at the very least, a Night Pilgrim.

Since things were proceeding exactly as expected, the safest plan could now be carried out smoothly. After the werewolves around them had fallen under Charles’s influence, Moran moved to one side, bared his fangs, and jabbed repeatedly at the mine wall. After a shower of sparks, a small hole was bored out. Moran stuffed a stick of explosive into it, then, as if nothing had happened, moved on to another spot and repeated the process.

“Lord Jonste, have you given any careful thought to what happens if we ourselves get buried in the tunnel?”

“Yes, I have. The answer is that we had better not get trapped inside.”

He laid the explosives one after another along the route, even connecting the fuses. The most conspicuous moments in the whole process were when he was placing the charges, yet none of the werewolves nearby reacted at all.

By the latter half, however, the howling of other werewolves inside the cave could already be heard. Moran stopped and had Farolinch carry the remaining sack of explosives onward.

Beyond the glow of the kerosene lamp, one pair of green eyes after another lit up. Moran’s expression was grave, while the others were so tense they were nearly dead with fear.

There were so many werewolves?

Just by counting the eyes, there were at least several dozen. They had already formed a considerable force, and this was surely not even all of them.