Your Blood is Mine

"I found one!"

"Quick, where's the interpreter!?"

"There's another one here!" 

"Who else can understand even just a little bit of Old Ilvedian!?"

Both Huntsmen and common Ilvedians alike scouted the forest day and night for the vampire lords' graves. They are tombs indicated with the symbol of the Dracon shaped like a cross, exactly like the symbol of the Noble Huntsmen, but drawn in sheep's blood and ash. This kind of mixture known as the kaverkai is used to keep the symbol drawn to last forever and is believed to act like a seal to dangerous objects or places. 

Xendros did not bury the vampire lords' tombs, but instead, let them be placed above the ground so the sun can shine on them. They were crafted in polished white marble with the mask of the dead's face on top of it. The mask was made by putting over clay on the dead person's face to mold it to the person's likeness, take it off, and bake it to harden.

In Ilvedia, this is considered to be the highest form of funeral rite, only done for nobles of extremely noble standing. Rothfir found it strange to give vampire lords such a well-made tomb, but kept his reactions to himself and merely encouraged the people to keep looking for tombs like this. 

Though the indicators of a vampire lord's tomb are easy to identify from the ordinary person's tomb, most of them are covered in grime, mud, and dead leaves. Over the years, they ended up indiscernible from natural mounds and molehills. It took a lot of joined effort from the people to even find three to four of them per day. 

And then there's the matter of translating the missing pages they find in each tomb.

Most historians, scholars, and priests who have studied Old Ilvedian are painfully old. Maybe more have existed, but perished in either the Undead War, the aftermath, or merely because God had reached out to get them back into his loving embrace. So you could guess that their welfare had become the top priority. All the survivors took care of these translators and text interpreters like their own grandparents and ancestors.

In times of peace, the young ignored the old. In times of crisis, the old was seen again by the young for their decades' worth of knowledge, and only when there is a danger to lose this knowledge do they care for them.

"Can't he speak a little bit faster?" A Huntsman whispered to another as he crouched beside the old priest reading the page they have found after hours of digging. 

Vicar Garien, who had pushed the priest's wheeled chair (a personalized transportation device for the elderly designed by Asver), overheard this and chided coldly. "Give Father Dabedo a little bit of time, please."

"The..... twig..... fell.... of... struck..... tree..." 

"He's not even making any sense!" The Huntsmen complained even more quietly again. 

But the Vicar's ear may be blessed by God for he still miraculously overheard it. "It doesn't make sense now Old Ilvedian is usually written in a prose-like structure. This may just be a literal interpretation of a proverb or saying."

"Then can't you interpret it for us!? You seem to know quite a lot of Old Ilvedian!" The Huntsman gripped his hair. "I can't take this any longer, my whole body is itching from clearing up dirt and I need to quickly wash this off in the nearby lake!"

"You worry about bathing when we're in the midst of the revelation for our salvation?" Vicar Garien raised an eyebrow at him.

The Huntsman scoffed. He was one of Zenon's friends who were the type to say their minds and fear no one. "Easy for you to say when you aren't the one getting your hands dirty to find all these tombs, and you get to have the easy life by just pushing oldies around and feeding them like babies."

"Illios, that's going too far." Vicar Garien said sternly. "I know that you still bear ill-will that I chose to be at the clergy than be a Huntsman, but that doesn't give you the right to insult our priests who are instruments of God."

"Instruments of God!?" Illios spat on the ground. "Oh, is that how you see yourself now? Why don't you call out to your God to make you an instrument and ask him to just give us the damn answer to a vampire's weakness!? Or is he just a lazy lout who likes to torture us?" 

"Our Lord works in mysterious ways, you shall not dirty His name with your insinuations." Vicar Garien's eyes narrowed deadly at Illios. 

Their small group is filled with noise from the bickering and the priest's slow translating of the page they found. "..tree..... doesn't bear.... fruit...achoo! Saps.... flow endlessly.... Thousand cuts....."

It had gotten so loud that it reached Asver's group and was distracting them, so the red-head checked while scratching his head. "Hey, guys.... What's going on? What's with all the racket?"

The two ignored them and kept with their bantering.

"He who is merely a creation of the Maker shall not defile his name, as said in the Scripture—"

"Screw your damn Scripture! Can the Scripture feed us when we're hungry? Be a weapon against vampires? You can shove it on your rear—"

Asver felt like his head was going to explode from the noise, and a single sweatdrop fell on his forehead. He could only repeat 'Hey, calm down! Calm down!' but no one listens to him. Should he ask Rothfir for help? But he was away....

"Sigh.... I wish the Chief.... Er, Sangfroid was here. He'll know what to do."

Sangfroid's intimidating presence has its perks, and he makes deliberate and resolute actions. He may not be a perfect leader.... but he was the leader they needed. 

Yet Sangfroid wouldn't let them dig up these tombs in the first place. So no in-fighting would happen, yet there would also be no progress. Asver wondered what's the meaning of their life as survivors anyway.

Are vampires really the problem? Or their inability to accept their cruel fate as a fallen kingdom? Because the way he sees it, Ilvedia had not just fallen physically, but also the Ilvedian 'heart' and 'spirit' as well. 

He felt a tug on his sleeves and looked down. It was Asvian. "Uncle Asver, I'm hungry."

Asver broke out of his philosophizing. "Oh, yeah. I have some rations. Here you go."

"Um.... They're all rotten, Uncle." The child took out the crumbly, moldy bread. 

"Really? Man...." Asvian said. 

"Asver!" He heard a sweet voice call. "The group is looking for you, is everything alright?"

Lilian had cut her hair into a short bob, and her glasses had been tied with strings because the frame was broken. Her hands and feet were full of dirt but she still remained a determined expression on her face. "Oh, Asvian. What are you doing here?"

"I'm hungry, and all of Uncle Asver's food is spoiled now."

"Oh my.... Asver!" Lilian's eyebrows creased at the disgusting molding food. "How many times have I told you to change your ration every day!? How long had this been staying at your satchel?"

"Uh.... Since four days ago? Five? Hehe." Asver scratched his head.

"Do you want to get sick and add up to the people I have to nurse right now?" Lilian smacked him on the head. 

"Sorry, sorry!" Asver chuckled nervously since Lilian's fist is pretty strong. "You can see how busy I am, okay!? I mean, look at these two! I can break them up no matter what!"

Lilian turned to the vicar and the Noble Huntsman arguing and whistled. "Hey, boys!"

The two suddenly stopped and looked at her, confused about what the royal maid is doing here. 

"You should be ashamed of yourself, fighting and doing nothing when everyone is doing their best to be helpful in the camp!" She pulled their ears.

"Ow!!! Damn, vixen! Ouch!" Illios tried to pull away, but her grip is so strong!

"Madam, please let me go! Ackkk!" Vicar Garien could only plead. 

"Hmph! Not until you learned your lesson!" Lillian continued to chide them. "Shouting in front of a child!? Are you toddlers who only know to yell and babble for a toy!? I don't care what your argument is about, you either resolve it or keep your mouth shut and focus on doing your individual jobs like grown men!"

"Alright, we promise!" The two said at the same time. 

She finally let go with another, 'hmph', and so, the problem was now solved. On to the next one. "Now, let's find some berries and fruit not just for Asvian but for the others as well. I'm sure everyone is starving for all this hard labor."

Wide-eyed Asver who is so amazed by this woman could only nod. "O-Okay.... Thanks."

"Come here, Asvian." She took the child's hand and the three of them foraged for food in the woods. 

Asver felt like a heavy weight was lifted off his chest thanks to this savior with a sharp tongue. "You were amazing back there, Lilian." 

"I know." Lillian would always reply with a smile. 

Asver liked how confident she was. He often acted brash and stingy to people he don't know yet or had a prejudice against, like the old adviser and the nobles. But when it comes to speaking with people he does know, he fears to say anything that would tarnish his relationship with them. He is willing to go physical with strangers, but he doesn't like fighting with his own kind. 

Lillian is different, she speaks up to anyone and everyone. Even those higher or lower than her, those she is not close with, and those she considered family. And most of the time, she is always right. And she knows it, that's why she can bravely tell people off when they are in the wrong. 

This kind of decisiveness is almost similar to Sangfroid's, but that Sangfroid uses fewer words and never resolved to smacking heads and pulling ears for intimidation since his mere presence is enough. If she was a member of the Huntsmen, Asver would elect her to be the new leader. 

"Ha....ha.... Hah... Cough... Cough...."

Asver blinked when he heard this. He turned around to see that Asvian was clutching their chest. 

"What's wrong, Asvian?" Lillian bent down to examine the poor child. "You can't breathe?"

"Can't..... breathe.... "

Asver crouched down beside them. He checked Asvian's pulse....

And Asver's heart dropped, his blood running cold from fright.

"What is it?" Lillian asked him. 

"A-Asvian.... is showing signs of Bloodlust."