Hard Carried by My Sword-Chapter 67

Chapter 67
“A
vampire
?!”
Arnold nearly toppled backward with his chair as he scrambled upright, wide-eyed in alarm. It was the exact reaction Karen had expected from Leon earlier.
Arnold’s eyes trembled as he steadied his breath. He himself wasn’t all he had to care for—he was the leader of the Storm Caravan. Even when disaster struck out of nowhere, he was duty-bound to think of a plan.
The three who’d come to see him at dawn—Gustav, Leon, and Karen—waited patiently while he regained his composure.
“
Phew
... Forgive me for showing such an unseemly sight.”
Arnold rubbed his forehead for a while before raising his head again. Bad news was better heard in advance than by surprise.
In a way, it was actually fortunate that they’d uncovered this just days before entering Rubena. True to a merchant’s spirit, Arnold accepted the facts without hesitation.
“So there are vampires hiding in the Rubena Domain, and as if that wasn’t bad enough, they’re actively expanding their power?” Arnold confirmed.
“That’s what we know so far,” Gustav replied. “With no way to see what’s below the surface, we’ll have to make a decision based on what we know now.”
How they’d come across this information was pure chance. If Gustav and Jerome hadn’t had old grudges—if they hadn’t crossed paths at the tavern that night—if Leon hadn’t witnessed their duel—none of this would have come to light.
Vampires and dhampirs. The connection was obvious. Someone was pulling the strings behind Jerome, and the odds were high that it was Count Rubena himself.
“
Mm
... There’s no avoiding it then,” Arnold said after a long silence. “We can’t just skip the Rubena Domain. If we’d lost the cargo to bandits, we could have tried making excuses, but if we refuse to deliver it now, it’ll be like spitting right in the Count’s face.”
He was right. For a noble, their prestige was worth more than their life. Being snubbed, by a mere merchant, at that, was out of the question. If the Storm Caravan turned its back now, the entire Rubena House would become their mortal enemy.
If that happened, this crisis would catch up with them sooner or later. Arnold knew this too well—he squeezed his eyes shut, then opened them again.
“There’s no choice,
huh
...”
Gustav let out a dry chuckle, knowing exactly what that meant. To march willingly into danger was the worst possible plan tactically, but they couldn’t just abandon the job either.
Once a mercenary took a job, they saw it through to the end. Walking away just to save their own skin would destroy their reputation and price overnight, never mind the punishment and damages from the Guild which would be the final nail in the coffin.
“I’ll spend every spare coin we have,” Arnold said, looking at the three of them with a face full of apology. “We’ll hire more mercenaries here in Valkas, stock up on silver weapons and holy water—whatever we can get to fight vampires. I’ll show you that I’m not just trying to save myself.”
“Arnold,” Gustav cut him off firmly. “Honestly speaking, I’m not happy about this. This is dangerous—too dangerous. Even if we walk in ten times, we’d be lucky to survive three. If I’d known it’d come to this, I’d never have taken the job.”
“B-but...”
“But we don’t break our word. I see you’re doing everything you can too, so don’t drop your chin anymore.”
His blunt but loyal words left Arnold speechless like he’d been struck by lightning. To willingly walk into a deathtrap, and still worry about sparing a merchant’s pride? Arnold hadn’t expected that.
He lowered his head one last time, then managed a faint smile. Before long, all of them found themselves sharing a small grin.
“Men...” Karen muttered under her breath, rolling her eyes.
She’d spent the whole night trying to score points with Leon only to be upstaged. Naturally, her nerves were a bit frayed.
Gustav and Arnold both cleared their throats, shifting the topic. With the main issue settled it was time to sort out the details—which mercenaries to hire in Valkas and where to get silver weapons and holy water fastest.
Karen said, “For that part, I’ll leave it all to you, Mr. Arnold. If there’s anything Leon and I can help with, don’t hesitate to call for us.”
“Understood, Ms. Karen.”
Karen all but fled the room, grabbing Leon’s wrist and dragging him out. She didn’t care about logistics or paperwork, and Leon understood, following without resistance. The two of them wandered for a few minutes until they found a quiet spot and stopped.
“What is it?” Leon asked first, sensing she had something to say. Sometimes, a partner needed to probe a little, and sure enough, Karen jumped in the moment he spoke.
“Last night, I tracked down one of this city’s black-market dealers.”
“A black-market dealer?”
“Yeah. Slipped him some coins, asked a few questions, and learned a little something.”
She’d only pieced it together minutes ago, but Karen kept that to herself—this was her moment to show her worth. And honestly, no one else could’ve connected the dots.
“Remember those desert bandits that jumped us? I’m pretty sure the Count put them up to it.”
“What?!” Leon recoiled in shock. “Come on, there’s no way he could be bothered enough to raid the caravan he hired himself over a handful of coins, would he?”
“Think about it. How did the bandit leader know exactly which crates had the goods? And with a gang that size roaming the desert, someone would’ve heard about it. But Mr. Arnold swore there was no danger nearby.”
“You’re saying they just popped up out of nowhere just to go straight for the cargo?”
“Exactly,” Karen confirmed and nodded with an awkward smile at his muttered realization.
She added, “And that leader—I knew him.”
“What?”
“I told you before, didn’t I? After I killed my old boss, I broke up the whole group and drove the assassins out of Blaine.”
“No way...”
Leon’s eyes widened as it all clicked together. Karen nodded, a bitter smile she couldn’t fully hide tugging at her lips. She still remembered tearing out the Mole’s heart and the twisted grin he’d given her as he died.
“He was an assassin—one who oversaw the Rubena area. It’s not so strange he’d have a link to the Count. He just got unlucky running into me again.”
“So the Count didn’t want us coming to Rubena...”
“That’s my guess. Even a big domain can’t just bury a caravan without consequences—and this Caravan’s escorts are no joke. If he invited us in, he can’t just kick us out either—so causing trouble was his best shot at driving us off.”
It was half guesswork, but it made perfect sense. If the Count was up to something in his territory, he’d want all eyes off him until it was done. Trying to swipe the cargo he’d ordered himself was just part of the plan.
Unfortunately for him, the Storm Caravan hadn’t just defended the cargo—they’d wiped out the bandits, leaving no other option than to enter through Rubena’s gates. For the Count, that was a huge headache.
“This could be dangerous...”
Leon muttered, realizing how serious the situation really was. The moment the Storm Caravan stepped outside his plans, the Count would have ramped up his resolve. He’d be preparing even harder to erase them completely now.
Leon had no time left to hesitate. He’d have to use everything at his disposal. Holding back would only get him killed.
“Karen. I have somewhere I need to go.”
He made his decision on the spot.
***
If Valkas earned its nickname “the Fortress City” for its grand ramparts, then Rubena had an equally striking name of its own: The Twilight City.
Towering mountains enclosed the territory on both its eastern and western edges, delaying sunrise and hastening sunset. That meant the night sky lingered longer than anywhere else—and Rubena’s nights fell swiftly and ran deep.
By four or five in the afternoon, dusk had already claimed the land. It was an ideal habitat for vampires who shunned the sun’s touch.
A faint mist slithered through the shadows. Invisible to most eyes—no matter how sharp—unless one possessed astral perception, its shape could not be seen. Dodging stray beams of sunlight, the mist drifted off into hiding.
Deep within the ruins of an abandoned slum where not a soul stirred, a young man sat alone. One glance was enough to tell he was of noble birth—refined and impeccably educated. His striking wine-colored eyes held an unsettling grace.
“You’ve returned, Roman.”
The youth’s low voice broke the silence. The drifting mist gathered, coalescing into the form of a man—an aging butler clad in an old-fashioned servant’s uniform.
Roman dropped to one knee and bowed his head with perfect form, greeting, “Yes, my Prince.”
“Prince, you say? What ruined clan keeps their royal title?” the young man replied.
“
Haha
... To me, you will always be my prince.”
Their familiar barbed exchange drew a fleeting smile. Two hundred years they’d repeated this same trivial ritual.
The young man was a noble among vampires, a direct heir of the Nosferatu’s three great bloodlines. This young noble carried the legacy of Wallachia in his veins.
The amusement faded as Roman’s tone grew grave.
“There are no Count’s men within a kilometer radius. We should be able to hold out for at least five days.”
“I see...”
The noble—Tepes—breathed a long sigh of relief. Roman was not the only vampire he should have commanded. Though he mocked himself as a prince of a broken line, his loyal kin should have numbered a hundred at least. Yet now there were only two—proof that his situation was far from whole.
“This is all my doing. I thought to find a land where we could lie low... but I only invited this calamity instead.”
“My prince, that sin lies with the treacherous,” Roman said.
“Blame can be shifted, but responsibility is mine alone. Leave it at that, Roman.”
Roman held his tongue at that command. Silence settled between them. Their plight was too desperate to speak of, and they were not so weak as to comfort themselves with false hope. Then, Tepes’s gaze twitched as he stared at the empty air.
“
Mm
?!”
“My Prince!”
Roman stepped forward, alarmed at the reaction, but Tepes raised a hand to halt him and shut his eyes tight. He reached not outward but inward to see somewhere far beyond this place.
One of the powers unique to vampires was the ability to link his senses to any thrall who had taken his blood. Though the blood had not been given by choice, its source was Tepes, and so some measure of psychic tether remained.
“
Hah
.”
Minutes passed before Tepes began to chuckle, eyes still closed. Then, he burst into laughter.
“
Hahahahahaha
!”
It was not the laugh of a man who’d given up. It was pure mirth, bubbling up uncontrollably—laughter Roman had not heard in years. He flinched; afraid the sound might carry into the streets.
Thankfully, Tepes’s laugh soon subsided.
“Good. Excellent,” Tepes muttered as the dying embers in his eyes flared to life.
He had glimpsed something that could spark their counterattack. Eager to share this fragile thread of hope, he spoke.
“Roman. The goddess has not abandoned us yet, it seems.”
“My Prince? What do you mean...?”
“One of the Count’s pawns has been captured.”
Roman’s eyes flew wide.
“The half-bloods, you mean?”
“
Mhm
.” Tepes gave a single nod, then continued, “Someone wielding holy power got a hold of him. Judging by how easily they brought down those mongrels, they must rank high within the Church. If they’re that capable, then they surely know something about me too.”
“
Oh
! Then we need only hold on until then!”
“For the first time in fifty years, we owe the Church a favor.”
These were words that would bewilder any eavesdropper. What vampire would hope for help from the Holy Church, or speak as though he had an established relationship with them? It was information absurd enough to make one doubt their own ears.
The Wallachian Prince, Tepes, turned his gaze to Rubena’s city walls, now swallowed entirely by the deep night sky. Ordinary folk would see nothing, but to a vampire’s astral vision, the barrier was plain as day.
There was a protective wall encircling the fortress, woven with vast amounts of silver. It was far from something he could break through alone.
“Andrei Rubena. Vile wretch,” Tepes cursed as his crimson eyes gleamed with venomous fury.
An actual curse rested in that stare, befitting a high vampire’s rank, but no matter how strong, it could not reach the Count’s mansion kilometers away. A petty curse was far from enough to quench the seething hatred, anyway.
“Just a little longer. Wait for me just a little longer.”
From his slender, pale fingers, crimson energy flared, manifesting Blood Claw—the overflowing lifeforce of a vampire, compressed and shaped into a blade of raw power.
They needed no Aura training to wield power equal to an Aura Weapon. With this, he desired to shred Andrei to pieces.
“I’ll execute you myself, Andrei.”
He was going to repay this blood debt with his own hands. Until that day came, he would survive no matter what.
In the abandoned slums of Rubena, two vampires bared their fangs in silence. Ten days remained until Leon’s party would arrive, and the truth behind it all sank deeper into darkness by the hour.