Act XIV: The Dance of the Seven Veils (17)

Seventeen

“You’d better not leave.” Sellerman said helplessly, gazing at the approaching twilight on the horizon. “You should stay in the church and guard Camilla’s body.”

Yakov crossed his arms and winked at Yubi. "Alright," he said meaningfully, "I can't beat you, so naturally I can't leave."

Seymman clearly understood, and wore a troubled expression—Yakov was amused by his predicament, simply sitting down against the wall as if resting; while Yubi beside him calmly tore open the fabric of her robe. "I don't understand why my sister insists I stay here and won't let me go with her," the vampire asked. "Since the real ring is hidden among the fakes, my brother might not dare to test it himself right now… In that case, there's not much point in my sister chasing after him. If he keeps delaying, what can my sister do?"

“I shouldn’t presume to guess my master’s intentions,” Seyleman said dismissively. “I can’t answer that question.”

Yakov scoffed at the answer. "Everyone has their own thoughts; you can't pretend they don't exist just because you don't say them," he provoked. "Ambicya even put you in charge of us; does she care whether you can handle this or not?"

“So what my sister really meant was that you should leave us alone.” Yubi winked at him. “My sister always thinks of everything, right?”

Seleman reluctantly shut his mouth. "Come with us, eunuch." Yakov rose from the corner of the wall. "It's getting dark, and Inart will be far away soon."

“…I was circumcised, not castrated. I told you that a long time ago.” Seyleman sighed as he followed behind him. “I don’t understand why you keep saying that to try and provoke me.”

Yakov couldn't help but laugh and turned to look at him.

“I didn’t say you were castrated.” He pointed to Thalerman’s genitals, then to Thalerman’s head. “Think for yourself, what exactly was castrated about you?”

The riot at the Church of the Holy Sepulchre had subsided, but the Kingdom of Jerusalem was now truly divided—the three went out into the streets and saw many people carrying carts and horses, packing their belongings, and leading their families to the various city gates. They met Eudosias at the pig market: the young girl was now capable of managing on her own, leading a herd of piglets into the shop.

"Aren't you going to leave here and go back to Constantinople?" Yubi asked. "I heard Saladin is coming."

Eudosia saw him, and then Yakov behind him. “It seems your knight has found you, my lord,” she smiled sweetly yet distantly. “All I have is in Jerusalem, and I will remain there to live and die with them. Thank you for your thoughtfulness and generosity.”

“…Good luck.” Yubi lowered his head in shame. “…I’m sorry I couldn’t attend Pascal’s funeral.”

“Oh, I don’t mind that, and I don’t think he will either, as long as you received the letter!” Eudosia waved his hand. “Are you leaving?”

“Hmm.” Yubi nodded. “I just don’t know where to go yet.”

“My lord, the world is vast. Even if you have nothing, you will always find a place to stay.” Eudosia stopped at the door and closed the door. “Everyone is just passing through. Please don’t get caught up in trivial matters. Just treat those around you and yourself with kindness. I wish you well.”

"Thank you," Yubi said goodbye. "I wish you all the best too."

Immediately afterwards, they left the city gates, facing the vast desert and mountains under the night sky. Yubi spread his wings and soared into the night sky. Soon, he discovered many people with gleaming markings on their chests on the south side of the city walls, gathering along the road leading to Bethlehem, forming a terrifying army of blood slaves—"I don't know if those are my sister's or brother's blood slaves." Upon returning, he asked Seleman, "Did my sister bring many blood slaves from Italy?"

“You know, not everyone can have such an honor.” Sellerman shook his head with his eyes closed. “You must also know that without that ring, blood slaves are hardly a force in the fight against vampires.”

Yakov keenly sensed a hint of boastfulness in this answer. "Not only is it not much of a strength," he said, pointing to himself with a self-deprecating smile, "if you accidentally develop special feelings for someone... it can become a burden, a weakness, and a hostage."

He was delighted to see Salman in such a sorry state—but he hadn't expected Yubi to react so strongly to his words. "Then it's all my brother's blood slaves there… I must stay by your side!" The vampire descended from the sky, grabbing his hand. "Why don't we run away now!"

“No, then I can’t keep my promise.” Yakov immediately put on a stern face.

"But what if I'm not here, and you get hurt..."

“I lived a good life for the first forty years before I met you, and I haven’t been crippled in the three years you left me.” Yakov pushed his hand away. “Mortals are so unafraid of death, living more fragile yet stronger than you. Go, you know what to do!”

“…I understand.” Yubi nodded knowingly. “Wait for me to come back.”

He took to the air again, disappearing into the darkness, and rushed to the battlefield.

The inscriptions shone like torches in the vampire's vision. Yubi floated in the air, watching the crimson lights converge from all directions onto the mountain path, like a winding, fiery serpent—he had never seen so many blood slaves around Jerusalem. Where had Inart found so many people? Was his brother truly as insane as his sister said, living out that terrible ideal: to make everyone in the world his blood slaves?

He swooped down in the direction the fiery serpent had traveled and found it converging on a flat, bare patch of sand, coiling into a nest-like spiral, reminiscent of the devout believers worshipping around the Kaaba in Mecca. At the center of the vortex, countless points of light flickered and extinguished, like countless stars; some remained lit, while others were forever silenced. The ball of light spun slowly forward, leaving a wide, bloody trail in the sand, and agonizing screams erupted intermittently with each flicker of the light.

Inart tossed an unknown number of counterfeits to the ground. His blood slaves formed a human wall, climbing the cliff like angels in a mural, surrounding their one and only God, using their flesh and blood as a shield for the deity. Each time he tossed down a new ring, the sounds of weeping and laughter echoed eerily at the same time.

"The Lord has been martyred! The Lord has been martyred!" they cried out in unison, whether weeping with joy or overjoyed with sorrow, their voices distorted with extreme pain. "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?"

Ambikia was soaked in blood. She angrily tore off her crown and robes, letting her fiery red hair fall behind her, blending seamlessly with the bloodstains covering her skin. The red made her look like a terrifying Valkyrie returned from hell.

"How many are left?" She laughed with ease, her frenzied killing continuing unabated. "Cruel creature, you can't even protect your own followers, yet you dare to try and make them follow you! You should all come under my command, submit to true power, and be ruled by the true strong. This is the truth of the world: those who resist the truth will suffer the consequences of their foolishness!"

With her command and declaration, new markings were cleansed and covered. Those crimson marks flickered again on everyone's chests, some never to light up again. Those who lost their markings were either drained of blood from the inside out, shattered from their hearts, or suddenly transformed into frail, dying old men. Corpses, limbs, and the elderly were all trampled underfoot by the swirling flow of people, left as victims on the wasteland—a single vampire simply could not possibly oversee so many blood slaves' markings and blood at the same time.

But then, knights wielding longswords rushed out from the crowd. The rubies on their hilts remained indistinguishable from genuine ones. The blades plunged towards the life-threatening vampire, forcing her to dodge, and then effortlessly killed these assassins. "Hypocrite, you still want to intimidate me with fakes!" Ambikia picked up the longswords from the corpses, removing the inlays one by one. "You've reached your end!"

Her caution and meticulousness forced her to fall behind a few steps—Inard coldly seized the opportunity and slipped on another new ring—no trace of blood flowed in Yubi's vision. It was still a fake.

The cycle of killing and testing continues. People are drawn into the vampire war like moths to a flame, repeatedly cleansed and branded, their lives taken away.

For Inart, wasn't this a war destined to be lost? Yubi thought with fear and disbelief: Why now? Why did her sister and brother have to decide the winner right now?

He hesitated, hiding in the highest part of the night sky, gazing down at his comrades, lost in madness and obsession. If he had to choose, should he help Inart or Ambikia? Their devout, fervent yearning for freedom moved him, but the cold reality and the fickle, ruthless nature of human hearts chilled him to the bone. Yubi thought that choosing either side seemed neither free nor just—what right did he have to define freedom and justice for others?

Yubi finally remembered Yakov's promise.

"If you could leave this place, where would you want to go, and what would you want to do?"

"If only I could wear that ring in the sun again, and if only you and I were together."

"Love is true freedom. You are true freedom."

Suddenly, Yubi saw a brand new heart begin to beat within a vortex of countless engravings. In that instant, all the clamor of life and death seemed to fall silent—Inard had finally stubbornly tried on the real ring himself. The war was over. His end had come.

Ambicya was being forced back a few steps by several sword-wielding blood slaves, still holding the counterfeit item awaiting authentication. She wouldn't have time to snatch it, and she couldn't be faster than me! For Yakov to fulfill his promise, for true freedom, for my selfish love, I had to get it!

Yubi was certain of this, and he swooped down like a comet.

He had assumed his sister would drain Inard's blood first and kill his self-destructive compatriot—but Inard immediately raised a small knife and preemptively slit his own throat.

“Come, my most devout believer, my child…” Inart’s vocal cords had been severed, and he could no longer utter a sound. A large amount of blood choked into his trachea, causing him to choke and become thirsty. In the blink of an eye, the vampire was pounced on by all the blood slaves around him and devoured like a jackal.

Yubi heard Ambikia let out a terrifying, beast-like roar, its meaning unclear. He charged into the horde of cannibals, a fountain of blood gushing onto his face and blinding him—Yubi pushed through the crowd and suddenly discovered that they had all been instantly killed by his sister, their bodies now bluish-green. All the blood escaped from their mouths and tongues, congealing into a giant sphere above his head, floating in the air, becoming a true sea of ​​blood.

But he touched the ring on Inart's body.

The precious treasure, the key to escape, his mother's keepsake, was finally back in his hands! Yubi gripped the ring tightly, refusing to let go again. He struggled to spread his wings and climb out of the mountain of corpses—to his astonishment, he discovered that above him, the sphere of blood that had coalesced into a mass was growing larger and larger, like a giant sun pressing too close, crushing into his field of vision.

“Give it to me.” Ambicia had moved in front of him and was looking at him with a forced smile. “Yubi, give it to me.”

“No, this is what my mother left me.” Yubi firmly hid the ring he had taken off in his palm. “I want to take it with me and leave this place with Yakov.”

He clearly saw the smile vanish from his sister's face in an instant. "Give it to me," Ambicya said, extending her palm. "Or I'll kill Yakov."

Yubi's hair stood on end—he looked back and saw a distant yet familiar inscription on the sand at the horizon.

“Why do you have to do this?” he pleaded. “Inart is dead. I won’t want to kill all the vampires like he did… We are still allies, we can still coexist!”

“Inart is dead, but he left behind his successor,” Ambikia said. “Give me the ring so I can kill the successor.”

What successor? Who is the successor? Yubi didn't understand her sister's words, nor did she dare hand over the ring. Suddenly, another voice, both strange and familiar, echoed softly beneath Yubi's feet.

No, give it to me.

The sound froze Yubi in place, unable to move, as if he had been submerged in an icy lake—he had assumed all the blood slaves beneath his feet were corpses. Only the corpses had no blood flowing in their veins, and their hearts were beating erratically in their chests. What else could it be?

An aged face, strikingly similar to Yakov's, opened its eyes amidst the pile of corpses. The iris, which should have been a pure, light blue, had now turned a chaotic and malevolent blood red.

Yesau rose again, both fortunately and alone, from Inart's corpse. "Yubi, give me the ring." He stretched out a pale hand with sharp nails.

The last bit of knowledge flooded into Yubi's mind—and it immediately turned into a curse.

Jerusalem is the tomb of the Lord's martyrdom, and Bethlehem is the cradle of the Son of God's birth. Yakov and Seleman, leading two horses, raced against time along the reverse path from death to birth, trying to catch up with the vampire's pace. They galloped along the road to Bethlehem, following the trail of blood to find the battlefield. Finally, they reached their destination, seeing the vast sphere of blood, as large as the sun, and the towering ridge of corpses, as high as mountains—suddenly, Yakov heard a dull thud behind him—Seleman had fallen from his horse, his torch tumbling to the ground.

"You're dozing off at a time like this?" Yakov angrily turned back, pulling on the reins. "Get up!"

But Seymour just lay quietly on the ground, without uttering a sound or moving.

Yakov had to dismount, cursing, and drag the inexplicably lazy fellow off the sand—he was horrified to find that Seleman's face had sunken like an old, dried-up corpse in a grave, his skin as fragile as wax paper, covered in wrinkles, and as thin as a skeleton.

“…I thought I could stay with her for two hundred years.” Seymour opened his mouth, and his teeth fell out one by one. “God has abandoned me.”

The devout blood slave closed his eyes and weakly stopped breathing.