"Lord Vlad, I need to speak with you."
Vlad III set down the stones he was clearing and stared at Darnic for a long moment before giving a small nod. The two silently moved away from the others, heading to a deserted ruin.
"What is it, Darnic?" Vlad asked, crossing his arms as he leaned against a still-standing wall, his gaze steady.
With a sudden clatter, Darnic dropped his staff, fell to his knees, and pressed his forehead to the ground.
Vlad's eyes narrowed slightly. He had seen this kind of desperation before, in those who had risked everything to deliver warnings. But this wasn't a warning—Darnic wasn't that kind of man. There was only one thing this could be, one request that would make him consider killing Darnic right there and then.
"Lord Vlad, at this rate, we might lose," Darnic said, his fingers digging into the dirt.
"You think I'll be defeated? Here, on my own land?" Vlad's voice was low, dangerous.
Darnic bit his lip, unable to respond. Vlad's strength lay in his near-limitless iron stakes, which had always been his greatest weapon. But now, those very stakes were all used up, anchored in place to support the floating gardens. Without them, Vlad was no more than a powerful Lancer, no longer the unparalleled threat he once was.
"I admit it—I'm not a match for the Red Lancer," Vlad finally said, sighing. "Even when both Saber and I attacked together, we couldn't force him to reveal his true strength. And now, without my stakes, I'm at a severe disadvantage. So, what do you want to say, Darnic?"
"I beg you..." Darnic's voice trembled as he spoke. "I beg you to use that Noble Phantasm!"
The Blood of Heroes. Once unleashed, Vlad's power would soar, enough to defeat even the Red Lancer without the stakes. But the cost...
"Darnic..." Vlad stepped forward, staring down coldly at the man kneeling before him. The air grew heavy with his killing intent. "I've told you before, that Noble Phantasm is a stain on my honor. I would rather die than use it. Asking me to do so is no different than spitting in my face."
A cold spear tip pressed against the back of Darnic's neck.
"You know what I'll do to you, don't you?"
"If you want my life, take it," Darnic said, his fists clenching as Vlad's killing intent gripped his heart like a vice. But he had no other options. "But I want to win. I want to win this Holy Grail War!"
"Darnic... What is your wish?" Vlad's spear pressed harder, drawing a thin line of blood. If Darnic's answer didn't satisfy him, this would be the end.
"I want to ensure my family's survival! Even if this war, which I started, was a mistake—even if I'm labeled a demon—I want my family to continue. I don't want them to suffer as I have!"
Darnic's voice broke into a desperate shout, his composure finally shattering.
Vlad silently watched the man kneeling before him. This was the first time, and likely the last, that Darnic had ever lost control of his emotions.
For a long moment, Vlad said nothing. Then, slowly, he began to understand. He had seen something in Darnic's eyes, something that mirrored his own determination. He had learned about Darnic's past—a simple story, but one that had left a profound impact on him.
A single word had erased all of Darnic's future. His brothers had distanced themselves, his lover had abandoned him. Despite everything, he never gave in to hatred or despair. He kept fighting, even as his achievements were overshadowed by the stigma attached to his name. He had clawed his way back from the brink, all to protect his family from his own tragic fate.
But now, Darnic was desperate because everything he had fought for was about to be taken from him again.
"Please! Protect the future of my family!" Darnic pleaded, glancing at the two Command Seals left on his hand. He could force Vlad to use the Noble Phantasm with the Seals, but he couldn't guarantee Vlad wouldn't kill himself afterward—or that his wish would come true. So he made a decision he had never made before.
He chose to trust Vlad III.
"Darnic, I once impaled my enemies to protect my people, displaying them outside the city walls," Vlad said as he lowered his spear and took a few steps back, sitting on the ground. "But my people feared me for it, and that fear gave rise to the very stain I refuse to use now. But I have no regrets. Even if I was called a demon, even if my people betrayed me, I didn't care. Harsh rule, punishment without mercy—being judged for that was only natural. I don't hate them. But I am Vlad III, not a vampire. No matter how many times I fail in this Holy Grail War, my resolve won't waver."
Darnic closed his eyes, feeling a deep sense of defeat. It was over. His wish, his obsession, was all but gone. He knew that the next time he was reincarnated, he wouldn't be the same. The drive to defy fate and continue his family's legacy would vanish along with him.
"But this land is mine, and you are my people," Vlad continued, looking up at the clear sky. The breeze gently stirred his white hair. "I am already dead. As long as I exist in the Throne of Heroes, I'll have countless opportunities to participate in the Holy Grail War, countless chances to cleanse that stain. But my people, the ones on this land, only have one life, one chance to continue their families."
Darnic's head snapped up, his eyes wide in disbelief as he stared at Vlad.
"I am a king. Protecting this land, protecting my people—that is my duty," Vlad said with a soft laugh. "I was willing to be feared for that once, and I won't hesitate to do so again."
"Lord... Vlad..."
"Don't make that pitiful face. Stand up straight, Darnic. You are my Master, my subject. You don't need to bow to anyone," Vlad said as he rose to his feet, extending a hand to Darnic. "Your war is not wrong. Even if it were, I'll take that sin with me to hell. This is my resolve, as your Servant and as your king."
Yes, even now, the flames of hatred still burned within him. He was a king, a ruler who protected his land. He was not a vampire! But if it meant protecting this land, if it meant ensuring the survival of his people, he would become that which he loathed. He would become the object of fear once more.
There was no need for further words. The truth was simple.
He was their king.