30 Years Have Passed Since the Prologue

9 – 4. These Orphans Need a Principal (2)

In the center of the Central Garden of Freichenka, there are memorials and statues personally commissioned by King Ivan.

The Statue of the Departing Warrior, the Goddess of Victory, and the Nameless Hero.

After the Demon King’s death and the conclusion of the war, one day, a statue in the Central Garden of Freichenka vanished.

The Nameless Hero. It was said that in place of that statue, there was a small plaque.

– Commemorating them is my right.

– Enrique.

Prince Alexander protested vehemently, calling it a disrespect to the royal family, but Princess Elizabeth acknowledged Enrique’s rights and relinquished the recovery of the statue.

Of course, the truth remains unknown.

In a single night, in the heart of the capital, in the gardens near the palace, a legendary heist took place—a daring act of theft by a member of the party that killed the Demon King. There was no need for hostility towards Enrique.

Elizabeth handled it best, neither conflicting with Enrique’s feelings nor undermining the dignity of the royal family.

“Was there such wording?”

Ivan gazed at the Nameless Hero from a corner of the underground passage.

It had taken him just three hours since he got the information about Enrique’s ‘dungeon’ being in the southern Freichenka underground.

– Even when your names are forgotten.

– Your glory will remain immortal.

– For those absent in this place.

– For all who are absent in this place.

– Elizabeth Kirillovna Krasilov.

– Enrique Sergeyevich.

Ivan respectfully removed his hat and briefly paid his respects over his heart.

Upon hearing the story of the statue’s erection, he hadn’t even thought of approaching, feeling needlessly awkward.

The day he happened upon the central garden was already after Enrique had removed this statue.

By the time his silent prayer ended, a voice tinged with laughter echoed through the underground canal.

“Do not mourn those who left first.”

“I stand in the same ranks as them.”

“You still remember. Good, welcome, ‘Little’ Ivan.”

With a creak, the base of the statue twisted, the sound of metal grinding reached his ears, and soon the stone wall split open, revealing a passage.

It was a corridor adorned in luxurious style, completely different from the nauseating underground sewer where he had stood just moments ago.

Walking through the opulent corridor painted with silk-covered walls, Ivan steadied his emotions.

Like most members of the warrior party, Grandmaster Enrique was insane.

Of course, at that moment, Enrique was also thinking of Ivan with the same thoughts.

Like most members of the extermination unit, ‘Little’ Ivan was insane.

*

“Face to face after seven years, isn’t it? Well, how have you been, disciple?”

“Fairly well.”

Ivan sat in the reception room, sipping his coffee slowly, rolling it around in his mouth for a moment.

It was a kind of ritual. Like most rituals, it was a precaution against assassination.

There’s no poison. Ivan nodded lightly and sipped the coffee.

“Ah, you can’t distinguish the taste of the chemical toxins these days.”

“Uh.”

After spitting it out again into the cup and placing it on the table—

“Ah, just kidding! Shall I bring a new one?”

“It’s fine. I didn’t come here for tea.”

“Well, you’re as tough as ever. You young lad.”

Enrique sprawled on the luxurious sofa with a playful smile.

Between the side slit of the silk dress, white legs peeked through. Of course, they couldn’t capture Ivan’s gaze to that extent. The monster in front of him was over a hundred years old now.

How many elixirs and blood rituals has he consumed?

Ivan couldn’t help but imagine the image of a salmosa staring at him, its tongue flickering.

It had to be like that since this place was the nest of vampires.

Elder Vampire, Shadow Blade, Fangs of Darkness. And the ‘traitor’ Enrique.

A century ago, the hero who betrayed the Elder Vampire that questioned her, sucking his blood and putting an end to the ‘vampire rampage’ scattered throughout the Prichankaya region.

For the next century, this woman claimed the lives of many under the pretext of ‘assassination contracts.’ If the demon king hadn’t intervened, wouldn’t a warrior have dealt with this woman?

Ivan carefully stroked the handle of the axe under the table, lost in thought.

“Well, you came faster than expected. Rather, that’s more active and desirable, isn’t it? Well… being active is not a compliment between us, is it? Right?”

“Where is Priscilla?”

“Ah, getting straight to the point! You’ve always been like that!”

Enrique chuckled and flicked his ashtray.

The dress swayed gently, revealing a seductive figure. (Of course, Ivan is not swayed by someone 70 years his junior. His range of interest is within a maximum of 10 years, up or down.)

“How, did I ask? Or didn’t I ask?”

“You didn’t ask.”

“Oh? How can you be so sure?”

“If you didn’t, you would have attacked me instead of inviting me.”

Ivan said coldly, glaring at her with icy eyes.

“Isn’t revenge the most important principle you taught me?”

“Hmm? Is that annoying little brat included in your ‘revenge’ category?”

“I kept her.”

He remembered the day he took Priscilla. The child was an orphan despised even among the refugees gathered in front of the military camp.

Losing parents at a young age is a terrible thing. You can only rely on yourself for protection. The child realized that and always acted boldly.

There were already enough sad people in the world to help a sad and depressed child.

To sympathize with someone, you need to have room in yourself. At that time, the Allied Kingdom did not have such luxury.

Therefore, Ivan remembers Priscilla and some other children. Having decided to take them and retire, he established an orphanage. Those children are as good as his own.

Naturally, if something happens to his child, revenge is necessary.

“Don’t harbor too much resentment. It makes you look sloppy.”

Enrique grinned and put down his teacup.

Without taking a sip, the still full cup of black tea gently rippled on the table.

“Didn’t I teach you? Resentment is the prerogative of the weak. Painting your body in various colors, emphasizing revenge and self-defense, is the whim of the weak.”

“The answer?”

“She’s alive. Unbitten. Well. Washed up, dressed nicely, and fed delicious food. Now, it’s your turn to answer.”

Enrique slowly placed his white fingers on the table, speaking.

“What are you dressing up for?”

“…Hm?”

“What are you up to now in your ‘orphanage’?”

Enrique was sincere. Perhaps it was because he was an orphan himself, having adopted an orphan, that he had a lot of affection. It was pitiful. If this kid had come to him, he would have been willing to take him in as family—a cute disciple with enough thoughts to do so.

Two years had passed like that. And now, this ‘orphan from the orphanage’ appeared, showing an astonishingly perfect skill in infiltration.

Honestly, it felt like getting hit in the back of the head. It wasn’t anything remarkable to complain about the leak of skills. It wasn’t a one-on-one duel or something significant, so he could just teach him.

However, what was the meaning of dispatching an agent, as if suggesting a business fight in the same region as the master?

She felt wronged. After retiring, he had disappeared without even coming to her, pretending to be dead while erasing his identity. Despite being within reach if she just fell, he never even tried to invite her for a drink!

But what’s this?

Protesting while sending agents to do business in our front yard?

Isn’t this a declaration of war?

Honestly, even though this mischievous little brat was brought in without being killed and politely invited, showing an intention like, ‘Let’s not do this; we have a lot of memories, right? Do we need to fight?’

And yet, this stone-like man says, ‘Touch me, and you’ll die!’

It really hurts.

What’s with that beard, too? Seriously going insane. Why is he doing something that was trendy a century ago now? That can’t be called a disguise, right? I didn’t teach him that way.

Even with countless thoughts passing through her mind,

Enrique, still a legendary vampire who had lived for a century and a member of the great warrior party, continued to look at Ivan with a ‘cheeky smile.’

“What are you up to? How far should I go with the story?”

Ivan couldn’t catch the thread.

The reason Elizaveta uses him is that he is an undercover agent. The past is completely washed clean, the name is ordinary, so there’s no misunderstanding whenever he uses it. His appearance has changed a lot (according to his standards).

On top of that, the former ‘Lieutenant Ivan Petrovich’ has already been officially declared dead and buried in the national cemetery.

So, according to Elizaveta’s intention, his identity and mission are confidential.

Can I tell Enrique about this?

But wait, weren’t Enrique and Elizaveta somehow connected?

Initially, Enrique established the extermination unit, and Elizaveta was its commander, right?

The two of them smiled, suffering from a headache due to lack of information but not losing their calmness and caution as thoroughly trained agents.

“What the hell is this guy thinking, seriously?”

“What the hell is this crazy woman thinking?”

That’s what they were thinking.

“Is this betrayal? How could she do this to me?”

“Is this betrayal? Did this woman, by any chance, switch sides from Elizaveta to Alexander?”

The priests were diligently cultivating camaraderie with a single heart and mind today as well.

It was a winter night in mid-January.

*