Chapter 683: [Blood Moon War] [27] Rucain And Cain
In the shadowed grandeur of the Valachia Royal Castle, Rucain sat back in the high, blackened throne usually reserved for the King himself.
It was not truly his seat to claim — the real power belonged to the Vampire Witch — but in her absence, Rucain handled the kingdom’s affairs as if they were his own.
Before him, the great hall stretched out. Several knights stood in neat formation. At the head of their ranks stood Daleliah.
"Lakalros has been defeated, you say?" Rucain asked.
Daleliah didn’t hesitate. "He has been. Someone named Mael did it."
Rucain’s expression barely shifted — just the smallest widening of his eyes.
"Mael, you say? Describe his appearance."
"White hair, amber eyes," she said. "He also... took Amaya with him."
For a moment, the air itself seemed to drop in temperature. Rucain’s gaze sharpened into a cold glare.
"That," he said softly, "is extremely displeasing news."
Daleliah inclined her head slightly, already aware of what Amaya’s disappearance meant. They had entrusted her to Lakalros, confident in his strength, but now he was gone... and Amaya had left — on her own, no less. She of all people should have known the dangers of stepping beyond their borders. The other races would not treat her kindly.
Unless... she hadn’t gone willingly?
Perhaps this Mael had forced her to follow. But even then, Amaya wasn’t the kind of woman to be easily coerced. If he had truly tried to drag her away, she should have been able to kill him outright.
The more Daleliah thought about it, the less sense it made. A man powerful enough to defeat Lakalros should have been known to her. Yet this ’Mael’ had appeared as if from nowhere, taken Amaya, and vanished again.
Her eyes flicked upward, looking at Rucain.
He seemed to be holding something back.
"Where is Amaya now?" He asked.
"In Natulen, within the Olphean Kingdom."
At that, a faint smile curved Rucain’s lips. "Then there’s no need for you to leave, is there? Rulana is there, isn’t she?"
"I assigned her to take the Prophetess," Daleliah replied.
"Then add Amaya to her task. Tell her to bring me both of them. The Vampire Witch will be... very disappointed if she learns we lost Amaya."
Daleliah nodded before turning on her heel. She had little faith in Rulana’s character, but for now, she would follow the order.
Rucain watched her go, his eyes narrowing, then rose from the throne with a smooth motion. His cloak swirled behind him as he left the hall, striding through the silent corridors until the air grew heavier and colder.
He descended into the underbelly of the castle — the prison. The deeper he went, the more the stench of rust and mildew filled the air.
Finally, he stopped before a peculiar cell.
Inside, a young man stood shackled to the wall. His brown hair hung in an unkempt mess over his face, and bruises marred his skin. The dim torchlight caught the faint glint of crimson in his eyes.
"Are you awake?" Rucain asked, narrowing his gaze. "Cain."
Cain’s head lifted slowly. A smirk spread across his lips.
"I told you, you’d come back to me."
"That Mael you spoke of — he’s appeared. What does that mean?" Rucain asked.
"It means," Cain replied, his smirk widening, "that he’s going to kill you. Just like he did before."
Rucain’s eyes narrowed further. He’d heard this before — the same strange, impossible claim Cain had made a week ago, right before Rucain had him beaten and thrown into this cell. And yet, the man still clung to his absurd story.
A man named Mael would come.
And he would kill Rucain.
Definitely.
"When the Vampire Witch finally regained enough strength to begin her rampage, you appeared at her side," Cain said. "But you and I both know you didn’t just appear out of thin air. There was nothing magical about your arrival—at least, not in the way most would think. You were an ordinary man... but your birth was anything but ordinary.
"Thousands of years ago, at Eden’s command, the Gods found ways to descend into the mortal world so they could watch over it and nudge its fate without breaking the sacred laws of Ymir and Khaos. The concept of a Legacy was born for this very purpose: to influence humans, sometimes even to steer their decisions without them realizing it.
"But some of the Gods went further. Much further. They created Vessels—living, breathing bodies meant to be claimed whenever the Gods saw fit. This wasn’t just passing down a bloodline or leaving a spark of divine magic behind. No... this was something deeper, something dangerously close to breaking the rules. And yet, Eden approved."
"He had been building his army—mortals, humans, and other races alike—for millennia. He nurtured them, prepared them, only for the Evil Gods to start corrupting and manipulating his work. Do you think Eden would simply stand by? No. He gave his blessing for the creation of these Vessels—Gods’ own anchors in the mortal realm—to live here, protect it from the Evil Gods, and subtly shape its course."
Cain finished and smirked.
"I imagine that story sounds familiar to you, Rucain?"
Rucain’s expression hardened, his gaze turning cold. "Who... are you exactly?"
"You still don’t get it?" Cain’s tone was almost pitying. "I am you. I had been created for this very moment. And now... the time has come."
His hands clenched into fists.
In the next instant, a dark crimson aura erupted from him, shattering the shackles that bound him with a sharp, metallic snap. The air grew heavy, the pressure suffocating. The crimson energy swirled violently around him, forcing Rucain to take a step back.
But then—Cain’s body began to fracture. Thin, jagged cracks snaked across his skin, and from them, darkened veins burst one after another, spilling streams of blood.
Rucain’s eyes widened.
Cain didn’t scream.
He didn’t falter. He simply... burst.
His entire body exploded into a storm of blood, the torrent twisting in midair before surging straight into Rucain’s open mouth.
"...!"
The moment it entered him, Rucain dropped to his knees. His hands clawed at the ground as his face contorted in raw agony. A slow, spiraling crimson vortex began to form around him, pulsing like a heartbeat.
And then—he saw it.
Visions crashed into his mind like a flood breaking a dam.
Memories.
A lost past.
He saw a silver-haired man standing before him—before another him—who knelt, beaten but still alive. The silver-haired figure was bloodied, his breath ragged, yet he remained standing while Rucain’s other self lay dying.
At the man’s side stood two women—one with dark blue hair and another with platinum blond hair.
Dying... yet not dead.
Because this version of him—this Vessel—belonged to an Evil God. And such a thing could not die so easily.
No... not yet.
He still had work to finish. The Vampire Witch had been killed, yes—but he needed her. He needed Merithra’s pure blood.
That had always been his purpose.
His reason for existing.
From the very moment of his creation, everything had led to this—his life, his struggles, his survival—every step nothing more than a thread in the grand design of his God. And when the final moment of that life came... his God appeared.
The God plucked him from death and cast his soul forward into a far-off future, sealing him into a new Vessel.
Thus, he was reborn as Cain Redgrave.
When his memories finally returned, when the truth of his existence bloomed in his mind, he understood exactly what needed to be done. There would be no hesitation this time. No failure.
This time, he would kill Mael.
This time, he would claim Merithra’s essence for himself.
With Amaya and Alicia, the pieces could fall perfectly into place. But above all, Mael had to die—because that command was not just his own hatred. It was a command etched into his very soul by the will of his God.
It was the will of an Evil God.
Kill the Vessel of Samael Eveningstar.
The urge burned hotter than any vengeance. It consumed him. Mael had destroyed his ambitions once in a forgotten past—but that was almost irrelevant now. The God’s desire eclipsed his own.
He had to kill him.
"Ah... ah..." Rucain’s breath rasped out, shallow and ragged. Blood mingled with saliva as it dripped from his lips, streaking down his chin. His body trembled, but his mind... his mind was clear.
He remembered everything.
A sharp, searing pain cut across his forehead as a crimson X burned itself into his flesh, glowing faintly like molten metal. His eyes shifted, strange and unnatural symbols blooming within their depths.
"As you wish... Lord Anox," he whispered hoarsely.
He bowed his head, not in defeat, but in worship—offering himself wholly to the God who had given his life meaning.
Yet this was not A-Nox herself.
No...
The one who reached out to him was the Eldest son of the Holy Guardian Nox and A-Nox—she who was foretold to have betrayed Eden and her consort Nox. The one who had forsaken the light and sworn loyalty to Lucifer, becoming one of the Thirteen reigning Evil Gods of the Hellish Realm ruled by Lucifer Morningstar.
Her son became a General of Lucifer’s infernal legions then.
And that was all he needed to be known for Rucain.
Because failure wasn’t acceptable.