CHAPTER 672: [BLOOD MOON WAR] [17] DISCUSSION

"Mm. No doubt about that," Ernest muttered as he stepped forward. "So enough games—just tell us what you’re here for, Amael."

The blue-haired woman, who had been composed until now, blinked rapidly, visibly thrown off. "A...Amael?" She repeated, her voice laced with disbelief as her gaze darted toward me.

Even the other woman, the quiet, platinum-blonde one who had barely shown a hint of emotion until now, subtly tensed at the name. Her shoulders shifted, her eyes narrowing ever so slightly.

Both women turned in sync to look at the man standing beside them who was simply smiling.

"Wait," the blue-haired one said slowly, eyebrows furrowing. "Is that really your name?"

"No. My name’s Edward."

Ernest didn’t even blink. "I heard that woman call you Amael."

I sighed, trying not to sound too annoyed. "She called me Mael. It’s just a nickname. Something she uses to get under my skin. I hate it, by the way. So if you don’t mind, just stick with Edward."

Ernest didn’t look convinced. His lip curled slightly. "Do you really expect me to buy that?"

I shrugged. "You can believe whatever helps you sleep at night. It’s just a name."

He gave me a long, unimpressed look before shifting his attention to the two women. "Do either of you know him?"

They both shook their heads.

"Then why the reaction?" He asked sharply.

The blue-haired woman bit her lip, hesitating. Her eyes flicked over to the man they had entered with—Samael.

Samael sighed as if this was all mildly annoying paperwork. "Actually," he said, "Amael is also one of my names. A nickname. Only those closest to me use it."

Ernest frowned again, his irritation clearly growing. If he thought he could cut through the fog of identities, he was now knee-deep in smoke.

He wasn’t doing himself any favors credibility-wise either, but I wasn’t paying him much attention anymore.

My focus was entirely on him—Samael.

That nickname. That face. That unbothered smile.

It was just as I suspected.

As soon as the pieces in my head started to click into place, the door swung open with a loud creak.

"What is the meaning of this?"

A voice rang out—clear, and distinctly feminine.

All heads turned.

Standing in the doorway was a stunning woman with flowing green hair that cascaded down her back like a silken waterfall. Her hazel eyes scanned the room then. She looked at Ernest, then Samael and his companions. Her gaze lingered a bit longer on Alicia and Amaya, her expression darkening slightly—no doubt noticing their vampiric nature.

But when her eyes finally landed on me, something shifted.

She blinked. Her posture stiffened. Her lips parted, but no words came out immediately.

Viessa.

I recognized her instantly, though she looked strikingly younger than the last time I’d seen her—back in the present I had seen. Less tired. Less burdened.

I felt something softening my heart just by seeing.

What the hell was this?

Viessa tilted her head slightly, brow furrowed. "Who is this...?"

Ernest opened his mouth. "Amael—"

"Edward Olphean," I said quickly, cutting him off before he could speak another word.

The silence that followed was oddly heavy.

Even though I answered her, she didn’t respond right away. Her eyes stayed fixed on me like she was trying to place a puzzle piece that didn’t fit quite right.

"Viessa?" Ernest called, frowning, finally breaking her from her trance.

She blinked again and took a small breath. "Ah... right. So, what’s going on here?"

Ernest gestured toward me. "I already told you about him. The only difference now is he showed up again—with another Vampire, and a kid. I don’t think he managed to father a child in the last few hours, but the girl is clearly his. It’s possible they’re both his wives, and he left his child and first wife somewhere safe until he could bring them back here."

I stared at him, grimacing. "You know, I’ve got to hand it to you," I muttered. "You’re really good at coming up with complete bullshit on the spot."

Ernest’s eyes narrowed, and he shot me a glare sharp enough to cut stone. "What did you just say?"

"I said," I repeated, leveling my gaze at Ernest, "I’m honestly impressed by your ability to spout complete bullshit with such a straight face. You really sell it like you believe it."

Ernest’s teeth clenched. The muscles in his face twitched, and I could almost hear the grinding of his teeth. He didn’t bother to hide the fact that he utterly hated my guts.

"Both of them aren’t my wives," I clarified, letting out a sigh. "I just happened to come across them when they were alone and in danger. I helped them out, that’s all."

That part was easy to say. But when I glanced down and caught the wide, inquisitive crimson eyes of the small girl by my side—Levina—it suddenly became much harder to keep lying.

She looked up at me, those eyes filled with innocence and quiet expectation, and my words caught in my throat. I couldn’t say she wasn’t mine.

"And... she is, in fact, my daughter," I said softly.

I’ve always been weak when it comes to children. No matter how cold or logical I try to be, kids break straight through those defenses. It was the same with Tihana and Orlin.

Ernest narrowed his eyes. "You’re telling me she’s your daughter, but that woman isn’t her mother?" He jabbed a finger toward Alicia, his voice rising. "She looks exactly like her. Do you think I’m an idiot?"

Well... he wasn’t entirely wrong.

Levina did resemble Alicia. A lot more than I had initially noticed. The differences I saw in the grown up version of Levina must have been the result of some kind of disguise—subtle alterations to her features, her eye color... probably like Bryelle’s necklace I had used. But now that I looked again, the resemblance was undeniable. The hair, especially. That exact shade of blonde—it was Alicia’s. I should’ve picked up on it sooner.

But then again... who could guess that a child from five hundred years in the future had been born from my blood and Alicia’s after we ended up being thrown back in time?

Now it made sense—why Levina had been so distant despite showing uncharacteristic levels of worry about me. The strange guilt I always felt when I looked at her, that subtle pressure in my chest—I think I finally understood what it was.

And if I’m being honest... it terrified me to understand it completely.

Anyway... this conversation was getting far too personal for my taste.

"Why are you so hell-bent on knowing whether she’s my woman or not?" I asked, cocking an eyebrow at Ernest. "Wait a second—don’t tell me... do you have a crush on her or something?"

"W–What?!" Ernest stumbled over his words, completely thrown off.

I leaned back. "The noble Olphean prince falling head over heels for a Vampire the moment he lays eyes on her... now that’s a plot straight out of a bad fantasy novel. Tragic love across forbidden lines. What do they call it again? An impossible romance?"

Alicia glared daggers at me, but I wasn’t in the mood to stop. Ernest, on the other hand, looked like someone had dumped a bucket of cold water on his head. And then, flustered and red-faced, he snapped his head toward Viessa in a panic.

"I would never—! That’s not true!" He blurted out, clearly trying to do damage control.

Viessa simply chuckled. "Relax, Ernest. I know he’s just teasing you."

Oh?

She brushed it off so easily that I could tell she had no idea he had a thing for her. Poor guy was hopelessly obvious, and she was as oblivious as a rock. A part of me almost felt bad for him.

Almost.

I’ve gotten strangely good at picking up on people’s feelings, especially when it comes to the subtle hints of unspoken affection. Maybe that’s just a side effect of being involved in too many complicated relationships myself.

Still, Viessa’s words only seemed to embarrass Ernest further. His face darkened, and his eyes turned frosty as he shot another glare my way.

"Enough games," he said. "What do you want?"

I didn’t answer him directly. Instead, I stood up with Levina before turning to Alicia.

"Alicia, take Levina somewhere else," I said calmly, holding the child out to her.

Levina, with the innocence only a child could have in a moment like this, smiled brightly and reached her hands out toward Alicia. "Mama!" She chirped.

I could feel Ernest’s stare on me. It burned like a laser through my skull.

Levina had just called Alicia Mama. And earlier, she’d called me Papa. And here I was, insisting Alicia wasn’t her mother. No wonder Ernest thought I was making a fool out of him. From his perspective, this looked like some kind of elaborate joke at his expense.

"S–Senior..." Alicia hesitated, glancing down at the child with conflicted eyes.

"Come on, Alicia. Give me a break. She has your blood, doesn’t she? Don’t you see you’re hurting her by pretending otherwise?"

There was a pause.

Alicia didn’t say anything at first, but I could see it—the shift in her eyes. That quiet flicker of guilt, of recognition. She knew I was right, even if she didn’t want to admit it aloud.

Eventually, and without another word, she stepped forward and gently took Levina into her arms.

The little girl immediately clung to Alicia’s blouse, burying her face against her shoulder with a soft, content hum. Alicia didn’t even try to resist as she turned around and walked out of the room, holding Levina close.

"Keep an eye on her," Ernest muttered to the guards outside, nodding toward Alicia’s retreating figure.

I rolled my eyes and sat back into the sofa with a long, tired sigh.

Amaya followed, sliding in next to me—close. Her shoulder brushed against mine, and she didn’t make any move to create distance. I hadn’t expected that kind of boldness from her, but I wasn’t complaining. It kind of felt like we were a noble couple being cornered by a room full of nosy journalists hungry for drama.

Whatever.

I reached down and unfastened the satchel I’d been carrying since I arrived. No one had really paid much attention to it until now. It looked ordinary enough, just a travel-worn bag hanging from my side.

But that was about to change.

I upended it onto the floor.

A dull thud echoed across the room as a severed head rolled from the leather bag and landed with a heavy bounce onto the polished stone floor. Blood had dried around the edges of the wound, but the face was visible.

Gasps filled the room right after.

Everyone recoiled, their eyes fixed on the lifeless, wide-eyed head of Lakalros.

"I present to you," I began calmly, "one of the so-called Blood Lords of the Witch. I happened to... cross paths with him. Let’s just say, it wasn’t the friendliest encounter."

"Bad encounter," Amaya echoed beside me with perfect deadpan delivery.

I turned slightly, giving her a quick glance.

She met my eyes just as flatly.

"Anyway," I said, returning my gaze to the others, "do you all understand what this means?"

Viessa’s eyes remained locked on the head. "Ernest... it’s really him. That’s Lakalros."

"I know," Ernest nodded. He turned his eyes back on me, visibly tense. "Where did you find him?"

"Some random village," I replied with a shrug. "The place was already burned to the ground. Clearly hit by the Witch’s forces before I got there."

"What would a Blood Lord be doing in a backwater village?" Ernest asked, narrowing his eyes.

Yeah, I wasn’t about to tell him that Lakalros had come to take back Amaya.

"Maybe he thought it was a good day to wipe your squad of Heroes out," I replied lazily. "Who knows? Maybe he was just sightseeing. You’d have to ask him—oh, wait." I gestured to the severed head.

Ernest didn’t look amused.

I was just trying to light the mood.

Then Amael stepped forward.

"Quite the string of coincidences," he said, approaching with his hands tucked behind his back. "You encounter a Blood Lord, and somehow return with a mysterious woman and a child in tow." His eyes flicked toward Amaya, lingering a little too long.

I narrowed my gaze at him.

Something about him rubbed me the wrong way.

"Tell me, Miss," he said, turning now to Amaya, "how did you come to meet our Mr. Mael here?"

"He helped me," Amaya said simply, her voice as dry as ever.

"Helped you how, exactly?" Amael asked again, leaning forward slightly.

"Amael," the blue-haired woman—Lisandra—spoke up, her voice uneasy. "Why are you interrogating her like that?"

"I’m just asking questions," he said innocently. "That’s all, Lisandra."

Lisandra.

Again.

I blinked.

If she was Lisandra, then the other woman had to be Sylvia Alphonse Celesta... but that didn’t make sense. Chronologically, they should both be far older than they appeared now. And even back then I had definitely seen Lisandra back at Celesta when I saved Layla. That wasn’t a mistake.

Even though she should be dead since long ago...

So what the hell was going on?

I didn’t get time to ponder.

"You’re bothering me," Amaya said coldly.

Her crimson eyes flashed, and the temperature in the room seemed to dip slightly.

It wasn’t like Elizabeth’s fury, no... but the sensation was similar. Cold. Icy. Controlled, but dangerous.

I instinctively reached out, placing my hand gently on her arm to calm her down.

She looked down at my hand... then slowly turned her eyes toward mine.

Don’t look at me like that.

That silent, intense stare was making me embarrassed now.

I awkwardly started pulling my hand away—but she caught it mid-motion, lightning-fast, and pressed it back firmly onto her arm. Then, with her other hand, she clasped mine, holding it in place.

I looked at her, confused.

She said nothing.

Just... held my hand there.

"..."

"What am I just watching...?" Lisandra muttered, squinting.

"They’re flirting, Lisandra," Sylvia replied bluntly.

"I—I know that much!" Lisandra shot back, cheeks tinged red.

"They’re kind of cute, don’t you think?" Viessa giggled from the side.

"Hmph. I’m more irritated than anything," Ernest grumbled, arms crossed.

Yeah right.

You’re not irritated—you’re jealous.

Because you wish you had something like that with Viessa.