CHAPTER 77: THE WHITE ENVELOPE

Hearing that, David froze. For the first time, the picture sharpened in his head. He finally understood why Isolde had sent her "gifts" to the whole quarter instead of to him personally.

It wasn’t some grotesque whim; it was a strategy. She wanted the hunters themselves to believe they had no other option but to bend and work with the vampires.

His hands clenched until his knuckles whitened. "Do you really want to work with vampires?" he asked, voice low but sharp enough to cut glass.

"The very existence that created this mess in the first place?"

Silence. The meeting room felt like a funeral chamber, heavy and airless. No one dared to answer. They were all staring at the table, busy with their own private calculations.

Finally, a voice rose. It was young, hesitant but steady. "Do we have a choice?" The speaker was Matthew, the new hunter, the one who had found the Chief’s head in the crate.

He didn’t flinch when all eyes turned to him. "Looking at our enemy," he continued, "and how the scavengers keep multiplying like forks in a kitchen drawer... I think this is the best choice." His tone was calm, almost too calm for someone his age.

Around the table the other hunters exchanged looks. A few nodded faintly. Others grimaced. Then the older generation snapped back, their protest immediate and loud.

"Are you mad?! We would rather die than work with them!"

"Don’t you have any pride left in your work? We swore an oath to crush the very enemy you’re proposing to join!"

Voices overlapped, rising and breaking. The room fractured into two camps; the argument heated like oil on a fire.

David could see it happening, Isolde’s plan taking root. She had managed to split them, to weaken them from the inside, to push him toward the very decision she wanted.

But even that wasn’t enough to drive him over the edge. Not yet.

Until one day, out on a mission, Matthew approached him. The young man moved with an ease that made David’s skin prickle.

He was too good at this work, too calm under fire, never flinching at gore. Yet he had trembled at the sight of the severed head. That inconsistency had been gnawing at David.

They stopped on a ridge to drink from the vending machine. Matthew stepped closer. "Why don’t you just agree to work together with Velstrath?" he asked softly.

David, mid-swallow, choked and dropped his bottle, water splashing into the dust. Sam had already whispered warnings about Matthew—how he was quietly persuading others to side with the vampires—and now here he was, saying it outright.

David’s eyes narrowed, hand sliding into his pocket to brush the hilt of his dagger. "Are you a spy for them?"

"I am," Matthew said without hesitation. "And I have something from Lady Isolde."

He held out a white envelope. For a moment the wind was the only sound. Then Matthew simply placed it on the rock between them and walked away without another word.

David stared at the envelope. Every instinct told him to shred it, to scatter it into the dirt, to burn it without looking.

Yet a cold weight pressed on his chest, a whisper that he needed to know what was inside. His fingers hovered, trembling, caught between fury and the lure of information.

The sight before him made his eyes widen, a strange flicker of hope brewing in his chest. It was Lucien Corven, holding the small hand of a child with long, twin-tailed blonde hair cascading down her back.

He had no idea how Isolde could have obtained this, but if she was capable of compiling documents on corruption within the Vampire Hunters, then perhaps she knew this as well...

His hands trembled. If this truly was his child, then maybe—just maybe—he had another reason to live. But why? Why would Isolde choose her of all people?

At that moment, David no longer questioned it. He didn’t even consider that the photographs might be forged; hope had blinded him completely.

From that day onward, David threw his lot in with Matthew. While he never openly pressured others to follow, his position—highest not only in rank but also in bureaucracy—caused many hunters to believe in cooperating with vampires.

The older generation, however, saw it as a betrayal of humanity and resigned, leaving him with only a fractured remnant.

A week later, the letter appointing him Chief finally arrived. Though it was still provisional and would only become official in two weeks, for now the title was his.

...

Looking back, he realized how foolishly he had believed.

Yet what other path had there been? If the Vampire Hunters could exploit him at will, they could just as easily exploit anyone else.

For now, he would treat it as his own private quest.

And Isolde’s aid proved genuine, she sent Seamus and Diane to him, even preparing Seamus’s cover identity as a new hunter.

David had been stunned the moment he saw the boy again. Seamus was different now: fitter, sharper, brimming with a power David could hardly fathom. When asked, Seamus only replied:

"This is from the hybrid evolution, Vampire Vitalis Core."

That boy had seldom lied; he’d always been too kind for it. Yet now David wasn’t so sure.

’Does Andrew know he’s become a vampire hunter?’ he wondered, turning his chair slowly.

If Andrew found out, he would be furious or maybe...

’Right. Maybe.’

David rose and stared out the window. For now, he needed to gather as much power as possible.

***

Andrew sat in the bar as usual, though tonight the place felt heavier, quieter than ever.

The once-peaceful town of Brok had unraveled into chaos: deaths, disappearances, gang attacks.

People were either fleeing or ending up in graves, and Andrew could hardly bring himself to care.

Even marriage had done nothing to soften his misery. It wasn’t for his benefit in the first place, so he was fine with it.

Tonight, though, someone new caught his eye. A young man about his son’s age but towering close to two meters hunched over the counter, downing drink after drink and muttering under his breath.

"Fuck you, Seamus!"

Andrew’s brows knitted at the sound of his son’s name. He pushed off his stool and moved closer.

"Hey, young man," he said, pitching his voice to sound half-drunk and easygoing as he slid into the seat opposite. "What’s got you so riled up? Love troubles?"

"That bastard Seamus!" the stranger spat. "He confessed to killing my friends, no shame, no remorse!"

"What?" The word slipped out sharper than Andrew meant.

"He said it himself! Ugh, I’m gonna kill him!"

Andrew’s tongue stalled. The glass in his hand cracked with a sharp snap, spilling alcohol across the table.

"Tell me everything," he said quietly.