CHAPTER 5

December 30, 1496...

Supreme Atcandis sat at the front beside Queen Zenya. Their eldest son, Asmal, sat to the Supreme's left. All were dressed in regal garments. The Supreme's siblings and his wives were seated beside the former Supreme, Luwis, and Queen Alyada. Citizens of the black vampires surrounded the wide, circular arena intentionally built for such occasions.

“This duel has three levels. Those who pass the first two will face the Supreme’s right hand, Twari, in the final round. Remember—only swords may be used, and teleportation as a tactic is strictly prohibited,” loudly announced Chief Overseer Romelda, a female warrior who once taught young black vampires from noble families.

Among those competing was Prince Zumir. Over the years, he had changed significantly. He stood tall for a boy of fifteen, strikingly handsome, and quick to learn. This kind of duel was held yearly as a rite of passage for young vampires, marking the culmination of their years of training. Queen Zenya was anxious, knowing that no one could interfere in the duel. It would test whether the princes had truly learned from their training. Meanwhile, the Supreme and Prince Asmal remained calm, confident in Zumir’s abilities.

Three drumbeats echoed, followed by the sound of a trumpet. Romelda counted down from three to signal the duel’s start. She called the first competing prince:

“From the family of great hunters—Prince Dulhen versus the warrior Kuhan,” Romelda announced.

Prince Dulhen stepped forward, sword in hand, ready for the duel. He won.

Next was Prince Kowa, from the family of great merchants. He was defeated by the warrior. More followed, and as the final competitor was called, Queen Zenya’s anxiety reached its peak. She felt like crying, but her son’s face showed no sign of fear. He was naturally quiet, indifferent to his surroundings, and extremely mysterious. He held his sword in his left hand, his jet-black hair tousled lightly by the cold breeze.

“This won't go as far as killing, will it, my love?” the Queen asked her husband.

The Supreme didn’t reply but simply smiled at her.

“Zumir will not fall or be defeated. He’s no ordinary vampire. Trust in our son, my queen,” said the Supreme.

Prince Zumir positioned himself before the warrior, staring blankly. There was no fear or emotion on his face. As Romelda’s countdown ended, the fight began. Everyone watched in awe as, in less than a minute, the warrior was defeated—Zumir’s sword pointing at him.

“Amazing!” praised a vampire farmer.

“His Highness is incredible!” added another.

“With his eyes closed, he won. Remarkable!” said a young maiden.

“The winner is Prince Zumir!” Romelda announced.

The Queen and the Supreme were overjoyed by their youngest’s display. Prince Asmal simply stared at his brother, still expressionless, standing over his defeated opponent.

“I only hope I’m wrong,” Asmal whispered to himself.

Finally, Prince Zumir and Prince Dulhen faced off. Eighteen-year-old Dulhen smirked, well-trained from a young age by his family of hunters. He had always defeated even those larger than him. Yet he and the fifteen-year-old Prince Zumir were of equal height, and both were strikingly handsome.

“The winner between you two will face Twari. Begin the second duel!” shouted Romelda.

Prince Dulhen swung his sword, grinning at Zumir. He couldn’t read his opponent's mind—even with telepathy, Zumir's thoughts were closed off. Dulhen couldn’t even predict his movements. Though it pained his pride, he was impressed by how Zumir had previously defeated the warrior so quickly.

“You’re still a baby in this arena, Your Highness. Let me show you the bitter taste of defeat,” Dulhen said with a grin.

“If you defeat me, the throne is yours when I am declared Supreme,” Zumir coldly replied.

Dulhen’s eyes widened, then he grinned. The only sounds were their clashing blades. They communicated through limited-range telepathy.

“You’ll regret those words someday, Your Highness,” said Prince Dulhen.

They exchanged places, parrying each other’s strikes.

“I won’t regret anything because I won’t let you win,” Prince Zumir replied.

Dulhen didn’t realize his sword had flown out of the ring. He panicked and kicked Zumir’s sword, sending it flying as well. He grinned, but Zumir remained expressionless. Dulhen lunged, but was stunned when Zumir appeared behind him and kicked him hard in the back, knocking him to the ground. Dulhen sprang up and attacked again, attempting a kick to Zumir’s face, but Zumir caught his leg and tossed him mercilessly to the ground. Zumir remained calm and blank. Dulhen noticed scratches on his face and arms. He tried to attack again, but Zumir struck first, grabbing his head and flinging him out of the ring.

Dulhen couldn’t believe he had lost so easily. It was as if Zumir had toyed with him. Doubt filled his heart. He looked at the unscathed Zumir—no sweat, no fatigue, no wounds. Zumir stared at him blankly, shaking his head as if disappointed. Dulhen remembered his boastfulness and realized he had underestimated the young prince destined to be the next Supreme.

“The winner, Prince Zumir!” Romelda announced, and applause erupted.

The young prince faced the crowd, his eyes first meeting his tearful, smiling mother. Then his father nodded at him, and his older brother gave him a faint smile. From his brother’s mind, he read:

“Well done, Your Highness.”

Zumir returned a small smile, turned around, and picked up the sword that had been kicked away.

Moments later, Prince Zumir and Twari began their duel. Zumir hadn’t expected the Supreme’s right hand to be so skilled, agile, calm, and cunning. Every move was unpredictable. Twari’s strike hit Zumir’s right shoulder, and blood flowed.

Twari was prepared to strike again. Zumir suddenly remembered Romelda’s earlier statement:

“You may use any tactic to win—just do not step out of the ring.”

Zumir grinned, closed his eyes, placed two fingers on his forehead, and vanished. In an instant, he was behind Twari, sword pointed at his back. Twari didn’t flinch and counterattacked. The prince was knocked back to his position, and their swords clashed fiercely. Their movements were so fast, the audience could barely see them. Only the sound of clashing steel echoed. Once Twari failed to land a hit, Zumir finally deciphered his movements. Twari lost focus, and Zumir struck again and again. Overwhelmed, Twari had no choice but to defend.

“He may surpass Twari’s skill,” the Supreme whispered, overheard by Asmal.

“I wouldn’t be surprised, Father, if in the coming years, no one will be able to defeat Zumir,” Prince Asmal replied.

The Supreme looked at his son and agreed. They watched as Twari was thrown aside. Zumir panted, sweat pouring from him, clutching his bleeding shoulder. The crowd fell silent until Romelda stepped onto the stage.

“His Highness has won!” the warrior woman declared.

Zumir stood in silence, drenched in sweat and breathing heavily. To everyone’s shock, his wound began to heal without any treatment.

“This isn’t possible,” whispered Asmal, stunned.

Only an immortal black vampire possesses the ability to heal without aid.

---

January 15, 1498...

Prince Dulhen entered a secret chamber to speak with the Supreme of the white vampires, Supreme Deon. He grinned upon seeing all the high-ranking leaders present. He walked in carefully and greeted them.

“Good day, Supreme!” he greeted, and Deon nodded in return.

“Good day, Prince Dulhen,” the Supreme replied.

“What news do you bring from your origin clan?” asked Arcasi, Deon’s brother, grinning.

“The black vampires are growing stronger. Prince Zumir, the next Supreme, seems unstoppable. Over the years, his powers have grown. I want your youth to undergo the same deadly training that we blacks do. I will also reveal to you their treasures, sources of food, and wealth. I must also inform you that our weapons are blessed by the fairies to make us stronger than you. I know where our weapons are hidden—we can use that knowledge in our invasion next year,” Prince Dulhen said in a long speech.

Since his defeat by Prince Zumir, Dulhen had taken it hard. Years of training seemed meaningless after being bested by a younger prince. He also resented his own race’s leadership. The Supreme barely gave his family any wealth despite their service. Even his father, their leader, had lost hope. Their weapon-making business was barely surviving. He was only crowned prince because of his family’s past wealth, not noble blood.

Now, he had made a pact with the white vampires to take revenge on the greedy black vampire leaders. He believed the whites, though not his kin, had purer hearts. His ancestors came from their lineage but had sided with the blacks out of greed for power.

“I want to be your right hand, Deon, if we defeat my race,” Prince Dulhen said firmly.

“We owe all this information to you. If you hadn’t decided to side with us, we would forever be enslaved and abused by the blacks,” said the Supreme.

The Supreme raised a goblet of blood. Everyone followed, and lastly, Prince Dulhen lifted his cup.

“Long live the whites!” shouted the Supreme.

“Long live Prince Dulhen!” the others echoed.

Moments later, Prince Dulhen’s parents and the citizens from the great hunter family arrived. They shared the same grievances and desires—for the next vampire rulers to treat everyone equally in the years to come.