"I have never forgotten my own glory. I keep it carved into my heart."
Vlad III's gaze was steady, not a flicker of deceit in it. Every word came straight from the depths of his soul.
Vlad III (Lancer) listened, distrust flashing across his face at first. Moments earlier the man had openly admitted to being a vampire—the very label he had spent his entire existence rejecting. It made his lifelong stance look like a bad joke.
But as he studied the other's expression, he realized the words weren't a lie. He knew exactly what his own face looked like when he lied, and this wasn't it. The man was telling the truth.
That realization only deepened the knot in his chest. His brows twisted together like snarled rope. Anger still boiled on his tongue as he glared at the figure across from him.
"If you hate the vampire label as much as I do, and you still cling to the honor of the hero you once were… then why the hell do you admit to being one? Why claim a slanderous identity that was forced on you?!"
Vlad III lowered his eyes to his own smooth palm. This body—his body—was already that of a vampire. His gaze then drifted to the long spear in his grip, the weapon that embodied his power.
"Another me," he said calmly. "I, too, once raged against the rumor that painted me as a blood-sucking fiend. I loathed it. If I could have cast it off, I would have. But this body has already become that of a vampire. It is an unchangeable fact. No amount of resistance can undo it. The vampire nature is burned into my very Saint Graph. Struggle as I might, I cannot erase it. So I accepted it."
The words were quiet, resolute. To Vlad III (Lancer) they sounded like the most pathetic surrender imaginable. His molars ground together so hard they nearly cracked.
"Even if the label can't be changed, does that mean you stop fighting it?! You're just rolling over and accepting this disgraceful fate? We are Vlad III! We should battle that filthy rumor to the bitter end!"
...
Saint George watched the clash between the 'Lancer' and 'Berserker' with quiet understanding. From their exchange he had pieced together their true identities.
He turned to the silver-haired youth beside him. "Master, from what they're saying… is that Lancer truly the Vlad III who was slandered as the vampire Dracula?"
Adam's eyes never left the two arguing Servants. He answered without looking away. "That's right, Saint George. Both of them are Vlad III. The only difference is their state of mind."
"I see." Saint George nodded. Now that he knew the Lancer's identity, he readied his sword to help the one Adam had summoned defeat the other.
Before he could move, Adam's hand stopped him.
Under Saint George's puzzled stare, Adam didn't explain the interruption right away. Instead he began to clarify why the Lancer was fighting so fiercely against his own vampire nature.
"The Vlad III I summoned has been resisting that identity because he wants to prove he is still the man he was before the rumors turned him into Dracula. That's why he exploded when he heard the other Vlad calmly accept it."
Saint George's gaze drifted back to the Lancer, thoughtful. "So… you stopped me because you want the one you summoned—the one still resisting—to fight the one who has given up?"
Adam shook his head slowly. "Not quite, Saint George. I did want them to talk. But you're mistaken on a few points. First, Vlad III (Berserker) has not completely fallen into vampirism. He accepted the identity, yes, but that doesn't mean he's lost himself to it. He's still fighting—just in his own way."
Before Saint George could even process the words, Vlad III himself gave the answer.
"You are wrong, another me. I have not given up the fight. My resistance is already over—and I won. I acknowledge that I am a vampire now. But that does not mean I have cast aside the glory that lives in my heart and soul! The rumors no longer matter. I am still myself. Even after becoming a vampire, that truth has not changed. I remain Vlad III. Nothing—not even this monstrous body—can alter that. So instead of obsessing over the label, I choose to wield this power fully and make it mine."
Vlad III (Lancer) froze. The attack stance he had been building dissolved. He stared at his own bloodstained claws, the constant reminder of the identity he despised. Then he looked at the other Vlad III—still regal, still handsome, still every inch the proud prince he remembered from life. By contrast, he himself looked haggard, hair wild, body drenched in gore, the very picture of a monster.
The one who had accepted the vampire label somehow looked more human than the one who still denied it.
In that moment, something inside Vlad III (Lancer) cracked open.
Adam turned to Saint George and explained the Berserker's mindset. "Vlad III (Berserker) never stopped fighting the vampire label. He simply finished the battle and came out victorious. His method was the opposite of the Lancer's. He accepted the identity first, then proved with his own existence that he had not become the disgusting creature from the legends. Once he did that, the rumor lost all power over him."
Saint George's eyes shone with new respect. Not everyone could face their own darkness with such clear-eyed dignity.
Adam continued, "Vlad III (Lancer)'s stubborn resistance is admirable, but by clinging so tightly to the past he's trapped himself in a cage called 'rumor.' He'll never break free unless he lets go."
He looked at Saint George. "You know, in my Chaldea the dead are given new life as Servants. They get a second chance to shine, to write new stories. But Vlad III (Lancer) keeps himself chained to old gossip, refusing to step into that future. That's not what I want to see."
"Second life…" Saint George murmured, a flicker of longing crossing his face.
After a long silence he suddenly asked, "In your Chaldea… do I exist?"
"Of course," Adam replied with a grin. "How could my Chaldea be complete without you?"
Saint George's expression softened into a smile full of quiet relief and quiet hope. He had regrets from his own lifetime—things he wished he could fix. Chaldea offered the impossible: a chance to set those wrongs right. And who knew? Maybe he would even meet angels or gods there.
He chuckled at his own wild daydream. Summoning angels and gods? That was pushing it even for a Servant.
While Saint George was lost in thought, Adam's voice cut in. "Do me a favor, Saint George."
The sudden affectionate nickname caught the saint off guard, but Adam pressed on.
"The Vlad III over there may have made peace with his vampire side, but he's still our enemy. That hasn't changed. Keep him busy for me. I need to have a word with the Lancer."
"Understood, Master." Saint George lifted his blade and charged.
Adam walked up to Vlad III (Lancer). The Servant was still staring at his hands, the weight of the other Vlad's words clearly still crashing over him.
Adam's voice broke through the haze. "Impaler Duke, what do you think now that you've heard another version of yourself talk about the vampire label?"
Vlad III (Lancer) looked up. The bloodshot madness had faded from his eyes. His tone, once frantic, had grown strangely calm. "Master… all these years I was so obsessed with rejecting that identity that I stopped seeing anything else."
Adam leaned in, voice gentle but firm. "Vlad, those rumors were never your fault. They were other people's crime. You don't have to keep torturing yourself over them. Fighting the slander was right, but the people who spread it are long dead. If you keep clinging to the past, the only one who gets hurt is you. Try lifting your head and looking forward. After all, you've been given a second life in Chaldea."
Vlad III (Lancer) lifted his gaze to the sky, memories of his time in Chaldea flashing past. He had been so consumed by his grudge that he had missed everything else. There were more important things waiting—things worth living for.
"Master… I want to go back and talk with the other me properly."
A genuine smile finally broke across his face—the first real one in years. His heart felt lighter than it had in centuries.
"Then good luck, Impaler Duke."
Adam returned the smile, then sent the Lancer back to Chaldea with a wave of his hand.
He stood there a moment, one hand on his hip, satisfied. With any luck, the Lancer would finally step out of that shadow and start living the second life he deserved.
Now only one problem remained.
Adam turned his gaze toward the Berserker still locked in combat with Saint George.
Clang—clang—clang—
Saint George's strikes grew heavier. Now that he knew the enemy was still Vlad III at his core, a single question burned hotter with every clash.
"Vlad III! I don't understand! If you haven't fallen into vampirism, why are you willingly helping Jeanne d'Arc Alter ravage France?!"
Vlad III opened his mouth to answer, but Adam arrived first.
"Because he's Vlad III, of course."
The two combatants broke apart at the sound of his voice. Adam kept talking.
"Vlad III is a proud king. He cherishes his own people and his own retainers. But these French citizens aren't his. He has no reason to protect them. To him, a Master is no different from a retainer. If that Master proves worthy, he will lend his full strength. If I had been the one to summon him, he would be fighting Jeanne d'Arc Alter right beside me."
Exactly as Adam said. The Berserker stood with Jeanne d'Arc Alter because she had proven herself a worthy Master in his eyes. Had Adam summoned him instead, the result would have been the same—loyalty to the one who earned it.
"What a shame," Adam sighed. "For a powerful Master, Vlad III is an incredibly valuable Servant. Truly a pity that this time we're enemies and you aren't mine."
Vlad III's eyes widened with genuine surprise. "You understand me far too well, boy. You summoned the other me just to help him break free of his chains, didn't you?"
He let out a self-mocking laugh. "To think I was used so neatly… but I suppose it was exactly what I wanted."
The mocking smile softened into something warmer, almost fond. "If I could choose, I would rather have been summoned by you. Unfortunately, I will not betray my current Master. At least for now, I will not side with you. So come at me with everything you have, Master of Chaldea!"
The moment the words left his lips, Vlad III charged with a savage grin, spear raised.
"You asked for it, Duke."
The instant Adam finished speaking, a uniformed young woman appeared at his side—the Executor.
***
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