Chapter Sixty-Nine: The Gathering of the Knights of the Round Table

Still four thousand words...

“I haven’t truly accepted it?”

“Yes, you haven’t accepted it!” The male Cold Flame replied with icy fire, “Acceptance is a state of mind, but you have not adjusted yourself. From the moment you entered the world until now, you’ve endured countless trials and tests. Though you’ve survived them all, in truth, you’ve been avoiding reality. Don’t wait until you look back in shock—time passes like flowing water!”

“Only through heartbreak and failure do we realize our ignorance. Fate requires the merging of two hearts. I… and her, together, have resulted in you, Cold Flame.”

“Let me explain,” the female counterpart said, her voice warmer and gentler, making it easier for Cold Flame to accept. “Never mind whether you accept it or not, I’ll just tell you this: you are the fusion of myself and him, a new life, a new soul. You shouldn't carry any psychological burdens. Forget everything in the past and begin anew—as Cold Flame. Yet you must also pursue your own past, not let it vanish entirely…”

“Isn’t that contradictory?” Cold Flame asked.

“Contradictory?” The woman smiled, “Indeed, to forget and yet to pursue is rather contradictory. But I believe you’ll understand in time. Forgetting… and searching.” Cold Flame couldn’t grasp what she meant, but saw the mischievous smile at her lips, a look of inexplicable mystery.

“You won’t understand now,” she said. “Let’s change the subject—would you like a cup of unsweetened coffee?”

Cold Flame thought for a moment, then replied, embarrassed, “Actually, whether there’s sugar or not, I don’t really like it.” No sooner had she spoken than the male Cold Flame burst into laughter.

The female glared at him, her tone more forceful, “If you had to choose one?”

Shrinking back, Cold Flame said, “If there’s no sugar, I’ll wait until it arrives before I drink.”

“Aren’t you afraid it’ll cool?”

“Then I’ll keep warming it with my power, until the sugar arrives!”

“You’re really stubborn!” she said, then added, “Give yourself a chance. Will you keep waiting?”

“Waiting for what?” Cold Flame asked.

“The future is uncertain, and there’s little point in discussing it now.”

“What if there’s a cup of Irish coffee—would you drink it?” This time, Cold Flame posed the question.

The woman said, “I’m afraid it would be too bitter.”

Cold Flame replied, “The mellow sweetness of Irish coffee comes from the tears of waiting.”

Once again, silence fell all around. Whether it was Cold Flame or the two versions of herself, all were quiet. Cold Flame had given her answer. She would wait, she would choose to wait. The future could be discussed later, but she had already made her choice—she would wait, no matter if what arrived was nothing but ashes.

After the silence, the other two nodded simultaneously. “We respect your decision.” With that, the two turned into streams of light and, with a sound like a gust, merged into Cold Flame’s body.

“Never regret the choices you make, even if it means waiting for a thousand years, ten thousand years… or for a loneliness with no end in sight…” The fading voice echoed by her ear, and Cold Flame suddenly sat up from her bed. “So it was only a dream!” She wiped the sweat from her brow, lingering fear in her heart.

Looking outside, she realized dawn had broken. Warm sunlight streamed through the window, like playful children sneaking past the curtain, curiosity drawing them inside. The rays fell upon the carpet, making the white rug gleam even cleaner.

The sweat on Cold Flame’s forehead was gone, and she quickly dressed, then walked into the bathroom and turned on the tap, splashing cold water on her face. The cool water flowing over her cheeks gave her a sense of reality at last.

Her thoughts returned to the strange dream. What special meaning did it hold? Cold Flame couldn’t figure it out, nor could she tell if it was truly a response to something real or just a simple dream.

She summoned her inner immortal energy—nothing seemed different. Just as she laughed at her own nervousness for believing in a dream, she suddenly noticed a change.

It was her body! Previously, a small portion of the Feathered Violet Energy had not yet merged with her flesh. But now, to her delight, after that dream, another part had fused—almost eight-tenths of what had remained unmerged.

Now, only a small amount of Feathered Violet Energy remained!

Cold Flame smiled, realizing she was not far from fully fusing with the Feathered Violet Energy and returning to her true male form. She was now convinced the two figures in her dream had been real, and silently thanked them in her heart: “Thank you—I’ll walk my own path well!”

After washing up, Cold Flame went to the dining room for breakfast. Around her, a few lesser vampires scurried frantically, their anxious faces catching her attention.

She called one over. “What’s happened? Why are you all so flustered?”

At Cold Flame’s question, the vampire dared not hide a thing, trembling as he answered. He obviously knew Cold Flame’s identity, and his gaze darted nervously, as if afraid to meet her eyes. He said, “Young master, there are people outside using light—causing trouble. Lord Malkavi has already led many vampire masters to confront them.”

“Oh…” Cold Flame murmured, then walked toward the door.

“Young master, are you…?” The vampire followed, terror in his eyes.

“I’m going to take a look.”

“But Lord Malkavi is already handling it. You are the greatest guest of our Malkavi clan. If we neglect you, Lord Malkavi will never forgive me…”

“Don’t worry, I’ll explain everything to Malkavi myself. You needn’t worry.” With that, Cold Flame strode toward the manor’s gate.

From afar, she saw a circle of vampires, numbering in the hundreds. In the center stood Malkavi, surrounded by the high-ranking heads of his clan. Opposite them stood twelve people—not few, but far less than the local vampires.

As she drew closer, their distinctive attire revealed their identities to Cold Flame at once. Shining metallic armor, swords three feet long, some holding long spears, and three carrying cups…

Their proud demeanor, even when facing so many vampires, was unmistakable. The light radiating from their bodies—were they not the Knights of the Round Table she had previously encountered? This time, they had come out in full force; all twelve Knights of the Round Table were gathered at the Malkavi clan’s manor.

Among them, Bedivere, Gaheris, and Geraint were present. Now, it seemed they had forgotten everything that happened last night and were arguing with a prince-level vampire beside Malkavi.

Malkavi watched the arguing parties with cold indifference. Now emperor-level, his strength far surpassed the Knights of the Round Table, so he wasn’t worried about anything arising. As long as their leader, King Arthur, didn’t appear, he was confident the knights couldn’t stir up any real trouble.

Percival, captain of the twelve Knights of the Round Table, held a cup in his hand and, like Malkavi, watched quietly, saying nothing.

But Cold Flame knew that he must be highly tense, with taut muscles ready to strike at any moment.

In truth, Percival was deeply frustrated. In name, he was captain of the Knights of the Round Table and the strongest among them, responsible for patrolling Northern Ireland. But last night, he received signals from the other knights—saying a holy relic had appeared, but was already stolen.

Upon hearing this, Percival was first excited. Holy relics are rare and precious; the sword in King Arthur’s hand alone demonstrates their power. Now there was another relic, and it appeared at the British Museum—surely property of Britain, and rightfully to be used by the Knights of the Round Table.

But learning the relic had been taken, he was furious! Luckily, his anger did not cloud his reason. Knowing the skill of the thief, he thought carefully, and after weighing his options, led all the Knights of the Round Table to the Malkavi clan’s manor.

“Damn it, the Malkavi clan is such a powerful vampire family!” Percival cursed inwardly. The Malkavi clan alone would require the knights’ full strength, let alone that mysterious young master.

“Could it really be that God doesn’t want us to obtain that magnificent relic?” Percival wondered. He didn’t realize the Malkavi clan had changed so much; otherwise, he wouldn’t have dared to bring only twelve knights.

Upon arriving at the manor, Percival sensed something was wrong and quickly sent word to their leader, King Arthur. Now he was stalling for time, awaiting Arthur’s arrival. Once Arthur appeared, he believed the Malkavi clan alone could never stop them from taking the relic.

“Anruch, stop wasting words with them,” Malkavi waved his hand and spoke calmly to the prince-level vampire arguing with the knights.

In the past, faced with a collective assault from the Knights of the Round Table, Malkavi would have immediately alerted the other vampire clans. But now, he remained composed. The clan’s increased strength was one reason; another was Cold Flame’s presence. Her identity as a “goddess” was like a calming pill for him. To think she had elevated him to emperor level overnight—her status in Malkavi’s heart was now equal to Satan, the king of hell, or Cain, the vampire progenitor—perhaps even higher.

The prince-level vampire, hearing Malkavi’s command, dared not protest further and quietly stepped aside.

“My dear Percival, may I ask what brings you and your fellow knights to my manor? If you’re here as guests, the Malkavi clan welcomes you warmly. But judging by your manner, that doesn’t seem to be the case.” Malkavi smiled, wearing a host’s smile, undaunted by the fact that his guests were the dominant force in Britain.

Two great powers confronted each other—the twelve Knights of the Round Table and the Malkavi vampire clan. In Britain, their will could determine the outcome of events.

Yet today, these two great powers, who usually avoided interfering with each other, collided head-on. Clearly, something exciting was about to unfold.

Unlike Malkavi’s calm, Percival’s lips trembled—perhaps dissatisfied with Malkavi’s hypocrisy. “Duke Malkavi, I’ll be brief. The Knights of the Round Table have come to your manor for one thing—a cauldron. I hope you will be generous and hand it over.”

Malkavi was formerly a prince-level vampire—though “prince” was merely a symbol of strength. In reality, the Malkavi clan was still a rare noble family, and “duke” was Malkavi’s hereditary title. So, dealing with a great family like Malkavi’s required a touch of etiquette.

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Dear readers, please do not associate the Church in this story with the real Church. I do not mean religious discrimination, but simply need two opposing forces for the narrative… Many European fantasy novels feature the Church and the Dark Council’s grievances. Connecting the novel to real life is less ideal…

Also, let me say it once: this book isn’t very popular, so I hope you’ll give me some motivation and help spread the word… Thank you all!