Type-Moon: Does even a sneak peek make it official?

"Defective."

Van-Fem's words overlapped, in Eltrouce's mind, with those once spoken by the King of the Moon.

That high and lofty voice carried not a shred of mercy. At that time, Eltrouce could find no words in reply.

She merely lowered her head, ever so slightly.

For the princess, there was nothing else she could do.

But later, after the battle at the Millennium Castle—

"Now that Crimson Moon is dead, as the future king you should hunt down the unruly Dead Apostles, the human Church that eyes us hungrily, and those True Ancestors who have fallen into 'Demon Lords.'"

The True Ancestors were a species born of the planet itself, a form of natural sense made flesh. Yet there was a flaw in their creation: the impulse to drink blood. Likely the archetype from which they were modeled carried this defect to begin with.

All True Ancestors craved the blood of humankind, whom they were meant to guide and restrain. To suppress that urge, they constantly burned their spiritual strength. But even then, there was a limit. Since the vampiric impulse could never be solved at its root, their desire would build and build until they could no longer suppress it. When that moment came, a True Ancestor would sink into self-imposed eternal slumber. That was their natural death.

Some, however, failed to resist. They turned upon mankind in indiscriminate blood-feeding, and these became known as the Fallen True Ancestors.

"Eltrouce, you are to be the king who commands us."

After Crimson Moon's fall, the Magus Association, the Church, and the vampire race all suffered heavy losses. Yet it was the True Ancestors who were most devastated—half were killed or wounded. Without Crimson Moon, cooperation crumbled. The remaining True Ancestors needed an "arbiter," a "killing machine" to serve as judge. Naturally, the princess with the greatest power was the perfect candidate. And since she was the "relic" of the sinner Crimson Moon, the others felt no guilt in using her as a mere tool.

But no one desires to be treated as another's instrument. So, the Black Princess left—taking with her the black and white knights who were ever loyal, the royal army sworn to the old dynasty, and her beast.

In truth, the True Ancestors felt little concern at her departure. For within the Millennium Castle, another "legacy" of Crimson Moon already existed.

It was one who, given time, would mature into a true and perfect creation. In the twelfth century, she would awaken—a being nearly equal to Crimson Moon in combat. Eltrouce's sister: Arcueid, the princess destined to become the Original One.

But Eltrouce knew nothing of this. Even now, she struggled, striving to become queen of the Millennium Castle.

At her side, Avia listened in silence, and in so doing understood why Van-Fem had come seeking Eltrouce.

Arcueid's birth would come too late. The Dead Apostles of today would not last until then. And so Van-Fem, with White Wing Lord, had resolved to lead their Dead Apostles against the Millennium Castle, and force Eltrouce to slay and devour the still-unborn Arcueid.

By doing so, she would become one of the "Original Ones," an Achieved Celestial Body able to stand against the Church.

"…I did not expect this—"

Eltrouce exhaled, after hearing Van-Fem's words.

Rarely did she allow her heart to waver. And even when it did, never did she show it. But now, the cold Dead Apostle princess let out a long sigh, as though her feelings had no outlet.

"I have a younger sister, then."

For a moment, the princess—who had deliberately taken on her adult form without sparing any power—pressed her lips together.

Yet even upon learning she had a sister, she felt nothing. No warmth stirred in her heart. Blood alone was too thin a bond. It was too foreign, too distant. Perhaps it was only another reminder of her destined failure. That truth, forced upon her, brought with it a quiet grief, a weight of melancholy.

"What say you, Your Highness?" Van-Fem's smile never left his face. "With the Dead Apostles under my command and White Wing Lord's, if we add in your Black and White Knights, the Royal Guard, and your beast, we can stall the remaining True Ancestors. Your success is more than possible."

To Avia, this plan seemed nothing more than a repeat of the past: white princess pitted against black princess. First, bind the knights and beast in endless battle—two beings close to nature locked in stalemate…

"…How arrogant, Van-Fem. Who gave you the right to speak to me so? More than that—remember, it is you who come begging favors of me."

Somehow, the girl laughed merrily. It was as though the one who had just spoken in a tone of superiority was not Van-Fem, but herself.

"My deepest apologies."

Not that Van-Fem had changed his mind.

Avia knew well—neither White Wing Lord nor Van-Fem had altered their view of Eltrouce as a defective.

Even so, the black princess met their scorn with words and eyes as cold as ice, forbidding them to insult her.

"Your proposal, I will consider. Wait patiently for my reply."

"As you wish."

Van-Fem raised his wine glass in salute as the princess turned to leave.

But then, as she turned away, the black-haired girl remembered the promise she had made with Avia in Constantinople. Her steps halted, and she glanced back.

"…I'm leaving now. Stay close to me, Avia."

She spoke it as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

"Then I shall not detain you further. Until next time, Lord Avia."

Van-Fem gave Avia the same courtesy he had shown the princess, narrowing his eyes as he watched the two figures depart. He sipped at the wine—more decoration than drink—his gaze filled with quiet amusement.

---

"Have you decided?"

The silver-haired youth walking at her side turned his head, blue eyes reflecting the cold figure of the princess.

"Yes."

Back in her girlish form, Eltrouce masked her voice and face with practiced precision, answering with a short, cold nod.

"To be honest, I bear no grudge against the True Ancestors who sought to use me… In truth, I do not hate them. Nor do I wish to. Such feelings are meaningless. The same goes for my so-called sister. Whatever she is, it matters not."

And then she smiled—a smile utterly at odds with her words. Cold, bitter, and infinitely sorrowful.

"But if I cannot become the One… then for me, this world has no meaning."

Eltrouce.

The Dead Apostle Princess. The Black Princess, scorned as a failure.

This is what she told the human at her side:

"Therefore, I must choose… disgrace."