CRIMSON NOCTURNE

CHAPTER 22: A Desperate Gambit

When Van Helsing launched his attack, Rusfan was visibly surprised. The old vampire had not expected such audacity from a mere human, even one carrying vampire blood. But Rusfan quickly recovered his composure, continuing to command the two shadowy copies against his opponent. Unfortunately, controlling two duplicates simultaneously was proving far more difficult than he had anticipated. Each copy required his undivided attention, and splitting his focus between them left gaps in his defense. Soon enough, Van Helsing seized upon his mistake.

Van Helsing feigned a full-powered s***h at one copy, and when Rusfan poured his concentration into that figure to counter the blow, the blade curved in an unnatural arc and struck the other copy instead. The move was so swift, so deceptive, that even Van Helsing himself was impressed by his own ingenuity.

When the sword cut through the shadow, the pained grunt from the copy made Van Helsing feel as though he had struck not a mere shadow, but another living version of himself. The sound was too real, too human. For a fleeting moment, he almost felt sorry for the duplicate.

Seeing his copy wounded, Rusfan hastily recalled both figures to his side. He studied the injured one with a critical eye, then casually crushed it beneath his foot, dismissing it as worthless. The remaining copy stood at attention, awaiting its next command.

"You're a real i***t," Van Helsing taunted, never missing a chance to needle his opponent. His voice dripped with contempt. "You summoned two of me and still can't match me. Not very impressive, old man. Maybe you should have stayed in whatever coffin you crawled out of."

To Van Helsing's surprise, Rusfan was not provoked this time. Instead, the ancient vampire calmly studied his opponent, his green eyes boring into Van Helsing's soul. He acknowledged his error with a slight nod. "For the next ten minutes, I'll try what you suggested." Under Rusfan's refined control, the remaining copy lunged forward with renewed ferocity.

Van Helsing carefully parried the copy's attacks, his movements measured and precise. He dared not unleash any finishing moves. If the enemy learned another technique, the trouble would be immense. But just as he was struggling to maintain his defense against the relentless assault, Rusfan himself suddenly charged into the fray.

"Damn it! A sneak attack!" Van Helsing deflected the copy's strike, but before he could recover his stance, Rusfan's boot slammed into his chest with tremendous force, sending him flying through the air. He crashed onto the ground and tumbled several times before coming to a stop.

Tumbling across the ground in a clumsy roll, Van Helsing had barely risen to his feet when he saw Rusfan and the copy charging at him again. This time was different from before—Rusfan poured nearly all his concentration into controlling a single copy while relying mostly on combat instinct to attack Van Helsing himself. The result was devastating. Now Van Helsing truly felt trapped between his own duplicate and another formidable opponent, each strike coming from a different angle, each blow forcing him to divide his attention.

A chaotic flurry of blows followed. Van Helsing lost count of how many heavy hits he absorbed. None were lethal, but each one hurt, and the accumulation was wearing him down. His movements grew sluggish, his reactions a fraction of a second slower. "This won't work," he thought, despair creeping into his mind. "I need a desperate gambit..." The thought flashed through his consciousness, and he made a split-second decision. He deliberately left his abdomen exposed as a tempting target, hoping Rusfan would take the bait.

Without hesitation, Rusfan drove his longsword forward by pure instinct. A wet thud echoed through the night as the blade pierced clean through Van Helsing's body, the tip emerging from his back. "That troublesome opponent is done?" Rusfan paused in surprise, his copy slowing as well.

"NOW!" Van Helsing roared, seizing the opening with savage triumph. "TIDAL WAVE STRIKE!" In an instant, a torrent of azure blade-light erupted like a tidal wave from his weapon, shredding the last copy into nothingness before sweeping toward Rusfan with undiminished force. The air itself seemed to crackle with energy.

Startled, Rusfan knew he should retreat immediately. But to his horror, he found the sword would not come free—it was clamped tight within Van Helsing's body, as if gripped by some unseen force! There was no time to release the weapon and flee. Rusfan could only wrap his massive wings around himself like a cocoon, desperately awaiting the devouring wave of blue light.

A bloodcurdling scream tore through the night as Rusfan was blasted backward. His enormous wings hung in tatters, shredded by the crisscrossing blade energy into ribbons of flesh and membrane. The blood gushing from the wounds suggested the body beneath had also suffered grievous harm. The hand that had gripped the sword—the one left exposed outside his wings—lay severed on the grass, fingers still twitching.

"Feel good?" Van Helsing stood tall, the longsword still protruding from his abdomen, his own blade held high as he pointed it defiantly at his opponent. Blood dripped from the wound, but his eyes burned with unyielding determination.

"Heh, impressive as that was, it won't kill me." The wounds on Rusfan's body began slowly knitting themselves back together, torn flesh reweaving at a visible pace. Though far from fully healed, they would not prove fatal. "That thing sticking out of your gut must be rather uncomfortable, wouldn't you say?"

"Seems you forgot—I have vampire blood in me too." Van Helsing slowly drew the longsword from his abdomen, his face contorting with pain. The wound closed the moment the blade left his body, the torn skin sealing itself as if it had never been pierced. "You can't kill me, and I can't kill you. Besides, those two must be far away by now. Why don't you take your hand back and get a good night's sleep?"

Rusfan stared at Van Helsing for a long moment, weighing his options. Then he threw his head back and laughed, a rich, resonant sound that echoed across the field. "Hahaha! That's actually an excellent idea. So be it. But could you return my sword as well?"

"No." Van Helsing looked at the blade in his hand, studying its elegant craftsmanship. He shook his head firmly. "I need to send it back where it belongs. This sword was never meant for your hands."

"Have it your way, then." Rusfan shrugged with elegant nonchalance, as if they had been discussing something as trivial as the weather. "It wasn't mine to begin with. Very well, I shall take my leave." He bent down, retrieved his severed hand with surprising grace, turned, and vanished into the darkness without another word.

Van Helsing stood rooted in place, watching the direction Rusfan had gone. Long moments passed before he finally stirred. Dragging the stolen longsword behind him, he trudged toward the farmhouse in the distance. He needed a place to properly tend to his wounds. That blade piercing his abdomen had not been as simple as it appeared—the tremendous force embedded within had damaged several of his internal organs, and the healing would take time.

On the other side of the battlefield, Yi Fei was still running, cradling Camilla safely beneath his thick fur. He had entered supersonic, drag-free flight, racing toward Rome with Camilla nestled securely in his warm embrace. Wrapped in the softness of his fur, she gradually drifted off to sleep, her breathing slow and peaceful. It had been so long since she had slept so soundly, without fear haunting her dreams.

When Camilla awoke, Yi Fei was crouching in a forest, staring blankly into the darkness. The moment he saw her stir, his face lit up with relief and joy. After a few questions, the embarrassing truth came out: Yi Fei was lost. He had no idea where Rome was, and the sprawling Italian countryside all looked the same to him.

Thanks to her excellent sense of direction, Camilla pointed the way. Delighted, Yi Fei scooped her up and left the forest, continuing their journey toward the Eternal City. Along the way, Camilla dared not sleep again, constantly correcting their course as Yi Fei's navigation proved unreliable. With her guidance, Yi Fei finally slipped into Rome just before dawn painted the sky pink. Now he just had to find the great cathedral.

St. Peter's Basilica—the central church of Roman Catholicism, a pilgrimage site for Catholic Europeans for centuries, and the seat of the Vatican Pope. Located in Vatican City, northwest of Rome, it is the largest church in the world. Since 1870, all major religious ceremonies have been held beneath its magnificent dome. From the top of its central cupola, one could survey the entire city.

Standing before this grand cathedral—covering twenty-two thousand square meters, with a main structure towering forty-five meters tall and stretching approximately two hundred and eleven meters long—both Yi Fei and Camilla felt utterly insignificant. Yi Fei managed to maintain his composure, but Camilla was nearly crushed by the sheer majesty and oppressive holiness of the colossal edifice. She trembled against his back.

"If just standing at the entrance is this overwhelming, how could I possibly go inside?" Listening to Camilla's labored breathing, Yi Fei stared gloomily at the massive bronze doors before him. "Forget it. I'll just find a small inn in the city and leave her there."

Once they left the cathedral grounds, Camilla gradually calmed down. The immense mental pressure that had nearly broken her began to recede. Like an old horse finding its way home, she guided Yi Fei to an unremarkable little inn tucked away on a quiet side street. "I've stayed in Rome before—hid out here for nearly two years. I always stayed at this place. It's small, but the owner and service are excellent." Seeing Yi Fei's questioning look, she explained in one breath, her voice still shaky.

Having no acquaintances in this foreign land, Yi Fei had no choice but to trust her. Carrying Camilla carefully on his back, he walked into the inn called "The Blue Hermit."

[END OF CHAPTER 22]