These Orphans Need a Headmaster (2) At the very center of Prizhenkaya’s Central Garden stood several monuments and statues commissioned personally by Great King Ivan.
They were the Statue of the Hero Departing for Battle, the Statue of the Goddess of Victory, and the Statue of the Nameless Hero.
One day, after the Demon King had been slain and the war had finally come to an end, one of the statues mysteriously disappeared from the Central Garden.
It was the Statue of the Nameless Hero.
In its place, only a small plaque remained.
The right to mourn these people belongs to me.— Enrique Crown Prince Alexander flew into a rage, calling it an insult to the royal family.
Princess Elizaveta, however, acknowledged Enrique’s right and abandoned any attempt to recover the statue.
Of course, no one knows the truth.
After all, there was little reason to make an enemy of the legendary master thief who had stolen a statue from the royal garden—located right beside the palace—in a single night, and who also happened to be a member of the Hero’s Party that had slain the Demon King.
In that sense, Elizaveta had handled the matter perfectly.
She neither offended Enrique nor diminished the dignity of the royal family.
“…Was this inscription always here?” Ivan stood in a corner of the underground sewer, gazing at the Statue of the Nameless Hero.
It had taken him only three hours to find it after searching the southern Prizhenkaya sewers using nothing more than the information that Enrique’s “dungeon” was hidden somewhere beneath them.
The pedestal bore another inscription.
Even when your names are forgotten, your glory shall remain eternal.
In place of all those who are absent.
For all those who are absent.
— Elizaveta Kirillovna Krasilof — Enrique Sergeyevica Ivan removed his hat, placed it over his chest, and silently bowed.
When he had first heard that the statue would be erected, he had been too embarrassed to even think about visiting it.
And by the time he happened to stop by the Central Garden one day, Enrique had already removed the statue.
Just as he finished paying his respects, a voice echoed through the sewer, carrying a faint laugh.
“Do not mourn those who departed before us.” “For I now stand in the same ranks as they do.” “So…
you still remember.
Good.” “Welcome, Little Ivan.” With a metallic groan, the base of the statue twisted.
Stone scraped against stone as the wall split apart, revealing a hidden passage.
Beyond it lay a lavish corridor leading to a reception room—completely different from the damp, foul-smelling sewer where Ivan had been standing moments before.
As he walked through the extravagantly decorated hallway, whose walls were draped in silk, Ivan slowly steeled himself.
Like most members of the Hero’s Party, Grandmaster Enrique was completely insane.
Of course, at that very moment, Enrique was thinking exactly the same thing about Ivan.
Like most members of the Extermination Unit, Little Ivan was completely insane.
*** “It’s been seven years since we’ve met face to face, hasn’t it?
So then…
have you been well, my disciple?” “So-so.” Ivan sat in the reception room, sipping his coffee.
The first sip was tiny.
He rolled it around inside his mouth before swallowing.
It was a matter of etiquette.
And like most etiquette among assassins, it existed to prevent poisoning.
No poison.
Ivan gave a slight nod and was about to enjoy the coffee— “Ah, but modern chemical poisons can’t be identified by taste anymore.” “…I see.” He calmly spat the coffee back into the cup and set it on the table.
“Haha!
Just kidding, just kidding!
Shall I bring you a fresh one?” “No need.
I didn’t come here for tea.” “You’re as stiff as ever.
And you’re still so young.” Smiling with narrowed eyes, Enrique sprawled across her luxurious sofa.
A slit in her silk dress briefly revealed one of her snow-white legs.
Naturally, that was nowhere near enough to catch Ivan’s attention.
The monster before him was already well over a hundred years old.
Just how many elixirs and blood essences had she consumed over the decades?
Unable to help himself, Ivan imagined a venomous viper staring at him while flicking its tongue.
It was only natural.
This was the den of a vampire.
An Elder Vampire.
Shadow Blade.
The Fang of Darkness.
And the “traitor,” Enrique.
A century ago, she had betrayed the Elder Vampire who had turned her, drained its blood instead, and brought the vampire rampages scattered throughout Prizhenkaya to an end.
Since then, she had taken countless lives over the course of a century under the pretense of accepting assassination requests.
Had the Demon King never appeared, perhaps the Hero would have hunted her down instead.
Beneath the table, Ivan quietly rested his hand on the handle of his axe.
“So…
you came sooner than I expected.
That’s actually more like the old you.
Though…
being ‘like your old self’ isn’t exactly a compliment between us, is it?” “Where’s Priscilla?” “Straight to business!
You’ve always been like that!” Enrique chuckled and laced her fingers together.
Her dress rippled softly, accentuating her alluring figure.
(Needless to say, Ivan wasn’t about to be swayed by a woman seventy years older than him.
His acceptable age range only extended ten years above or below his own.) “So then…
do you think I questioned her?
Or not?” “You didn’t.” “Oh?
And how can you be so sure?” “If you had, you would’ve ambushed me instead of inviting me.” Staring at her coldly, Ivan continued.
“Wasn’t the most important principle you ever taught me revenge?” “Hmm?
That filthy little girl actually falls within the scope of your ‘revenge’?” “I took her in.” He remembered the day he first met Priscilla.
Even among the refugees gathered outside the military camp, she had been an orphan everyone looked down upon.
Losing your parents at such a young age was a terrible thing.
When the only person who could protect you was yourself, children learned to grow up far too quickly.
Rather than crying, Priscilla had always tried to act brave.
The world already contained far too many miserable people for anyone to spare sympathy for one grieving child.
To pity someone else, a person first needed enough room in their own heart.
Back then, the United Kingdom had no such luxury.
That was why Ivan still remembered Priscilla and several other children.
He had retired from the military to establish an orphanage specifically so he could take them in.
To him, they were no different from his own children.
And naturally…
If someone hurt your child, you took revenge.
“Don’t look so full of killing intent.
It just makes you seem amateurish.” Enrique smiled sweetly as she set down her teacup.
The black tea inside remained untouched, still full to the brim.
“I taught you this, didn’t I?
Bloodlust belongs to prey.
Covering yourself in bright colors while preaching revenge and self-defense—that’s nothing but the desperate struggle of the weak.” “And your answer?” “She’s still alive.
I haven’t bitten her.
She’s perfectly fine.
I even had her washed, dressed in nice clothes, and fed something delicious.” She slowly rested her pale fingers on the table.
“Now it’s your turn.” “What are you plotting?” “…Hmm?” “I asked what you’re plotting at that ‘orphanage’ of yours.” Enrique was genuinely curious.
When Ivan had said he wanted to take in orphans, she had merely laughed, assuming it was because he had once been an orphan himself.
She had even found it rather touching.
After all, if he had come to her, she would have gladly welcomed him as family.
He had been an adorable disciple.
Then two years passed.
And suddenly, one of the “orphans from the orphanage” appeared.
The boy demonstrated ambush techniques so perfect that even Enrique was astonished.
Honestly, it felt like she’d been blindsided.
It wasn’t exactly a leak of secret techniques.
The methods weren’t unique to her, nor were they some exclusive style passed down to a single successor.
She didn’t mind teaching them.
But sending operatives into the same territory as your own teacher?
Was he seriously trying to compete with her?
She couldn’t help feeling wronged.
After retiring, Ivan had erased his identity and lived as though he were dead.
She hadn’t even gone to see him.
Despite living practically next door, she had never once invited him out for a drink.
And now?
He was sending operatives into her own backyard to establish his own operation?
Wasn’t that practically a declaration of war?
She had even politely invited that insolent brat instead of killing him.
She had gone out of her way to convey: “Let’s not do this.
We have plenty of shared memories.
Do we really need to fight?” Yet this block-headed man sat there acting as though saying: “Touch them, and I’ll kill you.” Honestly…
It hurt.
And what’s with that beard?
Seriously, what is he thinking?
That style went out of fashion a hundred years ago.
Don’t tell me that’s supposed to be a disguise.
I certainly never taught him that.
Even as countless thoughts raced through her mind…
Enrique, the legendary vampire who had lived for over a century and a member of the great Hero’s Party, continued smiling with the same carefree expression.
What am I plotting…?
How much should I actually tell her?
Ivan couldn’t decide.
The reason Elizaveta employed him was because he was an undercover operative.
His past had been thoroughly erased.
His current name was ordinary enough to avoid suspicion.
His appearance had changed dramatically—at least by his own standards.
And, officially, Lieutenant Colonel Ivan Petrovich had already died.
He had even been buried in the National Cemetery.
Which meant…
According to Elizaveta’s orders, both his identity and his mission were classified.
Can I really tell Enrique?
Then again…
didn’t Enrique and Elizaveta have some sort of connection?
After all, Enrique founded the Extermination Unit, and Elizaveta later became its commander.
Both of them smiled calmly.
Both suffered headaches from a lack of information.
Yet both remained as composed and cautious as the thoroughly trained operatives they were.
What the hell is this lunatic thinking?
What the hell is this crazy woman thinking?
Those were the thoughts running through their minds.
Is this betrayal?
How could she do this to me?
…Or is this betrayal?
Did she switch sides from Elizaveta to Alexander?
Master and disciple continued strengthening their bond…
By misunderstanding each other in perfect harmony.
It was a winter night in the middle of January.