Vlad scratched his head, squinting at the growing crowd outside the church.
"Huh... Is this Monday already?" he muttered, the confusion evident on his face.
Burn, standing beside him, raised an eyebrow.
"What does it have to do with Monday? It's not Monday, but Thursday," he pointed out, his tone tinged with amusement.
Vlad shrugged. "That's weird. The villagers usually come on Mondays."
"So, this is a routine, then? They come every week to threaten to burn the church?" Burn asked, his expression a mix of disbelief and suspicion.
"Yeah, sorta like a tradition," Vlad replied, nodding as if it made perfect sense.
"Hey, you're treating this too casually, old man," he remarked, sweatdropping at Vlad's nonchalant attitude amidst the chaos unfolding before them.
As the mob gesticulated wildly, their collective indignation was thick enough to cut with a rusty greatsword.
They surged forward, a tidal wave of old grievances and new pitchforks, the noise level escalating as if someone had told them the church was hoarding the last remaining bread on earth.
Then the leader stepped forward, mounted nobly on a stallion that looked like it had just stepped out of a fairy tale. Clad in armor so shiny it could have doubled as a solar panel, he was the epitome of medieval chic.
Clearly, his wardrobe screamed, "I'm here not only to control these peasants but to look dazzling while doing it."
With a flourish that could only have been practiced in front of a mirror, he signaled to his aide—a less-dazzling mini-me.
This aide, atop his horse which undoubtedly was the runner-up in the 'finest stallion' category, took a deep breath. His armor wasn't as eye-catching, suggesting perhaps he wasn’t as important of a person compared to the other guy.
"SILENCE!" he commanded, his voice booming with unexpected authority. It was the kind of shout used to scare off bears or silence an orchestra of squabbling toddlers.
Miraculously, the mob's volume dropped from uprising-frenzy to library-quiet in a heartbeat. Pitchforks paused mid-thrust, torches stopped mid-swing, and a hush fell over the crowd, their expressions frozen in a comical tableau of suspended rage.
The aide looked momentarily disappointed, his eyes flicking to his leader for a sign of approval. The leader, maintaining his poise, nodded subtly—a silent acknowledgement that screamed, "Good job, but let's not make a habit of outshining the boss."
Burn turned toward Vlad after seeing everything, tilted his head as his curiosity tickled, “Do they always come with knights every Monday, too?”
He couldn’t help but be amused, watching Vlad suddenly adopt a more somber expression—as if the appearance of knights was the secret ingredient needed to spice up his usual Monday drama. This vampire… would he start showing his true self?
“I can’t remember. Did they always bring the knights…?” the man in black robe tilted his head, mirroring Burn. He mused, his tone suggesting he was trying to recall whether it was knights, or circus performers who last stormed the church.
“You senile…!”
"ENOUGH! You demon worshipers… quit your act and surrender the people you brainwashed!" he bellowed, his voice dripping with the kind of dramatic fervor usually reserved for soap operas.
The aide's accusation flew through the air like a misguided missile, landing squarely in front of Vlad and Burn, who were standing somewhat heroically—or foolishly, depending on one's perspective—in front of the church.
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Burn turned to Vlad, his eyes narrowing into suspicious slits.
"Ohh, right, you brainwash people?" he asked, his tone suggesting he wouldn't be entirely surprised if Vlad pulled out a manual titled 'Brainwashing for Beginners'.
Ultimately, Burn remained puzzled by this old man. He seemed like an unreliable narrator in a story, portraying himself as a senile old vampire—yet shrouded in secrets.
But, something felt amiss.
The church, despite its gloom and peculiarity, was a peaceful haven for vampires—well, for the unusual vampires who worshiped God.
It wasn’t at all a gathering of suspicious…
Well, they WERE suspicious.
But they weren’t dangerous…
They were. They were LITERALLY vampires.
“Pffft—” Burn almost burst out laughing, but suppressed it just in time with his stone cold face.
Anyway, Burn had no stake in their ‘traditions’ of discontent nor any desire to sway the outcome of their fervent, albeit ‘routine’, standoff. His objective was singular and far removed from the political or social intricacies of village life.
He was here for the witch.
Burn's search had led him to this unlikely location, guided by hints that the witch frequented the area for reasons known only to her.
And just as he thought, Vlad didn’t even try to lift his veil and hypnotize the mobs.
Instead…
“Why should I leave the land I owned? Boy, do you know who you’re talking to?”
Burn got goosebumps as Vlad's deep voice unexpectedly resonated around them. It wasn't loud, yet it seemed as though he was whispering directly into everyone's ears.
He arched his eyebrows, taken aback by Vlad’s reaction to their provocation.
Like Burn thought, the presence of knights was a novel addition; the mobs had never included such armored escorts before.
Moreover, he began to question the regularity of these confrontations that Vlad had mentioned. The notion that the mobs came every Monday seemed increasingly dubious.
Given Vlad’s formidable abilities and his pacifist approach, particularly with his mind control powers, it was unlikely that these villagers could consistently muster the will to challenge the church each week, unless Vlad permitted it. Or…
Something had helped them to break free from the mind control.
"Your land? The audacity to lay claim to the venerable soils of Wintersin as though they were your own personal chattel! Be reminded that this empire is the hallowed domain of the imperial lineage!" the aide declared, his voice dripping with disdain.
"Moreover, the gentleman before you is none other than His Royal Highness, the Second Prince himself!"
Ohhh, the man with the finest armor was that Second Prince?
Burn truly wanted to buy some popcorn and immerse himself in the drama now.
It's a pity Galahad wasn't around to pen this into a script worthy of a noblesque-supernatural-drama-filled-mystery opera that Burn could enjoy in his leisure time.
“Too bad, old vampire. You entangled yourself with the famous asshole of the imperial family,” Burn grinned.
Vlad didn’t seem to acknowledge Burn’s words. He just stood there, body covered in black from head to toe, face entirely hidden by a veil that not even his eyes were visible.
Strangely, his black figure seemed to look darker and darker each second.
In the middle of that, Burn saw the guy with the best armor gesturing again to the man beside him. His aide flinched and nodded.
The aide cleared his throat with great emphasis, a practiced maneuver designed to reclaim the attention of the now-silent crowd.
"Ahem, ahem!" he began. He adjusted his slightly less glamorous armor, making a show of smoothing out a non-existent wrinkle, drawing all eyes to him.
"How magnanimous indeed is His Highness!" he proclaimed, sweeping his arm in a broad, generous arc, as if physically dispersing largesse upon the villagers.
"For he has not forgotten your acts of kindness and shelter provided during his time of dire need, when you tended to his injuries with such selfless devotion," he paused.
"In recognition of your loyalty and service," he continued, his voice dipping into solemn tones, "His Highness has graciously decreed to grant you a period of grace—a time allotted for you to make preparations to vacate these lands."
His hand, clad in the less shiny gauntlet, swept across the crowd slowly, as if bestowing a final benediction. "Even better…"
“Bring out your women and His Highness will shelter them in his palace, free of charge! He would absolve them of the accusation and let them stay there forever under his protection!”
“Pfffft—!”
So that was why.