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

"So this… is what a Dead Apostle looks like…"

The sun had already risen. Bathed in its light, the scene before her made Domitius unconsciously murmur those words.

After staying in Antioch for three days, Novia had begun the journey back to Rome with her. Yet, not far from a certain port, deep within a forest, she witnessed this grotesque sight with her own eyes—

An unknown village, blood staining every corner, over a hundred corpses strewn about. The ground was slick with crimson and black, and amidst it all, humanoid creatures prowled, growling with bestial hunger, their thirst for blood palpable. In comparison, ordinary humans seemed utterly powerless.

Malice, violence, and brutal savagery forced upon the world—the oppressive atmosphere gnawed at her nerves, making it difficult to keep calm.

Dead Apostles… Domitius had heard Novia mention them before. Essentially, they were humans who had undergone a certain transformation—created as emergency sustenance for beings known as the "True Ancestors."

While the True Ancestors drank blood for "spiritual stability," the Dead Apostles did so purely for the preservation of their physical bodies.

In other words, for the True Ancestors, blood-drinking was entertainment; for the Dead Apostles, it was as essential as breathing.

Over time, these Dead Apostles developed an arrogance toward their vampiric nature, enhancing their abilities and strengthening their will. Those who escaped the True Ancestors' control continuously fed on humans to survive, slipping into human society to conceal their existence.

Such was the origin of the Dead Apostles—the beginning of the vampire species born from humanity itself. And among them, those ancient ones who had evaded the True Ancestors' control in the earliest days were known as the Twenty-Seven Dead Apostle Ancestors.

There were even some Dead Apostles unrelated to the True Ancestors—those who, in pursuit of the ultimate path of sorcery, evolved into undying beings. Though their origins differed, they too were categorized as vampires.

The massacre of this village was perpetrated by the lowest rank of Dead Apostles, mere "Dead." In truth, even a novice magus could deal with such creatures. Throughout the nearly two million square kilometers of the Roman Empire, incidents like this occurred from time to time. In the cities, magi were often stationed to deal with them, so such massacres rarely happened there. But in remote, impoverished places like this, people could only watch helplessly as slaughter unfolded.

"Five Dead, and sixty-seven households lost… I've already contacted the nearest magus to prevent a secondary corpse mutation."

Domitius pulled herself from her thoughts, her eyes still fixed coldly on the lifeless corpses of the Dead Apostles. Her delicate brows did not waver in the slightest. Within her pupils lingered a frigid, clear hatred.

Novia, who had swiftly exterminated the Dead, placed a silver cross on the ground and silently channeled magecraft into it.

The present era was fundamentally different from what would come later—the vast foundation of human magecraft, revered in future times, had yet to be properly established. For common people who knew no magic, there was no way to defend themselves against even low-ranked Dead Apostles. They could only pray for sunlight or hope that a benevolent magus passed by. Religious purification rituals alone offered no protection.

"Deluded degenerates clinging to their sense of superiority… I almost pity them…"

The village, slaughtered mercilessly by the Dead Apostles, reminded Domitius of the Roman court—the same scheming, the same power struggles. Or perhaps, both were merely reflections of the same brutal truths.

She felt a strange sense of familiarity. Grief for the innocent lives lost mingled with a faint, dark satisfaction—the tiny details reinforcing her understanding of the world.

In life, only victors thrived. To secure better treatment, to live a better life, one had no choice but to trample others underfoot. Such was the unyielding law of the Roman court.

The vast empire existed for the sake of the victors, not as some fairy tale where all were kind and gentle. People's so-called kindness was reserved for those who posed no threat.

Only in moments like this—when she could freely do as she deemed right—did the unease from her childhood seem to fade, if only slightly.

"Pitiful as they may be, they still bear their share of blame. Besides… acceptance and forgiveness are not the same thing."

Silver hair swayed softly beside the flames devouring the corpses. On Novia's face, those blue eyes shimmered faintly, cold and calm as an icy lake.

"Domitius, you must understand—the Dead Apostles who prey upon humanity are evil. Such hostility needs no justification, whether for the dignity of humanity or the honor of your royal blood."

"Yes, Teacher."

Domitius, expressionless until now, finally wavered slightly. Amid the somber silence, she lowered her gaze.

Novia spared her only a fleeting glance, then silently continued tossing the mutilated bodies of the villagers into the fire. The crackling of burning flesh filled the air—no other sound disturbed the quiet.

That is, until it arrived—an overwhelming wave of magical energy, approaching them openly, without the slightest attempt at concealment.

"That aura… an Ancestor? If this is an ambush, they're not even trying to hide it."

The silver-haired youth turned his gaze toward the source of the ominous power. It far surpassed that of ordinary Dead Apostles, yet still fell short of beings like Divine Spirit Osiris.

"Ah, friend, you misunderstand. Just coincidence, nothing more. I had no hand in this slaughter."

A voice drifted through the air, distant and unclear.

"…Eh? Eh?!"

At that moment, hearing Novia's words, Domitius' eyes widened in shock. She had steeled herself at the mention of an "Ancestor"—but what appeared utterly defied her expectations—

It wasn't even human.

It was… a talking lock.

"Haha, seems I've startled the young lady. Well, I can't blame you—it took me a long time to settle on this form. By the way, is this your student, friend?"

The "lock" sounded strangely cheerful, continuing, "Right, let me introduce myself—"

"No need. I know you. God has already told me."

Before the lock could finish, Novia interrupted, his silver hair swaying, a faint smile on his face.

"Failed your challenge against Crimson Moon at the twilight of the Age of Gods. Branded with pure-blood servitude and too ashamed to face your old companions, you've been hiding in an underground labyrinth ever since, haven't you…?

Koback Alcatraz."