"Tch, that woman Narbareck..."
The White-Winged Duke turned his head and glanced toward distant Misaki Town.
The dream realm, as insubstantial as mist, had developed crisscrossing, neatly arrayed furrows like porcelain being fired in a kiln.
Even ordinary people who knew nothing of Wallachia's nature or rules could recognize this as a sign that its form was on the verge of collapse.
"I gave her so many advantages, and she only bought this little time. She probably took matters into her own hands again, hoping to reap two benefits at once. This is why I hate dealing with lunatics like her..."
The white-winged vampire spread his wings. Dressed in a pristine white suit, he looked every inch a refined nobleman, but his words lacked any elegance to match that image, brimming instead with irritation and anxiety.
That was hardly surprising.
Although he cared deeply about his image and reputation, most of that behavior served to consolidate his ambitions rather than express any innate nobility. Otherwise, he would not have brooded over his merely nominal title as king of the Dead Apostles and become Altrouge Brunestud's sworn enemy.
When facing those weaker than himself, or sacrifices he could accept, he could still maintain his elegance. Once that threshold exceeded his limits, however, lapses in composure were inevitable.
Simply tracking down the Night of Wallachia had cost the White-Winged Duke untold effort. Adding the Forest of Einnashe and the price of inviting Rita and Smiley was enough to empty the wealth he had accumulated over nearly a thousand years.
Moreover, he had entered the game himself, even offering Nero and Roa, two immediately available fighting assets, as sacrifices to the princess.
To the White-Winged Duke, watching Narbareck squander such an enormous investment felt like a self-made tycoon watching a wastrel who had