Vd scratched his head, squinting at the growing crowd outside the church.

  "Huh... Is this Monday already?" he muttered, the fusion 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 toinged with amusement.

  Vd shrugged. "That's weird. The vilgers usually e on Mondays."

  "So, this is a routihen? They e every week to threaten to burn the church?" Burn asked, his expression a mix of disbelief and suspi.

  "Yeah, sorta like a tradition," Vd replied, nodding as if it made perfect sense.

  "Hey, you're treating this too casually, old man," he remarked, sweatdropping at Vd's nont attitude amidst the chaos unfolding before them.

  As the mob gesticuted wildly, their collective indignation was thiough to cut with a rusty greatsword.

  They surged forward, a tidal wave of old grievances and new pitchforks, the noise level esg as if someone had told them the church was h the st remaining bread oh.

  Then the leader stepped forward, mounted nobly on a stallion that looked like it had just stepped out of a fairy tale. armor so shiny it could have doubled as a sor panel, he was the epitome of medieval chic.

  Clearly, his wardrobe screamed, "I'm here not only to trol these peasants but to look dazzling while doing it."

  With a flourish that could only have been practiced in front of a mirror, he sigo his aide—a less-dazzling mini-me.

  This aide, atop his horse whidoubtedly was the runner-up in the 'fi stallion' category, took a deep breath. His armor wasn't as eye-catg, suggesting perhaps he wasn’t as important of a person pared to the uy.

  "SILENCE!" he anded, his voiing with ued authority. It was the kind of shout used to scare off bears or silen 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 ical tableau of suspended rage.

  The aide looked momentarily disappointed, his eyes flig to his leader for a sign of approval. The leader, maintaining his poise, nodded subtly—a silent aowledgement that screamed, "Good job, but let's not make a habit of outshining the boss."

  Burn turoward Vd after seeing everything, tilted his head as his curiosity tickled, “Do they always e with knights every Monday, too?”

  He couldn’t help but be amused, watg Vd suddenly adopt a more somber expression—as if the appearance of knights was the secret ingredient o spice up his usual Monday drama. This vampire… would he start showing his true self?

  “I ’t remember. Did they always bring the knights…?” the man in bck robe tilted his head, mirr Burn. He mused, his tone suggesting he was trying to recall whether it was knights, or circus performers who st stormed the church.

  “You senile…!”

  "ENOUGH! You demon worshipers… quit your ad surrehe people you brainwashed!" he bellowed, his voice dripping with the kind of dramatic fervor usually reserved for soap operas.

  The aide's accusatiohrough the air like a misguided missile, nding squarely in front of Vd and Burn, who were standing somewhat heroically—or foolishly, depending on one's perspective—in front of the churbsp;

  Burn turo Vd, his eyes narrowing into suspicious slits.

  "Ohh, right, you braineople?" he asked, his tone suggesting he wouldn't be entirely surprised if Vd pulled out a manual titled 'Brainwashing finners'.

  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 is.

  But, somethi amiss.

  The church, despite its gloom and peculiarity, eaceful 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 ughing, but suppressed it just in time with his stone cold face.

  Anyway, Burn had no stake in their ‘traditions’ of distent nor any desire to sway the oute of their fervent, albeit ‘routine’, standoff. His objective was singur and far removed from the political or social intricacies of vilge life.

  He was here for the witch.

  Burn's search had led him to this unlikely location, guided by hints that the witch frequehe area for reasons known only to her.

  And just as he thought, Vd didn’t even try to lift his veil and hypnotize the mobs.

  Instead…

  “Why should I leave the nd I owned? Boy, do you know who you’re talking to?”

  Burn got goosebumps as Vd's deep voiexpectedly 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 Vd’s rea 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 regurity of these frontations that Vd had mentiohe notion that the mobs came every Monday seemed increasingly dubious.

  Given Vd’s formidable abilities and his pacifist approach, particurly with his mind trol powers, it was uhat these vilgers could sistently muster the will to challehe church each week, unless Vd permitted it. Or…

  Something had helped them to break free from the mind trol.

  "Your nd? The audacity to y cim to the venerable soils of Wintersin as though they were your own personal chattel! Be remihat this empire is the hallowed domain of the imperial lihe aide decred, his voice dripping with disdain.

  "Moreover, the gentleman before you is her than His Royal Highness, the Sed Prince himself!"

  Ohhh, the man with the fi armor was that Sed Prince?

  Burn truly wao buy some pop and immerse himself in the drama now.

  It's a pity Gahad 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.

  Vd didn’t seem to aowledge Burn’s words. He just stood there, body covered in bck from head to toe, fatirely hidden by a veil that not even his eyes were visible.

  Strangely, his bck figure seemed to look darker and darker each sed.

  In the middle of that, Burn saw the guy with the best armesturing again to the man beside him. His aide flinched and nodded.

  The aide cleared his throat with great emphasis, a practiced maneuver desigo recim the attention of the now-silent crowd.

  "Ahem, ahem!" he began. He adjusted his slightly less gmorous armor, making a show of smoothing out a ent wrinkle, drawing all eyes to him.

  "How magnanimous indeed is His Highness!" he procimed, sweeping his arm in a broad, generous arc, as if physically dispersing rgesse upon the vilgers.

  "For he has not fotten your acts of kindness and shelter provided during his time of dire need, when you teo his injuries with such selfless devotion," he paused.

  "In reition of your loyalty and service," he tinued, 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 nds."

  His hand, the less shiny gau, swept across the crowd slowly, as if bestowing a final beion. "Eveer…"

  “Bring out your women and His Highness will shelter them in his pace, free of charge! He would absolve them of the accusation ahem stay there forever under his prote!”

  “Pfffft—!”

  So that was why.