Fangless: The Alpha's Vampire Mate-Chapter 301: Goodwill Gestures

"I told you to coat the blade with a poison lethal to vampires," Kaan said, his tone hovering between exasperation and amusement. "And yet, the target bounced back to life as if nothing had happened. So tell me—was this breathtaking failure due to sheer incompetence or outright defiance?"

The scholar stiffened, his mind spinning like a poorly oiled wheel. Had His Majesty figured out his little act of defiance? Was Kaan just toying with him, waiting to see if he’d crack? Was this some kind of twisted second chance—confess and live?

But would Kaan really spare him? No. Impossible.

As the scholar wrestled with his thoughts, another voice, thin and unsteady, cut through the silence.

"It must have been the one who delivered the blade, Your Majesty!" a voice piped up, quivering like a leaf in a hurricane. "He’s the only one who could have tampered with it without leaving witnesses! He must have done it on his way to you!"

Another scholar, sensing an opportunity to not die, jumped in eagerly. "Yes! I saw it with my own eyes!"

Total nonsense. But fear had a funny way of turning otherwise intelligent men into desperate, lying weasels. They all knew the truth. The poor junior scholar they’d sent to deliver the blade had nothing to do with this mess. But he was already dead, which made him the perfect scapegoat.

It’s not like he’d argue. So what harm was there in shifting the blame onto him?

The scholars firmly believed the poison had worked just fine—the only mystery was why the Blood Moon child had come back to life. Their conclusion? The poison simply didn’t affect her. The why didn’t matter. What mattered was survival.

They could always analyze the poison later—assuming they made it out of this cursed forest in one piece.

Forgive me, Moritz. But you’re dead, so do us one last favor and take the fall for this one too.

Then, as chaos erupted—scholars, witches, and wizards frantically piling onto the accusation to save their own skins—he saw his chance. The shouting, the finger-pointing, the desperate attempts at self-preservation...

Driven by a potent mix of guilt and sheer terror, the senior scholar—the true culprit behind the fiasco—began inching away from the group. Step by slow, silent step, he retreated into the shadows of the thick trees, his breath shallow, his pulse hammering in his ears.

Let them fight. Let them scramble. The chaos was his shield.

He turned and ran.

And he kept running. Through the forest, across the fields, all the way to the nearest village, where he promptly vanished into the crowd like a particularly shifty ghost.

That was the only reason he lived to see another day—because, unlike his colleagues, he had the good sense to run while he still had legs to do it.

Meanwhile, back in the Forest of the Strays, Kaan watched the pitiful display before him with an amused smirk. Watching them squirm, betray one another, and grasp at flimsy lies was almost too entertaining.

The wide eyes, the trembling hands, the way they all clung to their lies like shipwrecked sailors grasping at driftwood. His fingers twitched with the urge to unleash his power, to make an example of them right then and there.

But no. He had to be selective.

"Scholars who can’t wield magic, step forward," Kaan commanded, gesturing to the empty space at his right. His tone was calm, almost pleasant.

The fear in their eyes deepened.

"Is this all?" Kaan asked, his voice calm, almost bored.

"Yes, Your Majesty," came the response—except it wasn’t a neat, unified reply. Instead, it was a messy chorus of overlapping voices, stammering out the same words at slightly different times, like a badly rehearsed chant.

The messiness of it annoyed him. Just a little. Honestly, if they were going to beg for their lives, the least they could do was get their timing right.

But, eh—no point in getting worked up over it. They were about to die anyway.

Satisfied with the arrangement, he raised his hand. In a blink, the group of magicless scholars crumbled into dust, their final, pitiful attempts at survival reduced to nothing more than a whisper on the wind.

Gasps rippled through the crowd. Some scholars collapsed where they stood, legs giving out beneath them. Others broke into panicked, wailing sobs. A handful had the brilliant idea to run—because, sure, now was definitely the time to test their luck against an all-powerful emperor.

Kaan let them take a few steps.

"I will not tolerate more treachery," he announced, his voice cutting through the hysteria like a blade. "If you think you can win against me or outrun me, by all means—run."

He gestured vaguely toward the trees.

"Let’s see how far you get."

With that chilling warning, the remaining members of the underground unit froze in place, not even daring to breathe too loudly. Those who had been crying fell silent instantly, as if even a single sniffle might be the thing that set Kaan off.

Satisfied with their newfound discipline—fear was such a wonderful teacher—Kaan took one last glance around before speaking.

"Alright, moving on," he said, as if they hadn’t just watched their colleagues get vaporized. "We still have a demon to conquer, and I’d really hate to waste all my energy on you lot before we get there."

And with that, he strode forward, expecting them to follow. Because, really, what other choice did they have?

***

Some time ago, Roderick had caught wind of troubling news—Kaan had ordered the Imperial Army to position themselves in Eira under the noble guise of ’protecting the kingdom.’ Now, sitting in the carriage before the emperor himself, he needed to hear it straight from the source.

"Your Majesty, is it true?"

Kaan turned his gaze on Roderick, studying him. The furrowed brow, the tense grip of his hand—it was clear he wasn’t thrilled.

"Yes," Kaan admitted, ever so honest. But the next part would be lies.

"Eira is in trouble. The Vampire Hunter is roaming free. If I want to conquer the world and make Eira kneel before me, I should at least pretend to be helpful, shouldn’t I? A little ’goodwill gesture’ never hurt anyone."

Goodwill gesture? Roderick would’ve laughed—if he weren’t so horrified.

"But, Your Majesty," he said, voice tight with barely restrained panic, "that could easily be seen as an invasion. They never asked for our help, and yet, you’re sending an army anyway. This kind of unsolicited assistance could backfire on us."

Oh, poor Roderick. So naive. He still didn’t get it, did he?

Kaan wasn’t offering protection—he was setting the stage for something much bigger. The army was just his foot in the door. Once they were inside, the rest of his plan would roll out smoothly, like a well-oiled guillotine.

I suppose it’s time to tell him the truth.