My Wives Are Seven Beautiful Demonesses-Chapter 129 - No. Alucard Killed His Daughter?!

Chapter 129: Chapter No.129 Alucard Killed His Daughter?!

[Location: Dungeon—Vampire King’s Castle]

Behind us, Eris giggled faintly in her sleep, hugging the shadow-behemoth’s snout tighter. The massive shadow adjusted minutely, cradling her with a gentleness that would have horrified its former living self.

Carmilla noticed.

Of course she did.

Her gaze lingered there longer than before, something old and complicated flickering behind her eyes.

"...I had a daughter once," she said casually.

"Once? Is she—"

I didn’t finish the sentence.

I didn’t need to.

Carmilla’s steps faltered.

Just barely.

Not enough that anyone untrained would notice—but I did. The smooth cadence of her movement broke for half a heartbeat, heels hovering a fraction too long above the marble before settling again. The music did not stop, but the illusionary nobles beyond the windows blurred, as if the memory itself had flinched.

She didn’t look at me.

Her gaze drifted instead toward Eris.

Toward the way my daughter slept without fear, wrapped around a monster that would have once reduced entire bloodlines to screaming pulp.

"...No," Carmilla said softly. "She is not."

The word carried weight.

Not grief.

Not rage.

Something colder.

Something finished.

I let the silence stretch.

Eris shifted in her sleep, wings fluttering once, a faint, content sound escaping her lips. The shadow-behemoth adjusted again, impossibly careful, lowering its massive snout so her cheek rested more comfortably against its shadowed plate.

Carmilla watched that.

Really watched it.

"You’re wondering how," she continued after a moment, tone light again—too light. "How a Queen of Vampires lost her child. Disease? Assassination? Some ancient ritual gone wrong?"

Her lips curved faintly.

"No."

The chandeliers dimmed another shade.

"Her father killed her."

The ballroom went still.

Not frozen—no dramatic shattering of illusion, no collapse of witchflame—but stilled, like a breath being held too long. Even Astra stopped humming. Paimon’s casual slouch straightened. Vael’s fingers tightened imperceptibly around his weapon.

Erebus did not move.

He did not need to. 𝕗𝗿𝕖𝐞𝐰𝗲𝕓𝐧𝕠𝕧𝗲𝐥.𝚌𝐨𝚖

"...Alucard," Carmilla said, finally looking at me again. "The Vampire King."

There it was.

The title spoken without reverence.

Without hatred.

As if she were naming a natural disaster that had already passed.

"For what reason?" I asked.

No accusation.

No judgment.

Just a question.

Carmilla laughed softly, shaking her head. "Ah... that’s the cruel part, isn’t it? There was no reason. Only fear."

She gestured vaguely toward the illusionary city beyond the windows. "He saw shadows in every corner. Betrayal in every smile. The longer he ruled, the more eternity terrified him. And when she was born..."

Her voice softened despite herself.

"...she was wrong."

I frowned slightly. "Wrong?"

"Too bright," Carmilla said. "Too warm. She laughed like a mortal. Loved like one too. She questioned him. Not rebelliously—innocently. Why must we drink this way? Why do we rule this way? Why does everything have to rot so slowly?"

Her gaze sharpened. "And he looked at her... and saw an ending."

Eris stirred again, murmuring something incoherent, tiny fingers tightening around the shadow-behemoth’s snout. The beast rumbled softly, a sound of reassurance rather than power.

Carmilla inhaled.

Slow.

Measured.

"She was a liability," she finished. "So he erased her."

The music resumed its slow rhythm, but it felt wrong now—like a lie told too smoothly.

Astra broke the silence first, unusually subdued. "Wow. That’s... wow. Even by undead royalty standards, that’s impressively awful."

"Alucard always was," Carmilla replied mildly.

I studied her face.

Still composed.

Still elegant.

But beneath that—something had changed. The flirtation was gone. The testing curiosity, too.

This was confession.

"Why tell me this?" I asked.

She met my gaze squarely. "Because you asked."

A pause.

"And because you brought her here."

Her eyes flicked to Eris again.

"You could have left the child behind," Carmilla continued. "Silly me~ she’s not even a child really. Alucard wanted her for..."

"For what?!"

My fingers tightened around Carmilla’s shoulders before I realized I’d moved.

Not violently.

Not crushing.

But firm enough that the message was unmistakable.

The music warped—just a little—like a record dragged under a finger. The witchflame in the chandeliers flickered, violet turning sharp at the edges. Behind me, Erebus’ presence sharpened by a degree, not enough to threaten, but enough that the room itself acknowledged a line had been crossed.

Carmilla did not recoil.

She did not flinch.

She simply looked down at my hands.

Then back up at my face.

Slowly.

Carefully.

Her smile, when it returned, was no longer flirtatious.

It was... sad.

"For succession," she said quietly. "For consumption. For prophecy. Pick your poison, Lord Intruder. Alucard cycled through all three before settling on the simplest answer."

Her hands rose and gently—not forcefully—rested over mine, easing my grip without resistance.

"He wanted to eat her."

The words landed with a dull finality.

Not shocking.

Not explosive.

Just... obscene.

Eris whimpered softly in her sleep, sensing the shift in my emotions even without understanding them. A thread of something dark tugged at the edge of my consciousness, instinct screaming, destroy, erase, kill.

I forced it down.

Slowly.

Methodically.

Conqueror’s Will did not surge.

It condensed.

I released Carmilla and took a step back.

"Explain," I said flatly.

Carmilla exhaled, relief flickering through her eyes—relief not at being released, but at the fact that I was still listening.

"Alucard has always been... flawed," she began, pacing slowly across the dance floor, skirts whispering against marble. "Immortality without evolution. Eternity without ascent. Vampires stagnate, Lord Intruder. We rot beautifully, but we rot nonetheless."

"That’s why he turned to devouring... divinity. He drank divinity, feasted on godflesh. He drank the ichor of two Archangels and devoured them whole... Gods feared him; wherever he went," Carmilla continued softly, picking up the thread without haste, "the gods learned how to bleed."

"Then... he came..." She paused.

"Helel." I completed her, as I already know what happened afterwards.

— Helel, also later known as Lucifer Morningstar, was the one to end the Vampire King’s reign.

— The Vampire King, Alucard Dracul, was not slain by blade, spell, or holy rite. He was sealed. Bound beneath his own castle by the Archangel, Helel, for crimes that transcended death.

— He drank divinity. He feasted on godflesh. He dared to taste the ichor of the Archangels themselves.

— For that, even the Thrones trembled.

— But Helel could not kill what was beyond death. The seal was made using three fragments of the Crown—the same that bound the Morningstar’s soul. When the Morningstar fell, so too did the prison weaken.

Those words in the book, I read in the library of Morningstar Manor.

And with two of the three pieces of the crown inside my inventory, I know I’m making a mistake by going to Alucard myself.

But getting stronger is—

—necessary.

Not optional.

Not negotiable.

That truth settled in my chest like a second spine, cold and unyielding.

I don’t want to see that view again— of Grayfia lying in the pool of her own blood, barely hanging to life.

I imagine many times, what if she didn’t come back in time next time? What if Zeraphira? Gabriel? Or... Eris died because I wasn’t—

I don’t look at Carmilla.

I don’t look at anyone.

I look at Eris.

Her breathing is slow. Even. Each rise and fall of her chest is a quiet accusation.

This is why.

I close my eyes for half a second.

When I open them again, the ballroom feels smaller.

Heavier.

"...So he killed her," I say, voice steady in a way that takes effort. "And then decided she was more useful as fuel than as proof he was wrong."

Carmilla doesn’t correct me.

That’s answer enough.

"He didn’t do it immediately," she says after a pause. "Not at first. He tried to fix her."

Her lips curl, faintly. "He locked her away. Starved her. Fed her blood treated with curses meant to burn out empathy. Healers, alchemists, prophets—everyone took a turn."

My jaw tightens.

"She kept asking when she could see me again."

The illusionary city outside the windows flickers—one tower crumbling silently, like a memory collapsing under its own weight.

"She never screamed," Carmilla continues. "That was the worst part. She smiled at him every time he visited. Told him she loved him. Told him she’d be good."

Her eyes finally lose their composure.

Just for a breath.

"Eventually," she finishes, "he decided it was kinder to end it."

Kinder.

Astra makes a low sound in her throat that is halfway between disgust and rage. Paimon’s shadow flickers, sharpening for a moment before settling. Vael exhales slowly through his nose, the way soldiers do when they catalogue a future enemy.

Erebus remains still.

But I feel him.

A pressure at my back. Solid. Absolute.

I adjust Eris in my arms, shifting her weight so her head rests more comfortably against my shoulder. She murmurs something incoherent, then relaxes again.

Good.

She doesn’t need to hear this.

"You stayed," I say to Carmilla. "After that."

"Yes."

No hesitation.

"Why?"

Her gaze meets mine again. This time, there is no flirtation at all. No testing. No pretense.

"Because if I left," she says softly, "he would have convinced himself she never existed."

Silence stretches.

"That floor," I continue, gesturing faintly around us, "this entire performance—this isn’t indulgence."

"No," Carmilla agrees. "It’s preservation."

A museum.

I nod once.

"I’m not here to kill you," I say. "You already know that."

She smiles faintly. "Yes. If you were, I’d be dead."

Confident.

Not arrogant.

Just... accurate.

"And you’re not here to stop me from reaching him," I add.

Her smile fades. "No."

"Then what do you want?"

Carmilla looks past me, toward Eris again.

"For you," she says slowly, "to answer one question honestly."

I don’t respond.

She takes that as permission.

"When you face Alucard," she asks, "and he offers you power—true power—will you take it?"

A test.

Not of strength.

Of intent.

"My sword buried inside his gut would be the—"

I stopped myself.

Not because the thought was wrong.

Because it was incomplete.

The ballroom waited.

Carmilla waited.

Even the music seemed to lean in, each drawn-out note hanging in the air like a held breath.

I looked down at Eris.

Her face was relaxed now, completely asleep, tiny lashes resting against warm cheeks, wings tucked in instinctively as she nestled closer into my chest. She trusted the world because she trusted me.

That trust weighed more than any crown.

"...easy answer," I finished quietly. "And the wrong one."

Carmilla’s eyes sharpened—not disappointed, not pleased, but attentive.

I shifted my stance, turning slightly so Eris was shielded more fully by my body, my shadow stretching instinctively around us like a curtain drawn halfway closed.

"When Alucard offers power," I continued, voice even, "I’ll listen."

Astra inhaled sharply.

Paimon went still.

Vael’s gaze flicked to me, unreadable.

Carmilla did not interrupt.

"Not because I want it," I said. "But because men like him don’t offer gifts. They offer traps disguised as salvation. And you can’t dismantle a trap if you don’t understand how it’s built."

Her lips curved faintly.

"So you’ll bargain with a monster."

"I’ll dissect one," I corrected. "Slowly."

The chandeliers brightened a fraction, witchflame sharpening back into focus as if the dungeon itself approved of precision over bravado.

Carmilla studied me for a long moment.

Then she nodded.

"That," she said softly, "is the correct answer."

She stepped back, releasing my hand fully now, the last remnant of the dance dissolving between us. The music faded—not abruptly, but like a memory deciding it had been replayed enough.

"Very well, Lord Intruder," Carmilla said, turning gracefully toward the raised dais. "Then I will not hinder you."

She paused mid-step.

"But understand this."

She glanced over her shoulder, eyes dark, ancient, and sharp.

"Alucard does not fear death. He fears irrelevance. If he senses that you don’t need him..." Her smile thinned. "He will try to make himself indispensable."

I nodded once.

"Let him try."

She laughed quietly at that—not mockery, not amusement, but something like approval.

"Before you go," Carmilla said, raising one finger. "There is one more thing you should know."

***

Stone me, I can take it!

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