UCPA Chapter 30: At the Grave’s Edge

Chapter 30: At the Grave’s Edge

Translated by Addis of Exiled Rebels Scanlations

Editor: PlumSauce

 

In the early hours of the morning, they found a village. Coraci went alone to seek help, while John didn’t want to leave the woods. If he went with Coraci, he’d have to pretend to be an ordinary human in front of the locals all day — it was exhausting.

John was responsible for protecting Mariana’s heart, and Coraci stayed in the village. The people spoke a language Coraci couldn’t understand. Some people could speak Russian or German, but he only caught a few words. It wasn’t until a middle-aged man took him to meet the local sheriff that Coraci realized they were in Romania because of the national coat of arms in the office.

After the sun set again, Coraci quietly returned to the woods. John’s ability to hide himself was almost like a wild animal’s; he was the first to find Coraci.

“Do you need to feed?” Coraci asked, loosening his collar.

John looked at him nervously. “No, I don’t. I’ve been hiding and sleeping all day, and didn’t use much energy.”

He glanced at the faint, small red marks on Coraci’s neck — not really bite marks, more like kiss marks. When bloodkin fed without attacking, their fangs usually didn’t cause large wounds; their marks healed even faster than ordinary cuts.

John looked away and continued, “What happened before was a special case. I still insist on not using your blood.”

Saying this, he couldn’t help but remember the vision during feeding. It couldn’t have been Coraci’s memory — the limbs he saw weren’t Coraci’s, and the scenes didn’t fit Coraci’s life.

“Alright then. Tonight, we might have to use some energy,” Coraci said, patting John’s shoulder to follow him.

“What?” John tensed immediately. What did he mean by using energy?!

Coraci walked a few steps, then slowly turned back and said, “No — that’s — not — the meaning you think.”

“I wasn’t thinking anything! I just thought… just thought you meant there were still demons here…” John followed, almost convinced the Knower could read minds like a shapeshifter.

Coraci led him a long way, nearly circling the entire village. In this generation of villagers, some made a living by producing handicrafts and some by fishing from the river. At night, the settlement had hardly any lights.

On the dim forest path, Coraci could only be pulled along by John. Though his eyes could see through many disguises, he couldn’t see well in the dark.

There was a feeling of warmth and softness in his palm. John stayed silent for a long time. Even long ago, when he was still human, he rarely held anyone’s hand — especially not a man’s.

He understood his own thoughts. At this very moment, he was clear that Coraci was different from anyone else to him.

But he wasn’t ready to admit it yet. He knew Burton’s tragedy and even suspected his feelings might be just a product of the suspension bridge effect.

“John, I’m afraid I’m going to ask you to do something you don’t want to do,” Coraci said.

“What?”

“Have you seen Supernatural Powers?”

“A bit. The actors were good, but the story was way too violent — I didn’t finish it.”

Coraci stared at him in disbelief for a moment. “Alright, the protagonist might be too scary for you… Do you remember what the protagonist usually does?”

“Fighting and killing?”

“No, digging graves.”

That same day, a funeral had been held near the riverside forest. Many locals still followed burial customs, with the cemetery set some distance from the village.

“We’ll dig up the body buried yesterday, use it for Mariana, then leave here overnight. I already know which direction the highway is. We’ll follow the road to the nearest town, then find a phone to contact the Association. They might send demon hunters from this country to help us…”

Coraci explained the plan as they walked.

“Wouldn’t this be illegal?” John questioned.

“Maybe,” Coraci said, referring to the corpse they were about to exhume, “but there really isn’t anyone more suitable than her. She had no family, and for various reasons, was buried face down… If we were digging up someone with family, I’d feel guilty. But with her, it should be okay.”

“Buried face down?”

“Yes. It’s a tradition. Long ago, Romania had many legends about your kind — about vampires or the undead. Some people were buried face down after death. If their bodies ever woke up, they’d dig downward, burrowing into the earth so the living could stay safe.”

John laughed. “Oh, that won’t work. Even the dumbest blood demons know how to flip themselves over.”

“Of course it doesn’t work. And nowadays, the villagers don’t do it out of ignorance — they just follow tradition. If a body meets certain conditions before death, it has to be buried that way.”

“Are you sure you want to dig it up?” Near the graveyard, John found a shovel beneath dead leaves and thin mud — it was Coraci’s, hidden beforehand.

“That corpse is fresh. It’ll be perfect.”

“But how will you precisely put the heart inside? That’s delicate surgery.”

Coraci shook his head and smiled. “No, I’m not transplanting the heart. The spell preserves and transfers the soul; the heart is just the vessel.”

 

In the deep stillness of night, just outside the dark woods near the village, the young brown-haired man dug into the fresh grave at an incredible speed amid the rolling landscape of the ancient cemetery.

Another stood by the tombstone, holding a bright red, still-beating heart.

If anyone saw this scene, they’d be convinced of the existence of vampires in Romania. Of course, one of them really was a vampire.

The coffin was simple. John jumped into the pit and pried open the nailed-down lid. Inside lay a woman dressed in traditional clothes, face down, her hands bound over her chest.

John carefully lifted her out and noticed her mouth was stuffed with a bunch of herbs. “This is definitely not useful. I touched them, but I’m totally fine,” he said, pulling out the herbs and gently straightening her jaw.

Following Coraci’s instructions, John opened the corpse’s chest, revealing the heart. Coraci placed the Lizardman’s heart close and used John’s fingernail to cut his own arm again.

John grimaced and turned his head away in pain. Coraci squeezed the blood onto both hearts and whispered the incantation.

As the blood dripped and flowed down, the Lizardman’s heart withered gradually, while the corpse’s heart twitched slightly. Its color brightened, and the nearby blood vessels visibly swelled again.

Finally, the Lizardman’s heart turned into a black, dried lump. The girl’s chest muscles and skin began to gradually heal.

“Is the spell done?” John stood about thirty feet away from Coraci.

“It’s done,” Coraci glanced at his arm. “The blood hasn’t coagulated yet… Want some?”

John stood motionless. Fresh, warm blood hung on that pale forearm, clear as if right before his eyes even from thirty feet away in the dark.

Worse, he remembered the taste of that blood. His lips, tongue, and fangs rebelled against his will; he didn’t want to do it, but they craved the taste again.

John swayed as if seasick, turned away, leaned against a tree, and slowly crouched down, waving one arm toward Coraci.

Coraci sighed and wiped the blood off with the jacket that had wrapped the heart. “Just now, it felt like I was tempting you to take drugs.”

“No, your blood is very good… I mean, I’m not rejecting you…” John stammered. “I’ve made my stance clear. I don’t want to do this…”

“It’s just that I want to tell you, I’m not joking or pretending to be generous or anything — I’m serious.”

Coraci’s voice was very soft. If John weren’t bloodkin, he might not have heard it clearly from this distance.

“Just like you trust me,” Coraci said, “I trust you. You never doubted me, even joined the Association on my suggestion… You see me as a friend, not bait, and I see you the same way. I think you’re a friend, not a monster. You don’t have to fear showing the ‘scarier side of being bloodkin’. I’m a Knower — I’ve known your species from the start. And now I know you won’t hurt me. I trust you. So if you need it, I’m willing to help.”

“Coraci, I get what you mean,” John said, turning away. Before his emotions fully settled, he kept his head down, avoiding looking at Coraci’s arm. “Yeah, I won’t hurt you, but if I keep doing that repeatedly, I’m actually hurting you. I can promise that in the future, if it’s absolutely necessary, I won’t refuse, but not now. Right now, I’m willing to do anything — except that.”

John heard footsteps crunching through the dry grass and leaves. Coraci walked unhurriedly toward him.

“Sorry, human wounds just don’t heal that fast,” Coraci said. “Does that make you uncomfortable?”

“No, I can handle it. Otherwise, how else could I have lived alone in the city for so long?” John looked up. “Just don’t ever suggest I go feeding… You know, human refusal and fear actually help us maintain our sanity. If humans start inviting us, we’re much more likely to give in.”

“Oh, that explains why, from ancient times, girls flirting with vampires in bars usually end up dead. They’re too enthusiastic, so they get repaid with even more enthusiasm.”

“You wrote that kind of story. The book was called Red Shoes and Dawn, an 18th-century tale about a dancer named Ruby who was killed by a vampire. Her daughter Layla became a hunter and disguised herself as a dancer to lure predators in the late-night taverns — and then killed them in turn…”

“That story’s true,” Coraci lowered his gaze. “There really was such a hunter, though not part of the Association and not from the 18th century. He died violently, and his friend told me he hoped his story would be written down, maybe even adapted into comics or movies as a superhero… So I wrote that story.”

“You said ‘he’ just now?” John remembered the hunter Layla’s tale was dark and, well… quite steamy.

Coraci nodded. “His real name was Leon. His mother was indeed killed by bloodkin, so he almost exclusively hunted bloodkin. But he wasn’t indiscriminate; he’d slept with many bloodkin– some were allies, some were targets… mostly men, but women too. He often disguised himself as a woman when hunting. Uh, making the protagonist ‘Layla’ was his idea — he wanted the story to be exciting, so I set it in the 18th century.”

The most shocking scene in that book was when hunter Layla seduced a brutal vampire serial killer. While making love, the vampire bit her neck as he entered, but she was prepared, defeated him, and stabbed a stake into his backside — then shoved a cross pendant into… well, the hole at the front.

John rubbed his face, caught between laughing and crying. If that part was true, considering the real gender of “Layla”, the story’s craziness just multiplied.

“How many of your novels are true?” John asked.

“Only Red Shoes and Dawn is true. Don’t you think it’s special? Strictly speaking, it’s not a horror story.”

“Uh, yeah, other stories are usually about ordinary people encountering terrifying events, but this one’s main character is a hunter. I’m surprised — I thought you’d get a lot of inspiration from your work.”

“Looks like you’re starting to interview me…” Coraci joked, stepping back two paces.

“Alright, Mr. Coraci,” John pretended to hold a microphone and leaned in, “this trip to Romania, you met real vampires,” he pointed at himself, “Are you happy with your trip? Was this journey to avoid your ex-wife… and ex-husband? Say a few words!”

Coraci tried to suppress his laughter and put on a serious face. “Oh god, not you again! If you keep stalking me, I’ll call the police!”

They both burst out laughing, doubled over, slapping tree trunks.

“John, you’ve got what it takes to be a tabloid reporter,” Coraci wiped tears from his eyes. When he looked up at John, his smile faded, and a hint of confusion crept into his gaze.

John noticed something off about himself too. His fangs had slipped out, and his eyes glowed faintly red.

“Sorry, I tend to do that when I get emotional. Didn’t expect even laughing to…”

Normally, John would never let his fangs slip out just because of laughter or mood swings. But now was different — he could still smell blood and hear the pulsing from the open wound. Talking about interesting things helped distract him, but it didn’t block those sensations.

“You must feel uncomfortable like this.” Coraci reached out his hand, intending to pat his shoulder. But John reflexively grabbed Coraci’s wrist.

Coraci was startled but didn’t pull away. He calmly looked at John.

John’s fingers trembled, likely embarrassed by his reflexive action.

His fingertips touched Coraci’s warm skin — the blood vessels beneath, the heartbeat, the scent from the nearby wound… John shut his eyes tightly a few times, and his fangs slowly retreated back into his gums.

He gripped Coraci’s wrist a little tighter and pulled him forward a step. Turning his head, John pressed his lips lightly against Coraci’s bloodstained forearm.

Maybe it was a kiss. The vampire’s teeth were just inside those slightly cool lips, so close to the wound and blood, yet all that remained on the human arm was a gentle kiss.

“I can do what I said I would.” John looked up; his eyes had returned to their usual gray-blue.

Coraci stared at John, momentarily forgetting what he wanted to say. A dizziness like the one from feeding washed over him — but only for an instant. This had to be a misconception.

He parted his lips, forcing out his usual smile, and shifted his gaze away from John to the distance.

“Ah, she…” His eyes flicked aside, and he saw a rather strange sight.

John followed his gaze. By the freshly dug grave, a young woman dressed in traditional Romanian clothing lay face down on the earth — yes, lying flat like that. She lifted her face and looked over at them puzzledly, blinking her eyes open and shut repeatedly.

“Mariana?” Coraci cautiously approached.

The girl nodded forcefully, her eyes darting around in panic. Having never possessed sight before, she had no idea how to use her eyes.

Finally, she closed them and murmured hoarsely, struggling to speak a sentence, “You are… Coraci? John?”

 

Author’s note:

Digging up graves with such enthusiasm, and ending up chatting together like this, these two…

About this village…of course, it’s all fictional.

It’s just a tiny place in the wilds of the Danube Delta~

I’ve never been to Romania; everything here is hearsay… purely fictional…

 

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