Just as Alucard turned to leave, one final thought resurfaced from the back of his mind.
He stopped mid-step.
"Hey, old man."
Feltan hummed absentmindedly.
"Hm?"
Alucard scratched the side of his eyepatch.
"I learned about this guy called Weaver a while back. Something about being the firstborn of the Unknown or whatever. Do you know anything about him?"
Silence.
Not normal silence.
The kind of silence where even the air itself seemed to pause.
Then Feltan dramatically threw his hands into the air, his voice overflowing with equal parts frustration, confusion, and the exhaustion of someone who had seen far too much nonsense in existence.
"Oh, of course Weaver is involved in your life. Obviously. Why wouldn't he be? What's next? You're going to tell me the Storm God was your aunt? The Heart God cleans your room? Your future wife is secretly a Nephilim? At this point, kid, you're practically collecting connections with every insane being in existence."
Alucard blinked several times.
"I can confidently say none of what you just said is true..."
He paused.
"At least... I think it isn't."
A brief moment passed.
"Anyway, that's not the point. Who the hell is Weaver?"
Feltan dramatically sat down atop a broken slab of stone, waving his arms through empty air as though preparing to tell the story of his greatest enemy.
"A cheating bastard who robbed me during gambling, that's who."
Alucard stared.
Feltan continued with complete seriousness.
"I swear he used fate powers to predict the dice rolls. Here's some advice, kid—never gamble with people who can see the future. They're terrible sports."
Alucard grabbed his forehead.
"You senile old fart, I don't care about his gambling etiquette. Tell me something important."
Feltan released a long sigh.
"Fine. Ruin my fun."
His voice lost some of its usual humor.
"Weaver is... strange."
For once, Feltan actually sounded thoughtful.
"He's creepy. Completely insane. Massive ego too. Talks like he knows he's the protagonist of reality itself. Half the time he speaks like a depressed fourteen-year-old philosopher who discovered tragedy for the first time."
He paused.
"And if you know about him... then chances are you're important to him."
Alucard frowned.
"That's bad?"
Feltan's answer came instantly.
"That's catastrophic." Feltan sighed. "If you're involved in Weaver's plans, then congratulations—you've probably got a miserable future ahead of you. That man always knows more than he should. More than anyone should."
His tone darkened.
"He's the Daemon of Fate. He knows the fates of all. Or maybe it obeys him. Hard to tell."
Then, after a pause—
"Also I don't trust him around children."
Alucard slowly raised an eyebrow.
"Is he... you know..."
Feltan immediately shook his head.
"No. Nothing like that."
He sighed.
"He just says things."
"What things?"
"Well..."
Feltan scratched his chin.
"One time he told one of my sons that his future wife would kill him."
Alucard blinked.
"Seriously?"
"Yep."
"And?"
Feltan shrugged.
"Weaver was right."
Alucard winced.
"How did he die?"
Feltan's tone became strangely serious.
"He died protecting his younger siblings from assassins."
A pause.
"Though technically the poison his wife gave him is what finished him off."
Alucard immediately looked away.
"Oh..."
He shifted awkwardly.
"My condolences. What was his name?"
Feltan stared into space.
A few seconds passed.
Then more.
Then even more.
Finally—
"Hell if I know."
Alucard's sympathy instantly evaporated.
"What do you mean you don't know your own son's name?!"
Feltan shrugged casually.
"You kinda blur them together after the hundred-and-thirtieth kid. Besides, the memorable thing about him was how he died."
Alucard froze.
There were many shocking things happening.
The first was that Feltan had over one hundred and thirty children.
The second was that he apparently didn't loose track before one hundred and thirty children.
"How many kids did you even have?"
Feltan thought.
And thought.
And continued thinking.
Alucard slowly felt his patience begin to physically decay.
Finally—
"Hell if I know."
Alucard stared bellow his feet in disbelief.
"How do you not know how many children you have?"
Feltan shrugged again.
"Listen, I lost count after two hundred and forty-one. What do you expect? After enough centuries, someone tells you they're pregnant and eventually your reaction becomes 'oh, another one.'"
Alucard grabbed his face.
"Why do I even bother with you?"
Feltan grinned.
"Probably because I'm the only one bored enough to listen to your ramblings, kid."
Alucard rolled his eye.
Unfortunately...
Feltan was probably right.
Their conversation finally ended when Alucard noticed Beast quietly unsummon itself.
He released a long, overly dramatic sigh.
Then gave Feltan a small wave.
Even though Alucard knew damn well the old man couldn't see him.
Then he left.
Unfortunately for everyone nearby, Feltan did not realize this.
For nearly another hour, the ancient sinner continued speaking enthusiastically to empty air—lecturing nonexistent listeners about war, terrible gambling experiences, forgotten civilizations, and at one point passionately arguing with himself about whether dragons cheated at card games.
Only after an entire hour did he finally realize.
"Kid?"
Silence.
"Al?"
More silence.
A horrifying aura spread through the surrounding ruins.
Thankfully.
Alucard was already very far away.
Though judging from his expression, he might have preferred death.
He was currently lying half-dead across a chair while Nephis continued speaking to the faction leaders about freedom.
Or survival.
Or leadership.
Or something else.
Whatever she was on now.
Alucard honestly stopped listening and hour ago.
The two other faction leaders looked increasingly nervous.
Oddly enough, they kept glancing toward him every few seconds.
Which created the deeply incorrect impression that Alucard was somehow involved in leadership.
He wasn't.
He would rather chemically castrate Caster than lead alongside Nephis.
Leadership required thinking about responsibilities.
Thinking about Nephis during his free time sounded significantly worse then performing chemical castration on Caster.
Somewhere inside the bright castle—
Caster jerked his head up from a pair of petite breasts. A strange sensation had just flared low in his groin, but when nothing followed, he shrugged it off and went right back to cuddling (lucky fucking bastard)
Far away.
Alucard silently questioned every life decision that had brought him here.