My Three Beautiful Vampire Wives can hear my Inner Thoughts-Chapter 71: Moonshade descendant

The sudden shift in the air was subtle at first, but Cain felt it before anyone else did.

The crushing pressure that had pinned the hall into silence eased just enough for breath to return, though no one dared straighten their backs.

The ten Blood Ancestors still hovered above their ancient coffins, bald heads gleaming faintly like polished bone beneath the crimson glow of blood sigils.

Their faces were sharp and aged, skin stretched thin over hard skulls, veins like dried roots frozen beneath translucent flesh.

When their eyes moved, it felt as though the room itself was being dragged along with their gaze.

All of them turned toward Cornelia at once.

Cain stiffened beside her, his instincts screaming at him to step forward again, to shield her like before, even though he still did not understand why his body kept betraying his thoughts.

Cornelia felt it too. Her heart beat hard in her chest, loud enough that she wondered if the ancestors could hear it. She swallowed, fingers tightening around the torn edge of her cloak, and lifted her head.

One of the ancestors leaned forward slightly, his voice old and deep, like something pulled up from beneath centuries of soil.

"What is your name, child?"

The hall went dead silent.

Cornelia took a breath. Her voice trembled at first, but she forced it steady, remembering her father’s lessons, remembering her mother’s calm smile when fear crept in.

"My name is Cornelia Moonshade."

The ancestor repeated it slowly, tasting each word. "Cornelia... Moonshade."

Another ancestor spoke, his tone rougher, yet strangely gentle, like stone worn smooth by time. "Whose blood gave you life?"

Cornelia did not hesitate. "I am the daughter of Baron Rivik Moonshade and Lady Illiana Moonshade."

At the mention of Illiana’s name, a faint ripple passed through the ancestors. Their expressions did not change much, but something shifted in their eyes, a distant memory stirring.

One of them let out a low hum, almost like a sigh.

"Illiana," one murmured. "That name has not been spoken before us in a long while."

They did not rush her. They did not bark orders or demand obedience. Instead, the questions came one after another, slow and measured, each one carrying the weight of age but wrapped in an unexpected warmth.

"How old are you?"

"When did your blood awaken?"

"Who guided your first infusion?"

"Did you feel fear when your blood first burned?"

Cornelia answered each question honestly. She spoke of sleepless nights spent controlling the ache in her veins, of her father standing outside her chamber pretending not to worry, of her mother holding her hands when the blood mana surged too violently.

As she spoke, her fear slowly gave way to something else. It felt less like standing before judges and more like standing before elders who truly wished to know her.

Around them, the vampires of the Moonshade family stared in disbelief.

Their ancestors, beings who had once wiped out entire bloodlines for far lesser reasons, were listening. Not interrupting. Not threatening. Listening.

Cain watched from the side, his expression unreadable, but his thoughts were a mess. He could feel the ancestors’ attention brushing against him now and then, like a passing shadow, yet they did not address him. Not yet.

Their focus was entirely on Cornelia, and that alone unsettled him more than any open hostility would have.

Another ancestor spoke, his voice carrying a faint echo. "Tell us of your blood aura and blood mana. Where do you stand?"

Cornelia hesitated for just a heartbeat, then answered clearly. "I have reached the tenth Blood Infusion stage in both Blood Mana and Blood Aura."

That single sentence hit the hall like a shockwave.

Several vampires gasped. Others clenched their teeth. A few lowered their heads, eyes burning with something ugly.

The ancestors, however, laughed.

It was not loud, nor mocking. It was deep and satisfied, like thunder rolling far away.

"Tenth stage in both," one ancestor said. "At her age."

Another nodded slowly. "No wonder our blood stirred. No wonder our coffins trembled."

They looked at her with renewed interest, their gazes sharp but proud. "You have talent," one said plainly. "True talent. Not the kind earned through stolen resources or borrowed techniques, but the kind that grows from blood and will."

Cornelia felt heat rise to her face. She bowed slightly, unsure how to react. "I still have much to learn."

The ancestors seemed pleased by that answer.

"Good," one of them said. "Arrogance rots blood faster than time."

They were not finished.

"How do you fight?" another ancestor asked. "Do you rely on power alone, or do you think when you move?"

Cornelia closed her eyes briefly, recalling countless battles, sparring sessions, near defeats. "I fight to survive first," she said slowly. "I watch my opponent. I adapt. When I must, I strike hard. When I must, I endure."

"And when you are outmatched?"

"I retreat," she answered honestly. "If retreat keeps me alive."

That earned her a low chuckle.

"Pragmatic," an ancestor said. "Good blood survives because it knows when to flow and when to hide."

They asked her about her preferred weapons, about her control under pressure, about her ability to restrain herself when bloodlust rose.

Each answer seemed to draw them closer, their approval growing more visible with every exchange.

Finally, the oldest among them turned to his fellow ancestors. Their eyes met. No words were spoken, yet understanding passed between them.

They nodded.

One of them turned back to Cornelia, his voice ringing clearly through the hall. "You are a fine descendant. A rare one. Through you, the Moonshade blood will not thin, but deepen."

Another followed, his tone rising. "She will be the pillar of the next era. The one who reminds the world why the Moonshade name was once feared."

A third ancestor raised his voice, pride unmistakable. "Through her, our blood lineage will rise again."

The praise poured down like a storm.

They spoke of her potential as if it were already reality.

They spoke of future battles, of her standing at the head of the family, of her bloodline growing purer and stronger through her efforts.

They spoke with exaggeration, yes, but also conviction, the kind that made denial impossible.

Cornelia stood frozen, overwhelmed. She had trained her entire life, pushed herself until her body screamed, but she had never imagined being seen like this. Not by them. She knew how hard she worked. But she was never praised like this... ever.

Around them, the scheming vampires felt the ground slip beneath their feet.

Whispers broke out despite the danger.

"How can they praise her so much?"

"She’s just a junior."

"She’s Rivik’s daughter..."

Their faces twisted with confusion, jealousy, fear.

They had expected punishment, chaos, perhaps even bloodshed. They had not expected this.

Some of them began to realize the truth too late.

This was not an awakening born of offense. It was an awakening born of recognition.

The ancestors’ gazes finally shifted to the crowd.

And the warmth vanished.

Their voices turned cold, sharp enough to cut bone.

"You," one ancestor said, pointing at the gathered vampires. "You dared to scream for positions while our blood slept."

Another spat his words like venom. "You begged for power without understanding it."

They did not hold back.

They mocked their shallow ambitions, their endless infighting, their hunger for titles that meant nothing. They called them caretakers who had forgotten how to guard, descendants who had grown fat on borrowed glory.

"You lit the blood signal not out of reverence," an ancestor roared, "but out of fear for your own standing."

The pressure surged again, crushing the hall. Vampires collapsed to the floor, foreheads smashing against stone as they begged for forgiveness, voices overlapping in desperate pleas.

"We were wrong!"

"Forgive us!"

"We did not mean to offend!"

Their cries blurred together, meaningless.

The oldest ancestor’s voice thundered above them all.

"Unlike all of you old fools who have nothing to do but chase meaningless positions," he shouted, blood mana roaring like a living storm, "this descendant of ours has miraculously improved her vampire blood lineage!"