The traditional carriage arrived precisely at dusk on the appointed night. Its elegant construction—polished wood with bronze fittings, pulled by six midnight-bck horses—seemed to mock the crumbling ruin of Orlov's citadel. Two attendants in formal livery stepped down from their positions, looking around the overgrown courtyard with carefully masked distaste.

  Orlov emerged from his citadel wearing the pitiful ensemble he had assembled—the faded coat with poorly mended holes, yellowed shirt, and threadbare trousers. He had attempted to slick back his matted hair using rainwater, but it had already begun to spring back into disarray. His signet ring gleamed on his filthy finger, the only genuinely aristocratic element of his appearance.

  The attendants' briefly widened eyes were the only acknowledgment of his shocking state. Their training reasserted itself immediately, and they executed precise bows appropriate to his technical rank.

  "Archduke Orlov," the senior attendant said, voice perfectly neutral. "The Council awaits your arrival. Your conveyance is prepared according to traditional specifications."

  Orlov attempted his best aristocratic nod, though the gesture came out as a jerky movement that resembled a nervous tic more than formal acknowledgment. "The Council's consideration of my preferences is... noted."

  His voice sounded strange even to his own ears—raspy from disuse, the formerly cultured accent decayed into something unrecognizable. He struggled to remember how he once spoke, the precise modution that had conveyed aristocratic authority without apparent effort.

  The journey passed in uncomfortable silence. Orlov spent the hours alternating between rehearsing his "research" expnation and psing into muttered conversations with imaginary courtiers. The attendants maintained impeccable professional composure, though the occasional exchanged gnce revealed their discomfort at transporting this clearly deranged creature to the Council chamber.

  As the carriage approached the neutral territory where the Council waited, Orlov pressed his face to the window like a child, hungrily observing the passing ndscape. The transition from the barren wilderness surrounding his citadel to the carefully maintained grounds of the neutral domain was stark. Manicured gardens, elegant structures with subtle electric lighting disguised as traditional fixtures, and the occasional glimpse of smartly dressed vampire attendants all spoke to a functioning society that had continued evolving while he remained trapped in medieval decline.

  The carriage finally stopped before an imposing structure that blended cssical vampire architecture with subtle modern elements. Crystal lights resembling candebras illuminated the entrance, though no fme flickered within them. The doors opened soundlessly as the attendants escorted Orlov inside.

  The Council chamber itself took his breath away. Centuries earlier, he had attended countess meetings in this very room, but it had transformed in his absence. The circur chamber featured the traditional raised dais where four ornate chairs awaited the Archdukes, but the overall aesthetic had evolved dramatically. Modern comfort blended seamlessly with vampire tradition—temperature-controlled air circuted without drafts, lighting provided perfect visibility while maintaining aristocratic ambiance, and recording devices disguised as decorative elements preserved the proceedings without human scribes.

  Orlov was directed to stand in the center of the chamber, on an ancient symbol representing vampire justice. The traditional position of assessment—where accused nobles had stood for judgment since the earliest days of vampire society. He recognized the irony of his pcement even through his fractured thoughts.

  The chamber gradually filled as vampire nobility from all territories arrived. High-ranking Dukes, Marquesses, Counts, and Barons took their designated positions according to strict hierarchical protocol. Most painful for Orlov was the sight of his former vassals—nobles who had once sworn fealty to him—now seated prominently in the section reserved for Lucius's territories. These vampires who had once trembled in his presence now wore the insignia of Lucius's court, their immacute appearances and perfect composure making Orlov's own deterioration all the more apparent.

  He recognized Baron Drachev, once his border commander, now wearing Lucius's colors with evident pride. Lady Renia, formerly one of his most loyal supporters, sat among Lucius's courtiers, her expression carefully neutral when their eyes briefly met. Count Vercelli, who had administered Orlov's southern provinces for centuries, now dispyed Lucius's crest on his formal attire. Each familiar face in the wrong section felt like a personal betrayal.

  Alongside these former vassals sat Lucius's most prominent nobles. Duke Aric—the tournament champion from the first Crimson Games who had risen from common status to his current rank—occupied a position of honor, his battlescared face a constant reminder of the merit-based advancement Orlov had always opposed. Nearby sat Duke Maximilian with his consort Lord Elias, their retionship a political union that had evolved into genuine partnership. Baron Cassian entered with Nara at his side, maintaining the fiction of "pet" and master while those in the know recognized their true retionship. Viscount Gabriel simirly arrived with Maria positioned as his formal wereanimal companion rather than equal partner.

  From Seraphina's territories, Count Dominic and Countess Sera took their positions, their reform-minded reputation evident in their retively modest attire compared to other nobles. Their presence seemed particurly pointed—Sera having chosen vampire transformation after experiencing blood farm conditions simir to what Orlov had enforced.

  Even Dante's usually reclusive nobility made appearances, their attire subtly incorporating technological elements disguised as traditional ornamentation. They positioned themselves precisely according to protocol, though their occasional gnces at recording devices revealed their divided attention between ceremony and documentation.

  Most surprising was the presence of several representatives from Valerian's normally closed territory—stern-faced nobles with military bearing who stood with perfect stillness throughout the proceedings.

  Orlov felt the weight of their collective stares—some curious, others openly disgusted, many pitying. He attempted to stand straighter, to project the aristocratic bearing that had once been effortless, but his weakened body betrayed him. His shoulders hunched, his hands trembled, his eyes darted nervously around the unfamiliar space.

  A ceremonial gong sounded, and all conversation ceased. The side door opened to admit the four remaining Archdukes.

  They entered in order of territorial power—Lucius first with his domain now spanning the equivalent of two continents after absorbing most of Orlov's former nds, followed by Valerian with his strategic northern stronghold, Dante with his technologically advanced territory, and Seraphina with her nature-integrated eastern encves. Their appearances provided a shocking contrast to Orlov's degraded state.

  Archduke Lucius moved with quiet authority, his traditional aristocratic attire impeccably tailored but subtly incorporating modern elements. His calm expression revealed nothing of his thoughts as he took his seat at the center of the dais.

  Archduke Valerian entered with military precision, his formal uniform dispying his rank without ostentation. Unlike the others, he maintained a completely emotionless demeanor, assessing Orlov with the detached evaluation of a commander reviewing a failed subordinate.

  Archduke Dante followed, his clothing blending traditional vampire formality with innovative elements that suggested his technological inclinations. His amber eyes with their mechanical enhancements scanned Orlov with scientific curiosity rather than disgust.

  Archduchess Seraphina completed the procession, her attire incorporating living elements—flowers and vines woven into traditional aristocratic design. Her expression showed something approaching compassion as she observed Orlov's condition.

  As they took their seats, the contrast became painfully apparent. Four powerful, composed Archdukes in their prime, facing a single deteriorated creature who resembled a feral vagrant more than vampire nobility. Orlov felt himself shrinking beneath their collective gaze.

  Lucius spoke first, his voice carrying effortlessly through the chamber without apparent projection.

  "This tribunal is convened to assess the continuing qualification of Archduke Orlov to maintain his title and associated privileges," he began, formal and precise. "The relevant constitutional provision, which bears Archduke Orlov's own signature, states that 'An Archduke who fails to maintain the fundamental standards of the position may be evaluated by unanimous consent of his peers.'"

  He gestured to the document dispyed on a pedestal nearby—the Ancient Charter of Governance with Orlov's eborate signature clearly visible beneath the crucial provision.

  "The Council will present evidence regarding four specific requirements for Archduke status: territorial sovereignty, resource management, subject governance, and aristocratic presentation. Archduke Orlov will be permitted to respond to each presentation."

  Orlov swallowed nervously, his rehearsed defense suddenly seeming inadequate against the formal proceedings. He had expected accusations, not a methodical assessment against established criteria.

  "I will address territorial sovereignty," Lucius continued, rising from his seat. An attendant approached with a portfolio of documents, which Lucius opened with practiced ease.

  "The constitutional requirement for Archduke status includes 'meaningful governance of substantial territory,'" he quoted, referencing another document that bore Orlov's signature. "At the time of the Evolution, Archduke Orlov's domain encompassed approximately one-fifth of vampire-controlled nds. Our records indicate that as of his final nd sale six months ago, his territorial holdings had diminished to a single deteriorated citadel and surrounding grounds measuring approximately three square kilometers."

  Images appeared on the wall behind him—maps showing the progressive reduction of Orlov's territory over the centuries. The visualization made the decline impossible to deny.

  "This reduction occurred through 2,876 separate property transactions," Lucius continued, his precision devastating. "All conducted as formal sales rather than military conquest or political annexation. The transactions are fully documented, with Archduke Orlov's signature and seal on each contract."

  Copies of several key sale documents appeared on the dispy, Orlov's increasingly shaky signature visible on each. The dates showed the acceleration of sales as his situation deteriorated.

  "These transactions reduced Archduke Orlov's territorial holdings to 0.00017% of his original domain," Lucius concluded, his tone neutral but the implications devastating. "As of st week, my representatives discovered that even this final citadel has been abandoned, with no evidence of governance, administration, or meaningful occupation beyond Archduke Orlov's personal presence. I submit that this fails to meet the constitutional requirement of 'meaningful governance of substantial territory.'"

  He returned to his seat, and Orlov realized he was expected to respond. He stepped forward, attempting to summon his prepared expnation.

  "My... my territorial adjustments represent a deliberate research strategy," he began, his voice cracking from disuse. "A methodical experiment in minimal governance parameters to... to establish baseline requirements for vampire authority."

  The words sounded hollow even to his own ears. Several observers exchanged gnces, while others stared fixedly ahead, uncomfortable with the obvious delusion.

  "This research has produced valuable insights into..." He trailed off, unable to fabricate pusible findings. "The data will be... compiled once the experiment concludes."

  Lucius acknowledged his response with a formal nod that conveyed neither acceptance nor rejection, merely procedural courtesy.

  Dante rose next, activating a different dispy system with a subtle gesture.

  "I will address technological and administrative capabilities," he stated, his analytical approach evident in his precise diction. "The constitutional requirement specifies 'maintenance of infrastructure appropriate to vampire dignity and progressive capability development.'"

  The dispy showed images of Orlov's crumbling citadel—obtained through methods Dante did not specify but which clearly involved advanced surveilnce systems. Broken windows, colpsed roofs, structural decay all appeared in devastating detail.

  "Archduke Orlov's domain currently cks all basic infrastructure," Dante continued, methodical in his assessment. "No functional heating systems, no sanitation facilities, no communication networks, no transportation infrastructure, no administrative capacity whatsoever."

  More images appeared—empty halls where administrative offices had once functioned, abandoned stables with rotting carriages, colpsed bridges that had once connected his provinces.

  "Most significantly," Dante added, "the complete absence of blood distribution systems has rendered the territory non-viable for vampire habitation. Our assessment indicates zero capability to support even a single common vampire, much less an aristocratic court."

  He gestured, and the dispy shifted to comparative images of progressive territories—efficient administrative centers, advanced blood storage facilities, transportation networks connecting vampire settlements.

  "This represents not merely technological divergence but fundamental administrative colpse," Dante concluded. "I submit that this fails to meet the constitutional requirement for infrastructure maintenance and capability development."

  Orlov stepped forward again, his prepared response disintegrating as he faced the concrete evidence of his failure.

  "Traditional methods... superior to technological dependence," he attempted, grasping at fragments of his once-coherent ideology. "Deliberate rejection of... modern contamination... proved vampire resilience through... ancestral methods."

  His voice strengthened briefly as he seized on a new justification. "My research demonstrates the dangers of technological reliance! When resources vanished, progressive territories would have colpsed without their machines! Traditional methods... endure!"

  The contradiction between his statement and the obvious colpse of his territory hung in the air. Dante's slight raise of an eyebrow was his only response before returning to his seat.

  Seraphina rose next, her movement fluid and graceful. The dispy changed to show ecological imagery—ndscapes before and after Orlov's governance.

  "I will address resource sustainability," she stated, her voice carrying natural authority without harshness. "The constitutional requirement specifies 'management of resources to ensure perpetual vampire prosperity.'"

  The images showed the devastating transformation of Orlov's territory—once-vibrant forests reduced to barren wastends, dried riverbeds where abundant waterways had flowed, abandoned farmnds that had once supported human settlements.

  "Archduke Orlov's resource management approach resulted in complete ecosystem colpse within his territories," Seraphina expined. "Extractive practices without regenerative bance led to comprehensive resource depletion."

  She indicated comparative images showing the sustainable systems in her own Eastern Encves—carefully managed forests, integrated human settlements with blood donation centers, ecological bance maintained through generations.

  "Most critically," she continued, "the blood resource management system implemented by Archduke Orlov proved fundamentally unsustainable. Rather than implementing banced extraction, his approach resulted in complete resource failure."

  The dispy showed empty blood farms, abandoned extraction facilities, and finally—most damning—animal carcasses discovered near Orlov's citadel, clear evidence of his desperate hunting.

  "The constitutional standard requires resource management that sustains vampire prosperity indefinitely," Seraphina concluded. "The complete absence of blood resources in former Orlov territories demonstrates fundamental failure to meet this requirement."

  Orlov's response became increasingly desperate. "Resource fluctuation is... natural cycle in traditional management. Temporary scarcity leads to... stronger appreciation when abundance returns."

  He seized on another fragment of his research delusion. "Animal consumption experiments provide crucial data on... alternative resource utilization during scarcity periods. Preliminary findings suggest..."

  He faltered as several observers visibly recoiled at the mention of animal consumption—a practice considered beneath vampire dignity since the earliest days of their society. Seraphina acknowledged his response with a gentle nod before returning to her seat.

  Valerian rose st, his military bearing unmistakable. Unlike the others, he used no dispy systems, relying solely on formal decration.

  "I will address defense capability and popution governance," he stated, his voice coldly efficient. "The constitutional requirement specifies 'maintenance of sufficient military force to ensure territorial integrity and internal order.'"

  His assessment was brutally concise. "Archduke Orlov's military forces: zero. Defense capability: none. Security perimeter: nonexistent. Intelligence network: absent. Strategic reserves: depleted. Combat readiness: null."

  He paused, allowing the devastating inventory to register, before continuing with equal precision. "Popution assessment: human resources: zero. Common vampires: zero. Lesser nobility: zero. Higher nobility: zero. Total governed popution excluding the Archduke himself: zero."

  The chamber remained silent as the implications became clear. An Archduke with no subjects, no military, no popution to govern.

  "The constitutional requirement specifies governance of a vampire society," Valerian concluded. "A domain without subjects is not a society. I submit that this fails to meet the fundamental requirement of popution governance."

  Orlov had no coherent response to this assessment. "Temporary popution redistribution for... research purposes," he attempted weakly. "Subjects will return when... when conditions optimize for experimental conclusion."

  Valerian did not acknowledge this obvious fiction, simply returning to his seat with military precision.

  Lucius rose once more, gesturing toward a side chamber that now opened. "The Council will now hear testimony from former subjects of Archduke Orlov's domain, who will provide first-hand accounts of the circumstances leading to territorial colpse."

  A succession of witnesses entered—former nobles from Orlov's court, military commanders who had served under him, administrators who had managed his provinces. Each recounted the same essential narrative: Orlov's decision to prioritize his personal consumption after the disappearance, his refusal to support even his most loyal followers, the impossible choice between starvation and defection.

  Most devastating was the testimony of Lord Valisov, once Orlov's closest ally, who had remained loyal decades longer than any other noble.

  "I believed in our traditions," Valisov stated, his aristocratic bearing intact despite his reduced station in Lucius's court. "I remained at Archduke Orlov's side through fifty years of decline, watching as he consumed the territory's final resources while his subjects starved. When he ordered us to consume animals rather than provide shared sustenance from his personal reserves, I could no longer justify my loyalty."

  As the testimony concluded, Orlov's physical condition began to betray him further. The stress of the proceedings, combined with the proximity to so many well-fed vampires, triggered involuntary physical responses. His fangs extended visibly, his yellowed eyes developed the red tinge of desperate hunger, and his cwed hands trembled with the effort of restraining himself.

  "Does Archduke Orlov wish to make a final statement before the Council deliberates?" Lucius asked, his tone neutral despite the obvious deterioration of the accused.

  Orlov stepped forward, attempting to summon whatever dignity remained to him. The rehearsed speech about research methodology and experimental design disintegrated in his mind, leaving only fragments of aristocratic pride.

  "I am... I remain Archduke by right of... by right of..." His voice faltered as he struggled to articute the basis for his cim. "The traditional values I upheld... superior to progressive contamination."

  His gaze darted around the chamber, seeking any sympathetic face among the observers. Finding none, his desperation increased.

  "My research will prove... when completed... the superiority of traditional methods. The disappearance was... orchestrated by progressive elements to... to undermine traditional authority."

  As his speech became increasingly incoherent, the physical signs of animal blood consumption became impossible to ignore. The yellowish fluid seeping from his still-unhealed shaving cuts, the jaundiced skin tone, the bckened gums visible when he spoke—all testified to the depths of his descent.

  "The title is mine by right of... by blood and... tradition demands..." His voice rose to a near-shriek before abruptly dropping to a whisper. "I am still Archduke. Still Archduke."

  With this final decration, he fell silent, swaying slightly as he stood before the Council.

  Lucius rose, his expression grave but not unkind. "The Council will deliberate. Archduke Orlov will be escorted to the waiting chamber until our decision is reached."

  As attendants led the trembling Orlov from the chamber, the four remaining Archdukes exchanged gnces that needed no verbal interpretation. The assessment had merely confirmed what was already evident to all present.

  By every constitutional standard—by criteria Orlov himself had established and enforced upon others—he had failed utterly to maintain the requirements of his position. The only question remaining was what form the judgment would take, and what consequences would follow.

  The st glimpse observers had of Orlov as he left the chamber was of a once-powerful Archduke muttering to himself, clutching his signet ring as though it might protect him from the inevitable verdict to come.