The pale light of dawn had not yet broken through the thick layer of smog and dark-magic clouds that perpetually blanketed the Dominion.
5:00 AM.
My internal clock woke me with the precision of a guillotine dropping. I didn't groan, stretch, or slowly blink the sleep from my eyes. I simply opened them, shifting instantly from unconsciousness to absolute combat readiness.
"The first five seconds of waking are when a human is most vulnerable, Lucian," Seraphina had drilled into me, often while throwing a bucket of freezing water over my cot. "Monsters don't wait for you to brew your coffee. You wake up with a knife in your hand, or you don't wake up at all."
I sat up on the dusty, lumpy mattress I had dragged into the tower's cramped servant quarters. No knife in hand today, but my senses were fully extended.
I listened.
The Sunless Spire was quiet. From the floor above, I could hear the slow, rhythmic heartbeat of Lysandra. It was steady, thrumming with a dense, heavy power that hadn't been there yesterday. The meal of iron-rich tenderloin and Blood-Berries had worked perfectly, stabilizing her S-Class core.
I threw off the thin blanket and dropped to the stone floor.
One hundred push-ups. One hundred sit-ups. One hundred squats. A standard physical maintenance routine to keep my base stats from decaying.
[ STATUS WINDOW ]
Level: 2 Exp: 0/1000
[ Attributes ]
Strength: 12
Agility: 14
Vitality: 12 (+1)
Perception: 18
Charisma: 15
[ Active Cooldowns ]
My Vitality had ticked up by a single point overnight, likely an aftereffect of channeling Lysandra's S-Class mana through my mortal body. Good. I would need every ounce of endurance I could get.
I washed up using a basin of cold water, put on my crisp Nightfall Academy Initiate uniform, and headed for the kitchenette.
Cooking for a vampire princess required a delicate touch. They didn't need heavy carbohydrates. They needed rich, vibrant proteins and minerals to simulate the rush of consuming blood.
I pulled out a fresh skillet, a slab of cured Outlands boar bacon from my [Domestic Sub-Space Inventory], and a half-dozen eggs I had procured before crossing the border.
Sizzle.
The smell of rendering fat filled the cold, stone tower. I cracked the eggs with one hand, tossing the shells perfectly into the bin without looking, while my other hand whisked a small pot of dark, spiced crimson tea. A pinch of cinnamon, a dash of cloves, and a single drop of synthesized iron-extract.
As I plated the food—arranging the bacon into an aesthetically pleasing lattice over the soft-scrambled eggs—I heard the soft padding of bare feet on the stone stairs.
Lysandra appeared in the archway of the kitchenette.
She was wearing a silk, midnight-blue nightgown that hung loosely off her fragile frame. Her silver hair was messy, cascading over her shoulders in a wild tangle. She rubbed one of her crimson eyes, looking like a confused, sleepy ghost rather than the apex predator of the night.
She sniffed the air, her fangs lightly pressing against her lower lip.
"Is it... is it morning already?" she mumbled, her aristocratic haughtiness completely absent.
"Good morning, Lady Lysandra," I greeted cheerfully, wiping my hands on my apron. "It is precisely six-thirty. The Academy's orientation for Initiates and First-Year Peers begins at eight. I have prepared breakfast."
I guided her to the parlor table, which I had set with a pristine white cloth and polished silverware.
Lysandra sat down, staring at the plate of food. She picked up her fork, hesitating. "I have never eaten human food for breakfast. The elders usually just had goblets of chilled thrall-blood delivered to our chambers."
"Consider this a culinary upgrade, My Lady," I said, pouring her the spiced crimson tea. "Thrall-blood is notoriously bitter. A symptom of their underlying despair, I imagine. This, however, is seasoned with optimism."
She took a bite of the eggs and bacon. Once again, her eyes widened as the rich, complex flavors exploded on her palate, completely overriding her vampiric instincts. She ate with an elegant, yet undeniably frantic pace.
While she ate, I moved to the armchair where I had hung her Academy uniform.
Her dress was the standard attire for a female Peer of House Vesper: a stunning, gothic-victorian dress of black and deep crimson, adorned with silver embroidery. When I found it in her closet last night, it had been wrinkled and smelling faintly of mildew. Now, it was flawlessly ironed, treated with a fabric-softening alchemical mist, and radiating a subtle, clean scent of crushed lavender.
"Your uniform is ready, My Lady," I announced as she finished her last bite.
Lysandra looked at the immaculate dress, then down at her empty plate, and finally up at me. A complicated expression crossed her face—a mix of deep suspicion and overwhelming comfort.
"Who taught you to do all this, Lucian?" she asked softly. "You fight like a warlord, but you care for this tower like... like a mother."
I paused, smoothing a microscopic crease out of the uniform's collar.
"I had a very strict teacher," I said, my voice entirely neutral. "She believed that a man who cannot manage a household cannot be trusted to manage a battlefield. She was quite insistent on the matter."
"She sounds terrifying," Lysandra muttered, taking a sip of her tea.
"You have no idea," I replied, offering a faint, nostalgic smile. "Now, please dress, My Lady. We have an empire to infiltrate... I mean, classes to attend."
The Vesper Academy was a sprawling, gothic metropolis enclosed within a massive iron wall. Above the academy, an artificial magical barrier known as the Eclipse Canopy filtered out the lethal UV rays of the sun, casting the entire campus in a perpetual, blood-red twilight.
As Lysandra and I walked down the main cobblestone promenade toward the central lecture hall, the sheer scale of the Dominion's power was on full display.
Statues of ancient Vampire Lords loomed over the pathways. Gargoyles perched on the cathedral spires, their stony eyes tracking the students. The student body itself was a sea of dark elegance and sharp fangs.
And as we walked, every single pair of eyes locked onto us.
The whispers hit us like physical projectiles.
"Is that the Anomaly? I thought she was exiled." "Look at her aura. I heard she nearly killed Duke Alaric in the vestibule yesterday..." "Who is that human behind her? Her new thrall?" "He has no collar. And no magical signature. He's just... walking there."
Lysandra's posture was rigid. She was trying to project the imperious aura of an S-Class royal, but I could see the slight tremor in her hands. She wasn't used to this much attention. For eighteen years, she had been invisible. Now, she was the center of a very dangerous stage.
I fell into step exactly six inches behind her right shoulder—close enough to act as an immediate physical shield, but far enough to maintain the illusion of servitude.
"Breathe, My Lady," I murmured, my voice pitched so only she could hear. "Keep your chin perfectly parallel to the ground. Let your eyes unfocus slightly. Look through them, not at them. They are not predators analyzing you; they are simply furniture in your hallway."
Lysandra took a slow, deep breath. Her chin rose a fraction of an inch. Her crimson eyes glazed over with a chilling, aristocratic apathy.
Instantly, the whispering vampires lining the path flinched, instinctively stepping back to give her a wider berth.
[ System Alert: Target 'Lysandra Von Vesper' Confidence +10. Bond Level slowly increasing. ]
We entered the Grand Lecture Hall, a cavernous auditorium built like a Roman amphitheater. The Vampire Peers took their seats in the luxurious upper balconies, while the newly accepted human Initiates—those who had survived yesterday's massacre—were herded into the lower pits.
I escorted Lysandra to a prime, velvet-lined seating booth on the second tier. Duke Alaric's usual spot.
Several nobles glared, but none moved to stop her.
"Wait for me in the Initiate pit," Lysandra ordered softly, playing her part flawlessly.
"As you command, My Lady," I bowed, turning and descending the stone stairs to the crowded floor below.
The human Initiates were a nervous, traumatized mess. Most were bandaged from the chaos of the vestibule. I found an empty spot near a stone pillar and leaned against it, crossing my arms.
"Lucian! Oh my god, you're alive!"
A blur of motion tackled my side. I didn't dodge, though my [Absolute Composure] kept me from physically reacting to the sudden impact.
I looked down. Clinging to my arm was Chloe, the eccentric human girl who had acted as my unsolicited tour guide while we waited in line yesterday.
Only, she wasn't entirely human anymore.
Her once warm brown eyes were now a striking, vibrant red. When she smiled, two sharp little fangs peeked over her bottom lip. Her skin had paled dramatically, and the faint, chaotic thrum of low-tier vampiric mana buzzed beneath her skin.
[ Name: Chloe |
Race: Fledgling Vampire |
Potential: D-Class ]
"You survived," I noted, peeling her off my arm gently.
"Barely!" Chloe babbled, her words tumbling out at a hundred miles an hour. "When the Fallen attacked, I got grabbed by Baron Silas's guards! They dragged me up to the balcony, and the Baron gave me the Embrace right there to save his 'investment.' It hurt like crazy, but look! I have fangs now! I'm a creature of the night! Rawr!"
She snapped her teeth playfully.
"Terrifying," I said deadpan.
"But what about you?!" Chloe gasped, leaning in close, her new red eyes wide with gossip. "The whole Academy is talking about you! They say the exiled Princess Lysandra suddenly awakened, and she took a human Initiate as her personal executioner! Everyone says she summoned a demon to butcher the Fallen!"
"I assure you, I am entirely human," I said, adjusting my cuffs.
"Yeah, right," Chloe snorted, crossing her arms. "You don't smell human anymore. You smell like... well, like really expensive cleaning supplies and suppressed violence. It's a weird combo."
I mentally noted to adjust my alchemical soap formula. Her heightened vampiric senses were sharper than I anticipated.
"Since you are now a font of Academy knowledge, Chloe," I deflected, "perhaps you can answer a question for me."
"Ask away!" she beamed, eager to show off her new status.
"The Vesper family crest is the Silver Rose," I said casually, scanning the banners hanging from the auditorium ceiling. "But I have seen variations. Specifically, a Silver Rose wrapped in thorny, black chains. Which faction uses that?"
Chloe's cheerful demeanor vanished instantly. She looked around nervously, lowering her voice to a frantic whisper.
"Are you crazy? Don't say that out loud."
"Why not?"
"Because that's the crest of the Crimson Inquisitors," Chloe hissed, her red eyes darting toward the upper balconies. "They're the elite, shadow-ops division of House Vesper. Led by Princess Carmilla. They don't attend classes here. They hunt down traitors, experiment on humans, and do the High Council's dirty work. Even Duke Alaric is terrified of them."
Princess Carmilla.
I felt a cold, jagged spike of adrenaline pierce my chest. The name branded itself onto the inside of my skull. Found you.
Before I could ask anything else, a deafening crack of a whip echoed through the auditorium.
CRACK!
Silence fell instantly over the thousands of students.
Standing on the central podium in the pit was a tall, gaunt vampire wearing a professor's robes. He held a glowing, barbed mana-whip in his right hand. His eyes swept over the human Initiates with absolute disgust.
[ Name: Professor Valmont |
Race: High Vampire |
Potential: B-Class |
Faction: Loyal to Duke Alaric ]
"Silence, livestock," Valmont sneered, his voice magically amplified to reach every corner of the hall. "Welcome to the Nightfall Academy. For those of you in the pit, your lives no longer belong to you. You are property. You are blood-bags. Only those who prove themselves exceptionally useful will be granted the honor of the Embrace."
Valmont began pacing around the pit, his barbed whip trailing against the stone floor, throwing sparks.
"Yesterday, an... incident occurred," Valmont continued, his eyes drifting up toward the second-tier balcony, locking directly onto Lysandra. "Wild rumors have spread that a lowly, un-Embraced human Initiate managed to slay several Vanguard Fallen."
A low murmur rippled through the aristocratic balconies.
Valmont stopped pacing. He turned his gaze directly toward me.
"House Vesper does not tolerate lies. Nor do we tolerate defective Royals attempting to artificially inflate their standing through trickery," Valmont said loudly, his aura flaring. "You! The human belonging to the Anomaly. Step forward."
Chloe squeaked and took three rapid steps away from me.
I didn't hesitate. I pushed off the stone pillar and stepped into the center of the clearing, keeping my hands resting politely behind my back.
"At your service, Professor," I said politely.
"Duke Alaric has officially contested Lady Lysandra's claim," Valmont sneered, raising his whip. "As a Professor of Martial Arts, it is my duty to test the validity of the Initiate's strength. If you are truly capable of killing a Fallen, defending yourself against a simple disciplinary strike should be effortless."
Up in the balcony, Lysandra shot to her feet. "Valmont, you overstep! He is my property!"
"Forgive me, Lady Lysandra," Valmont smiled cruelly, his eyes locked on me. "But Academy regulations state that any human Initiate can be physically audited by a Professor. Now, human... let us see what you are made of."
With a flick of his wrist, Valmont lashed out.
The glowing, barbed mana-whip cracked through the air. It wasn't aimed at my legs or back. It was aimed directly at my throat, traveling at a speed that would easily decapitate a normal human.
He's trying to execute me to humiliate her, I realized calmly.
My [Sanguine Thrall Form] was on cooldown. I couldn't use Lysandra's stats. I only had my base human 14 Agility and 12 Strength.
But I didn't need stats. I had two years of hellish conditioning.
"A whip is just a very long, very stupid arm, Lucian," Seraphina's voice advised lazily in my head. "Don't look at the tip. Look at the shoulder. If you control the pivot, you control the weapon."
As the whip snapped toward my neck, I didn't dodge backward.
Instead, I stepped forward, directly into the arc of the attack.
[ Passive Skill: Demon Hunter Martial Arts (Lv. 3) Activated. ]
I raised my right hand, holding a thick, silver-plated serving tray I had pulled from my [Domestic Sub-Space Inventory] a fraction of a second earlier.
CLANG!
The barbed mana-whip wrapped viciously around the silver tray instead of my neck. Silver is a highly conductive metal for dark magic; the tray instantly absorbed the kinetic and magical shock, though the force of it sent a dull ache up my forearm.
Before Valmont could retract the whip, I twisted my wrist sharply, locking the barbed end around the tray.
With a hard, violent yank, I used my body weight to pull.
Valmont, expecting to pull back through flesh and bone, was entirely caught off guard. His center of gravity was shattered. He stumbled violently forward, dragged by his own weapon.
As he fell toward me, I elegantly stepped to the side, letting go of the tray.
Valmont tripped over his own feet, crashing face-first into the unforgiving stone floor of the auditorium pit with a pathetic, echoing thud.
The entire Grand Lecture Hall fell dead silent. Thousands of vampires stared in absolute shock.
A high-ranking Professor had just been face-planted by a human holding a serving tray.
I dusted off my Nightfall Academy uniform, smoothly retrieving the silver tray from the floor and sliding it behind my back, where it vanished back into my inventory.
I looked down at Valmont, who was groaning on the floor, his nose bleeding profusely.
"My apologies, Professor," I said loudly, my tone dripping with impeccable, polite concern. "As a dedicated servant of Lady Lysandra, I am trained to intercept flying debris and messes before they can soil her presence. I did not realize you were demonstrating a floor-sweeping technique."
A single, muffled bark of laughter echoed from the upper balconies. It was quickly silenced, but the damage was done.
Valmont pushed himself up onto his hands and knees, his eyes burning with humiliated rage. His fangs fully extended, his B-Class aura flaring violently.
"You... you insolent little blood-bag!" Valmont roared, preparing to lunge.
"Valmont."
The voice was soft, cold, and echoed with an unnatural, bone-chilling resonance.
The entire hall froze.