It is well known that only the Greenskins and the Tomb Kings in the world lack any form of sexual desire.
Vampires, on the other hand, are quite capable in this regard. The Lahmian bloodline, in particular, is renowned for their expertise. Female vampires from this bloodline are exceptionally skilled at seducing human nobles. According to the firsthand accounts of human male nobles who have experienced their charms, "It's incredibly pleasurable, as if even the marrow is being sucked out."
The Blood Queen Neferata herself is known to be bisexual, and only the highest-ranking Lahmian vampires within the sisterhood are deemed worthy of her intimate attention.
Currently, the most favored concubine of the Dragon Emperor of Cathay is also a female vampire, though she does not belong to the Lahmian bloodline.
As for Mannfred, he too has his own inclinations.
Mannfred von Carstein is a descendant of the Blood Count Vlad von Carstein, who was famously known as a romantic. When Vlad was still known as Vashanesh, he effortlessly won Neferata's heart with his charm, strength, and good looks. After the fall of Lahmia, Vashanesh, having lain low for many years, transformed into Vlad. The first thing he did after disguising himself as a human noble was to seduce Isabella, the only daughter of Elector Count Otto of Sylvania.
However, unlike his progenitor, who was known for his charisma, prowess, and mastery in governance and warfare, Mannfred has little interest in such matters. In fact, he often deliberately goes against Vlad's ways.
For instance, while Vlad's approach to vampires was one of unity, Mannfred's approach is one of suppression, assassination, and intimidation.
Vlad was keen on maintaining the population of his "livestock" (referring to the humans of Sylvania). He welcomed and established many "Sylvanian Imperial Auxiliaries" (human armies) and even allowed the Knights of the Order of the Black Rose, who were striving to drive out the undead and reclaim their homeland, to continue their activities in Sylvania.
Of course, Vlad was no benevolent figure. These Sylvanian knights were merely part of a tragic cycle: striving to reclaim Sylvania—being hunted by Vlad—dying a tragic death—being resurrected after some time—and then striving to reclaim Sylvania once more.
Mannfred, however, is different. After the second Vampire Count, Konrad, was defeated and Mannfred took control of Sylvania, the first thing he did was to utterly destroy and kill every member of the Knights of the Black Rose and their families. Through this, he made it clear that he was not like Vlad and that he would not tolerate any human activity within his domain.
"I am who I am, a different kind of firework," Mannfred might say.
What brings Mannfred the most joy is crushing everything beautiful and precious in the world, forcing his enemies to show expressions of utter despair and shock, stripping them of everything and socially annihilating them.
"You are truly despicable, my son," a cold, elegant voice suddenly echoed in Mannfred's mind.
Mannfred's expression froze.
Vlad is still alive. He has always been alive. As a Blood Count, Vlad never truly dies. His will persists through the dark blood flowing in Mannfred's veins, coldly observing everything. Even though centuries have passed since the Vampire Wars, Vlad's name continues to be whispered among the ghouls, etched on ancient tombstones, and echoed in the depths of Castle Drakenhof.
Vlad is still alive; he simply lacks a physical form. "My son, you are nothing like me. You should not treat a lady in such a manner. You should at least show her basic respect. Even if you must kill her, do so with dignity."
"Enough, old man!" Mannfred roared impatiently. His feelings toward Vlad are a mix of admiration and disdain, respect and contempt.
"You have inherited none of my wisdom. Your abilities do not match your ambitions..." Vlad's voice continued, but a loud crash from the side of the dungeon interrupted him, temporarily silencing the Blood Count's power.
"Boom!" The dungeon wall exploded, and several crimson energy bolts flew out from the shattered wall, striking the crowd.
The dire wolves, ghouls, crypt horrors, and two vampires that had been pinning down Princess Aliathra were instantly blown away, but the young queen beneath them remained unharmed. Aliathra, having narrowly escaped death, continued to retreat. Her stockings were torn in several places, and one of her round-toed princess shoes was missing.
Squads of Nehekharan Royal Guards appeared, followed by the Lich King Arkhan. The Tomb King's voice was filled with fury, as if Mannfred's actions had thoroughly enraged him. "Mannfred! You vulture of the desert, you corpse in the pyramid, what are you doing?"
"What am I doing?" Mannfred's expression remained unchanged. "Look at her, my Lich King. Does she look like a prisoner to you? She seems more like the mistress of this castle than we do!"
"This castle has only one master, and that is the Undying King Nagash. We are all his servants!" Arkhan drew his artifact, the Tomb Blade of Arkhan, as if recalling something that angered him. "Enough, Mannfred. I warn you."
"I don't need your warnings. I know what I'm doing!" Mannfred retorted, drawing his own profane blade.
Arkhan instantly charged forward, and the two artifacts clashed like phantoms, their blades moving at blinding speed. In the blink of an eye, the Lich King and the last Vampire Count had exchanged over a dozen blows within the dungeon.
Mannfred was soon astonished by his opponent's skill.
The last Vampire Count's strikes were as swift as the wind and as relentless as a storm. The power of his vampire bloodline granted Mannfred unparalleled speed, immense strength, and a brutal physical prowess. In Mannfred's eyes, this piece of salted meat who only knew how to play with necromancy should have been no match for him in close combat.
Yet, in the midst of their fierce exchange, every one of Mannfred's strikes was anticipated by Arkhan. The Lich King's footwork was agile and swift, his defenses impenetrable. Every attack Mannfred thought would surely land was halted by Arkhan's blade.
Mannfred lunged forward with a thrust, but Arkhan sidestepped.
The profane blade missed its mark and was deflected upward, only to be blocked again by Arkhan.
Mannfred then swung downward, but Arkhan parried once more.
In that instant, Arkhan suddenly shifted his blade to his back, where Mannfred had emerged from the shadows. The Vampire Count's surefire backstab was almost perfectly intercepted by Arkhan.
"Clang!" The Tomb Blade of Arkhan firmly blocked the tip of the profane blade.
More Nehekharan Royal Guards rushed in from outside. Mannfred suddenly realized he had lost his best chance to defeat Arkhan. The Vampire Count immediately sheathed his sword and flashed a bright smile at the Lich King, as if their previous clash had never happened. "Not bad swordsmanship. Where did you learn it?"
"When you have thousands of years to hone your swordsmanship, wisdom, and the art of war, you can be just like me," Arkhan replied indifferently.
The Lich King's combat and military prowess were entirely learned from Settra. Since Settra's resurrection, Arkhan had been fighting him on and off. While all the Tomb Priests under Settra combined were no match for Arkhan in magic, the Lich King was far inferior to Settra in the art of war and close combat.
Thus, Arkhan chose to alternate between war and peace with Settra. He used their battles to learn Settra's tactics, military strategies, command skills, and to refine his own combat techniques. Once he felt he had learned enough, he would promptly sue for peace. Settra would often agree, and Arkhan would quietly submit and pay tribute for a few years before finding an opportunity to rebel and face Settra on the battlefield once more. This cycle repeated itself over and over.
It was through this relentless practice that Arkhan honed his military and combat skills.
"I just wanted to teach her a lesson she'd never forget," Mannfred said with a sincere and trustworthy smile. He waved his hand, and the undead monsters retreated. A dozen vampires slowly gathered behind Mannfred. The last Vampire Count spoke earnestly, "After all, we only need a sacrifice."
"This is pointless," Arkhan said, his fiery eyes flickering as he reassessed Mannfred's threat. "We cannot choose our fate, for it is bestowed upon us by Nagash. Everything is. But at the very least, we should let her pass quietly and without pain."
"What difference does it make?!" Mannfred retorted angrily. "Don't you have any joy of your own? Don't you have any thoughts of your own?"
"My joy is not this," Arkhan replied coldly. "The noble people of Nehekhara do not take pleasure in humiliating others, especially not a pure maiden."
"So you're willing to let her humiliate you? Oh, you're such a lapdog. After licking Neferata's boots, now you've switched to licking our little queen? A grand love story between a sacrifice and a priest! How touching... but utterly useless," Mannfred sneered before turning to leave. "Do as you please. May your useless mercy not be your downfall, my Lich King."
Arkhan watched Mannfred leave, then turned to Aliathra, who was lying on the ground, trembling with fear. "Let's move to a different place. From now on, I will be responsible for guarding you. You won't be disturbed by him anymore."
"You... you promise?" Aliathra, still shaken, knew that Mannfred's methods were effective. If she were to be defiled by two or three hundred inhuman creatures, it would be a fate worse than death.
"I promise," Arkhan hesitated but ultimately agreed. The Lich King signaled the Nehekharan Royal Guards to remove Aliathra's shackles, though the magical restraints remained.
"It's surprising that you still have a shred of humanity and compassion in you," Aliathra, as the Eternal Queen, could easily sense that Arkhan genuinely did not wish her harm. She hugged the small snowy owl gifted to her by the Forest Queen Alarielle, the owl's eyes filled with confusion. "Incredible. Regardless, thank you."
Arkhan replied with grace and dignity, "It is my honor. I once encountered a similar situation with a... prisoner like you. Her name was Neferata. Poison and betrayal led to her death, and she suffered greatly before her end. So I swore I would not let such a thing happen again."
"Neferata..." Aliathra, supported by the Tomb Guards, sneered. "So you will still sacrifice me? For your master? What's the point of saving me then?"
"It is all the master's will," Arkhan shook his head. "I must play my role until the end of days. The master is one of the few who can withstand the tide of destruction. He must be resurrected, or our Silent Kingdom will fall."
"But Neferata didn't die," Aliathra struggled to walk, her face wet, her stockings torn and stained with the saliva of crypt horrors.
"She did die," Arkhan emphasized. "She was just resurrected later."
Please... bookmark... 6... 9... book... bar...!
"I don't want to talk to you anymore. Where is my new cell?" Aliathra said coldly.
"Next to mine," Arkhan hesitated for a moment before sighing. "Rest well... Do you have any wishes?"
"Set me free."
"That I cannot do."
"Then stop being so hypocritical."
"...I'm sorry, but I truly cannot. The master's resurrection requires a pure soul, a powerful vessel of divine energy, and a suitable physical host," Arkhan explained seriously. "Only you can serve as the pure soul. For the vessel of divine energy, I originally considered the Lady of the Lake, Morgiana of Bretonnia, but unfortunately..."
"Unfortunately, the Sun King and his demigod brother are in the way, right?" Aliathra sneered, though she couldn't help but feel regret. She wished she had been more amiable to the brothers.
She knew how many undead legions Nagashizzar had—dozens of undead armies, hundreds of necromancers, walls hundreds of meters high—it was all utterly despair-inducing. And Arkhan's power might even rival that of her uncle Teclis.
"The High Priestess of Myrmidia is still somewhat acceptable. As for the suitable physical host..." Arkhan seemed to realize he had said too much and changed his tone. "I'm sorry, your clothes are torn. I'll have your belongings brought to you. I remember there are some Nehekharan-era women's clothes in the basement. I'll have them brought up for you to try. Also, if you have any requests, feel free to tell me. I will do my best to fulfill them."
"Set me free, and I will ensure the Asur do not pursue you."
"That I cannot do."
"You are not entirely dead, Arkhan. You still have a heart. Why do you willingly serve as the Undying King's lackey?"
"No, I do not!" Arkhan finally showed some anger. The Lich King signaled for Aliathra to be returned to her cell. In the end, he sighed, "From the moment the master resurrected me, my fate was no longer my own."
After leaving the dungeon, Arkhan reached out, and his beloved zombie cat leaped onto his arm.
The Lich King murmured softly.
"For us servants, the only thing we can decide is how to face the end."
...I am the dividing line of destruction...
Meanwhile, the meeting at the Palace of Fontainebleau continued.
"There is one more topic," Ryan, the Sun King, sat at the head of the table and spoke gravely. "Regarding Marienburg, we all know that the merchant princes there have sensed the coming turmoil. They are hoarding goods and speculating wildly..."
Sitting outside, Aurora's eyes lit up upon hearing Ryan's words. She smelled an opportunity. If Ryan intended to deal with the merchant princes of Marienburg, perhaps she and Theresa could get involved and reap some benefits.
This wasn't just wishful thinking on Aurora's part. The Seventh Intelligence Bureau had many agents and influence in Marienburg, and there was also a key ally—the Tsarina Katarin, who was temporarily residing in Marienburg as Chief Magical Advisor to Schultze. She was Aurora's close friend.
No, I mustn't appear too greedy, Aurora thought, her eyes darting around. She leaned over to Theresa, who was sitting beside her, and whispered, "Daughter, it's about time. Why don't you go and ask if we could have lunch here? It wouldn't do to keep us all hungry during the meeting. I'd love to taste Lady Morgiana's cooking again."
"Mother? How could I possibly be the one to ask such a thing?" Theresa knew her mother was trying to sell her out again. The sorceress sighed softly, "Lady Morgiana only cooks for the Lady of the Lake, Ryan, Lady Sulia, and a select few others. Whether we get to eat is purely a matter of luck."
"Oh, come now. You're his court lady. Can't you just go and ask?" Aurora didn't consider Theresa's feelings at all. Just then, Morgiana happened to pass by, carrying several food boxes. It seemed the Lady of the Lake had brought some pastries, and two Lake Maidens followed with plates of fresh fruits, rare in the depths of winter. Aurora immediately called out to Morgiana, "My Lady, the Seventh Intelligence Bureau has urgent news for His Majesty. Could Theresa go in and speak to him?"
The meeting hall was divided into an outer and inner chamber. Aurora and the other court ladies were considered part of the King's inner circle, but they still had to sit in the outer chamber, behind ministers like Talleyrand and Vincent, as well as high-ranking knights such as Marquis Tullaris Shangrel, Count Julian Cahon, Banneret Armand, and Count Hercule of Devon. Those in the outer chamber could only listen to the discussions in the inner chamber and were not allowed to speak unless addressed.
Morgiana instinctively frowned upon hearing Aurora's voice. The Lady of the Lake had never been fond of this sorceress from the Empire. However, she had no particular dislike for Theresa. The mother and daughter were also heads of the Seventh Intelligence Bureau and had recently accomplished a great feat. Morgiana thought it best not to refuse and nodded to Theresa, "Follow me."
Theresa was on the verge of tears.
How could you sell me out like this, Mother? What am I supposed to say to Ryan?
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