Time passed.
Like frost spreading across stone, Lazarus grew within the cold walls of the hidden castle. At five years of age, his mind was already sharper than most men's, and his heart colder than the winter wind. He sat cross-legged behind a false bookshelf, eyes scanning an aged tome titled The Foundation of Rune Theory.
The pages crackled under his pale fingers. The letters were ancient, written in a language only the mad or the brilliant still bothered to decipher.
Behind him, the hidden shelf creaked open.
Dracula entered, his red cloak trailing behind him like blood spilled across marble. He raised a brow, the flicker of amusement touching his voice.
"What are you reading?"
Lazarus didn't look up.
"Rune magic."
"Hmph," Dracula scoffed, stepping closer. "That ancient trash? Even Jaba gave up on it. Too complex, too dangerous. One wrong stroke and the rune detonates. Only a fool clings to it."
Lazarus turned a page.
"I know. I don't care. It's versatile. Unlike most magic, it doesn't require incantations or focus. It just works—everywhere."
Dracula chuckled darkly. "Fair enough. Today, I'll awaken your mana channels. I'll teach you the forbidden—blood arts. But first, I have a nuisance to eliminate."
Lazarus shut the book with a snap, rose silently, and followed him.
His clothes were simple yet striking: dark red shorts, a black long-sleeved shirt, knee-high black socks, and matching dark red loafers that clacked coldly against the stone path. As they exited, he slid the false shelf shut behind him. The castle's silence resumed.
"You memorized the planetary chart I gave you?"
"It took me two minutes," Lazarus said flatly.
Dracula gave a nod, his expression unreadable. Such talent, he thought. No hesitation. No pride. Just results.
They walked in silence until they reached the Gothic Court—a vast hall of stone pillars and red-stained glass, where the condemned met their end.
Dracula took the central seat.
"Let the trial begin."
Massive iron doors groaned open. Guards dragged in a giant of a man, easily 300 centimeters tall, weighing more than 200 kilograms. Chains bound his neck, wrists, and ankles, yet he knelt with seething rage.
Dracula's voice rang out, devoid of emotion:
"For the crime of defiling the vampire bloodline—spawning over a hundred filthy halflings—I sentence you to death."
"WHAT?!" the man roared, muscles bulging. "I WILL NOT ACCEPT THIS!"
With a thunderous crack, he shattered his chains and lunged forward. His massive fist shot toward Dracula's face—but stopped dead, five centimeters away, crushed by an invisible force.
Dracula didn't blink. Instead, he turned to Lazarus, who sat beside him with a bored expression.
"Kill him, child. Then we'll resume your training."
Lazarus sighed, brushing imaginary dust off his sleeves. "Fine."
The vampire scoffed. "You coward. Hiding behind a child?"
Dracula smirked. "If you kill the child, you're free. Breed all the filth you want."
"DON'T GO BACK ON YOUR WORD, YOU BASTARD!" the man shouted, charging at Lazarus.
As his massive arms wrapped around Lazarus in a spinebuster grip, the boy's voice echoed in his ear—cold, detached.
"You're slow."
The man blinked. Lazarus stood behind him.
Rage twisted his face. "YOU FUCKING BRAT!"
He charged again. This time, Lazarus leapt lightly onto his shoulder, whispering, "Do you even want to live? You're being humiliated by a five-year-old."
The man roared. "I'LL CRUSH YOU—"
Then everything tilted.
He was still standing… yet his vision was upside down. He caught his reflection in the stained glass. His neck was twisted—chin to sky, forehead to earth.
"You… you dare…!"
With a savage grunt, he wrenched his neck back into place.
"I'LL FUCKING KILL YOU—"
His head hit the ground before the rest of his body.
Lazarus turned away, his voice calm. "Be grateful. I killed you quickly."
Dracula rose, satisfied. "Come, child. Let's awaken your mana channels. The blood arts await."
"Finally," Lazarus muttered, walking ahead.
"Also, wash your hair," Dracula said casually. "You've got blood on it."
Lazarus paused, catching his reflection again. His snow-white hair was stained red. His cold gaze narrowed.
"You bastard…" he hissed, turning on the corpse. "You dirtied my hair."
He stomped down, over and over, reducing the corpse to pulp. Only when Dracula released a sliver of killing intent did he stop.
"Enough. Save your tantrum for the battlefield."
"Tch."
Back in his room, Lazarus stripped his shirt and sat on the cold stone, legs folded in a lotus position. Dracula entered minutes later with a strange root in hand.
"Is that… ginger?" Lazarus asked.
"No. This is thousand-year-old snow ginseng. Sit still. I'll pour mana into your body. You guide it to your heart. We need to awaken your celestial meridian if you're to use the Planetary System."
Lazarus exhaled once and focused.
Dracula placed his palms on the boy's back. Threads of pure mana surged into his body like icy rivers. The pain would've driven most men mad, but Lazarus didn't flinch. Six hours passed. Dracula, drenched in sweat, finally pulled his hands away.
"Done."
He handed the ginseng over.
"Eat. Then attempt to unlock a planet. You now have a sun in your heart."
Lazarus, his body trembling from exhaustion, accepted the root with a nod.
"Fine..."
He collapsed onto the bed, still holding the ginseng, unconscious.