Despite how much I wanted to stay with Kai, there were other things clawing at my mind — more important, or maybe just more distracting. I had found something.
A library.
Now, normally that wouldn't sound like a big deal, but this one was alive with blood.
The only reason I even knew it existed was thanks to my ability to sense it — a constant, pulsing heartbeat below the earth. Every wall was soaked in it, every book bled softly in the air, and even the damn chairs seemed to hum with it. It called to me like a siren.
I liked that kind of thing. Always did.
There was something… comforting about ancient texts. Words that had survived longer than my entire bloodline — fragile and eternal, like ghosts written in ink.
When I finally reached the spot above it, I looked down at the black stone under my boots. It was buried deep — too deep to dig normally. So I did what I always do. I cheated.
I rolled up my sleeves and looked at the hollowed carcass of a nightmare beast I'd been dragging around — its insides still filled with liquid crimson.
Time to put that to use.
I focused, and the blood surged outward like a tidal wave, twisting into a massive spiraling construct — a drill of pure, red force, spinning faster and faster until the air screamed around it.
"Alright, Alucard," I muttered. "This is either the dumbest or most glorious thing you've ever done."
I took a deep breath, let the madness take hold, and shouted,
"GIGA DRILL BREAK!"
The ground exploded.
Stone shattered, walls cracked, and the shockwave of my impact sent debris flying in every direction. The entire world fell away from under me as I plummeted through dust, blood, and screaming rock.
"Okay—bad idea—bad idea—BAD IDEA—!"
I hit a shelf, bounced off another, and finally managed to slow my descent by summoning a blood tendril that stabbed into the wall. The library below shimmered into view, illuminated by dim crimson runes and a ceiling of pulsing veins that ran like constellations.
When I finally landed — knees bent, breath heavy — I looked around.
Gods above and below.
This place was enormous.
Rows upon rows of shelves stretched endlessly, vanishing into mist. The air was thick with the scent of iron and paper. Chandeliers of crystallized blood floated in slow rotation, casting a gentle red light across ancient tomes and cracked stone.
It reminded me of Dracula's library.
That damned, beautiful place.
I used to spend hours there — reading, arguing, drinking, laughing. And her… Yuki.
Saying her name again felt like pressing an old wound, but the way it rolled off my tongue still made me smile.
What I would give to have her here now, just sitting beside me, mocking my taste in books while pretending not to read over my shoulder.
But reminiscing about the last time I was truly happy wouldn't help me now. So, I did what I always do when the past hurts — I buried it under action.
I started browsing.
I pulled out a few books that caught my eye and sat cross-legged on a slab of stone, my armor creaking softly as I opened the first one.
Book One: "The History of the Wrath City."
Weird title, but useful. The cover showed an island city — no walls, no shadow — clearly ancient. I started reading and took mental notes, summarizing the parts that mattered.
Apparently, a long, long time ago, this was an island ruled by a single king known as the Sinner of Wrath. He fought an unholy abomination so powerful it dried up the entire ocean, leaving the Forgotten Shore barren.
Then came the Sinner of Envy, who brought someone called Weaver — whoever the hell that is — and then the sinner of envy used the unholy creature's blood to create a new ocean.
Weird story, but fascinating. The last note mentioned that Envy warned Wrath about a coming dream before leaving.
I closed the book. "Pretty solid read," I muttered to myself. "Four and a half stars. Loses points for biblical drama."
The next few tomes were about fighting, weapon arts, and blood control — most of it I already knew. I skimmed them, absorbing the diagrams and notations. But then, at the very top of a crumbling shelf, something familiar caught my eye.
A journal.
Old, black leather, etched with a symbol I hadn't seen since…
Dracula's castle.
I froze. My hand trembled for a moment before I reached out and grabbed it. The texture was the same. Even the scent — faint, ancient blood — matched perfectly.
I brushed off the dust, drew a small cut across my palm, and let my blood drip onto its surface.
The sigil flared.
The journal pulsed in my hand, humming with a deep red glow.
I smiled — part fear, part nostalgia, part curiosity.