Naro bid his friends farewell with a faint smile. "Take care Naro!" Elara shouts from afar. watching as the trainees scattered—some rushing back to their families, others clinging together in tight groups to enjoy the first days of freedom. For them, this break meant comfort and belonging. For Naro, it was apart of his bigger plan.
He approached the principal with a respectful bow, his voice calm and steady. "My aunt waits for me beyond the academy walls. I would not like to keep her waiting."
The old lady nodded, unsuspecting. Within the hour, Naro was free of the kingdom's watchful eyes, slipping into the wilderness where no one could track him.
His destination was clear: his castle. The fortress he had abandoned for over a year, waiting silently for its master's return. There, he would gather blood path nyx, strengthen his foundation, and prepare for the most intense part of his plan, only when he's done can he return to his act as a trainee, for now the main plan of this trip is—contact with the Vampire King, Dracula himself. Insanity to most. A calculated step to Naro.
Now firmly in the Rank 2 realm, his base was stable, his aura sharp. Combined with 300 years of buried experience, he knew acquiring blood path nyx would be far easier for him than for any common cultivator.
Weeks of travel slipped by. Mountains loomed and forests whispered as he crossed untamed lands, moving with relentless precision. At last, the silhouette of his fortress rose on the horizon: a towering castle of black stone, its tall windows gleaming faint red like watchful eyes.
"Home sweet home," Naro muttered, though there was no warmth in the words.
Inside, the air was thick with dust and silence—until he heard it. A faint, fragile sound. Sniffling. Crying.
He followed the noise through the vast hall until he found her: the purple-eyed fairy he had left behind. Her small figure was curled against the wall, wings dim, her face puffy from tears. She looked up at him, eyes shining with betrayal.
"Leave me alone! Go away—you abandoned me!" Her voice cracked, shaking with anger and grief.
Naro's expression softened instantly, though deep within, he felt no guilt. To him, she was a tool. A valuable piece on the board, nothing more. But tools had to be preserved. Tools had to believe in their wielder.
He knelt beside her, hands wrapping around her small frame in a soft embrace. His eyes glistened with false tenderness, his voice low and soothing.
"I never abandoned you," he lied smoothly. "I left for your sake. For us. I needed to grow stronger, so I could protect you when the time comes."
Her sobs quieted, though suspicion still lingered in her trembling lips. He stroked her hair gently, continuing his act with a smile that looked every bit as real as it was hollow.
"I promise, I'll always return. We'll spend our days together soon. You'll never have to cry alone again."
The purple-eyed fairy sniffled and, hesitantly, leaned into his arms. It was enough.
Later that night, once she had drifted to sleep, Naro stood by the high windows of his castle, gazing into the blood colored moonlight. His mask slipped, leaving only cold calculation across his face.
The time for hunting blood path nyx had come. Blood path nyx were rare, and only one source yielded them in abundance—vampires. And among them, none was more dangerous, more untouchable, than the Vampire King himself. To approach him was suicide. Someone would be courting death.
With Naro's schemes sharper than any blade, he prepared to descend into the dark hands of Dracula.
Naro pushed deeper south into vampire territory, where the forest grew darker and heavier with fog. The trees twisted as if they had been scorched long ago, and the air was cold enough to make each breath feel sharp in his chest. No birds, no insects, not even the wind—just silence pressing down on everything.
A low blood quality vampire soon appeared, pale, with reddish eyes and bat-like features. It rushed him without thought. Naro fought calmly, cutting it down after putting up a fight. The blood was weak, thin, useless. He moved on without a glance.
Naro wasn't here for a low blood tier vampire. What he wanted was a true high-blood vampire. The higher the blood quality, the more human-like they looked—refined, intelligent, dangerous. Their blood carried power, and any blood-path nyx infused with it would grow stronger.
But more than that, Naro wanted someone specific. Someone he remembered from his past life.
Raphael Duskborne.
Known among vampires as one of Dracula's most cunning lieutenants, Raphael was brilliant and manipulative, able to weave plans that even fellow vampires often failed to see until it was too late. He was both a friend and rival to Naro in his previous lifetime. This time, Raphael would be his ticket to Dracula himself.
Naro knew where Dracula's fortress was hidden, but he wouldn't dare step inside uninvited. The halls were filled with high-bloods powerful enough to crush him instantly. He needed an entry point—and Raphael was that key.
As he pushed further into the fog, he cut down a few more lowbloods, their bodies falling aside like broken branches. The deeper he went, the more the air itself seemed to resist him. And then, at last, he felt it—an aura that made the forest shift.
A figure stepped into view. Not a beastly pale thing, but a manlike vampire, tall and composed, his presence heavy and commanding. His skin had the warmth of life, his crimson eyes sharp with intelligence. Only the faint gleam of fangs revealed what he truly was.
A decent high-blood.
The difference between a low-blood and a high-blood was undeniable.
Naro didn't hide. Instead, he stepped forward, showing calm and confidence, and spoke in a tongue no human should ever know—an ancient language of the vampires.
"I come in peace, and I seek to be of benefit."
The vampire froze, eyes widening slightly. That language belonged to the oldest and most noble bloodlines, spoken only among their kind. And yet here was a human, speaking it perfectly, as if born to it.
Shock crossed the vampire's face. His expression shifted slowly from caution to curiosity, his gaze fixing on Naro as if he were some strange, impossible puzzle.
The high-blood vampire's eyes narrowed, their glow cutting through the mist like embers in the dark. His tone dripped with disbelief, though there was something sharper beneath it—curiosity barely restrained by pride.
"Impossible… no mortal tongue can shape our words so cleanly. Yet you speak them as if born to the blood. Who taught you?"
Naro did not falter. His shoulders were steady, his gaze locked on the vampire as if the suffocating rank 3 aura pressing against him were no more than a breeze. His reply was calm, weighted.
"No one taught me. I simply… remember." His words lingered in the air before he added, with deliberate clarity:
"I seek Raphael Duskborne."
The effect was immediate. The vampire froze, his expression twisting as though struck by something between shock and anger. For the first time, the perfect stillness of his composure cracked. His red pupils dilated, his voice dropping to a rasp filled with danger.
"Raphael? You dare speak of that name? It is not meant for mortal lips."
But Naro's eyes remained unflinching, his voice unwavering.
"And yet I speak it. Because he is the one I must meet. I know enough to understand he is not like the others—he values knowledge, not blind slaughter. Tell him I bring words that will matter to him."
The vampire's presence pressed harder, like an ocean crashing down. The fog around him coiled, shifting as though it lived, shadows bending closer with his intent. Each step forward was slow, deliberate, predatory.
"You presume much, human. Raphael is the scholar of the abyss, a hand of the Duskborne legacy, and still the shadow of Dracula's will. Do you imagine one such as he.. would waste his time on a wandering mortal?"
Naro tilted his head slightly, with the faintest trace of a smile, though his tone stayed even, and quiet.
"No. I imagine Raphael has no time for wanderers. But I am not one of them. He chooses carefully who earns his attention. And I believe… he will be interested to see me."
The vampire stared at him long and hard. The silence that followed was absolute, broken only by the faint whistle of the wind through the forest branches. He was studying Naro's every twitch, searching for weakness, for even the smallest tremor of fear.
None came.
Finally, the high-blood's lips parted, not in a smile, but in something darker, more dangerous—a flash of fangs that promised death as much as it admitted reluctant acknowledgment.
"If you lie, human, your blood will feed the soil here. And your bones will hang like lanterns on these trees, a warning to any fool who dares follow your path." His voice dropped lower still, like iron dragged across stone.
"But if you speak truth… perhaps you will step where only the damned are permitted to tread."
The crushing weight of his aura relented slightly, though the tension never vanished. His eyes burned with suspicion, but beneath it now stirred a flicker of something new: respect laced with caution.
"Very well. I will grant you audience. But hear me, mortal—Raphael does not forgive wasted moments. Should you fail his test, not even the faint memory of your name will linger in this forest."
The vampire turned, his long black cloak sweeping through the mist. With a gesture, the fog thickened, curling into dense waves that swallowed the world around them. The air grew colder, the light dimmer, as though the forest itself bent to vampire dominion.
"Follow, human," he commanded, his voice echoing unnaturally through the trees. "Let us see if Raphael Duskborne finds you worth the breath it takes to speak your name."
And so Naro stepped forward, into the heart of vampire territory, every shadow alive, every moment bringing him closer to the enigmatic figure he had sought—and closer still to the games of power that would decide whether he walked out alive.
As Naro followed behind the nameless high-blood vampire, the fog began to thin, and in the distance, a silhouette rose against the horizon. A castle—vast, jagged, its black spires tearing into the night sky like the bones of some long-dead beast.
But it was not the castle itself that twisted the gut with dread. It was the land surrounding it.
Fields stretched wide, fenced in by wrought-iron twisted into cruel shapes. And in those fields… humans. Rows of them, shackled and bound, their skin pale, their eyes hollow, their bodies trembling as they were fed into monstrous machines of metal and fang—blood pressers. The sound of them gnashing, hissing, pumping the lifeblood out of screaming throats filled the night. The stench of iron and rot clung thick in the air.
Workers—lowly vampire servants—went about the task as if it were nothing more than tilling soil. Their eyes burned faintly red as they looked up at the passing high-blood… then fell again when their gazes brushed Naro. To any other mortal, the sight would shatter the mind, drown the heart in madness.
But Naro's eyes were as cold as stone. He had seen this before—seen worse. His steps never faltered.
The nameless vampire smirked faintly, impressed by his composure, but said nothing.
They passed the yard of livestock and death. The screams grew distant, replaced by an eerie stillness as they reached the castle gates. Unlike the fields, the entrance was lined with manicured hedges and pale white flowers that seemed to drink the moonlight. Beauty and terror entwined.
The high-blood vampire stood in-front of the gate. Knock. Knock.
The massive doors creaked open by themselves, as though pulled by invisible hands. A chill swept out from within, swallowing the air around them.
Inside, the castle dazzled its glory. Its vast hall was vintage, immaculate—red carpets unrolled across black stone floors, chandeliers of bone and crystal dripping with pale fire. Two stairways coiled upward, symmetrically perfect, as if the room had been built not for comfort, but for awe. And dread.
High-blooded servants walked about the halls like wraiths—elegant, pale, with eyes like sharpened daggers.
One appeared before them, stepping directly into their path. His posture rigid, his voice sharp and dripping with menace.
"How dare you bring a human into this castle!?" His fangs bared, his aura pressing down like the weight of a blade. "If Lord Raphael learns of this, we are all doomed!" His voice cracked at the edges, filled with bloodlust and warring with fear.
The nameless vampire only smiled, then flicked a glance toward Naro, as if to say: Show him.
Naro's gaze sharpened. His voice rang out, not human at all, but fluent, perfect—ancient.
"I seek to speak with Lord Raphael. I would like to strike a trade."
The servant froze. His lips parted in disbelief, the hunger in his eyes briefly overtaken by something else: terror. This human speaks the tongue of the ancients… as if born to it.
Then—
A sound cut through the tension, a strong rank 4 aura took over the room.
Clapping.
Slow, deliberate. Followed by laughter that rolled like thunder muffled in velvet.
A new voice. Smooth, commanding, laced with delight and cruelty.
"Bravo… bravo." The voice lingered in every corner of the hall, echoing far too long. "In my one hundred and fifty years of life, I have never seen a human form such words. And you—" the tone sharpened to a blade, then back to amused silk, "you speak as if the language were yours."
The air turned heavy. Every servant in the hall bowed their heads in union.
A presence chilling, vast and suffocating, until the walls themselves seemed to lean inward.
Then, with a snap of his fingers, reality cracked.
The hall dissolved. Naro blinked—and in the next instant, he was no longer standing, but seated upon a plush red couch that seemed to bleed warmth into his spine. The chamber around him glowed with elegance: tapestries, flawless oil paintings of horrors disguised as saints, candlelight flickering with unnatural steadiness.
And before him, seated cross-legged with effortless poise, was a figure.
Long blond-white hair caught the light like strands of fire and frost. His jawline was sharp as a blade, his blue hunter eyes golden and piercing, his nose sharp, the faintest smirk curling at his lips. He wore an immaculate white suit, the very color making his hair blaze brighter, his presence burn colder.
It was Raphael Duskborne.
Raphael's hands came together, fingers laced, elbows resting casually on one knee. His voice was smooth, dangerously charming.
"You interest me, human. You interest me greatly. So…" His eyes gleamed brighter. "Tell me, what is it that—"
The door slammed open.
"LORD RAPHAEL!" a servant burst in, panic dripping from every word. "There is a human in the castle—!"
He stopped, eyes bulging as he realized. The human was already here. Seated before Raphael. Speaking with him.
"…oh."
The chamber fell silent.
Raphael's smile thinned. His brows drew tightly together, displeasure radiating off him like frost. With the faintest flick of his wrist, reality buckled.
The servant froze, his body twitched—then half of him simply ceased to exist, torn apart by invisible force. The remains collapsed to the marble floor in a wet spray, blood painting the immaculate white walls.
"Annoying," Raphael muttered, his tone calm, almost bored, as though brushing away a speck of dust. He looked back at Naro, as if the interruption had never happened. His smile returned, sharp and gleaming.
"Now. Where were we?"