Chapter 14: Gacha Rates Suck, but I Need the Data!
While saying this, Lucien looked around—or rather, he stared specifically at the other beautiful woman, who was supposed to be her 'sister'.
The fractured moonlight streaming through the stained glass ceiling painted his marble-pale skin in a kaleidoscope of crimson and midnight blue, casting his elongated shadow across the blood-slicked mahogany floor.
His red eyes narrowed, pupils contracting to thin vertical slits as he studied the fallen woman.
If this vampire before him—or the other sister—could be described as a woman with an elegant, razor-sharp presence, then the sister who lay collapsed amid the scattered wreckage of the chamber possessed a serene beauty, calm and untroubled.
Even in her near-death state, there was something ethereal about her, like a porcelain doll forgotten on a battlefield. The subtle rise and fall of her chest was barely perceptible beneath the tatters of her once-fine clothing.
Her high-collared gown of deep blue and silver, once so dignified and regal, had been reduced to shreds—the satin torn open at her shoulders. The delicate embroidery that had once adorned the neckline now hung in damp, bloodied ribbons against her alabaster skin.
Her long, pale hair spilled in tangled waves across her face and shoulders, the ivory strands matted with crimson where Lucien's fangs had pressed savagely into her neck.
The wound was stark against her skin—two perfect punctures surrounded by bruised flesh, each laceration rimmed with dried blood that flaked like rust.
Was she the younger sister, perhaps? Lucien pondered, shifting his gaze between the vampire woman before him—who had been silent, her lips trembling—and the other sister.
His massive frame towered over both women, the tattered remains of his white poet shirt billowing slightly in a draft that whispered through the ruined mansion. He flexed his fingers absently, the joints cracking in the otherwise oppressive silence.
"P-please… revive my Elder Sister…"
It was then that the vampire woman, Elara, who had been silent, bit her lower lip until a bead of dark blood welled up against her newly pointed fang and spoke with a shudder for the first time, except for when she had been crying before this tall vampire.
Her disheveled chestnut hair seemed to bristle with the electricity of her emotion, rising slightly around her face like a halo of dark energy.
She raised her head, gazing into his eyes, which were devoid of any kindness or pity—a pair of squinted eyes that made him seem to smile inwardly. The colored light from the stained glass above caught in his irises, making them pulse like living embers.
Her chest suddenly tightened, her pride wounded, the fabric of her ruined blue gown rustling as her body tensed. The taste of her own blood lingered on her tongue, coppery and sweet.
Even knowing the offer would likely make her elder sister hate her…
I can't... Sister, please... I can't handle this alone, Elara's lips trembled, her eyes glistening with humiliation and anger toward this man—this towering vampire.
Her newly transformed body betrayed her emotions; the blue veins beneath her skin pulsed visibly, and her nails lengthened involuntarily into curved claws that dug into her palms, leaving crescent-shaped indentations.
"Hmm, I've changed my mind." This time, the tall, imposing vampire spoke, "First, tell me—why should I revive your sister? Wouldn't both of you just try to kill me, just as you already have?"
His eyes narrowed, his lips curling into a half-smile, wrinkles forming in amusement. The words that came from his mouth were exactly what she had expected.
And Lucien, the one who asked this, had no particular or logical reason to 'revive' her sister or the servants—besides one thing…
I'm curious…will it really work on everyone, or am I just lucky?
Like a gacha game or any scientific experiment—is one attempt enough to be considered a success?
This was the main reason Lucien had spoken those words earlier, giving a words to revive all of them.
He circled the fallen body of Lyra, his bare feet leaving crimson footprints that glistened wetly in the moonlight.
Even if this vampire woman refused—with limited time before the 'reinforcements' he predicted would arrive—he would revive them himself.
Knowing himself—or at least understanding this body—was more important. So regardless of her answer, he would do it.
How could I die before enjoying this second chance? Lucien thought. His eyes flickered brighter for a moment, the red glow reflecting off fragments of broken mirror scattered across the floor like abandoned stars.
A faint smile tugged at his unnaturally wide mouth, revealing the slightest hint of fangs that had already tasted Lyra's blood.
How could I miss this opportunity? Even after transmigrating into the body of a hideous creature? How could I, a novel reader, miss the chance to enjoy this magical fantasy world?
Before the supposed reinforcements arrived—probably brought by those two maids who had already fled—he would escape first.
On the other hand, as for why he offered this deal to the vampire woman—or made it seem like a favor, even though he would do it himself if she refused—the answer was obvious.
He tilted his head, studying Elara's reaction, the way her chest heaved with unnecessary breath—a human habit she hadn't yet abandoned in her newly turned state.
His heightened senses detected the subtle changes in her scent as emotions coursed through her: pride, fear, desperation, rage—all layered like complex perfume notes.
If he didn't make it an offer, but instead simply did her a favor, she wouldn't be grateful; instead, she might take it for granted and use it as an excuse for revenge.
Just like how she attacked me before, Lucien's red eyes glinted at her in silence.
He was no pushover—not after tasting the cruelty of the world.
Then, let me guess: I bet she'll refuse, then try to commit suicide.
A classic move for a proud noble, especially in a human world dominated by the church.
Most people in a fantasy world are rigid.
But then, unexpectedly, while Lucien was still pondering, the vampire woman—Elara, who had been silent—slowly crouched down, bent her body, and… pleaded.
Her movements were hesitant yet deliberate, her newly transformed body folding with an unnatural grace that belied the trembling in her limbs.
The tattered remnants of her once-elegant gown pooled around her like spilled ink on the blood-slicked floor, the silver embroidery catching the fractured light from above.
"Please… Master… I will give you my soul, my heart, my body, and will obey your commands." Her entire body trembled, and the words she spoke were filled with shivers, not stammering.
Her chestnut hair fell forward, obscuring her face in shadow, but the crimson glow of her eyes burned through the darkness like twin embers.
Even the towering vampire, Lucien, widened his eyes slightly, clearly stunned. The red glow of his irises brightened momentarily, his pupils dilating then contracting to thin slits as he processed this unexpected development.
In his opinion, she was stubborn, extremely prideful, and vengeful. With her noble background, an act like this… made him reconsider his opinion of her.
He leaned forward slightly, nostrils flaring as he caught the scent of her genuine desperation—bitter and sharp, like burnt sugar—mingling with the metallic tang of blood that saturated the air.
Why? That was the question that hung for a brief moment in his mind before she continued, "Just please… please don't touch my sister after you revive her."
Her voice cracked on the last word.
The bond of family, huh? Lucien's eyes filled with a sense of longing, perhaps even nostalgia. His shoulders, so tense, softened almost imperceptibly.
"Family, huh," he even unconsciously muttered, recalling how his father and mother, in his previous life, had taken care of him.
…
Moonlight filtered through the colored glass panels above in the ceiling, illuminating Lucien as he bent down, lowering his neck to bring his mouth closer to the neck of the beautiful woman who had been sucked nearly dry yet was not completely dead.
The stained glass transformed the light into patches of sapphire, ruby, and amber that played across Lyra's still form and Lucien's broad shoulders like ethereal hands.
But the scent drifting to him was… almost flat. It lacked the richness of living blood, carrying instead the musty odor of impending death, like old books left too long in a damp cellar.
Ah… should I do it or not… Lucien's brow furrowed, his red eyes narrowed with a conflicted expression as he looked at the dry skin of the first vampire woman's sister.
The skin of her neck looked ashen and pale—unhealthy, to say the least. It resembled parchment more than human flesh, drawn unnaturally taut across bones and tendons.
Fine lines and deep wrinkles were pronounced, perhaps even cracks radiated outward, especially at the stretched portions above the collarbone.
Yes, instead of dripping his blood or slashing his palm to feed blood by mouth—as he had done with the first vampire woman—Lucien wanted to try a different approach this time, or rather, to verify some theories he'd read about in novels.
But, looking at the state of her skin now, he felt it might actually bring bacteria to him. Maybe there were even wriggling worms beneath the surface.
Just the thought made Lucien—now a modern person transmigrated into a vampire body—shudder and hesitate.
But… I'm curious… will this still work or not… he thought, then tried hard to convince himself, then slightly opening his lips again.
A bead of dark saliva gathered at the corner of his mouth, viscous and gleaming in the fractured moonlight.
How could I falter, after everything I said to that proud woman? From the corner of his eye, he could sense Elara's tense presence, her gaze fixed on him with a mixture of hope and suspicion.
Just as Lucien intended to bite, his fangs popped out automatically, descending with a sensation like stretching a cramped muscle.
But, for some reason, only two extended from his upper jaw instead of the usual four.
The absence of the other pair created an odd emptiness in his mouth, like missing teeth.
He brushed aside the stray thought, and as his lips finally touched the dry skin, the two fangs embedded themselves into the woman's neck. The skin resisted briefly before yielding with a sound like parchment tearing.
In an instant, Lucien's cautious, narrowed eyes widened slightly, pupils dilating with shock.
It's rough…feels like a plank…no, more like biting leather. His stomach lurched with revulsion at the texture, so unlike the yielding softness of living flesh.
Then, the next step would be…spitting, I think? Kind of like spitting my saliva? Recalling what he'd read in stories, Lucien tried to spit, and in the next moment, he felt something flow. The sensation was alien and instinctive simultaneously, like his body remembered what his mind couldn't comprehend.
From his throat, traveling up his nose as if he were drowning—then it vanished before he could recognize it—a warm sensation, but more like a toothache, spread through his two fangs.
The pain was peculiar, radiating from the roots of his extended canines down into his jawbone and spreading across his face in pulsating waves.
He could feel something being drawn from his body, a strange draining sensation—not of blood but something more essential, more vital—until he stopped—deciding it was enough.
Sweat beaded on his forehead despite the cool air, each droplet tinted pink with exertion.
The amount should be the same, I think, Lucien thought, slowly standing up. His limbs felt momentarily heavy, as though he'd donated blood in his previous human life. The room tilted slightly before his vision stabilized.
He wiped his lips with the back of his hand, leaving a dark smear across his marble-pale skin, glanced at the dried woman's corpse before him, and stepped back.
"I-it's done?" A trembling, hesitant voice came from the side. Her clawed fingers twisted anxiously in the bloodied silk of her dress, tearing further at the already damaged fabric.
"Yes," Lucien replied. He moved to stand behind this first vampire woman—perhaps fearing the dried woman would suffer a mental breakdown like the first vampire woman.
Just then, the sight of the dried woman's body suddenly trembling caught his attention.
It began as nothing more than a whisper of movement—the faintest twitch of fingers against the mahogany floor, the softest exhalation of breath that disturbed the dust motes dancing in the fractured light.
Just like the first vampire woman, this second woman's skin began to regain color. Her withered flesh softened and plumped, the deathly pallor giving way to porcelain smoothness once more.
The transformation spread like watercolor bleeding across parchment—starting at her neck where Lucien's fangs had pierced her and flowing outward in pulsing waves. The desiccated texture melted away, replaced by skin that seemed to glow with an inner luminescence, like alabaster warmed from within.
Shadows faded from her cheeks as if brushed away by invisible hands; ghostly blue veins receded beneath revitalized flesh. The hollow caverns beneath her cheekbones filled in gradually, her face regaining its former elegance as death's skeletal touch retreated.
Even the bruised wounds on her neck, where Lucien had bitten, slowly regenerated, leaving the skin unscathed.
Her hair, a limp tangle moments before, now shimmered as though moonlight played along every strand—waist-length, pale ash-blonde locks cascading in gentle waves, growing full and lustrous as new strength coursed through her form.
Her ruined dress seemed to come alive with her: the high collar and deep blue silk, though torn and stained, clung more naturally to the new curves of her revitalized body.
The fabric sighed and settled against her form, no longer hanging limp on a withered frame but embracing the restored contours of her figure.
It was then that the sister of the first vampire woman, Lyra d'Armande, fluttered her eyes fully open. Her old icy blue gaze now gleamed—deeper, touched from within by swirling, bloody-red pupils that thinned and dilated with each breath.
One eyebrow arched, the other flat, as a confused expression appeared.
The new red pupils scanned the surroundings until she spotted the towering vampire standing behind a familiar figure… her little sister.
Her confused gaze turned to horror as she gasped—a reflex born of instinct as an elder sister—as she shouted loudly and charged, "SISTER! WATCH OUT!"