The sound of camels clearly meant someone had arrived. That brought unpredictability.
Three possibilities presented themselves to Adam:
The newcomers might seize this moment of sunlight to attack him.
They could wait until nightfall, letting him venture out first.
They might immediately send a few riders to fetch reinforcements.
A fourth, more peaceful outcome—mutual standoff—was unlikely. Adam would eventually eliminate them, and sooner or later, they'd retaliate.
He wasn't worried about scenarios two or three. The real danger was the first. Daylight combat was always uncertain.
Previously, luck had played a role. Hiding in tunnels worked because his enemies hadn't burned the place down. But fire could easily leave wounds, even for him.
To be safe, Adam extended his hand into the sunlight.
At first, nothing. Slowly, a tingling spread. Then, heat burned his skin. Finally, smoke curled from his flesh. He stopped immediately—losing a hand in the middle of battle was unwise.
Ten minutes passed in total. When the tingling hit, strength waned. When the burn began, he was completely powerless.
Conclusion: five minutes was the absolute maximum in direct sunlight. In a shaded, bright area, he could last up to half an hour. Thick clothing extended the time to thirty minutes—more than enough.
Adam smiled. With the intel from Fengmi, he couldn't count on Eden's forces, but another faction would certainly heed him.
Soon, the bandit camp erupted in chaos. Through the slit in the curtain, Adam watched dozens surge toward the castle gates.
"Clever choice," he muttered. "But clever doesn't mean survival."
Turning, he knocked on Fengmi's door—no answer. He shoved it open.
The window was wide open. The desert wind fluttered the curtains. A rope, crudely braided from bedding, dangled from the balcony.
She had fled.
Normally, he would have let her go. Even without an experienced camel, surviving the desert alone was impossible. But with camels now in the bandit camp, things had changed.
Adam sighed, bared his fangs and claws, and slowly descended the stairs.
By now, the bandits had stormed the castle, led by a rotund middle-aged man whose trembling mustache betrayed his panic.
"Looking for me?" Adam's cold smile emerged from the shadows.
Every bandit froze.
"Don't doubt it—you saw me yesterday." He opened his mouth, showing fangs, and extended the hand hidden in his sleeve.
"Who… what are you?" the fat man demanded.
The man was the twelfth Lizard Lord, cunning yet corpulent, returning humiliated from the capital. Now, his castle was occupied.
Fuming, he riled up the bandits. They barged in, intending to hunt Adam down in the cellar—but Adam stepped out first.
"A Blood Clan… or vampire," Adam whispered, licking his claws. "You cannot defeat me. I advise you to leave now."
The Lizard Lord didn't believe him. If this were a vampire, he'd be attacking, not preaching. The bandits charged blindly, brandishing curved blades.
Adam's appearance now had no intimidation factor—pale, hairless, grotesque. Yet ugliness had its advantages.
He flicked his cloak over his head and lunged. Two bandits flew aside as he propelled himself across the sunbaked courtyard, dragging the fat Lizard Lord into shadow.
The Lizard Lord froze. Adam's sharp claws pressed to his neck.
"Relax. I don't intend to kill you—yet. Let's negotiate," Adam said. "First, have everyone put down their weapons and stay still."
Before the words finished, bandits streamed toward the camp, drawn by the camels.
"You see…" the Lizard Lord muttered.
Witnessing Adam's prowess and seeing the once-proud Lizard Lord cower, the bandits' loyalty evaporated. Escape became the only concern.
Adam had no choice. He released the Lizard Lord, covered his face with the cloak, and dashed to the camp.
In twenty minutes, he reduced a dozen camels to two and dragged them back to the castle. His vampiric speed and strength, combined with the protective burlap cloak, left him unscathed.
"Now, we can talk." Adam seated himself in the corpse-strewn hall, lifting the Lizard Lord onto a camel, tethering the remaining two, and entering.
The fat man could only stand, legs weak. Surrounded by filth and corpses, he dared not sit. He grasped the table for support.
"First," Adam said, pointing at the heads at the door, "these people are my provisions. Any objections?"
The Lizard Lord swallowed hard. Could he object when he himself was Adam's meat?
Adam roared: "Do you object?"
The fat man stammered, face twisted with fear. "N-no…"
Adam continued: "Even if you object, you may stay. Then I'll let them go." His voice boomed, meant for the others outside.
The bandits strained to hear, but the Lizard Lord remained silent, sweat dripping. His mind raced.
"I ask you—your life, or theirs! Understand?" Adam's tone sharpened.
The Lizard Lord stuttered, finally pointing outside. Shouts erupted. If anyone dared approach, Adam would have torn them apart.
Satisfied, Adam handed the camel reins to the fat man. "Deal's done. You may leave."
But the Lizard Lord's reaction stunned everyone.
With a thud, he fell to his knees, clutching Adam's legs, tears and snot streaming.
"My lord! Since childhood, I've dreamed of becoming a vampire! I beg you—accept me! I will serve you for eternity!"
He wiped his tears, tugged open his collar, and offered his foul-smelling neck to Adam.
Even the bandits outside and Adam himself were speechless.