Chapter 70: Let Me Eat You, Shall I?

  The tent flap was pulled aside, and a young man stepped in. His eyes scanned the room sharply, and he nodded in satisfaction. “It’s much more comfortable in the shade—and such a feast laid out too.”

  “Who let you in? Get out at once!” a nobleman snapped, eyeing the young man’s commoner’s clothes. “Where are the guards outside?”

  The young man showed no sign of leaving. Instead, he smiled. “I’m hungry, so I came in to eat.” His features were so delicate they blurred the line between male and female; the smile made him even more striking—almost eerie. Everyone seemed momentarily transfixed by his uncanny charm, even the shouting nobleman falling silent.

  The emperor, still feeling a twinge of embarrassment at not understanding the earlier joke, noticed the young man’s plain attire and waved his hand. “Don’t chase him away. Fetch this hungry commoner some food at once—let him eat his fill.”

  The young man nodded, giving the emperor another enchanting smile. “Thank you, but no trouble. I’ll help myself.” His smile felt charming and coquettish to the men present, and dashing yet endearing to the women. With a quick glance, he walked straight to the seat between the Chancellor and his niece and sat down. Thanks to the emperor’s recent display of generosity and the young man’s strangely captivating smile, no one scolded him for his rudeness.

  The young man ignored the Imperial Chancellor beside him entirely. Instead, he fixed his gaze on the niece, Anastasi, and smiled. “My lady, you’re truly beautiful.” Lady Anastasi felt a flush rise to her cheeks as she looked at the stunning young man before her—especially his dark eyes, which held a soul-stirring mystery, like an endless black ocean. As she stared, she felt her consciousness slowly sinking into their depths.

  The hungry young man showed no interest in the exquisite delicacies on the table. Instead, he put an arm around the lady’s waist and pressed his lips to her neck. His graceful movements looked like the tender embrace of a pair of lovers. Unconsciously, a intoxicating atmosphere filled the tent; everyone seemed mesmerized by the beautiful scene, and no one moved to stop him.

  Lady Anastasi appeared to melt into the gentle hug, her expression one of pure rapture and sweetness. But the fleeting blush on her face faded rapidly, replaced by a deathly pallor. A trickle of blood ran from the young man’s lips, sliding slowly down the noble lady’s pale chest.

  The young man released her, tilted his head back, and closed his eyes. With his blood-stained lips, he let out a trembling sigh. “How many years has it been? I was afraid I’d forgotten this feeling. A virgin’s blood is more precious than anything in the world.” His expression was a mix of contentment, sorrow, and loneliness. The noble lady fell slowly to the ground; her deathly white face still held a look of intoxicated romance—as if she had died in the ecstasy of love. But her bloodless skin had grown slightly shrunken, lending her an eerie, aged appearance.

  The scene looked like the tragic suicide of lovers, but the tent erupted in hysterical screams. The Chancellor beside them jumped to his feet, shouting, “Guards! Guards!”

  The young man glanced at the portly nobleman, seeming annoyed that he had ruined the mood. Then he too called out, “Guards!”

  The tent flap opened again—but instead of the outside guards, two skeletal warriors stepped in. Their weapons and tattered armor were soaked in blood; one skeleton’s bony hand still clutched half a human skull—the remains of the guards who had stood watch outside. As the heavy flap lifted, strange sounds drifted in from outside, including the crunch of bones being chewed.

  “These are my guards. So please stop shouting pointlessly,” the young man said, his smile still as charming as ever. He stuck out his blood-red tongue and licked his lips, revealing two sharp fangs. Standing up, he bowed politely to the ashen-faced crowd. “Allow me to introduce myself formally. I am Degar, a viscount and descendant of the noble Dracula vampire clan.”

  Chaos erupted in the tent. Envoys from other countries and noble ministers scrambled toward the exit, while only the Chancellor and a few ministers remembered to crowd around the terrified emperor, who had collapsed in his seat.

  The vampire, Degar, waved his hand gracefully. Several magical runes appeared out of thin air, then vanished instantly. He spoke softly, as if addressing children: “Sit.” Everyone who had been standing or running collapsed to the ground at once.

  The Slow spell was not an advanced form of magic—but to cast it on a group, and render so many people immobile with a single wave of his hand, required a level of skill rarely seen even at the Magic Academy.

  “There’s no need to panic,” Degar said. “You see, casting such a large-scale Slow spell has made me hungry again.” He walked slowly to a countess who had collapsed on the ground, pulled her into his arms, and bit down on her neck. Amid the sizzle of blood being sucked, many in the tent began to cry and scream.

  “Stop your wailing. I hate such unpleasant noises,” Degar said, lifting his head after feeding. His voice was elegant and soft, like a cultured nobleman reprimanding a vulgar commoner. He snapped his fingers, and a huge three-headed dog trotted into the tent.

  The dog’s two large mouths were still chewing on human limbs. Degar pointed, and the three-headed dog immediately grabbed the minister who was crying the loudest in its jaws and dragged him out. Moments later, a scream—barely human—echoed in from outside. The sound made many wet themselves; some began shouting like madmen, while more fell to vomiting.

  “Anyone who makes another disgusting sound will end up in the dog’s stomach to find peace,” Degar said. His voice was not loud above the chaos and tears, but the tent fell silent at once.

  Two skeletons stood guard at the tent entrance, their weapons still dripping blood. On the ground lay two pale, bloodless corpses. In the center stood a handsome, eerie young man, his mouth stained with blood, gazing at the trembling, terrified people on the ground as if they were food. The air was thick with silence; fear had solidified into a tangible force, seeping into every pore. Even the sunlight streaming through the windows felt uncanny. These nobles—once the “superior” class—now trembled like rabbits before a beast, their faces contorted with fear, tears and snot streaming down. Many were vomiting, but they pressed their mouths tightly to the ground, desperate to muffle the sound. The stench of urine and feces filled the once-majestic tent.

  “Begone, you evil creature!” Finally, a brave minister on the ground pulled a cross from his bosom. Straining against the Slow spell, he hurled it at Degar with all his strength.

  But the vampire caught it with a casual wave of his hand. His slender, pale fingers wrapped around the cross, and he pressed his blood-stained lips gently to the carved divine figure on it, leaving two crimson marks on the golden figure. “Oh, great Heavenly Father,” he murmured in admiration. “Aren’t you grieved that such foolish things are used to worship you?”

  Degar walked over to the brave thrower, knelt down, and placed the cross on his chest. He spoke softly: “Do you truly believe this trinket, carved from gold and jewels, can protect you?”

  The minister trembled. He had already spent all his strength and courage. As he looked up at the vampire standing over him, his blood-stained mouth mere inches from his head, despair overwhelmed him. He lost all control of his body—his bladder, his tears, his snot—and could not speak. The extreme fear tormented his mind, pushing it beyond its limits. The muscles in his face twitched and contorted wildly, until he forced out a grotesque smile, the sound of which was more terrifying than a scream.

  Degar shook his head at the now-insane man, letting out a sigh of disgust and disappointment. He did not bite him—this ugly, madman held no appeal for his appetite. Instead, he raised the cross and stabbed it down. The minister let out a sound that mixed a scream with a whimper; blood gushed from his stomach, and the entire cross—even the vampire’s hand—sank into his body.

  Degar did not stop there. Like a child playing with a toy, he twisted the cross inside the minister’s stomach, poking and prodding, occasionally yanking it upward to pull out glistening, multicolored organs.

  The minister screamed continuously. The wound was not immediately fatal; his hands and feet twitched uselessly, like a frog being dissected—hardly a struggle.

  The stench of urine and feces in the tent grew several times stronger. The nobles’ whimpers of fear sounded like those of dying dogs.

  When Degar finally grew bored, he pulled the blood-soaked cross out and placed it on the minister’s forehead. He continued in his gentle voice: “Now, pray to him.”

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  He pressed down, driving the cross into the minister’s scalp. The man’s screams grew more shrill, until they finally ceased with a crisp crack.

  Degar stood up, holding the cross—now covered in blood and bits of white matter—and held it aloft like a believer displaying a holy relic. He spoke in a commanding tone: “Everyone, look here.”

  Nearly everyone was forced to lift their heads. Utter fear and despair had stripped away all their will and reason.

  The vampire looked satisfied at the crowd trembling and whimpering on the ground, their eyes fixed on him in despair—like rats in a cesspool. They were not just his food; they were his toys, insects he could torture and kill at will.

  “You see?” he said. “He will not save you.” The monster’s voice sounded like a hymn; his handsome, eerie face wore a look of solemnity, and his words carried the cadence of a gospel. “Here, there is no god but me.”

  “Hmm, you may wonder why I am here, why I have come to eat you,” Degar said, glancing around and savoring the feeling of being a ruler. “To be honest, I don’t know much myself. I don’t know who revived me from my dusty slumber, or who prepared this feast and these loyal servants for me here. By your attire, you must all be nobles and ministers of some kingdom. I must thank the friend who arranged all this so thoughtfully. To honor their careful preparations, I intend to select a few of you to become my subordinates. This must be their kind intention too—they surely know we vampires are selective. We are incomparably elegant, incomparably beautiful. Only those of noble blood and high status are worthy of joining our ranks.”

  Degar’s gaze swept the room, finally settling on Grafenhardt XVII. “Ah, yes—let’s start with this kind emperor. While you are not particularly handsome by my aesthetic standards, I will grant you this honor out of respect for your noble blood and your kindness earlier.”

  Degar walked slowly toward the emperor. The young ruler’s face was ashen, but perhaps he still remembered his identity as emperor—even in his extreme fear, he did not look particularly disheveled, and had not wet himself at least.

  Suddenly, someone beside the emperor jumped to their feet, grabbed a large platter from the table, and smashed it over Degar’s head. Caught off guard, the vampire stumbled backward, hit squarely by the platter.

  Degar held his head and steadied himself. A small dent had appeared where the platter had struck. It was a heavy platter, used for serving roasted meat, and the thrower had hurled it with all their strength, fueled by fear.

  Everyone in the tent turned to look at the daring attacker. Her face was pale with terror, but her natural beauty shone through. It was Chris, who had been sitting beside the emperor all along.

  She had been kidnapped before and had seen bloodshed; she was not completely overcome by fear. For some reason, she seemed unaffected by the vampire’s Slow spell. Though her face was drained of color and her body trembled, she had mustered the courage to grab a sword from somewhere and stand in front of the emperor.

  Degar brushed his hand gently over the dent in his head, and it vanished instantly. He looked at Chris, his eyes filled not with anger, but with surprise and admiration. “I haven’t seen such a beautiful lady in years. How did you break free of my Slow spell?” His beautiful eyes fixed on her, their gaze as hypnotic and overwhelming as a nightmare. “You are truly magnificent. I’ve made up my mind—I want you to be my woman.”

  Chris stared into his piercing eyes, momentarily dazed, but quickly snapped back to her senses. She stepped back, a look of fear on her face.

  The vampire’s figure blurred, and he appeared in front of Chris in an instant. He grabbed her hands and pulled her into his arms in a movement as graceful as a dance. She had no time to resist before she was completely immobilized.

  “Your attack was rather clumsy, though. What did you hope to accomplish with that platter? And your timing was off—you should have waited until I was biting the young emperor, when I was completely unguarded. But never mind—we will have plenty of time together, hundreds, even thousands of years of intimacy. I will teach you everything, slowly.”

  Chris was held captive by his glittering, captivating eyes. Like the noble lady before her, she soon wore a look of rapture. The handsome, eerie vampire held her close, pressing his lips gently to her slender white neck—like a lover about to kiss her. Her delicate skin dented under his sharp fangs.

  At that moment, someone else beside the vampire suddenly jumped up. A short sword in their hand plunged into Degar’s head.

  This person had been lying on the ground, their face pressed to the floor, seemingly as overwhelmed by the monster’s terror as everyone else—cowering like a lamb waiting for slaughter. But their sudden attack was swift and precise, striking home in an instant.

  A cheetah reveals its form and fangs only at the perfect moment. The key to an attack is not strength, but timing—and ruthlessness, the resolve to kill with a single strike.

  This attacker had chosen their moment perfectly, and their hand was unflinchingly cruel.

  The short sword sank completely into Degar’s skull, protruding from the other side. But the attacker did not stop there. They pushed the hilt forward with all their strength, as if determined to drive the entire sword into his head.

  Degar was sent flying backward by the force of the blow, crashing into the thick tent wall.

  The attacker still did not relent. They let go of the sword, spun around, and kicked a leg off a low table. Grabbing the sharp end of the table leg, they charged at Degar, driving it into his chest. With a squelch, the wood protruded from his back, pinning him to the tent wall like a specimen.

  Before the trembling crowd on the ground could react, the attacker had completed this lightning-fast sequence of strikes. The demon who had just stood triumphant, like a ruler of the world, now hung from the tent wall, motionless.

  The extraordinary savior gasped for breath, then bent down to lift Chris into their arms. Chris snapped out of her daze and burst into tears, clinging to the person. “Sophia!”

  Sophia held her sister tightly, comforting her. “It’s all right now. The monster is dead.” Her face flushed, then paled, showing the weakness of someone who had pushed themselves too hard and been overcome with extreme tension.

  It was Sophia who had secretly cast a Dispel spell on Chris, allowing her to stand up and distract the vampire. And “secretly” included hiding it from Chris herself—Chris had no idea why she had suddenly been able to move.

  It had been an extremely risky gamble. Chris might have been too frightened to stand; she might have realized Sophia had cast a spell on her, revealing their ruse. The vampire could have killed Chris with a wave of his hand, like crushing an ant. Worse, he might have grown suspicious at the failure of his spell, searched for the one who had dispelled it, and turned the two sisters into dry corpses in an instant.

  But they had had no choice but to gamble. No one else in the tent had the strength to fight. Their only hope, their only chance, was to create it themselves, to seize it.

  Even a small team of priests and mages specialized in fighting undead would have been no match for a vampire who could walk in broad daylight. They had to bet that the monster—arrogant and convinced he controlled everything—would let his guard down, that he would be drawn to Chris’s beauty, walk over, and reveal a weakness.

  Sophia knew the odds of success were no more than two out of ten. But without gambling, those odds would have been zero.

  She had gambled the lives of her sister and herself for a two-in-ten chance. Her nerves had been stretched to the breaking point, held together only by willpower. She had waited for the critical moment, then unleashed all her strength and fear in one burst.

  And finally, she had won the gamble—she had created a chance. Exhausted as she was, she felt a flicker of pride in her luck.

  A round of applause broke out. It was loud and forceful, a sign that the clapper admired the attack greatly.

  Sophia looked up, curious to see who would have the mood to applaud at a time like this. But she quickly realized no one was clapping. Everyone was still paralyzed by the spell on the ground; the two skeletons stood silently at the tent entrance.

  The applause was coming from the vampire, pinned to the tent wall with the sword and table leg. He nodded repeatedly, the hilt of the short sword on his forehead wobbling like a ridiculous ornament as his head moved. The vampire’s face still wore that charming smile, but his voice was filled with genuine admiration. “Impressive… truly impressive…”

  Sophia turned back, surprise and shock flashing across her face for only a moment. The next instant, she closed her eyes and began chanting a spell. A fierce flame erupted at Degar’s feet, and golden fire engulfed his figure in an instant.

  It was “Wall of Flame,” a mid-tier spell—the most powerful offensive magic she could cast. And after eating the Leaves of the World Tree, her magical power had grown by leaps and bounds. She was confident no one could emerge unscathed from this spell.

  Unfortunately, the being being burned was far from “human.” The figure in the flames made a simple gesture with his hand, and the fire vanished instantly—disappearing even more suddenly than it had appeared, leaving only wisps of white mist and a large hole in the tent.

  Sophia’s face paled further. The flame had been countered by a water-element spell of equal rank—Thunder Frost—but the casual ease with which he had cast it, the precise control of its power, made their difference in skill glaringly obvious. He was at least two tiers above her in magical ability.

  Degar pulled the short sword from his forehead with one hand and tossed aside the half-charred table leg protruding from his chest. His clothes had been burned to ash by the magical flames, and patches of his skin were scorched, but he brushed the blackened bits away as if flicking dust from his body. Instantly, smooth, snow-white new skin emerged beneath. The gaping wounds in his chest and head vanished completely. Naked, his skin as pale as snow, he still wore that charming smile—looking for all the world like a peerless beauty just stepping out of a bath.

  Sophia’s face turned ashen. She knew she had gambled and won a chance, but she had lost in her judgment. No matter how good the opportunity, she simply lacked the power to kill such a monster.

  Degar walked slowly toward her, still clapping— as if only this could express his sincere admiration.

  “A lower-ranked vampire would have died twice over from that,” he said. “To think a beautiful noble lady can cast a spell like Wall of Flame, and even secretly dispel my Slow spell… such magical talent is rare. Not only that, you waited for the perfect moment to strike, and when you did, you were utterly ruthless. I’ll admit my senses have grown dull from years without battle, but to catch me off guard like that… truly impressive. Brains and bravery in one—such a remarkable, beautiful woman. Alas,” he sighed. “If we’d met under other circumstances, if I’d noticed you sooner, I would have courted you, shared half my power with you, and made you my bride.”

  He let out a sorrowful sigh, his expression softening into that of a lovesick youth grieving the impending death of a beauty. “You also ruined the ‘Vampire’s Kiss’ I’d carefully prepared for Chris. And I doubt I could control someone as strong-willed as you with my charm.” His sharp fangs glinted as he spoke, his voice gentle yet chilling. “So now, I have only one question to ask… Let me eat you, shall I?”