The Price of Blood

In a bedroom within Paimon Castle, Albert Smith lay pale upon his lavish bed. Beside him, his twin maids wore expressions heavy with sorrow.

“Master, you haven’t eaten for an entire day,” one maid said, holding a bowl of stew. “This dish was prepared by the new chef in the kitchen. Please, just a bite…”

“Indeed, Master, your health is your most valuable asset,” the other maid added, gently massaging him with her delicate hands. “After what happened to you yesterday…”

As if struck by a sudden jolt, Albert Smith violently swatted the bowl of stew. The liquid splashed, staining the maid’s pristine white dress.

“Don’t you ever mention that incident to me again!” Albert Smith snarled, his eyes blazing with malevolence as he glared at the two women. “You two, the usual. Get on your hands and knees, face down!”

“Yes, Master…”

“Yes.”

The beautiful twin maids immediately complied.

Albert Smith didn’t even bother removing his clothes, simply draping his weary body over the maids. Then, he began to move with a mechanical, numb rhythm.

The image of that woman resurfaced in his mind.

Her rosy lips, her captivating beauty, her slender waist, her long, perfectly sculpted white legs…

‘Damn it! How could I have not foreseen that she was hiding her true strength!’

‘A moment of carelessness, and I allowed that prey to escape!’

Albert Smith thrust with sudden force, as if trying to purge himself of his festering rage.

“Master… you’re being too rough…”

“Silence, you harlot!” Albert Smith roared, striking her viciously. “Both of you are my slaves; do your duty!”

‘Damn it! Why!’

‘Why is it that ever since I saw that woman, these two maids no longer stir the same excitement in me?’

He looked at the maids’ bodies, feeling only weariness and a distinct lack of satisfaction. Their appearances, he now found, seemed rather common and vulgar.

‘And to think, I went to such great lengths to snatch them from a minor noble back then.’

‘That woman… the one named Freya…’

‘To bear the same name as that former princess, how foolish, yet how intriguing.’

“Freya, was it… We will meet again, won’t we…” Albert Smith muttered, his focus shifting. “I will find you, and then I will make you truly feel my pain!”

****

At the summit of Paimon Castle lay a vast office, adorned with portraits of generations of the Smith family ancestors. It also housed a multitude of treasures imbued with the weight of history.

The limestone walls were covered with countless relics of the past.

Among them were the rose-emblazoned shield of the Tea and Rose Swordsmen Association, the brooch of a Knight Templar who had fallen in battle, and even a solid gold right foot crafted by a mysterious society from the distant East. Legend claimed it commemorated a hero who had defeated their god using only their right foot.

Baron William Smith stood before a pristine glass window, the sunlight illuminating his face, where slightly long golden hair mingled with streaks of white. Though sixty years old, his body nourished by magic promised decades more of life, yet the fear of death perpetually haunted his heart.

“The news I just received… a black market tavern I painstakingly managed for over a decade…” William Smith turned his head, his blue eyes as still as an ancient well. “…It has been utterly dismantled.”

Behind the furthest reach of the sunlight in the room, a deep shadow stretched.

There stood a man with an unnervingly pale complexion, his jet-black curly hair impeccably styled. His blood-red eyes exuded a sinister aura, and the sharp angles of his face made him resemble a bat. He wore a pure black tunic embroidered with gold thread, and a massive cloak, black on one side and red on the other, draped over his shoulders, making him appear both noble and unsettling.

“Death… is their ultimate destination,” the sinister man murmured, licking his lips. “So many dead; was it the work of the Church?”

“No,” William Smith replied, also finding it strange. “Survivors reported it was done by a young man. He simply pushed open the door, drew a sword from a bystander’s waist, then cut his way from the tavern’s entrance to the top floor, and back down to the entrance.”

“Hmph…” The man in the shadows narrowed his eyes. “I like such individuals; their blood must be exquisitely delicious. However, if he possesses such power, why would he leave survivors? If it were me, I would have slaughtered everyone who could see.”

“He did it on purpose,” William Smith stated, his face grim. “He deliberately left one survivor to spread a message.”

“What message?”

“‘When I return to this world, all who defy me shall perish,’” William Smith recited, sitting in his soft chair and tapping his fingers on the desk. “Mister Dracula, what are your thoughts?”

“A most interesting individual,” Dracula praised. “If given the chance, I would truly like to meet him.”

“Should he reappear, I will inform you immediately.”

“Heh heh… I know you will,” Dracula said, licking his dry lips. “About that matter… what have you decided?”

“Please allow me a little more time to consider,” William Smith replied, a hint of hesitation in his voice. “After all, the matter of the first embrace…”

“You will agree, I can see it…” Dracula watched him with a chilling smile. “I see your fear of death… deeper than anyone else’s.”

William Smith remained silent.

“I shall take my leave first…” Dracula turned, his massive cloak obscuring his figure. “I must savor that taste from yesterday once more… Ah, delectable blood…”

****

The timeline rewound to yesterday, at Paimon Castle.

Albert Smith leisurely pushed open his bedroom door, the young village girl, influenced by his Soul-Devouring Potion, following behind him.

‘Heh heh, this potion is truly potent. I heard it’s a relic of a famous alchemist master.’

‘With this, there isn’t a single woman this young master can’t have.’

“What is your name?”

“Freya…”

‘The name sounds somewhat familiar.’

“Come, have a seat for a moment.” Albert Smith personally pulled out a chair for her. “My father is still attending to official business at this hour, so let’s chat first. By the way, what would you like to drink? Pallas Black Tea, perhaps? Or Flynest Coffee?”

Freya sat listlessly in the chair, slowly opening her mouth. “Just… just… water is fine… the items… must be quick… otherwise…”

“Hahahahaha, you worry too much.” Albert Smith snapped his fingers. A nearby attendant brought over an exquisite tea set, respectfully pouring him a cup of tea, then filling another glass with water. Albert Smith tested the water’s temperature with his finger, finding it acceptable, then waved them away.

He elegantly sipped his black tea, then said carelessly, “Those wares of yours, they’re Green Mountain goat wool from Glimmer Village, aren’t they? I’ve seen plenty of it; it’s not worth much.” He casually pulled out a gold coin and tossed it onto the table. The coin rolled across the surface, landing coincidentally on Freya’s thigh.

“Consider them bought by this young master,” Albert Smith said with a playful smirk. “Is that enough?”

“Mm… then I… will leave…” Freya slowly picked up the gold coin that had landed on her thigh, then rose, preparing to depart.

‘Want to leave? How naive.’

‘No woman has ever walked out of this young master’s room unscathed.’

Albert Smith extended a muscular arm, and with a gentle pull, drew Freya into his embrace.

“What… what are you doing…” The woman in his arms instinctively began to struggle. “I’m… going to get angry…”

“Hahahahaha! Get angry, the angrier the better.” Albert Smith’s eyes gleamed with increasing excitement. “I simply adore angry women.”

His gaze, overtly aggressive, seemed to caress every inch of her body. Her slender, snow-white neck was as tempting as forbidden fruit, her smooth, silken skin as fine as the softest cashmere. Through the simple, patched work dress, the faint outline of her waist, so delicate it seemed it could snap, was visible.

Impatiently, he reached out and tore open one side of her skirt. His heart pounded with sudden acceleration.

‘These legs… I could play with them for a year!’

Splat!

A sharp slap exploded beside his left ear; the woman in his arms had suddenly struck him across the face.

“Heh…” Albert Smith felt the searing pain on his cheek and spat viciously, “You ungrateful wretch.” With that, he channeled all his strength and brutally slapped Freya across the face.

Her face was soft, and it felt remarkably good to hit—that was Albert Smith’s initial reaction in that moment.

But very quickly, he regretted it.

Freya’s eyes slowly shifted from a vacant gaze to sharp clarity. The blurriness vanished, and she regained full awareness within seconds.

Then, her icy gaze pierced Albert Smith.

“Go to hell.”

No incantation was needed; elementary magic, amplified by the Demon Lord’s innate talent, was instantaneous. The [Void Art] she wielded was the most basic demonic spell, yet in the Demon Lord’s hands, it became exceptionally agile and destructive. By merely controlling the magical elements in the void with her will, she could shape them into any form to attack her enemies. Her favorite application was to transform these elements into a transparent hand. She had once used this very magic to crush a Demonfang Tiger’s head to a pulp; the sensation had been exhilarating.

This time was no different: the Void Art suspended Albert Smith’s body in mid-air. Freya manipulated the magical elements to form a small hand, delivering hundreds of slaps to Albert Smith’s face. Though he initially bellowed in protest, he was eventually beaten unconscious.

“I might as well cripple you.”

Freya slowly closed her hand, applying gentle pressure. Even in his unconscious state, Albert Smith’s face contorted in pain, flushing red then paling, as if performing in a play.

“Stop.” A swift figure flashed past, brawny arms glowing as they carved a silver arc, shattering Freya’s Void Art. The figure then extended both hands to catch the unconscious Albert Smith, before darting several steps away.

“This magical aura…” Freya opened her palm, the Flame Art already prepared as fire elements coalesced in the air. “A Fated Fighter, perhaps? Quite powerful, almost ready for advancement, I presume.”

Baron William Smith’s hands glowed with concentrated magic, imbued with all the surrounding wind elements, clasped protectively across his chest. He knew he was no match for this woman; he had only managed to snatch his son away by catching her off guard. A direct confrontation would surely cost him his life.

‘What a nightmare. Where did Albert Smith provoke such a lunatic?’

‘If I hadn’t happened to sense this unfamiliar magical aura and come to investigate, the consequences would have been unthinkable.’

“Count, if you don’t appear now, it will be too late!” William Smith shouted into the air.

Freya unleashed her Flame Art; the void seemed to rip open like a volcanic vent. A torrent of surging black inferno poured forward relentlessly, threatening to incinerate everything in its path.

The demonic Flame Art was more eerie, more violent, and more terrifying than ordinary flame spells. Its black flames consumed all, until they swallowed themselves.

William Smith watched in despair as the cascade of black flames surged towards him. Thankfully, a colossal cloak suddenly appeared before him, enveloping him completely. The cloak rolled and expanded, eventually smothering the inferno.

As the flames dissipated, a tall, pale figure stood between the two.

“You go first; I will handle this person.” Dracula extended a bony finger, pointing away. “Quickly!”

William Smith didn’t hesitate; he grabbed his worthless son with one hand and fled.

Freya’s expression grew solemn; she sensed the formidable power of the individual before her. Abandoning instantaneous spells, she subtly tensed her hands, clearly preparing a more advanced magic.

“Esteemed noble, you must also hail from the Demon Realm, correct?” Dracula said, placing one hand over his chest and bowing slightly. His blood-red eyes never left Freya. “Blood Lord Dracula Ferad offers you his most sincere respects.”

“Don’t you dare compare me to a traitor of the Demon Realm like you!” Freya retorted, her icy gaze tinged with ferocity. “Dracula, your ‘reputation’ in the Demon Realm precedes you.”

“Heh heh… For the survival of my kin, I had no other choice,” Dracula said with a wry smile. “I imagine even you, were you in my position, would have made a similar decision.”

“I would not be as naive as you, for humanity will never accept the demon race,” Freya stated. She gauged her progress, sensing her spell was nearly ready.

“You are correct. That is why, even after all these years, I can only lead my people to live in the shadows of the human world,” Dracula conceded, nodding. “But compared to extinction, I believe my choice was the right one. Ah, is that Chain Lightning you are preparing? While it is indeed a formidable spell, your current strength is still insufficient to harm me.”

“You seem rather overconfident,” Freya retorted, showing no weakness. “How do you know this move can’t instantly kill you?”

“Because I sense your strength is not truly formidable. Perhaps you were once powerful, but now your level seems to be only…” Dracula paused, sensing. “LV25? Or LV30? I reached LV60 fifty years ago.”

“And what of it? Demonic bodies are ill-suited to the human realm; our strength is severely weakened here. Looking at your sickly state, I suspect if I struck you now, it would send you straight back to your coffin.”

Dracula wore a relaxed smile. “And are you not in the same predicament?”

The atmosphere grew tense, both watching the other, neither making a move.

“How about this, my lady,” Dracula said, reaching into his robe to retrieve a small, bone-crafted box. “Shall we make a trade?”

“I don’t see how that would be beneficial,” Freya scoffed.

“Heh heh…” Dracula seemed not to hear. He opened the box, revealing two blood-red orbs, emanating a powerful sanguine aura. “I spent considerable effort and sacrificed much of my own essence to refine these. They offer immense help in increasing strength; if you consume them, you could gain at least ten levels.”

‘Mmm, I can indeed feel the undeniable magical potency emanating from them.’

“Your blood? Bah, how disgusting,” Freya spat. “Only a fool would consume that.”

“Heh heh… My lady, it seems Baron William Smith’s son has provoked you. Regarding that boy, I will ensure William punishes him severely.”

“No need. I prefer to handle things myself.”

“Alas…” Dracula sighed. “My lady… the situation in the human world is not as simple as you imagine. The Church has countless eyes and ears throughout this world. If you act against this noble today, the Church will detect news of a demonic attack tomorrow, and before long, the human world’s punitive forces will come for you. With your current strength, can you truly protect yourself?”

‘The Church is omnipresent.’ She had once said those very words to the Hero. Freya herself knew that decades ago, the Church’s influence had already extended into every corner of every nation. Now, with the Demon Lord dead and the demon race scattered, the Church’s prestige was soaring, its power having grown immeasurably, expanding to a terrifying degree.

“I will restrain William and ensure he keeps your secret,” Dracula said, glancing at her white hair. “There has never been… a high-ranking demon appearing here before.”

“I don’t believe you’re that benevolent.”

Dracula nodded. “To be frank, I feel I have reached a bottleneck and require something to increase my strength. For you, however, it would be a mere trifle.”

Freya’s eyes flickered, and she gritted her teeth. “My blood?”

The blood of a high-ranking demon was one of the vampires’ most cherished foods. Its potent magic not only enhanced strength but also improved a vampire’s physique, breaking through their innate talent limits. Legend claimed that some vampires, after consuming vast quantities of high-ranking demon blood, established their own faction, calling themselves ‘Blood Kin’ to distinguish themselves from ordinary vampires.

If the blood of high-ranking demons was so powerful, let alone the blood of the Demon Lord herself…

Dracula’s eyes flashed red, and his long, slender fingers slowly extended into crimson claws. He knelt on one knee, his right hand placed over his chest, gazing at the woman before him with a look both devout and greedy.

Freya remained still, her mind racing. She considered the disparity between her and Dracula, the Church, the demon race, her past life, her current plan, and finally… she thought of that foolish Hero.

‘The Hero is still too weak. Perhaps he needs to grow stronger to regain the memories of the Holy Sword…’

‘You foolish Hero, even though I lost your wool, you’d better thank this great one properly when you return!’

‘Damn it…’

She slowly lifted her head, and for some reason, she felt an unfamiliar sensation swirling in her eyes. She slowly closed them, and at the same time, the magic she had long concentrated in her hands dissipated.

“Thank you, this is my honor…”

Her neck only stung a little… just a little…