Ignoring Kieran's odd behaviour, the Marquess continued down the central road of Blackthorn.

"Backwater shithole..." Nicholas spat on the muddy ground, causing the Marquess to frown, "Commander Nicholas, please refrain from such comments and open your eyes. Blackthorn has been under the most brutal storm the wastelands have seen in years." The Marquess pointed his muscular arm towards an overhead walkway with a few men carrying planks, timber and nails, "Even in such dire circumstances, the Duke has put the mundanes to work."

Nicholas glanced at the workers and scoffed, "A bunch of brainwashed peasants crawling around in the mud for their master."

Marquess Cunningdal's mana flared as he inspected the workers, "There's no evidence of Blood magic, so them being mind-controlled is unlikely." He frowned, "So why are they all working so earnestly?"

"Maybe he's paying them?" Evelyn chimed in as she curiously looked around.

Nicholas shook his head, "Ridiculous, a Duke paying mundanes for work? They are supposed to be paying him instead. Don't have such a silly idea, child."

Dave, who was leading the group of nobles, decided to ignore the conversation as he opened the door to the Mayor's house. He gestured the group inside, and they followed.

The wooden floor creaked under the weight of the full plated knights following the Marquess. Morning sunlight lit the dark wooden room as the window shutters swayed in the chilling January breeze. Haphazardly placed desks and chairs filled the room with commoners writing notes on stone slabs.

"Primitive," Nicholas muttered as a sickly old man drew everyone's attention. The old man walked forward and looked past the Marquess and his armoured escorts, "Kieran!" he shouted and waved his walking stick.

Kieran's answered in his raspy and gloomy voice carried by a gust of wind, "Old man? Who are you?"

The old man looked confused, but then understanding appeared on his pale face, "It's me, Leon!"

Kieran slowly responded, "Mayor?" His eyes squinted at the purple eye stitched onto Leon's shirt, 'The Purple Eye will lead me...' He thought deeply, 'Can Leon use telepathy or was it someone else?'

"Come follow me", Leon spun on his heel to head towards a side room, "I will catch you up on this... unfortunate turn of events that have befallen our partnership."

Kieran grumbled and floated past the Marquess; the enslaved Aurel floated behind him.

The Marquess was about to question Dave for further directions but held his tongue. A woman far too beautiful to belong in such a backwater town blessed the room with her presence.

She carefully walked down the creaking stairs with elegant movement; her many gold and silver rings clinked together as she ran her hand along the handrail. Her raven black hair was a stark contrast to her rosy cheeks. That seemed to be almost too healthy. A spotless white dress and phoenix earrings hung from her exposed ears completed her majestic look. The only other noticeable feature was the purple eye pendant hanging from her neck.

Despite her noble appearance, some aspects showed another side. Her choice of footwear, for example, was leather boots instead of standard high heels—also, a slight smirk hung on her lips, making the Marquess feel looked down on.

"Gentlemen. You may refer to me as Fay." The lady curtsied somewhat awkwardly as if out of practice, "Please leave your weapons to Overseer Dave; the Duke will feel insulted if you bring weapons of war to hopefully peaceful discussions."

Nicholas grumbled, "I am but a walking tin can without my weapon; I humbly request against such a motion."

"Nonsense." Fay laughed, "If the Duke wished you dead, then a sword shall not save you."

Nicholas raised a brow and placed his hand on the hilt of his sword, "Backwater-".

"Do as she says." The Marquess interjected and stared at Nicholas.

"My Lord, be reasonable; I will be powerless to protect Evelyn in this situation. Will you venture into a lion's den unprepared?"

The Marquess contemplated his commander's words. "Everyone, surrender your weapons to this commoner." He then leaned in closer and whispered into Nicholas's ear something; the old commander nodded with a slight grin.

Fay watched as the commander followed the other knights in handing over their weapons to a confused Dave, who found himself under a pile of swords. The smirk never left her lips; everything was going as planned.

***

Damien was a nervous wreck. As he heard the creaking of the stairs leading to the Mayor's office, he quickly glanced at the open pocket watch.

[Damien Nightshade]

[Noble Vampire]

Schools Of Magic:

[Psychic Magic (B+)]

Psychokinesis [A]

Levitation [B]

Clairvoyance [C]

Automatic Writing [F]

Telepathy [C]

Pyrokinesis [E]

[Spatial Magic (C)]

Phantom Form [C]

Spatial Movement [D]

Spatial Inventory [D]

[Blood Magic (D)]

Blood Contract [F]

[Darkness Magic (D)]

Shadow Walk [D] (New) - Move quickly along the path of shadows.

=Null Spells=

Mana Control [B]

=Trait Spells=

Deflection (B)

Soul Bind [C]

Sleep Casting [C]

Perception Field [C]

Damien groaned as he looked at his pathetic stats. As he feared, his current build leaned way too heavily on information gathering, controlling people, and movement skills.

He had been so busy with Blackthorn's development that he found little time for magical study, 'Studying magic is so inefficient compared to levelling it in combat. Also, my lazy trait makes magic training way too hard; my mind constantly wanders off. So maybe the trait should be called procrastination instead?'

Damien leaned back in the oversized leather chair and closed his eyes; he activated his Perception Field once he was comfortable. His worldview expanded; everything became mere outlines without substance.

Ascending the stairs to the third floor was the outline of a woman followed by five larger figures. Four of them had the outline of juggernauts, while the last had the appearance of a warrior, 'That's the Marquess; he does not need armour; his skin is tougher than magisteel.'

Damien believed this Perception Field skill was one of his most powerful, so he made sure to train it at every opportunity; due to his efforts, it has since upgraded to C rank.

Looking carefully at the Marquess revealed tunnels of almost blinding power. Compared to Fay's circuit, which appeared as thin lines, like the veins on a leaf.

'His mana control is A-rank with that amount of mana passively surging through his body.' Damien mused while carefully following the Marquess's movements up the stairs, 'So far in this world, I have only encountered mundanes at my fortress, undead on the road, a pathetic excuse of an assassin and a single duel with an almost dead professor.'

'With a simple look, I can confidently say that I am below a mid-level boss in both mana finesse and raw destructive power.'

Damien tensed as the door swung open.

Fay confidently walked inside, leading the way for the guests.

Despite the potentially dire situation, Damien had the most vital skill on his side. Information. 'The Marquess is a reasonable man that respects hierarchy above all. Although only in name, I outrank him as a Duke. He also doesn't know my capabilities, but I know his.'

'Time to bluff for my life once again.'

***

Marquess Cunningdal followed a step behind the enchanting beauty into a room that was a stark contrast to the rest of the building. The darkroom was messy with low-grade artefacts, out of season clothes, and enchanted weapons placed randomly against the walls. A large leather sofa dominated the room's central area with its back facing him.

Beyond the sofa was an enormous mahogany desk, and a man wearing a bright red wine suit sat with his eyes closed in an oversized chair. The only glass window the Marquess had seen in Blackthorn was behind the man casting shadows across his face.

Suddenly many objects shot out from various directions; in the dim lighting, they gleamed as they shot past the Marquess.

The Marquess turned in surprise towards the flying objects; the metal cards exploded in a burst of light, blinding everyone.

While disorientated, the Marquess felt a flair of magic as something moved with ridiculous speed past him.

"AH!" Nicholas fumbled forward as everyone's sight returned. His helmet was missing.

Without opening his eyes to regard the visitors, the man gestured towards the sofa with a silver dagger, "Richard Cunngindal, take a seat."

Nicholas's helmet sat in the middle of Damien's desk.

Fay stood beside Damien and chuckled, "I told you a weapon wouldn't matter."