Chapter 1: Naked and ready to rumble

It’s dark. This is the first thought that popped into my mind. Afterward, realization struck me and I opened my eyes.

And it was still dark.

Outstanding. No matter what I try, I’m surrounded by darkness. At the very least, it feels warm and comfortable, like I’m in my mother’s womb. No, that is wrong. Maybe others don’t remember it but I am one of the selected few who knows how it feels to be in a womb, or in an egg for that matter, there is little to no difference between the two, and this is not it.

Trying to concentrate on my body makes me realize that I’m immobilized. No, this is also wrong. I can move my fingers. At least a couple of them. And that gives me the impression of recovering more and more control over my body as time passes.

The next big question should be: who am I? Delving deep into my mind, broken memories start to surface. At first, they were muddy, but soon more and more images piece together into a slightly broken, while still kind of readable puzzle, creating a vague idea of who and what I am.

My name is... I’m not sure yet… Toby? I hope not…

Looking at some of the first memories that I can recall now, an enormous mansion is the first thing that pops out. The sun is high in the sky, birds are singing, small critters bouncing around, and a young blonde man stands in the middle of the garden with the wind flowing through his mane. Luke. That is his name. Tall and strong, dressed in royal clothes decorated with threads of gold, with a long sword by his side and a cane in his left hand.

That is not me. By his side stands a woman dressed in black, with her face covered by a veil. While being unable to see even an inch of her skin, it’s obvious to anyone that she is a flawless beauty, tall and slim, with curves in all the right places completed by silky black hair that flows down to her heels. Vanessa.

She is not me either. Behind them, fifty young men and women stand aligned in a straight line, dressed in simple pure white robes with short sleeves. Blood bags.

Fortunately, I am not among them either. In front of the noble-looking couple, one hundred men and women alike stand straight in two lines. Dressed in rather simple attire, with brown pants, black leather boots, and animal hide waistcoats, they look like statues, not even daring to breathe too loud at least they receive the ire of their masters.

Molochs. Although I am not one of them, I feel like I am like them. In the garden's corner, in a random bush, hidden from sight, cowering in the dirt among dead leaves and black ants, a young boy with short black hair looks at the spectacle before him with red eyes. Tony. A young moloch. And something else…

That is me.

Out of a sudden, I felt sad, empty, and more than anything lonely. Like the world betrayed me. Like I could have done something but I didn’t. I don’t remember why but, somehow, I know that it’s my fault. What? I don’t know. Still, it has to be something important for it to feel this horrible.

Like watching a PowerPoint presentation, things occur in real-time but with a lack of details between instances. I can see the man with the cane talking and the look of dread on the faces of the hundred molochs. There is no sound, but somehow I understand what is happening, or better said, I’m remembering what happened back then.

The war… Against the dwarven kingdom. Each duke has to send at least 100 molochs for the war effort each year. It might seem like a large number, but in reality, it’s nothing special. For a Grand Duke like Luke, who has tens of thousands of subjects under him, sacrificing a hundred each year is nothing worth mentioning…

Wait… “Sacrifice”… Why did I use that word? No, I know why, I just wish I didn’t. For a moloch, the war is like throwing yourself in a grinding machine, hoping to pass through the teeth without dying. They are cannon fodder, and this is a death sentence.

Without caring for my current state, the memory fragment moves forwards, showcasing a hundred molochs, each grabbing the hand of one of the fifty blood bags and sinking their saw-like teeth in their tender flesh. Vampires are nobles and nobles can’t dirty themselves with the flesh of the mortal. Therefore vampires have only a pair of large fangs used to puncture the vein and drink the blood, while molochs have to sharpen their teeth to do the same thing. I feel like there is more to that story, but for now, a slight smile creeps over my face.

Out of a sudden, the sky cracks. Rifts form all over the earth and the memory fragments collapse upon themselves. The last thing that pops in front of my eyes is the face of a seemingly random moloch among the hundred looking back towards where I’m hiding, with fresh blood still dripping from his mouth and a bitter-sweet smile on his face.

Uncle Jeffrey…

‘Ughh’

No… Wait! I… I need to know more. It feels like I’m so close to remembering everything and so still far away.

And then my eyes shut open once more. This time I can feel tremendous pressure overwhelming my body. Without even thinking about it, I push hard with both hands on the cold ground and lift my body.

Spending the next couple of seconds coughing my lungs out confirms my hypothesis that I was kind of drowning. The next thing that pops into my mind is the view… Or lack of one. From what I can tell, it seems like I’m surrounded by smoke… No, steam. Besides that, it’s still dark, with only a bit of light barely illuminating my vicinity.

‘Aghhh’

Unable to keep my mouth shut, I let a primal scream as my hands shoot towards my eyes, which seem on fire or worse, in a vain attempt to make it stop. Not even a second later, I collapse on my knees with my nose touching the surface of the shallow water below.

And just like that, a rather familiar smell awakens a primal desire within me. Without even knowing why I throw my head in the water and start drinking it.

Blood… No, that is wrong… It feels way too weak. Or diluted, I guess… Oh! That would make sense, wouldn’t it? I mean, there is a lot of liquid here. It would be strange for a pool of blood of this magnitude to just pop up out of nowhere. Right now, that doesn’t matter. Without an apparent end in sight, my body absorbs more and more of the blood-infused water. I don’t even know how a rather normal person like myself can keep drinking like a thirsty camel but, as I ingest more and more of the murky substance, the overwhelming pain dissipates, only to be replaced by another maybe even worse sensation… Taste.

This… This tastes even worse than pig’s blood. Don’t ask me how I know what pig’s blood is supposed to taste like because I wouldn’t be able to answer said question, but I feel like that would be a delicacy compared to this abomination. I can only hope that the mud and other stuff that were in the water before the blood got mixed with it gave it this horrendous taste. If that is not what has happened, I can’t even imagine what kind of unholy creature could possess this dreadful tasting blood. And to think that I’m drinking it of my own volition…

The moment the sense of disgust became greater than the lingering pain, I finally stopped myself. While unable to be certain, I think the pool of liquid is at least a couple of fingers thinner.

Fortunately, it looks like my suffering was worth it as the moment I rose my head and took another look around me; the situation seemed to differ greatly from not too long ago. My eyes, which previously could barely see even my arms, can now gaze far into the distance, beyond the fog and the darkness that covers my surrounding, towards a landscape straight out of hell. Countless human-like bodies cover the ground, most mutilated beyond recognition. Beyond the sea of corpses, flashes of light cover the sky, as what I can only assume is a fight of epic proportions occurs. Concentrating even harder, I can barely distinguish a winged lizard-like silhouette engaged in battle with three tiny dots.

Although I can’t see it clearly, my instinct tells me that the thing in the distance is, without a doubt, a dragon. Seemingly to confirm my hypothesis, a wave of dragon fear washes over me. Although it’s not strong, most likely because of the distance, I’m certain that this is what the books describe as a “dragon’s sovereignty over lesser beings”, in this case, myself.

“Of course, it’s a...”

*Cough**Cough**Cough*

“...A quacking…”

*Cough*

“...Dragon!”

Damn it… My throat is sore and my voice is raspy. This… This is kind of bad. And the cherry on the cake is that the mother-quacking has noticed me!

“Red dragon, kneel and beg,

Blue, it’s just a minor setback

Green, just grab its leg

Black? Fight, there’s no turning back!”

I don’t know where that came from, but it seems familiar… Oh… My throat… Is it already healed!?

Not giving me the chance to comprehend how, in only a couple of minutes, my sore throat returned to normal, a head-splitting pain assaulted my senses and without warning, I got thrust back into another memory fragment deep within my subconsciousness.

This time it’s a library. A young moloch, whose face is blank although I’m certain that’s myself, reads a thick book. By his side, countless other volumes stay stacked in perfectly ordered rows. With a speed that defies normal human limits by a large margin, pages get flipped while a small incandescent rune glows with an indistinct murmur above his head.

‘Basic Tier Rune: Concentration’

Once the last page got turned, which didn’t take more than a couple of minutes, the moloch… no… I closed it with a disappointed frown on my face. The dragon head depicted on the cover points toward knowledge regarding one of the three legendary beings, but it looks like there were only a few generic details and a couple of stupid poems.

Oh well, to the next one!

Picking another book from the seventh row of the bookshelves and having a cursory glance at the title, my body froze.

“The unknown history of Archduke Leffon’s meteoritic rise to power.”

Leffon… That name, I know it. If I remember correctly, which I doubt I am given the circumstances, he is one of the five great Archdukes that rule over the Sanguine empire.

‘Th-… This is what I was looking for!’

Wanting to devour the content of the book without missing even a single word, the concentration rune above started spinning counter-clockwise with increased speed, devouring my extremely limited mana pool.

‘Clank’

Before being able to go past the first page, the noise specific to the front door opening woke my brain up. Out of instinct more than anything else, my right hand shot with practiced movements towards the heart area, pressing hard and infusing the remaining traces of mana in my depleted core towards a different rune carved in my very own skin. In the next moment, books started flying toward their specific places, arranging themselves properly, giving the impression that they haven’t been touched in decades.

‘Basic Tier Rune: String Play’

Unable to give up on the book that could solve all my problems, my left hand snatched it up and hid it in my small satchel. Next, a third rune carved on my right leg sprang to life, reducing my weight and making my steps almost soundless.

‘Basic Tier Rune: Feather Step’

Soon, I exited the room through the back door, a fraction of a second after a young maid entered.

Wait… After?

And just like that, the sky started cracking again. Then, as if waking up from a nightmare, my vision returned to the devastated landscape and the grand fight occurring in the distance. To be honest, I’m not sure which one is worse… Countless fragmented memories swirling inside my subconsciousness or the hellscape outside.

“The hell?”

Taking a passive look somewhere between me and the dragon, my mouth almost dropped in shock… There, under the shadow of a small icy hill, a bunch of humans are drinking without a care in the world while watching the fight. For a second I almost felt like I might have not woken up properly from my memories and this is just a fantasy created by a coping mind faced with an impossible situation but the chilling wind that already started freezing my water imbued sorry excuse of garments makes me realize that I’m not that lucky.

“Hah… This is the worst.”

Although I can’t be certain about anything, I think it has noticed me. There’s just this strange feeling, like I’m in the middle of the forest at night, alone, around a campfire, while a predator is watching me from somewhere beyond the darkness. It’s a primal fear, like death itself gripping your heart from behind. Although you can’t be certain of it, you feel that something is wrong. And, here and now, I know that something is extremely wrong!

“Oh, well… Let’s just go for it.”

With no path of retreat, there is no place left for hesitation and doubt. In no time at all, under the welcoming glow of the dragon fire in the distance that dissipates the chilly wind and slowly dries my shredded attire, I make my way towards the bunch of fools who dare to party in such dire circumstances.

When I’m less than 500 steps away, one of them waves in my direction.

‘Friendly bunch, eh? Good! I need something like that right now.’

Arriving at my destination, I can finally take a proper look at what I assumed to be a bunch of broken in the head humans not too long ago. Unfortunately for me, I realize that it’s a dozen broken in the head dwarves, which is way worse if you ask me…

Although I don’t remember it properly, I’m pretty certain that vampires and dwarves were at war. As if confirmed by the rising anger that threatens to explode within me, I remember that one of them killed uncle Jeffrey. It’s not their fault, I know that much… In war, you kill or get killed. That’s it. And then why… Just why do I feel this billowing wrath deep within? Soon my vision turns in all shades of red as my fangs, which I wasn’t even sure developed yet, became visible for all to see.

‘Well, now the cat is out of the bag, I guess.’

With a confrontation seemingly unavoidable, under the threat of a black dragon which is most likely going to kill me soon enough anyway, I channel the small amount of mana towards a couple of runes inscribed in my very own skin while my killing intents spills out in the surrounding.

“Oi Lard,” billows the dwarven woman that was waving at me earlier, “what the hell are you doing? Can’t you see that our drenched friend over here doesn’t have a mug? Bring him one!”

As the one I assumed to be Lard moves with a frown, the woman shifts a bit to the right, making enough room between her and the edge of the hill she is leaning on for another person, indicating for me to sit there.

“Come on mate, take a sit. Let us enjoy the show!”

‘The actual hell?’

Let’s just assume that you encounter a strange dude in the middle of nowhere that is obviously ready to pounce at you with killing intent in his eyes. What do you do? Do you, I don’t know, question him? Try to understand what is happening, who he is, what he wants, or do you just invite him to have a drink with you? Well, I know what would be my approach, but I guess they have even more loose screws than I expected.

I can’t stop myself from smiling. Slowly, throughout the next ten breaths, my heart calms down and the killing intent dissipates bit by bit. Having a mug filled with some dirty unidentified alcohol shoved at me by a rather grumpy old dwarf, taking a sit on the cold ground, and seeing the short woman laughing as my face distorts in disgust after only smelling that thing eliminates all the residual tension in me. Soon, I was also standing there, in silence, with a mug I didn’t dare to drink from in my hands, ‘enjoying’ the struggle in the distance.

And just like that, while I was getting resigned to my fate, my vision turns blurry and I’m thrust back into the jumbled mess of spiraling memory fragments.

Now on a battlefield covered in thousands of rotting corpses, with a resolute expression on my face, I make my way towards a burning citadel in the distance. My feet are heavy and I feel broken inside. Despite knowing that I’m being watched, my body keeps moving forward at a steady pace. High above me, a rune imbued with far more power than I should have ever been able to produce or control, spins slowly with a low hum, ready to obliterate any fool that dares to stand before me and my destination.

In my pocket, the stolen crystal seal of Duke Luke Heartfelt is getting rapidly depleted by the extremely inefficient and severely lacking rune inscribed on it.

‘Seventh Tier Rune: Seeking Arcane Missile’

Using an incantation found in a shoddy book, combined with a powerful medium and a second-rate inscribed rune, I guaranteed myself safety towards my destination. I would normally not use something this dangerous, but I really don’t care.

As I finally enter the dilapidated fort, my already clenched hands get even tighter. Despite feeling my fingernails penetrating deep in my palms, I keep pushing. Right now, pain is the only thing that keeps me sane, as before me countless moloch bodies are scattered all over the place. Some with swords in their hands, others just trying to run away. The only thing I can see is death and more death.

Taking a heavy breath filled with the smell of decaying bodies, I go through the carpet of corpses, searching and hoping to not find what I’m looking for.

*Crack*

“Oi… Mate! You fine over there?”

*Crack*

The next second I was back under the snow hill, with the smelly dwarven woman by my side, pulling my arm and almost screaming in my ear. I’m not sure if I even found what I was looking for, but my heart tells me I already know the answer to that question despite wishing I didn’t.

“Who are you?” Still disoriented by the sudden change, I ask before remembering the current abnormal situation.

“Arla of house Stormmawler.” She responded with traces of worry in her eyes.

I don’t even know her. Why would she be worried about me? Just like I thought, she is obviously in Coo Coo Land.

“I’m fine…” I answer with a heavy voice. “I was just remembering a terrible memory.”

“What are ya talking about mate?” She asks with confusion plastered on her face. “All memories are just that mate, memories.” The woman continues with a sad smile on her face. “Good or bad, they are in the past. What truly matters is the future, which in our case might be quite short-lived.” She says before giving a hearty laugh and taking another swing of the ink-black liquid from her mug.

Unable to keep myself from smiling, I laugh together with her, soon getting accompanied by the other dwarves as well. I doubt most even know why we are laughing, but it doesn’t seem to matter to them.

“I guess you are right…” I reply with a renewed desire to live in my eyes.

I don’t want to die… It’s as simple as that. Despite not remembering everything yet, I feel like I’m here, in the middle of nowhere, exactly because I want to keep living.

‘But how?’

The quacking lizard… It’s said that a black dragon doesn’t forget nor forgive. Once it has put his greedy eyes on you, there is no turning back. You either die fighting or screaming. Either way, you are screwed!

“So,” Trying to find even the smallest trace of hope, I redirect my eyes towards the three dwarves in the distance engaged in a brutal melee with the monster. “Say, Arla… The trio in the distance fighting the dragon, are they with you?”

For a moment, I thought I might have gone blind. The moment I mentioned the party of three, the eyes of every dwarf started shining with utmost adoration and respect.

“Oh, mate…” After taking a long breath, Arla points in the distance with her left hand while holding her mug with the right. “Those over there are not dwarves, but legends…”

“To us at the very least…” From slightly further away, a random whisper got carried with the wind.

After taking an angry look around and making a mental note regarding a certain unlucky drunken dwarf, Arla continues in the same formal tone as she started on. “Do you see the chad over there taking kicks from the dragon like it is nothing?” Asked Arla while pointing towards the one standing the closest to the dragon at all times.

“That is our King.” She continues with even more pride like that is supposed to even be possible. “First of his noble name, known even beyond the abyssal breach, having the power to move the heart of his people and to crush the skulls of his enemies, a Godkin hidden under the guise of a mortal with a dark mane, first to wield the heavy hammer of Haqar, blessed be his will, liberator and father of our great nation.”

Yup… This woman has a lot of screaming birds in her head. Despite obviously wanting to say more, Arla moves her finger by a few degrees towards the one who looks like a woman hurling all kinds of spells towards the dragon from slightly further away.

“And there, hidden in his shadow, that bloke of a woman,” Arla continues with slight anger in her voice “Possessing the hopes and dreams of countless females as she stole what we couldn’t even dream to touch, the King’s heart, and with it everything that he will ever be.” Turning back to her rather formal and respectful demeanor, she continues her rambling “What she lacks in terms of beauty, she exceeds in terms of arcane talent to the point where even Haqar would be jealous.”

“That I can see…” Yes, without a doubt, she is a genius. While Arla was describing the queen, my eyes were focused on her spells. Although I’m uncertain what magic it is, she is dual casting using her left hand to heal her husband while hurtling all kinds of projectile-based magic at the dragon. Ice, fire, light, and even space and darkness spells get cast one after the other in quick succession, with little to no pause between them. Despite that, what surprised me the most is actually how she can exploit any openings created by her husband while making sure that the slightest residual energy of her spells doesn’t even scrape his clothes.

“And then there is that young lass that keeps bouncing all over the place.” Arla points in the general direction of the fight while moving her finger sideways. “Not even 20 winters old, a miracle that by all common sense shouldn’t have ever occurred…” She pauses for a second with obvious terror in her eyes, returning to her prideful self a couple of seconds later “Born between a living legend and a woman that is no woman but a former queen corrupted by the accursed claws of the abyssal scourge that blights the very earth we live of…”

And there she goes again with the strange terminology that I’ve never heard before… Despite having my memories still shattered into a billion pieces, I’m certain I never heard of the abyssal depths before. And I’ve read thousands of books while in the Duke’s mansion.

In the background, Arla continues unbothered by my weirded-out gaze. “Perfection given mortal shape, beyond the scope of our narrow minds; talent that can shake the forge of creation and beauty unbeknown even to the great Haqar, first dwarven ruler and master of a thousand mistresses.”

As Arva stops for a couple of seconds to catch her breath, I look at a small dot that keeps moving at lightning speed all over the battlefield. With a crossbow in one hand and higher tier runes glowing on top of her other palm, a tiny figure even by dwarven standards keeps attacking the dragon only at those critical moments when the king or the queen is about to be cornered. If what Arla said is true and she is not even 20, then that girl is an even more monstrous genius than the queen. And she still has room to improve.

Lifting her mug high above her head, Arva increased her volume by another level. “They are our ruler, our friends, and more than anything… Our family!”

‘“Long live the King! Long live the Queen! Long live the Princess!”‘

With those last words, all dwarves raise their mugs and cheer in the name of their rulers before drinking all the essence of horror I didn’t even dare to taste in one big gulp. Then, one guy that can walk, albeit shakily, gets a small keg from his backpack and starts filling everyone’s mugs again.

“Do you think they can win?” I asked with newborn hope the moment the noise settled a bit.

Giving me a small punch in the shoulder, Arla only laughs and shakes her head.

Yeah… It was obvious, wasn’t it? Even legends are unworthy in the eyes of an ancient dragon.

“We are going to die today,” Arla comments with absolute certainty. “Why run, hide and beg in front of the absolute when you can spend that time having one final good day?” Taking the mug in my hand by force and shoving it in my face, Arla continues “This doesn’t mean you can’t do exactly that. Some did… And they already paid the price for it,” she completed while pointing towards the hundreds of mutilated corpses scattered around. “So stop wasting the little time we have left and drink! Drink while you still can mate.”

Maybe corrupted by the atmosphere, I finally decide to put my lips on the unholy liquid and take a big swing.

“Well… That was…” As I barely squeeze those words out through trembling teeth and teary eyes, Arla and the other dwarves just kept laughing while holding her belly.

“How was it?” she insists. “Come on mate, don’t be shy. Tell us!”

“Well…” I pause a bit to find the proper words and then I just let it all out “It tasted like old slightly coagulated pig’s blood, mixed with a healthy dose of Malort, which is another abomination of a drink created by unholy Gods to torture forsaken souls, leaving behind in your mouth that not-so-idyllic funky after-taste of stinky feet!”

While waiting to see their reaction, a certain now way-too-familiar headache makes itself known once more, and my consciousness lapses back into the vortex of memories that represent my past.

Now walking down the streets of a snow-covered city, a random little boutique stole my attention. There, arranged in the open for all passersby to see, a locally produced good well known throughout the land, the so-called immortal snow lotus petals, are displayed in a variety of ways, from being sealed into a small pocket bottle to being trapped inside crystal bracelets.

I don’t remember exactly why, but I feel like this is what I’m here to buy. Making my way through the door, I’m surprised at the exaggerated difference in temperature. Despite the framework of the small shop being made of ordinary wooden planks and the outside temperature being well into the negatives, on the inside, it’s warm enough to stay naked and not feel the slightest discomfort.

Looking around, the soft glow of the runes makes itself known.

“So that’s hot it is…”

This kind of setting makes one wonder just how profitable the immortal lotus petals business is that it would allow a random little shop owner to isolate his boutique with Tier 2 Runes: Heat Field.

“Hello, sir!” From beyond the counter, a rather young human boy greets me."What can I help you with today?"

“I need a lotus petal sealed in crimson thunder crystal.” I feel like I’ve been saying that all day long and my patience is at my limit…

Despite my rude approach, the vendor keeps a light smile on his face and answered professionally. “Unfortunately, we don’t have what you are looking for, sir…”

Without a second thought, I turn around and prepare to leave.

“But we can make one for you, sir, by tomorrow morning if you are still interested.” Said the boy with a slightly hasted voice from behind.

Considering it for a second, I know that there is no rush. My former master can’t know where I am at this point… I’m pretty sure I lost him after wiping out his assassins at the destroyed fort. In addition, leaving behind the broken emblem, which became useless to me after using all the energy within, should reduce his desire to find me at all costs. As for the book, “The unknown history of Archduke Leffon’s meteoritic rise to power”, despite being quite rare, I doubt it’s worth more than the life of a good assassin. Given the circumstances, I doubt he would risk losing even more resources only to get even with a moloch that played him and escape his clutches.

“Ten gold for the product.” Without turning around, I say in a rather hushed voice. “Another ten if you can do it by nightfall.” I continue without batting an eye at what I can only expect to be a stunned young vendor. Although I can’t see him, his elevated pulse and heavier breathing make it obvious that my offer is far beyond the price of the object I intend to buy.

“I will do my best, sir.” While trying to calm his fast pacing heart, the vendor responds in a slightly excited tone.

And with those words, the familiar cracks spread over the world and I return to Arla and the insane battle occurring in the distance.

Or that was supposed to happen… But it didn’t. Instead, I woke up in a carriage, moving through a heavy blizzard towards an unknown destination.

In my hands, “The unknown history of Archduke Leffon’s meteoritic rise to power” is open on page 1317 out of 1319, right at the end. As I keep reading and rereading the same page repeatedly, I feel like an insane idea gets reinforced in my mind.

Somehow I know that this idea allowed me to do everything I did… Break the madam’s rules and sneak into the library, escape from the dungeon after getting caught red-handed and run away while stealing the Duke’s most valuable possession, finding uncle Jeffrey’s corpse and giving him a proper burial right before killing all the assassins hired to deal with me and then getting all the way here, in a place that even the Duke would not dare to go easily, in the northern desolate where only the fools and the forsaken dare to venture.

But I’m no fool, nor am I forsaken… Well… I might be both now that I think about it, but if this works, if those words have the meaning that I think they do, if I, a nobody managed to somehow discovered the hidden secret left behind by Archduke Leffon in his book, there might just be a chance… A chance for me to have a future. Any future.

As the world cracks once more around me, my eyes peek once more towards those words that made me take such tremendous risks;

“As I’ve already mentioned countless times by now, there are two ways through which a vampire can grow stronger.

The first one is what we can describe as the standard route. By being part of a family, growing stronger day by day while fighting and feeding, killing your opponents, and feasting on their blood, by being what you are meant to be: a sanguine through and through.

The second way belongs to the cowards that only know how to hide behind their legacies. Simply by drinking the blood of a powerful vampire, a newborn could receive a meteoric rise in ranks.

It was long speculated that this is how I also reached the pinnacle. And it might truly be the truth, as I know for sure that there are higher-level monsters among the forgotten history of the sanguine than mere Archdukes like myself.

… … … … …

But there is one more way. Something that few know of because it is just not workable.

Time. Vampires grow stronger in time. A newborn could become a knight by simply living in a mansion forgotten by the world for a hundred years.

That makes some wonder what would happen if, hypothetically speaking, a vampire were to be imprisoned for a thousand years in a dungeon? Without blood, he would dry out and die. But what if, hypothetically, of course, there would be a way to keep him barely alive, like a so-called immortal lotus petal sealed inside a crystal that keeps it from drying out for up to five thousand years?

Well, you see… That is impossible. Vampires are not plants. They would die. But if there would be a method to do that, then maybe, and just maybe, a random newborn, hell even a moloch, could just seal himself for five thousand years and emerge as a duke.

Can you imagine it?

No?

Neither can I because those are just useless theories that will never become reality.”

Opening my eyes once more, I wake up to a searing pain in my left cheek followed by a thunderous clap and another even worse pain on my right side.

“What the hell?!” I snap at my assailant with my first in front of my face, ready to defend myself.

“Finally… I really thought you killed yourself like a coward and let us die alone, you goddamn fool.” Said Arla with a bit of rage mixed with relief.

“Why do you even care?” I replied, asking what has been bothering me from the moment I met them.

“Oi dude…” says one dwarf slightly further away from me. “You don’t get it, do you? No one deserves to die alone. Hell, not even a freaking vampire!”

Somehow, I don’t know what to say… It’s rare for me to be at a loss for words, but this might be one of those mythical moments.

As Arla takes her hands off me and gets back to her position, she grabs the mug, which still holds about two fingers’ worth of black dragon piss, and throws it away with resignation in her eyes.

“It’s almost over… King… Can’t hold for much more.” She says while giving me the saddest smile I’ve ever seen. “And once he is dead, we’ll follow!”

Taking another look at the battle, it’s obvious that things don’t look too good. The king is half dead, his wife having already lost her left arm. She cannot dual cast anymore, being forced to dedicate her remaining traces of mana to healing to the detriment of anything else. The only one still fighting violently against the black dragon is the little princess, who now stopped exploiting opening and took her father’s place in direct collisions with the monstrous beast.

“I… Cant die!” Although I muttered those words under my breath, barely hearing them even myself, Arla puts her hand around my shoulder and gives me a good squeeze.

‘I… Refuse to quacking die here and now! Not like this. Not to quacking bullshit of a black dragon!’

As rage overwhelms me to the point where fresh blood piles up between my clenched teeth, I hear an audible pop, and with it, a torrent of knowledge assaults my feeble mind.

And just like that, memories that I didn’t even know I had rushed back at me. This time they are not visions… No, that is wrong. They are visions, hundreds and hundreds of puzzles being solved all at once, countless ideas and concepts invading my mind like a flood… Somehow there is more than I ever thought possible… Far more than a young moloch, even one that has spent five months holed up in the library on an ancient dukedom, should have. Although, the majority still seem incomplete… Like reading a book. Understanding the concept but not knowing if it would work until you try it.

Rising to my feet, I put my hand in my pocket. There, where the immortal lotus petal should have been, only a small pile of red crystal dust remains.

Archduke Leffon said that even a moloch could become and Duke by simply surviving for five thousand years. But what about ten thousand years? Or twenty? Or even more?

The immortal lotus petals are not immortal… They just contain a small rune formation that absorbs ambiental mana to keep itself alive. If you were to seal one of those inside a crystal, preventing it from drying up and keeping the formation in pristine conditions, it could remain fresh for up to five thousand years, because that is how long normal crystals can remain pure. After that, the crystals lose the small traces of mana that keep them in shape and crumble to pieces.

But then there are the so-called crimson thunder crystals… Those are nothing more than crystals that were repeatedly hit by thunder while being tainted with blood. Nothing special per se, but still up to five times more durable than normal ones.

25.000 years…

The crystal has crumbled to dust. If that much time has passed and if I’m still alive and this is not some twisted version of the purgatory, which I know are a lot of “ifs”, then maybe there is a chance to escape this hopeless situation.

“Hey, Arla… And everyone else for that matter…” As she turned her head towards me I just put my plan in motion without a second thought. “Could you fill that barrel with your blood?” I ask while pointing to a rather large empty barrel thrown further away.

As they all give me a flat look after hearing my ridiculous suggestion, I think about what should I say to convince them… By the time I even planned a basic strategy to explain my idea, five of the eleven dwarfs were already by the barrel, with their wrist slit, filling it with their alcohol-infused stinky feet-smelling blood. Only when they almost lost consciousness did they stop, being replaced by the remaining five, with only Arla not joining them. Instead, she was still sitting down with a drunken smile on her face, pooling her blood in my half-empty jug.

“If blood is what you want as your last drink, why didn’t you say so sooner?” She asked while passing the now rather full mug to me.

Giving back a chuckle, I took the mug and added it to the barrel. There, a concoction of unholy proportions emanating the stench of horror beyond comprehension was waiting for me.

Still… Somehow, I knew this wasn’t enough. I was not hesitating because I dreaded drinking it, but because it would still not be enough. Despite being over 20 liters of fresh blood mixed with something that even the devil wouldn’t use to torture sinners with, it wouldn’t be enough to quench my thirst…

Throwing my mind at my newfound well of knowledge, I tried to find any method to compensate. Unfortunately, there didn’t seem to be anything I could use in this situation… No. That is wrong. There are at least seven different methods that could save me, but just because I know of their existence doesn’t mean I can make them happen. Theory and practice are two completely different concepts. Just because you know how beer is made doesn’t mean you could make it at home with no ingredients and with only your desire to accomplish the impossible.

Fortunately, as if answering my call, the blood in the barrel started churning and turning… Soon, a whirlpool formed that kept concentrating it towards the center. But that was only the beginning. While the strange and unexpected phenomena astonished my mind, I didn’t even notice that tendrils of blood from all over the land started moving in my direction. Be it frozen, diluted in water, or even burnt residue, all of it gathered in the barrel.

The blood of hundreds of fallen dwarves kept gathering while concentrating into one marble that by now started already emanating the delicious smell of pure blood essence. Although I’ve smelled it only once in my whole life when Luke received a marble similar in size to this one from a certain Archduke, I still remember that intoxicating feeling like it was yesterday.

Once the marble absorbed even the last molecule of blood in the vicinity, under the stunned gazes of eleven dwarves, I popped it into my mouth and let it slowly dissolve.

Big mistake…

While I was fighting on one side with the pain and extreme heat tearing every inch of my body to shreds, baking it to a crisp and then remaking it anew, and on the other hand with whatever Godforsaken tragedy was occurring in my mouth, Arla, with tiny calculated steps, approached me from the side.

“Hey… Uh… Mate…” Seemingly unable to find the proper words, the rather spontaneous dwarf from earlier, seems now more like a cat that swallowed her tongue.

“The hell was that mate? How did you do that? That’s quite a nice trick if I dare say so myself. It won’t do you much good in a couple of minutes as you’ll be dead, but I bet you were quite popular at parties!” And… She’s back.

Approaching me with a teasing look in her eyes, the dwarf whose head barely reaches my chin stretches her hand half the way across my shoulders and gives me a couple of back pats.

“Come on mate, tell me.” Continues Arla in the same slightly mocking tone. “ We are going to die anyway soon enough, so why not satiate our curiosity before that?”

“It’s…” once the pain subsides, I try to probe the countless changes in my body. I know for once that the runes that were inscribed on my skin are not there anymore. At the same time, I feel that the world is so much more vibrant right now. My senses have been amplified a hundredfold. Without even consciously thinking about it, I can tell that there are fifteen living beings in our vicinity, 14 dwarves and one dragon. Furthermore, I can smell the blood of the dragon from over here. Despite being only a few drops, making an ancient black dragon bleed is something that few can ever hope to achieve. For this, I must congratulate the trio after this is over.

“Yeah mate, what is it? Come on, tell us.” Presses on Arla in the background.

“Yeah dude, tell us!” As a cacophony of voices enters my ears, I simply ignore them.

Beyond the expected changes I could feel even during the metamorphosis, there are some slightly more unique ones. For once, not too long ago, that dragon in the distance felt like the moon in the night’s sky, ethereal and impossible to touch, but now it feels more like a tall mountain that I could conquer if push comes to shove. Unfortunately, I’m terrible at fighting… There is a big difference between killing a couple of high-ranking assassins by using a rune and dealing with a black dragon.

I also feel something else, something even more unbelievable. Flowing through my veins right now there is blood… Yeah, amazing, right? Genius... What is unexpected is that I feel a small drop, unlike the others, moving at a rapid pace through my whole body. From that infinitesimal amount of blood, I can feel a power that threatens to spill out into the world, ready to swallow and devour everything, be it mortals, dragons, or even the Gods themselves. I feel like, compared to that one tiny drop of blood, the black dragon is nothing more than a lizard unworthy of being mentioned.

But everything pales compared to one thing… One thing that makes even a God feel insignificant right now.

“It’s…” My mouth opens once more to talk, but as fresh air enters my lungs, my buttocks clench, and my mind goes into shock from the sheer horror of… that… that…

“STINKY FEET!!!” With that bellow that gives birth to a wave of stench making even the dwarves recoil in terror, I drop to my knees begging anyone willing to listen to smite me on the spot just to save me from this terror while trying my best to direct that one drop of blood towards my mouth in order to cleanse it.

No… I… I can’t die because of this nonsense flavor from beyond the galactic terror vortex that shouldn’t even be possible. I’m going to make it! I have to make it!

Fortunately, somehow, maybe by luck, maybe answering my desire, the drop of blood goes in that direction, and soon the after-taste is no more.

Rising on my still trembling feet, I take one more look at the not-so-threatening lizard in the distance and prepare myself for an act worthy of an Oscar.

“Hey, Arla...” Arla, which took a few steps back during the earlier nightmare that I’ll never admit ever happened, turns again in my direction, I ramble “You know, where I come from there is a saying that has stayed by my side and saved me more times than I can remember.”

“And… What would that be mate?”

Taking half step to the right, I continue “When you are confronted with an impossible situation and there is no other way out you just have to…” As I turn my head 60 degrees to the right facing both Arla and the other dwarves, my lips break into a predatory smile “Fake it till you make it!”

While watching me in stunned silence, I take down the sorry excuse for the clothes I’ve been wearing until now. At this point, I feel like the cold and ice cannot touch me anymore and the only thing the clothes were doing was hiding my modesty, which is quite important depending on who you ask.

As I’m completely naked, I turn my body towards the dragon in the distance, and, with steady steps, I move towards it.

“Have you gone insane?” From behind, I can hear Arla screaming in my direction but instead of stopping and explaining to them my genius plan, I just rise my right hand and wave without turning back. Just like she said, if we’re going to die anyway, we might as well do what we like at least once more. Unfortunately, drinking until I can’t move anymore it’s just not my style.

But…

Messing with anyone that dares to annoy me to the point where they start questioning their sanity is my style! If this is the last thing I’m going to do in this life, I’m going to enjoy it to the end, just the way I like it…

“Naked and ready to rumble!”