Elsewhere in the manor

Ariel Ray Servornius stood motionless before the ornate double doors of her lady’s chamber, her hand hovering just shy of the handle. A knot twisted in her stomach as she rehearsed what she would say. How exactly did one inform their mistress that a Vampire Progenitor was waiting in the manor?

After a deep breath to steady herself, she pushed the door open and slipped quietly into the dimly lit room.

The air inside was hushed, filled with the soft rustle of silk curtains and the faint scent of lavender. Against the far wall stood a grand canopy bed, its heavy drapes partially drawn. Sprawled across the mattress was a young woman, her deep royal blue hair spilling like ink over a mound of pillows an unmistakable mark of the Grandoble lineage.

Loretta Ray Grandoble lay fast asleep, her breaths slow and steady, lashes brushing pale cheeks. The exhaustion in her face was unmistakable. Since the city of Garandale had been wrenched from its homeland two days prior, she had scarcely allowed herself a moment of rest. This was the first time she had truly slept. And now, Ariel had to wake her.

Guilt pricked at her conscience, but there was no choice.

“My Lady,” she whispered, approaching the bed. “Please wake up. There’s a matter that urgently requires your attention.”

Loretta stirred faintly, brows creasing as her voice mumbled from beneath a sheet.

“Just five more minutes.”

The soft whine of her voice made Ariel wince. Still, she pressed on, placing a gentle hand on her lady’s shoulder.

“I’m terribly sorry to interrupt, but… the survival of the city may depend on this.”

That seemed to strike home.

Loretta exhaled sharply and forced herself upright, pushing away the fog of sleep. Ariel immediately stepped forward to support her, helping her into a seated position.

“What’s the issue?” Loretta asked, voice still groggy but now tinged with concern.

Ariel didn’t sugarcoat it.

“A Vampire Progenitor and his companion—likely his Blood Consort—have appeared within the city. The Progenitor destroyed the Waystone and I encountered him at the site. After a brief exchange, he requested an audience with the city’s leadership. He also made it abundantly clear—without subtlety—that refusal could mean the city’s destruction.”

Loretta’s eyes narrowed, fully awake now.

“Where is he?”

“I placed him in one of the manor’s waiting rooms. I told him you were asleep and needed time to prepare, so you do have a moment to gather yourself.”

“Thank you,” Loretta said, throwing the covers aside. “But we dare not keep a Progenitor waiting.”

Without another word, she stood, and Ariel moved to assist her. Within half an hour, the Governess was dressed in a deep navy gown that mirrored the hue of her hair. Her posture was regal, her expression composed, but Ariel could see the tension in her shoulders—the heavy weight of the burden she bore.

Together, they walked the silent corridors of the manor, the hallways lit by flickering sconces and the silver glow of the pre-dawn moon outside.

At the waiting room doors, Loretta paused and knocked once—firm and measured.

Inside, Will and Lilya turned at the sound. When the door opened, Loretta stepped inside, every inch the noble ruler she had been raised to be.

“I am Loretta Ray Grandoble, Governess of Garandale,” the woman announced, her voice poised and measured—a cultivated tone sharpened by years of duty and highborn expectation. She carried herself with the graceful precision of someone who bore authority not as a burden, but as a second skin. Her gaze locked onto mine with chilling directness, as though she were appraising not merely my appearance but the darkness woven into my very being.

There was no fear—only wariness, and the steel glint of someone who’d faced monsters before and survived.

“So, Vampire Progenitor Will Von Mortis,” she continued, every syllable laced with intent, “for what purpose have you requested an audience with me?”

The moment she stepped into the chamber, something primal and ancient stirred within me. My instincts, forged over eons of dormancy and etched into the marrow of my immortal flesh, whispered temptations in a voice only I could hear.

Her aura—so composed, so luminous she was precisely the kind that called to the blood. She would make an exquisite consort. Every beat of her heart resonated like a siren’s song to the monster within. But I buried that hunger, casting it into the cold recesses of my mind. I simply watched her, observing the deliberate cadence of her steps as she crossed the room and seated herself on the opposing couch with a dignity that matched her title.

For a time, neither of us spoke. The silence hung taut, heavy with unspoken scrutiny. Our eyes met in a silent trial of wills, and I could feel the weight of her intellect pressing against my own. It wasn’t until she gave a gentle, diplomatic cough that the moment fractured.

I inclined my head, letting the moment pass like smoke between fingers. “As you’ve already surmised, I am the Vampire Progenitor Will Von Mortis,” I said evenly, gesturing with a subtle tilt of my hand toward the girl beside me. “And this is Lilya Von Mortis, my Blood Consort.”

Loretta’s eyes flicked toward Lilya in acknowledgment, her expression betraying neither approval nor disdain. Merely calculation.

“I came here initially to assert dominion over this land,” I continued, “as this city now lies within the bounds of territory that falls under my domain. However, upon arrival, I recognized that this city and its circumstances are not so ordinary. Therefore, rather than impose by force, I offer a negotiation.”

Her expression didn’t change, but a single eyebrow arched with restrained skepticism. “And what terms would this negotiation entail?”

“I was only recently awakened from my slumber,” I began, allowing my voice to adopt a colder resonance, “and as far as I can tell, I am the first Progenitor to rise in this region in untold ages. It is also clear that this city—Garandale—is not native to this realm. Correct?”

“Yes,” she said, the word clipped but honest.

“Then I offer to return you to your rightful place. I will personally restore your city to its original location, safe and untouched.”

Her expression sharpened, mouth parting just slightly in realization. “At what cost?”

I leaned forward, letting the gravity of my words settle like stone between us. “Nine girls, between the ages of sixteen and seventeen, each bearing a divine blessing, to serve as my Blood Consorts. Forty additional individuals to become Blood Attendants. One hundred elite fighters—equal in strength and discipline to the ones stationed at the Waystone—to be trained as my Blood Champions. And finally, full introductions to your city’s most esteemed artisans: blacksmiths, alchemists, enchanters, merchants, mages, engineers, architects, tailors, carpenters, masons, miners, farmers, ranchers—anyone whose skill elevates Garandale above mere survival.”

Her breath hitched, so subtly it might’ve gone unnoticed to a lesser observer. “And if we agree?”

“I will use my mana to restore your city to its rightful place—no violence, no chaos, no lives lost. But I demand transparency. Absolute honesty. No attempts to deceive or sidestep the spirit of the agreement. Every individual who fits my criteria is eligible—resident or otherwise. That includes you, Lady Grandoble.”

Her poise faltered for just an instant. A flicker in her eyes. The meaning behind my words had struck home. She sat still as a statue, and yet the weight of contemplation around her was palpable, like storm clouds gathering in silence.

Several long, breathless minutes passed. I let her simmer in that tension, let her calculate the cost against the offer.

Finally, she spoke. “Forgive my silence. I needed a moment to process the... magnitude of your terms. While I recognize the generosity of your offer—and the power behind it—I cannot offer immediate assent. Despite my title, Garandale is still governed by a council. A decision of this scale must be ratified with their consent.”

Her voice was even, but beneath it was a tremor of urgency—an unspoken plea for time.

I considered her words, then gave a slow, deliberate nod. “Very well. You have three days. When I return, I expect a complete list, and I expect those selected to meet my expectations.”

Relief flickered across her face, restrained but genuine. “Thank you, Lord Von Mortis.”

With our exchange concluded, Lilya and I took our leave, departing from the city on wings of darkness and silence.

As we soared above the woodland canopy, a sudden motion below caught my attention. A hulking figure—easily eight feet tall—moved with unnatural speed, its form blurring between shadow and flesh as it barreled through the trees toward the city. Two sets of muscular arms pumped with bestial rhythm, and a third, lidless eye gleamed from the center of its forehead like a cursed jewel.

A Warden.

『Lilya,』 I said, pointing downward,『we’ve encountered a Warden, also known as a hunter—and it’s unstable. It hasn’t taken a human guise. I’m going to try diplomacy. Stay close and follow my lead.』

She nodded, gripping the folds of her cloak as we descended in swift, calculated spirals.

The Warden came to a halt as we neared, its colossal form tensing, ready to defend or destroy. Its singular eye regarded us warily as I raised a hand in a non-hostile gesture.

“Greetings, Warden,” I called out, my voice resonant and controlled. “Today, fortune favors you. I am in a rare mood—and willing to extend the hand of a pact.”

The creature snarled a sharp, derisive laugh. “A Vampire Progenitor offering peace? Spare me. Do you think you and your consort can threaten me into submission?”

I chuckled softly. “You miscount. There are eight of us. But I would prefer this not end in bloodshed. I believe the terms I offer may be of interest to you.”

The Warden’s eyes narrowed. It searched the forest for others, probing for hidden presences. When it found none, its features twisted in rage.

“You lie. There are no others here.”

“I speak only the truth,” I said solemnly. “I swear upon my name—Will Von Mortis—that I have six Blood Attendants awaiting my return at my Birth City. Should you choose to attack, I will summon them, and you will fall.”

At that, the air shifted.

The invocation of my name silenced the wind. Both of us knew the sanctity such a vow carried. Those granted divine names—by gods or fate—are bound to truth when swearing upon them. To lie while invoking one’s name would shatter the soul.

The Warden’s rage dulled, replaced by measured curiosity. “Very well,” it rumbled. “What are the terms of this pact?”

I smiled, showing just enough fang to remind him who he was speaking to.

“Then let me explain…”