At the same time…
Biz had arrived.
Before him, spread out like a canvas both magnificent and horrifying, was Crimvale Citadel—the largest city and the beating heart of the Ashengrave Kingdom.
The seat of the Blood King.
Where Vampire power reached its zenith.
And where the name Max Draventhal—The Ice God of Aetherion—echoed!
The city was unlike any other dilapidated ruin in this world.
It was surrounded by towering, multi-layered walls, constructed from dark metal and cold stone—materials found only deep underground. The wall layers were densely arranged, with a thick system of guards no different from a military fortress.
All this to keep out the Lesser Vampires—the mindless, bloodthirsty undead—from entering. Crimvale wasn't just a Vampire stronghold… it was also one of humanity's "safe zones" in the eyes of the Empire.
Biz stepped through the city gates. Immediately, a bustling scene assailed him.
Sounds echoed through the streets. Laughter. Vendor cries. Songs from street musicians.
A vibrant, bustling city, seemingly untouched by the apocalypse.
But… if one looked closer…
The entire crowd on the streets consisted of Vampires. They wore black silk cloaks embroidered with silver thread. Some wore armor, others walked with their monstrous hunting beasts as if strolling in a park. Every face bore an arrogant, calm expression, as if this world had always been theirs, and the apocalypse was humanity's alone.
And if one looked a little deeper…
Behind them—were silent figures. The surviving humans… but no longer truly themselves.
They wore simple clothes, their faces hollow, their eyes vacant. They followed their Vampire masters—carrying items, serving, bowing to clear the way. They didn't speak. They didn't laugh. They didn't resist. Servants. Slaves. Walking livestock.
That was humanity's role in Crimvale Citadel.
In this place called "safe"… humans existed only to serve. And to die slowly in silence. Biz was no stranger to this sight. He continued walking, his eyes cold, not letting anything around him disturb his mind.
He was here… not to sightsee.
Following Biz along the streets of Crimvale Citadel, another sight caught his eye—a long line of people, stretching all the way to the third square of the East district.
Today was the Empire's scheduled blood submission day. A mandatory duty for all human residents. Failure to participate? That meant resisting the Empire—and the punishment for that crime never ended with a gentle death.
The humans in line looked haggard and worn. Their bodies were gaunt, their eyes vacant. It seemed their blood had been drained for decades.
On each person's wrist was a blood mark, called a Blood Sigil.
A deep crimson tattoo embedded in the flesh, glowing faintly when it was time to submit blood. It bore their citizen number, blood submission date, and most importantly—it was a mark of servitude. A silent reminder that, in the eyes of Vampires, humans were still just marked livestock.
Biz passed the line, not bothering to glance at them.
He continued, crossing through the Blood Distribution Station area, where blood from slaves was stored, processed, and allocated by rank. Humans carried large blood containers, silently moving in and out like automatons. No one complained, no one protested.
In the blood collection area, Vampires queued, waiting for their turn. They chatted, smoked, and discussed things as if they were in a post-war café. No one seemed to notice they were about to drink fresh blood drawn just minutes ago from real humans.
Biz didn't waste time. He walked straight inside, approaching the main counter where the blood station manager sat—a seemingly aristocratic Vampire, cloaked in purple velvet, wearing a monocle, thin but sharp-featured.
Biz smiled faintly, placing his hand on the counter, his voice calm:
"A special blood portion, please. Not too diluted. And female blood."
The manager subtly adjusted his monocle, giving Biz a scrutinizing look. Without a word, he tapped the counter three times. A human immediately emerged from a small door behind, carrying a deep red blood container, placing it on the table directly in front of Biz.
"Biz, is that you?" the manager chuckled softly. "You seem happy today. Found a good deal?"
Biz lifted the blood container, shook it lightly, then popped the lid. The thick red liquid trembled like jelly, a sweet, metallic scent filling the air.
He glanced at the station manager, a faint smile on his face:
"I'm about to bring the Blood King some incredibly hot news. After this… who knows, I might even get promoted."
The blood station manager propped his chin on his hand, his eyes clearly curious. He lowered his voice, looking around cautiously, then leaned forward:
"Oh? What news is so important that you have to report it personally to the Blood King? Care to tell me a bit?"
Biz burst out laughing, raising a hand as if to ward off the curiosity:
"Ha ha ha… Can't say for now. Forget about it."
He took a gulp of blood, then raised an eyebrow and continued:
"By the way, yesterday we captured a large human fortress. Soon, slaves and blood will pour in. Get ready to throw a party, ha ha!"
Then, without further hesitation, he tipped his head back and drained the entire container of blood.
"Good blood. Very satisfying."
With that, Biz turned, walking out of the station to the clatter of his heels on the stone floor. He mounted his Blood Horse, tugged lightly on the reins. The red-eyed horse let out a low growl, then bolted like a phantom through the cold wind.
The blood station manager stood there, watching Biz's fading shadow, then mumbled, a slight smirk on his lips:
"A promotion…? Eager to climb over everyone's heads before the blood even cools, huh…"
He pulled a silk handkerchief from his pocket, slowly wiping the bloodstain from the counter, a hint of enigmatic doubt in his eyes.
A moment later, Biz stopped before a magnificent gate deep within Crimvale Citadel. The fortress before him was unlike any other place in the city. The watchtowers were shrouded in a faint mist. The ground was covered in small patches of ice, even amidst the warmth of the urban rhythm. From within, a cold aura seeped out, smoldering like the breath of death, making even Biz shiver. The closer he got, the more the temperature dropped.
No one needed to tell him—this was where Blood King Max Draventhal resided.
The title "The Ice God of Aetherion" wasn't just for show.
Before Biz stood two Vampire guards, clad in black armor emblazoned with the Royal insignia. Both were Vampire Leaders, on par with Biz in rank… but differing in role—they were elite soldiers, directly under the highest echelons of the Empire.
Biz stopped, lowered his voice, and gave a slight, respectful bow.
"I have come to meet the Blood King. I bring exceptionally important news… from the battlefield."
One of the Vampires glanced at Biz, then raised his sword to block the way.
"Why would battlefield news need to be reported directly to the Blood King? Meeting with Sir William would suffice."
Biz immediately took half a step back, his voice urgent:
"Wait! This news is extremely crucial! You two… you don't understand its gravity!"
He swallowed hard, lowering his voice.
"It concerns… the Sun."
Both gate-guarding Vampires' expressions changed simultaneously.
They looked at each other, their eyes now showing clear hesitation and fear.
"...Alright. Then wait here. I will report—and arrange a meeting with His Majesty."
The guard on the right turned to step inside.
But at that very moment…
He froze.
Both Vampires immediately bowed low, simultaneously placing their hands on their chests, retreating three steps back.
From within the side entrance of the city gate, a silent shadow emerged.
A peculiar Vampire.
He had a gaunt figure, the face of a man around thirty, but his eyes looked as if they had lived for hundreds of years. His long, matted hair hung loosely, covering half his face. His skin was grayish-black, dry and papery.
All over his body…
Were eyes.
Some closed, some wide open. They moved. They blinked slightly. They watched… as if conscious.
His clothes were ragged and dirty, looking no different from a wandering homeless person. Yet all three Vampires standing before him dared not lift their heads.
Biz immediately bent low, bowing almost to the ground.
"Greetings, Sir William."
Before him—was a Vampire General. Warlord Rank.
One of the few super-rare individuals—born in less than 2% of the entire Vampire species. Such individuals were often generals, warlords, or close lieutenants of the Blood Kings.
And William—was the right-hand man of Max Draventhal, the Blood King of Ashengrave.
Only…
His appearance was nothing like a warrior.
Frail, ravaged, deformed. If one didn't know, they might think he was a sick person who survived prolonged torture. But the absolute silence and fear of the three Vampires before him said it all.
William was terrifying. Very terrifying.
And then he spoke. A deep, raspy voice, like rust in his throat:
"What did I just hear…?"
A twisted smile spread, revealing jagged fangs behind his matted hair.
"...The Sun?"