The viscount suddenly dropped to the floor, one knee slamming against the polished marble.
He didn't just drop.
He was full-on kneeling.
The air itself seemed to pause, heavy with the unnatural bond that had just been forged.
"What is your will, master?"
The newly turned Viscount spoke, his voice steady yet unnervingly hollow, as though every word came from the depths of his soul rather than his throat.
Corven and the adventurers could already sense the difference in his aura. Being turned by a vampire of Corven's caliber wasn't just a transformation—it was a rebirth. His mana swelled, sharper and more vibrant than before, and his presence carried the weight of something unnatural, an authority no human lord could replicate.
'Immediately asks for orders? That's perfect.' Corven's lips curled faintly. This was exactly what he needed.
