The Earl’s roar made every vampire tremble. This was the instinctive fear that inferiors felt toward their superiors.
The Earl’s temper was notoriously bad. Every time he grew this enraged, he needed to personally tear apart a few living beings in order to settle down. Most often these were human prisoners, though at times some unfortunate vampire also became a sacrifice.
Wilde’s power once slightly surpassed Magyar’s, allowing vampires to assume a slightly dominant stance within the Twin Cities. However, not long ago, Parliament member Geshitu of Eternal Night suddenly graced the Twin Cities with his presence. After brief respite here, he would proceed to the human city of Dark Blood to undertake a significant mission.
Yet the parliament member’s movements somehow leaked and he encountered human champions at the edges of Dark Blood City, suffering an interception. Legendary tales spoke once more of how the famous rifle, Manshushawa—an artifact undrawn in a century—resumed its song, as someone finally proved worthy of inheriting the power associated with this flower of the Styx. Seriously wounded in the engagement, Geshitu had no option but to hastily retreat.
As a member of the Eternal Night Parliament, Geshitu’s status rivaled the mightiest nobility that even Wilde had to look up to with utmost admiration. Thinking initially it was a rare opportunity to show allegiance, Wilde now rued his inability to foresee the disaster coming; his estimation had failed him gravely. Geshitu immediately ordered an intense clampdown upon his return and departed furiously. Since that moment, Wilde had comprehended his standing in the councilor’s eyes must’ve plummeted irrevocably.
Before the aftershock of that incident had even subsided, came an arrival—a more disturbing presence—Luk Mesifield.
This youthful Mesifield proved exceedingly arrogant, bestowing neither Wilde nor Magyar even an ounce of courtesy. Yet Wilde could do naught but grit his teeth through that disrespect. He recognized all too well that, both by position and might, neither of them was even worth this noble’s notice.
Wilde had learned about the fledgling’s plan—setting the table with tempting bait during the Crimson Banquet, seeking after a grand prize; an endeavor every instinct within the experienced vampire lord cried trouble toward. However, he found himself unable to meddle. The retaliation from the Empire upon such blood rituals was known to him well.
Initially seeking merely that this youthful heir possessed the might befitting his own self-pride, he soon found himself surprised that human retaliations struck with unprecedented speed—an all-out, violent response obliterated the vampire scion and obliterated the entire stronghold from the map within moments!
Receiving this devastating piece of news, Wilde immediately fathomed the true depths of his trouble. What that young scion’s given name happened to be no longer mattered in the slightest—the pivotal significance resided within the surname: ‘Mesifield’ itself! One bearing the illustrious name of Mesifield died on his lands—during his very tenure no less!
A terrible, dreadful migraine formed in him; Wilde had no idea how to begin justifying the event before a family whose magnitude equaled the dark vastness of the Eternal Night Mountains themselves. Would anyone actually accept as excuse that this youthful house scion met his demise purely by his own arrogant and foolish doings?
Then came the final intelligence—the straw breaking the final camel—as news reached him and incited utter fury anew.
A file—hurled with a sharp CRACK—colliding headfirst upon a vampire baron’s very countenance.
“You mean to tell me, a human hunter dared kill both Sir Winston [Benjamin?] AND eradicate the entirety of his coven practically right underneath your eyes and even made away safely carrying away dozens more humans they once held under captivity—and not only that, you say?! He escaped—accompanied by common humans devoid even of slightest flick of Origin ability, he vanished into human territories successfully evading every patrol and effortlessly decimating a full squad?! Is this truly the might of the military units under your stewardship—these elite warriors who annually devour more than 1000 crystal coins?”
“One solitary human hunter! ONE! Tell me, how strong could he ever be? Perhaps seventh level at the most, no stronger than eighth! Surely do NOT suggest—please tell me it was no named war hunter!” Wilde gesticulated wildly, bellowing furiously. “Begin the inquiry! Track every single scrap down—dig into his origin, unearthing who or what this audacious fool exactly is! No matter what the cost—find his hideout through any and every mean possible or even reach out among certain ‘specialist’ acquaintances. Within a mere lunar cycle—that hunter needs be a trophy grinning upon the wall. Have I made myself sufficiently clear?”
Across the entire castle now reverberated only Wilde’s brawling echo—unmatched and unfurling.
Unaware and unperturbed thousands of miles distant—Qian Ye was yet to learn his recent escapade had sired storms across the nighted dominion—one rival in impact merely being that noble Mesifield’s demise, even surpassing the latter’s in instigating fury.
Indeed, to have the strength to obliterate both stronghold and noble meant facing not merely formidable opponents—Wilde understood perfectly he himself would perish thrice over could he step into such a battle unprepared. Yet even so—to be mocked by a lowly human hunting scum, scarcely deserving respect beyond a mere crawfish? It simply beggared logic. What arrogance to think oneself worth challenging on these sacred blooded terrains!
As anger swirled through Wilde, his Twin Cittan realm mobilized accordingly and the spiderweb of clandestine watchers nestled deep inside enemy lines rekindled once more to life, their primary aim clear—an unrelenting manhunt was now unleashed seeking answers toward that solitary hunter.
All at once, an invisible web began closing—converging, from myriad compass points—enclosing tighter upon Qian Ye’s path.
Yet during that very time, as Qian Ye navigated new crises upon distant lands—his escape and rescue of many fellow brethren now encountered unforeseen hurdles. These many survivors, liberated by sheer courage, were halted at military barricades of the expedition force:
“And you, who dares trespass thus!?”—the guards barked.
Those newbies who, until today—had never ventured into Greater Qin’s domain—were clueless amidst that interrogation. In an instant came honest words—”slaves once captured by the blood race, now released by a savior, we fled to your safe haven.” The garrison shifted uneasy—backed silently, then screamed—”Take caution!”
Suddenly—sirens wailed. Beside the barrier came the awakening thunder as from military encroachments nearby arose chaotic commotion—within less than thr ee minutes—an entire unit swarmed these weary survivors, encircling like caged wolves poised to strike.
Then arrived Qian Ye—his pace breaking forth to see precisely this scene unfurled.
“Forbearance!” he bellowed—racing toward the officer, the imperial expedition force’s lieutenant assigned to the post.
Though he bore the humble title of a hunter, fourth rank he truly belonged to. Yet to the Lieutenant, only at grade two—still, he offered curt remarks, begrudging compliance out of begrudging duty.
At the tone, Qian Ye already discerned the truth in dreadful suspicion—a mere whisper: these very people here, the officer must suspect were vampal blood slaves at worst, suspected conspirators likely. Per regulation of expeditions, even innocent, the lot likely awaited furtive internment or execution if not outright—detaining until indefinite “observation periods” passed…and often such observation ended in permanent internment within deep, death-black mines.
Judicial discretion in blood-slavery identification held wide scope amongst the Empire’s soldiers—particularly under expedition command—simplified starkly—“Once accused, you are.”
“This isn’t their burden!” he pressed.
“You mistake—being judged does NOT require your say-so!” The Officer’s frosty reply echoed.
“I mean, they may have tasted blood upon captor fangs, but by no means ever bitten. True, held—but untouched! Uncursed!”
Still came that sneer—”Ah? Really?”
Qian Ye’s teeth grit—anger barely held—”I ran hundreds through perilous miles to rescue them—not return victims of blood-fear propaganda.”
Then came calm from another voice, behind, deep and chilling—”Young one, You acted rightly!”—a gloomed, sinister major had arrived—the gate’s supreme master, perhaps.
“Let me stress—I speak merely of having brought the batch beyond vampirion lands. However, dragging so heavy a burden back through distance and shadow—that placed not only them—but yourself needlessly amidst peril.”
“You speak of slaughter?”—”He who would dare!” Qien Ye hissed coldly.
“I speak as reason, they’re mere tools in fangers paws.”
“These souls remain—humans—humans with blood yet in veins,” he enunciated precisely.
For several prolonged instants did the major appraise Qian Ye as the manly gaze swept across the crowd, a sea—some numb, or shaking.
Suddenly—he stopped at a girl—a long studying—curdling smirk creeping forth: pointing straight—”You, girl! Forward.”
Uncertainty crept from the teen’s bones like ice as she slowly advanced.
“The likes of you seem no blood-cow. Now, step aside!”
She found tremor growing within herself. The past flickered—blood lords would similarly select…and the memory stirred dread worse than uncertainty. Yet compared to survival under these new skies…? Hesitation flickered into eyes that glanced to Qian Ye, then drifted resignedly to where ordered.
Casuating others—few women chosen—off he tossed a cigarette to his side, and approached, flickering fire of challenge toward Qien Ye:
“Behold, Young Hunter—I did let the girl go—as much face as you’ll have here—time to go your merry way!”
Qien Ye pressed. “What fate then for others?”
“To others? Naturally—quarantine and assessment of blood-curse, of course!”
Understanding the grim truth beneath these “inspections”, Qinye cut sharply, “Let. Them.Pass.”
“They say?”—the major’s look became pure ridicule toward Qian Ye with one gaze. “What right or name entitles your arrogance to speak on their futures? Should a single infected among their throng arise, would that calamity not be born because of your naive whim?”
Then suddenly he turned scorneer still toward the young man, as though he were no different than strays on the street—
“What are you anyway but— a hunter, and that—just as stinking a street mongrel before my army?”
Hatred burned now behind Qien Ye eyes.
“You ought consider removing soldier’s menace!” warning dripped venom into voice—while coldness of intent remained undiminished.
“WHO you reckon me, blood-mongrel nob or a dog of aristocrat blood?”—the major roared closer with every syllable—”Am I yours, huh?”
The atmosphere grew thick between warriors—four-levelers both.
“Here—my land—my edict is the law,” the major spat, “Come forward—Bigblack!”
Out emerged a brute with scar-streaked face—the sergeants smirk dark as he raised the rifle and delivered to a terrified, beaten middleman such a rifle stock punch in stomach to send spitting teeth and blood—only to unleash an entire round burst at the dust beneath him—dousing the man with soil-fear. The man screamed in primal terror, but dared no motion beneath boot of steel.
The Officer’s teeth bitted cigarette shaft, eyes boring into Qiyen, beckoning—his Sergeant to approach: a gesture toward a new boy chosen, a comely youth—grinningly he knocked the victim forward—then smugly muttered—”Aint so fond of your kind. So pretty!”
Expectations high that pain would follow shortly—but suddenly—he saw fists fly—massively looming, a collision as something akin to a titan crashing upon himself—as his body—propellant as though by rocket, flew back—sliding.
Qieh Ye flung the major back through the air. He stepped close to where he had crashed, gripped him by heel—swung in wide vicious arcs into the floor—finally planting foot squarely into major’s gut!
Despite being a strong level four being, the major felt as if he had been crunched beneath a tank. Breath rushed painfully. Struggling upright brought new torment, steel piping, coarse, icy cold, mercilessly forced open maw as—
The smouldering tobacco forced deep down his gullet—suffocated in his own internal furnace.
Now realizing the situation—he stared with eyes wide as he recognized—Qian Ye’s hands bearing an origin rifle, an exceptionally long barrel, embedded precisely inside his mouth—the fearsome and infamous: Falcon Strike [Yingji]!”
Let alone the legendary Yingji; with the force of conventional firearms’ muzzle blast right within a mouth—irrelevant of bodily endurance—if shot inside—a bullet meant absolute annihilation.
Even hardened watchers found themselves awestruck, seeing their legendary merciless champion—the Major of this checkpoint felled in an instant as though smitted by thunder. It wasn’t a duel between equals—nay, even if both fought between fifth and fourth level—the destruction should lack this total devastation.
“You’re as significant as dust,” murmured Qye coldly, voice a scythe above the beaten figure.
With his ability only to moan and mutter, the beaten officer found dread now flickered among lesser soldiers, who even if ignorant toward the origins, realized now that the strange shape pointed unmistakably: the silhouette was clearly… A sniper gun—clearly wielded by someone of exceptional skill—who, while a common man would be no threat, within this chaotic wild would become a nightmare upon which to trespass, particularly for such footsoldier who in a blink might be gunned in their beds, while their officers did not even merit an investigation.
Qiyen gently withdrew Yingyi’s barrel and commanded:
“You free these souls now.”
The defeated Major chuckled—a wry, pained sound as he muttered: “Impossible. If I did, every man of this post would be fed into expendable cannon fodder units upon inquiry.”—Then added further reluctantly—
“A mandatory isolation must be observed. One who wielded Yingji should understand, right?”
Now resigned at the stroke of such ill fortune, recognition of Yingji signified an impenetrable fortress had been encountered—out there upon such a merciless wild plain where adventurers were but ants upon a hill—those veiled in anonymity often remained precisely the most dangerous amongst shadows.
Qian Ye’s gaze remained impassive and emotionless.
“Then, how suggest this dilemma be untangled?”
That silence returned—like a curtain, draped around him.
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