Chapter 308: Taming the Beast

The Blood Throne rose slowly, straightened its spine, turned around, and locked its gaze upon Qianye who stood at the doorway.

He gritted his teeth, roared, “I’ll go down with you!” and sprang forward like a darting fish, lightning-like in its swiftness, lunging at Qianye.

But halfway forward, the pulse within his blood nucleus suddenly froze. His entire being shuddered, as if the blood energy coursing through it had slammed to a halt. His limbs weakened; inexplicable heaviness burdened him like the weight of tens, and inevitably, with an agonized thud, he collapsed upon the ground with a heavy crash.

“You! How…how could you!” The Blood Throne gasped, struggling to his feet, eyes stunned as he stared at the dark golden aura quietly burning in Qianye’s palm.

“What they failed to accomplish, doesn’t mean I must.” A smile flickered on Qianye’s expressionless face. “Your accomplishments were indeed exceptional back then, but unfortunately, you are Vampire-born,”

Feeling tremors deep in his blood nucleus, the Blood Throne sensed his blood energy stiffen into a sluggish, semi-solid stagnation, sluggish and agonizingly hard to stir.

He understood—it was fear, an instinctive fear embedded at his core, reverent awe toward an upper being.

In other words, his entire lineage stood completely suppressed. Now, the extent of his power was likely less than even a Viscount. At this moment, he fully understood—he had no even the right to attempt resistance in the face of Qianye.

Faced with the inevitable, the Blood Throne composed himself and gazed at the dark-gold blood fire glowing steadily in Qianye’s open palm. He gave a bitter smile before whispering, “If I haven’t mistaken your identity, you’re much, much younger… Perhaps not even a fraction of my age.”

“You could say that.”

“And yet, you command such immaculately fierce bloodfire! Truly… infuriating.” A long, forlorn sigh passed his trembling lips.

QianYe offered a faint smile. “It’s simply more effective at binding bloodlines, so I use it at certain times. Normally, it’s not a necessity.”

A sharp, dry laugh escaped his mouth. “That is the mark of the Overlord himself, something even the Holy Mountain may not escape. And you claim it isn’t your greatest weapon?”

“That’s really not what this is.”

“I concede you command the ability to restrain me, yet foolish would be anyone who assumes they can dupe me in return. Make no mistake—you haven’t frightened me into submission. Moreover, not all of us Longevous races fear death quite this much!”

Qianye said evenly, “I suppose it cannot be helped. I shall show you—’The First Drop’ in the Eternal Current of Blood.”

“Y—You mean you will show me ‘The First Drop?!” Horror lilted his voice. The myth that inspired all vampiric dreams… still unfathomably unknown to any bloodline to date.

But he had an intuition—Qianye spoke no lies.

Qianye lifted his hand. Something coalesced in it, just beyond perception.

The BloodThorn rubbed his eyes fiercely in an effort to focus, only to find darkness replacing the world. Sense abandoned him.

It seemed an eternity had passed before consciousness returned. A senseless, empty numbness flooded all limbs; every fiber screamed exhaustion. Yet even the pulse of the core was sluggish—he focused, panic washing over him as his blood nucleus bore thousands of fine cracks, teetering one slip from fragmentation. Such was the fate—the most powerful Lord would descend into nothingness upon shattering it, let alone him.

Struggling against his pain, he fought into a sitting posture, until a single hand pressed firm and unwavering on his chest, halting further ascent.

“Lie still. Try to rise too fast, you might injure your core. You wouldn’t like sliding backwards to the position of a Count.”

“I must arise! That… that was First Drop!! I know it—I Felt it.”

Shaking his head, Qianye responded gravely: “You felt a sliver of its true presence, and even that brought your blood nucleus within a moment of ruptureing from the strain. To behold the truth directly? The eyes would burn from the sockets unless you truly sought death. Perhaps, in true longing—achieve it only when you, too, near Overlorddom.”

Baring fangs as fire flared in his eyes, the BloodThrone turned to fix an unyielding glare on Qianye. “You are the First Drop!!”

“One could see it that way,” the man replied with deceptive tenderness. “Though, honestly? It might be of little practical use—I’d bet you still wouldn’t be strong enough to match the second.”

“Hold on,” BloodThorn hissed. “Let me… collect myself for just a moment.” Turning away, eyes shutting, breath and blood flow quickened toward that boiling-state warriors call fervor.

Only moments later did he rise, shaking but resolved upon wobbling limbs to address The Sovereign thus: “Should the time come with your will laid bare—I pledge full obedience, Your Emperor of Night. Or perhaps even condemnation? In that case, I shall endure unto final breath, even if every motion demands battle beyond my worth!”

“You once walked a blood-drowned path that broke free of the Vampire Clans. How would serving beneath someone such as me sit with you now—let alone pledge loyalty?”

“My Emperor, you embody First Drop of Blood—our kind’s destined Sovereign eternally born above all. Before you stands our very core—the essence bound into each Vampiric being. Night’s Eternal High Queen herself walks still beneath your shade.”

Smiling slightly, Qianye said, “You wouldn’t try winning my favor to cover the act of wounding Night’s Pupil, would you?”

The Vampire flinched slightly; eyes fell. “At the time…I faced circumstances beyond my choices—and I did not recognize her identity until much, much after. Fortunately though—my mistake did not wound Her Deeply.”

Qianye offered outstretched palms: “Hand it over.”

“W—What precisely?”

“That very pistol which discharged fury toward Queen Pupil.”

Hesitation crossed his face. From his belongings, however, his hand slowly retrieved an ornate revolver nestled in an old-style leather holster. The artifact passed hand like a cursed thing.

Qianye appraised, then asked, “’Fragrance Fading’ then? The one they call ‘Shattered Years of Splintered Eternity?”

He nodded gravely.

Without further talk the vampire emperor turned, holster swinging lightly as he strolled out in parting.

“I’ll take my leave; continue preparing the rest.”

“Might you next confront Eternal Night Sovereign?” BloodThrone ventured cautiously.

“And why wouldn’t I?” He answered, fading entirely, vanishing between starlight pulses.

Opening, then closing his mouth mutely, the Vampire remained still. Only when all traces of Qianye’s presence had vanished did he finally whisper to himself:

“…I wanted to ask whether or not I might…travel with you, though in my place I suppose there would’ve been no point going. Maybe before they’ve even begun the actual fight—I fear I’d merely collapse unconscious again.”

With that said, walking toward his belongings once again, the Bloodthorn smiled. Then he clapped gloved fists together gleefully:

“All right!! Back to Packing Clothes!!”

Only after stacking a few garments did the thought cross into sudden clarity:

“Hold—his Lordship does not seek my death…Why am I still bothering to tidy and carry out this luggage?? Wait?”

In empty sky walked Qianye; grasped tightly in wandering fingertips held the revolver ShatteredEternity. Flicks from one palm summoned a soft gleaming veil of power that enveloped revolver within winged radiance. With each second of passage the twin beams grew fuller while the glow upon the firearm faded.

Storing the blade, a pair of radiant silver-white wings unfurled—Primordials’ Embrace—the original gift of the ancients. Within that shimmering laced mirror lay his own face: impossibly clear, and beside the perfection were forming shadows of others—a parade of figures familiar to his gaze.

Zhao Jun Du and Zhao Revery danced in memory-light. Ji Tian Qing and Li Kuanglan flickered beside them. Shadows of Zhao Yu Ying, Wei BreakHeaven… rising endlessly, endlessly, countless more! Not human alone—he counted Green Throne Lord, An Wen himself, and so many allies that joined his cause, their visages gleamed bright across history’s canvas. Each was captured briefly within radiant feathertips.

Then fading… as one after another, they drifted into oblivion.

In any case, there were many he must eventually address face to face—or were there?

Yet in further thought—the need slipped from urgency. What resolution was needed? Did completion even really matter.

Turning toward the stars, his eyes narrowed slightly—the HolyMountain shivered far beneath their endless canopy in an altered light—something… unnatural in its gaze’s edge.

Frown etched into calm visage, for a short time he wavered inward between options: Should a meeting be called first with An Wen?

Surely he—one blessed among demonic genius races in divining the mysteries of cosmos—he’d sense such tremors better than one such as Qianye, who bore only raw, swirling Origin-Power yet possessed naught of insight toward whatever strange transformations unfolded in stars above—nor the reason lurking deeper behind their celestial dance.