Moments later, Blood Serjeant awoke from his delirium and regained his customary calm. He began examining his surroundings to trace the source of the drop of blood and eventually set his gaze upon the corpse of the Death Cornered Serpent.
Looking thoughtful, Blood Serjeant swiftly approached the snake’s body for inspection. As expected, remnants of blood stained the tip of the serpent’s horn, and its belly bulged abnormally, indicating a very recent meal. This discovery filled him with exhilaration.
Without hesitation, Blood Serjeant swiftly unsheathed his dagger to slit open the snake’s belly; a gush of blood, extremely fresh and still warm, spilled forth! Overjoyed, he poured the crimson liquid directly into his mouth and, craving more, he went so far as to devour the entire snake, eventually spitting out only the horn.
After relishing a meal so rare indeed, even the composed visage of Blood Serjeant wore signs of content. Lifting his head toward the direction Night departed, his pale irisis completely transformed into an ominously reddish haze.
Previously, a human so weak that killing him hardly seemed worth the trouble, without clean water here in the Black Marsh to wash his hands. Presently however, the quarry had just eaten the snake which bore his venom and therefore, how far could he possibly flee?
Drawing his hood back on, Blood Serjeant’s silhouette melted into the mist as he charged swiftly in pursuit behind Night.
He sped along rapidly. Within mere moments he had covered countless miles, yet failed to catch up to the human as he had anticipated. Still, traces Night had unavoidably left behind were the same as before—appearing like he had suffered a serious wound and neared death, barely able to conceal his trail completely.
Pangs of curiosity tugged at Blood Serjeant’s mind. Such powerful venom should have afflicted even elite bloodkin seriously; only those gifted with magical ancestry might shrug off its effects. As it was, Night remained only a human… So how was this possible? Could he perchance be some adept apothecary!
Unexpectedly, Blood Serjeant let out an anguished cry as he plummeted into the quagmire. A searing sensation tore viciously deep inside his abdomen. It seemed to him as though innumerable insects gnawed incessantly at his vital organs. Worse yet, his internal vital blood became wildly uncontrolled as it surged into violent conflict with a strange intruding force—a battle waged to claim dominion over his body.
Clenching his chest, Blood Serjeant tried to shriek aloud but found no strength left for even cries due the excruciating torment consuming him completely—a sensation all too clear: when someone introduced noble lineage blood of origin blood into another, both lineages might fiercely vie to dominate the vessel!
Although not particularly renowned, Blood Serjeant’s lineage had stood at least within intermediate excellence, so to now fall vulnerable beneath outside influences devoid of noble patrons indicated his opponent possessed an unmistakably superior pedigree—one whose ancestral dominance rivaled only by the rarest of his kind across their entire species.
The mind of Blood Serjeant desperately scoured the past for encounters with full-blooded nobilitians, but memory remained futile. Furthermore, how dreadfully ill-timed had this struggle erupted during pursuit!
Suddenly realization struck Blood Serjeant like a lightning bolt! Thoughts raced back the deadly horned serpent, specifically the exquisite warmed fluid which lay within—a sudden awareness froze every last nerve. Could betrayal be in play?
The very first suspicion formed by Blood Serjeant: yet it quickly discredited this very thought—his prey, no paragon of bloodline mastery; within internal kinship disputes blood’s hierarchy often overpowered hierarchy itself—an undisputable certainty—were such prey to expose highborn lineage, even in amnesia, he would undoubtedly retreat. What purpose then lay ambush?
Hence only another plausible conjecture emerged: a so-called ‘blood “vessel”’ crafted by men, a concept sparking anew a greed that displaced earlier instincts of retreat or flight.
Among humankind few resources rivaled the invaluable presence within superior noblemage lineages! By fusing the elixirs with apt ceremonial magics one human at death’s edge could secretly rise reborn into an existence eternally yearned yet secretly craved for: the life enduringly coveted—Vampirism.
Though outwardly mortal enemies bound eternally in warfare bloodkin’s longevity stoked desire in humanity; great rulers desperate amidst death often forsaken principle and convention for continuation—for vampirism meant another route.
Indeed the youth before could perhaps exemplify such manufactured “container”; abandoned unknowably on lost isles—an unprecedented bounty awaited upon Serjeant’s senses.
Even now agony gripped at Serjeant’s innards while the conflicting forces spread out along bloodflow channels through the extremities. Such searing agony blurred perception and reason, alternating between periods of fog and clarity.
At one such moment drifting on delusional haze a sight formed before him; precisely—the target approached slowly and halted several meters off.
The resilient tenacity inherent in Night lay well-documented within Night Watch chronicles; many fell prey having rashly approached blood-forsaken creatures even during supposed final gasp only to meet swift retribution—the young cadet drew out a blade, and cast it.
Overwhelming the agonized Blood Servant, the dagger’s sharp tip embedded itself deep into thigh flesh—a subdued growl escaped his lips, barely enough to dodge completely; his body straining but managing a shift in positioning. He grasped the short knife protruding defiantly from leg and flung the weapon furiously back amidst agonized groans. However, in that pivotal throw, Serjeant wavered slightly mid-lunging pain, missing wide—an edged instrument flew only near to the periphery grazing but slightly past Night.
Coldly, Night smiled walking towards his wounded predator.
Suddenly a gleam pierced through Blood Serjeant pale gaze; in the instant of approach the assassin bolt uprighted—his hands grasping the handle of an intricate, deadly revolver.
Such disgrace—the ignominy for a creature of formidable prowess, now having borne injury from nothing superior than inferior weaponry, momentarily allowed him to forget the internal conflict of foreign and original bloodline vying supremacy within—granting him lucidity amidst chaos—an aimed weapon, steady and calm.
A cruel smirk spread over Serjeant’s face—poise poised and about to unleash words… yet in only moments—Night had stepped, crossed an expanse sideways—moved effortlessly, glided outwards beyond the revolver’s aim in such an uncanny display that stunned even the wounded Serjeant’s composure.
Such supernatural agility defied estimation; an alarm bell jingled at the back of his mind—Left hand grasped tightly already at a potent Force Grenade waiting; yet hesitating against releasing the grip due proximity’s threat against himself. No—his hope remained singular—to brandish it, strike fear anew unto whatever mysterious presence the strange young predator might truly have held, and then capitalize during the inevitable step of retreat—counterattack opportunity ripe.
Yet suddenly Blood Serjeant noted a shimmer—the intruding figure had brandished forth now an elaborately shaped dagger of exquisite craftsmanship, clearly a work forged by vampire artisanship alone—a glowing rune-laced weapon now illuminated by pulsing surging force energy coursing across its length.
In only that single brief encounter this day, awe-struck again—could this possibly be?—Could such an object truly represent the legendary Glaringfang! That weapon once favored by a marquis whose possession reportedly shifted into human ownership?
He watched Night stand stationary—cutting sideways—despite distance measured at two meters.
All Blood Serjeant could feel was ridicule, how utterly pitiless!—Glaringfang: yes, a general-grade weapon, certainly beyond dispute. Nevertheless, even seasoned battle-leader wielders struggled at channeling its full capabilities. Now it found its wielder as this meek youth merely ranked 6th tier—clearly outstripping its wield’s capabilities… Or had terror stolen the sense from him entirely?
No longer hesitating Blood Servant tightened his finger slowly against weapon trigger—intending aiming downward—target legs—to prevent retreats, ensure a live capture—an enigma cloaked within; secrets buried not merely inside the veins of blood that ran rich with the scent of higher pedigree, enough cause risking all to retrieve. Still—something strange occurred.
He found his grip failing—the trigger never fully depressed. Amidst expanding pupils, Glaringfang runes ignited, bursting red essence that flared radiantly brilliant! A crimson energy saber arced suddenly outward towards him—surging straight.
Unbelief surged within: how might an individual merely attaining 6th tier possibly wield such a radiant energy extension of sword-form?
One slash and radiant crimson flame swept across Blood Sergeant’s throat like it possessed material substance. Severed from spine, his argent-headed cranium lifted, launched toward the heights!
Obviously now disoriented, his inner circulating essence faltered utterly—its defensive layer forming a crimson aura barrier—crumbled upon even gentle contact to sword. What was previously resilient physical structure—fleshly form of vampiric stock itself—severed as easily as paper caught blade.
Night, rushing forward in momentum, struck Blood Serjeant’s now grenade-filled clench, flipping the deadly device upward—swiftly redirecting his motionless foot; hurling it as far as distance might offer respiite.
A roar shattered the stillness—an explosive inferno ignited—a towering fire column surged sky high as far up as tens of meters, only extinguishing its roar momentarily later—a blast so mighty and intense even across a space more than thirty meter distant forced Night to launch from ground—flung upward mid-air—though having predicted and readied—he still propelled over ten meters outward—only halting momentum with final stabilization in mud-laid soil below.
He stood rising, cautiously allowing for a moment’s pause—until any remaining energy ripples quieted. Proceeding onward once more only after confirmation for approaching proximity safely into impact ground’s centre. A crater more than a dozen meters wide gaped upon ground zero; crystal sediment had started to take shape upon charred ground.
A shock passed over him—for such a weapon so simple and commonplace in appearance yet surpassing his expectation dramatically—had he remained within the blast focus no even enhanced Vampire durability would’ve sustained the devastation intact—the very reason Blood Serjeant hesitated even slightly during engagement instead of having thrown it instantly—a minor act which saved Night from a momentary lapse to grab at the device after defeating his adversary for personal use purposes.
Judging destructive potency—the very explosive had in fact constituted a General Rank Grade weapon—a treasure rare among rare within the vampiric arsenals. This kind of war material Night beheld for the first time first-hand—realizing if deployed upon a field equivalent the Black Current City’s scale only a handful of such weapons could change entire outcomes decisively during major skirmisches.
Night looked now upon the corpse of decaptitated Vampire Serjeant, the sight stirring new questions anew regarding identity concealed throughout their confrontation.
Any being capable of casual possession of a general grade Force weapon must necessarily bear a name worth remembering—a being worthy of more than passing attention. More puzzlement: how might such an individual’s motives intertwine amidst the presence of black沼.
Closer inspection revealed black blood, rancid with pungent aroma flowed at its wound location, its odour burned upon even breathing air deeply. Clearly evident from its appearance—internal organ structure had all rotted—devasted by corrosive forces.
Upon this evidence clarity dawned anew over Nights analytical mindset—his successful assassination lay clearly upon his previous efforts setting ambush upon Serjeant’s digestive system—a trap only revealed with the dying moment of blood-essence’s ability to hide internal decay—a testament to enemy strength, indeed a formidable vampire—depressingly only a faint flicker of latent power had been released within entire final confrontation.
He approached Serjeant’s decollated remains proceeding in a quick yet thorough searching operation—within only minutes collecting an array riches enough to surprise someone possessing seasoned veteran’s knowledge of wartime spoiling.
Tai Sui Yellow Amulet Paper FuLu Taoist Love Talisman Traditional Chinese Spiritual Charm Attracting Love Protecting Marriage