Chapter 608: Fairy Princess vs. Vampire Prince (1)

Neverland was a small country located in the northwestern region of the Pandora continent. Situated in a remote, secluded area that one could only reach after crossing rugged mountains and passing through vast forests, this insular little nation was nevertheless famous throughout Pandora.

The Kingdom of the Night. An undead nation ruled by vampires.

“Kyaaa!”

Standing by the shore of a quiet, moonlit lake was a large, Western-style mansion. From inside, the scream of a young maiden echoed out.

It was only natural. Right before the eyes of the screaming girl, a young woman’s throat had just been slashed wide open, causing a massive spray of fresh blood that could only be described as a lethal volume.

“Fufu, there is no need to fear.”

Showered in blood, his pale, delicate body stained red, the young boy spoke with a highly satisfied smile as he watched the screaming girl’s reaction.

“Y-You… how could you do such a thing? To kill someone so easily…”

With large tears pooling at the corners of her eyes, the girl could do nothing but chant the name of the goddess she worshiped. It was an unavoidable reaction. She was still a novice, an apprentice priestess.

A sharp blade, and one clearly radiating a terrifying aura of a curse at that, had torn a massive gash into the woman’s neck. The meager healing magic the girl had mastered could never hope to mend such a wound.

Beside the dead woman, who possessed a beautiful face appropriate for her young age and now lay on her back with her throat cut, the priestess clasped her trembling hands together and offered a prayer.

“Do not worry. She has already been welcomed as my kin.”

The moment the blood-stained boy spoke, the woman’s body gave a sudden, violent twitch.

“Hii!? N-No way, that’s impossible… To turn into an undead so quickly…”

Being a priestess, she was well-versed in the biology and traits of undead monsters, who were the mortal enemies of her faith. Because of that, she gasped at the sight before her, which defied the common knowledge that a victim could never resurrect as an undead immediately after being killed.

“I show respect to those whose blood pleases my tongue, and in this manner, I make them my kin.”

The boy lightly raised his hand. The woman, whose body was soiled by her own blood welling from her throat, stepped back and bowed with a calm smile like a veteran maid, acting as if the pain of her wound and the terror of death had never existed.

She had already been transformed into a ghoul slave, bound to the vampire who drank her blood as her master.

“How hideous! What do you think a human life is—”

“Ah, precisely. Human lives, especially those of mankind, are fragile things. Even if left completely alone, they grow old and die in a mere sixty years… But if you become mine, you can preserve that youth, beauty, and strength just as they are, and live on.”

Behind the boy, who proudly spread his arms, stood several men and women.

Every single one of the women was remarkably fair to look upon, ranging from voluptuous beauties to lovely young girls. The men were equally varied, from large individuals resembling heavily muscled, stalwart warriors to delicate, beautiful boys who could easily be mistaken for women.

They were all ghouls under the boy’s absolute control. And the woman whose throat had just been slit had only moments ago joined their ranks.

“Fufufu, this is my first time tasting the blood of a priestess… You may rest easy. By my estimation, you will almost certainly ‘pass’.”

Two sharp fangs peeked through the boy’s gently, affectionately smiling mouth. They were the most unmistakably clear proof of a vampire possible.

And once a prey laid eyes on those fangs, it was the end. The terrifying, blood-starved monster would inevitably plunge them deep into its quarry.

“No! Kyaaaaaaa—”

The second scream, however, was suddenly drowned out by a roaring explosion that reverberated through the mansion.

Bang! The double doors shattered into splinters.

Hurtling into the room was the corpse of a soldier clad in armor and a helmet, his torso cleanly severed in two. He was a vampire knight tasked with guarding this mansion.

“An uninvited guest? Very well. A blood banquet is far more exciting with such surprises.”

The boy let out a low chuckle, his gaze directed not at his bisected, deceased subordinate, but toward the man who had stepped over the corpse to make a grand entrance into the room.

“You are Zeldras van Belmont, correct?”

He was a large man with crimson hair. His voice was quiet yet heavy, carrying an absolute aura of intimidation. But more than that, his fiercely gleaming golden eyes emitted an overwhelming glare that sufficed to make anyone who looked at them wither with fear.

“Indeed, I am Zeldras, Prince of this Neverland.”

Zeldras van Belmont had been brought into this world as the prince who would inherit this terrifying yet tranquil kingdom of the night. Everyone had blessed the birth of this boy, who possessed a legitimate bloodline and a powerful divine protection from the moment he was born.

However, whether due to his lineage, the influence of his divine protection, or his innate disposition, for whatever reason, Zeldras had become entirely addicted to the pleasure of blood by the age of ten.

Vampires were by no means fragile creatures that would die if they failed to drink fresh blood every single day. They did not consume blood to sustain their lives, but rather to gain power.

Fresh blood drawn directly by sinking one’s fangs into a living person. Furthermore, if the victim was strong, beautiful, noble, or loved by the gods, it would grant even greater power to the vampire.

It was said that the increase in power derived from such blood consumption surpassed any other pleasure in existence.

Even in Neverland, a nation of vampires, the act of drinking blood directly from humans was publicly forbidden. Royalty and nobility were not permitted to casually turn their fangs upon the commoners walking the streets on a whim. To use a comparison, the act of blood-drinking was treated similarly to a sexual act, generally perceived as something to be kept private and shared only with a specific partner.

However, if a vampire’s bloodlust could be suppressed by mere reason or morality, they wouldn’t amount to a vampire of high standing in the first place.

Every vampire who had left their name in history was invariably accompanied by terrifying and cruel episodes of seeking greater amounts of blood.

Zeldras, too, began walking a path filled with a thirst for blood, as if tracing the legends of his own deity, *Fresh Blood Archduke Loa*.

Every evening, a blood banquet was held. The finest young men and women were selected from across the country and sent to the blood-starved prince. Yet, eventually growing unsatisfied with mere tributes, Zeldras began kidnapping those who caught his eye to satisfy his craving for blood. Even if they happened to be travelers from outside the kingdom.

The priestess girl present here was none other than a pitiful victim kidnapped by Zeldras in such a manner.

And the same held true for the unfamiliar, red-haired man who had just appeared.

“Since you have broken into my mansion without permission, you must have an appropriate reason for doing so, correct?”

Rather than reprimanding him, Zeldras looked at the intruder with a face overflowing with delight, as if he simply couldn’t contain his excitement.

“I am taking that girl back.”

“Ah, so this priestess was your companion… In that case, you should become mine together with her.”

As a True Vampire of royal blood, he could discern the man’s qualities at a single glance.

Given his large, well-trained physique and a stern countenance resembling that of a veteran warrior, most people would fail to realize that he was actually a fourteen-year-old boy who had not yet reached adulthood. But Zeldras, who possessed absolute confidence in his aesthetic eye for evaluating prey, could tell instantly.

The crucial elements for the taste of a man’s blood were youth and strength. This man was a supreme catch.

“If you get in my way, I will cut you down.”

“I want both her and you. If you offer a little blood and become my dependent, you can preserve all of your beauty, youth, and strength exactly as they are, living far longer than a fragile human could ever comprehend—”

“I have no intention of speaking with you. Return her, or be cut down. Choose.”

The man’s hand was finally placed upon the hilt of the greatsword slung across his back. He had merely gripped it. Yet, the fighting spirit bursting forth from him was stupendous.

“Huhaha, very well. I do not dislike using force either.”

A vampire who had kidnapped a girl to drink her blood. A man who had come to take her back. From the very beginning, there was absolutely no room for negotiation. It could be said that the clash between the two was destiny.

“By the looks of it, you are a swordsman. And since I hold a blade in my hand as well, that makes me a swordsman too. Therefore, out of courtesy, I shall at least ask your name.”

They were empty words, a joke utterly devoid of pride, but because the question was asked, the crimson-haired man declared his identity. For he was a true swordsman.

“My name is Leonhardt Tristan Spada.”

—

And so, Zeldras lost to the King of Spada—or rather, to Leonhardt, who was still a prince at the time.

It had been a fierce battle. The clash continued until the break of dawn, and by the time Leonhardt’s greatsword pierced Zeldras’s heart, the mansion had been completely leveled, and the beautiful lakeside had been entirely reduced to a wasteland.

“You are the prince of this country, so I will not kill you.”

Leaving only those words behind, Leonhardt quietly departed, carrying the priestess girl despite his own battered body.

With his heart completely destroyed, Zeldras could do nothing but watch Leonhardt’s departing back through a blood-stained field of vision, enduring a brush with death and an agony so profound that he only managed to cling to life due to the divine protection of Loa.

That was the first defeat Zeldras had ever experienced in his life.

He had given his absolute all. Even after pouring in every ounce of the tremendous power of divine protection with which he was so deeply loved by his god—he had failed to reach Leonhardt’s sword.

The power of blood had lost to a mere sword.

That single fact changed Zeldras.

“…I want to become strong.”

He thought to himself.

He came to desire it from the absolute bottom of his heart.

What did it mean to be strong?

For the first time, he considered the question with utmost seriousness.

“From this day forth… I am a samurai.”

Before he knew it, he had left his country carrying nothing but the cursed katana he had previously treated as a mere toy.

Casting aside his true name of Zeldras, which was loved by the *Fresh Blood Archduke Loa*, and leaving the royal name of Belmont behind in his homeland, he became nothing more than Rudra.

Having ceased the consumption of blood, Rudra lost his power in the blink of an eye. He possessed only the physical strength of a delicate boy, exactly as he appeared.

In that state, he no longer possessed the superhuman physical might that vampires took pride in, nor did he retain his extra magic to manipulate blood and shadows. The katana he gripped in his hand felt incredibly heavy.

It took him five years just to attain the physical strength of an ordinary human.

It took ten years to acquire the capabilities of a standard swordsman.

Holding nothing but the status of an adventurer, he fought strictly as a swordsman for fifteen years before finally reaching the level of a veteran.

And it took another ten years before his skills were recognized as an expert swordsman and his name began to carry weight.

It was only very recently that he reached a master-class level of proficiency and became famous in the underworld as “Rudra of the Vermilion Blade,” serving as a bodyguard for thieves and gangs.

From the perspective of the world, he had become sufficiently strong as a swordsman. However, the strength he sought lay even further beyond.

Just as Rudra began to encounter the wall that only becomes visible upon reaching mastery, bringing fresh anxieties about the nature of strength… he met Kurono.

The gains he obtained from his battle with Kurono were immense. He could see a glimmer of light indicating that he was just a step away from overcoming the wall of mastery. That glimmer turned into absolute certainty through the Galahad War.

He could become stronger. As a swordsman.

He would finally be able to catch up to Leonhardt, who had defeated him on that night forty years ago.

Fairy Lily. If he could conquer this stupendous monster whom even Kurono feared, then at that moment, finally—and yet, it was at such a juncture that Rudra cast away being a samurai.

For the sake of righteousness.

He had regrets.

For the sake of his comrades.

It was a pity.

An act that would reduce all the effort he had accumulated up to this point to absolute nothingness.

Back when he had just left his country, when he was nothing more than an emaciated, fragile boy, he had heard the voice of his god.

“Drink blood.”

During the days when his physical stamina was merely human, when he repeated mundane, steady foundational training like a madman to the point of agonizing frustration.

“If you drink blood, you can find ease.”

When he had acquired the minimum capabilities of a swordsman and nearly died every time he challenged low-rank monsters.

“If you drink blood, you can become strong.”

He had become strong. As a swordsman, his name had begun to carry weight. He was dubbed “Rudra of the Vermilion Blade,” rising to a position where jobs were requested of him by name.

“If you drink blood, you can go even further.”

Even recently, during those frustrating times of trial and error as he hit the wall of mastery, the god continued to speak to him.

“If you drink blood, you can overcome it. If you drink blood, you will transcend everything.”

Every single evening, every single night, the god whispered to Rudra.

“Drink blood, drink blood—consume fresh blood.”

He had endured the temptation of his god. He had believed he could endure it, both in the past and in the future. Or perhaps, that very endurance was the pride that defined Rudra as a swordsman.

And yet, he had thrown all of that away just now.

“Offer up my heart. Black rain. Red droplets. Let the kingdom sink into a sea of blood—*Fresh Blood Archduke Loa*.”

Though it was a single drop, the taste of blood touching his tongue coursed through his entire body like a lightning strike.

Had it always been something so delicious? He felt an incomparable difference between the delicacy buried far in the depths of his memory and the taste of blood currently spreading throughout his mouth.

The taste of fresh blood permeating his utterly parched vampire body granted an incredible sensation of pleasure, omnipotence, and above all, power.

However, that was surely not due to starvation alone.

The blood Rudra had consumed was Kurono’s blood.

The blood of a hero who held the moniker of the Nightmare Berserker. His power was already beyond the need for words. And yet, his age was still a mere eighteen years.

An existence that combined youth and strength to such a degree was exceedingly rare. One in a decade, one in a century, or perhaps only one in an entire era.

Yes, Kurono’s blood was a specimen that could only be described as the highest tier of luxury for a vampire.

The moment it touched his lips, Rudra understood everything.

Ah, if one drank such blood, even a cursed weapon would achieve evolution. He truly realized the significance of his favorite blade, the Vampire Princess *Shuzome*, evolving into the Vampire Battle Princess *Kokushiki*.

The same applied to himself.

His power was returning. The appearance fitting for a strong, beautiful, and divinely loved vampire prince was resurrecting.

Nay, the body revived by Kurono’s blood harbored a mighty power that far surpassed that day forty years ago.

“Thank you, Kurono. It was the finest taste of my life.”

The world looked entirely different.

He had thought he had obtained sharp sensory capabilities as an accomplished swordsman through the culmination of his training… but the world reflected in Rudra’s eyes was vivid to a degree that defied comparison.

“Rudra… what are you?”

Faced with such an extreme transformation, even Lily was unable to hide her surprise.

However, even from the perspective of his current self, who had drawn out his capabilities as a True Vampire to the absolute limit, her presence remained mighty.

Only by resurrecting his true power and receiving the divine protection of his god upon his entire being could he finally stand on the same stage as Lily.

“My name is Zeldras van Belmont. First Prince of the Kingdom of the Night, Neverland.”

If he intended to fight on equal terms with a fairy princess, it would be inappropriate unless he also became a vampire prince to match her.

“Ah, I see, so that’s how it is… To think you were the prince of that Neverland.”

In response to Rudra, who radiated a beauty and majesty fitting for immortal royalty, Lily completely erased her surprise, offering a smile full of grace like a queen.

“Relying on something I cast away a long time ago at this late stage is wretched beyond measure—but even so, I have a conviction I must fulfill right now.”

“Fufufu, how wonderful, how beautiful. Kurono truly has excellent friends.”

Her smile reversed completely. Lily donned an expressionless mask of cold cruelty. No, surely the smile was the actual mask for her.

For the true face of the fairy princess Lily was that of an utterly merciless, cold-hearted ruler.

“—Which is precisely why I shall sever everything. Every bond connected to Kurono must be cut away in this era.”

“I will not let you. With every ounce of my power, Lily, I shall stop your cold-blooded ambition.”

Thus, the battle between the ruthlessly freezing fairy princess and the righteously burning vampire prince began.