Ian followed closely behind Ninja 1, his steps quiet yet steady. The masked figure led him through the winding streets of Blood City, their destination clear but their path indirect. After what felt like an hour of weaving through alleys and side streets, they arrived at their first stop—the Adventurer's Forest.
The towering trees stretched into the sky, their twisted branches resembling the grasping hands of the dead. Unlike normal forests, the Adventurer's Forest had an eerie stillness, an unnatural silence that made Ian's instincts sharpen. The only sounds came from the occasional whisper of the wind and the distant roars of creatures hidden within.
Ninja 1 stopped and turned his crimson gaze toward Ian. "This is where ambitious fools test their limits and where the strong sharpen their fangs," he began. "The Adventurer's Forest is a proving ground, a hunting zone, and a battlefield. Warriors, mercenaries, and scouts from different clans come here to hunt powerful creatures, refine their skills, and claim rare resources. Some seek personal growth, while others gather ingredients for rituals, weapon forging, or alchemy."
Ian absorbed the information, his own eyes scanning the dense foliage. "So this place is both a training ground and a resource hub," he muttered.
Ninja 1 nodded. "Correct. It benefits the Blood Realm in many ways. The strongest clans regulate access, ensuring only those worthy enter. We allow certain outsiders—like humans, werewolves, and even rogue vampires—to step in. Some of them never leave." A hint of amusement laced his tone.
Ian frowned slightly. "Why allow outsiders?"
"For entertainment, trade, and to set an example," Ninja 1 answered. "This place is a warning to those who underestimate us. If an outsider survives here, they may gain recognition. If they die... well, they serve as food for the beasts and an example for the weak."
Ian smirked. "Efficient."
They continued walking, heading toward a small clearing where a hidden entrance lay buried beneath thick vines. As they approached, Ian decided to ask something that had been on his mind since he saw the two knights at the gate.
"I have a question about the curse swords," Ian said. "Each one has a unique ability, right?"
Ninja 1 glanced at him, then nodded. "That is correct. Each curse sword is forged through blood rituals and ancient enchantments. They are relics from an era where vampires sought to challenge the gods. Their abilities vary, but all are deadly."
"What about the swords those two knights were carrying?" Ian pressed.
A brief silence followed before Ninja 1 spoke. "The left knight wields Sanguine Requiem. It does not cut flesh—it cuts the flow of blood. A single slash severs an enemy's ability to heal and weakens them over time. Even a true elder would feel its effects if struck."
Ian's eyes narrowed. "And the right knight?"
"He carries Tenebrous Fang. That blade does not reflect light, nor does it make a sound. It exists in the shadow between reality and illusion. A strike from Tenebrous Fang can bypass lesser defenses and reach an opponent's vital organs directly, ignoring conventional armor."
Ian let out a low whistle. "No wonder they were chosen as gatekeepers. Those weapons are terrifying."
Ninja 1 merely inclined his head. "That is the nature of the Blood Realm. The strong do not waste their strength on mediocrity."
With that, Ninja 1 moved aside a section of vines, revealing a narrow, dark tunnel. "Come. The true path to the Vampire Council is ahead."
Ian took a deep breath, then stepped forward. "I'll be damned..."
Ian stepped into the grand chamber, his gaze immediately drawn to the twelve towering figures seated before him. Each Elder wore an ornate mask carved in the likeness of a different beast—a lion, a serpent, a raven, a dragon, and more. Their presence was suffocating, a crushing weight of pressure pressing down on his body, down to his microscopic cells. Well, that's an exaggeration.
Even without seeing their faces though, he could feel their eyes boring into him, dissecting him at each passing glance.
The air itself felt cold to Ian. Not a natural chill, but the kind that came from standing in the presence of beings who had lived through countless wars, who had shaped the very foundation of the Blood Realm.
One of them, a masked figure with the face of a coiling serpent, leaned forward. His voice was slow, deliberate, like a predator savoring a meal.
"I am Sable Fang, Elder of the Sixth Seat. I have hunted creatures of the abyss, devoured their essence, and walked away unscathed. They called me The Devourer of Wyrms after I slew the Void Serpent that once swallowed cities whole." His eyes gleamed behind the mask. "And you... are an interesting specimen."
'An interesting specimen? Can this bastard change his wording?' Ian complained in his mind.
Another spoke, her voice like ice scraping against stone. She wore the mask of a raven, its dark beak gleaming under the dim light. "Ashen Wing, Fourth Seat. I led the massacre at the Silver Monastery, where the so-called 'immortal' human saints were eradicated in a single night. They called me The Harbinger of Dusk, for wherever my shadow id, no light remained."
'Does the lower their seat, the stronger they are? So, the 1st seat should be the strongest? And why the hell do they introduce themselves ? Is this because they're old-fashioned antiques?'
Ian was speechless at the elders.
A deep chuckle came from the Elder wearing a wolf mask. His voice was rich, filled with amusement but laced with undeniable danger. "Iron Howl, Ninth Seat. I was once hunted by an entire kingdom of werewolves. They sent their best hunters, their elders, their war chiefs... Now their skulls decorate my halls. They called me The Bane of the Moon."
Ian screamed inwardly. 'Scary!!'
Then, from the highest seat in the chamber, a voice both calm and overwhelming spoke. The figure wore the mask of a dragon, regal and terrifying in its craftsmanship.
"I am Crimson Pyre, the Elder of the First Seat. I burned the Great City of Solaris to the ground when its people dared defy our race. A kingdom of millions, reduced to cinders in three days. The survivors called me The Black Inferno." He leaned forward slightly. "And you, Scout... intrigue me."
The other Elders murmured in agreement. Their curiosity was unmistakable.
'Damn it! Don't fucking be!' Ian almost choked. 'This Crimson Pyre, he must be the strongest elder.'
It was Sable Fang who addressed the obvious. "You stand at nearly six meters being merely a true vampire, clad in an exoskeleton, unlike anything we have seen before. What are you?"
Ian did not falter under their scrutiny. He had expected this question. At this time, he decided to bullshit them, give the bastards half-lie, half-truth answer.
"My exoskeleton is forged from my own flesh, enhanced through the consumption and assimilation of creatures far stronger than myself," Ian said. "Its structure is a fusion of Bloodsteel—a material known to absorb and enhance energy over time—and a Tungsten. It allows me to resist powerful flames.'
'But can it resist my Crimson Flame?'
The 1st Seat Elder silently mused to himself.
There was a pause. Then Iron Howl let out a low whistle. "A true vampire... did this? You must have a special constitution!"
The room became eerily silent.
"You are not a true vampire?" Ashen Wing's voice was filled with genuine astonishment.
Ian met their gazes without hesitation. "No. I am a lesser vampire."
A ripple of shock passed through the Elders. Even Crimson Pyre, who had remained composed, showed a flicker of intrigue.
"A lesser... who defies his own limitations," Sable Fang muttered. "Fascinating."
Ashen Wing exhaled. "A mere lesser should not be capable of such evolution."
"And yet he stands before us," Crimson Pyre mused.
The atmosphere shifted. The cold pressure that had sought to crush Ian now swirled around him like a storm of interest.
Then, Crimson Pyre finally leaned forward.
"Tell us, Scout... What is it that you have come to report?"
The chamber fell silent, all twelve Elders now waiting for Ian's answer.
Ian couldn't help but swallow.