Absolute Cheater

From the rooftops above, Lira watched him move through the mist-draped alleys of the Duskroot capital, silent as a shadow. Her breath hitched slightly as she clutched the stone railing, eyes wide with something between awe and hunger.

"He walks among us like one of our own," she whispered to herself. "But none of them see it… none of them feel it like I do."

The Progenitor's blood. She was certain of it now—she hadn't imagined the weight of his aura, the way her instincts screamed obedience, reverence, even desire. And yet… he seemed so casual, as though that power meant nothing to him. No guards. No followers. No throne. Was he hiding? Or… testing?

She descended in silence, landing gracefully in a secluded courtyard and slipping into the crowd behind him. She kept her distance—just close enough to observe. Her pale fingers brushed against the collar of her cloak as her thoughts raced.

"He's not weak," she realized. "He's simply… not feeding."

A shiver ran down her spine.

If he truly was descended from the Progenitor… no common blood could sustain him. The dull ichor from blood-slaves or lowborn creatures wouldn't be enough. It would starve him slowly, limit him. His kind needed potent blood—old, noble, saturated in legacy.

"Mine," she whispered, her voice trembling as if the word itself was blasphemy.

"If I offer it willingly... if I let him feed…" Her thoughts spiraled. Visions flooded her mind—of sharp fangs sinking into her throat, of his cold breath against her skin, of being chosen, marked, remade. She wasn't just anyone. She was Lira Duskroot, one of the noble daughters of the ruling vampire house. Her bloodline stretched back over a thousand years—pure, potent, and untainted.

And she would offer it freely.

Meanwhile, Asher had already forgotten about her. His mind wandered through more interesting puzzles—the strange architecture of the city, the way the air seemed layered with memory and silence. A city of blood, built in stone veined with bone and ancient enchantments.

He crossed under a blackened archway leading into a courtyard of shadeblossoms—flowers that only bloomed under starlight—and came upon an old soulfire brazier burning quietly in a corner. Everything here was steeped in subtle magic, the kind that didn't shout but whispered if one had the senses to listen.

"So… this place really is a sanctuary of their kind," he murmured to himself. "And yet, no one guards it. No walls. Just… tradition."

Behind him, Lira watched with lips parted and breath uneven, heart pounding with each step she took closer.

She followed him deeper into the city, each step pressing her closer to a decision she felt in her bones was irreversible.

The alley opened into a wide plaza, its center dominated by a pale obelisk etched with bloodscript—an oathstone of the old vampire clans. Here, the air felt heavier. Older. Asher paused before the monument, glancing up at the sky that never quite cleared, where dusk and crimson twilight warred in the atmosphere. This place—this entire valley—felt like the final breath of an ancient memory.

Lira approached, no longer content to observe from a distance.

Her voice was calm, though her pulse thundered.

"Lord… you must be hungry. Would you like me to take you to a good place?" Lira asked softly as Asher turned his gaze toward her.

He studied her for a moment before speaking. "Why are you so forward?" he asked. His tone was curious, not accusatory.

Lira smiled faintly, bowing her head with elegant grace. "Of course, with such a noble person as yourself, it is only natural for me to serve. To see to your needs is my honor," she said.

Asher raised a brow slightly. He knew the signs—how vampiric bloodlines responded to hierarchy. And now, with the Progenitor's legacy awakening in him, he could feel it plainly. Her obedience wasn't simple infatuation. It was biological. Spiritual. Deep-rooted in blood law. She was bound to him now—whether she realized the full extent or not.

"Alright then," Asher replied. "Take me. I'm hungry anyway."

Lira's eyes lit up as she nodded quickly, eager. She led him across the city, down winding paths of dusk-lit stone, until they arrived at a grand hotel near the city's heart. Asher noticed the luxury immediately—polished obsidian floors, scented air, enchanted glass panels that reflected starlight from beyond the valley.

"This is our private place," she said with a shy, reverent tone. "A suite reserved for honored guests."

Asher stepped inside and looked around the lavish room—silken sheets, carved blackwood furniture, deep red drapery that painted the space in shades of night. It was quiet. Isolated.

"A hotel room just for me?" he asked casually.

Lira shut the door behind them with a soft click and locked it.

"Of course, my lord," she whispered, approaching him. "How could I take you anywhere less? Only those who serve slave blood deserve low places. You are meant to be worshipped."

Her hands moved slowly, reverently, as she reached for the sides of her dress. "My blood is pure, ancient… worthy. You may drink from me," she offered, letting her gown fall from her shoulders, revealing her pale, flawless skin, her body a perfect image of vampiric beauty.

"Feed… from you?" Asher asked, his voice calm but probing.

She nodded fervently, baring her neck to him. "Yes, my lord… my blood, my body, my soul. Please… savor it as much as you desire."

Asher looked at her speechlessly. He was about to tell her that he had no intention of feeding on her—when he paused.

"Speaking of which… I have a vampire bloodline, but I've never actually tried drinking blood," he thought to himself.

Thanks to his Sanguine Supreme, he could control his bloodline and had always kept a specific seal active—maintaining his human characteristics at all times. But just this once, he decided to release it.

He let his vampiric bloodline manifest.

His pitch-black hair turned glossy, flowing like pure silk, while his eyes shifted—gleaming a deeper, more predatory red. Their ruby glow shimmered with a haunting luster, a depth that hinted at dominance and ancient power. His skin paled slightly to a porcelain tone, ethereal and flawless.

For the first time, Asher let his vampire form emerge.

Lira, who had already been overwhelmed by the presence of the Progenitor's blood, now nearly collapsed in ecstasy. The aura he exuded was not just power—it was worship incarnate. She leaned into him again, neck tilted, offering herself more eagerly this time. Her breath hitched as her skin neared his lips.

Asher instinctively gulped, watching the soft curve of her neck, the pulse beating beneath it.

Asher stepped closer, his hand brushing the curve of her jaw, then trailing to the hollow of her neck. The pulse there was rapid, trembling. The air between them thickened with ancient instinct—of predator and offering, of lord and bonded.

He leaned in, and as his lips grazed her throat, he could feel it.

The power.

Her blood recognized him. The Progenitor's blood sang through him now, and in its resonance, her own lineage responded. She gasped softly as he bit, pain mixing with pleasure, her hands gripping his arms as her knees nearly buckled.

He held her body with one arm, steadying her with ease as he drank. Her blood was sweet, potent, steeped in legacy and centuries of nobility. And yet—as he fed—it was she who trembled, her voice a faint moan.

"My lord~~" she whispered, her voice barely audible, eyes half-lidded as bliss overtook her.

When he finally pulled away, crimson staining his lips, she slumped in his arms, dazed and flushed.

He laid her gently on the bed, tying the silken sheets around her to comfort and warm her weakened frame. She smiled faintly even as her consciousness faded into dreamy slumber.

Asher stood quietly at the edge of the bed, watching Lira sleep.

Her breathing was shallow, lips parted slightly, skin aglow from the aftershocks of blood-bond euphoria. She had given herself completely—without hesitation, without deceit. Not because of affection, but because his bloodline demanded it.

The Progenitor's mark, Asher thought, raising his hand to wipe a smear of crimson from his lips. The taste still lingered—rich, ancient, noble.

But more importantly, it told him something.

He narrowed his eyes, gazing out toward the moonlight filtering in from the carved window. Lira's blood hadn't just been intoxicating—it had responded to him. Synchronized.

He raised his hand, and a long sword appeared in his grasp. It was silvery, with a dark-purple hue along the edge, and the guard bore the crest of a duck-petal sigil. The hilt shimmered black like obsidian.

It was the innate skill of the Duskroot family—the Dusk Moon Sword. He had manifested it after drinking Lira's blood.

"Pity," Asher muttered, studying the blade. "If I had known my vampiric form held such power, I would've unlocked far more useful abilities by now. With Infinite Fusion, I might have gained even more cheat-like powers."

He dismissed the sword with a soft flick of his fingers and glanced back at Lira, who lay sleeping peacefully on the bed.

"Well... as a thank you for letting me find out this hidden ability, here's your reward," he murmured, kneeling beside her.

His fingertip hovered above her parted lips. A single golden-red drop formed—thick, luminous, and potent. It was no ordinary blood—it was infused with the essence of a Dragon God and the Progenitor's line.

The droplet fell into her mouth.

Her body shuddered once, eyes fluttering briefly as the divine essence began weaving into her bloodline. It would elevate her strength by several ranks—and more importantly, awaken dormant traits hidden deep in her heritage.

Asher stood, tucking his coat over his shoulder with a sigh.

Without a word more, he turned and left the room, the faint shimmer of crimson power trailing in his wake.