Reborn as a Vampire in a Dying World: Blood, Power, and Pleasure

It didn't take long for the news to spread across Underzen. Within just a few hours, the entire estate was cleaned up, the mess dealt with efficiently as if nothing had happened. The incident had been buried under urgency and silence, and now everything seemed… settled.

Lilian had returned to her clan, though not without leaving behind a new political dilemma for the Baroness to manage. Her return wasn't the end of things—it was simply the beginning of another storm brewing behind closed doors.

Meanwhile, Rose, Trish, and Irsted were still occupied with a new assignment. When Corven had asked Aisha about it, she simply waved it off with a faint smile. "Just a simple task," she'd said—but she didn't offer any further detail.

And now, Corven found himself seated at a massive stone table perched at the highest peak of the Baroness's mansion—an architectural marvel that balanced precariously between the upper and lower parts of the city. The view alone screamed power and oversight, as if anyone sitting here could watch the entire city rise or fall with a glance.

A meeting of clan lords was underway.

'This is way too fast for my liking…'

'I expected a smooth integration, not a full blown political meeting…'

Corven thought, slouching slightly as he sat beside the Baroness—who, during the short time that passed, had formally introduced herself as Aisha Thorne Cromwell. The name Thorne echoed again in his mind, unmistakable.

'That name just keeps popping up…'

Around the long table sat vampires of varying strength and influence, both from minor and major clans. Among them were two of the most notable and powerful: Clan Heist and Clan Reduvian—the latter led by Heinrich, a broad-shouldered patriarch with snow-white hair, ghostly pale eyes, and the physique of a battle-hardened warlord. A long scar crossed his left eye, resisting every healing spell or potion, marking it as something beyond mere physical trauma.

The other, seated directly across from him, was cloaked in a hood, his features obscured, and his voice subtly distorted. The patriarch of Clan Heist had never officially revealed his identity, not even once—just like the lorebooks claimed. His presence alone exuded an eerie authority.

"Why did you bring us here?" Heinrich growled, his tone heavy and gravel-like. The irritation in his voice was clear.

"Crestfall has fallen. Isn't that reason enough?" the hooded patriarch replied calmly. His voice lacked any emotion, but every word landed like a calculated strike.

"That conniving pest?" Heinrich snarled, slamming a hand against the table. "All he ever did was manipulate and scheme. We should be focusing on wiping out the rest of his damned followers instead of wasting time in this pointless meeting."

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The two began bickering without restraint—one fiery and impulsive, the other composed but clearly dismissive. It was here, in their interaction, that the true state of affairs became evident.

Aisha, despite sitting at the head of the table, no longer held uncontested power. Not with these two in the room. The sheer boldness of their open squabbling made it clear—her command had limits.

The minor lords and lesser patriarchs remained silent, clearly unwilling to draw attention or step between titans. They stayed on the sidelines, choosing neutrality over potential fallout.

Yet, in all this chaos, Aisha said nothing. She merely cast a sideways glance at Corven.

He caught it instantly.

'She wants me to speak first, doesn't she?'

Corven interlocked his fingers, resting his arms on the cold stone table, exhaling through his nose.

'Alright then. If this is the game she wants to play…'

He would play it her way.

"At ease, gentlemen," Corven said, his voice cutting through the noise with unexpected weight.

Silence did not follow.

Bloodlust did.

The air thickened immediately, oppressive and hostile. The two patriarchs—and even some of the lesser nobles—shifted their gaze toward Corven, the way predators would toward unfamiliar prey.

'Ah, yes... friendly bunch,' Corven thought dryly.

"And who are you," the hooded patriarch asked, "to even sit beside her majesty?"

His tone was even, but his words carried scorn.

Heinrich barked a laugh. "Are you new? That seat belongs at the far end of the table, beside the weaklings. That's more your place."

Corven didn't blame them. Their sheer physicality was imposing—towering builds, armor-like muscles, the marks of warriors and ancient bloodlines. In contrast, Corven was lean, defined, but far from bulky. He looked more like a strategist than a brute.

Still, he cracked a slow smile.

"Surely… you jest?"

He sat up straighter, putting on a refined tone as he spoke, intentionally exaggerating his vocabulary.

"A person such as myself shall not debase my presence to satisfy the egos of men long past their prime."

Then came the hook.

"Should I have you two killed?"

He said it with a smile. Calm. Composed. As if asking whether they'd like tea with poison or without.

The room shifted instantly.

Gasps. Low murmurs. Some chuckled nervously, others leaned forward in amusement, waiting for the fallout.

Aisha froze. Even she hadn't expected that.

'Is he for real…?' she thought, her lips parting slightly in surprise. She had expected wit—some diplomatic flourish—not a direct threat.

Heinrich didn't hesitate. He stood up abruptly, his chair screeching and toppling over as his aura burst outward.

"You DARE!?" he bellowed.

But before he could make a move, two paladins emerged instantly, stepping in from either side. Their silver spears were already aimed at Heinrich's throat.

They had been ready.

Aisha glanced toward Corven, uncertain whether to step in and de-escalate—or to let him handle this himself.

'I should observe him a bit longer… see what he's really capable of,' she thought.

Corven, meanwhile, scratched the back of his neck.

'I wonder… could I actually take him in a fight now?' He was a full-fledged vampire noble, sure, but Heinrich looked like he could lift a warhorse barehanded.

"What the hell are you doing!?" Heinrich yelled, glaring at the paladins who surrounded him instead of Corven. "He's the one who threatened ME!"

But before Aisha could say anything, Corven leaned forward and spoke first.

"Sit down," he said firmly. "Do you not recognize the face of your new Baron?"

For a few moments, silence returned.

Then—laughter.

The hall erupted with it.

In vampire courts in fiction that Corven had read before, the title 'Baron' meant land, bloodlines, and sworn fealty. And Corven had none of the above.

Heist covered his mouth with a gloved hand, chuckling. "Seriously? Is this supposed to be a joke? If so, I must say—brilliant delivery, your majesty."

Heinrich shook his head in disbelief as he retrieved his chair and sat back down, chuckling as well.

"You summoned us for comedy? I almost thought you had lost your mind. But this—this is impressive."

Then, his eyes sharpened again.

"If your joke had been any less entertaining, I might've thought you'd gone senile, Baroness."

The paladins stiffened at the jab, but held their ground. They were trained well—emotions had no place in vampire politics.

Another voice chimed in from beside Heist. A smooth, amused tone.

"A noble vampire calling himself Baron in front of two clan elders? That's rich."

The speaker had golden hair and slitted yellow eyes—serpentine and cold.

Corven recognized him immediately.

'Graveyard guy… didn't expect to see you here.'

His involvement only complicated things further.

And yet… Corven couldn't help but grin.

The pieces were on the board.

The game had just begun.