vampire are vampire.

Alright, here is the translation and improved version of the text in elegant English:

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Alright, what is described here as suitable for habitation refers only to the cultural environment. When it comes to the geographical setting, that is an entirely different matter. Sylvanian lies in the southeastern part of the continent, a barren land imbued with a constant air of death. Both its resources and harvests are abysmally poor, with famine striking almost every year.

In this land, newborns are abandoned, and human trafficking is a common occurrence. Not to mention the imposing castles built by the vampires, the gaunt, emaciated populace, and the infertile sandy soil—these are the most commonplace sights in Sylvanian.

Vared found it perplexing. The vampire clans of Sylvanian were exemplary in every regard. Whether in character, ability, or moral fiber, they were unparalleled. They were devoted, willing to sacrifice, and tenacious in their pursuit of progress, endowed with remarkable talents. Yet, such a race did not occupy a dominant position in this world. On the contrary, they found themselves relegated to a remote, barren, and desolate land. What was the reason for this?

"Because we are vampires."

On one occasion, Vared could no longer contain his curiosity and asked an elder about it. The elder, after a brief pause, reluctantly replied with this answer. This response deeply unsettled the proud noble, and his internal sense of pride forbade him from speaking further.

However, for Vared, this was sufficient. A moment's reflection allowed him to draw the correct conclusion—vampires—outsiders—unwelcome.

It was evident that, in the eyes of most, vampires, who command the undead and skeletons and drink human blood, were the enemies of all living beings. If they were to remain holed up in such a desolate land, it might be overlooked, as if ignored. But if the vampires were to muster their courage and, using their mastery of necromancy, raise an army to expand their territory, then the living creatures—no matter the animosities between them—would form alliances, setting aside their differences to repel the vampire invasion.

No living being would willingly be ruled by the dead, nor would anyone accept being enslaved as a puppet after death. This was the vampires' greatest vulnerability—finding allies was nearly impossible. They could only rely on their own kind to face the entire world.

Of course, after saying this, the elder, unwilling to accept the situation, added, "Although our current circumstances are difficult, the great Nightborn will not remain here forever. Once the time is right, we will rise in force, just as we did four thousand years ago, two thousand four hundred years ago, and a thousand one hundred years ago—leading the strongest army in history to sweep across the continent. It will be as it once was!"

"Oh—sweep the entire continent!"

Thus, to avoid suspicion, Vared raised his hand like an eager child, excitedly repeating the phrase—though inwardly, he scoffed: This is less a glorious history than a miserable one. After all, whether it was thousands of years ago, it all ended in failure. Was it truly appropriate to teach children with such a classic example of defeat, like Jing Ke's failed assassination of Qin Shi Huang?

But it didn't matter. Despite the poverty of the land, Vared's life as a noble was still fairly comfortable—certainly better than when he had worn spirit armor and gone for months without a bath, eating military rations that resembled dog food. So, he had little to complain about.

One evening, feeling rather bored, Vared decided to read for a while before heading to bed. As he passed by his sister Isabella's room, he happened to glance inside and noticed something was amiss.

As usual, Isabella was hard at work, with a magic circle drawn on the floor using shards of crystal. It was this very sight that made Vared feel something was wrong.

He entered the room and, addressing his sister who was crouched on the floor and looking up at him curiously, said, "You've made an error there. The angles of that triangle should be 22.5, 27.5, and 130 degrees, not what you've drawn."

"Huh? That can't be right! The academy taught us this way," Isabella replied, initially pleased to see her brother but now growing annoyed at his correction. Although she had often heard praise for his talent and had personally witnessed his exceptional affinity with the winds of magic, even previously pointing out mistakes in her own magic circles, she was still unwilling to accept his advice.

"Don't be ridiculous. He hasn't even formally attended the academy yet! I'm a third-year student!" Isabella thought to herself, and, in a fit of stubbornness, she ignored Vared's words and completed the circle. But, with a loud explosion, the magic circle burst into a cloud of smoke, reducing the twenty-five gold lairs' worth of precious materials to nothing but ash.

"D*mn, d*mn, d*mn it!" Isabella shouted, her face flushed red as she stomped her foot in frustration, especially with Vared standing there, wearing a smug expression that seemed to say, "I told you so."

When she saw the satisfied grin on her little brother's face, she could take it no longer. In a fit of anger, she rushed over and scooped him up, hugging him tightly and rubbing her face against his, as a form of punishment.

"Ugh, this is so uncomfortable! You idiot! Let me go!" Vared groaned, though he knew that a slight exertion of his spirit power—or magic, as people called it—could easily push his troublesome sister away. However, that would have been too violent, and he was afraid it might hurt Isabella. Thus, he resigned himself to endure the "punishment."

Had Vared's magical knowledge been more comprehensive, he might have learned non-lethal ways to use the winds of magic, but unfortunately, as a former Sergeant Major in the Universal Federation, he had been trained with the methods of warfare, where capturing prisoners and using less lethal force was not a priority. Eight years of battle experience had taught him to be ruthless and direct, with no room for restraint.

Had he wished to kill Isabella, there were hundreds, if not thousands, of ways to ensure her demise. However, he didn't know how to gently use his magic to move her away without harm. Unfortunately, the military didn't teach that kind of thing.

So, unable to use magic and physically no match for his older sister, Vared's resistance was utterly futile. He was mercilessly smothered by Isabella, who was still far stronger, until her frustration was finally alleviated, and she released him, sitting dejectedly on the floor.

"What am I going to do... I don't have enough money to buy more materials..." she muttered to herself.

Although from a noble family, one of the wealthiest in all of Sylvanian, the Nightborn lived modestly. Most of their wealth was invested in more pressing matters—such as production, manufacturing, and military preparations—along with the bottomless pit that was magical research and the purchase and storage of spellcasting materials.

What little remained was spent on maintaining appearances, such as buying clothes, hiring servants, and furnishing the family's castles.

The money that actually reached the hands of the vampire nobles was meager. Even Isabella, as a young lady of the house, received a mere eight gold lairs in pocket money each month. The twenty-five gold lairs' worth of materials had been saved through months of austerity (mainly by sacrificing her snacks) and borrowing from Vared at high interest, all in the hope of achieving a good result in the academy's final assessments and earning a scholarship. Yet, the outcome had been this...

Looking at the pile of ash, Isabella was on the verge of tears. She silently vowed, "Next time, I'll listen to Vared's advice." Of course, she had said something similar before, more than once, but it had never made a difference. It seemed that getting this proud young lady to heed advice and learn from her mistakes was a Herculean task.

And so, with the game for the day concluded, Vared returned to his room to sleep. Isabella, though still unwilling to accept the failure, was planning to continue her experiments to make up for the loss. But when Vared casually reminded her, "Today is June 1st," she was forced to abandon her plans.

June was the most chaotic and enigmatic of months. As night fell, the eerie red star known as Moriel, ominously glowing with a malevolent light, became the most striking presence in the sky. The red moon had replaced its sibling, the blue-toned Tonya, hanging high above in the pitch-black heavens.

Under its influence, the winds of magic became wildly unstable, affecting many creatures. Those born with an innate affinity for magic grew restless, and spells became more powerful, yet harder to control.

In such circumstances, wise spellcasters would rein in their arrogance and proceed with caution, refraining from casting magic unless absolutely necessary. When magic was used, it was always with the utmost care, opting for lesser, more controllable spells.

Of course, for true grandmasters of magic, this was a rare opportunity. Many experiments that were previously impossible due to lack of energy would now take place. And one could only imagine what catastrophic consequences might arise should such experiments spiral out of control...

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