As John Asley and Ross reached the final gate of the dungeon, their brows furrowed tighter than ever before. Their steps were heavy as they descended the stairs, and when they saw no one on the walls and only scattered chains covering the floor, they froze, utterly stunned.
“What in the world is going on?” John Asley muttered to himself, disbelief etched across his face.
“My King!” Ross stepped forward to support John Asley’s swaying frame. “My King, are you alright?”
“It’s over, it’s over... the Blood Clan…”
“My King, if you ask me, we should leave this place first.” Ross knew the Blood Clan had been imprisoned here, and their absence now meant only one thing. There was no need to question it. Yet, neither of them had ever imagined that at this crucial juncture, the Blood Clan would actually be rescued—it seemed destined to be the outcome of this very night.
“Indeed, the Vampire’s castle lies just ahead,” an old man said, stroking his long beard.
Hearing this, a middle-aged man inquired, “Old Guo, do you really think we need to intervene tonight?”
“Oh?” The elder, called Old Guo, gazed ahead, his face split by a smile. “I sense a certain flavor in your question. What exactly are you trying to say?”
“Since that little fellow has already gotten involved, don’t you think we are superfluous?” A strange smile flickered across the middle-aged man’s lips. He continued, “Besides, haven’t you noticed there isn’t a single trace of Vampire aura emanating from the castle?”
“That is true. So what?”
“Ugh!” The middle-aged man nearly tumbled from the tree upon hearing this, shaking his head in frustration. “Since you already know that, why did you summon us out here?”
“Hah, Old Demon, are you telling me you’re becoming more muddled than I am?” Old Guo paused thoughtfully, then uttered something that drove everyone else to distraction: “I called you out, but I never called you to action. Even Little Qi knows this. I merely came tonight to watch the show.”
“……………” Seven or eight middle-aged men stood askew on the tree branches, their expressions incredibly awkward.
Shifting his gaze back toward the somber castle, Old Guo mumbled to himself, “It seems I was worrying for nothing. Heh, that kid is indeed capable; he certainly moves quickly when he gets down to business.”
##############################
Just then, as the ancient castle became surrounded by numerous figures, the sounds of gunfire and clashing swords gradually erupted, signaling that the battle had begun. Inside the castle, John Asley felt deeply disheartened and profoundly uneasy. The Blood Clan had been released without a single disturbance, a fact whose meaning was known to no one—not heaven, not earth—only to the one who had freed them.
“My King, the fighting has broken out. What should we do now?” Ross understood that the Blood Clan was John Asley’s last trump card, and with that card gone, it felt as though their own end was near.
“I don’t know either. Now that the Blood Clan has vanished inexplicably, we…”
“My King, perhaps we should…”
John Asley stared at Ross for a long moment before replying, “It’s useless. We are already defeated. Without the Blood Clan, only death awaits us.”
“No, My King, what I mean is… we should break out and flee to America,” Ross said, a shadow crossing his eyes.
“America!” John Asley frowned. “What are you suggesting?”
“Actually, My King…” Ross looked at John Asley while slowly recounting something indistinct.
In short, John Asley’s expression shifted dramatically, mirroring the shock he’d shown upon learning of the Blood Clan’s bizarre disappearance. However, this time, a layer of deep suspicion was added toward Ross.
“How are they? Do the clothes fit?” A young man sat on a sofa in the vast hall of a certain villa, observing the eight figures before him.
Eight individuals—five men and three women. After being outfitted, all eight wore matching formal tailcoats. Their unique demeanor and crimson eyes made them seem distinctly alien. The men were handsome but bordered on the effeminate, while the women were beauties who surpassed even succubi in allure.
“Why are you so certain we will pledge our loyalty to you?” The middle-aged man ignored the youth’s question, fixing him with a penetrating gaze.
“You haven’t told me your names yet,” the youth smiled faintly, looking at the eight Blood Clan members who seemed ready to sacrifice everything for him.
The eight exchanged glances but said nothing, merely staring at the youth with an expression of intense interest. The middle-aged man who had just spoken spoke up first: “My name is Dicks Link!”
“Dicks Chad!”
“Dicks Charlie!”
“Dicks Ollie!”
“Dicks Leo!”
“Dicks Erin Day!”
“Dicks Aisha Day!”
“Dicks Allen Day!”
After hearing the names of the eight Blood Clan members, the youth felt a dizzying sensation in his head. English names were either ridiculously long or so confusing you couldn't tell which part was the surname and which was the given name.
“Link, Chad, Charlie, Ollie, Leo! You five men, I will call you by these names from now on.” The youth pointed to the five male Bloods, seeing them nod. He then turned to the three women beside them. “And you three—Erin, Aisha, Allen—how does that sound?”
“Whoosh!”
“Young Master, careful!”
“Dear, she called you Young Master? Since she addresses you that way, may we call you that as well?” The three female Bloods simultaneously materialized beside the youth, leaning in close to question him.
A faint smile played on the youth’s lips; he seemed entirely unconcerned with whatever these women intended to do. He chuckled, “Of course, you may.”
“Kiss, Young Master, give him a kiss,” one particularly cute Blood woman declared before lunging in to kiss the youth.
However, just as she was about to connect, the other two women sprang back alertly, their large red eyes fixed intently on the youth.
“Ah!” The woman who had tried to kiss the youth instinctively tried to imitate the others’ reaction, but before she could fully process it, the youth had grabbed her arm. She let out a sharp cry, staring at him with sheer terror. It wasn't just the three women; the five male Bloods were equally aghast.
A bone-chilling coldness, a silent scent of danger—a scent they, as members of the Blood Clan, understood perfectly. But what truly made them apprehensive wasn't this familiar danger, but an aura of unknown origin that defied simple description as perilous. They felt as though they had encountered this scent somewhere before.
“What? Weren’t you going to kiss the Young Master? Are you scared now?” The youth held the Blood woman’s arm with one hand while tilting her beautiful chin up with the other, his smile taking on an unsettlingly strange quality as he looked at her.
“I… I…!” The Blood woman was rendered speechless by his intense stare.
“Tell me, what is your name?” the youth asked with a smile.
“Al…len!”
Before the word ‘Allen’ fully left her lips, the Blood woman was silenced by the youth’s mouth closing over hers. Feeling as though she were suffocating, Allen pushed against him several times but couldn't break free. After a moment, the youth released her, looking at her with a smile. She immediately retreated to her companions, gasping for air, her eyes fixed on the youth with overwhelming fear. She felt as if she had just skirted the edge of reincarnation, an experience where both the destination ahead and the one behind felt like hell, instilling in her boundless terror.
Glancing over the eight Vampire Dukes, the youth smiled faintly. “You asked me earlier why I was so certain you would pledge your allegiance to me, right?”
The eight exchanged glances and nodded.
“Heh heh. Because in this world, only I am qualified to be your master.”
“Yes, Master!” The eight Blood Dukes responded with surprise.
However, the youth merely shook his index finger. “You are mistaken. Not Master. Young Master.”
“Yes, Young Master.”
“Go now. You have one month. Meet me at this address in one month,” the youth said, dropping a piece of paper before walking toward the exit.
The eight Blood Dukes stood momentarily stunned. After securing the note, their expressions shifted into something intensely bloodthirsty, their licking lips a terrifying sight. As their figures vanished from the villa, each had their own tasks to attend to—tasks that would inevitably entangle countless other matters.
“Hm? Blood Clan?” The middle-aged man called Old Demon suddenly shivered, having glimpsed something. He shook his head. “I told you so. Look, Old Guo has played us again.”
“Ah, nothing left to see here. Nothing! Let’s go, time to get a drink!”
“You guys…” Old Guo shook his head, watching the eight figures speed across the ground. He muttered to himself, “That kid now has enough standing to contend with the little one from the Heavenly Ghost lineage, doesn't he? Whether it’s a game or something else, under the absolute fairness of the coming conflict, things might just become much more interesting.”