The blood threads were like living snakes, wrapping tightly around Hannah.
Her arms were pinned behind her back, her bat wings tightly folded, and she couldn't even move her fingertips.
Bill walked ahead, his steps leisurely.
The hem of his suit brushed over the rubble of the ruins without a single pause.
Two corpse knights silently held Hannah up.
They marched in unison, their movements stiff.
It was as if they were dragging a lifeless body.
They passed through a half-collapsed corridor and bypassed fallen statues.
Deep within Mirror-Shadow City, the ruins of a temple loomed ahead.
The altar was still intact.
The stone platform was covered in cracks, yet it had not completely collapsed.
Modo stood in front of the altar.
His figure was thin, and his eyes were hollow.
It was as if nothing in this world could leave a trace in his eyes.
Beside him was Hugh.
Hugh knelt on one knee, his arms pinned behind his back by corpse knights.
His shirt was torn wide open, exposing his chest.
Crisscrossing grayish-black wounds covered his skin.
The deepest one slashed diagonally from his left shoulder to his right ribs.
The edges of the wound were rolled back, showing no signs of healing.
The blood had long dried, leaving only dark, crusty stains.
Yet he still held his head high.
His gaze bypassed Modo and locked tightly onto Hannah as she was dragged in.
His eyes were bloodshot, but his pupils shone with an astonishing intensity.
Like the last spark of fire before death.
Hannah turned her face away.
She did not dare to look at him.
Bill walked over to the altar and leaned casually against a broken pillar.
He glanced at Hugh, then looked at Modo.
“Why didn't you kill him?”
His tone was light, as if asking what was for dinner.
Modo did not answer immediately.
His hollow gaze slowly drifted to Hugh's face.
He stared for a long time before speaking.
“He is a blood relative of the Assassin's Court's Grand Instructor.”
His voice was as flat as if he were commenting on the weather.
“Keep him. He will be useful later.”
Bill raised an eyebrow.
A playful smirk played on his lips.
“That short-tempered Legendary Assassin?”
He chuckled softly.
“Would he really pay any price for a son who betrayed him?”
Betrayal.
Hugh's eyelids twitched slightly, but he did not defend himself.
Modo turned his head to look at Bill.
His eyes remained hollow, but his tone was terrifyingly certain.
“The relationship between them is not what it seems on the surface.”
He paused.
“Do not be fooled by them.”
Bill's smile widened.
He drew out his words, as if he had discovered something highly amusing.
“Oh?”
“Are you saying that the assassination which shocked the entire Dawn City decades ago might have been a play staged by the father and son together?”
Modo did not answer.
He simply withdrew his gaze, no longer looking at Hugh.
Silence was the best answer.
Bill shook his head with a faint, mocking smile.
“You assassins certainly have too many schemes.”
He stopped dwelling on it and turned to Hannah.
“Alright, let's get down to business.”
He took a few steps closer, looking down at the bound demon woman.
“Where is the Demon King Pillar?”
Hannah raised her head.
Her crimson eyes stared at him calmly.
She did not say a word.
Bill waited for a few seconds. After his blood threads finished scanning her, he shrugged.
“It is not on her.”
He looked at Modo.
“I have searched her.”
Modo's eyes flickered slightly.
“Then who has it?”
Bill waved his hand.
His smile grew more arrogant.
“It does not matter.”
“Once I become the Eleventh Pillar Demon King, the Demon King Pillar will come to me on its own.”
Modo looked at him.
A rare trace of interest flickered in his hollow eyes.
“Are you certain that you can completely graft the Demon King's blood onto yourself?”
He paused.
“This is not something that can be achieved through conventional means.”
The Demon King's blood.
The source of power for the Seventy-Two Pillar Demon Kings.
Only a successor personally recognized by a Demon King could naturally inherit it after the Demon King's fall.
A forced graft?
In the history of the Demon Race, there had never been a successful precedent.
This was common knowledge engraved in the blood of every demon.
Yet Bill only smiled.
There was self-conceit in that smile.
And also a sort of near-devout fanaticism.
“I can,” he said softly, “but the price is extremely high.”
He raised his hand.
With his palm facing upward, his fingers curled slightly.
As if cradling some invisible treasure.
The air suddenly grew thick.
It was neither cold nor hot.
But rather an ancient, decaying, yet strangely vital... pulsation.
Like something slowly opening its eyes after thousands of years of slumber.
Above Bill's palm, a sphere of dark red light materialized.
The light writhed slowly like a living thing.
Every pulsation felt like the beating of a massive heart.
Thump.
Thump.
Thump.
“This is the Soul of the Blood God,” Bill said gently, as if introducing a beloved treasure. “The sacred relic of the Vampires, the foremost of our three great treasures.”
He cradled the dark red light, a satisfied smile in his eyes.
“Those old geezers guarded it for thousands of years, preferring to let it gather dust rather than take any risks with it.”
He paused.
His smile deepened.
“Fortunately, I am the only Vampire in a thousand years to complete the Blood God's trial. My soul has long been linked to the Blood God.”
He looked at Modo, his tone as light as if he were commenting on the pleasant weather.
“So, they had no choice but to hand it over to me.”
The Soul of the Blood God.
Before the first Blood Ancestor died, he severed half of his own soul.
It was sealed within a special crystal and passed down to this day.
Its power could reshape bloodlines.
It could shatter the boundaries of race and bloodlines.
It could also forcibly imprint blood that did not belong to the host deep into their soul.
The price was that, with each use, a portion of the soul itself would be permanently eroded.
This was an irreversible loss, akin to chipping away at the remains of a god.
For two thousand years, no Vampire had dared to use it.
This was the authority that allowed the Vampires to hold their ground among the Seventy-Two Pillar Demon Kings.
They would never allow such a precious soul to be depleted.
But Bill did not care.
What he wanted was power.
To become a Demon King and instantly ascend to the Epic Rank.
The Soul of the Blood God slowly drifted toward Hannah.
The dark red light hovered right above her chest.
Hannah's pupils contracted sharply.
Her body instinctively recoiled backward.
But she was held firmly in place by the corpse knights, unable to budge.
The dark red light touched her chest.
There was no wound.
No tearing.
Not a single drop of blood spilled.
Yet something was forcibly awakened from the depths of her soul.
Hannah's body shuddered violently.
Her crimson eyes flew wide open.
She bit her lip hard.
Pain.
It was not a pain of flesh and skin.
Nor was it a pain of bones.
But rather from the deepest recesses of her bloodline, from the very marrow of her bones, from the root of every blood vessel and every wisp of demon energy.
It felt as if ten thousand ants were gnawing at her heart.
Like being scorched by raging flames.
Like countless fine needles piercing the softest part of her soul all at once.
Her body began to spasm uncontrollably.
Her spine arched and then slammed back down.
Her fingertips dug into her palms, snapping her nails.
Blood seeped through her fingers, spreading dark stains across the stone slabs.
Yet she did not make a single sound.
Only her teeth bit her lower lip into a bloody mess.
The light of the Soul of the Blood God grew brighter and brighter.
Within the dark red halo, a thread of pure, almost translucent gold gradually emerged.
The gold was like a strand of hair.
Extremely thin.
Extremely faint.
Yet it carried a terrifying pressure.
As if a slumbering deity had cracked open an eye.
One drop.
Two drops.
Golden threads of blood seeped from Hannah's chest, flowing slowly toward the Soul of the Blood God like silk being unraveled from a cocoon.
With every thread extracted, Hannah's body shuddered violently.
Veins bulged on her forehead, writhing like earthworms beneath her pale skin.
Sweat poured down like rain, soaking her hair and pooling along her jawline.
Her fingernails were completely shattered, and her palms were a bloody mess of torn flesh.
But she still did not make a sound.
Her crimson eyes stared dead ahead.
Her vision had long since blurred into a hazy play of light and shadow.
Her lips were bitten raw, blood dripping down her chin and blooming into small crimson patterns on her collar.
Yet not even a single groan escaped from between her clenched teeth.
Bill watched this scene quietly.
An expression of almost devout admiration filled his eyes.
“It hurts, doesn't it?” he said softly, as if comforting a wounded little animal.
“The pain of having your bloodline stripped away is a hundred times more agonizing than having your heart gouged out.”
Hannah did not answer.
She was already past the point of speech.
Her body continued to tremble, but she was no longer struggling.
It was simply... pain.
A pain that reached the depths of her marrow, a pain so intense her soul felt as if it were about to leave her body.
Yet she did not shrink back.
Nor did she make a sound.
Bill continued, sounding as if he were talking to himself, or perhaps delivering a grand commentary for this ritual.
“However, this is only the beginning.”
“What you are feeling now is merely the 'channeling' stage.”
He reached out, his fingertips hovering over the floating golden threads of blood.
“Once the Soul of the Blood God has extracted all the Demon King's blood from your body—strand by strand, thread by thread—completely stripping it from the depths of your soul...”
He paused.
He smiled.
“They will reassemble within the Soul of the Blood God.”
“And then...” His gaze fell upon the small, gradually coalescing golden halo, his eyes burning with heat, “...they will enter my body and become my power.”
He leaned down, bringing his face close to Hannah's ear.
His voice was gentle, like a lover's whisper.
“This process will take an entire day.”
“You will remain fully conscious throughout, feeling every drop of blood leave your body, and finally, you will die.”
He straightened up and looked around.
His smile was calm.
Moonlight filtered through the cracks in the domed ceiling, illuminating his pale face.
It also fell upon Hannah's blood-soaked profile.
She lowered her eyes.
Her eyelashes cast delicate shadows on her cheekbones.
Still, she made no sound.
Only her chest still rose and fell with extreme slowness, proving she was still alive, still conscious, and still enduring.
Hugh knelt not far away.
He stared intently at Hannah.
His eyes were so bloodshot they looked ready to bleed.
His lips trembled.
Yet he could not utter a single sound.
...
Time passed slowly amid the agonizing pain.
Within the temple, only the pulsing sound of the Soul of the Blood God echoed.
Thump.
Thump.
Thump.
Like the heartbeat of a dying person.
Hannah could no longer feel her own body.
Her consciousness had blurred into a haze of dark red.
Only the tearing pain continuously reminded her that she was still alive.
Thirteen golden threads of blood had already been extracted.
Each was as thin as a hair, yet they carved permanent fractures into her soul.
Bill leaned against the pillar, resting with his eyes closed.
A faint smile played on his pale face, as if he had already become the Demon King in his dreams.
Modo stood quietly before the altar, motionless.
Like a long-dead statue, his breath was barely perceptible.
Suddenly, Modo's hollow eyes shifted slightly.
He raised his head and looked toward the night sky outside the temple.
“...Someone is here.”
His voice was flat, yet it made the air freeze for an instant.
Bill opened his eyes.
A flash of displeasure crossed his eyes, quickly replaced by amusement.
“Reinforcements from Avalon?”
Modo shook his head.
“No.”
He paused.
“They should be bounty hunters. Two of them. One is a Low-tier Transcendent, and the other is a High-tier High Rank.”
His voice lacked any fluctuation.
Yet his hollow eyes focused for a rare moment.
Like a slumbering serpent sensing the warmth of its prey.
“They are approaching this place.”
Bill raised an eyebrow.
“A Low-tier Transcendent? A High-tier High Rank?”
He chuckled.
“These days, people with that level of strength dare to come here to seek death?”
Modo ignored his mockery.
He gazed into the void, sensing the soul fluctuations that were growing clearer, yet remained shrouded in a layer of mist.
He then dispatched scouts to investigate. Seeing the other party's face through the scouts' eyes, he froze.
“...It is him.”
The air fell silent for an instant.
Bill's smile faded slightly.
“Who?”
Modo turned his head to look at him.
“The High Rank mage Jesse warned us to be wary of.”
Bill narrowed his eyes.
“Ah...”
He drew out his words, as if recalling a warning he had long forgotten.
“The one whose concealment and Levitation Jesse claimed were 'far inferior' to? That peculiar fellow.”
He smiled and stretched his neck and shoulders.
His joints popped with a soft cracking sound.
“It just so happens I am bored to death. I will go have some fun with him.”
He took a step and walked out of the temple.
Modo's voice came from behind him:
“Do not be careless.”
Bill did not stop.
“He is just a High-tier High Rank. Could he possibly kill me?”
He turned his head, his tone dismissive.
“If I am not mistaken, the Transcendent by his side is merely a priest.”
“A High Rank mage and a Transcendent priest... I have never considered them a threat.”
“Even if they are, can they kill me? Even Gusion could not kill me.”
Modo paused.
“Your immortality is not without its weaknesses.”
His tone was flat, but every word was clear.
“Especially near the Wall of Sighs, a place teeming with spectral demons.”
Bill stopped in his tracks.
He turned back to look at Modo.
A playful smirk played on his lips.
“But the opponent is a living person.”
He tilted his head.
“Surely he does not possess an ability to attack the soul that only the dead have, right?”
Modo did not answer.
His silence made the atmosphere tense for a brief moment.
But Bill did not care.
He shook his head with a laugh.
“You are just like Jesse, far too cautious. You remind me of those stubborn old geezers.”
“Some peculiar mage...”
He paused, his tone as light as if discussing tonight's dessert.
“At the end of the day, he is merely a High Rank.”
“With his meager mana reserve, he cannot even support a decent offensive spell.”
“Even if he could, would his magic be more powerful than Miss Hannah's, who is a High-tier Transcendent?”
He glanced at Hannah, who was hanging her head beside the altar.
“Her sharp claws have torn me to shreds several times, after all.”
He chuckled.
“Unfortunately, none of it matters to me.”
Hannah did not open her eyes.
Whether she lacked the strength or simply did not want to look at him remained unclear.
Bill withdrew his gaze and walked toward the exit.
“Once I capture him and bring him before Jesse...”
His voice carried the anticipation of a child showing off a new toy.
“...Jesse's expression will surely be priceless.”
His footsteps gradually faded into the depths of the ruins.
Silence returned to the temple.
Save for the pulsing sound of the Soul of the Blood God.
Thump.
Thump.
Thump.
After Bill left, Hannah struggled to open her eyes.
Her eyelashes were matted with sweat, and her vision was reduced to a blur of dark red.
With great effort, she turned her neck to look across from her.
Hugh still knelt on the ground.
His arms were pinned behind his back, and he was covered in blood.
Yet he, too, raised his head.
Looking at her.
Their gazes met in the dim temple.
Hannah's lips moved slightly.
There was no sound.
But Hugh understood.
Hannah was saying, It's him.
The little mage... he is here.
Rate on N.U.
