Chapter 51

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As the music hit its climax, the heavy metal's frenetic energy filled the air, radiating a raw, adrenaline-fueled intensity. The guttural roar from the song perfectly matched the rhythm, adding to the electric atmosphere.

"I came to the river, waiting for midsummer's arrival.

The black swans formed a V, walking toward the grave with hope.

Through the fiery September sky, engulfed in flames,

I beg you to appear, like the dark thoughts of God."

The intense, violent sound assaulted everyone's ears, both the innocent nightclub-goers and the vampires with their sharp fangs and bloodthirsty eyes. But all their attention was drawn to the dust and smoke, swirling in the center of the dance floor, illuminated by flashing lights that hinted at a figure emerging.

As the haze gradually cleared, a tall and imposing figure was revealed. He stood over 1.8 meters, clad in a bright red coat, his muscular frame straining against the vest beneath. His ruggedly handsome face was framed by the nightclub's chaotic lights, but what captured everyone's attention were his eyes—burning like twin suns, fierce and unyielding in the dark of the night.

The figure crouched slightly, gripping a gleaming silver cross sword in his right hand. His very presence exuded a crushing sense of power, as if his body were a dormant volcano, ready to erupt at any moment. The vampires surrounding him, creatures of darkness, felt something they hadn't experienced in centuries—their dead hearts seemed to thrum with life again.

What was that sensation? Fear. Real, palpable fear.

The vampires couldn't comprehend it. They were the predators, the noble ones who fed on humans. So why were they suddenly afraid of this mere human, this insignificant being of flesh and blood? Yet, the feeling of looming danger weighed heavily on all of them.

Without a word, the bloodthirsty crowd ceased their hunt and slowly began to encircle the man. Even the woman at the DJ booth, her aura seething with malevolence, couldn't contain her rage. She grabbed her microphone and shouted, her voice dripping with venom.

"Who the hell are you? How dare you interrupt the great vampire clan's blood feast!"

The relentless pulse of the music seemed to irritate the man. His brow furrowed as he stood upright, turning his gaze towards the woman.

Boom!

That single glance was like a blazing inferno. The heat of his stare burned her to the core, as if it could incinerate her very soul. The pain was unbearable. Her once proud and beautiful face twisted in agony, her body trembling uncontrollably. But in that moment, overwhelmed by his power, she dared not utter another word.

Her lips quivered as she swallowed the words she had been about to scream—words that would have ordered the vampires to kill the man. Why couldn't she say them? Why did she feel as if she were standing before an ancient, higher-class vampire, even though he was just a human? Fear surged through her, a sensation that was both foreign and impossible.

Who is this man?

Her wide eyes were full of terror and disbelief. In that instant, time seemed to freeze. The entire club was silent, with all eyes locked on the man. The terrified patrons, those who had managed to survive the initial chaos, huddled together in a corner, too scared to make a run for it. The only exit was blocked by monsters—vampires, standing guard. Helpless, they pinned their desperate hopes on the stranger, hoping he was their savior.

In contrast, a man wearing sunglasses and a black leather trench coat sat casually on a nearby sofa, watching the scene unfold with amusement. He seemed in no hurry, as if he was enjoying the show.

As the final beats of the music began to fade, the man's burning gaze finally moved away from the woman on the DJ stage. She felt a moment of relief, but it was short-lived. Just when she was about to exhale, a sudden, sharp sound erupted behind her, cutting through the lingering silence like a thunderclap.

A wave of overwhelming pressure crushed down from behind her. The next moment, the cold edge of a silver cross sword rested gently against her neck. The blade was so sharp that she knew, with the slightest movement, her head would be severed from her body.

Her eyes widened in panic, and she stood paralyzed with fear. A single drop of cold sweat slid down her forehead, trembling with the same terror that gripped her heart. She didn't dare move a muscle.

She glanced down and noticed the eyes of her companions fixed on something behind her. She wanted to turn and see for herself, but she knew she couldn't. Any movement could mean instant death. The blade of the silver cross sword shifted slightly, grazing her neck. A thin red line appeared on her skin, the sting of the cut sending her heart racing.

Then, a calm, male voice spoke from behind her.

"So, beautiful Miss Vampire, would you mind telling me the location of your vampire headquarters? I'd love to have a pleasant little chat with your friends."

"You... who are you?" she stammered, trying to sound threatening. But the man sighed, almost as if disappointed.

"Old-fashioned threats don't work on me," he replied. "How about we make a deal instead?"

"A deal?" she asked, her voice shaking.

"If you tell me where the Vampire clan's base camp is, you don't have to die today."

Her throat tightened. "If... if I tell you, will you really let me go?"

"Of course," he said smoothly. "I wouldn't lie to a pretty girl. That would be terribly ungentlemanly."

After a brief hesitation, driven by fear, she caved. "It's... it's at Century Tower."

She wasn't even a true vampire—just a blood servant. The instinct to survive overpowered her loyalty, and she betrayed the location of the vampire base without hesitation. Whatever happened next, staying alive was her only concern.

True to his word, the man lowered the cross sword, stepping back. For a moment, she thought she might actually be free. But before she could fully relax, a gunshot echoed through the club.

The woman stared in shock as a gaping blood hole appeared in her chest. A scream of despair escaped her lips before her entire body began to ignite. From the wound, sparks spread quickly, consuming her in flames until she turned to ash.

The man didn't seem surprised. Calmly, he shifted his gaze toward the corner of the nightclub, where another burly figure sat. This man, clad in a black trench coat and sunglasses, held up a smoking pistol—it was clear who had fired the shot.

"Show no mercy to these filthy blood servants. Every one of them deserves to die," the man in sunglasses remarked coldly.

"Do whatever you want. These weaklings are yours," the first man responded with a hint of indifference. He wasn't angry, just mildly amused, as he glanced at the man with sunglasses, then turned away, gripping his silver cross sword and heading toward the exit. His real target wasn't these low-level servants.

The man in sunglasses frowned slightly but said nothing.

As the first man approached the door, the blood servants finally reacted. Their eyes, glowing with malice and hunger, locked onto him. They weren't going to let him leave that easily.

He sighed, as if annoyed by the inevitable confrontation.

Suddenly, his eyes sharpened with a deadly intensity.

A wave of terror rippled through the nightclub, freezing everyone in place.