Chapter 1

The young employer walked towards the sun, his well-tailored black suit and grey-blue striped silk scarf accentuating his elegant and noble demeanor.

He was an hereditary aristocrat with a seat in the House of Lords, handsome and wealthy, witty and humorous, possessing many enviable qualities. He had been selected as "the world's most eligible bachelor" by the weekly magazine "Innovative Century" for three consecutive years.

Only Messionon , who had served him for over 120 years, knew his true identity as an aging old bloodsucker. To put it in human terms, he had died and resurrected dozens of times.

As soon as the car door closed, a black cat slipped through the gap, arrogantly walking over the young employer's lap and taking over the left back seat position.

The employer lifted the black cat to his side, gently stroking its fur with his five fingers, absentmindedly greeting, "Good morning, Messionon . What did you have for breakfast?" Inquiring about others' private lives was this employer's peculiar hobby.

Messionon casually replied, "A small cup of fresh blood." Yes, he too was a bloodsucker, but much younger than the employer - though their appearances were quite the opposite.

The employer said, "From a white person? I'm getting sick of white blood. I really hope to visit Asia someday, I've heard that yellow people's blood isn't as greasy."

Messionon started the car - he was a butler, a secretary, and a driver. "Are we going to Westminster Palace?"

"Yes, I have a meeting today. Do you think Bishop Benson will attend the meeting?" The members of the House of Lords usually decided whether or not to attend based on their mood.

"Maybe," replied Messionon .

The employer glanced at the black cat and muttered, "I've prepared a red rose for him." He magically produced a rose from behind his back.

The black cat scratched his thigh.

The employer happily picked it up, cradling its head and giving it a passionate kiss.

Messionon looked at them through the rearview mirror and remarked, "Fresh."

"Yes, just picked it from the garden. I can't wait to see the ecstatic expression on Bishop Benson's face when he receives it," said the employer, putting down the cat and holding his chin in frustration. "If he's deeply moved and insists on offering himself to me, how should I refuse him? Should I be reserved and say, 'I'm sorry, you're too ugly,' or be more evasive and tell him, 'I'm sorry, I'm too handsome, you can't reach me,' or just tell him to 'get lost'?"

Messionon silently lit a candle for Bishop Benson.

The House of Lords was a magical place that housed both spiritual and bloodsucking beings. Of course, the former were open and aboveboard, while the latter hid their identities. Those bishops didn't know that among the aristocrats who looked like ordinary people sitting next to them, there might be a group of old folks who had lived for hundreds of years, and those old folks were constantly finding ways to torment the bishops, albeit secretly.

500 years ago, the blood race and the Holy War of the church swept across the entire European continent and alarmed other realms. In order to prevent the war from spreading and triggering a realm war, under the intervention of heaven and the witness of hell, Leslie, the proxy clan leader of the blood race, signed a ceasefire agreement with the Pope at that time, agreeing to not invade or disturb each other and restricting both the blood race and the spiritual personnel. Whichever side initiated the conflict would face severe punishment.

Therefore, despite the fact that the young employer was filled with the idea of crushing and killing Old Benson, Mession couldn't do anything that would cause harm.

The employer said, "And you?"

Mession was taken aback, "What?"

"You've been receiving a lot of love letters lately, right?"

"..." Although he wanted to shout confidently in his mind, "This is my private life! Please don't pry into it!" Mession, who knew his employer's inquisitive personality, chose to be honest and said, "No, they're farewell letters from the neighbors. The world is not peaceful recently, and they're planning to go to France for a while."

"France?" The employer asked.

"Bretagne, under the protection of Lord Xiao Ming Wang," Mession said.

"The other lord there isn't easy to get along with," the employer said.

"Still better than dying for no reason," Mession said with a bitter smile.

In the past month, there have been more than a dozen murders in the UK, and countless blood race members have died, ranging from the 6th to the 15th generations. Due to the special identity of the blood race, the government suppressed the news, but in the underground world, fear had spread like a plague, and blood race members living in the UK were now migrating to France in large numbers.

"Are you planning to leave too?" the employer asked.

"I will follow your will," Mession said.

The employer gently played with the chin of the black cat with his fingers. The black cat gave him a swipe and he lowered his head, staring at the cat's green and translucent eyes, smiling and saying softly, "Don't worry."

The black cat turned around, lay down, and hooked its tail around the employer's hand.

Westminster Palace on the banks of the Thames was in sight.

Mession parked the car not far away, and the employer kissed the black cat reluctantly before getting out of the car and walking on foot.

Just as Mession was about to start the car and head to the garage, a huge explosion sound came from the direction the employer had just left, and the car window on the passenger side was hit by a black shadow. The shadow quickly opened the car door and got in.

Mession looked surprised at the employer, who had returned.

The employer brushed off the dust from the explosion and said with a bad face, "Someone planted a bomb and blew up Benson. Poor Rose became his companion in death. If only I had sent a bouquet of appropriate chrysanthemums." He looked down at his collar, "I hope his flesh didn't get on my clothes."

The black cat, who had already walked to the middle of the driver's seat and the passenger's seat, stopped in its tracks and turned around to leave, but was caught by the employer's hand.

"It's not okay to dislike your owner," the employer pinched its ear.

The black cat gave him a proud swipe with its paw.

The back of the hand was bleeding, and the employer laughed it off, lowered their head and licked the blood clean. The wound had healed.

In front of Westminster Palace, chaos ensued as Mession drove away.

"Where are we going?" he asked.

The employer replied, "We're going back home to pack, it seems like we'll have to stay in France for a while."

The employer's decision was too late.

Mession was still in the wine cellar selecting the fine wines the employer would miss when they got to France when the police came knocking.

"Mr. Ocean Boulain, there is reason to believe that you are involved in the explosion that occurred outside Westminster Palace this morning. Please come with us," the police said.

The employer, who the police called Ocean Boulain, calmly picked up his coat, "Can my driver follow your car? I'm afraid I won't be able to find a taxi when I leave."

The police replied, "He'll need to bring enough money to stay in a hotel." In other words, he wouldn't be released quickly.

Ocean walked into the garden, where a black cat was playing.

He stopped and gently stroked its back, "I'll be back soon."

The black cat's tail hooked around his wrist.

"Can I take it with me?" Ocean asked the police. "There's no one at home to take care of it, and it was with me when it happened. It can be a cat witness."

The police said, "You'll have to bring enough cat food."

At the door, Ocean said, "And..."

"What?" The police was impatient.

Ocean picked a rose, "This is for you."

The police was stunned and looked at his striking appearance with suspicion. "During WWII, your behavior might have resulted in forced hormone therapy."

Ocean smiled, "Maybe, if you weren't bombed by the Germans at the time."

The police said nothing.

Ocean picked up the black cat, scratching its legs. "Don't you like roses?" he asked casually.

The police's face darkened. "When Bishop Benson passed away, he was holding a rose in his hand."

Ocean fell silent for a moment, "I didn't mean to curse you."

The police glanced at him, and his face softened a bit. Well, even though he wasn't interested in men, receiving a rose from a handsome man seemed like a good experience. He reached out to take the flower.

"But the rose in Bishop Benson's hand was also picked by me from the garden," Ocean said.

The police decided to keep his hands to himself.

Oceania was taken to a small room in the police station. The room had only one table, two chairs, and a desk lamp. The window was open high, and only the windows of the building opposite the police station could be seen.

Oceania sat down and placed the black cat on the table. The cat jumped off the table and was caught by Oceania again.

"It's dirty on the ground," he said.

The black cat rubbed its paws on his thigh a few times and found a comfortable spot to sit.

The door opened, and an old man with white hair but immaculate grooming walked in wearing a black suit and leaning on a cane. He closed the door behind him.

"You have a cross on your neck," said Oceania.

The old man calmly pulled out a chair and sat down, leaning his cane against the table, and smiled, "I am not wearing a cross."

"Then you must have a barrel of holy water in your stomach," said Oceania.

"That won't work on you. Oceania Chamberlain, no, Mr. Oceania Gengelov," said the old man.

Oceania looked at him expressionlessly as if he had expected his identity to be exposed. "What should I call you? Old man? The undead?"

"I dare not call myself 'old' in front of you. When you were participating in the model parliament, I had not yet been born. In fact, I am considered a young person in the church," said the old man.

"It seems that I have no secrets left in your eyes," said Oceania.

"No, there is still a little bit left. For example," he took out a gold pocket watch with a ruby ​​inlay from his pocket and placed it in front of Oceania, "this."

Oceania's gaze moved to the emblem on the raised cover of the watch.

The old man leaned forward slightly, his voice low: "Found at the scene where Bishop Benson was killed."

"You should be familiar with it," he continued. "The emblem of the McCarvey clan."

"That, the clan whose blood is cursed."