When the head of the Second Clan sent soldiers to intercept, he’d already prepared for this exact situation:
if the subordinate commanding his troops turned out useless and failed his expectations, then he’d trigger a second layer of “insurance.”
The clan head had sent out a seasoned assassin, planning to take advantage of a moment when Dracula dropped her guard, and “neii-zute” her from the inside.
But that assassin met the same fate: failure.
Right now he was like a fighting dog driven into a corner, making his last, pathetic struggles.
The sword‑using assassin was blocked off by Dracula and a bunch of lackeys behind her.
Hemmed in by a half‑fan‑shaped encirclement, he kept retreating until his back hit the side of the carriage.
No more running.
He understood his situation now. He knew there was no way he’d live to see tomorrow night’s moon—he might not even see the rest of tonight.
Even so, he chose to keep his stance to the very end and throw himself into a desperate fight.
For no other reason than this: people who live as assassins all cling to one belief.
You can lose your life. You can’t lose your face.
Just like countless gentlemen out there who would do anything for their beliefs (pantsu and lolis),
assassins too have lines they won’t retreat from.
If he was going down, he was at least taking one or two enemies with him.
Holding onto that last bit of stubborn resolve, the assassin began his final resistance.
The situation was starting to get a little tricky for Dracula.
She knew very well what kind of power a cornered beast could unleash once it stopped caring about anything.
Facing an opponent in that state, Dracula had two concerns:
First was her own subordinates. She didn’t want them charging in for a gang beat‑down, only to suffer heavy casualties from the assassin’s last‑ditch resistance.
And even if she could guarantee their safety, what about Wang Yafu inside the carriage?
Dracula could tolerate losing subordinates. There was no way she could accept her “little sister” being put in danger.
And the reason she worried about Wang Yafu wasn’t just the girl’s value as a tool.
More than that, during this period they’d spent together, Dracula had gotten used to her. She’d started to feel a hard‑to‑describe sense of closeness.
How could she take down the assassin cleanly while keeping her little sister completely safe?
So far, Dracula still hadn’t found a good answer.
But that was fine.
Someone was about to give her the answer.
Believe it or not, that key person was Wang Yafu—the very girl who was supposed to be under protection.
The reason this “loli with a hint of baby fat” ignored her big sister’s warnings and insisted on poking her head out…
was a violent jolt from the carriage just now.
The one who caused that jolt was the assassin himself.
Back then, and in the moments that followed, it never crossed his mind that
because of one little girl, his life would end ahead of schedule.
What was Wang Yafu seeing now?
In the distance, she saw a pack of bloodkin retainers closing in.
Up close, she saw a head wrapped in black cloth.
Her sense of right and wrong was pretty limited. At best, she could tell this much:
Big Sister’s side were the good guys.
And this guy who’d drawn his sword and was facing off against Big Sister’s side, he had to be a complete and utter bad guy.
Since he was a bad guy, there was no need to be polite.
Wang Yafu moved.
She was no longer satisfied with just being protected by “Big Sister.” With her pair of tiny hands, she did one crucial thing.
She raised both little fists. Raised them high, then brought them down with all her height, hammering forward.
Puff. (First hit.)
Puff. (Second hit.)
Those were the only sounds when her small fists landed one after another.
It sounded like someone reaching out and gently brushing the wool on a sheep’s back.
If this were an RPG world, Wang Yafu’s ultimate attack would’ve triggered the system voice:
Ding‑ding. Attack successful.
Target HP minus 2. 998 remaining.
No need to ask for too much—she’d at least tried her hardest, right?
Unfortunately, this assassin wasn’t that kind. He had zero intention of showing mercy to the soft little attack from behind.
The instant he noticed his head get tapped twice, he whipped his head around, looking toward Wang Yafu’s direction. Their eyes met.
What flashed through the assassin’s mind in that moment was something no one would ever know.
By contrast, Dracula knew exactly what she had to do.
At the instant Wang Yafu’s attack pulled the assassin’s attention slightly away, Dracula cast a spell.
A magic sigil took one second to sketch itself in midair.
Another second to pull fire elements together.
The next instant, the compressed fire turned into a blazing fireball, shooting out as a straight line of flame toward the assassin.
“Uwaaa!”
The assassin had been staring at Wang Yafu. Suddenly, a wave of searing heat blasted him from behind.
For the last time in his life, he turned his head. Not long after, his scream rang out—just like that.
Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh, whoosh, whoosh, whoosh!
With a series of falling sounds, his body twisted, and under the impact of the fireball he toppled sideways, tumbling into the nearby river.
Splash.
Wang Yafu watched as the assassin, now nothing but a charred black lump, floated downstream with the current…
“You okay?”
Dracula rushed over, looking Wang Yafu up and down. Only after confirming there were no curses or magical marks on the girl did she truly relax.
Yes, Wang Yafu had ignored that warning and stubbornly crawled out of the safe carriage interior.
Earlier, Dracula had been ready to lecture her properly for that. But now, somehow, she couldn’t get a single accusing word past her lips.
All that lingered deep inside her chest now was a long‑lasting sense of relief.
Because of the earlier commotion, the whole convoy had to halt for the time being.
On Dracula’s orders, her trusted scouts spread out to search the surroundings, doing their best to sniff out any possible traps the enemy might’ve left.
It would take them a while to finish.
During that time, Wang Yafu sat down leaning against Dracula’s side and asked, a little urgently:
“Big Sister, can I ask you for a favor?”
Feeling Wang Yafu’s expectant gaze, Dracula realized that being relied on by a little girl… didn’t feel bad at all.
“Go ahead. Since my little sister’s trying to help ‘Big Sis’ out, any small favor’s no problem.”
Getting a promise is always nice.
The only issue was, Wang Yafu wasn’t sure whether what she wanted counted as a “small” favor.
“Big Sister, can you help me find my brother?”
“Brother?”
Dracula propped her chin in one hand, repeating in confusion:
“You’ve got a brother? Blood or adopted?”
“He’s not my blood brother, but he’s a very important brother to me!”
That was Wang Yafu’s request.
Just like how Wang Xiaole, ever since coming to this other world, never stopped searching for his sister—
Wang Yafu, as a super clingy little sister, used every chance she got to ask anyone who might help.
Less than a minute ago, Dracula had promised she’d lend a hand.
But that promise was based on the idea that it’d be a “small favor.”
I can’t… The words “no way” were just about to pop out from Dracula’s mouth—she really didn’t like troublesome stuff.
Right as she was about to answer, a glow lit up in Wang Yafu’s eyes.
It wasn’t the sharp light of a shrewd person, nor the golden shine of money that a money‑grubber like Dracula would give off. It was pure worship.
In that moment, Wang Yafu’s gaze practically shone.
Through those wide eyes, Dracula could almost see her own tall, imposing figure imprinted in that girl’s pupils.
She wasn’t just being trusted. She was being worshiped—deeply—by Wang Yafu.
Faced with this little girl who believed in her so blindly, Dracula really couldn’t bear to refuse. She didn’t want to make her sad or disappointed.
After a brief pause, Dracula pushed aside her usual habit of dodging heavy responsibilities. She puffed up her chest and guaranteed:
“Don’t worry. It might be a bit hard to let you actually find your brother right now, but… at the very least, I’ve got a way to let you see him today.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“People who lie get their tongues ripped out by the King of Hell! Big Sister, you can’t tell a ‘kind lie’ just to make me feel better.”
“What does that first part even mean?”
“It’s a saying from my hometown.”
“Your hometown sure has some weird sayings…”
In just a few seconds, Dracula got a much clearer idea of how strange Wang Yafu’s lines could be.
Wang Yafu’s worry wasn’t baseless, but Dracula had no plans to let her down. So she seized the moment and revealed a clan secret:
The bloodkin had a long, long history. Along with it came countless strange treasures.
Among them was one called the “Phantom Mirror.”
Aside from its combat uses, this mirror had one special effect:
If someone dripped blood on its surface, they could see everything related to the blood’s owner—
in other words, they could see that person’s blood relatives even from thousands of miles away.
If Wang Yafu got a chance to use that mirror, then even while she was stuck inside the bloodkin’s territory, she’d still be able to see her brother—wherever he was now.
Sounds pretty exciting, doesn’t it?
And that wasn’t all. There was one more point Dracula especially emphasized:
“That mirror really exists. It’s not some lost artifact or something out of a legend.”
And as luck would have it, Dracula knew exactly whose hands it was currently in. The owner was—
Crack, crack, crack, crack, crack, crack, crack.
Right then, both Wang Yafu and Dracula suddenly heard the sharp sound of something breaking.
