Whew—too close. In her true body, Fulin sprawled on the bed like a cat in sunlight, little legs swinging as she stuffed the last dessert into her mouth. Sweetness melted like warm honey, soothing the chill clinging to her heart.
What had happened was danger in its purest shape, a cliff’s edge wrapped in mist. Her heart had cratered, breath thin as paper. If Duncan had decided fast—after his retainer fell—and called another to rush Lance, the tide would’ve turned black.
Lance had no awakened Battle Aura. His frame wasn’t strong. In raw strength, he was even a bit weaker than Duncan. In that case, even Fulin’s mastery as puppeteer, with only a longsword, couldn’t shield Lance from a two-man pounce, reeds before a flood.
Inwardly, everything collapsed. She’d even prepared to reveal herself and erase everyone in the house after Lance died, a silk curtain ripped into night. Luck stood by Lance then, a lantern flaring in fog. Malt Morrison’s timely arrival halted the worst. Fulin kept her white-jade hands clean.
But recalling it, kill-and-cleanup thoughts bubbled like oil in a hot wok, one after another. No moral brake, no lines in the sand. If not for motive and logic holding shape like a frame, such thinking marked a deranged killer. She sighed. “Ahh, I really am a Chaos Vampire now.”
She glanced at the mirror. Silver hair shimmered like moon on snow, a petite, adorable girl caught in candle-soft light. Porcelain skin drew the glow; features fine enough to topple cities, beauty like frost on plum petals. In Legend of Dawn, a girl this pretty and tiny is the Chaos Vampire’s starting look.
Fulin wasn’t surprised a cute girl could be a killer, a peach with a blade inside. In that game, “Fulin Belit” fought hard every day in dungeons. Either dueling players, or going life-and-death against stage bosses. Every player did it, but that was a puppet of pixels. Suppose those runs wrote a latent temperament into the avatar; then “Fulin Belit” becoming what she showed today made sense—code becoming blood.
Beyond those wicked-sounding shifts and Blood Clan instincts, other changes rose that she didn’t love but understood. She craved sweets; in true form and safe moments, girlish thoughts popped like fireflies. Tiny habits moved in—little kicks, soft hums—and sudden urges for trinkets and fine baubles. All of it fit the backstory: “Fulin Belit,” a princess of a fallen kingdom, a blossom pressed in a book.
She shook her head, a willow branch easing in wind. Honestly, she didn’t know how many changes had taken root. At least, she was sure she was still herself—certainty like a warm stone in her palm.
She picked up a cookie and tucked it between her lips. Chewing, she felt salt and sugar bloom like twin tides. The balance spread slowly, a wave unfurling across her tongue. “So good!” Her pretty face lit with childlike joy, sunlight breaking through clouds.
9 a.m. North of Mubay City, in the Demon Realm Forest. Mist hung like torn silk between trees. “La-la-la, I’m Little Red Riding Hood who hunts grey wolves,” Fulin sang, skipping forward. A red kerchief sat on her head; a fruit basket swung from her hand. She hopped like a sparrow across roots.
“Awooo!” A Grade‑B wolf-beast burst from the brush, shadow like a knife. To ordinary folk, such beasts appear only deep inside the Demon Realm Forest—death wrapped in fur. Grade B means you need four full knights, or one Charge Knight, to bring one down. Wolf-type means speed like lightning among reeds; it often means a pack moving as one.
Three more of the same leaped out, leaves shivering behind them. They edged in from front, rear, and left, jaws like hooks. Four Grade‑B beasts can wipe a small knight squad; they can raze a small village. Though Grade‑C and above don’t leave the corruption zone, breaking a four-beast ring takes at least three Charge Knights. For “Fulin Belit,” it wasn’t a problem—her smile a thin blade.
“Come on, then.” Fulin’s stance turned taunting, light as a teasing wind. “Awooooo!” With the first wolf’s howl, the other three took it as a signal. They charged the human girl who didn’t know her place, minds not on hunting craft but on which bite claimed the fattest share.
In that instant, Fulin plucked off the red cap and dropped the basket. Steel kissed air as she drew a hidden longsword. Draw! Sparks spat like fireflies; lightning flashed along the blade. Three beasts fell as if strings were cut.
The last wolf-beast stood, clearly the leader. It saw kin butchered but never saw how. Beasts hold a sliver of wit, no more than wild wolves; they still read danger like cold wind on fur. The lone wolf judged itself outmatched and wheeled to flee, tail a shadow.
Fulin was already there, her body blurring like mist. She used Vaporize, flickering ahead in a blink. Thrust! The longsword punched through its skull, clean as a ray of light. The beast collapsed like a felled pine.
By rights, her weapon was crude, iron dull as old bone, unfit to pierce that rough hide. In truth, every strike carried a Dark Warrior skill by instinct. That draw was a Draw‑Cut, an iaido-like sweep slicing the air in a frontal arc. That thrust was Rippling Light, a piercing strike that ignores guard and drives through.
Fulin didn’t know where that ranked among Nordland Continent knights. She felt it stood above a Charge Knight. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have gone alone into this forest, where shadows watch like eyes. Her goal today was the blood of beasts—better, the life essence riding in that blood—hunger sharp as a silver needle.
With the Chaos Vampire’s unique Essence Conversion Law, she could turn life essence from blood into experience. For a king-tier in the Blood Clan—for a Chaos Vampire—feeding didn’t need lips. Kill the target, and blood slips from wounds, lifting into the air as tiny, floating droplets. Fulin only had to raise her hand; on the pale back of her hand, a hexagram bloomed like frost. The droplets streamed in, sinking like rain into earth. Even without her mouth, she could taste them. “Mm, not bad. Kinda like cola.”
Appetite was sated, but the Essence Conversion Law needed more raw material to mint experience—an empty purse rattles. Watching closely, Fulin found Lance’s Warrior Bloodline was a bottomless well for experience. It had a trunk from Level 0 to Level 10, and at each level, branches spread like antlers. At Level 0, you get Strength Lv.1, Endurance Lv.1, and more. At Level 1, you get Strength Lv.2, plus new nodes like Agility Lv.1 and Battle Aura Lv.1. And so on, branching and rising like steps up a mountain.
In short, the Warrior Bloodline leveled like a game: you level up, then unlock skills to learn and invest points. Lance had never heard of it; the system felt alien, like an iron tree grafted to flesh. Fulin guessed this leveling style appeared after Lance was devoured by the Dark Warrior’s high-tier talent. In the Nordland Continent, maybe only Lance—when played by Fulin—could grow this way, watering steel with essence.
Knight mentor Layne had said, “Lance, you advanced more in a month than others in years.” That’s a shortcut carved through stone, a deer trail to a summit. Even so, a month of hunting in the Demon Realm Forest, teasing “small animals,” still hadn’t yielded enough experience. Lance’s Battle Aura Lv.1 remained just out of reach, a star beyond the fingertips. Time was running short before Lance got thrown out of his house, a sandglass bleeding fast.
No one had set a strict deadline, but the steward had said earlier the duke’s youngest daughter, Alice, would have her birthday banquet and coming‑of‑age in five days. Nobles on the Nordland Continent love their routines, tradition like carved wood. At a lady’s coming‑of‑age, she’s either announced into the social circle, or straight‑up engaged. Without surprises, Fulin guessed it would be the latter, a red seal pressed to the page.
That meant prep time was thin, a crescent moon before dark. She had to hunt a big one today. There were four hours till sunset, shadows already lengthening like ink. Fulin did quick math on the walk there and back, numbers fluttering like leaves.
She set the red cap back on her head, a spark among pines. Then, without hesitation, she strode deeper into the Demon Realm Forest, feet light as a fox. The green swallowed her like a sea.
