The jet-black blade curved in a way that made warriors and smiths alike gasp in awe. Its cleaving design forged a terror upon the world—the Tenfold Cloudless Moon Imperial.

Centuries passed. This blade changed hands countless times. It drank deep of samurai and warlord blood... feeding on the dying regrets and sighs of its victims. Warrior souls, thick with obsession, birthed its own spirit...

On full-moon nights, it took the form of a ronin with crimson eyes. Driven by warrior’s blood burning within, it endlessly sought swordsmen bound by the same obsession—to duel... to test blades... to kill... to die...

Endless slaughter... endless consumption of obsession... a greedy hunger to glimpse the unreachable peak of swordsmanship. Such was the demon blade—the Tenfold Cloudless Moon Imperial...

————

"Mon... monster!!"

The red-bandanaed pirate lieutenant stared at the crimson-clothed demon strolling toward him. His guts turned to ice. He wanted to flee. Just walking leisurely from afar, that terrifying weapon casually swept aside pirates frozen in place. Time seemed to freeze...

A cold blade flashed in a cruel arc—a diagonal slash from left shoulder upward.

Blood sprayed. The lieutenant collapsed backward, terror and despair etched on his face... As the last pirate fell, not a single man stood on the ship. No—*one* remained: Dracula!

Gripping his blade, Dracula surveyed the carnage. The stench of blood choked the air. Mangled corpses littered the deck... Navy soldiers watched from their distant ship, eyes fixed on the demon-like man’s towering back.

"Yay~! We won~!"

Greenland clapped cheerfully. Faglas joined in with elegant applause.

"...So *this* is how he wins."

Keane rubbed his eyes, as if doubting reality.

Dracula turned, grabbed a rope, and leaped back to the *Bai Long* with a running start. He rose slowly. The navy soldiers dared not meet his gaze... but today’s shocks were far from over.

"Greenland... status of the battlefield."

Ignoring the others, Dracula questioned Greenland—merely to appear human. His eyes, piercing the mist, had already seen the truth...

"The other three ships are surrounded. Critical situation... They might fall in half an hour. We’re nearing the mist’s edge... that direction... and there. Our fleet waits..."

"We must go back! Rescue them!"

Keane rushed forward, voice pleading.

"Now’s our chance to retreat. Sacrifice those two ships as bait. We escape cleanly... No need to risk more..."

Dracula’s tone was ice.

"No!"

"...Reason?"

"...They’re *my* men! I won’t abandon them!"

Keane locked eyes with Dracula, resolve burning in his gaze. The navy sailors straightened, their expressions turning solemn. They’d follow him back.

*He’s like our master,* Faglas and Greenland thought silently, respect blooming. *A leader who never abandons his people. Pity he lacks the power... Poor soul...*

"...Enough. That reason warrants one forbidden technique. Just this once."

"Forbidden? A forbidden technique?"

"Yes. Never again."

Dracula strode to the bow. Sailors parted before him. Alone at the prow, he raised his long blade toward the blood-red moon hanging in the sky.

Wind brushed his face, golden strands lifting.

Mary stood nearby, watching Dracula pierce the heavens with his sword. Adoration flooded her eyes—unstoppable. After cutting through a thousand pirates alone, who else could claim her heart?

"...By my name, I summon your souls... Cross the waters of Sanzu River... From the depths of Purgatory... From the edge of Avici Hell... From the rim of endless torment... Return... Return as legions..."

A chill wind swept past.

"Brr... *Achoo!*"

A sailor shivered, rubbing his hands. The warm summer night felt like deep winter.

Mist thickened. Shadows darted within... Piercing shrieks echoed. Unease coiled in every heart.

"Hot!"

Keane yanked a silver pendant from his neck—a divine symbol, wings embracing a spiral star. It glowed, then seared hot. But the surrounding wails blackened it instantly. It crumbled to ash at its brightest moment...

"Gods! Look! What *is* that?!"

"Holy hell! What’s happening?!"

A black rift tore open as if pierced by the Tenfold Cloudless Moon Imperial. Shadowy figures—born of grudges and obsession—crawled out. Like spilled ink, they splattered onto the deck, forming human-shaped wraiths. Slowly, they solidified: footless spirits floating above the planks. Each gripped a blade mirroring the Tenfold Cloudless Moon Imperial—jagged, broken, worn from endless use. Every shadow-warrior wore a demon’s snarling face...

Dozens of oni warriors materialized around Dracula in moments. Glowing green eyes, ashen skin, blood-red mouths bristling with fangs growled wordless fury...

"So *this* is the undead army?!"

Keane’s mind reeled. The forbidden technique was summoning legions of undead swordsmen?!

"...Oni Warriors... Slay all enemies... Annihilate them... Leave no survivors..."

Dracula’s voice, now twisted and terrible, delivered the brutal command.

"Gaaah..."

The undead warriors knelt like servants before their demon king. Swords slid from scabbards with sharp *shiiings*—a sound that froze the navy’s blood.

Yet the spirits flowed past them like mist, ignoring allies. They shot toward the distant fog as shrieking shadows...

Screams erupted from the other side of the mist...

————

"Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Kill them all! Butcher every last one! No women?! Fine men will do! Hahahaha!"

Facing two charging navy soldiers, Feremnur grinned, drawing his flintlock pistol.

*Bang! Bang!*

Two shots. The sailors flew backward, clutching bleeding chests.

"What’s your whore mother’s name, bastard?! Like my bullets?!"

He stomped a fallen sailor’s head, reloading slowly. The pistol leveled at the man’s temple...

*Bang!* The body went limp, skull shattered.

"Tch... Filth!"

"Die, monster!"

An older sailor and a young deckhand charged with cutlasses.

"Old man... time to die!"

Feremnur lunged.

"Martial Art—Thrust Combo!"

His blade blurred—three strikes piercing neck, chest, gut...

"Martial Art—Stance Shift!"

He pivoted, slashing the boy’s wrist. The cutlass clattered away. Before the youth could clutch his bleeding arm, Feremnur seized his throat, lifting him by chin and neck.

"Hah! Pretty face... I ain’t choosy. Not choosy at all... You’ll do!"

His free hand sliced the boy’s shirt open, button by button, leaving a shallow cut down to the waistband.

"How long at sea, beauty? Still a fresh bloom, eh? Tsk tsk tsk..."

Feremnur leered, slicing the boy’s belt a third of the way through. His tight trousers bulged visibly—he was *thrilled*.

Then—screams. Feremnur whirled. A horror flew from the mist: a ghost with a demon’s face, its cursed blade impaling one of his burly pirates. The dying man’s counter-strike passed through empty air.

"Shit! What *is* that thing?!"

Feremnur lost all taste for his game. He hurled the half-undressed boy away, trousers around his knees.

More wraiths poured through the mist. They drove cursed blades into pirates’ chests. Some severed arms first, then hacked at fleeing, bleeding men—a cruelty that made Feremnur gag.

"Damn you!! Gaaah~!~~"

A pirate’s eye socket was pierced; the eyeball spun on the blade-tip jutting from his skull.

One pirate swung a torch—but the spirits feared no flame. He was split head-to-toe, torch and all.

Sweating, Feremnur fumbled a vial from his belt.

"Die!"

Golden liquid glowed softly within... The surrounding wraiths shrieked, recoiling from its light...

"Gather round me! Now! If you want to live, *move*!"

Feremnur held the vial high—a beacon in darkness. Surviving pirates scrambled toward him, hope flickering...

Then—*crack!* *Clatter!*

The golden vial shattered. Two of Feremnur’s fingers exploded. He howled, clutching his mangled hand...

Watching the wraiths close in, fangs bared...

————

Silence slowly returned beyond the mist... The sea calmed once more.

Greenland lowered his sniper rifle, scanning the fog’s edge.

"Master! It’s done!"

Dracula’s body visibly trembled at Greenland’s words.

Sailors watched as Dracula’s grip failed. The demon blade slipped. His body lurched forward, collapsing—and with it, the rift...

A black lightning flash. The tear vanished. The remaining wraiths faded like smoke on the wind...

"Master!"

Greenland and Faglas caught Dracula before he hit the deck, guiding him down the bow. Sailors parted silently.

"Count Dracula!"

"Dracula!"

Mary and Keane rushed over to check. They saw Dracula’s slightly closed eyes slowly open. He weakly glanced at them before closing them again.

“Move aside! My master used a forbidden technique—he needs rest! Get out of the way!” Greenland shouted angrily.

“Oh… alright! Take him to my room. I’ll care for Count Dracula!”

Mary immediately stepped forward to help support him.

“…Mary…” Dracula struggled to say. (No one noticed him pinch Greenland’s back.)

“Strangers, keep back! You know no magic or combat—how can you care for him? Faglas and I will handle it! You’ll only cause trouble!” Though harsh, Mary understood. Dracula’s forbidden move had wiped out the pirates. His body must be damaged. She truly didn’t know how to help him. He felt so distant—mysterious even when right before her eyes.

“Mary, trust them. We don’t understand these things… Miss Greenland and Mr. Faglas know best. They’ll care for Dracula well.”

“Mm!”

Mary watched worriedly as Greenland and Faglas carried Dracula into the cabin. She felt like crying. Why was she so useless?!

The fog cleared. The distant horizon brightened… A ray of dawn rose from the sea, banishing darkness. A new day began.