Leaving ordinary people here would only hinder the upcoming battle.

Ouyang stood before the castle gates, seeing off two girls. Once they left, she hurried to the basement as directed by the Bloodkin Prince, dreading every step back to this place.

The air still reeked faintly of pungent garlic. After being doused with two jars of garlic water, Ouyang vowed never to face it again.

She opened Anderson’s storage cabinet, revealing an array of torture tools: truth serums, garlic water for Blood Clan members, mercury, sulfuric acid, chili water, and more.

“It’s actually here.”

Amidst the cluttered bottles, she finally spotted the item the Bloodkin Prince described.

Ouyang stared at the top shelf—a jar of pale yellow liquid held a black-haired youth’s severed head.

Without the Bloodkin Prince’s X-ray vision locating it in the basement, she’d have dismissed it as a prop or collector’s item.

The label showed it had been stored longer than her family’s oldest pickle jar.

Blood Clan deaths meant instant ash; they lacked souls, heartbeats, and warmth.

Ouyang herself had recently regenerated after being sliced to pieces.

Seeing a head survive alone filled her with grudging respect for their resilience.

Too short to reach it even on a stool, Ouyang acted in desperation. With a loud clang, she smashed the jar and head onto the floor.

The stench hit her instantly. She clamped a hand over her nose, nearly vomiting over the wet, tangled black hair.

Reluctantly, she pricked her finger, dripped 30ml of blood into a test tube, and—nose covered—poured it into the head’s mouth.

Everything followed the Bloodkin Prince’s instructions smoothly.

After a minute, the blood reacted.

Ouyang watched nervously as the sallow, lifeless face regained color.

Like waking from sleep, the head’s crimson eyes fluttered open. It wrinkled its nose at the stench, face twisting in disgust.

Years of silence made its voice strange.

Dripping wet hair clung to its forehead as the youth strained to speak, voice raspy and pained like an old man’s:

“Move me from here first… I’m going to vomit from this smell.”

Grimacing at the seaweed-like creature on the floor, Ouyang fetched a clean towel from the castle and carried the head inside.

She resembled a devoted Blood Clan maid: a sooty creature perched on her head, a severed head cradled in her arms.

She couldn’t stand this—stuck with two Blood Clan members just to eliminate the werewolf brothers. She hadn’t chosen to stay.

Ouyang rushed the stinking head to the bathroom, scrubbed and dried it. Refreshed, it sat comfortably on the sofa, thanking its unknown savior.

“Hahaha… I never expected rescue by a newborn Blood Clan like you.”

Growing used to being just a head, the youth grinned casually:

“To rebuild my body, I might just eat you as a side dish.”

Unfazed by the threat, Ouyang stood her ground.

After countless life-or-death fights, she’d grown numb to such intimidation.

Just a head—nothing to fear.

She glared at the youth on the sofa, repulsed:

“Don’t Blood Clan forbid killing each other? Isn’t that your rule?”

Ouyang clenched her fists nervously, surprised she’d blurted that to defuse the tension.

The youth’s expression shifted slightly. He abandoned his hunt.

“A well-mannered little Blood Clan. Impressive.”

Sighing, he noted the black-stockinged maid who’d saved him—it felt fated.

Headless and body lost, he needed care. An idea struck him. He beamed:

“I like you. Stay by my side forever and tend to me.”

“I won’t—”

Before Ouyang finished, the creature on her head stirred.

She’d thought it mere decoration—until its crimson eyes opened slightly, radiating a familiar aura.

The youth’s face darkened with terror.

No wonder this weak Blood Clan could wake him; her power was extraordinary.

A wave of killing intent crashed over him. He recalled that aura from long, long ago.

He turned to the furious Bloodkin Prince, forcing a warm smile:

“The Bloodkin Prince! Long time no see.”

Spotting their unusual bond, he feigned ignorance, grinning brightly:

“Congratulations on finding your mate.”

“Shut up. I was savoring time with my wife when someone dared eye her. I woke to see who’s so bold.”

The Bloodkin Prince opened sleepy eyes, stern:

“So it’s you, Bolis D. John.”

Ouyang noticed his flinch at the name—like he dreaded hearing it.

She’d only ever called the creature nesting on her head “Bloodkin Prince,” never seeing its face or knowing its name.

Their relationship felt lopsided. She gave everything; he took all the perks—like treating her as a casual fling. Unfair.

Realizing this now, Ouyang felt foolish.

“My apologies for the offense. Forgive my rudeness.”

“It’s fine…”

Too troubled by her own issues with the Bloodkin Prince, Ouyang felt too gloomy to care about Blood Clan matters.

Seeing the sullen maid, Bolis pondered their purpose:

“Are you two vacationing in my castle?”

Straining to recall his decapitation and imprisonment, Bolis frowned:

“My memory’s poor. If I’m right, those three ungrateful wolves still live here?”