Night settled over the village like a damp blanket, and I strolled through it bored, exhausted, and very, very hungry.

  Under normal circumstances, this would’ve been the perfect hour for reflection, piecing together this world, sorting my thoughts, maybe even pretending I had my life in order.

  But no. Of course not.

  Because tonight, I was hunting a fucking vampire. A real one.

  Not your discount-store Dracula knock-off that I was. The actual deal.

  And “the actual deal” meant I could be knee-deep in supernatural bullshit the moment I found it.

  My only thin sliver of hope? The possibility, just a possibility, that the vampire might, just like the rest in this fuckery of a world, mistake me for yet another vampire. A comforting lie I clung to like the idiot I was.

  Honestly, Bram Stoker would be absolutely livid if he knew what I was dealing with. The nerves, the headache, the pressure coiling in my gut as I wandered through the village, hunting, apparently, for my long-lost cousin.

  Vlad the Impaler, Vlad III Tepes, former Voivode of Wallachia during the fifteenth century, modern-day Romania, was Bram Stoker’s muse, and thanks to him, an entire culture got saddled with the vampire stereotype for the rest of eternity.

  I had no idea whether I had a drop of Romanian blood in me, but given my Albinism and Haemolacria conditions, it felt almost too fitting, like I was Vlad’s long-lost bastard child.

  As for my alleged father... well, Vlad himself was a complicated man; depending on whose history book you opened, he was either a monstrous tyrant or the only somewhat decent ruler within a thousand-mile radius.

  What’s certain is that, as his names might suggest, he had a lesser-known hobby. Impaling.

  And, much like Stevin, he was a bisexual warrior, an equal-opportunity enthusiast when it came to whom he impaled.

  Men or women, be it Romanian, Hungarian, Ottoman, noble boyar, merchant, villager, beggar, or slave, didn’t matter to him. If Vlad thought a spike would improve your anatomical integrity, up you went.

  But like all the men in that part of the world, especially the ones who pissed off everyone, he was betrayed, defeated, and died in a way far more merciful than anything he ever handed out.

  There’s even the old, and absolutely false, claim that he ate dinner while watching the impaled writhe, dipping his bread in their blood.

  Combine that with a brutal Europe drowning in war, centuries of ignorance, a buffet of stereotypes, and an Irish writer who never set foot in the damn country, and what do you get?

  The first modern vampire.

  Now, what does any of that have to do with my situation? How much overlap is there, really?

  Does this alleged cousin of mine drink blood? Mana? Life force? Souls straight from the source?

  And how does vampirism work here, anyway? Is it a race you’re born into?

  Or is it like Enna suggested, something you become after being bitten by one of the pointy-toothed bastards?

  Or is it both?

  Well, judging by the suspicious sounds coming from that crying calf, I guess we’re about to find out sooner rather than later.

  Because what would Elio Welchia be, if not a Vampire Hunter?

  God. Fucking. Damnit.

  I headed toward the source of the noise, hands trembling behind my back while I tried to look confident.

  Thankfully, the place was empty; the elves were probably snoozing peacefully in their homes while I made my grand entrance into the cattle corral, where a calf was bawling its lungs out and desperately trying to escape something.

  The other cows, including what I assumed was the calf’s mother, had shoved themselves into the far corner, shaking like leaves.

  So it wasn’t just a dramatic baby cow. Something else was there.

  And that something was circling the calf like a shadow, its shape impossible to truly comprehend, no matter how hard I squinted.

  As I stepped closer, the calf finally noticed me and bolted toward me, clearly under the impression I was there to protect it.

  Unfortunately, I needed to protect myself, you terrified piece of unseasoned bacon.

  But then I saw it. A truly glorious sight. Now that… that was a fucking Vampire.

  As the calf darted behind me, the shadow followed and finally noticed me.

  In less than a heartbeat, the darkness around it condensed, forming into a shape before dropping gracefully onto one foot right in front of me, studying me with sharp, unsettling curiosity.

  My heart hammered so violently it could’ve passed for the damn Drums of Liberation as she looked me over.

  And to be fair… I finally understood everyone's confusion. White hair. Red eyes. Pale skin.

  Fair enough, I guess.

  “Good evening,” I managed, my voice almost cracking like a teenager’s.

  The vampire woman said nothing. Her gray, noble-looking dress unfurled from the shadows like a blooming flower.

  This one was… significantly more of a problem than expected.

  First issue.

  Sorry, Julia, but GOD, she was fucking gorgeous.

  I always hated how this cursed appearance looked on me, but on her? It was unfair how perfectly it worked.

  This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

  Second issue.

  Those clothes weren’t just fancy; they screamed importance. Even as a vampire, she looked like someone who got bowed to, not hunted. So why was she here?

  Third issue.

  Ephe chimed in.

  [Danger.]

  [Subject: Unknown.]

  [Species: Vampire.]

  [Clan: Unknown.]

  [Standing: Unknown.]

  [Age: Unknown.]

  [Reigncraft Similar Classification Detected: Host.]

  [Risk Level: Cataclysmic.]

  [Final Advisory: Engage with Caution.]

  Fourth issue.

  'Ephe,' I thought frantically, 'Pray tell, how the hell am I supposed to defeat such a Vampire?'

  She did not answer in time before something else screamed red flags in my mind.

  'Wait... did you just say Cataclysmic? A Host? What Reigncraft level is that?! And WHY IS A CATACLYSMIC BEING HARASSING A DAMN CALF?!'

  Ephe didn’t reply this time either, but somehow, I could swear she was shrugging, leaving me alone to deal with the disaster unfolding in front of me.

  “Arati ca mine, dar nu ai mirosul care trebuie. Cine-”

  '...EPHE!'

  [Understood.]

  [Passive Ability Free Slots: 1.]

  [Crafting.]

  [Successful.]

  [New Passive Ability: Language - Vampta (Vampiric).]

  [The Custodians Intervene.]

  [New Gifted Passive Ability: Language - Lakeesh.]

  “-are you?” the woman finished, her words finally snapping into clarity.

  Of course. Of COURSE there’s a fucking vampiric language.

  And of course, I now speak it fluently, like I'm the best linguistics professor there is.

  I sighed, choosing arrogance as my survival strategy.

  “Why is someone like you disturbing the peace here?” I asked, feigning annoyance. “Go back the way you came.”

  The look she gave me was priceless. Like I’d just told the moon to dim itself a bit.

  She even stopped looking threatening, more confused than anything.

  “What clan are you from?” she asked slowly. “This was not someone’s territory before. Who are you?”

  “It is now,” I replied immediately, having not a single fucking clue what she was talking about.

  “You haven’t answered my question,” the woman pointed out, red eyes narrowing.

  I sighed, countering. “Neither did you. It is customary to introduce yourself at least before asking questions, no?”

  Taunting a cataclysm-capable Host being was probably the worst idea any semi-intelligent creature in this fucked world could have, but hear me out:

  What the hell else was I supposed to do?

  Think of the Directives Ephe forced on me: ‘Defeat the Vampire’ and ‘Do Not Kill the Vampire.’

  Which meant this woman was either weakened… or blissfully unaware of how terrifying she actually was to the point that I could not only win but kill her.

  Not that I actually knew what Host meant in terms of strength, but ‘Cataclysmic’ sounded dangerous enough.

  Either way, her situation was something I could perhaps work with. And in such a case, posturing like I was ten feet taller and ten times stronger than I actually was seemed like the only logical move.

  “Relia,” she muttered, gaze sliding past me toward the trembling calf. “And that is my prey.”

  “Elio,” I said, stepping fully in front of the calf. “And no, it isn’t. From what I’ve heard, you’ve already killed plenty.”

  “I’ve killed enough not to starve. I need more,” she snapped, voice sharpening. “Get out of my way.”

  “I will not.” I shook my head, closing the distance.

  “Fine, whatever you are then,” Relia hissed. Her teeth elongated, every one of them, into razor-like fangs. “You will be my meal instead of the cow.”

  Yep. True Vampire.

  [Warning.]

  [Intent: Kill.]

  [React.]

  She lunged, hand outstretched to grab me, but my lips were already moving.

  “I, Ruler of Calcan Castle, Seed of the Reigncraft, Deny the order of time. Veilstep.”

  Color drained from the world in an instant.

  Night became a silent gray plain.

  Relia hung mid-air, frozen mid-attack, eyes still feral and hungry.

  [8 Seconds Remaining.]

  Truth be told, I didn’t want to kill her. I wanted the rewards for the Directives.

  Especially now that Ephe had casually dropped the term 'Host' into the conversation like it was nothing.

  Was that a ranking? A classification? Like, maybe a Host being akin to an Angel of the magic system? Someone at the end of their Road? If so, then I was catastrophically fucked.

  No way I could fight an actual cataclysm-level being if she were at full strength.

  But given the wildness in her eyes… she was starving. Weak. A barely-alive nuclear bomb.

  [7 Seconds Remaining.]

  Still… despite the fangs, she was decently cute.

  I immediately felt Julia’s spectral judgment burning into my soul and forced myself back to the problem at hand.

  What could I do?

  If I killed her, the Law of Separation would probably do the job, but it would break the second Directive: ‘Do not kill the Vampire.’

  [6 Seconds Remaining.]

  And even if I tried to kill her, could I? If she were truly Angel-level, she might rip me apart anyway.

  Unless… No, that was stupid. But maybe stupid enough to work.

  If it didn’t? The consequences would be biblical.

  [5 Seconds Remaining.]

  Kill or not kill. Live or let live. Honestly, this was above my pay grade.

  [4 Seconds Remaining.]

  Ephe?

  [...]

  [Directive Unchanged: Continue Existing.]

  Very well then. It was embarrassing. It was ridiculous. But what did I have left to lose?

  [3 Seconds Remaining.]

  This here, that there. Plant the foot. Don’t trip.

  [2 Seconds Remaining.]

  Yes. That’s probably right. I’m terrified.

  [1 Second Remaining.]

  No time to regret it.

  Apologies, Julia, I hope you understand this one.

  Now... turn the lights on, fuckboy.

  [Expired.]

  [Returning.]

  Color surged back. Motion resumed.

  Relia yelped as she realized I had appeared directly in her face, barely a foot away from her.

  She tried to yank her arm free, but I was already holding it.

  “If you’ll excuse me,” I muttered.

  And then I began my bloody dance with a goddamn vampire.

  Twenty hours of wedding-dance lessons with Julia had finally found their moment of divine purpose. If they would save my life now, I swear I would not cheap out the next time.

  “And one… and two…” I whispered, spinning us in a wide circle, ignoring Relia’s mixture of snarls, confusion, and incomprehensible noises.

  We turned, stepped, and pivoted. A perfect dance floor of dirt and terrified livestock.

  The calf watched us, now more confused than scared.

  “Let me go,” Relia commanded sharply.

  “Not yet,” I said, twirling her again. “We’re almost done. Aaand... one, two, three, four, mind the hole, six, seven.”

  “What are you doing?” she asked, her earlier rage melting into sheer mortification. Her pale cheeks flushed crimson.

  “What else?” I said, relief washing over me at the sight of her calming down. “Dancing.”

  Relia groaned when she realized how tightly I was holding her. “What for?”

  “Better to dance than fight,” I shrugged, leading her through a turn. “Maybe after breaking a sweat, you’ll answer my questions and let me help you instead of attacking me unprovoked.”

  “…”

  She stared at me, following the steps despite herself… then finally looked down, embarrassed.

  “It was provoked enough,” she muttered under her breath.

  “Did you say something?” I asked, amused.

  “No.”

  So we continued spinning under the pale moonlight, barely visible through the canopy, a starving, cataclysmic vampire and a confused, alleged Vampire historian dancing in a cow pen.

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