Bram: It Was All for the Sake of the Plot

Bram Stoker was lounging in a hotel chair, with a thick old book on his lap, casually flipping through it.

There was a full glass of red wine next to him.

He read for a while, then closed the book and put it aside. He propped himself up and sat up, raising his wine glass to the sunlight.

The wine in this glass wasn't clear; instead, it appeared somewhat viscous.

Bathed in sunlight streaming through the window, the clear red wine contained black substances that appeared to be alive. These were black solids that looked like tiny parasites.

Bram swirled his glass with satisfaction and tapped it with his finger.

Stimulated by the external force, the black tentacles inside danced and gathered together rapidly. The less clear parts condensed into a lump, shrinking into a red ball the size of a date, with several black tentacles pulsating like blood vessels.

"—Not strong enough."

Bram commented.

He took a glass test tube from his pocket and dripped a few drops of blood into it. The blood floated on top of the liquid, looking like a puddle of oil.

He then cut his own wrist and dripped his blood into it.

The two types of blood mixed together and sank downwards. The condensed "heart" shattered again upon impact, disintegrating into liquid.

"Alright, let's take a break."

Bram said leisurely, "Let's have some lunch, and continue later."

In the corner of the room, an old troll, shirtless and covered in runes, knelt on the ground facing the fireplace.

Upon hearing this, he silently began packing his things. He put the black herbs back into the herb bag, then caught the leeches and put them into a bottle. He then added a clear, oil-like liquid to it.

He silently rose, his hunched back looking extremely imposing.

His back and abdomen were covered in scars, and the muscles in his waist and back were twisted like ropes. His face was old and gaunt, and the muscles in his clenched jaw and neck bulged out like those of a sailor's forearm.

"Since you're free anyway, help me lock Iver's location with a curse."

Bram, arms propped on his knees, grinned and tossed the old troll a large paper bag full of golden fried chicken. "Consider this a small contribution to your food expenses... You eat first. I'll explain, you listen."

"—Don't worry about causing trouble, this has nothing to do with you. Perfect timing, let me tell you... where you're going next. That will put your mind at ease a little."

He watched the old troll wolf down the fried chicken, then smiled and raised his glass, swirling it around.

"You know the Parthian Ancient Kingdom, right? There was a benevolent ruler there named Adil. He was known as the Generous Adil."

"He needs a reliable Ritual Mage now... and in Parthia, anyone you hire could be a spy from another city. Therefore, Troll Witch from the Southern Continent is extremely valuable..."

As he spoke, he suddenly reached out and drew a simple rune in the air.

The old troll suddenly turned completely red, as if light had shone from beneath his skin—the kind of red that appears on the back of the hand when a flashlight is shone through the palm.

His entire body convulsed in agony, and he curled up into a ball at a visible speed. He spat out the fried chicken he had just eaten—not vomiting, but out of fear of choking.

Even so, the old troll remained silent... Even with his neck straight and red, he still did not utter any sounds of pain or pleading.

"Tsk."

Seeing this, Bram clicked his tongue, clenched his fist in displeasure, and stopped punishing the old troll.

He tossed the half-empty bottle of red wine to the old troll, casually leaning back and saying, "You wouldn't be able to endure the hardship if you followed him. Although resources are scarce in Parthia, the conditions around the Benevolent Lord are not much worse than those in the Theocracy. Although it's in the desert, it's not too hot—there are ice makers to keep the temperature down."

"Although you are old, I can still give you potions to extend your life. If you want women, I have them too. All kinds of races, even elves are possible. If you like animals, griffins, pegasi, dragons are possible... The Benevolent Lord has everything, he can get you anything. In fact, that's the goblins' homeland."

"Would it be interesting to get soaked in the rain, bitten by bugs, and gnaw on tree bark every day on the Southern Continent? So we're not enemies; it's a win-win situation—I'll send you to a better place and earn some travel expenses in the process. And don't always have that long face..."

"From another perspective, you're going to rest anyway. It's far from the Theocracy. Even if you commit a crime here, no one will chase after you. It's the same over there... if you commit a crime, you just hide in the desert; you put on a white turban and hide in another city. Anyway, news doesn't travel between cities. They can't even catch someone committing a crime on their own, let alone you."

"That's the purpose of Curse Master. If you can't catch people, you still need a way to punish them. Whether they actually die from the curse is irrelevant, but the key is that it has to look scary, that's how you scare people..."

As he spoke, Bram sized up the taciturn old troll in front of him.

If this old man stood upright, he would be at least three meters tall. Even in the Theocracy, where elves were everywhere, that would undoubtedly be considered tall. His body looked thin, but he wasn't weak. His dry skin and taut muscles made him look as dangerous as a werewolf.

"... I came here specifically to find you because you are famous throughout the Southern Continent."

He smiled slightly, "You killed your own father, your own uncle, all your brothers, and your cousins. You killed so many people, yet the Beast Song Tribe prospered under your rule... And all of this, in the end, is because you were once a slave of the Stibnite Person."

Upon hearing this, the old troll suddenly raised his head, his sharp, scarlet pupils resembling those of a hungry wolf from the countryside.

But Bram showed no reaction. "Yes, I've heard about your past. You were sold to Star Antimony and learned the Stibium Language through self-study. You served as Ritual Assistant to your master, secretly learning his ritual spells and curses, then you killed him and boarded a small boat, rowing back to the Southern Continent by hand—a twenty-eight-day drift."

"After all, you've 'studied' in the civilized world, and your understanding is different from that of your ignorant clansmen. Now, more than sixty years have passed, and you've grown old, retiring from your position as tribal chief... When I interviewed you before, you provided me with some excellent material. I must say, my novel with you as the protagonist is selling very well on Iris."

"They used this novel to satirize the Stibnite Person's purchase of slaves, and also to subtly criticize the trolls' violence and untrustworthiness. My writing is excellent, vividly depicting the dangers of your twenty-eight days of adventure at sea—of course, I know you spent that month fishing. But to highlight humanity and plot conflict, I had you run away with your companion, and then eat him because of hunger on the way."

"... I didn't kill Babi Mu."

Suddenly, the old troll spoke up, "I didn't eat her either."

This was the first time he had spoken, his voice old and hoarse. "I remember telling you that she fell into the water by accident. The waves were too big then... I was too hungry to hold on to her."

Bram pressed his hands down. "I know, I know. But that doesn't make sense... Reality is irrational, but novels have to strive for rationality—if you kill off an important character who has been developed for a long time just because of a storm, readers will find it too simplistic."

"But that's the truth..."

"This is called serving the story's tension—you don't understand. Anyway, you devour your lover..."

"She is not my wife, and I didn't know her before."

"It doesn't matter if you're husband and wife for a day. In any case, you ate her, painfully but resolutely. This creates the image of a ruthless hero for you. You are quite prestigious in Parthia. You could even be considered synonymous with Troll Witch."

Bram's lips curled into a slight smile, "That's why someone came to me to buy the 'protagonist's prototype.' And that's how I had the opportunity to introduce you to such a great job, old friend. That benefactor saw this novel and wanted to invite you over."

"For your own safety, it's best to cooperate. Let's compare our statements. As for the boasts I made, just accept them; they're all for the sake of the plot and to express the author's emotions. Anyway, no one else knows they're not true except for you and me..."

As he said this, he suddenly shuddered and became serious.

Like a spider caught in its web, he leaped up from the sofa in a flash. He transformed into a streak of gray light and flew into the house.

But at that moment, time suddenly began to slow down.

The midday sun dimmed, and everything in the room became dark. Even the Vermillion wine glasses dimmed, and the liquid inside seemed to turn black.

A dim, yellowish light permeated the surroundings.

Bram's fleeing figure was suddenly frozen in mid-air!