Long-Lived Races (Part 2)

Red.

The color of blood.

He shook his head, feeling only a dizzy haze.

Where—am I?

A sharp pain exploded in his chest and abdomen!

He groaned in panic, opening his eyes in confusion, but still saw nothing but red before him.

"Qiren, don't move, hold on a little longer! The ambulance is almost here." Just then, a gentle, familiar voice sounded in his ear.

He calmed for an instant.

But the next moment, the agony in his chest and the vertigo in his head grew more intense.

"Wu Qiren!" The voice grew more frantic, "You can't die here! You—right, you haven't changed this world yet! How can you die in a place like this! If you haven't changed the world, what right do you have to have my babies!"

Change the world? Have babies?

His mind cleared for a fleeting moment, and he took a deep breath, feeling much better.

Amid the sea of red, he gritted his teeth against the pain and twisted out a smile.

"Being chuunibyou—is—a—disease—that—needs—treatment—ah~"

That familiar voice seemed to sob with joy.

But the voice, laughing through tears, grew softer and softer, weaker and weaker.

Like a candle flame about to go out.

Panic suddenly seized him.

No.

It couldn't be.

He smiled through the pain, wanting to call out to that voice, to crack a joke with her like he always did.

But he opened his mouth in confusion.

And found he couldn't call her name.

Before him was still nothing but red, and his whole body was growing hotter and hotter.

"Pfft!"

Tales landed on a patch of grass.

He opened his eyes, fully waking from the red.

"Damn it! What's going on!" The pale, golden-haired man beside him cursed in shock and anger.

"How did it consume so much blood?" His tone was full of suspicion and displeasure.

Only Tales knew that when the golden-haired man had turned into blood and whisked him away at breakneck speed, Tales had found a memory Fragment, and in the Fragment's dream, he seemed to have had another "Loss of Control."

This time, what had shifted seemed to be part of the blood that the golden-haired man had turned into?

Tales felt like he'd just gotten off a roller coaster, coughing dryly as he lay on the ground.

Luckily, motion sickness—well, "person" sickness—he'd experienced that before with Yordel.

He thought to himself, shaking his head to drive the unsettling red from his mind.

"We were almost there—is the injury not healed yet? Even Blood Shadow Dance isn't smooth anymore." The handsome golden-haired man muttered, roughly grabbing Tales.

So it was already dusk. The sun had set, hadn't it?

A bit cold. Was this outdoors?

Only then did Tales see clearly: they had landed on the grass beside a dim path, facing a spacious manor with a large attached garden.

On the iron gate between the garden and the path, a flag also fluttered, but overall, the manor seemed overgrown with weeds, as if the owner hadn't bothered to maintain it.

If not for its inferior level of refinement, it could almost rival Mindis Hall.

That flag—Tales squinted and saw a strange three-petaled flower, colored red, blue, and green.

Tales recognized that flower—it was the favorite flower of Wu Qiren's first girlfriend.

This was... an Iris Flower?

A noble's coat of arms?

This was probably one of the "enemies" Gilbert had mentioned.

Just great. I've fallen straight into the enemy's nest.

"Hurry up! You little Short-Lived Species brat!" The handsome golden-haired man pushed him impatiently, heading toward the manor.

Tales's mind began to race with deductions.

It seemed this golden-haired pretty boy could talk; he wasn't some beast driven by instinct.

And judging by the words he'd left behind when he took me...

"Just stretching my limbs--"

"Good thing the sun's almost down--"

Fortunately, this one had some sense. Tales pondered his options, his JC Dagger tucked at his waist, but clearly he couldn't count on anything like "slapping the blade against his neck."

Nor could he abruptly cut himself to signal Yordel and Gilbert—too obvious, too deliberate.

That left only gathering intel.

"Hey hey!" Tales turned back, shaking off the blond man's hand with displeasure. "With all that noble bearing and poise, shouldn't your actions match your words? Mind your manners!"

The blond man stopped in his tracks at that.

"Manners? Poise?" He grinned, deliberately baring two pairs of vicious fangs. "Why show courtesy to food that's destined for the belly?"

The blond man ground his sharp fangs together in the air.

Just as I remember—very much like that creature.

But Tales merely tilted his head, studied the two fangs, then curled his lip dismissively. "With such a lousy attitude toward food, it's clear you've got no talent as a gourmand. Psychological state and physical condition both affect the quality of the meal. With such crude behavior, what if you ruin the flavor of the ingredients?"

The handsome blond froze for three seconds.

His ferocious expression was only half-formed.

But he quickly recovered.

"For your size, you've got plenty of nerve, little Short-Lived whelp," he said with a chuckle. "But you're not the first bold meal I've seen. Don't kid yourself—you're not getting away."

"So my flesh and blood really taste that good?" Tales put on an "I see" expression, then unexpectedly lifted his leg and started walking toward the manor.

The man had just been about to scoop up the whelp and head for the manor when he saw the child walking ahead.

Faced with food that showed no sign of fleeing (he wouldn't even deign to call it "prey"), the puzzled blond raised a hand to scratch his head, then thought better of it halfway and dropped it, quickening his pace to catch up with Tales at a speed visible to humans.

"Not flesh and blood—just blood. You must have been injured recently, right? The scent of blood is all over you. Mm, so fragrant, I'd love to take a bite right now."

They continued walking.

"So how are you going to eat me? Gnaw me raw or just drink the blood? Which part first? What about seasoning?"

"The Tuval Family prefers raw gnawing—they enjoy the prey's screams. We usually just drink the blood directly, either from the neck or the wrist. As for seasoning—wait, why am I telling you this! Little Short-Lived whelp!"

The blond stopped, eyeing Tales suspiciously—his behavior clearly didn't match a seven-year-old child.

"I'm destined to be food, right? Isn't it a virtue to be polite to food that willingly sacrifices itself? Besides, a meal in a good mood might taste better too--"

"You—as food, you're quite strange. Don't think that'll make me let you go."

"A rare delicacy should be a treasure of the world, right? Come on, don't stop, let's keep walking. Might I ask your name, sir?"

"Whelp, why do you ask? Want revenge?" The blond stopped again, his suspicion and wariness of this bizarre boy growing.

"With your skills, it wouldn't be easy to get revenge on you. And since I'm going to be eaten by you anyway, shouldn't I at least know your name? Calling me 'hey hey' all the time is pretty rude, isn't it? Unless—you're not a bastard without a surname? At least you've got a name?"

The last line seemed to sting the blond's pride.

He replied with haughty pride: "My name is Istrone von Leca Lister Corleon, First-Class Blood Knight of the Corleone Family, foremost of the seven branches of the Night Kingdom."

"Come on, keep walking—so why do you call me Short-Lived?"

"Humans who live less than a hundred and twenty years—what else would you be? Even a whelp as young as you has at most ninety-some years left," Istrone said contemptuously.

"So you're, uh, 'Long-Lived'? You live much longer than us?"

"Of course. The Blood Race's lifespan is endless—far beyond what a lowly Short-Lived Species can imagine!"

Tales silently filed away all the information.

Istrone Corleon.

Long-Lived Races, Short-Lived Species.

Night Kingdom, Corleone Family.

Arrogant Blood Race.

And—crucially—he didn't seem interested in why I was at Mindis Hall.

That might be the only chance at survival. Oh, and I almost forgot—he was planning to "eat" me anyway.

Tales and Istrone entered the manor. The former narrowed his eyes: at the entrance, two fierce men in red headbands walked toward them.

Blood Bottle Gang? What are they doing here?

"So why stop here? Why not just fly straight in?"

"If not for the Blood Shadow Dance—ahem—"

The handsome young Istrone suddenly realized the Short-Lived whelp beside him could understand his words. He cleared his throat with dignity, then continued calmly:

"Hmph—if this weren't someone else's turf, I'd have flown straight in. But we're guests here, after all, so naturally we must show respect and courtesy to the host."

A Long-Lived one who values decorum, Tales noted silently.

The two Blood Bottle Gang members stepped forward, glaring at the pair. "Who goes there--"

But Istrone furrowed his brow, his face icing over, and cut them off with disdain:

"Get lost, you inferior Short-Lived Species!"

Tales's face twitched. He decided to take back what he'd just said.

A few minutes earlier.

After the crushing defeat in the One Night War, Nekla the Red Viper—one of the few Blood Bottle Gang power brokers who'd rushed back to the capital day and night, and the foremost among the eight Psychic Warriors—had spent the entire day after the battle in a frantic mess.

At least until the other three Psychic Warriors and the long-vanished Blood Elementalist could make an emergency return to the capital, he had to hold the line.

First came the cleanup of the One Night War.

Aside from a spectacular explosion, the Air Elementalist had vanished without a trace. His personal guard, that sword-wielding madman, lay sprawled next to Rolf, his upper body nearly split open. That forced the conclusion that Ashida had been killed, so Nekla had to confirm whether the Brotherhood's three assassins—especially the Black Sword himself—were in the capital before he could safely step out (in fact, Tink, who'd fled back from Red Quarter, kept thinking he was overthinking it; even if the Black Sword was in the capital, he probably wouldn't bother with Nekla).

Tink and Numino were among the few of the Blood Bottle Gang's Twelve Supremes who'd made it back ("Damn it, cowards really do live longest."—Nekla). Both were vague about what happened in Red Quarter, nothing but fear and panic. Nekla gave up trying to get the truth; as for avenging the Air Elementalist, he'd decide after the Blood Elementalist returned.

Losing Red Quarter, a lucrative turf they'd run for years, crushed the Blood Bottle Gang's morale. Many ordinary members started wavering. Their clients—nobles, Merchants, and shadowy peers alike—all declared their "deep, unshakable friendship with the Blood Bottle Gang" while drastically cutting back business, even pulling funds. Some even broke halfway-done deals and reneged on promises ("I'll fucking—calm down, stay calm—blood debts will be paid!"—Nekla).

In other districts of the capital, the demoralized Blood Bottle Gang was losing ground fast against the Brotherhood's "lowlifes," who were sweeping through. It was easy to imagine that when word spread nationwide, every branch would face the same picture.

Second, one of the Blood Bottle Gang's main backers, the Cavendish Family—whose crest was the Tricolor Iris—had been aloof and indifferent even after learning of their crushing defeat. No reinforcements, no comfort, not even a Copper of consolation. What burned Nekla most was that after all the dirty work they'd done for them across the kingdom, when push came to shove, that Termination Knight named Seychelles wouldn't even let him through the Duke of Iris's manor gate! And then, at noon, they gave Nekla a task: "Investigate the theft at Mindis Hall." Theft? Hell, what part of him looked like an Alert Officer or a private detective? Could he just cut it off?

Speaking of Alert Officers, Nekla was even more furious: Damn it, that big Green Skin at the Vigilant Hall in XC District—Lobik or Lockby or whatever—usually all smiles, but at the critical moment of the One Night War, he didn't send a single reinforcement. Where was that "police-civilian cooperation" they'd talked about? Fine, Nekla swallowed his anger and asked for a few corpses, but the guy hemmed and hawed. The funniest part was him putting on a righteous act—after taking so much of their grease, now he's upholding justice? Where was that before! Talking justice in front of Nekla? What part of him looked like a good man? Could he just cut it off? Damn it, back in the day, Nekla would've gone to his house tonight, stripped his wife naked, and hung her from the West Gate as a doorbell!

And then there was the thing Nekla had to deal with right now—those three vampires from the Cavendish Family, dumped by the Duke of Iris in the Blood Bottle Gang's DC District branch (though Weed Manor was also Cavendish property) to be "well hosted"? Like they were lost puppies! They demanded ten people's worth of blood a day! And they wanted Transcendent Rank or higher experts! Fine, might as well find the Black Sword, knock him out with a club, tie him up, and send him over! He'd already sent plenty of Blood Bottle Gang members he didn't like, and they still weren't satisfied, forcing him to grovel to that big Green Skin for corpses! What part of him looked like an animal keeper? Could he just cut it off? Worst of all, those vampires were few in number but huge in attitude, bossing everyone around, looking at Nekla like he was the puppy!

With that foul mood, Nekla led his entourage into Weed Manor at dusk, waving a hand casually at the equally grim-faced Blood Bottle Gang members as a greeting.

He stepped onto the stone stairs of the manor's main building. Faint wails and screams from underground only made the Red Viper's already rotten mood worse.

Forcing himself not to think about the "blood food" in the dungeon (especially the ones who used to be his colleagues and subordinates), Nekla, face dark, climbed to the second floor, shoved open the wooden doors of the Main Hall, and glared at the people inside—or rather, two people and their meal.

A thirty-something woman with a pretty face, fair skin, a red ponytail, sexy and alluring, dressed in a noblewoman's riding outfit, gently pushed away a man with dazed eyes.

The tempting woman licked the blood from her lips, flashed Nekla a charming smile, then wiped the blood trickling from the corner of her mouth with her index finger.

The man she'd pushed aside seemed to be just a commoner she'd snatched. Now, eyes vacant, skin pale, he collapsed on the floor twitching, his breathing growing weaker until he was clearly done for.

In the hall lay at least seven or eight more bodies dead from blood loss, dried blood splattered everywhere.

Blood dripped onto the floor and tables, a soft, eerie patter.

By the floor-to-ceiling window, an old man with white hair, equally richly dressed, stood with his hands behind his back, as if waiting for the moon to rise.

"Oh my," the woman's gentle voice rang out, her eyes lighting up. "Brought us something tasty? Got twenty people? Any Transcendent Ranks? Any virgins? Any cubs?"

Damn vampires!

Out hunting live humans again?

"Miss Rolana! Mr. Chris! I was just about to tell you," Nekla forced down his disgust and displeasure, addressing the two Blood Race members with irritation. "The twenty corpses sent this afternoon are already the limit. Our blood reserves don't have that much!"

When he said "blood reserves," the screams from the dungeon below made even Nekla feel a twinge of nausea.

"Oh?" The alluring Rolana giggled, her eyes gradually taking on a dangerous glint as her lips curved. "Can we even drink the blood from those corpses? What we need is live human blood."

"Otherwise, seeing your Blood Bottle Gang people coming and going, I just can't help myself—" Rolana bared her fangs beneath her lips, striking a seductive pose. Her index finger lightly touched her fangs, and under the light of the Eternal Lamp, against the bloody backdrop, it had a bizarre, savage beauty.

"Please understand, the three of you. Everstar City is the capital after all; our resources are limited—" Nekla suppressed his anger, lowering his voice.

"Oh dear, but that young, charming Duke of Iris didn't say that: people and blood, as much as you want! If he knew his loyal little dog was treating his guests like this, would he take away your bone? Hehe—"

Loyal little dog?

Bone?

Damn it!

Hearing this sarcastic humiliation and condescending mockery, and thinking of the Duke of Iris's attitude after the Red Quarter defeat, plus all the crap he'd taken all day, Nekla felt a fire burning in his chest.

"You fucking bitch—there are no live humans!"

Nekla ignored the bloodstained table, slammed his palm down hard on it, and roared out of control:

"Don't think I don't know! You vampires can survive on blood essence from corpses too! You don't need live blood! It's not five hundred years ago anymore!"

"I busted my ass, sent you so many live people and corpses, even a Transcendent Rank in there! And you still fucking complain it's not enough!"

"Eat it or get the hell out! I wasn't born yesterday! We can just call it quits and fight it out!"

"We're the Blood Bottle Gang of the Starfall Kingdom—'Blood debts must be paid'! Not some 'die for your friends' Cavendish!"

A moment of silence.

Only the Red Viper's angry panting filled the hall.

Even the attendants behind Nekla took a step back in fear.

The next moment, Rolana's expression shifted. She bared her fangs, her face twisted, and her once coquettish, alluring voice turned sharp and wild:

"You lowly Short-Lived Species! I was being polite for your master's sake!"

"Corpse blood? You could survive on water, vegetables, and rotten meat too, but you still eat meat and drink, don't you!"

"'Busted your ass'? That half-dead Transcendent Rank in the dungeon was clearly your personal vendetta, using us to clean up your internal mess!"

"Talking about 'blood debts must be paid' with the Corleone Family? I can make you 'pay your blood debt right now'!"

Nekla's eyes blazed with even fiercer rage. Gritting his teeth, he yanked open his scarlet coat, while the ferocious Rolana let out a delicate shriek and sprang onto the chandelier overhead in an instant, clawing like a feline predator.

Just as the two sides were at daggers drawn, the old man who had been staring out the window finally turned around.

"Rolana, mind your manners."

"Mr. Nekla, no need for this. If we fall out, the one who'll be embarrassed is still Duke Jenn."

His voice was soft, yet it reached every ear in the hall clearly.

Chris Corleone—the white-haired old man suddenly appeared before Nekla's eyes.

Before the Blood Bottle Gang's top boss could even react, the white-haired Chris casually reached out, unconcerned, and patted the Red Viper on the shoulder.

That single move choked back all the Red Viper's pent-up fury.

Rolana dropped to the ground, reverting to her seductive young-woman image, letting out a light laugh, though her eyes remained sharp and cruel.

"Apologies. They're both young and don't know restraint." Chris's gaze was murky, his wrinkled face steeped in gloom and stillness.

Young? Nekla cursed inwardly. A monster who's lived for who knows how many centuries dares to call that young?

But he still suppressed the anger in his heart.

Circumstances left him no choice.

This old monster before him, though he looked sickly, had just shown that move... with his own abilities, he wasn't entirely sure he could handle him.

"Alright then, you've all worked hard these past few days. From now on, we'll handle our own food."

Like his lifeless tone, Chris's dead-man's eyes didn't so much as twitch.

Handle their own? With these vampires' nature, if they went out to hunt, they'd stir up trouble sooner or later. But wasn't that exactly what he wanted?

"Let's go!" Nekla waved his hand in indignation. "Pull all the brothers out!"

"Oh? Not leaving a single one behind? I was hoping to apologize properly~" Rolana lounged seductively on the blood-red dining table, her tone back to a coquettish whine.

"No need!" Nekla turned his head with a snarl. "Wouldn't want Miss Rolana to 'lose control' again!"

The Blood Bottle Gang's thugs followed behind Nekla, tramping down the stone steps in unison. None of them regretted leaving this disgusting manor.

In an instant, only Rolana's eerie laughter and the drip of blood remained in the hall.

Nekla was far gone.

Rolana suddenly dropped from the table to the floor, her face covered in frost and murderous intent.

"Did he notice something?"

Chris shook his corpse-like head, looking from a distance like a white chess piece wobbling. "That one didn't. But Cavendish definitely senses something's off—after all, that much blood demand could already sustain a guard unit of Bloodline Knights."

Rolana lowered her head. "But it's still far from enough—we just wasted another one putting on that act. I'll go hunting again later."

"Good thing we drove the Blood Bottle Gang away as planned. That buys us some time before we're exposed."

Chris's head suddenly twisted an unnatural hundred degrees toward the window. His nose twitched.

"It's Istrone back."

"And he's brought—ah, that scent is lovely. An above-grade blood source."

His figure reappeared at the window.

The moon had risen.

Nekla stormed out of the manor with the Blood Bottle Gang members in a fury.

Those damned vampires—huh? That pale-faced vampire was back. Hadn't he gone with those mercenary squads to Mindis Hall in the afternoon to look for the secret treasure?

So they actually walked on legs and used the front door, huh?

Nekla had thought the Blood Race traveled the way he'd seen before—turning into a pool of blood and then *whoosh*ing around.

That pale-faced guy had brought a kid with him? Damn, had he been hunting too? Judging by the clothes, it looked like some noble's child, but covered in wounds—no, that kid didn't seem like he was being dragged along. The way they walked, they looked like they were together.

Right, he needed to ask about the Mindis Hall theft.

While Nekla was still mulling it over, Istrone and Tales walked side by side into the manor.

From a distance, Tales spotted the group of Blood Bottle Gang members coming out.

Thinking of the Iris Flower banner overhead, he silently cursed his bad luck.

But he also knew he had to stay calm now to find a way out of this tight spot.

Istrone, meanwhile, stared straight ahead, as if he didn't even acknowledge the Blood Bottle Gang beside him.

Nekla raised a hand, and his men stopped in place, waiting for Istrone to approach.

But the handsome, golden-haired Blood Race merely let out a light snort through his nose, turned his head away, and walked right past the Red Viper without a word or any intention of engaging.

Then the golden-haired Blood Race noticed, with irritation, that the little human brat beside him—barely reaching his waist—also strutted forward, let out a "hmph," and turned his head away in perfect sync with him, nose in the air as he passed Nekla!

What the hell was that? A dog riding its master's power?

Istrone decided he'd have to properly deal with that pretentious little brat when they got back.

Only Tales knew that at this moment, he was forcing his heart to stay calm, feigning composure!

Nekla's anger flared again.

"Hey! Pretty boy!" The Red Viper blocked Istrone's path with displeasure.

"Did you finish the task the Duke ordered?" Nekla's tone was hostile as he eyed the handsome Blood Race before him.

The Duke?

Tales's heart sank.

Istrone lifted his gaze, disgusted by the human blocking his way.

"The stolen treasures from Mindis Hall! Remember? You also took four squads of mercenaries!" Feeling Istrone's stare, Nekla's fury peaked as he stepped right up to his nose and barked, "You must have something to show for it, pretty boy?"

Pretty boy?

Damn Short-Lived Species—Istrone seethed inwardly. His original plan had been to lure those twenty mercenaries out, then hunt them one by one, bringing them back to the manor as quality blood sources.

Who could have guessed they'd all fall to that Masked Weirdo in Mindis Hall?

But as for the Mindis Hall theft—after all, it was a request from that Duke of the Tricolor Iris.

He ought to say something.

Istrone turned his head toward Tales.

No one knew that Tales's heart was as cold as ice at that moment!

What do I do, what do I do, what do I do!

Calm down! the boy told himself. I have to save myself.

His mind raced wildly, pieces of information and elements flashing back and reassembling in a frenzy!

Istrone looked down at the cub, pondering how to address Nekla without losing face in front of this damned Short-Lived Species.

Nekla glared at Istrone's arrogant head, then followed his gaze to the little boy beside him.

"Hey, kid..." Istrone said dismissively.

Everyone turned to look at Tales!

In that instant, Tales took a deep breath.

According to that chuunibyou, I'm supposed to be the man who changes the world.

How can I die here?

Then.

Then, everyone present saw the seven- or eight-year-old boy's face turn cold, and before Istrone could speak another word, he shouted:

"Yes, sir!"

Istrone froze. This brat, why so respectful all of a sudden?

But before he could react, the situation shifted again.

Tales stepped forward without hesitation, like a loyal guard, placing himself between Istrone and Nekla.

Then, under the bright moonlight...

Everyone heard that annoying little boy, facing the current ruler of the Blood Bottle Gang, the foremost of the eight Psychic Warriors, "Red Viper" Nekla, with a childish voice, an arrogant tone that looked down on everything, and a mouthful of disgust, roar:

"Get lost, you lowly Short-Lived Species!"

"The noble Lord Istrone Corleon's affairs are none of your lowly mongrel's business!"

An eight-thousand-word chapter—no good place to cut, so I'll just post it all!

PS: I made a new Qidian account called "Overlord Eternal" (CM said the name was so chuunibyou ORZ). I'll use this account to chat with everyone on Qidian from now on! Comments welcome! Bring on the thunder and rain, bricks and flowers alike!