Negotiation

Everyone froze, stunned into stillness.

"You—" Nekla was still reeling in shock, but realized Tales was shouting at him.

A stray—a stray dog?

The Red Viper's expression shifted from confusion to surprise, then settled into shame and fury.

"What did you say—you damned little brat!"

A Blood Bottle Gang thug nudged his comrade, making a "this is bad" face.

The handsome Istrone caught on, his expression turning richly varied—twitching and trembling flying together, awkwardness and embarrassment blending as one.

This little whelp, what an actor—was he a performer from the Midnight Temple's theater troupe?

Nekla clenched his fists, sensing his subordinates exchanging glances—their boss had been publicly humiliated by a vampire, using a child as his mouthpiece!

That bastard!

How—how dare he—even the Blood Elementalist, known for cruelty and brutality, had never insulted him so directly!

Rage flooded Nekla's mind as he glared at Istrone, as if trying to gouge a chunk of flesh from his face.

In Nekla's view, he was just doing his duty, asking on the Duke's behalf about the mission's progress.

But what did that pretty boy do?

That damned vampire turned and signaled his little lackey.

Then that little bastard stepped forward with perfect understanding.

With that punchable expression, telling Nekla to "scram, you lowly stray dog"?

And after hearing that little bastard's words, the vampire's face was twisted in a gleeful sneer.

Enjoying the pleasure of humiliating him!

Threatened by the big Green Skin, rejected by the Tricolor Iris, pushed around by that damned vampire, and now this little bastard—

Tales watched the Blood Bottle Gang boss's expression shift, considering whether to add more fuel, when he saw a blur before his eyes!

The Red Viper had grabbed him by the neck with lightning speed and skill, lifting him off the ground with one hand!

Tales immediately felt his breath cut short.

This wasn't the first time someone had choked him!

Tales strained his face, reaching up to claw at the choking hand like last time, but this time he only felt skin like steel beneath his fingers!

Nekla's weathered stubble loomed large before him, his ferocious expression twitching with every open and close of his mouth.

The Red Viper stared hard at the vampire across from him.

"Pretty boy! Your little pet—"

But he didn't finish. A knife-hand strike appeared abruptly before his eyes!

Nekla had to let go and leap back instantly!

"Thud!"

Both stood their ground.

Nekla, face dark and grim, caught Istrone's lightning-fast knife-hand aimed at his head from the side!

"Since you know it's my pet, keep your hands off," the golden-haired Istrone said with disgust. "Short-Lived Species!"

Tales fell to the ground with a thud, instinctively starting to cough.

He silently swore he'd never let anyone choke him again.

That feeling was too painful.

The surrounding Blood Bottle Gang thugs tensed up, many eyeing their weapons with hostility.

"Pretty boy," Nekla said, now expressionless, though Tales could feel his dark mood slowly rising. The Red Viper released the Blood Race's hand and spoke slowly, word by word: "Try calling me that again."

This Short-Lived Species—not fast, but his combat instincts and experience weren't bad, catching my right hand like that.

Dealing with someone like this, even if I can outpace him in speed, I need to be cautious. Didn't expect him to be nearly at the Extreme Realm already—Istrone's heart sank as he weighed his next move.

"What's with that sour face?" Istrone's eyes sharpened. "Did I say something wrong, you—"

The next second, the golden-haired noble suddenly roared:

"—Short-Lived Species!"

Before the words faded.

Nekla's fist and Istrone's palm met in midair.

In Tales's eyes, at that moment of fist and palm crossing, the world seemed to freeze.

But the next instant, sound and air rippled together in a visible wave.

"Boom!"

When time seemed to start flowing again, the gale kicked up by their clash struck abruptly, scraping across Tales's face and forcing his eyes shut!

"Boom! Thud!"

Two more gusts swept past. Tales rolled with his eyes closed, scrambling back a few meters to escape the tempest around Istrone and Nekla!

"Is that your speed?" The golden-haired Blood Race laughed eerily, his form flickering again!

Knowing he wasn't fast enough, Nekla gritted his teeth and threw his next punch!

Istrone's figure moved like a phantom, snapping from one frozen pose to the next.

Nekla's body, by contrast, churned like a seamless mechanical wheel, spinning at high speed and growing fiercer by the moment.

Both wore fanatical expressions as they clashed six times in an instant!

The blasts from fists and palms forced the surrounding Blood Bottle Gang members to raise their arms in defense, unable to intervene!

Tales recalled the fight between Yala and Rolf in extreme-speed movement—but that had been a duel of agility and finesse. This pair before him was more like a showdown of explosive power and raw force.

Istrone's form flashed back a step. Nekla's left foot dragged behind him as they glared at each other.

No! This Short-Lived Species from the gang—why is he getting faster? He's even keeping up with my speed now? Istrone frowned.

Hmph! Slippery vampire bastard. Next move, you're down. Nekla's face twisted savagely.

Both now wore grave expressions, sensing the other's tenacity and resilience.

The next exchange came without warning.

"Vampire!"

Nekla roared, his red coat falling away as his body rotated evenly. The veins in his right arm bulged as he sent a fist—equal parts ferocity and speed—toward the Blood Race's chest.

"Short-Lived Species."

Istrone spat disdainfully, then bared his fangs. A blood mist rose around him as his form flickered between solid and shadow. His right hand sprouted visible claws, palm spread wide, tearing through the air toward Nekla's throat.

Tales's heart tightened. Mimicking the Blood Bottle Gang members around him, he quickly raised his arms to shield himself, bracing for the next—and possibly most violent—blast of their clash.

Their charged strikes crossed in midair!

Tales squeezed his eyes shut.

But the expected gale and thunder never came!

"Since you've both said your hellos," an aged, hoarse voice drawled unhurriedly, "let's call it a day."

Tales slowly opened his eyes.

Istrone's claws and Nekla's heavy fist were both locked tight in the grip of an old nobleman who had suddenly appeared in the middle of the scene—his face as pale and grim as a corpse.

The force and momentum from before seemed to vanish soundlessly into the old man's palms.

That's not right. Even if he blocked their strike... there should be some inertia, some give. A clash of that power couldn't just disappear without a trace.

Tales thought in horror.

The old man turned his head left and right, glancing at each of them. Istrone's expression was one of reluctant resentment; Nekla's held wariness mixed with shock.

Extreme Realm, the Red Viper thought silently. And a master within it. This is the strength of a Blood Count—even a Marquis-level Blood Race. Even in the Feast Territory's Upper Six Branches, there aren't many like him!

The old man forced an ugly smile, then released his grip. Without needing a reminder, both fighters stepped back in unison.

"Mr. Nekla, there's no need to spar with a youngster. Please take your leave now." His dry lips opened and closed like a puppet's.

Nekla glanced at his subordinates. Their faces were full of fear and tension.

Damn it. Today's been a complete bust.

He was starting to understand: without the Blood Elementalist's return, nothing would go smoothly for the Blood Bottle Gang.

Looks like I'll have to go to Steel City myself—no matter the cost—and bring her back.

Nekla let out a harsh "Hmph," looked at the old man, then at Istrone, who was still taunting him with his eyes. He gritted his teeth and spoke:

"Fine. Fine. Fine."

"I hope the Duke and his Termination Knights have just as good a temper."

The flush on Nekla's face hadn't faded, but he said nothing more. He waved his hand sharply and led his men away.

"Little bastard," Nekla said, turning back to glare venomously at Tales as he left the estate. "When they drain every drop of blood from your body, don't scream too loud."

He took the coat handed to him by a subordinate, threw it on carelessly, and the Blood Bottle Gang filed out of the estate.

In his heart, Tales silently let out a breath.

He'd gotten through it.

The Mindis Hall matter—he'd gotten through it.

He was safe for now.

But the eerie old man's next sentence sent Tales's heart plummeting again!

"So, little friend... I imagine you have something to do with their mission at Mindis Hall... am I right?"

Chris Corleone turned his head like a puppet, cracked his wrinkled lips, and smiled. "The Tricolor Iris and the Blood Bottle Gang—both seem quite interested in you?"

"So you're saying that the day after you brought him here—you, His Majesty the King's most trusted Attendant Officer, the Former Foreign Minister, the lead architect and signatory of the Fortress Concord, Count Gilbert Casso, and you, His Majesty's most reliable secret guard, the 'Nameless One' Yordel Gato, whose very origins even I don't know—"

It was a mature woman's voice, rising from the ceiling of Mindis Hall after the sun had set:

"—the two of you just went and lost His Majesty's only child and heir?"

Before this mature, composed forty-year-old woman with wavy black hair, dressed in the standard azure-blue uniform of a First-Class Court Official, Gilbert and Yordel both bowed their heads slightly.

Though he had been prepared for this person's arrival, Gilbert thought to himself, he had never imagined meeting her under these circumstances.

The thought of her special and awkward identity gave him a headache.

No doubt Yordel felt the same.

"Yes, Lady Jinnie," Gilbert said quietly, his tone thick with self-loathing and regret.

Yordel said nothing, but his left hand slowly clenched into a fist.

"You searched the area for an hour and found no clues at all?"

"Yes, Lady Jinnie," Gilbert replied shamefully.

The gears on Yordel's mask turned once.

"And then, our only hope—" Lady Jinnie pointed at the lamp in her hand, her tone dripping with sarcasm and fury, "—is this broken lamp, and that little spark in Yordel's arms?"

"Yes, Lady Jinnie." Poor Gilbert again.

Jinnie said nothing more, staring at them with displeasure for a long, long time.

Gilbert's heart grew heavier by the moment.

Finally, Jinnie let out a sound through her nose:

"Hmph."

She closed her eyes and spoke slowly:

"His Majesty's forty-eighth birthday is approaching. I'm certain the Six Great Houses are working at full force. They want to force His Majesty to agree to appoint a crown prince from the nobility—whether by adoption or fosterage."

"And that child is our only hope in the darkness."

Jinnie took a deep breath, opened her eyes, and said each word deliberately:

"And you two went and—lost! Him!"

Gilbert and Yordel bowed their heads even lower.

"Men really are useless."

Jinnie set the Bloodline Lamp down on the ceiling and scoffed dismissively. "Come on, mobilize everyone. We start from the scene where the child disappeared!"

"Even if that child is as clever as you say—we can't just sit around waiting for that lamp. That would only prove our incompetence and cowardice!"

Under the night sky, the alluring, mature Court Official whirled around and barked in the tone of a superior scolding subordinates, her voice blazing with fury:

"What are you standing around for!"

Gilbert and Yordel, as if suddenly jolted awake, broke out of their statue-like stillness and stepped forward.

"You useless men, you'd better—put—some—heart—into it!"

Tales was pressed down onto a seat in the manor's inner hall by Istrone.

He swallowed hard, shifting his butt slightly to the side to move away from a patch of sticky red.

If you ignored the dried corpses scattered everywhere in the hall, the bloodstains—both wet and dry—on the dining table and floor, and the three figures before him who clearly weren't normal people, the place was actually quite nice.

The boy looked at the one man, one woman, and one elder before him, bared his teeth in an awkward, friendly smile.

"Really top-grade blood source! That scent—gods, Istrone, I underestimated my cousin. I thought you just went out for a walk with those humans."

The sexy woman with the red ponytail lit up with excitement, bent down, and scrutinized Tales closely.

Tales just opened his mouth and grinned stupidly.

Instinct told him that aside from showing friendliness and cooperation, any move he made right now would be wrong.

He'd thought about secretly cutting his own hand.

But he was sure these three had a keener sense of smell for blood than Morris's Rage Wolf Dog.

Hearing his cousin's words, Istrone's heart seized. Luckily, as a member of the Blood Race, he couldn't blush, but he still hesitated before reaching out to pull Rolana back a little—she was practically drooling onto Tales.

In his heart, he had already upgraded that little brat's level of suspicion and danger to the same tier as the Crystal Wall City's merfolk and the Sunbreak Sanctuary's priests.

"Rolana, be careful. This cub is trouble—better not talk to him much. If you ask me, just hook him up to a blood extractor and nutrient tube and lock him in a coffin," the blond Blood Race said awkwardly.

"A target the Duke of Iris personally pursued, living in a heavily guarded royal property, and making a First-Class Blood Knight of the Corleone Family run around without even realizing it," the old man with the deathly pallor spoke quietly, while Istrone turned away in embarrassment. "Of course this cub is trouble! At the very least, we need to pry the secrets out of him."

"That's my specialty," Rolana said, leaning onto the dining table to Tales's left and licking her lips at him. "A small cut on the wrist, hang him upside down—interrogate him while having a snack, not a drop wasted. I heard from my mother that's how the Loriroya Family always did it."

Istrone hesitated. Steward Chris had left an indelible shadow on his upbringing, and the old man's merciless scolding just now had severely damaged his confidence. Still, Istrone muttered, "I still think we should just kill him. Given our situation, I feel like this cub is going to bring us trouble—"

"Shut up, you fool!" the old man Chris cut Istrone off roughly.

If not for that temperament, with his skills, how could this young man still be just a mere Blood Knight of the Corleone Family after three hundred years? A clever one, like Rolana, would have long become a Blood Baron!

Under the weight of the old man's authority, the golden-haired noble stepped back in fear.

But it was too late.

Tales's heart stirred.

"Given our current situation"—Tales seized on that piece of information sharply.

So, their situation wasn't good?

First, if they were mercenaries or allies of that great noble, the "Duke," and had completed the mission, wouldn't the employer at least provide the commission and reward? How could it be "not good"?

Second, they hadn't handed him over to the Blood Bottle Gang right away. That could be explained as them vying for credit before the same "Duke" alongside the Blood Bottle Gang.

But from Istrone's words, they didn't even plan to hand him over to the "Duke"!

So, they intended to pry the secret from his mouth? Keep it for themselves?

That left few other explanations.

They weren't the "Duke's" mercenaries or allies—they were another independent force!

This might be his chance to survive.

After scolding Istrone, the old man didn't speak, only stared fixedly at Tales, putting immense psychological pressure on him.

The boy knew he couldn't stay silent any longer.

In that case, based on his earlier reasoning, he'd give it a try.

"I say," Tales chuckled, "maybe we can sit down and talk?"

"Then exchange some information. Who knows, we might coincidentally find out we're actually allies?"

Chris's face darkened further. His eyes flickered like a glitch, and then he stood abruptly an inch in front of Tales!

Without even stirring the air.

Tales's heart thundered.

Just treat it like watching a horror movie.

A 4D one, at that.

"That's a good proposal, little sir. Let's exchange information." Chris flashed another ugly smile.

His address reminded Tales of Gilbert, and his words made Tales relax slightly.

Until the old man's next sentence:

"Then, our information is: your little life is right in our hands."

Tales let out a long sigh in his heart.

What rotten luck, running into someone who doesn't play by the rules.

Chris's malicious, dead-eyed gaze slowly lifted.

"So, what's your information?"

Just as Tales was frantically thinking of his next move, a sudden change occurred.

Thump! Thump!

From the top of the hall came the dull sound of heavy knocking!

The expressions of the three Blood Race members shifted in unison! Even old man Chris was no exception!

Thump! Thump! Thump!

Another series of muffled thuds! Coming from the ceiling!

The three Blood Race exchanged glances, both surprised and excited.

As if something they'd long awaited had finally happened.

Tales took it all in.