(An extra chapter for "Huo Zheng Ting Hao," 15/20)
The most striking feature of Lord Pain was his smooth black hair. It fell loosely over his shoulders like a woman's, unstyled and hanging naturally.
For a vampire lord, that look seemed far too casual, even a little improper.
But by an artist's standards, it was just right.
Neither masculine nor feminine, neither proper nor seductive.
At first glance, he seemed rather ordinary. But a closer look revealed what set him apart: his eyes.
The Lord's irises were amber, touched with just a hint of scarlet, like the most beautiful and bewitching gemstones.
When people looked into those eyes, most of them forgot to notice what his face looked like.
But the Lord was certainly no monster. He wasn't as unnaturally handsome as Palanno or Murphy, but by the standards of any race, his looks were well above average.
Then there was Lord Pain's presence, which no one could imitate.
From the very day vampires had appeared on the continent, he had served as their leader and arbiter. After eleven hundred years in that role, he had developed an authority that commanded respect without anger. The tales—and even "myths"—about him, repeated throughout the continent, had only strengthened that aura.
Even the younger vampires who had been "born" in recent times were affected by it. And when old Edward, who was his contemporary and of a similar age, saw him, even he reined in the cold, domineering bearing of the Wolfsbane Duke.
His unique presence became even more oppressive when he appeared carrying the Holy Spear, "Eternal Silence."
Old Edward's hand trembled around his wineglass.
It wasn't from fear.
The Lord had come alone instead of bringing the elite of the Blood Covenant Knights, which meant the matter was still open to