Behind History

Wow!

Little Lincoln, still clutching his toy soldier and a tiny silver dagger, burst into loud, wailing sobs as the ghastly, demon-like thing loomed before him.

As the crying echoed, James lunged forward. With a sharp rip, the exquisite carpet tore under his feet. Just as the tall maid's nose was about to brush the child's sweet, fair skin, her field of vision was suddenly yanked away; the Revolutionary War mural on the ceiling filled her eyes, then abruptly turned crimson.

Thud! James grabbed the back of the maid's head and slammed it deep into the floor. The massive impact caused her entire cranial cavity to hemorrhage, staining her retinas red. She twitched twice and went still.

President Lincoln rushed into the room immediately after, followed by shouts and the sound of footsteps. Seeing the maid still looking like a fierce ghost on the floor, he couldn't help but let out a sigh of relief, his face filled with immense comfort.

James crouched in front of Little Lincoln, covering the child's tear-filled eyes to shield him from the horrific sight, then scooped him up and delivered him into Lincoln's arms.

"The little gentleman is fine. Judging by your appearance, I presume—"

"Behind you!"

The maid behind James lunged like a corpse brought back to life. President Lincoln shouted a warning, and the guards who arrived behind him raised their rifles, but fearing they might hit the President or his guest, they stood frozen in place for a moment.

James remained gentle and smiling, as if he hadn't realized the sharp teeth were already inches from his neck. In the blink of an eye, he crouched and twisted. His nearly two-meter-tall frame seemed to vanish within the space of two steps, dodging the bite. He delivered a palm strike to the maid's neck, then flipped his wrist to pin her under his arm.

With a tight, sharp jerk, "Snap!" the tall maid's neck was cleanly broken. James tapped her back lightly with his right hand, and with another sickening, muffled thud, he shattered her spine.

Even with a broken neck and spine, the maid thrown to the floor continued to hiss and curse with her sharp mouth, though her body could no longer move. James stepped on her face to prevent this unknown creature from lunging again, continuing his previous sentence.

"Judging by your appearance, I presume you have a story to tell me?"

Two tall men smoked cigars in a somewhat cramped storage room. Amidst the swirling smoke, James rubbed the bright silver edge of a long-handled battle axe with his thumb; the thick handle had been polished to a glaze by years of use. In a box nearby were rows of blackened silver daggers, spikes, glass bottles, and more.

"Is only silver effective? I mean, what about things like wooden stakes or sunlight? In legends, these are supposed to be fatal to vampires," James asked the President, who was leaning against a wooden crate, quite earnestly.

"Legends aren't entirely accurate. Wood has no effect at all. They dislike sunlight; daylight weakens them, and prolonged exposure can cause injury, so they use things like sunblock to cover up, but it isn't fatal."

"Oh! Right, fire works too."

Lincoln stood up, took the long axe from James's hand, spun it in a flourish, switched hands with practiced ease, and swung it through the air a few times before adding, "They can deceive your vision, creating a certain degree of invisibility, especially in shadows and at night, making them hard to detect. They are as fast as galloping horses and as strong as oxen. Aside from silver, wounds caused by other weapons or methods heal rapidly."

James tilted his head and asked, "Can they survive having their heads cut off?"

"Er... that, they cannot. Decapitation works, but it is very difficult to achieve," the President said with some hesitation, as if pondering why he had never thought of that method himself.

"The truth of history is truly unbelievable. The great Abraham Lincoln was once an outstanding vampire hunter, while the slave owners of the South are vampires, either directly or indirectly. Mr. President, you are truly astonishing." James finished, bowing slightly in a salute.

"I am hardly great." President Lincoln shook his head and continued, "There are too many truths buried; only a few people know even a fraction of them. The vampires in America arrived on this continent with the European pioneers. To this day, they are deeply entrenched. You should remember the death of Governor Smith and his niece a few years ago, right?"

James said with a hint of awkwardness, "Of course... I heard it was food poisoning?"

"No, it was most likely the work of these vampiric beasts. It even alarmed the British Holy See to come and investigate the incident at the time."

James said noncommittally, "Mr. President, I think—"

"Call me Abe. Regardless, you saved my son, and I will not forget this debt! Mr. Howlett!" President Lincoln said with solemnity and gravity.

"Call me James," he said, softening his tone.

The two men puffed on their cigars and smiled at each other.

"Then what about you, James? It's time to tell your story. For instance, how old are you this year?"

James paused, feeling a bit strange, and said, "Twenty-something."

The President asked with both surprise and hesitation, "Not a hundred and twenty? Two hundred and twenty?" James muttered to himself; he certainly wasn't an ordinary human, and this question was indeed a headache.

"Then how did you discover it? How did you know that room would be in trouble from so far away?" President Lincoln's expression grew even more puzzled.

"The smell. From the moment I arrived at the White House tonight, I caught wisps of a bloody scent. At first, I didn't think much of it, as there are many guards here and professional soldiers coming and going. Of course, there was a strong scent on you as well; I was just wondering if you had ever been on the battlefield."

James took another puff of his cigar, exhaled, and continued leisurely, "But after that thing approached, I knew it wasn't a normal person. That thick, bloody stench was like a mountain of rotting corpses, emitting a foul odor that made one faint. My nose has always been sharp; the smell made me nauseous. So, I kept a watch until I felt the surge of intense killing intent. The situation was urgent, and I couldn't explain more to you at the time."

President Lincoln looked at James with a serious yet intrigued expression, falling silent for a moment.

"I believe you can see that I cannot be considered an ordinary person, but I can promise you that I am definitely a human, and I do not need to obtain power through the methods of such dark creatures," James said after a moment of contemplation.

"I believe you. Even if you were a vampire, it wouldn't matter. The person who guided and trained me was a vampire with a conscience and a moral bottom line. Some people are forced to become this way, and they became the mentors for the first generation of vampire hunters."

The President's eyes shone with the luster of memory as he slowly recounted the story of how he saw his mother killed by a vampire as a child, and how he later became a hunter by chance to seek his revenge...

It was early the next morning when James left the White House. He had talked with the President all night—about how to deal with the vampire slave owners, the political structure of the United States, the necessity of abolishing slavery, and so on.

President Lincoln was deeply moved by the extraordinary insights and profound understanding of this young and mysterious Mr. Howlett. With the perspective and foresight of nearly two hundred years from the future, James's ideas and views on this country and the world were filled with unique wisdom.

The President expressed his hope that James would stay in Washington to help him defeat the Southern slave-owning system and the vampire tribes ravaging the continent.

James did not agree immediately. He still had things to finish, and now was not the time for him to emerge. This was a war that had engulfed such a vast country and involved tens of millions of people; it was not something an individual could solve, even if James could no longer find a threat in the current world of ordinary humans.

On the way back, he fell into deep confusion. He regretted not reading more about the Marvel Universe or its related stories in his past life.

According to his knowledge, this world shouldn't have creatures like vampires, yet not only had the entire American South become the world's largest vampire gathering place, but even the famous Abraham Lincoln had become a vampire hunter!

The world was becoming increasingly complex; how much use would his memories from his past life really be?

As he neared the manor, James finally made up his mind. No matter how complex or dangerous this world was, his own fists and strength were the foundation for dealing with everything. He had been practicing kung fu for nearly five years, reaching the level of Anjin, and lately, he had gradually felt his internal energy penetrating into his face.

Reaching the Huajin level he had once attained was close.