Vampires' lives were like the lives of the wealthy—always dull and flavorless.
They possessed one of the world's most precious treasures: endless lifespans. Yet the source of that longevity was a curse, and naturally, it left those who had lost their souls with an endless sense of emptiness.
Every day, they held the same wineglasses, listened to similar waltzes, and lived in a closed-off little world. Most vampires could not even see sunlight.
It was truly painful.
But that had little to do with Su Ming now. Most of the vampires at the ball did not dare speak to him. They might indeed be nobles, but in their eyes, the Sorcerer Supreme was like the tyrant of the Mystic Side, far more terrifying than even the progenitor of vampires.
The peace and quiet was not a bad thing. In the grand ballroom, Deathstroke found Dracula chatting with the guests. He seemed to be in a good mood today; even his white hair gleamed like silver.
Su Ming did not need him to introduce any younger vampires. Instead, he pulled the Grand Duke into a small lounge beside the hall to discuss some serious matters and ask a few questions.
Once they were seated in the small room, Dracula looked speechless when he saw that the Sorcerer Supreme had brought his own food. But he had no way to change Deathstroke's mind, so he could only pretend not to notice Master chatting while wrapping roast duck.
"I took care of Chthon. Have there been any changes among you vampires? Good or bad, it all counts." As Su Ming spoke, he placed shredded scallions and cucumber into a thin pancake. Doom's butler was quite impressive too. For a foreigner to make Imperial Capital roast duck to this standard was truly not bad.