Witch Monastery

Ten minutes earlier, in another private box, Von Stein and the old Marquis Cavendish sat side by side on a sofa behind the velvet ropes, wine glasses in hand, savoring the thick, wine-red blood within as they watched the models strut their stuff on stage.

Both of their faces were pale as parchment, pupils tinged with blood-red, and a set of gleaming canines betrayed their current nature: Vampire.

With narrowed eyes, they admired the girls on stage—their figures, their outfits—full of appreciation.

"Times really have changed," Von Stein remarked, "Outfits like these would have been condemned as shameless in my era. And now, they’re paraded about in full view of society for everyone to admire, celebrated even!"

His tone, however, was not at all judgmental. On the contrary, Von Stein had always been something of a rebel, and frankly, he loved the energy.

Old Marquis Cavendish drained his glass in one go and smiled, "So, in your time, how did women dress?"

"Robes, all robes—every inch covered," Von Stein explained. "Nothing but hands and face exposed. Oh, and truly pious women always wore veils in public—even their husbands were the only ones who could see their true faces."

He glanced down at the catwalk, a note of wonder in his voice, "And now? Look at these girls—arms, legs, waists, navels—everything out in the open. Some are even showing off half their backsides, on stage, for crowds of strangers to ogle. Unbelievable!"

Cavendish chuckled, "Actually, even for this time, this sort of show is rare. Honestly, in my sixty-plus years, I’ve never seen an exhibition quite like it."

He sighed, watching the girls below, "Young people... their imaginations are far scarier than ours ever were!"

Von Stein laughed, his crimson gaze burning with desire as he eyed the stage.

He suddenly asked, "So—these girls, whose are they? Have you heard?"

Cavendish’s smile faded as he looked down, "I’m told the organizer is a man named Charles. Maybe he’s the ’master’ of these women—the same Nigel Charles who’s taken Liberl Port by storm this last year."

Von Stein’s eyes narrowed, "Oh? What makes him so special?"

"Oh, he’s a looker—even the paladin daughters of House Amcastra have fallen for him," Cavendish said. "With that face, he’s the dream lover of half the young women in this city."

Von Stein snorted, "So just a pretty boy, all looks and no substance?"

"Not entirely," said Cavendish, hyping up Charles as much as possible, "He’s only seventeen or eighteen, but already a powerful spellcaster. Last year, during the demon outbreak, he and his girlfriends killed hordes of demons, and he was granted a hereditary noble title—a countship—because of it."

Von Stein’s smile faded. "A spellcaster? Not bad. What circle?"

"Supposedly sixth circle," Cavendish replied solemnly. "My grandson studies at the magic university. He and his mentors all agree—Charles is at LEAST a tenth-level spellcaster."

"My good sir, someone like that is better left undisturbed. We don’t want to get on the wrong side of a powerhouse."

It was a cautious suggestion, but Von Stein let out a scoffing, disdainful grin. "That’s it?"

He fixed Cavendish with a look that screamed "country bumpkin." "Back in my day there were plenty of ’in-laws’ puffed up by their wife’s family. Spellcasters deserve respect, sure, but there’s nothing special about these self-inflated types."

"You really are naïve, Cavendish. I know you don’t trust my strength—but that’s only because you’ve never seen what I can do..."

He set his glass down, rose from the sofa. His tailcoat floated over, draping itself across his shoulders, and his red tie knotted itself. "Watch. I’ll show you just how powerful your ’master’ really is. As for Charles—he’ll be on his knees before me soon, offering up everything he has!"

Cavendish stood also, bowing low. "I have never doubted you once, Master. I await your victorious return."

Von Stein strode out, merging with the shadows and vanishing without a trace.

Arrogant and confident in his power, he moved unseen through the tidal wave of the show crowds, heading for backstage.

No one noticed his passing—not a shadow, not a sound.

He slipped quietly down the corridor behind the changing rooms. The walls here weren’t very soundproof—he could hear the giggles and chatter of the beautiful models as they joked and teased inside.

Just hearing those sounds, imagining after what he’d just seen—the backstage games, the clothes coming off and on—he felt the thrill. This, he thought, was paradise.

Soon, all these girls would be my bloodthralls.

This time... I’m going to hold an empire of seven thousand spawn!

He stretched out his hand, muttered a silent incantation, preparing to cast his spell and phase through the door.

But just then, two figures rounded the corner. A man and a woman, both tall and striking—the man had a mane of snowy white hair, the woman golden-blonde with blue eyes, her dress flared with a wide yellow skirt.

Von Stein turned instinctively, just as the girl raised her hand, "He’s right ahead—he’s invisible and about to open the door!"

As she spoke, a searing golden light shot forth, bathing Von Stein and revealing his silhouette in shimmering transparency.

At the same time, the white-haired man’s hand burst with light—a massive twin-bladed polearm materialized in his grip. Pale blue wings sprouted from his back as mana surged around him. In a heartbeat, he launched forward like a hawk striking prey, aimed straight at Von Stein!

Von Stein felt his non-existent hackles rise—despite being a vampire, the surge of panic hit him hard!

"Tch—!"

He forced down the fear, sneered, and his body exploded into a swirling storm of bats, filling the corridor.

Each bat was a part of him, yet none was the whole. It was a trick that made it nearly impossible for Charles to land a solid blow.

Von Stein’s stats might not be great, but he had a notoriously obnoxious combat mechanic best described as "trickster of the battlefield." For new players, he was a nightmare. For experienced ones—or those familiar with guides—he was a pushover and a goldmine.

And as for Charles, who’d studied every strategy: this bloodsucker was just target practice.

"Three... two... one!"

He counted to himself and spun, slashing his polearm down in a perfect arc—

At that very instant, the mass of bats pooled behind him, beginning to reform as Von Stein recited a spell: "Death—"

But his casting never finished. The polearm’s blades crashed down, exploding with mana and sending Von Stein flying!

"Argh—!"

The vampire reappeared in his battered tux, tumbling and rolling, his shoulder gashed to the bone. Thanks to his regeneration the wound healed quickly, but his face was ashen with humiliation.

How the hell—?!

How did he predict my move and catch me precisely as I was shifting back!?

Could he be a diviner?

But why’s he so good with a polearm?!

He didn’t get any time to mull it over. Charles, wings unfurled, closed in, power surging in his weapon—ready to finish things.

Charles had his measure, and Von Stein would be lucky to survive.

Can’t win.

Gotta run.

Humiliated, Von Stein dissolved into bats again, dodging Charles’ next strike and reforming at the far end of the corridor. He barreled through the glass—

Crash!

—smashed his way outside, right into the sunlight.

"AAAH—!"

The sunset rays weren’t deadly, but they burned his skin, making him screech in agony.

He conjured black mist to shield himself, summoned bat wings, and took off in a flash.

Hurling curses over his shoulder: Damn you, Nigel Charles! I swear I’ll make you mine, turn you into one of my spawn, and see you suffer agony you can’t imagine!

But at that very moment, a blue streak burst through the window and shot after him—gaining fast!

Von Stein panicked.

He’s even faster than me!

No room for boasting now—he took off at top speed, humiliated beyond words.

If anyone in Muse District happened to look up, they’d have seen two streaks flashing across the sky—one black, one blue—the blue pursuing and the gap closing rapidly.

Von Stein’s undead heart pounded as he spotted a river up ahead.

Vampires were supposed to avoid running water—its flowing current corroded their flesh like acid, making them weak and hideous.

But desperate, Von Stein dove for the river, thinking: As long as I get away from Charles, I’ll risk even lava!

He plunged, high-diving like a stone—splash!

Inelegant, soaking wet, and choking on brine—but at least out of Charles’s reach.

He glanced back, relieved—until he saw the blue light plummet into the water too, wings morphing into fins, swimming even faster.

What Von Stein didn’t know: Charles had mastered "Tasha’s Otherworldly Guise" while underwater. Thanks to Hattie’s power-sharing, he was even more agile underwater than he was on land.

For Von Stein, there was no escape. Charles quickly caught up, rammed the twin-bladed polearm into the vampire, and shouted—"Purified!"

Blessed white light seared out, gnawing at the vampire’s soul.

"Wait—wait!" Von Stein flailed, choking bubbles. "Don’t kill me! I have a secret!"

He blurted out fast, "The Deep-Sea Great Old Ones are about to awaken—not just this city, the whole world is about to face disaster!"

At this, Charles hesitated, pulled out his polearm, and yanked Von Stein up by the collar.

The spell protected him, letting him breathe and speak underwater. As long as "Tasha’s Otherworldly Guise" held, he was safer here than anywhere.

Von Stein, miserable, begged, "Get me up and I’ll talk—I’ll drown, this river’s eating me alive!"

Charles shot him a cold glare. "No tricks," he warned, then rocketed upward, dragging Von Stein back toward the theater as a streak of blue.

He pinged Anno and Fatima with his Sending Stones, then crashed through the broken window into the corridor and stormed into Anno’s room, hurling the drenched vampire onto the floor.

Von Stein, sputtering and coughing, looked up to see three sets of eyes—Charles, Anno (the paladin who’d broken his stealth), and—he froze.

Fatima.

She’s awake?

He gawked at her, processing, then managed a weak, ingratiating smile. "Sister-in-law... This is all a misunderstanding—"

Charles cut him off, wings folding as his mood—ruined—darkened his face. "Talk. What do you know?"

Fatima averted her gaze, unwilling to acknowledge him. Von Stein’s heart sank, but seeing her standing he reassured himself: If she could survive, maybe so could he.

He got shakily to his feet, glanced at Fatima, then at Charles. "She awakened too? Then you must already suspect—"

"Lady Fatima was awakened by us," Charles interjected coldly. "She knows nothing about what’s happening—none of this concerns her today."

"You, though—I want everything you know."

Von Stein hesitated... then exhaled in relief. He was lucky to have awakened so early.

He nodded grimly. "If you reached that island, you must know the state of its seal. To be honest, my awakening wasn’t chance—it was triggered by an early-warning enchantment left by my brother. He wanted me to awaken to investigate what’s happened in this era."

He grew resolute. "All of it—everything we do now—is to prepare for the return of the Great Old Ones who destroyed our kingdom!"

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