From his chamber window, moments after the crash, when chaos had erupted in the courtyard and guards were shouting into comms, he had seen a faint shadow slip out of the wreck. Not fall, but descend. It was controlled, slow, and steady. Like someone hovering on invisible strings.

And when the barrier broke, that same figure had vanished into the castle walls.

No one else noticed. No one even suspected.

Now, as he sat among these so-called leaders and strategists, Luther's jaw clenched. The others were too busy arguing over "procedure" and "reports," too content with their half-measures.

He rose slowly from his seat, his cape dragging faintly over the marble. The few remaining voices fell silent.

"Pathetic," Luther muttered. His voice wasn't loud—but it carried, sharp enough to cut through the air. "Every one of you."

Heads turned. The room tensed.

"You sit here," he continued, "surrounded by luxury, feeding on comfort, and call yourselves the pride of our kind. Yet you can't even tell when something walks into your home."

The elders shifted, uneasy. None dared respond.

Luther looked at them one by one, his crimson eyes cold. "A car crashes through our defenses, destroys one of our pillars, and instead of investigating, you call it a malfunction. Instead of acting, you debate."

He stepped away from the table. "You're all so used to living off our ancestors' glory that you've forgotten what it means to protect it. You're a disgrace. A stain. A gathering of rusted relics calling themselves vampires."

The room stayed silent, heads bowed.

Luther stopped at the door and glanced back once. "The one who entered our castle tonight is still inside. None of you even noticed."

And with that, he left the room—his words hanging in the air like the smell of blood.

The room stayed frozen long after the echo of Luther's footsteps faded down the corridor.

No one dared speak at first.

The elders exchanged uncertain glances, their pride stung but their fear sharper. The council head, an old vampire whose white hair fell to his shoulders, finally broke the silence. "He… couldn't have meant that literally, could he? An intruder?"

The defense overseer frowned. "If he did see someone, then they masked themselves well. Our sensors would've picked up any foreign mana signature inside the barrier."

Another voice came from the far end. "Unless the intruder was using suppression arts. Or a cloaking relic."

Whispers spread again—words like impossible, unseen, ghost-level infiltration.

The old strategist leaned back, shaking his head. "If anyone had that kind of ability, they'd have no reason to crash a hovercar first. The Lord must be mistaken."

But even as he said it, none of them sounded convinced. Everyone remembered Luther's tone. The man wasn't one to make empty claims.

The security chief finally slammed his palm on the table. "Double the patrols. I don't care if it's a phantom or a shadow—we sweep every corridor, every hall, every drain. No one moves alone tonight. If His Excellency saw something, we act."

Orders were barked. Messengers ran. The red light from the moon filtered through the glass again, painting their faces as they argued. But deep down, none of them knew if their efforts would even matter.

Because by now—Luther was already gone, and he had taken it to himself to teach the lesson to the intruder who dared to invade the territory of the vampire lord.

Far below the castle's main floor, in the shadowed halls that few ever entered, Luther moved like a phantom himself. The sound of his boots barely grazed the marble, each step echoing once before fading into silence.

He'd shed his formal coat, wearing only a black vest lined with faint silver threads that pulsed with mana. His eyes burned faintly crimson, vision cutting through the dark.

The castle had shifted from calm to chaos—guards running in formation, drones scanning the corridors. He ignored all of it. He didn't need their noise. He trusted his senses more than any device.

He closed his eyes, just for a second, and listened.

The world slowed.

He could hear everything—the heartbeat of every living thing within two kilometers. The pulse of energy from the defense nodes, the faint flicker of heat from torches lining the lower halls. His hearing sifted through it all, filtering until only one sound stood out—too calm, too steady to be a servant or a guard.

There. East wing.

In a blink, Luther vanished.

Wind burst through the hallway as he reappeared halfway across the castle, moving faster than sight. His feet barely touched the floor before he was gone again, a streak of shadow between the pillars.

He reappeared in the east corridor—a long, abandoned section filled with old relics and forgotten armors. The scent here was different.

It was human.

He exhaled slowly and stretched his fingers. Crimson veins flared along his arm as his aura expanded, filling the corridor. The chandeliers flickered, reacting to the surge. The walls themselves seemed to vibrate under the pressure.

"You've made it this far," he said quietly, voice steady but carrying through the emptiness. "So come out."

For a moment, nothing. Then a faint shimmer near the far wall distorted, as though the air itself rippled.

Luther smirked. "There you are."

The shimmer solidified into a figure cloaked in reactive armor—transparent one second, visible the next. The man wore a hood and a half-mask, his eyes hidden behind a visor.

Luther took a step forward, the air around him pulsing. "You crashed a hovercar through my home and thought you could hide from me? I should tear you apart just for that."

The intruder didn't answer. He crouched low, drawing a blade that gleamed faintly even in the dark.

Luther's fangs bared in a faint grin. "Good. I hate cowards."

The figure shifted slightly, raising the blade just enough for the red moonlight filtering through the cracked window to slide along its surface. It wasn't a normal sword—its edge rippled, alive, like metal pretending to breathe. Faint runes slithered across its length, glowing in rhythm with the wielder's pulse.

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