Ibaan's ruined body dropped back into the deep, uneven hole. He was already out cold, lost in darkness, yet somewhere inside him a faint flicker still stayed awake—something that had no name. He wasn't gone.

Three hostile creatures appeared at the rim of the hole and climbed down toward him. Their bent necks twisted with sharp jerks, and the wet, stringy, dead strands hanging from their heads swayed with each slow step they took.

***

Nima let out a soft "meow" and hopped onto the narrow railing at the end of the room. Selpe rose from the silver, spotless bench fixed to the white walls of the training hall. Her heart had been beating hard for a while, a steady, rising pulse that warned her something was wrong—like something she had once known was slipping even farther away, far beyond reach.

Still, she kept brushing off that uneasy feeling that had been bothering her for some time.

As Nimoo and Brahmi wrapped up their practice, she walked toward the railing where Nima, her adopted cat, had just leapt.

Right after she was given the sanctified uniform and officially named a royal, they had come straight to the practice hall. Brahmi De Forge challenged her the moment they arrived, wanting to test whether the rumors about her strength were true—rumors that everyone in the State of Heavens seemed to whisper about.

And honestly speaking, Selpe wanted the same. She wanted to measure the power of the Lord of the Plague, Brahmi. She wanted to surpass him. She wanted to push herself without holding back. She wanted him to know exactly who she was—Selpe, the unseen daughter of the Lady of Crimson and Bloodlust, Imvish Vamp.

Her black training tracksuit shone under the bright artificial lights hanging high from the white ceiling.

The white coating on the walls was an anti-glare finish that softened the light from the ceiling lamps. It kept the rays from bouncing too sharply, reducing strain on the eyes—though it hardly mattered to high-branch Mark wielders. All three of them were high-branch, so even the smallest harsh reflection wouldn't have affected them anyway.

Selpe still smiled, despite the pull in her chest. She jumped, flipping forward, her body cutting through the air like a fallen crow. With one hand touching the floor, she landed in a low, bent-back stance.

Lifting her head, she looked at Brahmi De Forge—Lord of the Plague—who stood bare-handed, holding his stance. In every practice and even in real fights, he had never used a weapon. He always fought with his hands alone, and still no one had ever beaten him. That was why everyone knew him, feared him, and gave him the title "The One Who Cannot Be Defeated."

And with that in mind, Selpe felt that using a weapon here would be a clear slap to his pride, humiliating him on the spot and making her look stupid and thick-headed. But another thought slid into her mind, one that clashed with the first.

And the latter thought was simple: why should she even care if the other side felt humiliated, or what they thought about her? Let them think whatever they wanted. What could they even do? "Nothing." And what did any of that have to do with her?

As these thoughts lingered, she suddenly recalled something her father had once planted deep in her mind.

She still remembered it, even though the memory was faint:

"If you ever find yourself wanting to do something, but something rises like a wall in your way…

What will others think if I do this or that? Will they see me as childish and let their tongues wag? Will I feel judged and ashamed?

But listen to my words carefully, my beloved daughter. That way of thinking is pathetic and odious, and most of all, it means you aren't being true to yourself. You aren't being the real you, the unique you. You become no different from all the empty heads in this world.

Be true to yourself. Be yourself, and be unique. You don't need to care about what others think. You were alive before they judged you, and you'll be alive after they judge you— you're still alive now, aren't you?"

Her lips curled up into a calm smile. She didn't summon any weapon in her hands— not because she had lost her feelings, but because she was a loyal soldier to her father's teachings, carrying them without hesitation or guilt.

And besides, she could already use [The Judgement] sword through her own hands—her hands themselves could become the blade.

Brahmi muttered from a distance as he walked toward her, stretching his limbs and rolling his neck. "So, shall we start, Miss Selpe?"

For the first time, Selpe's soft brown eyes shifted into a pure crimson red. They weren't just similar to the eyes of ancient vampires— they were the true eyes of the original vampires. Her black, raven-dark hair swayed even though no wind moved through the hall, as if warning her that whatever was about to happen would not end well for her.

However, nothing crossed her mind—she didn't care, not right now.

With the vision of an original vampire, her physical traits surged by a massive amount, enough to place her at the level of a grandmaster—more precisely, at the level of the Lord of the Plague himself. But her vampire powers, along with her own true strength, were still sealed by the unknown person she once called Qu—the disciple of both her father and her mother—until she completed the first and final challenge he had given her.

Noticing Selpe's crimson eyes, Brahmi tsked, almost jealous and stunned at how her usual brown eyes had turned into those blood-like ones that reminded him of something familiar. After a brief moment of thought, a small and creepy smile curled on his lips, and he released his power.

"Let's get started."

The moment Selpe tried to step in and engage, she pushed with all her strength—yet to her shock, she didn't move even a millimeter. Sweat burst across her face in an instant, and her expression froze completely.

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