Left alone in the dimming twilight of the carriage, Damien gazed at the silver tray, calculating his next move. He stood at a critical crossroads. Should he drink the blood first to claim his immortal birthright, or consume the meat?
Recalling the golden rule from the countless fantasy and kingdom-building novels he had read on Earth, he knew that physical evolution and cellular reconstruction demanded immense nutritional energy. To ensure a flawless transition for his first resurrection—and hopefully not his last—he decided to start with dinner.
He bit into the grilled venison. It tasted divine. In this world, every living creature passively absorbed mana, spirit energy, or aura, depending on the region and the cultivation techniques used. The previous host, however, had been a tragic anomaly. Completely incapable of channeling mana through any traditional technique, he had been left entirely defenseless after his father's death. Knowing the brutal reality of this world—that those with wealth but no power are inevitably crushed by the strong, a fate he had regularly inflicted on commoners using his father's reputation—he had rolled the dice on the stolen primordial bloodline.
Having cleared the plate, Damien wiped his mouth and stared into the crystal goblet of raw deer blood. Standing still meant a slow death at the hands of a moody vassal, a greedy aristocratic neighbor, or a vindictive cousin looking to reclaim his small frontier barony.
He leaned toward the carriage door and called out to the guard outside. "I wish to rest for the night. See to it that absolutely no one enters this carriage until morning."
"Yes, Your Highness," Commander Frederick's voice echoed back with military precision.
Damien took a deep breath, lifted the goblet, and drank.
The moment the thick fluid hit his throat, a blinding wave of agony erupted. He instantly wished he were still dead. Every single fiber of his body was torn apart and reconstructed at a molecular level. Yet, intertwined with this infinite pain, an intoxicating surge of absolute power began to flood his veins. After what felt like an eternity, the storm subsided.
Damien opened his eyes and looked out the dark carriage window. The pitch-black night now appeared as bright as day. His ears twitched as he distinctly picked up a double rhythmic sound from outside: the steady heartbeat of the guard and the rushing murmur of blood flowing through the man's veins. He ran his tongue over his teeth, feeling the razor-sharp tips of his newly formed canine fangs.
The evolution was a complete success. By mere birthright, a vampire possessed a baseline physical strength comparable to a Level 1 Low-Tier Knight—a realm humans had to train their bodies to the absolute limit to achieve by igniting their "life seeds." Furthermore, his innate mystic capacity instantly placed him at the rank of a High-Class Wizard Apprentice.
As the transformation settled, ancestral memories dormant within the bloodline unlocked inside his brain, laying out the laws of his new existence:
• The Law of Blood Refining: To advance through major tiers, he simply had to consume and refine blood. However, as he grew stronger, the system would demand higher-quality, purer blood from more powerful beings.
• The Magic Impurity Trait: While blood refinement exponentially increased his raw mana reserves, he would need to find a high-quality meditation technique to purge the residual biological impurities from his mana core and shape the magic into his own.
• Elemental Restrictions: As a sovereign of the dark, holy elemental paths (Light, Lightning, Holy Fire) were completely barred from him. He could only wield dark magic or neutral, non-holy spells.
• The Thralldom Hierarchy: He could turn other humanoids. True Vampires turned by him would always be locked exactly one minor realm below his current level, unable to progress until he did. Alternatively, he could create Dhampirs (blood slaves) or other undead variants. While his capacity to create them was limitless, each thrall required a portion of his own refined blood, directly slowing down his personal path to power. Balancing his army against his personal strength would be his greatest tactical challenge.
Along with his racial traits, three innate abilities etched themselves into his mind:
1. Blood Control: The telekinetic manipulation of his own blood or any spilled blood around him.
2. Blood Bullet: A highly compressed, armor-piercing kinetic projectile of hardened blood.
3. Necromancy (Dark Element): The power to raise basic skeleton soldiers. While currently low in quality and acting as mere cannon fodder, their presence on a battlefield would inflict a terrifying psychological terror debuff on low-level mortal ranks, especially in the absence of holy priests, paladins, or druids.
Finally, a faint, flickering holographic interface hovered at the edge of his vision. Damien could tell it was a system designed to track his statistics and progress, but it lacked a stable physical anchor. He would need a permanent medium—such as an heirloom ring or amulet—to properly bind and view the screen.
The overarching power structure of this vast planet was now clear to him. Power was divided into 9 Major Levels, with each level split into four distinct sub-ranks: Low, Middle, High, and Perfected. Countless paths to longevity existed across the continents—Magi, Knights, Warriors, Priests, and Cultivators. Combining a primordial bloodline with an active magical path was a staggeringly rare anomaly.
With his mind sorted, Damien sat cross-legged on the velvet cushions, closing his eyes to refine the remaining deer blood before falling into a deep sleep.
In the pitch-black interior of the carriage, a deeply sinister, predatory smile crept onto his face 😈. He had a barony to run, an Industrial Revolution to ignite, and an eternity as the dread Prince of Darkness to enjoy it.