The tent was dim, lit only by the blue glow of his mana lantern. Packed with seven other men, it felt cramped—but that too was a deliberate step meant to amplify the psychological pressure on the village guard from Elaneth they had captured.

Numian breathed in deeply, puffing out his chest. He stomped on the lesser elf's foot. The man yelped, the sound muffled by the rags stuffed in his mouth, and he kept struggling and writhing on the ground, his eyes, hands, and legs all bound.

"Now, nod your head to confirm what I say, or shake it to deny."

"Has a Beast Tide hit your village?"

The man nodded furiously. That brought a smile to the faces of the other two warriors. This prick had injured them with the help of his Luna Wolf, a species that easily ranked in the middle of Rank C, which held only beasts from level one hundred and one to three hundred. A backwater village nestled in a forest like this, a place that had suffered a full wipeout from a Beast Tide just a few hundred years ago, shouldn't already possess such tamed beasts. He needed to glean more from him, because clearly the information he'd gathered back when he came to help that old mage, Elhem, had become quite outdated.

"Are most of your womenfolk still alive? And is that old man Elhem still kicking?" The man's face cleared, as if he'd caught on to what Numian was after. Numian grabbed him by the silver hair at his scalp and yanked his head forward. "Nod to say yes to both, or shake your head to deny. If you lie, I'll kill your family. If you speak the truth, I'll spare you and your family alone, and maybe a few of the people you recommend. So answer wisely."

The man stopped all his flailing and looked him dead in the eye. There it was—the show of courage. He'd seen many with that kind of courage back in his adventuring days, people who looked as if they'd rather die than speak. It was a courage that could be broken through with just a few plucked nails and teeth.

He'd gone through the trouble of buying the cooperation of these nine warriors, and they had purposely injured and crippled themselves so that their escort crew would abandon them near the outskirts of Elaneth. After that, he'd spent prized healing potions—the kind used only by Rank B adventurers above level three hundred—to heal himself and his men back up. The investment so far had consumed most of his savings, including the loans taken from Red Shield.

With that much on the line, breaking a few nails and organs of this man was a simple matter. Yet, judging by his gaze, Numian felt fairly certain that most of the womenfolk were at peace, and not in pieces. And the fact that an uncorrupted Luna Wolf was helping him—that meant the old mage Elhem had somehow managed to secure a pact with a pack of spirit-borns. It was common knowledge how intelligent these beings were, though much of their population was corrupt and treated no differently than magic-borns.

Either way, this would mean that much of Elaneth's manpower had likely survived, and was now even amplified with the help of the spirit-borns. He could also hear noises from outside; his men were speaking with someone.

I recall asking for the village chief; guess he has come.

This complicated things further. If Elhem was alive and well, putting the old man down would be more than enough trouble. He hadn't accounted for any of this. Through his links with Red Shield, he'd acquired information that the Great Summoner Raynair of Astral Portal had provoked the monster population of this forest, driving them mad in order to capture some good beasts and even some elven slaves. But he'd received no word of Raynair selling any lesser elves on the market or supplying them to Duke Sarian Noctis's army. He'd assumed Raynair had simply taken his share of beasts and left in a rush for something else. The agents of Red Shield hadn't argued against the notion, and had even financed his venture.

And now this…

He breathed in deeply again, this time not just to puff up his chest and look intimidating. He looked at the white-haired warrior, a lesser vampire unlike him. "Go ahead and untie him."

The man complied and untied the elf. Almost immediately, the elf sprang to his feet and lunged at the lesser vampire. The white-haired vampire, Ren, swept at the guard's legs, sending him sprawling forward. Ren straightened his robes and walked back to stand beside Numian.

[Lesser Vampire (Ren) – lvl 86]

An elite among elites, in a century Ren would be ranked near the top. Combined with his mastery of hand-to-hand martial arts and sword arts, he could easily push around any less-skilled level 100 warriors. And this elf, Syrian, was merely level 20.

If not for the spirit-born, these trash elves would've been wiped out for a second time.

Good for him though, that they weren't completely wiped.

He moved forward, grabbed him by the hair, and lifted his face to his level.

"Damn, despite the curse, you guys still have better looks than the actors and stars of Thanevros's entertainment industry." he said, a smile playing on the corner of his lips.

"You lowly dead apostle," he cursed out, "How dare you even entertain the thought of hurting the people of Elaneth, much less enslav—!"

Numian's hand flew out, and a slap rang across the tent. His men—except for Ren—flinched back. Through its torn cheeks, the elf cursed, "Dead apostle scum…"

The lesser vampires around him smirked.

"I see," Numian said, the veins on his head popping red. He ignored the increasingly heated noises outside. "The curse of the lost age hasn't stripped away enough of you bastards' racial pride, huh?" Again, he raised his arm, this time imbuing it with enough mana to kill. He had no use for this one anyway. "Guess I'll teach you some humili—?!"

A calm voice came from outside, cutting him off, "I'd prefer if you explain the reasons for your brash conduct that had harmed my people."

And what followed was the roar and howling of mana, as it slammed over them. The tent collapsed on them while an unseen pressure pressed them downward.

"This… this!" the lesser vampire stuttered. "It's a Royal Guard… ugh!" The warrior struggled to stay on his feet while the outpouring of mana slammed into them relentlessly. Even Ren, silent as he was, had been forcing himself to stand—and he was failing.

Numian had already fallen to all fours, his face close to the dirt. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the elven guard's smile; the man's face was practically buried in the dirt, and he was still smiling.

Why?

Outside, everything had gone silent save for the grunts of his warriors. It didn't make sense. He'd been adventuring for decades, nearly a century, before joining the legion of Sarian Noctis, drawn mainly by the high pay and low risks. She waged wars often, but those mostly consumed the lives of the ever-populating dead apostles and lesser vampires with no skills or value. He had both, so naturally he'd remained unscathed. He'd also been purchasing lesser vampire blood repeatedly to replace his own. That was the only way a dead apostle could ascend to a lesser vampire.

He'd come here to capture as many lesser elves as possible, sell them to the Duke's legion, and use the money to buy more blood and finally ascend into a lesser vampire. He had only a few hundred years of life left. Dying of old age was unacceptable—especially for someone like him, who'd done everything with the sole goal of ascending his biological limit. A dead apostle could never reach A rank in the Adventurers' Guild, or become a centurion in a century. He had the skills, he had the brains, and he had the shamelessness to exploit both to their limits. But his body limited him. But if that was the case, he'd just have to use his indomitable will to push forward anyway!

He felt strength surge back into his muscles, and he amplified it with mana to push his body up against this wave.

"You…" he forced out, "you really think I've come this far just to accept defeat from whatever trickery that mage of yours has pulled?" He rose to his feet, back still buckled under the pressure, but standing. Inside the tent, only he and Ren were still upright, even if barely.

Ren eyed him with the kind of respect he hadn't shown before, but behind it Numian could see the warrior's mind turning over his words.

"You think this is some sort of spell?" Ren asked.

"Naturally. What else could it be?" He answered, still focusing most of his attention and strength to keep standing. "Likely the old man sneaked up on our camp and cast it while the guards outside weren't looking."

A pained laugh came from behind them—the elven guard. The Royal Guard's pressure had, for whatever reason, stopped affecting him, and he'd shifted onto his back, still lying there. Stains of blood covered his lips.

The guard's laughter intensified inside the tent, bordering on mockery.

"Haha, our lord has come."

Lord?

------

It seemed Xuan had gone a bit overboard. The amount of mana he'd released, intending just to make the men take him seriously, had knocked them out instead. Not what he was hoping for.

But it did allow him to go ahead and retrieve the village guard. The man was okay; nothing drastic had happened, nothing like what his mind had been imagining, fortunately. And with all the ten warriors unconscious, it was something of a truce—an end to the violence, for now.

"I think?"

Again, he didn't know how to weigh one violence against another to equalize things fairly. But he did believe that knocking several men unconscious in exchange for them injuring one of his was fair. Except that something within him still stung at seeing Syrian’s bloody face.

He should still restrain himself, with the amount of strength he had now, he could surely beat these guys to a pulp in revenge. But that would only lead to the Duke of this domain launching a war against him. Even if not a full scale war, they are certain to send a force to ‘punish them’. Even back in his world, touching the authorities of the government had repercussions. He calmed himself by taking in a breath, when you had the power to act, not acting was the hard part.

Either way, he'd brought them to the village square. They stood confused, eyes darting left and right. The one called Ren, the highest-leveled vampire among them, was the only one fixated on Luna, while the others marveled at their surroundings.

"No way… How—how did this village turn into this?" said the leader, Numian, a gray-haired dead apostle who looked no different from a lesser vampire, except that his pupils were perpetually red and his soul was much weaker than a true lesser vampire's. Xuan also noticed that the mana wasn't as well fused with Numian's muscles compared to even the lowest-level warrior vampire in their group. "Elhem, what did you do? A Beast Tide was supposed to destroy your village, not rebuild it into this."

"Yeah, boss, how come these backwater elves have finely crafted houses, and kitchens, and well-paved roads, while we back in the capital barely have anything like it?"

Numian shot him a glare, then cleared his throat, suppressing his astonishment. Xuan felt his lips part into a smirk, his chest puffing up at their amazement.

It wasn't as though he had been the one to develop the village.

"I wonder if this is the kind of pride parents feel in their child's success," he muttered.

"Did Lord Xuan say something?" Elhem asked, leaning in.

Xuan shook his head. "No, nothing." He cleared his throat and clasped his hands behind his back. He stepped toward Numian. "So, what do you want from us?"

He already knew everything the guard had said. What he really wished to know was whether this man intended to continue on his way regardless.

"Well," Numian glanced over all the people present, his gaze hardening when it met the eyes of the spirit-borns. "I believe it would be wise for us to head back and report on this concentration of spirit-borns in a single place. And also, I believe Duke Sarian—the sister of Duke Zavian, the actual lord of your domain—requires a tithe of elven men and women to aid Duke Sarian's war efforts."

The spirit-borns, especially Luna, snarled at his words, while the Elven women clenched on the sleeves of their husbands and fathers. The eyes of Elhem and most Elven men had gone cold.

Amongst this, a laugh rang out across the otherwise deathly quiet village square. It was Xuan who was laughing. He didn't know he could laugh so freely; he'd thought he'd lost that ability after reaching adulthood.

"This guy," he pointed at Numian, still laughing, "is just too funny."

........

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