Death or Victory

The "Thirteen Blood Lodges" form the third generation of vampires and represent the very core of their ancient lineage. Each of these thirteen vampire clans possesses a sacred relic, known collectively as the Thirteen Sacred Vampire Artifacts.

Doom Key – A mystical relic rumored to be the very key to Hell's gates.Corpse Hand – The severed left hand of Cain, the first vampire. It is said to hold the secrets of the universe.Plague Bracelet – The source of all disease. It has the power to unleash deadly plagues, and legends claim it was responsible for history's greatest pandemics, including the Black Death.Blood Marionette – A blood-draining puppet capable of mimicking the form of any human or vampire it has consumed.Bone Harp – A musical relic infused with dark magic. When touched by blood, it plays an unearthly melody, producing a creaking sound of bones, which then form a protective skeletal armor around its master.Blood Chalice – A goblet that continuously overflows with blood, capable of producing the blood of any chosen individual. Drinking from it temporarily grants the strength and abilities of the original blood owner.Bloodborne Staff – A staff of regeneration and awakening. It can unlock latent abilities within vampires, and even trigger hidden potential in humans and animals, though the transformation is highly unstable.Soul Ring – A powerful artifact that grants mind control, working on both humans and vampires alike. It has the ability to unleash the wearer's deepest, most forbidden desires.Slaughter Blade – A legendary sword that has slain over five million souls. The spirits of its victims remain trapped within, bound to its master as a phantom army. Whoever wields this blade commands an undead legion of five million spectral warriors.Executioner's Axe – Grants its wielder tremendous strength, amplifying physical power tenfold, but at a grave cost—the wielder will bleed continuously and uncontrollably.Phantom Mirror – A blood-infused mirror that, when stained with blood, reveals the past of its blood donor. The reflected light has the ability to manipulate both humans and vampires, and its mystical glow serves as a formidable weapon and shield.Ghost Lantern – Emits an eerie, spectral glow that induces hallucinations and mind control, allowing its wielder to bend others to their will.Cursed Vial – A relic capable of mutating blood into an unholy elixir. Drinking the altered blood transforms humans, beasts, or vampires into rampaging, monstrous creatures with overwhelming strength and bloodlust.

These thirteen artifacts, passed down through the Thirteen Blood Lodges, are both a blessing and a curse, holding unimaginable power, yet carrying unspeakable dangers.

The Felchersey family, with its thousand-year legacy, was no stranger to wielding influence. As reinforcements poured in, the morale of its people surged. Many who had once fallen into despair now regained their confidence, some even eagerly calling for a counterattack to drive the invaders from their lands.

However, their enemies were no mere pushovers. The three dominant British families—Pembroke, Ustair, and Tanley—were each formidable in their own right. Now, with their unprecedented alliance, they posed an even greater threat. As the head of the Felchersey family, Nathaniel understood the true extent of their power—far better than the overzealous young warriors shouting for battle. He knew that without the intervention of André Alexandros and the elite reinforcements, the Felchersey family would have already fallen. Even with such strong allies now at their side, they still needed to tread carefully.

Meanwhile, Fanmuir found his time at Cliff Castle rather tedious. Olivia had eagerly given him a grand tour of the castle, yet idleness did not sit well with him. More than that, the separation from Caroline gnawed at him, leaving him both emotionally restless and physically yearning.

On the fifth day of his stay, Nathaniel Felchersey finally convened a council of war, gathering all available allies to devise a strategy for defeating the invaders.

Given his Great Archmage-level abilities, Fanmuir was, of course, among those invited. Even Olivia, who ordinarily wouldn't qualify for such a meeting, was granted a seat solely because of Fanmuir.

The conference hall was stately and imposing. Its bronze-hued walls were adorned with portraits of past Felchersey leaders, and the polished, timeworn conference table bore witness to countless generations of strategic discussions.

The room was filled with Felchersey elites and powerful reinforcements—many of whom were High Mages and True Martial Warriors.

In the Western magical hierarchy, mages ascended in rank as follows: Apprentice Mage, Junior Mage, Intermediate Mage, High Mage, Grand Mage, Great Archmage, Archmagus, and the legendary Magus Primordial. Warriors followed a similar ranking: Body Martialist, Intent Martialist, True Martialist, Transcendent Martialist, Sky Martialist, Divine Martialist (Void-Breaking), Warlord, and the mythical War God.

To ordinary people, these High Mages and High-Ranked Warriors were awe-inspiring figures—renowned, respected, and feared.

To Fanmuir, however, they were nothing but feeble mortals. He could wipe them out with a flick of his fingers, their power utterly insignificant in his eyes.

Among the attendees, André Alexandros was unquestionably the most formidable, recognized as one of Europe's top legendary warriors. Naturally, he was seated at the head of the table.

Recognizing Fanmuir's immense strength, Nathaniel placed him in a position of honor, which did not go unnoticed. Those unfamiliar with Fanmuir exchanged skeptical glances, their eyes filled with doubt, envy, and even disdain.

Yet, while others dismissed him, André Alexandros did not.

In fact, he was deeply unsettled. Despite his Legendary Warlord-level strength, he couldn't sense the limits of Fanmuir's power at all. This was unprecedented—something he had never experienced before.

What puzzled him even more was the strange sense of familiarity he felt emanating from Fanmuir—as though he had encountered this aura before, somewhere in the distant past.

"Young man, what's your name?" André Alexandros asked, his tone warm and friendly.

As one of Europe's most legendary warriors, André Alexandros stood among the ranks of the Blood Clan's Princes, the Wolf King, and the Great Archmages—a figure of mythic renown.

For such an exalted figure to personally address Fanmuir with such deference?

The gathered warriors and magi could hardly believe their ears.

Their gazes burned with envy and resentment.

Who was this nameless upstart?

Not only had he been given a seat of honor, but he had also captured the attention of André Alexandros himself!

What stroke of luck had landed him in such a position?

But then, Fanmuir did something that made jaws drop even further.

Instead of responding with admiration or gratitude, he merely said, in the laziest, most indifferent tone possible:

"Fanmuir."

And that was it.

His casual dismissal made it clear—he had zero interest in engaging further.

The entire room fell into stunned silence.

For the first time in decades, André Alexandros found himself at a loss for words.

His face flushed red, then paled, clearly unaccustomed to such blatant disregard.

The shock in the room quickly turned to outrage.

The audacity!

To show such open disrespect to the most revered warrior in Europe—this wasn't just an insult to André Alexandros, but to every warrior, mage, and noble in attendance.

Even Nathaniel Felchersey, though composed, felt his patience wearing thin.

After all, André Alexandros was their greatest hope.

Yes, Fanmuir was a Great Archmage, but he was still no match for a legend like Alexandros.

However, rather than letting tensions escalate, Nathaniel swiftly intervened, announcing the official start of the meeting before things got out of hand.

Seated behind him, Olivia leaned in close, whispering urgently:

"You can't speak to Grandpa André like that! Show some respect!"

Fanmuir could hardly contain his amusement.

Was he really the one at fault here?

Did these people not realize who he was?

As the true master of the Alexandros family, why should he bend the knee to his own subordinate?

And had no one noticed that André Alexandros had called him 'little brother'?

If his own servant had dared to address him so casually, and he hadn't even objected, wasn't that already an act of patience?

His mere tolerance should have been proof enough.

"First and foremost," Nathaniel Felchersey's gravelly voice echoed through the hall, momentarily diverting everyone's attention, "on behalf of the Felchersey family, I extend my deepest gratitude to all of you who have risked life and limb to stand by us."

Nathaniel then began introducing the various allies who had answered their call for aid.

Among the Felchersey family, there were nine Grand Magi, including Nathaniel himself, along with dozens of lower-ranking magi.

As for their external reinforcements, apart from André Alexandros, whose power surpassed that of a Great Archmage, and Fanmuir, who was also ranked as a Great Archmage, the rest were mostly High Magi and True Martial Warriors.

The message was clear—many of the allied families had only come as a symbolic gesture.

Had they been truly committed, they would have sent at least a Great Archmage or a Divine Martial Warrior—someone capable of matching the enemy forces on equal ground.

When Nathaniel Felchersey announced that the enemy forces included at least seven or eight Great Archmage-level combatants, an uneasy ripple spread through the room.

Had André Alexandros not been present, some of the so-called allies might have abandoned ship then and there.

Even with Alexandros in the room, many turned pale, whispering anxiously about the immense power of the opposition.

Several of them were already mentally cursing their families for dragging them into such a hopeless fight.

Fanmuir, however, remained unimpressed.

To him, none of this mattered.

The strength of the Felchersey family, the might of their enemies—none of it was worth his attention.

Magi, Grand Magi, even so-called Great Archmages—in his eyes, they were mere mortals with slightly stronger tricks.

Against a true Blood Angel, their abilities were nothing more than child's play.

While the others fretted and muttered, Fanmuir simply sat in silence, unmoved.

His calm, unwavering demeanor sharply contrasted with the panic around him, earning him the quiet respect of the Felchersey family.

A foreigner with no ties to them, who had traveled all the way from France, and yet—here he was, facing overwhelming odds without so much as a frown.

What kind of person had such unshakable composure?

Meanwhile, the so-called 'old allies'—families that had long benefitted from the Felcherseys' goodwill—had proven themselves utterly useless.

Not one of them had sent a true warrior to stand by their side.

Instead, they sent half-hearted support, men who whined and wavered at the first sign of difficulty.

At That Same Moment, In a Shadowed Fortress Somewhere in Bristol…

While the Felcherseys gathered their forces, their enemies—the Pembroke, Ustaire, and Tanley families—were already plotting their final strike.

Their goal wasn't just to destroy the Felcherseys—but to carve up the spoils before the battle had even begun.

And in attendance?

Only the most feared figures of their respective bloodlines.

Hayman Pembroke, former head of the Pembroke Magic Family, a Great Archmage of Metal Magic.Haydner Ustaire, a Vampire Prince, one of the oldest and most powerful bloodsuckers in Europe.Hale Tanley, former Alpha of the Tanley Werewolves, a Legendary Martial Sovereign.

These men were ghosts from the past—former titans who had withdrawn from the world decades ago.

Yet here they were, emerging from the shadows for one final conquest.

Their presence alone was proof of how seriously they took this war.

Also present were the three current family heads: Henning Pembroke, Harlish Ustaire, Harvey Tanley.

However, despite their official status, the three younger patriarchs remained silent, standing stiffly at attention.

In the presence of such overwhelming power, they knew their place.

They were here to listen, not to speak.

"The Blood Clan will take the Leviathan Sea Dragon's blood and the Blood Spirit Staff. The rest is yours to split," Haydner declared, his flawless, aristocratic face cold and unreadable.

"The Pembroke Magic Family has no interest in wealth or land. We only require the magic book," Hayman rasped, his low, guttural voice slipping from the shadows of his black robes, steeped in an aura of death and darkness.

"Ha! You two haven't changed a bit," Hale laughed, his deep, booming voice reverberating through the hall.

"One seeks power, the other knowledge. Fine. That means all of the Felchersey family's remaining assets will belong to the Tanley Werewolf Clan. But don't come crying to me when you realize what you've given up!"

Haydner and Hayman exchanged a brief glance, their expressions unreadable, but their contempt evident.

"This fool actually believes he's won something?"

"Once I wield the Leviathan's blood and the Blood Spirit Staff, my power will be unstoppable. When that day comes, what land couldn't I take?"

"And this mutt actually believes we magi will settle for mere scraps? With Bertram's legendary grimoire in my hands, I will ascend beyond even the greatest Magi. These beasts will kneel before me soon enough."

But was Hale really as dim-witted as they thought?

Not in the slightest.

Wolves are patient. Wolves are cunning. Wolves hunt in packs.

His boorish bravado was a mask, one that hid a far more calculating mind beneath the surface.

"You two senile old turtles think I don't see through you?"

"But let me ask—do you really think you'll even have the chance to enjoy your prizes?"

"Because once I take control of everything the Felchersey family owns…"

"…it will be the beginning of your downfall."

Despite their bold words, the three clans still harbored deep fears about the Felchersey lineage.

A thousand-year-old magical dynasty was not something to be underestimated.

If not for Antonio Felchersey's unexpected death and the overwhelming allure of his hidden treasures, these three great families would have never dared to strike so swiftly and decisively.

But now, everything was changing.

The arrival of André Alexandros, along with the mysterious young Italian who might hold the strength of a Blood Duke, had shattered their initial confidence.

This was supposed to be an effortless victory, a swift and mercilessmerciless extermination.

Yet now, hesitation crept in.

And so, the three factions made their decision—

They would summon their greatest warriors.

Meanwhile, in the Felchersey estate, the family's inner council remained oblivious to the true scale of the threat before them.

They had no idea that three of the world's most legendary, long-hidden masters had stepped out from the shadows.

Had they known, the cowardly foreign allies who had just started to regain their courage would have fled in terror.

And the hope that André Alexandros had sparked in them…

…would have been extinguished before it ever had a chance to ignite.