In return, Michael would ensure the Duke’s plans were thwarted and protect the city from all external and internal threats.
With the contract finalized, both parties signed it, and it took effect immediately.
“Thank you for your trust, Your Grace.
But before we begin, I would like to ask for a favor,” Michael said.
“What is it?” Reynold asked.
“I need blood.
A lot of it.”
“What for?” Reynold looked confused.
The young man was full of mysteries.
“I don’t know the exact details yet, but it’s required for me to receive an inheritance.
Could I take the blood of the most heinous criminals available?” Michael asked.
“Sure.
Do as you please.
I’ll assign some knights to assist you.
In the meantime, I’ll prepare the announcement of your appointment,” Reynold replied.
The two parted ways to handle their respective tasks.
Michael was led by several knights to a special underground prison holding the vilest criminals.
“Leave this place.
No matter what you hear, do not open the cell,” Michael ordered.
“Kiki.
What is a powerless man like you doing here?
This is no place for playing around, kid,” one of the bound prisoners mocked.
Michael ignored him.
“Accept the Daylighter bloodline,” he confirmed inwardly.
[Preparing host to receive bloodline…]
Michael steeled himself, but the pain was far worse than he had imagined.
“Ahhhhhhhh!!!!” he roared, collapsing to the ground and writhing violently.
His heart pounded as if trying to escape his chest.
The pain was suffocating, like the cold embrace of death.
Moving like a zombie, he staggered toward the nearest prisoner.
“Hey!
What the hell do you think you’re doing?
Why are you coming closer?!” the prisoner shouted, fear creeping into his voice.
Michael didn’t respond.
He was barely conscious.
Like a beast, he leapt forward, grabbed the man, and sank newly formed fangs into his throat.
He drank greedily, the warm blood bringing relief and slowly restoring his clarity.
Several hours later, Michael finally called for the guards.
When they arrived, the scene was horrific.
The prisoners were deathly pale, their throats torn open, yet not a single drop of blood remained.
Their faces were frozen in expressions of pure terror.
The guards stared at Michael as if he were a nightmare made flesh.
“Where did the City Lord find someone like this?” they thought.
They were equally shocked by Michael’s dramatic transformation.
He had grown taller, reaching the perfect average height for a man.
His shoulders were broader, his skin a flawless porcelain white, and his canines had become elegant, sharp fangs.
“Tell no one what you saw here.
Dispose of the bodies discreetly,” Michael commanded, unconsciously using Compulsion.
“Yes, my lord,” the guards replied, fully obeying.
Michael nodded and left the prison.
He reviewed the system messages floating before him.
[Congratulations!
You have changed your race to Daylighter.]
[You have awakened the racial skill: Blood Bullet.]
The messages were straightforward.
Michael was already aware of his racial change, but the new skill felt like a pleasant bonus.
His heightened senses amazed him.
He could hear the quiet heartbeat of someone waiting for him on the surface.
“Daylighters… Vampires… Do such races truly exist?” Michael wondered.
Despite his extensive reading in the royal libraries, he had never encountered any mention of them.
Shaking the thought aside, he returned to the surface, where a young maid was waiting.
“Young Master, I have been sent to prepare you.
Your official announcement will be made today, and the City Lord wishes you to be ceremonially dressed,” the maid informed him politely.
“Hmm,” Michael nodded, allowing her to work.
However, as she drew closer, a powerful urge surged through him — the desire to push her away and devour her.
He barely managed to restrain himself from tearing into her throat.
The maid, oblivious to how close she had come to death, continued her duties peacefully.
“What was that?” Michael thought, disturbed.
He didn’t like this uncontrollable hunger.
As second-in-command, becoming known as a blood-sucking monster would destroy his reputation and the people’s trust.
Worse, he might be labeled a Nightmare — one of the walking catastrophes that could raze cities and bring about the stagnation of humanity.
“Forget the Nightmares for now.
The real problem is the doubled strength of all monsters when they awaken,” Michael thought, rubbing his temples.
Once the maid finished and left, Michael finally relaxed.
“Hmm.
Now to deal with this desire.
I hope this works,” he muttered.
He activated Asset Conversion , intending to eliminate or suppress the dark cravings.
To his surprise, it worked — but at a steep price.
One hundred years of his lifespan were consumed to grant him complete control over his bloodlust.
Michael’s expression darkened.
He only had about fifty years of lifespan remaining.
“Asset Conversion,” he called out again.