“Brave young lad, go forth and create miracles~”
“What kind of gibberish are you mumbling?
I can’t understand.”
In the dimly lit room, Warfarin took a sip of the blood wine at her lips while casting a sidelong glance at the white-haired, red-eyed man standing by the window.
“Not like I’m humming it for you anyway.”
Compared to ordinary people, Lucifer’s skin was exceptionally pale.
As he gazed out at the desolate landscape outside the window, he wore an expression as constipated as a Vampire who had just swallowed blood riddled with cancer.
That’s right, he was a transmigrator.
Waking up in a fictional anime world wasn’t exactly rare back on Earth.
Who knew when some unlucky bastard would get picked to fight a god or something.
At least, compared to boosting a truck driver’s hit list, Lucifer had transmigrated while Sleep.
But…
What kind of transmigrator wakes up right in the middle of a freaking battlefield?!
Staring into the distance, his mind drifted.
Lucifer would probably never forget the moment he first arrived on Terra, not in both his lifetimes.
He should have woken up in his dark rental apartment, yet the moment he opened his eyes, he saw a Gaul guardsman run a blade straight through his kidney.
Fortunately, the Vampire body he took over for his second run was incredibly resilient.
With physical stats comparable to Wolverine on steroids, he managed to avoid immediately starting a third lifetime.
The events that followed remained burned in Lucifer’s mind.
First, his kidney got shredded.
Then, a Leithanien caster blasted away half his head and arm right after.
This completely enraged Lucifer, who already had terrible waking temper.
Having been awake for less than thirty seconds, Lucifer was absolutely furious, his Vampire instincts fully waking up.
If the Sanguinarch hadn’t bestowed his blessing later on, he would have ended up looking pathetic.
Warfarin turned around, elegantly crossing her legs.
“Are you still thinking about back then?
The war’s been over for years, Lucifer.”
As a friend who had known him for decades, Warfarin knew exactly what this “Sanguine Prince” was thinking.
Lucifer turned his head, not replying immediately.
Wearing a top hat, a short skirt over short leather shorts, a trench coat tailored to look like bat wings, and most importantly, a garter strap bound around her right thigh—Warfarin was the second friend Lucifer had made, right after the Sanguinarch.
“I don’t have PTSD.
I just…
don’t really like my name…”
The latter half of his sentence dropped significantly in volume, to the point where even Warfarin could barely hear it.
Of course, his real name couldn’t possibly be something as rebellious as Lucifer.
It was just a name he blurted out to the Sanguinarch when they first met.
Back then, his rationality hadn’t fully regained control over his raw Vampire instincts.
Combined with the enemy combatants yelling “demon” and “devil” at him during the battle, he had just thrown out a random name in a fit of rage.
But the Sanguinarch had taken it seriously, and from then on, the name Lucifer spread through the court as his identity.
Lucifer let out a soft sigh, choosing the ultimate skill of modern youth: giving up.
“Sigh, whatever.
When in Rome…”
Besides, back on Earth he was just an overworked corporate slave.
That really didn’t compare to the thrill of being a Sanguine Prince, a title personally bestowed by the Sanguinarch.
As for the war, it really had been a long time since the Kazdel conflict ended.
Seeing Lucifer’s gloomy expression, Warfarin, who had finished her blood wine, began to grumble.
“You look surprisingly calm.
Have you finally overcome your thirst for blood?”
Warfarin had met Lucifer after the war.
Compared to the Sanguinarch and other Vampires, Lucifer was an absolute outlier—neither warmongering nor bloodthirsty.
“No, I’ve just set a baseline.”
Over the long years, Lucifer had experimented on himself quite a few times.
Going without blood made him lose his mind easily.
The most dangerous time, it was the Sanguinarch who had dragged his consciousness back.
But drinking too much blood made him overly excited and manic, almost causing him to clash swords with the Sanguinarch in a fit of rage.
So, through countless trials, Lucifer determined his optimal blood dosage.
As long as he consumed a specific amount within a set period, he could maintain a perfectly clear mind and suppress the bloodthirsty impulses.
Additionally, Lucifer had a bit of a mental aversion.
Unless it was an absolute emergency, he would never rip someone open to drink fresh blood.
“Fair enough.
Though I wonder if the Sanguinarch himself can even control his instincts.”
The pinnacle of the Vampires was, of course, the Sanguinarch.
But from what Lucifer knew of Duq’arael, the man wouldn’t choose restraint; he would indulge himself.
Compared to these primal, vampire-like urges, Lucifer preferred a different kind of human drive.
“Urges?
Honestly, getting laid is way better.”
“Huh?”
This sudden derailment of the topic left Warfarin completely stunned for a moment.
Although it was also a form of primal desire, for the Vampires and other Royal Court Sarkaz, it was pretty much optional.
Their birth rate was already abysmally low.
However, as the most infamous sub-race among the Sarkaz, having weird quirks was perfectly normal.
Lucifer just happened to be a particularly heavy case.
Realizing what he meant, Warfarin’s lips curled into a playful smirk.
“Well, if you’re desperate, I suppose I could reluctantly help you out with that?”
She lifted a leg elegantly toward Lucifer as she spoke.
Her well-maintained, pale skin, perfect curves, and that alluring garter strap would have had some guys immediately sporting a tent, their fetishes fully triggered.
Lucifer simply looked her up and down, letting out a cold sneer.
“I’d rather sell a favor to another prince, or have the Sanguinarch award me a female noble.
Either of them would have way more curves than you.”
“Huh?!”
Warfarin balled her hands into fists and stood up in outrage, though her chest, flat as an airfield, barely showed any movement.
While it wasn’t completely flat, almost every adult Sarkaz woman Lucifer knew could easily outclass the barely five-foot-tall Warfarin.
Besides, Lucifer and Warfarin were bickering friends; trading insults was just a daily routine for them.
Just as Warfarin was about to throw a punch at him, Lucifer let out a sudden gasp of surprise, looking at her in confusion.
“What’s wrong?”
“The Sanguinarch is coming.
Probably visiting again.”
“We’re doomed!”
Warfarin clutched her head, feeling as if the sky was falling.
Even though Lucifer talked about the Sanguinarch casually, everyone else—including every other Vampire—harbored a deep-seated fear of him.
Warfarin was no exception.
She had only met the Sanguinarch a handful of times, and she wished nothing more than to remain completely forgotten by him.
“Wa wah what do i do?!
Should I hide in your closet first?”
Panicking, Warfarin was about to open Lucifer’s closet when he cut her off.
“Get real.
If I only noticed him just now, he probably knew you were here ages ago.”
At those words, Warfarin’s vision went black, and she nearly fainted on the spot.