With the banshee, the six ghouls, and myself, we departed from the eerie confines of the abbey, setting our course towards the nearby village. The ghoul whose memories I had probed had provided the crucial information about the village's location, and it was there I hoped to quench my thirst for blood and seek potential recruits.

As we ventured through the darkened forest, the banshee moved with an eerie grace, her form almost ethereal in the dappled moonlight. The ghouls, my loyal underlings, followed in grim silence, their eyes devoid of the spark of life they had once possessed, grunting and letting out guttural noises.

Among the six ghouls, the one whose memories I had unraveled was revealed to have been an adventurer in his previous life. He had left behind a family—a loving wife and four children who now mourned his loss. They resided in the very village we were heading toward, a place that was destined to bear witness to a carnage like the one that had unfolded at the abbey.

My power to access their memories was limited, and I had not attempted to pry into the recollections of the other ghouls. It was apparent that the depth of memories I could reach with my current abilities would not vary significantly between them. Nonetheless, the glimpses I had obtained revealed a tale of a family torn asunder and a life left unfinished.

“Do not worry, your family will join you.” I vocalized my thoughts.

I do not particularly enjoy taking innocent lives, but without human blood, I cannot survive. The cost of life for a vampire is another life. Survival means slaughtering others. The only way out of this would be….

Extreme loyalty.

As we drew nearer to the village, a sense of anticipation and unease hung in the air. The ghoul's memories had shed light on the abbey's inexplicable appearance—a sudden and enigmatic emergence on the outskirts of a nearby mountain. The village, nestled in the river valley just below the abbey, had reacted with haste, sending all available adventurers to confront the unknown threat.

It was a rash and ultimately foolish decision that had led to the massacre of the adventurer and the creation of the first six members of my bloodbound army. The village had unwittingly unleashed a cataclysm of death and rebirth, and now we were on our way to confront the consequences of their actions.

As we reached the outskirts of the village, I could see the dim glow of distant torchlight and hear the faint murmur of voices. The banshee and I exchanged a glance, a silent acknowledgment of the challenges that lay ahead.

As we approached the village, a plan began to take shape in my mind, a deviation from the usual brutal path I had followed in the past. I decided not to indiscriminately slaughter every villager we encountered. Instead, a new strategy formed—one that could potentially turn the living humans into valuable assets, both as a resource-producing workforce and as a steady supply of blood.

The revelation had come to me as I considered the loyalty I had instilled in the ghouls by allowing them to taste my blood. The same principle could be applied to the villagers. Living humans, like the ghouls, could be made loyal through the simple act of a drip of my blood. It was a dark and powerful gift I possessed, one that could be harnessed to secure my dominion over the village without resorting to mass slaughter.

Alive villagers meant more than just a labor force. It meant a community of conscious beings who could contribute to the development and security of my domain. Rather than draining each human I encountered, I could establish a system of taxation, where they willingly provided their blood to me in return for protection and safety. A blood tax.

The idea took root in my mind, and I found myself embracing it with a sense of anticipation. It was a pragmatic approach that would not only ensure the village's productivity but also ensure a steady supply of the life-giving blood that sustained me.

With newfound resolve, I shared my plan with the banshee and the ghouls as we approached the village's outskirts. "We shall not kill unnecessarily," I instructed them, my voice carrying the weight of authority. "Only those who attack us with the intent to kill shall be met with lethal force. The rest, the villagers, will taste my blood and become my underlings."

The banshee regarded me with her enigmatic gaze, as this was not in my initial plans. Nonetheless, she had to follow my orders. The ghouls, too, nodded in agreement, their loyalty unwavering. They were able to understand simple commands, and I kept it pretty simple. It was a plan that balanced power and pragmatism, a way to achieve my goals without descending into senseless violence.

As we entered the village, I could see the wary glances of the villagers, their torchlight flickering in the night. Nobody was charging at us, however. Was it that I had killed all their warriors and none of the ones that remained here was physically capable, or that the sight of their neighbors, partners, relatives turned into ghouls, walking next to a vampire and a banshee too much to bear?

I approached a group of villagers cautiously, extending a hand in a gesture of peace. "Fear not," I spoke calmly, "I am your protector, and I offer you safety in exchange for your loyalty. With a taste of my blood, you shall become my loyal underlings, and together we shall thrive."

The village's inhabitants stood before me, their faces contorted in fear, their eyes wide with horror as I extended my hand in a gesture of peace! My words of protection and loyalty were met with silence, a heavy tension that hung in the air like a shroud of dread.

The villagers, once neighbors, partners, and relatives of the ghouls that now accompanied me, took hesitant steps backward as I approached them. The banshee floated slightly above the ground, her ethereal presence adding to their unease. It was a grim tableau—the living and the undead in a macabre dance of fear and uncertainty.

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As I tried to reassure them, a sudden cry pierced the night air. A woman knelt on the ground, her voice a mournful wail that echoed through the village. She cried out the name of her husband, a name I recognized as one of the ghouls, the very same whose memories I had delved into.

The woman's grief was palpable, and her anguished cries resonated with others in the crowd. Horror and pain mixed in their voices as they realized the fate that had befallen their loved ones, transformed into the very creatures they now feared.

Amidst the cries and chaos, a small figure broke free from the crowd. A child, no more than eleven years old, ran toward me with a mixture of determination and desperation in their eyes. I signaled to the ghouls and the banshee to hold their position and refrain from any aggressive actions. The child was not a threat.

The child's tiny hand clutched a copper kitchen knife, a crude weapon chosen in a moment of bravery or desperation. With a swift and unsteady motion, he lunged toward me, stabbing at my abdomen. The sharp pain hit me, but it was a fleeting sensation, a minor inconvenience. Wounds from most metals, including copper, would heal almost instantaneously for a vampire. The child's efforts could not kill me, but he had clearly hoped to.

I gazed down at the child, who now stood before me, panting and bewildered. His gaze shifted from the knife in his hand to my face, realization dawning that their attack had been futile. It was a moment of stark clarity—a child confronted with the unnerving presence of a vampire who was seemingly impervious to harm.

I knelt down, my crimson eyes meeting the child's gaze with a mixture of curiosity and compassion. "You need not fear," I said softly, my voice a reassuring whisper. "I will not harm you. In fact, you have shown remarkable courage."

The child's eyes filled with tears, and he lowered the knife, his tiny hand trembling as they slowly let go of the weapon. I extended my hand toward the child, offering comfort rather than retribution. The villagers watched in tense silence, their initial horror now mingled with uncertainty.

"You killed my father," the child cried, their anguish echoing in the hushed stillness that had fallen over the gathered villagers.

I met the child's gaze, my own eyes tinged with a sense of somber resolve. "Your father," I began, my voice calm but carrying the weight of truth, "attempted to take my life. He defiled my home and attacked me in my sleep." I spoke the words with a measured tone, fully aware of the grim reality of the situation.

The villagers listened in tense silence, their expressions a mix of sorrow and uncertainty. The truth was harsh, but it was a truth they needed to hear—the violent confrontation at the abbey had left no room for reconciliation.

But I did not stop there. My words were meant not only for the child but for all who had gathered in the village square. I continued to speak, my voice unwavering. "However," I declared, "I have granted your father and the others with something they did not possess before—eternal life."

I knew the statement would stir hope within the villagers, and it was a calculated risk I was willing to take. It was not an outright lie; the ghouls, in their undeath, had indeed gained a form of immortality. But the greater truth was that there was no way to turn them back into the humans they once were. Once transformed, they were forever changed.

Yet, there was a grain of truth in my words that held the potential to benefit both the villagers and myself. I continued, my gaze never wavering from the child's tear-filled eyes. "There is a way," I said, my voice softer now, "to make your father and the others more like they were before, to restore their consciousness, their ability to speak and walk as they once did."

The villagers listened, their hope kindling in the face of my words. It was a hope born of desperation, but it was a hope nonetheless. After all, I had made them ghouls right after their death, so their consciousness was still intact somewhere inside. The only problem was that I did not have the power to bring it out at the moment.

The child, his voice filled with a desperate yearning, asked the question that hung heavy in the air. "Is that true?" he implored, his eyes locked onto mine. "Can you bring my father back to life?"

I nodded solemnly, knowing that the path ahead was fraught with uncertainty and challenges. "Yes," I replied, "I can grant them a semblance of their former selves, but it will require time and effort. Your father and the others can become more human-like with my help, and they can regain the ability to communicate and move freely."

The villagers exchanged hesitant glances, their emotions a tumultuous mix of hope and doubt. The child's faith in me was unwavering, a trust that had transcended the initial fear and anger that had gripped the village.

With my words, a fragile alliance was born—a pact between the living and the undead, bound by the promise of restoration and the shared desire for survival. The villagers, once horrified by the presence of the ghouls and the banshee, now faced a choice. They could either embrace this chance at redemption or reject it, clinging to their grief and fear.

The child's tears flowed freely as he released the copper knife, his trembling hand grasping mine for comfort. But beneath the veneer of grief, there was a deep-seated pain, a wound that had yet to heal.

Amidst the uncertainty that gripped the villagers, a skeptical voice broke through the uneasy silence. "Why would we trust a vampire?" one villager questioned, their words heavy with doubt and fear.

The banshee, hovering nearby, seemed poised to offer a response, but I silenced her with a subtle gesture of my hand. This was a moment for me to address the villagers directly, to acknowledge their concerns and seek their understanding.

I stepped forward, my presence commanding attention as I spoke with a clarity that cut through the tension. "I understand your doubts," I began, my voice measured and composed. "Vampires are not known for trustworthiness. We hunt humans for our survival, and I, too, have taken lives."

I paused, allowing my words to sink in before continuing. "But I want you to remember this—your village was the one that attacked me first. I had to protect my own life, just as any of you would do in my place."

A murmur of agreement rippled through the crowd, an acknowledgment of the truth in my words. It was a sobering reminder that survival knew no boundaries of race or species.

I continued, my voice unwavering. "With my own power alone, I was able to defeat the six capable residents of this village in an instant. The strongest six of you whom you sent to kill me. Now, I have six ghouls by my side and a banshee. What makes you think that I would not be able to eliminate all of you in an instant if I wished it?"

A deep and uneasy silence followed my question. The villagers exchanged uneasy glances, the realization of their vulnerability in the face of my power settling heavily upon them. It was a stark truth they could not ignore.

I seized the opportunity to push my point further. "What I want," I declared, my voice carrying a note of sincerity, "is to establish a close bond with this village. I abhor senseless killing, regardless of one's race. I have a need for blood to survive, and in return for that need, I will not kill all of you, and even offer my protection."

The villagers remained silent, their skepticism unabated. Doubt lingered in the air like an unspoken challenge. They knew that being spared was the best they could have hoped for and no other vampire would have given them such an offer.

I took a breath and added, "With the blood I collect from this village, I can vitalize the ghouls, make them more conscious, and restore their ability to talk and walk like the humans they once were when they were alive."

The words hung in the air, a promise and a proposal that held the potential to change the course of our uneasy alliance. It was a moment of choice for the villagers—a decision that would determine whether they would embrace the dark alliance we offered or cling to their fear and mistrust.