From the midst of the crowd, a villager raised their voice, skepticism lacing their words. "Necromancy never brings people back," they declared, their tone filled with doubt.
I wasted no time in responding, my voice firm and unwavering. "This is not necromancy," I clarified, addressing the villager's concerns directly. "It is blood magic—a distinct art. Necromancy deals with the essence of death, while blood magic taps into the essence of life itself. I am a vampire, human, not a lich."
I must have raised my voice a little or released my anger at the accusation of using necromancy, because the villager shivered at my words. Still, I could see the villagers listening intently, their apprehension giving way to curiosity. It was essential to differentiate between the two magical disciplines and reassure them that the path I offered was one of vitality, not darkness.
I continued, my explanation measured and concise. "Blood is the essence of life, and through blood magic, I can manipulate that essence. I can restore consciousness and the ability to speak and walk to the ghouls because I work with the very life force that still courses through their undead bodies. It is a distinct power—one that allows me to bridge the gap between life and undeath."
The villagers exchanged glances, absorbing the distinction between necromancy and the blood magic I practiced. It was a pivotal moment—a moment of clarity that could potentially sway their judgment.
With each word, I sought to dismantle their doubts and offer a glimmer of hope—a promise that, through the power of blood magic, the ghouls could regain a semblance of their former humanity.
As the discussion hung in the balance, an elderly man stepped forward, his voice carrying the weight of both wisdom and resignation. "If all you want is blood," he began, addressing me directly, "and if you are truly willing to spare us, then we are willing to provide it."
His words marked a significant shift in the atmosphere, a tentative acceptance of the pact I had proposed. He must be the village chief, I thought to myself. The villagers seemed to understand that, given the circumstances, it was a choice between subservience and death.
I regarded the old man with a solemn nod, acknowledging his decision. "You have made a wise choice, as the only other option you have was death" I replied, my voice calm but carrying an undeniable gravity. The truth in my words sent shivers down the spines of those who had gathered in the village center.
However, I knew that trust was a fragile thing, especially in the face of such an unorthodox relationship. I needed to, as I planned, add a condition that would ensure the villagers' loyalty.
"There is one more condition," I announced, my tone resolute. "Every villager must willingly drink a single drop of my blood without question."
The words hung in the air, a collective gasp of surprise rippling through the crowd. Perhaps, they have never heard of a human drinking vampire blood, as that would not make any sense.
“Will we become vampires?” a woman asked.
“Only if I deem you worthy,” I replied, “but not by drinking my blood.” To turn a human into a vampire, I need to empty my vampire essence directly into their bloodstream with my fangs.
Taking note of the doubt penetrating the heavy atmosphere, I reiterated. “Without question.”
I slit my wrist my with my sharp fingernails that resembled voracious claws and demanded a glass from the villagers.
One by one, the villagers stepped forward, each accepting a single drop of my blood. It was a simple yet profound act, a binding pact forged in that crimson liquid. With each drop, their loyalty to me would deepen, increasing my power as the ruler of this village. This is, however, just a start.
The villagers' expressions shifted as my blood coursed through their veins. What had once been fear and uncertainty gradually transformed into acceptance and trust. The child, who had cried for his lost father, now looked upon me with a mixture of curiosity and relief.
The partners and families of the ghouls, who had mourned their loved ones, were no longer gripped by sorrow. Instead, their eyes held a glimmer of hope—a hope that their transformed relatives could yet find some semblance of their former humanity. They trusted me, I got in their blood.
Part of me had been prepared for resistance, for the possibility of having to create more ghouls through conflict. No… I needed ghouls. But as I observed the villagers around me, I couldn't help but feel a sense of relief. Perhaps this path, one that avoids unnecessary killing, was indeed the better choice.
With the villagers now under my sway, the first step toward building the army I needed had been taken. The ghouls, the banshee, and I were no longer alone. I had conscious underlings that I could use for menial tasks, however unconventional, and a chance at survival and power through a steady supply of blood.
With the villagers now bound to me through their loyalty and the exchange of blood, my attention turned to the pressing matter at hand—strengthening my army with freshly transformed ghouls. These ghouls, still in the early stages of their transformation, were physically weaker than humans. However, their lack of pain and unwavering loyalty made them formidable in their own right, especially in combat against the likes of humans.
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I had no desire to turn any more villagers into ghouls, as their intact consciousness held its own set of advantages. A steady supply of blood was crucial, and conscious beings could provide that, in addition to other resources and support.
Blood, when given willingly, carried a certain purity that enhanced the nourishment and power it provided. The absence of fear, anxiety, or distress in the blood made it a valuable resource for a vampire.
This was why vampires typically hunted humans when they were least expecting it, in moments of vulnerability. It allowed them to harvest the highest quality blood, untainted by fear or adrenaline. But in situations of conflict or war, such as the one we were now facing with the bandits, adrenaline-induced effects could mimic the presence of fear, lowering the quality of blood.
My recent acquisition of the skill to turn beings into loyal subjects with my own blood had opened up new possibilities. It provided an avenue to gather blood of the highest quality even in the midst of battle. Such loyal subjects willingly offered their blood, devoid of fear, and it was this loyalty that made the difference.
However, I also recognized that not all individuals were suited to become loyal subjects. The bandits we sought to confront, for instance, were a different breed altogether. Even if I were to force-feed them my blood repeatedly until they developed great levels of loyalty, their primary skills and inclinations would remain rooted in banditry. They would serve little purpose beyond being fighters.
It was for this reason that I considered transforming them into ghouls. Ghouls, with their lack of pain, unwavering loyalty, and physical prowess, made formidable warriors. While I valued the blood of conscious beings for its diverse benefits, including resource production and a steady supply of blood, the bandits, if they were merely low-class criminals, could serve our cause better as ghouls. If I were to come across a special talent, however, that would be a different story.
To achieve my goal, I turned to the village chief, the elderly man who had shown subservience and intelligence by being the first to drink my blood. His name, as I learned, was Eldric. He had a weathered face that spoke of years spent in the realities of this world. His eyes, though aged, were sharp and observant. Nonetheless, I have once lived ten time longer than him. Everyone that stood in front of me was merely a teenager in my eyes.
Eldric nodded thoughtfully as I inquired about the presence of bandits in the region, hoping to find a source of potential ghouls. "There are indeed bandits in these parts," he confirmed, his voice carrying a sense of authority that came from his role as the village's de facto leader. "They do not directly attack villages because villages have adventurers, but rather prey on trader carts, stealing their goods. It's well known that they have a hideout in one of the caves to the north, nestled in the hills."
I nodded, absorbing the details. The bandits, though a menace to traders, presented an opportunity to bolster my army. I could transform them into ghouls, harnessing their strength and ferocity for our cause.
"Good," I replied to Eldric, my voice reflecting approval. "We shall deal with these bandits and bring them into our fold."
Eldric's gaze remained steady, and he nodded in acknowledgment. "Your strength is unlike anything we've seen, and we have little choice but to trust in your leadership. May your quest be successful, and may the bandits be brought to justice or whatever fate you deem fit."
“Do not talk directly to your lord, peasant”, hissed the banshee.
“I apologize, miss banshee” Eldric replied, lowering his head. He was trembling in fear. Banshee’s voice ishorrifying for humans.
With the villagers at my side and a new mission ahead, we prepared to embark on a journey to confront the bandits and expand our army. The path to godhood and survival in this perilous world demanded strength and resolve, and I was determined to seize every opportunity that presented itself along the way.
As we set out, the landscape changed around us. The village, with its modest homes and cultivated fields, gave way to a more rugged terrain. We followed Eldric's son Jonathan’s guidance, as Eldric was too old to walk us, making our way north toward the hills where the bandits were rumored to have their hideout.
The journey was not without its challenges. The hills were steep and uneven, the path winding through thickets and dense vegetation. The banshee floated effortlessly above the ground, her ethereal form unaffected by the rough terrain. The ghouls followed closely behind, their movements unsynchronized and messy.
Hours passed as we ventured deeper into the hills, and the sun began its ascent above the horizon. I knew that we needed to reach the bandit hideout before dawn, when the cover of darkness was still upon us and the light could not touch my skin.
As we neared the cave rumored to be the bandits' lair, tension hung in the air. The villagers who had chosen to accompany us were visibly anxious, their faces marked by a mixture of fear and determination. Jonathan, who had chosen to join our expedition, remained resolute.
I signaled for a momentary halt, and we gathered in a clearing not far from the cave's entrance. I addressed the villagers and my companions, my voice carrying with it a sense of purpose.
"Villagers, wait here. Our task is clear," I began, my words a reminder of our mission. "We will confront these bandits and bring them under my control. Try to kill them as fast as possible." With that, I led the banshee and the six ghouls into the darkness of the cave's entrance.
The inky blackness inside the cave was impenetrable for most, but not for us. I moved with the fluid grace of a creature of the night, navigating the uneven terrain with ease. The banshee's spectral form glided beside me, her ethereal presence casting an eerie glow on the cave walls. The ghouls followed behind, their senses attuned to the scent of human flesh, yet they were noisy, grunting and taking heavy footsteps.
The distinct smell of humans grew stronger as we ventured deeper into the cave, their very essence mingling with the damp, earthen air. My thirst for their blood intensified with each step, and I yearned to add more ghouls to my growing army, to strengthen my position as the dungeon king.
As we continued our descent into the cave, the narrow corridor gave way to a vast chamber, the heart of the bandits' hideout. The walls of the chamber were rough-hewn, and the uneven ground was littered with debris. It was evident that this had served as the bandits' lair for some time.
Torches lined the chamber's periphery, their flickering flames casting eerie, dancing shadows on the walls. The bandits had clearly taken the time to set up their base of operations. Yet, their preparations would not deter us from our mission.
In the dim light, I could see the startled faces of the bandits who guarded the chamber's entrance. Their eyes widened with surprise and fear as they registered our presence. They were a motley crew, ragtag and unorganized, their attire a mismatched collection of stolen goods. Their weapons were crude but serviceable, a stark contrast to the lethal efficiency of my ghouls.
The banshee floated at my side, her presence an otherworldly reminder of the power I commanded. She radiated an aura of horror, her ethereal form exuding an eerie, almost hypnotic allure. The ghouls, obedient, stood poised for action, their undead eyes fixed on the bandits.
It was a moment of reckoning, a clash of opposing forces. The bandits, who had once terrorized the region with their lawlessness, now faced a supernatural adversary.
The bandits, caught off guard, hesitated for a fleeting moment before reaching for their weapons. It was a futile attempt to defend themselves against the inevitable. I knew that the outcome of this confrontation was predetermined, that the bandits would soon join my ranks as ghouls.
With a predatory grace, I stepped forward, my vampiric instincts honed for battle. The banshee's form pulsed with an otherworldly energy, a harbinger of the impending clash. The ghouls, their undead hearts devoid of fear, readied themselves for combat.
The bandits, aware of their impending doom, exchanged nervous glances. In their eyes, they saw the unnatural power that stood before them—a dungeon king, accompanied by loyal ghouls and a banshee. The odds were overwhelmingly against them, and they knew it.