“Pfffft—!”
Burn had to take a deep breath, holding himself from laughing out loud at these clowns.
Pathetic!
Why were there so many pathetic men in this land?!
So he was lusting over the women? The vampire women? The God worshiping vampire women?!
Burn was shaking as he stood there. “Huhuhuhu…”
No wonder Vlad was so on edge. Now he must’ve realized why his mind control was useless. The prince and his limitless resource was behind it.
But it also meant that the prince knew he was provoking a brainwashing monster. Whether he knew about the women being vampires or not, whether he knew that the monster he was provoking was an ancient vampire or not, Burn wasn’t sure yet.
It would be even more interesting if he didn’t know, Burn thought as he sneered to himself.
It could be that he thought they were just average demon worshipers, right?
The commotion gradually spread and now the church members started to emerge from the building. From their silhouette, Burn noticed even the women also came out from their rooms.
Oh, one might question how Burn, with his tall build and formidable aura, managed to stand amidst the chaos unnoticed. He, as mentioned, was in his disguise; he employed his Force art to conceal his true identity.
However, he observed a peculiar detail: while the mob and the knights remained oblivious to his presence, many members of the vampire church seemed to see right through his illusion.
So at least 70% of the group would be able to subdue the entire mob and the knights almost instantaneously if push came to shove.
Observing church members, even with their faces obscured by veils, Burn understood why it was Vlad who typically handled these situations. The other vampires’ readiness suggested they were on the brink of attack.
Even if the knights only dropped one single pin to the ground, the silence would be broken and they wouldn’t know what killed them.
“That’s right! To let the women suffer under this demon worshipers organization is a sin! They must’ve used them for sacrifice rituals!”
Someone instigated the mob.
“OH GOD! IT’S HORRIBLE!”
“SURRENDER THEM! You must’ve brainwashed them!”
“We have to take them back!”
“Your Highness, help us!”
The prince sat in resplendent silence, an island of smug serenity amidst a sea of peasant turmoil.
The mob, now unified in desperation rather than anger, implored him to rescue the 'brainwashed' women, who they claimed had been seduced by the dangerously reasonable ideas of the black robed organization.
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His Highness, elevated both on his horse and in his self-regard, surveyed the scene with a disdain that could curdle milk. His lip curled ever so slightly, as if the very air breathed by the common folk offended his royal nostrils.
The prince’s eyes, glazed with the sheen of unearned superiority, flickered over the crowd like a lord inspecting turnips that had the audacity to sprout in his field without permission.
“Peasants,” he began, his voice dripping with a condescension so thick it could be spread on toast, “fear not, for I have heard your quaint little concerns.” The words hung in the air, a banner of benevolent neglect.
The prince, a flare of determination in his eyes, straightened in his saddle and pointed a gauntleted finger dramatically towards the church.
“I will rescue each and every lady you captured under your spells,” he declared, his voice booming across the now-silent crowd.
He paused, sweeping his gaze over the villagers as if to ensure they grasped the gravity of his next words.
“Yes…” he continued, leaning slightly forward in his saddle, “including that beautiful blonde lady in the coffin you stored in your deep and dark dungeon under the church.”
There was a moment's hesitation as he glanced down at his armored glove, seeming to gather his thoughts. Then, looking up, he added, “She might have died, but I will give her a proper…”
Here, he cleared his throat, a brief, awkward sound that echoed oddly in the quiet, “AHEM! You know, imperial farewell!” His voice regained its confident timbre as he finished his vow, nodding firmly to emphasize his commitment.
Wow.
Burn thought he was just a pathetic pervert and an asshole, but was he also a necrophiliac?
For Prince Cletus Von Winter, that infamous royal fuckup, the art of dragging his own and his family's name through the mud came as naturally as breathing.
The moment his dick got hard, it was game over for any semblance of decorum or dignity. This prince didn't just flirt with scandals; he fucked it, regularly and with gusto. It was his goddamn calling card.
Not to mention fucking a corpse. He often killed people while he was still inside of them for his ultimate release—and then continue fucking them until their body become cold.
Well, if even the imperial family has stopped giving a damn about covering up his usual tomfuckery, then you could bet your ass his real character was even more fucked up… with deeper atrociousness behind the scenes.
A couple of weeks ago, Cletus found himself sprinting through the woods with assassins on his heels. But no, it wasn’t thanks to his vile actions against a local woman.
As luck, or perhaps misfortune, would have it, he was left for dead, sporting a shiny new injury as a souvenir from one of his atrocious escapade.
He thought he was truly going to die.
Cletus prayed earnestly to god, out loud, pathetically, groveling on the ground with the last energy he had. It almost looked like he truly regretted everything he had done.
Here, enter the vampires who stumbled upon him and nursed him back to health.
Sheltered within the walls of a church, the prince decided to play the convalescent card longer than necessary, duping his fanged rescuers who, it turns out, weren't exactly well-versed in human physiology.
As boredom overtook him, he decided to look around the mysterious place. His first major discovery was the church's basement—or as he dramatically dubbed it, "the dungeon."
He stumbled upon the coffin-dwelling woman.
Enchanting, haunting, he had never encountered a woman of her allure. However, his nocturnal rendezvous was cut short when vampires found him and forcefully dragged him away, nearly tearing apart his recently healed wounds.
But wait, that wasn’t all! On subsequent evenings, driven by a mix of curiosity and perhaps a dash of creepiness, he found himself voyeur to a scene straight out of a mythical wet dream:
Vampire women, bathing in a river, their beauty magnified by the moonlight, free of their full coverings. Apparently, the sight was enough to stir feelings within him—well.
This moment in this life was truly a culmination of his poor decisions and even poorer justifications.
But strangely, at that moment, Burn’s brain’s chemistry reacted to the phrase “that beautiful blonde lady in the coffin you stored in your deep and dark dungeon under the church”.
Burn hadn’t gone there. He remembered vampires taking turn guarding a certain door. Well, after the human prince snuck there a couple of weeks ago, of course they would guard the door now.
With this information, Burn turned toward the old man beside him.
Vlad, sensing his sharp gaze, also turned to him. “Ah, right. Didn’t you also come for her?”