CHAPTER 116: CHAPTER NO.116 ELDER DESCENT

[Location: Dungeon—Vampire King’s Castle]

Annoyed, I glanced at Paimon and Erebus.

"Shut her up already."

My command barely left my lips—

—and both were already upon her, banishing longsword and spear almost simultaneously.

Space warped behind Mana, like the castle itself flinched.

But she only smiled, bright and amused, as if two death-blows coming at her throat were nothing more than butterflies landing on her hair.

Her heel clicked once.

Just once.

But the sound wasn’t sound.

It was a command.

A pulse of ancient blood-art rippled outward like a silent detonation.

Stone fractured beneath her dainty foot.

The air folded.

Paimon’s gravity blade careened sideways as if the world itself pivoted.

Erebus’ spear plunged downward, swallowed by a shadow that wasn’t his.

Both shadows—both killers—were blasted backward at sonic speed, slamming into opposite pillars with demonic shatters of bone-crack echoes.

Mana didn’t move.

She didn’t blink.

Her expression didn’t even change.

"One does not raise weapons at their Elder," she said softly, almost bored. "You two shadows... impolite."

Her red eye glowed.

Not bright.

Not intense.

Just... aware.

That single eye carried the weight of an ancient moon, but not bright like the sun—cold like blood left to freeze on marble.

Paimon and Erebus crawled out of the pulverized stone, unharmed—because they were shadow constructs.

But their movements were rigid. Controlled.

They bowed their heads immediately. I felt their embarrassment from our connection.

I snapped my fingers once. They froze in kneeling positions.

"Kill her, and whoever kills her before I kill this brute here gets to be my favourite..."

I said the last part because, after clearing more than 27 floors, I clearly came to know their silent competition for my attention.

I was quite shocked at first, but after seeing the other clumsy behaviour of my other shadow soldiers. I concluded— My shadow soldiers are capable of having their other personalities, but that doesn’t come between my 100% loyalty and obedience to me.

And there it is—Their excitement was like a low thrum in the air... Paimon’s gravitational core tightening, Erebus’ shadow-form rippling like hungry ink.

Mana noticed it immediately.

Her eyes curved.

"Oh? Competition."

She clasped her hands behind her back, delighted. "How adorable. The little shades think they can impress you by killing me~?"

Paimon rose first. His head inclined as if asking, ’Permission... to erase her existence, my king.’

Erebus rose second. He, too, as if saying, ’Permission... to claim the honour first, my king.’

I just waved my hand dismissively.

"Go wild."

Paimon and Erebus vanished.

No sound.

No breath.

No warning.

Just the folding of reality as if two primordial weapons of slaughter lunged at Mana with an excitement that would’ve been adorable—if they weren’t trying to kill a being older than the castle itself.

Mana clapped once in delight.

"Oh—FUN!"

Paimon teleported above her, gravity blade condensed into a singularity sharp enough to slice atoms.

Erebus erupted from the floor, spear thrusting upward with enough force to rupture a cathedral.

Mana?

She was already flung like a broken kite by the flat of Paimon’s longsword.

Erebus followed, his spear tip already buried into the throat of Mana, who stared in wide-eyed shock and disbelief written all over her face.

Soon blood followed— But before I could see more, my observation grid flared.

BOOOM!

CRASH!!

Azmuth’s mace was embedded at the very place, I was a millisecond ago, and the hall itself seemed to inhale sharply as centuries of weight pressed down. Azmuth’s mace quivered in the stone, sending shockwaves cracking through the marble like lightning through obsidian. Dust and shards rained down.

Armament Core’s blackish membrane enveloped Muramasa in an instant, with Conqueror’s Will focused on the edge of the blade.

"Conqueror’s Coating—"

I pumped Conqueror’s will into Muramasa like crazy until I couldn’t.

The world narrowed to a razor’s edge.

Muramasa screamed.

Not audibly — not for the ears — but through my bones, my nerves, my marrow. The blade became a conduit, a channel forced open by my will, flooded by the violent royalty of Conqueror’s intent. The black membrane of Armament thickened, deepening into a void so dense it swallowed the ghostlight around it.

Cracks surged outward from my feet.

The stone moaned.

"DIVINE DEPARTURE!"

The moment the words left my lips, the world bent.

Muramasa cleaved forward — not as a blade, but as a decree.

The air ruptured.

A crescent of annihilating will exploded outward, black and gold entwined, reality twisting along its path as if existence itself were being peeled open by an invisible god. The floor screamed. The walls buckled.

BOOM!

The blast threw Azmuth backward, or what was left of him.

Tti-ring!

[You killed an Elder-Ranked Vampire.]

[You have earned 20000 experience points.]

[You have collected (15) Soul of Vampire.]

[Collected Souls of Vampires: 5014/10,000]

[Exp. Needed for the next level up: 17,521,900/17,600,000]

"NOOOOOO!!!"

Mana’s scream shattered what little composure remained in the hall. Her delicate form twisted midair, rose-gold hair flaring like a comet tail. Blood, bright and shocking against her pale skin, trailed from multiple lacerations as her body was flung against the shattered pillars. Blood still flowed down her throat where Erebus’s spear struck.

Her gaze was fixed on her brother’s corpse; she seemed to shrink, not with fear, but with... calculation. Her wide, sparkling eyes narrowed, the childish delight replaced with something far colder, sharper, predatory.

"Azmuth..." she whispered, her voice trembling, not with sorrow, but with restrained fury. "You... were supposed to be untouchable..."

Her hands flexed, delicate fingers curling like claws. The air around her thickened, coiling like smoke around a candle. Every inch of the hall seemed to recoil as her aura surged, not just reactive, but active, ancient power blooming in response to a threat she had never faced.

I didn’t flinch. My Observation Grid tracked the subtle shifts in her mana: spikes of raw, untamed force that whispered of centuries-old blood magic, patterns almost impossible to predict. Paimon and Erebus reformed behind me, shadow blades trembling with excitement, ready to strike again—but I didn’t move them. I let Mana have the first move.

Her wings—or were they extensions of her aura?—unfurled slowly behind her, shadow and rose-gold blending into a storm of spectral feathers. Each beat sent ripples through the fractured stone of the hall. The nobles, still crawling out from the edges of debris, dared not breathe. Vaelion had collapsed onto one knee, his face pale, fangs exposed.

Mana’s voice was soft now, dangerously soft, like the coiling of a serpent before striking:

"Who... who are you, that even my brother falls before you?"

I tilted my head, letting the tiniest smile tug at my lips. My voice remained calm, even in the face of her awakening power:

"I am irrelevant."

Her eyes narrowed. The dual-colored gaze flickered between sapphire and molten honey, analyzing, probing, tasting the air around me as if to detect some hidden flaw.

"I do not... enjoy being toyed with." She hissed, the words a promise, not a threat.

I raised Muramasa slowly, the black membrane pulsing along the blade. The air around it quivered as if recognizing the decree of inevitability.

"Neither do I."

With that, she moved.

The motion was impossible—a flash of light, a shimmer of space bending as she closed the distance between us in an instant. Shadows and blood-trails followed her as she struck, every movement a calculation of centuries of experience.

Paimon and Erebus lunged simultaneously, but this time, Mana did not evade—she absorbed their strikes. Her aura bent around their attacks, dispersing energy, redirecting force with precision that made my Observation Grid spark warnings.

A single clap of her hands, delicate but precise, and a shockwave exploded outward. Paimon was slammed into the ceiling; Erebus’ shadow ripped and reformed, but even he faltered under the sudden disruption of space.

I smiled faintly, reading the pattern. Her strength was absolute, yes—but predictable, if one could see the subtle threads in the chaos.

I stepped forward lightly, black membrane tightening along Muramasa, and let Conqueror’s Will bloom. The space between us seemed to thicken, the air trembling with authority.

"You are strong," I said quietly, voice carrying across the hall like velvet steel, "but every predator has a pattern. Every ancient, even one who has outlived centuries, has a rhythm. And I—" I tilted my head, letting the observation grid flare across her entire form, "—see yours."

Her eyes flared. For a brief, terrifying moment, she smiled—not sweet, not playful, but hungry.

"Oh... this is fun," she whispered. "So fun. To think centuries of blood, power, and dominion... broken by a mortal touch. Broken by you."

The air pulsed again, coiling around her as Mana’s aura became a storm. She leapt, screaming, a battle cry that split the soundscape of the hall into shards. Shadows twisted around her, forming blades, whips, and ethereal claws. Every strike, every motion, was calculated to kill, to test, to overwhelm—but I did not move from my stance.

Muramasa’s membrane flared as I read her next three moves simultaneously, countering each attack before it fully manifested. The blade became an extension of Conqueror’s Will, a black-gold conduit of inevitability.

BOOM!

A collision of raw, refined force sent pillars crumbling. Dust and blood mixed with shattered marble, yet I remained standing. Mana’s body arched midair, spinning to avoid the next strike, but I already anticipated the rotation, the trajectory, the subtle curl of her fingers that telegraphed force.

And then—

I whispered, almost gently:

"Your power... is impressive. But it cannot surpass the decree of my will."

With that, Muramasa sang.

Not a sound for ears, but a resonance that shattered expectations, tore through space, and wrapped around Mana’s aura. The blade carved a path through her defenses, not to kill—not yet—but to declare dominance.

The hall seemed to hold its breath again. Dust swirled, shadows quivered, and Mana’s scream—a mixture of frustration, exhilaration, and surprise—echoed as she was flung backward, spinning through broken pillars.

She landed lightly on her feet, rose-gold hair flickering like fire caught in a storm. Her eyes met mine, narrowed but gleaming.

"Interesting..." she murmured, voice shaking with excitement. "Not the mortal I expected. Not even close. You... may be fun."

Her wings—or aura extensions—fluttered, preparing for the next onslaught.

I merely tilted my head. Shadows coiled. Conqueror’s Will rippled like a storm. Muramasa hummed faintly, black membrane tightening along the edges.

The Elder descent had begun.

And in that moment, I realized: She was the real deal between her and her brother. Mana Sanguine was the beginning of a reckoning that would not end until the ancient foundations of this dungeon trembled under my will.

The next strike would define the rules.

And I... was ready.

***

Stone me, I can take it!

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