CHAPTER 705: 705

In less than two weeks, the Countess barony was reduced to ruin. Even she, the emblem of noble strength and authority, met her end at the hands of the creatures and was added to it’s growing number. The existence of thralls, once whispered and doubted, was no longer speculation. While the empire struggled to suppress the news, fearing panic, it spread all the same through whispers and terrified rumors.

The vampire godlings, however, were doing the opposite of the empire. They crept into cities under the cover of darkness, letting fear fester, sowing tales of the creatures of the night. They spoke of towns where light no longer offered protection, of homes that could not keep the darkness at bay. At first, the stories were dismissed as exaggerations, the work of frightened minds or wandering bards.

But as towns fell and survivors returned, some broken, some too terrified to speak clearly, the rumors gained weight. Every recounting painted the same grim picture, bodies disappearing, the night claiming all who were caught unprepared. Slowly, unease became panic, and panic began to harden into ritual.

It was impossible to pinpoint when the change fully took hold, but the effect was undeniable. People began to fear the night itself. Before sunset, most were already behind locked doors, bolting windows and barricading entrances. The streets emptied hours before darkness fell, and the sound of shutters and locks became the new rhythm of daily life. Night was no longer simply a passage of time, it had become a predator, and humanity had learned, all too quickly, to flee from it.

The empire was vast, so vast in fact, that the horrors consuming the outskirts barely felt like a whisper to those in the heartlands. The core cities, surrounded by thick walls, elite garrisons, and the Empire’s highest-ranking mages, felt untouchable. Safe. Civilized.

The tragedies happening far beyond their borders were little more than rumors carried by travelers, soldiers, and shaken merchants, stories to gossip about over warm tavern meals. Tales of creatures in the dark, of towns that went silent overnight, of soldiers returning pale and hollow-eyed.

But to the people living through those nightmares, nothing about it was interesting. Nothing was exaggerated. Every night was a trial of survival. Every sunset felt like a dying breath. Panic and fear were sharpening into madness.

Those living near the afflicted territories begged, pleaded, and desperately considered fleeing to the empire’s core where light, law, and the emperor’s reach offered true protection. Many believed salvation lay there. But what happened to those few who tried shattered that hope.

Travel to the inner regions of the empire took weeks. Weeks meant countless nights. And nights now belonged to the thralls. Once, nighttime was merely a quiet part of the day. Now it was a stretch of hours where every creak, every distant sound, every shifting shadow could be the final warning before death.

Travelers set out in caravans, believing numbers and light would shield them. But the thralls tracked them, learned their patterns, and struck with horrifying precision. Survivors, if any, stumbled back to their towns days later, trembling and incoherent. Some never spoke again. Most never even made it back.

And during the day, new horrors replaced the old. The roads became lined with familiar carriages, ones people recognized from their own towns drifting back with no passengers inside. No drivers. No horses. Just the empty vessels, rolling slowly as if guided by unseen hands or rogue winds.

The absence of bodies told enough.

The news reached Chen’s court on a quiet morning, blood-spattered letters, and reports written with shaking hands. Entire baronies vanishing in the night. Caravans returning empty. Survivors losing their sanity to fear.

To the court, it was slightly alarming but to Chen, it was exhilarating.

Genuine joy tugged at the corners of his lips, the vampire godlings had finally chosen to act. He had waited for this, Plotted for this.

But the way they chose to respond... that, he had not anticipated.

Chen had expected them to burst into his palace arrogant, untouchable, demanding their "rights" be restored and ordering him to release their detained kin. It would have been just like them. After all, they were the only godling race protected by a living demigod. Even Chen’s own father, could not ignore such figure.

Chen had been counting on that arrogance. He had hoped that if the godlings overplayed their hand, the demigod himself might appear. And if he appeared, perhaps Chen’s father would finally stir as well. The balance of power would shift, and Chen could attempt to seize the moment.

But the vampire godlings were not arrogant this time. They were clever, too clever.

They didn’t confront him and didn’t make demands. Most importantly they didn’t expose themselves.

Instead, they unleashed a plague in the shadows, one that destroyed towns, spread panic, and eroded public confidence but without leaving a single trace linking it back to them.

Chen’s fingers curled tightly around the arm of his throne. Their strategy left him no room to maneuver.

He couldn’t point a finger at them, he couldn’t accuse them without evidence. He couldn’t drag them into the light where the empire could hate and resent them.

If he did, he would only serve their purpose. He would validate their message: fear the night, fear the shadows, fear what lurks beyond the reach of the empire’s power.

And fear, once seeded, would grow turning his people not against the vampire godlings, but toward them. Fear could easily transform into awe, reverence... or surrender.

Chen didn’t want his people to fear the godlings. He wanted them to hate them, to resent them. To rally behind him as the one who would stand against divine creatures that thought themselves superior.

But the vampires played the game with infuriating precision.

As it stood now, the plague could have come from anywhere, from rogue magic, a mage experiment, stray monsters from the deeper part of the forest. The empire’s territories were large enough for countless threats.

And that was the problem.

The vampire godlings had set the board, made their move, and left Chen powerless to respond. All he could do was watch as fear spread through his people like wildfire, fear that strengthened his enemies instead of weakening them.

There was little he could do.

Chen hated it but it was the truth.

With a single word from him, the entire plague could be purged. Not slowly. Not over weeks. In a single day. His authority, his lineage, and the dormant powers at his command could sweep across the land and burn the corruption away like mist under the sun.

But doing so would undo everything he had built, every maneuver, every careful step in his political war against the godlings and against his own father. If he revealed his hands now, he would have nothing left to bargain with later. His hand would be exposed, his plans would be out in the open. And worst of all, his father would see it... and tighten the leash around Chen’s throat once again.

Unacceptable.

Intolerable.

Still, he had a council to appease.

So Chen offered a gesture not a solution. With a single order, he deployed a few of the empire’s elite mages and knight-commanders, the ones with enough training to survive in the dark. When questioned why he sent only a handful, he gave a calm, measured answer "We cannot weaken the capital. Should the godlings make a move, we must be prepared."

It was the perfect excuse. Reasonable. Unarguable. And it bought him time.

Time to see if there was anything in this plague he could twist to his advantage.

While Chen hesitated, played politics, and maneuvered in shadows, others moved with far simpler motivations.

The druid godlings arrived at the outskirts.

They had already been warned by their kin, news spread quickly among the godlings about the vampires intentions, their careful movements, their subtle plan to instill fear across the empire. But knowing it was one thing. Witnessing it was another.

And seeing the devastation with their own eyes stirred something unpleasant in their hearts.

The druids had no intention of sabotaging the vampire’s strategy. The godling races rarely interfered in each other’s affairs unless it threatened all of them. But this? This wasn’t about divine politics. This wasn’t about territory or pride.

This was about the humans, pitiful, powerless humans who were led, blindfolded and shackled, by an empire too arrogant to teach them the truth.

The druids moved not to oppose their vampire kin, but to alleviate the suffering left in their wake. To offer escape where death seemed inevitable. To give guidance to those who had never been taught how to defend themselves.

The empire’s greatest failure was not its inability to stop the plague. It was its obsession with stripping its people of magical knowledge. For generations they had preached that only the imperial court, elites and the noble lines were fit to wield power. Common folk were kept ignorant helpless ornaments to be protected by the throne, never to protect themselves.

And now? Now that ignorance was killing them.