The streets of Blue Feather remained lively even as evening settled over the town.
Merchants packed away their stalls after a long day's business.
Travelers wandered the streets in search of inns.
Warm lanterns flickered to life one after another, bathing the stone roads in a soft golden glow.
Draven and Aldric walked quietly through the bustling streets.
Neither spoke.
Then—
without warning—
Draven turned.
Aldric followed his gaze.
A narrow alley stretched between two weathered buildings.
Without exchanging a word, they calmly changed direction and stepped inside.
The alley was quiet.
Dimly lit.
A few wooden crates rested against the walls.
Everything appeared perfectly ordinary.
At least—
for a few seconds.
Three figures entered behind them.
The men looked around in confusion.
One scratched the back of his head.
"...Where did they go?"
Another frowned.
"I swear they came through here."
The third nodded.
"Yeah, they—"
His words caught in his throat.
He had turned around.
Standing at the mouth of the alley—
were two familiar figures.
Draven.
And Aldric.
Silence.
The three men immediately stiffened.
Aldric smiled pleasantly.
"Is there a reason the guild has been following us?"
The first man hesitated.
Then shrugged.
"Well..."
A grin spread across his face.
"You two looked pretty well off."
He chuckled.
"So we figured we'd ask if you could lend us a little money."
Aldric nodded thoughtfully.
"I see."
His smile widened.
"Too bad we can't."
The man's smile disappeared.
"We weren't asking."
"Ah."
Aldric's grin remained unchanged.
"Is that so?"
Before anyone could react—
Draven moved.
He vanished in a blur.
The lead thug only felt something strike his leg.
A sharp twist.
CRACK!
His knee bent inward at an impossible angle.
His balance disappeared instantly.
"Wha—?!"
As he collapsed—
a small gloved hand caught him by the hair.
His fall stopped halfway.
The scream never came.
Because Draven was already there.
Aldric let out a disappointed sigh.
"Way to go."
"I was planning to talk to them a little longer."
The thug's body trembled violently.
Then—
the pain arrived.
Agony exploded through his shattered leg.
His mouth opened to scream—
But Draven bit down.
The man's eyes widened.
Sharp fangs pierced deeply into the base of his skull.
The scream became nothing more than a choked gasp.
Then—
silence.
Aldric paused.
He watched quietly.
"...Huh."
Since when does the brat drink blood like that?
I've never seen him do it.
Not even once.
...Then again...
He's still a vampire.
I suppose it's normal.
Meanwhile—
the remaining two thugs finally reacted.
Too late.
Aldric appeared before them.
One died before he even realized what had happened.
The other was lifted effortlessly into the air by his face.
His feet kicked helplessly.
His fingers clawed desperately at Aldric's wrist.
It accomplished nothing.
Aldric tilted his head.
"You know..."
He smiled.
"Watching him made me thirsty."
The man's eyes filled with terror.
Aldric's smile widened.
Then—
he bit down.
Minutes later—
silence returned to the alley.
Three dried corpses lay motionless upon the cold stone ground.
The night breeze drifted softly through the narrow passage.
Aldric wiped a trace of blood from the corner of his lips.
"...That hit the spot."
Then his eyes shifted.
His expression changed.
Draven was kneeling.
His entire body trembled violently.
His breathing had become uneven.
The black cat poked its head out from beneath the cloak, its emerald eyes filled with concern.
Even the slime had stopped moving.
Aldric blinked.
"...Huh?"
He walked closer.
"What is it?"
No answer.
Draven continued shaking.
His fingers dug into the stone beneath him.
His golden eyes had lost focus.
Inside his mind—
countless images erupted into existence.
A childhood.
A family.
A mother's embrace.
A father's expectations.
The first time the man held a sword.
His first victory.
His first defeat.
His first kiss.
His greatest fear.
His deepest regret.
His greed.
His hatred.
His ambitions.
His failures.
Years upon years of memories flooded into Draven's consciousness.
Every experience.
Every lesson.
Every emotion.
An entire lifetime—
compressed into mere moments.
The dead man's existence unfolded before him in its entirety.
Nothing was hidden.
Nothing was forgotten.
Then—
it ended.
The trembling stopped.
Silence returned once more.
Slowly—
Draven rose to his feet.
Aldric stared.
"What the hell was that?"
Draven calmly wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth.
"Memories."
Aldric frowned.
"...What?"
"If I drink blood from the head..."
He paused.
"I inherit the person's memories."
Silence.
Aldric stared at him.
Then he stared even harder.
"...What?"
Draven remained expressionless.
"Their memories."
"Their experiences."
"Their knowledge."
Aldric blinked.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Then he pointed at the corpse.
"So..."
"That wasn't you dying?"
"You were watching his memories?"
Draven gave a single nod.
Silence.
Aldric slowly rubbed his face.
"...That isn't normal."
No response.
"I've never heard of a vampire capable of doing something like that."
Still nothing.
Aldric continued staring at him for several long seconds.
Finally, he folded his arms.
"Fine."
"You claim that's what happened."
A pause.
"Then answer this."
"Where are we?"
Draven answered immediately.
"Blue Feather."
Aldric nodded.
"The town?"
"Yes."
"The name of the town?"
"Blue Feather."
Silence.
Aldric slowly turned toward the dried corpse.
Then back toward Draven.
Then toward the corpse again.
His expression became increasingly complicated.
What the hell kind of ability is that?
A vampire drinking blood wasn't unusual.
A vampire growing stronger through blood wasn't unusual.
A vampire stealing another person's memories...
That was something else entirely.
Something he had never heard of.
Could this be a royal bloodline ability?
...No.
Impossible.
I've never heard of such a thing.
Aldric looked at Draven as though he were seeing him for the very first time.
After several long moments, he finally muttered,
"...What a freak."
Draven simply adjusted his cloak.
The black cat immediately climbed back onto his shoulder, brushing its soft fur against his snow-white hair.
As though nothing strange had happened.
As though absorbing someone's entire life through a mouthful of blood was perfectly ordinary.
Without another word, Draven walked toward the mouth of the alley.
"Let's go."
Aldric remained standing there for another moment.
His gaze drifted back to the shriveled corpses.
He still couldn't fully process what he had witnessed.
Finally—
he let out a long sigh.
"...Every time I think I've finally figured you out..."
He shook his head.
"...you somehow become even weirder."
Draven didn't answer.
The two figures disappeared into the lantern-lit streets of Blue Feather.
Leaving behind three lifeless corpses.
And one increasingly disturbed vampire who was beginning to wonder exactly what kind of monster he had agreed to travel with.
The following morning—
the news had already spread.
Not just throughout Blackwater.
Not just across the neighboring territories.
But across entire kingdoms.
Through guild networks.
Merchant caravans.
Churches.
Noble courts.
Military outposts.
The Battle of Blackwater had become the only thing anyone was talking about.
An Imperial flagship had been destroyed.
Hundreds of soldiers had been killed.
The Warrior Saintess had nearly lost her life.
The Demon King's son had revealed himself to the world.
And perhaps most shocking of all—
he had escaped.
Again.
Rumors spread faster than official reports.
Every tavern told a different version of the battle.
Some claimed the Demon King's son had leveled an entire fortress with a single spell.
Others swore he had commanded an army of monsters.
Some even insisted he had slain thousands before disappearing into the night.
Each retelling grew more outrageous than the last.
Yet beneath the exaggerations lay one undeniable truth.
The Empire had suffered a humiliating defeat.
And the culprit remained at large.
Far from Blackwater—
deep within the heart of the Holy Empire—
stood Lumenia.
The Imperial Capital.
A city of gleaming white stone and towering golden spires.
Massive cathedrals pierced the heavens.
Sacred banners fluttered proudly above marble streets.
Crystal-lit fountains sparkled beneath the evening sun.
Countless nobles, priests, knights, merchants, and common citizens filled the city's grand avenues.
Millions called Lumenia home.
It was the political, military, and religious heart of the continent.
At the city's center—
stood the Royal Palace.
Its towering walls overlooked the capital like an unshakable mountain.
Golden domes reflected the fading sunlight.
Sacred enchantments shimmered faintly across its white marble exterior.
Within those walls—
an emergency council meeting was already underway.
The atmosphere inside the grand council chamber was suffocating.
A long table stretched across the vast hall.
High-ranking ministers sat in complete silence.
Military commanders.
Archbishops.
Royal advisers.
Intelligence officers.
Dukes.
Marquises.
Every figure of significance within the Empire had answered the King's summons.
No one dared speak.
At the head of the table—
sat a man with silver-gold hair and piercing blue eyes.
King Theron Galewyn.
Ruler of the Holy Empire.
His expression remained perfectly calm.
Composed.
Unreadable.
Yet everyone present knew him well enough to understand what that calm truly meant.
The King was furious.
A military officer stood near the center of the chamber.
Sweat rolled slowly down his forehead.
His hands trembled despite every effort to remain composed.
Floating before him—
a crystalline report projection shimmered softly in the air.
"...The latest casualty report has been confirmed."
No one interrupted.
The officer swallowed nervously before continuing.
"The Blackwater Military Skyport has suffered catastrophic damage."
At his command—
the crystal projection expanded.
Images appeared above the table.
Several ministers immediately stiffened.
Collapsed landing platforms.
Shattered defensive walls.
Burning wreckage.
Destroyed fortifications.
A ruined Imperial flagship lying in pieces.
Silence settled over the chamber.
The officer continued.
"Three military fleets sustained heavy damage."
"One Imperial flagship was completely destroyed."
"Multiple commanding officers were killed during the engagement."
The chamber remained deathly silent.
The officer's voice grew noticeably more strained.
"The current confirmed military casualties stand at three hundred and thirty-seven dead."
He hesitated.
"More than two hundred additional personnel have been seriously wounded."
Several nobles visibly paled.
One elderly minister slowly removed his spectacles.
His hand trembled slightly.
"...By two attackers?"
The officer lowered his head.
"...Yes."
Silence.
Those two words echoed through the chamber.
Not an invading army.
Not a demonic legion.
Not a catastrophe beyond human control.
Two individuals.
Only two.
A noble finally broke the silence.
Disbelief filled his voice.
"...How?"
No one answered.
Because no one had an answer that made any sense.
Eventually—
another officer stepped forward.
"The primary hostile has been positively identified."
He paused.
"It was the Demon King's son."
Whispers immediately spread throughout the chamber.
"The identification is certain?"
"Absolutely."
"Witness testimony?"
"Multiple independent accounts."
"Visual confirmation?"
"Several recordings."
"There is no doubt."
The whispers died as quickly as they had begun.
The room somehow felt colder.
Another minister leaned forward.
"And the second attacker?"
The answer came without hesitation.
"A high-ranking vampire."
A new crystal projection appeared above the table.
Crimson eyes.
Burgundy hair.
Pointed ears.
A composed smile.
Aldric.
Several intelligence officers exchanged uneasy glances.
One finally spoke.
"...We have records matching him."
Another nodded.
"He is one of the demons encountered during the recent hunt."
"The same vampire responsible for killing Count Alaric Carvon in battle."
Several commanders frowned.
An intelligence officer spoke grimly.
"A demon capable of fighting Commander Roland and Sir Lucan simultaneously..."
He paused.
"...should not be aollowd to exist."
Yet he did.
His identity had now been confirmed.
His strength had been witnessed firsthand.
And he remained alive.
King Theron remained silent.
His piercing blue eyes lingered on the crystal image of Aldric for several moments before shifting toward one of the royal officers.
"...Princess Aurelia."
His calm voice echoed through the chamber.
"What is her condition?"
The officer immediately straightened.
"Stable, Your Majesty."
A subtle wave of relief spread throughout the room.
Several ministers quietly released the breaths they had been holding.
The officer continued.
"Her Highness sustained several severe injuries during the battle."
"She also lost her left arm in combat."
A few nobles grimaced.
Even veteran commanders looked uncomfortable.
The officer quickly added,
"However, the arm was successfully restored through advanced divine healing."
"The Saintess has already made a full recovery."
King Theron gave a single nod.
His expression remained unreadable.
Then he asked,
"Sir Lucan Calvorn."
Another officer stepped forward.
"Sir Lucan suffered severe internal injuries."
"Multiple fractures."
"Extensive mana exhaustion."
"He remains unconscious but is expected to recover fully."
King Theron remained silent.
His fingers tapped lightly against the armrest of his chair.
Once.
Twice.
Then they stopped.
The chamber grew heavier.
Everyone present knew what came next.
The political consequences.
The military consequences.
The religious consequences.
The King's gaze slowly swept across the room.
"The Demon King's son has revealed himself publicly."
No one spoke.
"The Empire failed to capture or eliminate him."
Silence.
"An Imperial flagship was destroyed."
The weight in the chamber deepened.
"Our military suffered hundreds of casualties."
Still, no one dared interrupt.
"And now..."
His eyes slowly narrowed.
"...half the continent knows of our failure."
Not a single person could dispute his words.
Because every one of them was true.
King Theron leaned back slightly.
His voice remained calm.
Controlled.
"The bounty."
Several ministers immediately looked up.
One cautiously asked,
"...Your Majesty?"
The King's expression did not change.
"Increase it."
The room froze.
A duke blinked.
"...Increase it?"
King Theron's gaze remained fixed ahead.
"Double it."
For the first time since the meeting began—
genuine shock spread across the chamber.
Several ministers exchanged stunned looks.
Even the battle-hardened generals looked taken aback.
Double it?
The existing bounty was already one of the largest ever issued.
One minister hesitated before speaking.
"Your Majesty... if we double the bounty, every mercenary company on the continent will become involved."
"Precisely."
King Theron's answer came without hesitation.
"I want every kingdom."
"Every guild."
"Every mercenary company."
"Every bounty hunter."
"Every adventurer."
His eyes hardened.
"Searching."
The crystal images of Draven and Aldric hovered silently above the table.
"I want nowhere left for them to hide."
Silence answered him.
Not because anyone disagreed—
but because no one dared to.
After the Battle of Blackwater...
No one in this room underestimated the Demon King's son any longer.
King Theron slowly rose from his throne.
Every person in the chamber instinctively stood with him.
The King's gaze lingered upon the projection of the ruined Blackwater Skyport.
Burning wreckage.
Broken fortifications.
The shattered remains of an Imperial flagship.
Then—
his eyes shifted to Draven's image.
A young boy.
Snow-white hair.
Golden eyes.
An emotionless face.
For several long moments...
the King simply stared.
His voice was barely above a whisper.
Yet every person present heard every word.
"...If he has already become this dangerous..."
A long silence followed.
Then his gaze sharpened.
"...then we no longer have the luxury of waiting."
His voice grew colder.
"Before he reaches adulthood..."
"We will eliminate him."
Silence engulfed the chamber.
No one questioned the order.
No one protested.
Because everyone understood exactly what those words meant.
This was no longer a regional manhunt.
No longer an isolated military operation.
The Holy Empire had made its decision.
From this day forward—
the Demon King's son would become the Empire's highest priority.
Kingdoms would be pressured.
Guilds would be mobilized.
Mercenary companies would flock to the hunt.
Churches would offer blessings to those who took up the mission.
Nobles would finance expeditions in hopes of claiming the reward.
The entire continent would soon be searching for a single child.
And somewhere far beyond the Empire's reach—
unaware of the storm gathering around him—
Draven continued his journey.
For now...
the continent moved toward war.
And the hunt had only just begun.