Draconic Vampire : Curse of the Blood

Chapter 54  Preparations

The manager made a flamboyant grand entrance, perfectly attuned to the situation at hand.

The old man scrutinized him not for his connection with Keith, but for his nonchalant attitude towards the matter. After locating the manager inside the shop, he secured a spot for the tournament, originally reserved for another participant who was absent due to personal reasons.

Upon negotiating the price, the old man left with nothing. Though he brought ten thousand gold blood coins for the tournament and intended to purchase some artifacts, the manager refused to lower the price. Somehow, he had discerned the old man's total reserve and set the price accordingly. Draco was rapidly losing blood, and as his grandfather, the sight of his suffering was unbearable.

If the blood-qi concentration dropped below a certain level, the body would enter hibernation. Continuation of this state would lead to the blood core being unable to sustain circulation, ultimately consuming the life energy of the body.

At this critical juncture, the blood core would weaken the physique. If the conversion process persisted, the vampire could never recover. The physique served as the vessel to store the blood-qi, while the blood core circulated and converted the blood-qi present in the body. The solidified blood-qi within the core was not to be tampered with.

The blood core always sought self-preservation. In the absence of a source of blood-qi, it would devour its own to sustain itself, resulting in the corruption of blood-qi as it cycled between pure and impure states. The blood core could only hold pure attributed blood-qi; any foreign substance solidified inside posed a serious threat to a vampire's sanity.

A vampire's blood core was the fount of their energy, needing to stay consistent with their own attribute; otherwise, the vampire would transform into a ghoul. Though the process took time, it could be expedited using the blood-qi of others.

Keith was aware of the situation and planned accordingly. His intention was to use the old man to extract concessions, not to turn him into a ghoul.

As the manager surveyed the private arena, his gaze briefly met Keith's. The final-stage baron aura emanated from Keith's position, and the manager whistled upon witnessing his growth.

"I suppose you're the one vying for a spot in the tournament," the manager remarked, looking at Keith.

"That's correct," Keith replied with a cold expression.

"Good, now get up and come with me. The match is about to start. There's a short break before the fight begins, so I need you to be prepared. Drink some blood and recover your stamina," he instructed, eyeing the arena covered in blood.

"It's not mine. I was just warming up with him. Too bad they had other intentions, isn't that right, old man?" Keith sarcastically remarked.

"Leave if you want to be in the tournament. I invested a lot to secure the spot, and if you don't entertain me, it'll be a massive loss. I hope your opponent turns you into meat pulp," the old man shouted.

"Here, take care of your precious grandson. Make sure to watch the tournament. You will definitely enjoy it," Keith said, walking up to the manager and smiling.

"What a tense atmosphere! Glad that I didn't get tangled up in your dispute. Let's move; the next match is about to start," the manager turned around and gestured to Keith, who followed without asking any further questions.

Keith followed the manager, maintaining a suspicious look on his face, though it was just for show. He didn't want to appear too relaxed, so he pretended to be cautious.

Inside the arena, the old man checked on Draco, who was barely hanging on. The blood loss was severe, and he needed to recover his blood-qi urgently.

"Bring the blood ritualist. We need to stabilize his blood core first. Rufus, bring me ten humans of the best quality, right now!" he ordered.

Rufus rushed outside to arrange sacrifices for the ritual. In the underground Colosseum, humans were being sold like any other commodity.

Keith exited the private arena and entered the manager's shop. After taking seats on opposite couches, they exchanged smiles.

"How much did you get?" Keith asked, raising an eyebrow.

"How much do you think?" the manager teased.

"Three thousand, maybe four?" Keith guessed.

"You're underestimating my expertise. That old man was loaded. When I first proposed seven thousand gold blood coins, he didn't even flinch. I was testing the waters with an arbitrary number, but he showed no reaction. So, I added some extra for the desperate fellow. Seven thousand for the tournament spot and two thousand for changing the player's identity.

He didn't hesitate when I asked for nine thousand gold blood coins. I wanted to demand a higher service fee, but he seemed at his limit, so I finalized the deal.

"He certainly loves his grandson. He's going to be the next leader of their family, after all," Keith laughed.

"As we agreed, I get half of the profit. It was a risky proposition, so I wanted a larger share than usual. The old man is powerful, and I doubt we could handle him alone," the manager said, looking at Keith seriously.

"That's why I avoided engaging with them and let go of his precious grandson. Starting a war between two families would be troublesome. Besides, I'm not strong enough to face him yet; I can only flee if he comes after me," Keith explained, aware of his limitations.

Confident in his ability to escape pursuit, Keith knew that his warrior frame at the viscount stage and peak speed attribute could match even a count-stage vampire. However, he acknowledged that overpowering the old man would require leveling up his warrior frame and blood core output to the same level.

Entering the private arena, Keith didn't anticipate the windfall. Originally planning to extort money from his uncle, he stumbled upon a lucrative deal. Nine thousand gold blood coins were a substantial sum, even for him as a young vampire lacking the authority to handle such wealth in his family.

He had asked the manager to wait for a vampire looking to buy a tournament spot, intending to make Rufus lose his money. However, Keith found a better deal, realizing that if Rufus was associated with the old man, the blame would fall on him. His uncle would face consequences for providing false information, and Keith would profit handsomely from the scam. All that remained was for him to participate in the tournament.

"How long until the next round starts?" Keith inquired.

"Right now. I didn't lie when I said the match would be held soon. You need to change into something more suitable for the occasion," the manager pointed at Keith's opulent clothes.

As an heir to a descendant family, the clothes made for him were of the best quality, crafted with the finest fabric available. However, they were not ideal for combat. The same fabric that made the dress comfortable also made it susceptible to penetration.

Keith didn't require special armor for the fight with Draco because he was confident in his ability to overpower him. Even then, the dress looked damaged due to the overwhelming blood-qi ripping through the fabric.

"You're right. Viscount-level vampires will be present, so I need something that can withstand their blood-qi," Keith nodded.

"May I introduce a state-of-the-art light armor made by one of our brilliant blood-qi ritualists?" the manager teased with an overly exaggerated voice.

"Sure, anything better than this will do," Keith remarked, pinching his blood-stained dress.

***

"Are you telling me the vampire who didn't show up for the selection is going to participate in the next round?" one of the referees whispered to a young vampire.

"Yes, sir. The spot was reserved for him before the tournament started," the young vampire replied.

"What's his name again?"

"The name hasn't been declared, but he is associated with the manager of Red Crescent," the vampire whispered to the referee.

Upon hearing the name, the referee's eyebrows creased, and he coughed slightly.

"So when will they arrive? The match will be starting soon, and I need to know his name before it begins," the referee said with a clear voice.

"Sorry for the delay; we're handling some important issues," the manager walked in with Keith, who was now wearing a mask.

The referee carefully inspected the young vampire behind the manager, scrutinizing his blood core and physique.

"Is that the participant?" he asked the manager.

"Yes, his name is Keith, and he doesn't talk much," the manager replied, glancing at Keith.

"Alright, get ready. I will start announcing the players' names. Then the match will start on my mark. Go stand there, and the tunnel will lead you to the arena," the referee pointed to a dark corridor.

Keith nodded and walked forward.

"Make sure to put on a show. I will put all my money on you," the manager winked at Keith, who took a last glance before entering the tunnel.

The crowd hushed in anticipation of the next match. One of the names on the wall that was matched up changed. The manager had initially put on a fake name in case Keith didn't show up and would've used a hired fighter to represent the Red Crescent shop. However, Keith arrived just in time for the match.

The change didn't surprise the audience as such alterations happened when backers decided to change their players. It was a rare occurrence but still within expectations.

Without making the crowd wait any longer, the referee started his extravagant opening lines to fire up the audience and introduced the two fighters.

"On one side, the mysterious young talent representing the Red Crescent Organization, Keith!"

"Facing him will be another young vampire from Sander Knights."

Keith slowly walked through the tunnel and emerged on the other side, illuminated by red crystals covering the entire pathway to the arena. He observed the crowd, cheering loudly for the impending battle. Both contestants were new to the tournament, leaving the audience uncertain about the outcome. The other vampire, having appeared in the selection matches, was the clear favorite. @@novelbin@@

"Both contestants, put your blood into the symbol in the middle. It will activate the rune formation and ensure there is no outside intervention. Simultaneously, check for your identities at all times."

Some blood-qi techniques could change someone's body from a distance and project blood-qi to someone else. The rune formation checked for any foreign blood-qi interference, monitoring the vampires fighting inside the ring.

Keith entered the arena and locked eyes with his opponent. It was a face he had seen before, surprisingly at the same place he met the manager.

"He's that young vampire from the blood shop. He was wearing quite a lavish dress that evening. Is he from a noble family?" Keith wondered.

[Seems likely. This is a tournament orchestrated by the nobles to show their strength, so he could be part of a powerful faction.]

'We have to see for ourselves how powerful he is,' Keith thought, analyzing the young vampire's physique.

To his surprise, the young vampire was at the middle stage of baron, and his blood-qi wasn't that impressive. Keith could defeat him without using his warrior frame, but there was uncertainty regarding the blood-qi technique that couldn't be overlooked.

Walking towards the center to put a drop of his blood into the central rune, he stood two meters away from his opponent. The young vampire repeated the process and calmly faced Keith. As they stared at each other with cold gazes, the surroundings fell silent.

"Now that both sides are ready, let's commence the battle," the referee raised his hand and shouted.

Crack!

The air within the arena burst forth as the two figures moved toward each other. Keith wasn't using his full power, attempting to gauge his opponent's strength before making his next move.

To his disappointment, the opponent wasn't fast enough. Even with his lowered speed, Keith could easily dodge the attacks of the young vampire. While Keith effortlessly maneuvered through the arena, the young vampire struggled to catch him.

"Why are you running? Coward!" He tried to provoke Keith, but it didn't affect him at all. Keith burst into laughter, hearing the desperate vampire's ramblings.

"Don't you think speed is an important aspect in a fight? If you can't catch me, how are you going to beat me? Or do you think you can talk it out, huh?" Keith appeared behind him and whispered in his ears.

"How did you?" The young vampire immediately retreated, looking at Keith in horror.

Meanwhile, in the audience, the Sander Knights faction watched the fight with a grave expression. The man in the middle, appearing to be in his forties, silently observed the battle.

"Who is this warrior? His speed is comparable to a viscount level. He is clearly a baron, apparent from his blood core, so how did he manage to move that fast?" One of the knights asked with awe.

"That is what I'm trying to figure out. He is not even showing his full power. The movements are too fluent to be seen as desperate, and from his expression, the fight is already over," the man in the middle spoke in a heavy voice.

"Where could such talent come from? Aside from the noble families, the other bloodlines are not comparable. The Red Crescent Blood Shop. How did they manage to find such talent? We need to investigate this further," the second in command beside the leader said with a vigilant face.

Keith, determined not to grant his opponent any respite, swiftly launched a relentless assault of punches and kicks aimed at the abdomen and legs. His movements were a blur, a choreography of speed and precision that left the young vampire struggling to mount a defense. Each strike landed with calculated force, a testament to Keith's mastery of combat.

The young vampire, in an attempt to fend off the onslaught, raised his arms and tried to parry the incoming blows. However, the barrage of attacks was too rapid and precise for him to keep up. The impact of Keith's strikes echoed through the arena, leaving the audience in awe of the baron's formidable prowess.

The onlookers, including the Sander Knights faction, watched in astonishment as Keith seamlessly executed his offensive maneuvers. The leader of the faction, still observing with a discerning eye, noted the fluidity of Keith's movements and the strategic brilliance behind each strike.

The young vampire, battered and disoriented, struggled to maintain his footing under the unrelenting assault. Keith's calculated aggression left no room for recovery, as if time itself had surrendered to the rapid cadence of the baron's attacks.

As the skirmish unfolded, it became increasingly evident that Keith's combat skills surpassed the expectations set by his baronial status. The arena echoed with the rhythm of his strikes, a mesmerizing display of martial prowess that left an indelible mark on the spectators. The question of Keith's origins and training became more pressing, as the enigmatic baron continued to defy the conventions of his rank, unraveling a tale of hidden potential and untapped power.

As the injuries accumulated on the young vampire's battered form, he reached the point of surrender. With a hoarse voice that resonated through the arena, he shouted, "I yield." Keith, ever mindful of his objectives, wore a satisfied smile and refrained from launching any further attacks. His intent was not to claim a life but to obtain the blood of a baron-level vampire.

The acknowledgment of defeat echoed in the arena, a declaration that marked the end of the intense skirmish. Keith, with a composed demeanor, took a step back, allowing the defeated vampire to catch his breath. The arena fell into a hushed anticipation, with spectators absorbing the outcome of the clash.

Keith's decision not to escalate the confrontation beyond the point of surrender showcased a strategic restraint. His focus remained on the primary objective—gaining the blood needed to fulfill his purpose. Moreover, he avoided unnecessary provocation that could potentially escalate tensions with the supporters of the young vampire.

In the aftermath of the battle, the defeated vampire, though bruised and battered, displayed a palpable sense of relief. The tension that had gripped the arena began to dissipate as the acknowledgment of defeat diffused any lingeri