Chapter 27: Are You Insulting My Intelligence?! (2/2)
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His body dissolved into vapor, the outline of his form blurring and shattering into a swarm of darkness, pouring upward through the fractured light from the stained glass windows and re-forming above.
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The floorboards of the upper gallery creaked beneath his feet, the ancient wood protesting his sudden materialization as darkness coiled away from his limbs like reluctant serpents, wisps of shadow evaporating from his shoulders and fingertips.
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Lucien glanced down at the foyer below—gravity intact, his weight once again solid and real, but his heart, which had long felt dead and still in his chest, now pounded with excitement, each beat sending a rush of stolen vitality through his form.
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It's my eyes. Where I look, I can go. Is it that simple? Or is there a cost I have yet to pay?
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The next moment, what the vampires below could only describe as shadowy dust erupted throughout the chamber—Lucien appearing and reappearing in different places, even on the ceiling above the shattered chandelier.
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His towering form flickered from one location to another in short bursts, leaving ghostly afterimages that dispersed like smoke.
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Each disappearance was accompanied by that same rushing sound, like the collective beating of countless wings, and each reappearance brought a blast of cold air that stirred the dust and debris below.
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From the foyer, Elara's red eyes tracked his movements with predatory precision, her stance tensing as she unconsciously extended her claws.
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Lyra's ash-blonde hair lifted slightly with each displacement of air, her pale fingers clutching at the tatters of her blue gown.
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Selena had pressed herself against a wall, her ash-blonde hair catching the prismatic light as she watched with terrified fascination, her chest rising and falling with rapid breaths.
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All the while, Lucien himself—feeling this strange dissolution of his body, seeing his vision blur into streaks of color and light before clearing the next instant—grinned widely.
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His fangs, all four of them, gleamed in the light streaming through the damaged stained glass, droplets of saliva catching the light like tiny diamonds.
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Hahah! Hahah! I can teleport! Holy—
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His glinting red pupils narrowed and widened with each shift, like camera apertures adjusting to new light, especially when he found himself on the ceiling, hanging like a monkey with supernatural ease despite his imposing build.
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His long dark brown hair hung downward, swaying with each movement like liquid shadow, the wooden beams creaking softly under his inverted grip.
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Look at this! He spoke only in his mind, but his excitement radiated from him like heat, his face transformed with childlike wonder despite his fearsome appearance. You see this?
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Then he appeared next to the startled servants with a rush of displaced air that sent their tattered uniforms billowing.
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Agnes maintained her unnatural composure, though her crimson eyes widened slightly, watching him with cautious assessment.
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Before anyone could react, he vanished again—first back to the second floor, and then, with a final thought and a narrowing of his eyes on a distant point, he suddenly found himself standing in the shade just beyond the mansion’s threshold, the main door already open.
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Now he was standing—protected by the manor’s shadows from the full force of the sun.
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The transition was jarring in its completeness. One moment, the dusty, debris-strewn foyer with its broken chandelier and fractured stained glass; the next, the cool exterior air filled with wild scents—loam and pine, wild flowers and the metallic tang of the clockwork veins embedded in the manor's exterior walls.
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I really transmigrated, huh...
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He gazed out at the unfamiliar dense forest stretching before him, a tapestry of deep greens and shadows with no sign of human habitation.
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Behind him loomed the unfamiliar architecture of the building—gothic spires merging with mechanical elements, brass gears partially visible within eroded stone, all streaked with decades of neglect.
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Above, through gaps in the canopy, the familiar yet strangely unfamiliar blue sky stretched, somehow deeper and more vibrant than any he had known before. The air itself tasted different on his tongue—wilder, older, untouched by modern pollution.
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It was like a dream. But the piercing, glaring sunlight—once something he had always welcomed with outstretched arms and closed eyes—now looked terrifying for some reason.
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The golden rays that touched the edges of the shade where he stood seemed to pulse with menace, carrying the promise of pain, perhaps even destruction.
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Even this indirect light made his skin prickle uncomfortably, tiny needles of sensation warning him away.
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This realization left his mouth agape in awe, his fangs momentarily visible against his lower lip; the feeling of being stunned and excited after transmigrating quickly faded like morning mist burning away...into bitterness.
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A wry smile that couldn't even properly curve his lips; instead, they just twitched, a muscle tensing beneath the marble-pale skin of his cheek.
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The forest before him whispered with a thousand movements—leaves rustling, small creatures scurrying through underbrush, birds calling in the canopy—all sounds abnormally clear to his enhanced senses, yet all of it beyond his reach.
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He had wanted adventure. He had wanted to witness how grand the world could be. He had wanted to become an adventurer...to learn and try magic.
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But what he wanted most was—
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"Walk... and freedom... it looks so close, yet actually so far." Lucien spoke, his voice carrying the weight of realization.
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He smacked his lips, before turning around.
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How could he blame his condition now? To be given a second life was already something to be grateful for—why not cherish it?
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Now, finding all the vampire servants along with Lyra and Elara, looking at him in silence...
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Am I tied to them now? That was his quiet thought, the question settling in his chest like a weight.
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It was true: he was the one who'd ordered Elara and Lyra to revive all the servants just to gather enough data.
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It was also true that he'd promised Elara he would revive her, her elder sister, and all of the servants.
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But that was just for data... He'd never truly considered being responsible for their lives. Yet nonetheless, he was their master now.
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In their minds, he was like an old, centuries-old vampire, simply testing his abilities.
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They waited for his command, his decision. But in reality...
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I'm as clueless as you. How could I know what it means to live as a vampire? Besides what I know from movies and novels I've watched and read?
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He wanted to complain, to laugh at the absurdity of it all, but...looking at their gazes, at the mingled fear and hope that radiated from them in almost palpable waves, Lucien fell silent.
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They were waiting for him—to speak, to give them direction in this new world of vampires.
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This left him conflicted, a furrow forming between his brows as he surveyed the group before him.
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He gazed at Lyra, whose ash-blonde hair caught the fractured of coverd light from above, her face a mask of careful neutrality though her eyes—those unsettling red-pupiled eyes—betrayed a calculation that belied her tattered appearance.
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He shifted his attention to Elara, who had lowered her head, much like a loyal servant in submission.
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The rest of the servants wore mixed expressions—Agnes's poreless face betraying nothing while Selena's eyes darted nervously between Lucien and the door, a thin sheen of sweat glistening on her brow despite the manor's chill—but all of them kept their heads bowed.
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And finally, he looked at the only butler, whose weathered face and silver mustache framed a gaze that matched Lyra's—watchful, wary, and assessing, one hand resting near the hilt of his saber. The monocle over his eye caught a shard of blue light, momentarily flashing like a warning beacon.
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Then, especially after seeing Lyra's and the butler's expressions, he came to a conclusion that settled over him like a mantle of responsibility. They're nobles, right? Or rather, fallen nobles...
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"Get me a hat and clothes," he said.
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That was the only command Lucien issued for now, calmly, though his slitted pupils contracted slightly as he watched their reactions.
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The butler nodded once, sharply, and disappeared through a side door.
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Minutes later, once donned in new clothes—a thick leather jacket with brass buttons and mechanical accents that gleamed dully in the colored light, and a hat that covered most of his skin and cast deep shadows across his marble-pale features—he walked toward the door.
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"As for now, just follow your previous master's arrangements," he continued, his eyes moving from face to face, noting the subtle relaxation in some, the increased tension in others.
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With a final nod, he stepped out of the house.
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Confronted again by the familiar dense forest view, the canopy of trees swaying gently in a breeze he could hear but barely feel, Lucien finally smiled.
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"Well, let's see how this works!"
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...
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Once the main door was tightly shut with a final, heavy thud that sent vibrations through the floor, and the pressure emitted from Lucien—that subtle but unmistakable aura of predatory power—vanished, all of the vampires inside fell silent.
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"M-my Lady, should we just leave?" one of the maids asked, her voice cracking mid-sentence.
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Even though they had been revived, that monster was now their master. There was no shred of loyalty in her wide, frightened eyes, only fear toward the one who had turned them into vampires.
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Lyra, who had been silent, looked toward the maid—taking in the woman's trembling form and the tears gathering in her crimson eyes—then shifted her gaze to the door where Lucien had departed.
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She let out a sigh, the sound weary turning away with a rustle of tattered silk, her movements heavy with an exhaustion that was more spiritual than physical.
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"Leave?" she murmured, her voice hollow as it echoed in the vast foyer, bouncing off broken relics and damaged walls. "And go where? To wither in the daylight we can no longer feel? To become true beasts in the darkness?"
