Chapter Thirteen: The Blood Clan Asked Me to Convey a Message to You

On the very afternoon that Deacon arrived in Olympia, Blade’s secret hideout received a visitor—Wester Rooney, a once-famous vampire hunter who had not shown himself in public for quite some time.

When Blade saw Wester, a rare smile appeared on his face. “Long time no see. I thought you’d been killed by those bats.”

“Uh… no, not at all, I’m still very much alive,” Wester replied awkwardly. He was so used to calling vampires “bloodsuckers” that hearing someone refer to them as “bats” caught him off guard.

Despite his discomfort, Wester remembered his orders. His eyes darted past Blade to rest upon Van Helsing.

Van Helsing sat with one leg crossed over the other. Even without activating his faction detection, he could sense something odd about this man—there was a strong scent of vampire on him. Most likely, Wester had been with vampires recently, and the scent was identical to that of the brazen duke from earlier.

“This must be the legendary Van Helsing,” Wester said as he let go of Blade’s hand and rushed over to Van Helsing, fawning over him like a sycophant.

Blade was momentarily stunned. Wasn’t Wester here to see him? Why was he making a beeline for his master? And how did he know his master’s name when Blade hadn’t introduced him yet?

“If you have something to say, say it. If you need to vent, do it from a distance,” Van Helsing said coldly. He refrained from acting out of respect for his apprentice.

“Ahem…” Wester’s face flushed with embarrassment, and he coughed to cover his discomfort. “Van Helsing, sir. Mr. Deacon—”

“Wait.” Van Helsing stood, his gaze fixed outside. He sensed the vampire duke’s approach. “Did you lead that creature here?”

“Sir, the great vampire duke—Lord Deacon—asked me to deliver a message…”

“What did he say?”

“He comes in peace, seeking cooperation. Lord Deacon says that if you join us, he guarantees you a lifetime of glory, wealth beyond measure, beautiful women, luxury cars…”

Van Helsing rose, rolling his wrists, producing a series of cracking sounds.

“Please, don’t be hasty.” Sweat beaded on Wester’s forehead. He’d seen some of Van Helsing’s videos and knew he was no match for him. “Lord Deacon also said that we have a common enemy—Dracula…”

Crack. Before he could finish, Van Helsing twisted, snapping Wester’s neck and lifting his severed head. “You know, that little bat isn’t even fit to be called a man, let alone a lord. What a joke.”

With that, he tossed the head behind him and drew his twin swords from his belt.

Blade’s heart churned with unrest. A former vampire hunter had thrown in his lot with the vampires—how utterly ironic.

“Enough, apprentice, step back. This kind of thing isn’t rare. Some humans are an even greater threat to our kind than vampires. You’ll understand one day.”

Waves of energy rippled from Van Helsing, his familiar birds summoned to reinforce him, the energy shield thicker than ever before.

Blade realized then that the greater enemy was still to come!

“Today, your first lesson.”

Van Helsing bent his knees, ready to explode into action.

“As a hunter, never abandon your mastery of traps!”

Boom!

A massive burst of flame shot skyward, the air warping with the intense heat.

The explosive trap was triggered!

“Watch closely. Learn well!” Van Helsing called, then charged forward. Blade shielded his face with his right hand, forcing his eyes open—facing such a formidable foe was a rare opportunity.

“My friend, let’s not resort to violence right away. If you have any demands, feel free to state them,” Deacon called from within the flames, waving his right hand. Threads of blood whipped out from his fingertips, lashing the fire away.

“Don’t call me friend—it’s disgusting. I only speak with dead bats. So do me a favor and die first!”

Twin swords formed a web of steel in the air, relentlessly slashing at the enemy before him.

“Pity. I wonder if, after you die, you’ll be worthy of a proper embrace,” Deacon sneered. His movements were ghostly, his mist form distinct from other vampires—every time he evaded Van Helsing’s attacks and repositioned himself safely.

The freezing trap triggered!

A mass of solid ice erupted from the ground, trapping Deacon in place.

Seizing the opportunity, Van Helsing drove his silver sword through Deacon’s heart. But then, the ice-bound Deacon vanished, and the sound of the air splitting came from behind.

He ducked, spun around, iron sword guarding his chest, silver blade raised.

Van Helsing’s reaction was flawless, but the difference in their raw abilities couldn’t be ignored. When Deacon got serious, his speed outstripped Van Helsing’s attacks.

Even a fleeting opening in Van Helsing’s assault was enough for Deacon to retaliate. Van Helsing could only rely on his vast experience to barely keep up.

Under Deacon’s onslaught, the energy shield surrounding Van Helsing began to waver.

Enthrall! When Deacon’s eyes met Van Helsing’s, hypnotic waves washed into Van Helsing’s mind.

His movements slowed, leaving a gap in his defense. Deacon lunged, his blood-soaked hand piercing the flickering shield.

Van Helsing, focusing his mind, rolled aside, pulling himself clear of his previous position.

Though his evasion was swift, Deacon’s hand grazed his arm, leaving a shallow wound.

Van Helsing was shocked—he’d been injured! This was serious trouble.

Sure enough, as soon as the wound appeared, the blood in Van Helsing’s veins seemed desperate to escape his body. A small cut bled profusely, soaking his sleeve in seconds.

Van Helsing ignored his own wound. Deacon’s attacks came faster and faster. Channeling all his energy into his weapons, Van Helsing threw both swords into a full offensive, matching Deacon blow for blow.

Under Van Helsing’s desperate assault, Deacon was forced to retreat, regret heavy in his heart. Van Helsing was the strongest vampire hunter he’d ever met—too rigid in his thinking to be brought to his side.

After creating a bit of space for himself, Van Helsing’s body shuddered as he expelled the traces Deacon had left in his wound, and in an instant, the injury healed.

Suddenly, the battlefield fell silent. Van Helsing and Deacon faced each other from across the street—a distance meaningless to either of them.

Both knew the outcome was already decided.

A human, under normal circumstances, could never match a vampire’s endurance. If neither surrendered, the only possible result was Van Helsing’s death from exhaustion of strength and magic.