Chapter Eight: The Ancient Monster Hunter

(Happy May Day, everyone~)

After Parker had once again purged the entire Blood Hand Gang, the tardy agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. finally arrived to rescue the humans trapped in the shipping containers. They also cleaned up after Parker, for according to S.H.I.E.L.D. protocol, vampires should not be exposed to ordinary people.

None of this concerned Yang Qiu much. His thoughts were already consumed by how to deal with the vampire race as a whole. What he needed now were assassins specialized in hunting vampires. Parker, working alone, would be busy enough just cleansing all the vampires in New York.

A month later, as his reservoir of mental energy grew full and rich, Yang Qiu began designing the new script. Over the past month, he had already chosen all the actors and mapped out the plot’s evolution. Now that resources were in place, it was time to start the fourth script.

Olympia, the largest city in Washington State, rivaled New York in its bustling vibrancy. In some ways, it even surpassed New York—for example, its nightlife. Once, Olympia’s nightclub scene was not the most flourishing, but that changed when a group of vampires who slept by day and prowled by night arrived. Under their influence, the number of clubs soared, multiplying several times over in just a few years.

“Bowie, how about we try a new place tonight? I got this invitation to a special club, and it allows me to bring a guest. Want to join me?” Kensia raised his eyebrows at his workmate, displaying the gilded invitation.

“A special nightclub? How special could it be?” Bowie asked in a low voice, that knowing smile men share appearing on his lips.

“You know~” Kensia returned the same smile.

That evening, as the two entered the club, they were instantly astonished. The lavish decor was one thing, but the real shock was the crowd: the place was teeming with beauties.

A glance around revealed nothing but devilish figures, curves accentuated in all the right places, and the two men grew excited.

Thunderous music filled the air, the DJ driving the rhythm ever higher. Men and women mingled on the dance floor, hands sliding across their partners, rewarded with one alluring glance after another.

“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to tonight’s midnight blowout! Let’s get moving!” the MC shouted from the stage.

“‘Ladies and gentlemen’—I’ve never heard that used here. This place is wild, don’t you think?” Bowie shouted to the woman in front of him.

“Want to know why he said that? Come closer, I’ll tell you.” The woman licked her lips, barely concealing her impatience.

Bowie swallowed and leaned in, ready to enjoy himself, when suddenly the club erupted into chaos.

“Blade! It’s Blade!”

Bowie saw the woman’s expression change abruptly; she began frantically shoving backward. Before he could grasp what was happening, a heavy scent of blood hit his nose.

Turning, he saw a black man in a leather jacket and sunglasses, wielding a longsword, cutting his way from the entrance.

A terrorist!

The thought flashed through Bowie’s mind as he hunched and scrambled aside, colliding with another man.

“Kensia? Why are you still standing? Run!” Bowie’s voice faded as he saw his companion’s pale face, drool trickling from his mouth, and two bleeding punctures on his neck.

What in the world happened?

Bowie’s mind was awash with questions. Suddenly, he realized the crowd around him had vanished, leaving only a handful of men standing as Kensia did, oblivious to everything happening.

Rapid gunfire erupted in the club. Bowie convulsed twice and collapsed, never understanding what had happened, even as death claimed him.

Amid a hail of bullets, Blade crouched, weaving between cover, his weapon guarding his vital spots. As a half-vampire, so long as his vital organs weren't hit, ordinary bullets couldn’t harm him. His regenerative powers rivaled those of count-level vampires, though he lacked their more bizarre abilities.

Several grenades rolled from behind cover, exploding in the club’s center, unleashing ultraviolet light that swept across the venue. Instantly, anguished screams echoed everywhere.

As the gunfire waned, Blade stepped forward, his sword slashing at an enemy—only to slice through a cloud of blood mist.

Blade’s pupils contracted.

Damn! It was a trap! Any vampire who could vaporize under ultraviolet light was of noble rank, and from his immunity to the silver-plated blade, he was likely more than a baron.

“I’ve always wanted to taste the blood of Blade. It should be different from ordinary humans, right?”

“I wouldn’t want to. I heard his blood stinks, hahaha.”

On the club’s second floor, two vampires laughed wildly, watching Blade below as if he were a tiger trapped in a cage—at most, a beast struggling futilely.

Blade’s gaze darted around the club: two upstairs, three downstairs, at least five barons. This was trouble; there’d been a serious lapse in intelligence!

Yang Qiu, holding the script’s omniscient perspective, had foreseen Blade’s predicament. During his initial investigation, he’d already detected the vampires’ plot against Blade. Yet this was ideal; such a scene was a perfect opening act.

Prologue: The Ancient Monster Hunter

“Hey kid, you’ve got some moves. Want to work with me?”

As tension reached its peak in the club, a voice rang out from the rooftop. Blade looked up to see a bearded man in a shabby coat dangling overhead.

The vampires noticed him too, exchanging confused glances—until now, their senses had detected no outsider there.

Blade returned his focus to the enemy. Under normal circumstances, he’d try to help the newcomer escape, but now, his own survival was uncertain, so he didn’t bother.

“Looks like you don’t believe me. Here, let me show you something.”

No sooner had he spoken than a gunshot cracked, the bullet striking the floor beside Blade, startling him.

“Uh... this thing’s hard to use. Forget it, I’ll stick to the classics. Let me introduce myself: I’m Van Helsing, monster hunter.” Van Helsing let go, dropping to Blade’s side.

While Blade remained silent and aloof, Van Helsing turned to face the five vampires. “Tsk, with all this commotion, I thought there’d be at least a count or a marquis. Turns out, just a bunch of baron-level bats. Hey, didn’t your sire warn you? When you hear the name Van Helsing, you’d better run the other way.”

Van Helsing raised his crossbow.

Is this guy here to clown around?

The five barons, originally hoping for a longer chat with Blade, now decided to attack together. The sudden appearance of a jester had spoiled their mood—better to just kill him and be done with it.