For a brief moment after the wave of blood magic settled, the arena fell into a strange stillness.

The echoes of impact lingered in the air, the shattered ground still trembling from the force that had just swept through it, and all eyes—those who could still lift them—turned toward the scattered bodies of the Moonshade family.

GrandLord Dreath stood where he was, unmoving.

His hand slowly lowered.

His gaze remained fixed.

"...I used a blood spell..."

The thought passed through his mind clearly, without disguise, without hesitation.

Not because he could not strike them down without it.

Not because he needed it.

But because they—

Had pushed him to it.

A faint crease formed between his brows.

That had not happened in a very long time.

Even when he held back to an absurd degree, even when he restrained himself to a level that would be considered harmless among his kind, he still expected absolute dominance.

He still expected obedience from the world beneath him.

Yet these—

These beings from another plane—

Had forced him to use something beyond physical motion.

"...Ridiculous..."

He exhaled slowly, his eyes narrowing.

"...Even restrained to this extent..."

"...you still pushed me to use blood magic..."

For a moment, he considered the possibility that he had misjudged his own output, that perhaps the pressure and force he applied had been too much for them, that what he had just done—

Had crushed them beyond recovery.

"...Did I..."

"...overdo it...?"

The thought came quietly.

Because despite his earlier seriousness, despite the curiosity that had replaced his amusement, there was still control in him.

There was still calculation.

And if these were truly valuable—

If their bloodline was truly what he had begun to suspect—

Then destroying them prematurely would be a loss.

So—

He turned.

His gaze shifted back toward them.

Toward the scattered bodies that had been sent flying across the broken arena.

And what he saw—

Made his eyes widen.

Not dramatically.

Not visibly for most.

But enough.

Because—

They were moving.

Not all at once.

Not in unison.

But slowly.

One by one.

A hand pressed against the ground.

A knee bent.

A body shifted.

Then—

Another.

And another.

And another.

"...They’re... getting up..."

The words left him quietly, almost in disbelief.

Because what he expected—

Was recovery.

Slow.

Delayed.

Strained.

But what he saw—

Was something else entirely.

They rose.

Not with ease.

Not without effort.

Their bodies trembled.

Their breathing was heavy.

Their movements rough.

But they rose.

And as they did—

The crimson of their skin deepened again.

Their veins pulsed harder beneath the surface.

Their blood surged like a storm that refused to calm, responding not to pain, not to injury, but to something that seemed to feed on both.

"...You took that head-on..."

"...And you’re still standing..."

Dreath’s gaze sharpened.

Because the spell he had used—

Even in a restrained form—

Was not something that should be shrugged off.

Not at their level.

Not in their condition.

Yet here they were.

Rising.

Again.

Their heads lifted slowly.

Their eyes—

Burning.

Not dimmed.

Not weakened.

But sharper.

Brighter.

Filled with something far more intense than before.

Anger.

Pure.

Unfiltered.

And then—

They roared.

"RAAAAAAH—!"

The sound was louder this time.

Deeper.

Heavier.

Carrying a force that rippled through the air, as if their very voices had gained weight.

And before anyone could react—

They lunged.

Again.

Not hesitating.

Not holding back.

Their bodies launched forward with greater speed, greater force, their steps cracking the ground beneath them as they pushed off, their claws slicing through the air as they charged directly at GrandLord Dreath once more.

"...Again..."

Dreath’s lips parted slightly.

Then—

He moved.

His body shifted forward, his hand rising again, ready to strike, to send them back, to maintain control over the situation.

"...Enough."

His voice carried authority.

He pushed forward.

The pressure surged again.

Not as wide as before.

But focused.

Directed.

He released another wave, not as large as the previous one, but concentrated, designed to force them back once more.

The wave collided with them.

The impact struck their bodies.

And—

They slowed.

But—

They did not stop.

"...What...?"

Dreath’s eyes narrowed.

Because this time—

The effect was different.

They were pushed.

Yes.

Their bodies bent.

Their steps faltered.

But they did not fly back the same way.

They resisted.

Their legs dug into the ground.

Their muscles strained.

Their bodies trembled under the force—

But they held.

Even for a moment.

And that moment—

Was enough.

"...They’re resisting...?"

The realization struck immediately.

Because this—

Was not supposed to happen.

Not at this level.

Not this quickly.

And yet—

It was.

They pushed forward.

Step by step.

Their bodies shaking violently.

Their blood roaring.

Their eyes burning with that same crimson fury.

"...You’re adapting to the spell...?"

Dreath whispered, the words carrying both disbelief and recognition.

Another pulse of force.

He increased it.

Just slightly.

Enough to test.

The wave intensified.

The pressure grew heavier.

And finally—

They were pushed back.

Their bodies sliding.

Their feet losing ground.

Their forms forced away from him.

But even as they were driven back—

They did not collapse.

They did not fall completely.

They resisted.

Again.

And again.

And again.

"...This..."

Dreath’s expression changed again.

Not to anger.

Not to amusement.

But to something deeper.

Something more focused.

"...You’re growing stronger... even against blood magic..."

His gaze locked onto them, his mind moving quickly now, analyzing, recalculating, re-evaluating everything he had assumed.

Because what he was witnessing—

Was not just physical adaptation.

It was something tied to blood itself.

Something that allowed them to respond not just to force—

But to blood energy.

"...Impossible..."

Yet it was happening.

Right in front of him.

Another wave of attacks came.

They lunged again.

Faster.

Stronger.

More controlled than before.

Their movements still lacked true technique, but their bodies compensated, their raw power increasing with every exchange, every impact, every moment under pressure.

Dreath struck them back again.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

Each time forcing them away.

Each time suppressing them.

Each time watching them rise again.

And each time—

They improved.

Their jumps grew higher.

Their landings steadier.

Their bodies harder.

Their resistance greater.

"...You’re not slowing down..."

His voice dropped lower.

"...You’re accelerating..."

The realization settled.

Fully.

Because this was no longer a matter of curiosity.

No longer a matter of observation.

This—

Was a phenomenon.

Something that could not be ignored.

Something that could not be dismissed.

Something that—

Had to be understood.

The arena around them had fallen silent again, not from fear this time, but from shock.

Every vampire that could still perceive what was happening watched in disbelief, their minds struggling to keep up with what they were seeing.

"...They’re... getting stronger in real time..."

"...That’s not possible..."

"...That’s not how bloodline works..."

"...What are they...?"

Even Lord Vord and Elder Achilor, still suppressed, could not hide the tension in their eyes.

Because if this continued—

If this growth did not stop—

Then the balance of everything they knew would be overturned.

And Dreath—

Stood at the center of it.

Watching.

Thinking.

Measuring.

And then—

For the first time since the exchange began—

He did not immediately strike.

He did not immediately suppress.

He did not immediately react.

Instead—

He stepped back.

Just slightly.

His gaze fixed on them.

His expression calm.

But his mind—

Working.

"...Enough..."

The word came out quietly.

Not directed at them.

Not directed at anyone.

But at himself.

"...This is no longer a simple test..."

He watched them charge again.

Watched their bodies move.

Watched their blood surge.

Watched their resistance grow.

And then—

He shook his head.

Slowly.

"...Looks like..."

His voice dropped to a murmur.

So quiet that no one else could hear it.

"...I need to seriously end this."

Only he—

Heard those words.