Academic gathering with a lich-Chapter 492 - 454: Meeting Gift

When Lyle stepped out of Degonris, embarking upon the path to the vampire castle, that strange feeling within him gradually subsided. Lyle looked back to see those amethyst eyes, forever lingering behind the slowly closing gates. Degonris was like a savage, primitive cage that locked away ignorance and dullness. Its townspeople would be immersed in the panic born of their fear of vampires, for eternity.

The sensation was like a shackle, compelling Lyle to ponder incessantly, until a new vista dazzled his sight.

The ground was paved with evenly-laid stone bricks, and on either side of the road, bright red roses bloomed in a flamboyantly lush manner, as if nourished at home and yet as wild as if untamed. Especially after the oppressive atmosphere and pathological gaze endured in Degonris, the garish red brought about a mental purge.

Should one commend the elegance of vampires for such a wildly blossoming rose garden? Lyle could not help but admire.

A slight dragging feeling appeared at the cuff of his right sleeve, as Beatrice caught hold of her own garment’s edge. Uncharacteristically, she stood behind him, her head bowed and breaths heavy, her right hand on her chest, her pallid complexion resembling that of suffocation symptoms.

"Beatrice, what is wrong?"

Beatrice seized Lyle’s wrist, transferring some of her body weight onto him.

"The scent of blood... it lies beneath the flowerbeds."

She coughed a few times in response to the dryness in her throat. The thick scent of blood in the air provoked Beatrice’s vampiric impulses. These roses were watered with something dreadful.

Minutes later, Beatrice gradually adapted. She straightened up, releasing Lyle’s hand and glanced at him with slightly constricted pupils. "I am fine now, let’s move forward."

Beatrice grew increasingly silent, and even just observing her from behind conveyed a coldness that kept others at a distance. She was adjusting her state, reverting to the haughty vampire she was.

The bricks on the ground were remarkably smooth, their gloss surpassing what current craftsmanship could achieve; at least, the royal roads of Cassandra were far inferior. Not far ahead, Lyle noticed claw marks on the stones and soon encountered these "craftsmen."

On both sides of the stairs leading to the castle, a plethora of gargoyles with varying poses were packed tightly, with fierce faces and open mouths greeting incoming visitors. They clung to the sides like bas-reliefs, their overcrowded state severely diminishing the aesthetic of the castle’s entrance.

These gargoyles were awakening.

Joint crevices and crowns shed fine dust, and odd creaking noises emerged from within the statues, reminiscent of sawing through wood. These sounds, which began officially at sunset, had now turned from the friction of physical collisions into the feral roars of the monsters.

As if celebrating the end of their dormancy with an evil outcry that surged in waves, the ugly stone eyes rotated, the gargoyles spread their wings to descend, and claws and fangs stretched beneath the folding wings. Facing Lyle and Beatrice, these grotesque creatures leapt forward with their howls.

Beatrice stood before Lyle, and in the next instant, a piercing scream burst from her throat. It was the language and roar of the Blood Clan, a proclamation of identity. The gargoyles shrank back, lowering their stone heads amid Beatrice’s explosive shrieking, making way for them like dogs cowering before their master.

The heavy wooden door slowly opened with the pull of iron chains, as Lyle watched everything, gazing into the tomb-like interior. Beatrice clasped Lyle’s wrist, calmly walking towards the inside of the castle.

The red carpet laid in the center of the corridor extended into the unseen distance, the sparse candlelight only visible at the corners of the path. The thick rugs underfoot were comfortable, yet the surrounding gloom displeased. It was not like the tomb-like shadowiness of Andrei Academy—here, the darkness was more lively, and filled with malice.

Pairs of glowing eyes lit up in the darkness, lurking in the shadows, their filthy, thirsty stares piercing Lyle. They were ragged humanoid creatures with withered limbs, but mostly they lay prostrate on the ground, drooling mouths revealing decayed gums and sharp teeth. They were once human, but not anymore. Blood servants, lowly vampires that lost their sanity and descended into hungry madness, the rejects. Their kin were the low-ranking members of the Blood Clan who delighted in the pleasure of bloodsucking, and naturally, they wouldn’t share much strength with them. They were the lowest of the Blood Clan’s underlings, or perhaps livestock.

Beast-like roars erupted from their throats, but in Beatrice’s intimidation, they dared not meet the gaze of their mistress. They curled up on both sides of the corridor, not daring to approach even a bit of the red carpet. Such were the rules of Loshutar, as the road was for people to walk on.

Lyle felt as if he had walked into an insane asylum, the kind that disgusts with its awful madness.

"The blood servants have increased..."

Beatrice’s voice arose beside Lyle’s ear, succinctly signaling a turn for the worse.

In front of them stood two doors engraved with angel reliefs, where once holy angels were now primarily colored with a rich stain of blood that could not be wiped away. As the doors opened, Lyle and Beatrice entered what could be the dining hall or meeting room, hard to distinguish, for vampires might not differentiate the purposes of these two areas.

Vampires, feasting at the long tables on either side, twisted their necks simultaneously, their gleaming eyes converging on the two like spotlights.

At the foremost, seated in the dim light of stained-glass windows, a pale noble cradling a wine glass looked at Beatrice’s cold face, revealing a pleased smile. That was Duke Delaries, whom Lyle had seen once before, his impression of the Vampire Duke still fixed in the memories of Naslan’s tomb, while he was being chased by Mr. Raymond.

It sounded ludicrous, yet it didn’t mean the Vampire Duke was someone to be trifled with. Even now, as Lyle had advanced to the third order and possessed the power of the Evil God, the Vampire Duke’s presence still felt as deep and vast as an abyss. Lyle was no match for him, especially when, to either side, no fewer than fifty members of the Blood Clan were watching with bloodthirsty smiles every move of the two in the center.

Delaries’ actions seemed like a living opera.

"Welcome home, my child, Beatrice," the Duke said, his glance merely flickering over Lyle, clearly the last encounter’s profound impression with Mr. Raymond overshadowing everything, "Oh dear, you’ve even brought a gift. It is just mealtime; you may share with your new sisters."

A few vampires nearby seized the permission granted, their sharp claws like daggers, smilingly stretching out their talons towards Lyle.

An explosive sound heightened the tension, and the vampires, drawing near like graceful predators, were blown backwards, crashing into the long tables, spilling the bloody raw meat and blood from the bowls onto the floor.

Beatrice pulled Lyle into her embrace, her fierce arms regaining their smoothness like jade, eyebrows inverted in anger, two sharp fangs gleaming in her neat row of teeth. The lady of Naslan roared like a lioness protecting her cub.

"Don’t lay your filthy hands on my family. He belongs to me, you whores."