The shadows in the Sunless Spire were deep and suffocating, stretching long across the stone floor as the artificial moon of the Dominion bathed the room in a pale, bruised light.
Lysandra could not sleep.
She sat in the high-backed velvet chair by the unlit fireplace, her knees pulled up to her chest. The events of the previous day played on a relentless, agonizing loop in her mind.
"I suppose sheer brute force does not automatically grant one a refined mind." "We cannot expect a stray cat to understand how to use silverware."
For eighteen years, locked away in this crumbling tower, she had convinced herself that her only obstacle was a lack of power. She had believed that if she could just awaken her bloodline, if she could just prove she wasn't a defective pureblood, the world would instantly bow at her feet.
She had awakened it. She had humiliated a professor. She had shown them the fangs of a true Progenitor.
And it hadn't mattered.
Strength had solved exactly one problem: it kept her from being physically killed. But as Lady Victoria and Professor Thorne had so expertly demonstrated, there were many ways to execute a noble without ever drawing a sword.
Lysandra stood up. She didn't call for me. She didn't ring the servant's bell. Instead, she wrapped a dark shawl over her nightgown, lit a small alchemical lantern, and walked into the spire's private study—a dusty, neglected room filled with the few remaining books her father had left behind.
She walked over to the shelves, her fingers trailing over the cracked leather spines. She pulled a heavy, dust-covered tome free and carried it to the desk.
She was going to learn.
When I entered the study three hours later, carrying a silver tray with a pot of black tea, Lysandra was asleep at the desk. Her cheek rested on an open page of The Foundations of Blood-Vassalage.
I set the tray down with a deliberate, audible clink.
Lysandra startled awake, blinking blearily as she wiped a smudge of ink from her cheek. She looked up at me, suddenly defensive, as if expecting to be mocked for her sudden academic interest.
I didn't mock her. I simply reached into my sub-space inventory and began depositing books onto her desk.
Thud. « Noble Succession Law: Volumes I through IV»
Thud. «The Great Houses and Their Lineages»
Thud. «Courtly Conduct and Aristocratic Warfare»
Thud. «History of the Blood Wars»
Thud. «Economics of the Sanguine Trade»
The stack quickly grew taller than she was sitting down. The wooden desk let out a perilous groan under the sheer weight of the knowledge.
Lysandra stared at the towering fortress of literature, her jaw slightly slack. She looked from the books, to me, and back to the books.
"You expect me to read all of this?" she asked, her voice cracking slightly.
"By tomorrow morning, My Lady," I replied smoothly, pouring her a cup of tea.
Lysandra's crimson eyes widened in pure horror. "That's impossible! I am a vampire, Lucian, not a speed-reading automaton! There are at least six thousand pages here!"
"Then begin with the first seven books," I said, setting the teacup in front of her. "We can save the economic treaties for the weekend. Drink your tea. We have your first core curriculum class in an hour, and it would not do for a sovereign to fall asleep during a lecture."
She glared at me, a mixture of profound irritation and reluctant gratitude swirling in her eyes. It was a good look on her.
"You are a tyrant," she muttered, pulling the first volume toward her.
"I am merely an efficient househusband, My Lady."
«Hematology & Dietary Discernment» was held in a completely different wing of the academy.
Unlike the opulent, velvet-draped halls of Courtly Protocol, this classroom resembled an amphitheater crossed with an alchemical laboratory. The air smelled sharply of copper, formaldehyde, and sterilized steel.
The professor standing at the center of the surgical pit was Doctor Aurelius Voss. He was a gaunt, severe-looking vampire with wire-rimmed glasses and surgical gloves permanently snapped over his pale hands. He was a renowned blood scholar, tasked with teaching the young nobility how to identify, categorize, and safely consume different tiers of human and magical vitae.
"Blood is not merely sustenance," Doctor Voss lectured, his voice echoing sharply off the tiled walls. "It is a historical record. It is a biological signature. When you consume the blood of a lesser creature, you are ingesting its essence, its mana, and its genetic memory."
He paced around a large glass vial filled with glowing, crimson fluid.
"Today, we discuss Bloodline Compatibility," Voss continued. "As purebloods, your cores are refined. You can process high-tier mana. However, consuming incompatible blood—such as the highly volatile vitae of a Lycanthrope or a Fae—can lead to severe magical poisoning."
Voss tapped a chalkboard, a piece of chalk floating on its own to draw a complex biological diagram.
"Then, of course, we have the anomalies. Bloodline mutations."
The classroom grew remarkably quiet. Even the arrogant purebloods in the front rows leaned in.
"Mutations occur when latent mana violently alters a host's biology," Voss explained, his tone clinical. "Most result in immediate death. A rare few result in powerful, albeit unstable, abilities. However, you must never consume a mutated bloodline. Centuries ago, during the First Edicts, certain corrupted bloodlines were identified as highly dangerous to vampiric physiology. These lines were officially eradicated by the High Council."
Voss clapped his hands together, abruptly erasing the chalkboard with a wave of his hand.
"But that is ancient history. Let us move on to proper decanting techniques for human initiates."
From my position in the servant's alcove, my eyes narrowed.
He changed the subject too quickly.
It was a microscopic shift in his tone, a slight tightening of his jaw. He hadn't just moved on; he had deliberately pivoted away from the topic of "corrupted bloodlines."
If the Black Blood was one of those mutations, and if it was officially eradicated centuries ago... why was Princess Carmilla secretly grafting it into human subjects today?
"Now," Doctor Voss said, interrupting my thoughts. "A practical examination. We will test the resonance of your individual bloodlines. Step down to the testing floor when your name is called."
One by one, the nobles descended. Most demonstrated standard abilities—minor telekinesis, blood-hardening, or localized temperature drops.
"Lady Lysandra Von Vesper," Voss called out, his eyes glinting with scientific curiosity behind his wire rims.
The room went dead silent. Everyone remembered what had happened yesterday.
Lysandra stood up. She smoothed her uniform, took a deep breath, and walked down the steps into the center of the alchemical pit. She looked nervous, uncertain of how to control the colossal power locked inside her.
"Simply release a fraction of your mana, Lady Lysandra," Voss instructed, stepping back behind a runic barrier. "Do not attempt a spell. Merely project your core."
Lysandra closed her eyes.
She didn't flare her S-Class aura like she had in the courtyard. She didn't summon the kinetic shockwave that had broken Professor Valmont's nose. She simply exhaled, allowing the pure, unadulterated nature of the Crimson Throne to seep into the room.
The air didn't grow hot, nor did it freeze.
Instead, a sudden, crushing psychological weight settled over the amphitheater. It was as if gravity itself had suddenly decided to enforce a hierarchy.
In the third row, a Lesser Noble boy gasped, his hands flying to his throat. He didn't choke—he violently threw himself out of his chair and landed on one knee, his head bowed, his body trembling uncontrollably.
Around the room, several other students rigidly straightened their backs, their faces pale, their eyes locked forward in a state of absolute, terrified discipline.
Doctor Voss stared at Lysandra, his pen frozen over his clipboard.
Authority.
I observed the room with cold realization.
Mind control and Compulsion, was a common vampire trait. It forced the brain to obey a command. But this was entirely different. The Crimson Throne didn't hack the mind. It commanded the soul. It triggered an instinctual, biological submission in anyone with a weaker bloodline.
Lysandra opened her eyes, saw the boy kneeling in the aisle, and quickly reeled her aura back in.
The pressure vanished. The boy collapsed onto the floor, panting heavily.
"Fascinating," Doctor Voss whispered, his voice trembling with genuine academic awe. "Truly... fascinating."
After class, the students cleared out of the amphitheater faster than usual, eager to escape the lingering psychological weight of Lysandra's presence.
As we walked into the grand corridor, I noticed someone waiting for us by the vaulted archway.
She stood with perfect, predatory stillness. Her white-and-silver uniform was immaculate. Her hair was the color of frost, and her azure eyes possessed the terrifying depth of a frozen ocean.
Valeria Azuremoon.
I kept my pace perfectly measured, my face an unreadable mask as we approached.
Unexpectedly, Valeria ignored me entirely. She stepped directly into Lysandra's path, offering a shallow, impeccably executed curtsy.
"Lady Lysandra," Valeria said. Her voice was like wind chimes in a winter storm—beautiful, but entirely devoid of warmth. "A pleasure to finally see the true heir of House Vesper step into the light. Your bloodline demonstration was... fascinating."
Lysandra stiffened. Still bruised from Lady Victoria's honeyed insults earlier, she immediately raised her defenses.
"I am not interested in courtly games today, Lady Valeria," Lysandra replied, her tone sharp and guarded. "If you have an insult, deliver it so I may return to my studies."
Valeria's expression did not change. She simply tilted her head, a faint, almost imperceptible smile touching her lips.
"No insults, Lady Lysandra. Only an observation. A queen with a throne but no court is highly vulnerable. I suggest you choose your allies carefully in the coming weeks."
Valeria stepped aside, clearing the path. "Good day."
Lysandra gave her a suspicious glare before continuing down the hall, eager to leave the interaction behind.
I followed my master, but as I passed Valeria, the silver-haired girl shifted her gaze.
For a fraction of a second, her piercing azure eyes locked onto mine. The mask of polite nobility vanished, replaced by a sharp, calculating intelligence that felt entirely too old for a freshman. She didn't say a word. She just gave me a single, meaningful glance—a look that said, I see exactly what you are.
My [Absolute Composure] held firm, but an alarm bell rang in my head.
She knew something.
That evening, once Lysandra was deeply engrossed in Noble Succession Law, I slipped out of the Sunless Spire and returned to the labyrinthine depths of the Grand Library.
The blind ghost librarian, Madame Sybil, was floating near the circulation desk.
"I require the unexpurgated lineage records of the Outer Rim, Madame," I said quietly, placing a few silver coins on the desk—a traditional offering for the dead.
Sybil's sightless eyes turned toward me. She hesitated, her translucent fingers hovering over the coins.
"You walk a very thin edge, human," she wheezed. But she took the coins, drifting away into the stacks and returning a few moments later with a crumbling, iron-bound ledger.
I took the book to a secluded desk, lit a small alchemical candle, and began to carefully turn the fragile pages.
I was looking for any mention of the eradication of corrupted bloodlines that Doctor Voss had mentioned. If the Black Blood was a disease, it was one thing. If it was a bloodline that House Vesper was trying to forcibly resurrect in human hosts... that was a conspiracy that threatened the entire Dominion.
I turned a page, and my heart sank.
Torn.
Whole sections of the ledger had been surgically removed. Not ripped in a frenzy, but cut out with an alchemical blade, leaving only the barest slivers of parchment near the binding. It was the exact same censorship I had found yesterday.
Someone was systematically erasing the history of the Black Blood from the academy's archives.
I pulled out my Runesmithing Graver and carefully pried at the binding, trying to see if any text had survived near the spine.
There was no text. But there was an image.
Stamped onto the very edge of the severed page, barely visible in the dim candlelight, was a tiny, faded watermark. I pulled a magnifying lens from my inventory and leaned in.
It was a crescent moon.
But it wasn't the standard moon of the Azuremoon lineage. Wrapped tightly around the silver crescent was a thick, suffocating braid of crimson thorns—the crest of House Vesper, Princess Carmilla's faction.
My breath caught in my throat.
A crescent moon surrounded by crimson thorns.
I had seen this exact symbol two years ago. It was embossed on the wax seal of the letter the Pureblood had dropped the night she kidnapped my sister. I had always assumed it was just a variation of the Vesper crest.
It wasn't a variation. It was a joint seal. A collaboration.
The experiments on the Black Blood weren't just Carmilla's project. The Azure Moonblood lineage was involved.
"You're looking in dangerous places, house-pet."
The voice was soft, cold, and entirely unexpected.
I closed the ledger instantly, pivoting smoothly on my heel, my hand hovering perfectly over the hidden alchemical blade in my sleeve.
Standing in the shadowy aisle between the towering bookshelves was Valeria Azuremoon.
She was alone. The dim blue light of the floating library lanterns caught the silver in her hair. In her gloved hand, she held a single, yellowed piece of parchment—the exact dimensions of the pages that had been cut from my ledger.
She looked at me, her azure eyes dropping the pretense of noble superiority, leaving only the sharp gaze of a fellow predator.
"Tell me, Lucian," Valeria whispered, her voice barely carrying over the silence of the library. "Why is a human servant investigating the Black Blood?"