Reborn as a Vampire in a Dying World: Blood, Power, and Pleasure
Chapter 44: Unreadable, Until Him

Chapter 44: Unreadable, Until Him

– Blood (70 Units)

Corven crouched down beside the vampire’s corpse, sinking his fangs in quickly. The blood flowed fast, rich and potent, making up for what he’d spent in the fight. By the time he stood, he was back in the positive.

He turned his focus to the double doors and pushed them open cautiously.

What greeted him was unexpected.

A second room—larger than it had any right to be based on the compound’s external size. The space stretched unnaturally wide and deep, lined with plain wooden walls, a ceiling, and a floor that all looked freshly constructed yet strangely featureless.

"Magic?" Corven muttered, stepping inside slowly. "Well, at least I think I’m on the right track."

No windows. No visible exit. No sign of where to go next.

Even worse—his map didn’t recognize the space at all. The room simply didn’t exist on the schematics.

"Is this bait...?" he muttered, eyes narrowing.

Corven kept scanning the space with practiced caution. His senses were on edge, but then—something shifted.

A faint glow pulsed on one wall. Strange, shifting characters began etching themselves into the surface, twisting and forming into a language that stirred something deep in his memory.

It had been a long time since this odd talent of his activated—something that hadn’t found much use since arriving in this world.

But now?

It clicked again.

"Will you look at that," he said under his breath, stepping closer to inspect it.

The strange symbols became clearer with each passing second. His mind slowly unraveled their meaning until finally—he understood.

"Break..." Corven read aloud.

The moment the word left his mouth, the entire room answered.

BANG!

The floor behind him split apart violently, a pair of massive hidden trapdoors blasting open with a thunderous clatter that echoed off every wall.

Dust scattered into the air as a hidden stairwell was revealed, carved deep into the earth.

"Dammit..." Corven winced, gritting his teeth. "Loud much?"

The sound was far from ideal—if anyone hadn’t noticed him yet, they definitely had now. Still, he couldn’t call for Rose or Trish. Not yet. He wasn’t sure what this was. Trap? Bait? The real path?

Either way, he wouldn’t risk dragging them into it blindly. Better he fall into the jaws alone than all three of them.

He moved fast.

Stepping onto the first stair, he paused only long enough to slam the trapdoors shut behind him. Not that it would hold anyone back. A solid boot or burst of blood magic could easily crack through that kind of wood. But it might buy him a few seconds—seconds he might need.

He descended quickly, taking the spiraling stairs two at a time.

Round and round they went, deeper underground with every step.

"How deep is this?" he muttered, beginning to lose count of how many turns he’d taken. Even with supernatural speed, the path felt endless—stupidly long, in fact.

He slowed for a moment, sensing something off.

"Don’t tell me... is this another trap?"

Corven glanced downward.

Sure enough, more scrambled text appeared—scrawled right across the stair steps. Another language puzzle.

But to his luck—or maybe misfortune—this was exactly the kind of security system that worked in his favor.

"Jump?" he read aloud, uncertain.

The stairs instantly vanished beneath him.

Corven’s heart dropped.

"What’s it gonna be this time!?" he shouted, voice echoing as he plummeted.

As he fell, more text lit up along the vertical walls of the shaft. Intricate symbols and phrases flashed by—fast, distorted by the momentum of the fall. Anyone else would have no chance of reading them mid-air.

But Corven’s mind was sharp. Even annoyed as he was, his talent worked.

"Seriously? This is your idea of a trap?" he growled.

Still, it beat a row of poisoned spikes.

"Varren!"

As soon as the word left his lips, the fall ended with a solid, bone-jarring impact.

THUD.

Stone cracked beneath him as he landed on solid ground.

The new chamber he dropped into was massive—more like a cavern than a room. It stretched outward in every direction, dimly lit by glowing crystals embedded in the stone cave walls.

The air reeked of scorched metal and old blood. Echoes of dripping water bounced faintly in the distance—like something else was listening.

In the center of the space, a figure knelt.

A woman.

Her body was bound in thick silver chains, wrists burning visibly as smoke hissed from where metal met flesh. Her posture was weak, but her presence was anything but.

A vampire—clearly powerful, and even without words, Corven knew instantly.

This was the target.

Pale silver hair spilled over her shoulders. Her skin was flawless and ghostly white, marred only by the damage from the silver. She wore a thin, white lace camisole that barely reached her upper thighs, the garment clinging to her form. Despite the bindings and the torment, her composure held—elegant, haunting.

Her head hung low, barely conscious—she didn’t even register Corven’s arrival.

And judging by her condition, she hadn’t been here long—there were no signs of malnourishment or the deterioration that came with prolonged captivity.

"Looks like I don’t need any other confirmation," Corven muttered. "That’s definitely the heir."

He chuckled under his breath, stepping forward carefully with rapier in hand. Still alert. Still cautious.

Every step was measured. Every instinct screamed danger.

And his gut was right.

BOOM!

The stone around him exploded without warning.

Dust and rubble burst into the air, vision clouded in an instant.

Corven jumped back, landing far from the target. His eyes swept the room quickly, his grip tightening on the rapier.

"Another one? How important is this target!?" he hissed, spinning to reposition.

From the smoke, movement.

Not one.

Ten.

Gargoyles.

Massive stone beasts stepped from the debris, their bodies carved in brutal, angular forms. Their eyes glowed faintly. They were more than decoration—they were designed to kill.

Corven raised his weapon, heart pounding.

"Shit..."

Each gargoyle looked like it could tank several hits without flinching—and his bone rapier? It wouldn’t last more than one direct clash with something that heavy.

And the worst part?

They were already moving.