Reborn as a Vampire in a Dying World: Blood, Power, and Pleasure
Chapter 58: Through the Veil

Chapter 58: Through the Veil

As Corven stepped through the heavy doors of the mansion, a violent wave of nausea slammed into him.

His insides twisted—painfully, unnaturally—like something inside was trying to claw its way out.

Colors bled into each other—walls pulsing like veins, the light above stretching and shrinking as though breathing. Voices whispered in the corners of his hearing, unintelligible and cruel. His own footsteps echoed too loud, like something was following right behind him.

The entire mansion was under an illusion. A powerful one.

And it didn’t want him there.

"What the hell...!?" he growled, one arm shooting out to brace against the nearest wall as the world around him spun. His stomach turned, bile rising to his throat.

It felt like he hadn’t eaten in a year, hadn’t drunk water in weeks, and had been spinning endlessly since the moment he was born.

"Is this... supposed to be here? Or is this someone else’s doing...?"

Even as the sensation clawed at his nerves, Corven clenched his jaw. He couldn’t stop. He wouldn’t stop. Because if he did—

He was dead.

Each step forward was a battle. The lavish stone floor beneath him felt like it tilted with every movement. His legs buckled with every pace, vision blurring, throat dry.

He turned a corner—and froze.

Bodies.

Five of them.

All human. All guards. Their silver-plated armor glinted faintly in the dim hallway lights.

One guard’s hand was still clenched around a broken spear haft. Another had collapsed face-first, eyes wide open, mouth agape in what looked like a scream frozen in time. They hadn’t died cleanly. Whatever hit them, it had come fast—and dirty.

It confirmed his suspicion—this wasn’t a test, and it sure as hell wasn’t standard protocol. This was an ambush. The illusion wasn’t part of the estate’s natural defenses.

Which explained why the outside guards—and even Lilian—hadn’t sensed anything unusual. The illusion was targeting invaders, selectively suppressing perception.

But still... why him? Why only him?

’Bloodreader shouldn’t be enough to catch this... this feels like something else.’

His head pounded, like his skull was being pried open from the inside.

"Stop... thinking..." he muttered under his breath, coughing as his stomach lurched again. "Just move. Forward..."

He pressed on, dragging his body along the wall as the illusion continued to weigh down on him. He nearly tripped over one of the corpses—the searing heat of silver on their armor burning through the soles of his boots.

He gritted his teeth and pushed onward.

He didn’t know what waited ahead, but whatever it was, it wanted him broken before he arrived. That thought alone pissed him off more than the pain did. He wasn’t some pawn to be toyed with. Not this time.

Until he collapsed—his legs giving out entirely as he fell forward, landing hard beside the fourth body.

Pain exploded in his skull, sharp and hot, like a migraine turned weapon.

"I’m not... going out this easily!"

Forcing himself onto one elbow, Corven reached out and grabbed the dead guard’s helmet. It scorched his palm instantly, the silver burning deep—but compared to the crushing force tearing through his body?

It was manageable.

He hurled the helmet down the hallway with a snarl, ignoring the sound of sizzling flesh, and without hesitation sank his fangs into the guard’s exposed neck.

He needed information. Anything to make this stop.

– Blood (45 Units)

[Echo of the Drained Activated]

The rush hit him like a wave, memories flooding his mind. But this time... it was different. He had control. His ability seemed to filter the noise—skipping over mundane routines and daily irrelevance.

Instead, it cut straight to what mattered.

[Memory Recreation Activated]

Then darkness.

His vision blacked out completely.

But it didn’t last.

Corven opened his eyes... except they weren’t his.

He couldn’t move—couldn’t act—but he could see. He was inside the body of the dead guard, viewing the past through their eyes.

’What the hell...?’

He looked down—silver armor, matching the others around him. Five guards in total, all still alive in this memory.

One of the guards had just cracked a joke—something about extra pay for late-night shifts—when the air itself bent in half.

SWOOSH.

A pulse of energy ripped through the hall, distorting the air itself. Corven felt it, even through the memory—a wave of pressure that pressed against his borrowed skin.

"Intruder!"

"Vampire!"

"Fall back! Fall—!"

Panic exploded like shrapnel. Two guards broke formation, instincts overriding training. One turned to run, only to slam into a wall that hadn’t been there seconds before—his body folding with a crunch of metal and bone.

The others fared no better.

A shadow moved through the distorted corridor—fast, too fast. It wasn’t teleportation. It was speed so overwhelming that the mind refused to process it.

Corven’s borrowed vision snapped upward just in time to catch the figure descending.

And his blood turned cold.

Leywin.

There was no mistaking him. Same presence. Same arrogance. Same eyes—burning with calculated wrath

The heir’s rescue had changed everything. Leywin had abandoned patience, abandoning subtlety in favor of brute action. If Corven got the truth out first, Leywin’s schemes would unravel.

So he moved first.

"That fucking bastard," Leywin snarled, grabbing the guard by the neck—Corven’s current perspective.

For a sickening moment, Corven watched himself be lifted—watched someone else choke him.

"I’ll make his life a living hell!"

SNAP.

The neck broke cleanly. The vision went black. The guard’s life—and the memory—ended in an instant.

Corven gasped awake, body twitching as he slammed back into reality, lying flat against the cold floor of the mansion once again. The illusion’s pressure crashed back onto him all at once—twice as heavy now, as if punishing him for what he’d just seen.

His chest heaved.

"I was wondering what that bastard would do next... Guess now I know," he muttered, laughing under his breath despite the agony threatening to tear him apart.

The pain was unbearable.

But pain meant he was still alive.

He pushed himself up slowly, using the wall for support, legs trembling.

"Guess it’s time for a reunion," he rasped, dragging one foot forward into the dark. "He picked the wrong night to play king."