In the distant astral realm…
Here, time and space were both meaningless.
A colossal floating tower, styled like ancient Greece, hovered above a blue-and-white etheric space woven from aether particles.
Within a lavishly ornate Grecian building, a golden-haired elven sage sat. She appeared to be around thirty-two or thirty-three years old, standing approximately 1.85 meters tall. Despite her mature appearance, her face was entirely free of wrinkles, maintaining the flawless skin of an eighteen-year-old maiden. Not only was her skin devoid of lines, but it was also unnaturally fair—though not the pallor of the dead, but rather a beautiful, otherworldly brilliance, as if from a dreamlike fairyland. She seemed to glow—literally glow—with a starlight radiating outward from her body, making her dazzling in the most literal sense. Her golden hair also shone with radiance, like the heavenly star Venus, which mortals called Lilith. Her beauty, likewise, was unnatural—she seemed the embodiment of beauty itself, a face no mortal could possess. She wore a sheer, tight-fitting white silk dress; her figure, though mature, was as voluptuous and enticing as that of a twenty-year-old, boasting a proud 36F bust and an alluringly rounded bottom.
In front of the elven sage was a row of crystal balls.
She watched the stories inside these crystal balls with great interest.
——
Nidesia, its capital, the harbor city of Ansterdam.
A man with Eastern Shenzhou features, about 1.75 meters tall, stood on the deck of a ship about to dock. By his side, a katana told of his origins from the distant land of Yingshu—also called the island nation of samurai and ninja in the Far East.
Not far away, in a brothel, several courtesans sat on a sofa. Kneeling naked and bound before them was a slender, fair-skinned young man—a typical "fresh meat" type.
Behind him stood two men in aristocratic attire.
"Is Miss Laurena not here yet? I brought this unfaithful man for her," said a middle-aged man with a brush mustache.
"Hey, I'm the one who caught him! Why do you always steal the credit?" retorted a youth, around twenty-six, tall and lean at about 1.90 meters, handsome and sharply featured—a pampered, unruly noble son, eager to prove himself before a certain lady.
"I provided the intel," the older man replied with disdain.
"Mmmph! Mmmph!" The stripped young man whimpered in fear, a ball gag in his mouth.
"You old dog, you think you can win Laurena's heart? Dream on. She only likes handsome men like me!" The youth grew impatient, bickering with the elder.
"Young men should know: women prefer maturity and steadiness, not hot-headedness," the older man lectured.
"You—" The youth's retort was interrupted by the sound of a door opening. Everyone turned as an incomparably beautiful woman entered, holding a noblewoman's cane.
She stood tall at 1.75 meters, cloaked in a black-and-red mantle. Beneath, she wore an extremely revealing black leather dominatrix uniform: a one-piece with a miniskirt edged in black lace and an off-shoulder, sleeveless bustier that barely concealed her large breasts, drawing every male eye. Her gloved arms were mostly hidden beneath the cape, one hand gripping her cane. Over-the-knee black leather boots perfectly accentuated her long, shapely legs and exuded a queenly, erotic aura. Her hair was platinum-blonde, adorned with a blooming red tulip. Her skin was alabaster, her eyes blue, her features angelic and bewitching.
But upon closer inspection, her beauty was eerily unnatural, her pallor near that of a corpse—far whiter than even Rosenland's "whites." Combined with her pale hair and blood-red lips, she resembled a porcelain doll. Her eyes were lined thick with black shadow, exuding a queen's dominance and disdainful amusement. Her lips curved in a wicked, mocking smile that added a demonic air to her angelic looks—an organic blend of angel and devil.
"Looks like you've all been waiting," she sneered, tossing her cloak aside to hang it up.
The young noble rushed over, catching her cloak and hanging it carefully, then took her cane as she handed it to him.
"So, the unfaithful man is caught, Lisa." The woman looked at the kneeling man. Behind her, a brunette woman, 1.70 meters tall and named Lisa, followed in—a sharp-looking, formidable woman in a tight black dress that barely covered her thighs. Her hair hung to her chest, her hands clad in crisp white gloves. The dress's plunging V-neck bared her cleavage, revealing a black mesh bodysuit underneath. Her legs were clad in fishnet stockings with garters and high-heeled boots, projecting a vibe of a dangerously sexy secretary.
Lisa's face was composed and stern, exuding strong-willed dominance. Her eyes, too, were shadowed, but less so than her mistress's, and with her striking features she radiated a queenly aura, albeit less intense.
"Indeed, we've got him. A man who could betray his sister should be put to death," Lisa said coldly. She drew a stiletto from her boot and strode toward the gagged, terrified man.
"I'll leave him to you. I have business with these lovely gentlemen," the platinum beauty said, reclining on the sofa among the courtesans, caressing them as she crossed her legs. The pitiful bound man was hauled out of the room by Lisa, who effortlessly lifted him by the neck, her blade in her right hand, his muffled cries mistaken by outsiders for the sounds of some kinky game.
"My secretary is strong—are you surprised?" the platinum-haired woman asked, playing with the courtesans and glancing at the two stunned men.
"Not at all—Miss Laurena is beautiful as a fairy; it's only right her secretary is so formidable to protect her!" The young noble flattered her.
"Miss Laurena, I found that pretty boy's hideout with my resources," the older man, not wanting to be outdone, declared.
"I sense all your love for me," Laurena replied, blowing a kiss that made the older man's heart flutter.
"You—" the youth started, but Laurena interrupted: "But it's Mark who truly understands women, catching this fellow himself." She petted Mark's stubbled cheek like a pet, and he basked in her praise.
"Of course! For you, Miss Laurena, I'd go through hell itself!"
"Would you sleep with me?" Laurena's sultry gaze melted him.
"Of—of course!"
"Robert, please wait outside," Laurena said to the middle-aged man with a flirtatious wink, then took Mark by the hand and led him into a bedroom.
Soon, the sounds of passion filled the room. Robert stood outside, fists clenched, frustrated.
Inside the room:
"Your body is perfect, Mark," Laurena murmured, lying atop his sweat-soaked chest.
"All for you, Miss Laurena!"
"Then—" Laurena pressed her face to his, and Mark grinned in delight.
"Would you give me even more?" Her lashes fluttered, and Mark's heart—and manhood—stirred again at her touch.
"Of course! I'd give you anything!"
"Your heart?" Laurena's hand slid to his chest.
"Of course—it's yours!"
"Thank you." Laurena smiled sweetly.
Suddenly, her left hand clamped over his mouth, and the nails of her right hand, pressed over his heart, extended two or three centimeters and, with inhuman strength, plunged into his chest and ripped out his heart, biting through the aorta and drinking the spurting blood as if sipping from a soup dumpling.
"Uhhhhh!" Mark's muffled cries were silenced by her hand; outside, they assumed it was just a game.
Laurena drained him dry, then bit into the heart, sucking it empty before discarding it like trash. Mark's corpse, pale and glassy-eyed, stared at the ceiling in terror.
Laurena licked her bloody fingers, her arms, and her face.
There was a knock at the door.
"Lisa?"
"Yes."
"Come and take care of this."
Ten minutes later, Laurena—her outfit once again pristine—emerged to find Robert still waiting.
"So dependable, Robert, waiting for a full fifty minutes," she said, beaming.
"How could I ignore your wishes, Miss Laurena?"
"Would you care to visit the market with me?" Laurena smiled radiantly, dazzling him. As he stood stunned, she subtly positioned her arm for him to take.
"Of course!" Robert took her arm.
"Be a dear and fetch my cloak and cane," Laurena cooed.
"Yes, certainly." He dressed her and handed her the cane, then escorted her out.
"Aren't your wife and daughter jealous?" Laurena pouted cutely.
"Not with such a beauty on my arm," Robert smiled.
"You're amazing, Robert!" Laurena's smile flashed wickedly when he wasn't looking, then switched back to radiant charm. "There's lots for girls to enjoy at the market!"
Meanwhile, in the harbor outside Ansterdam, the ship from the Far East docked.
Three samurai, straw hats low over their eyes, whispered on deck.
"We're in Nidesia? Is this where our quarry is?" one asked.
"No, but that's part of the plan. Did you think we could simply walk up and seize her?" the leader replied.
"So, what is the plan?" another asked.
"She will take the bait soon enough," said the leader, laughing. "For now, prepare to enjoy a Rosenland beauty!"
"To the master's victory!" the others replied.
——————————
In the astral realm,
The elven sage shifted her attention to another crystal ball.
——
Northern Rosenland, Swadia Kingdom border, Ingemanland—a place later known as Petersburg by the Rossians.
A white-haired, gray-skinned man sat in a tavern. Clearly not human.
He stood 1.85 meters, strikingly handsome, beardless but radiating a strong masculine presence—the kind of man who made women feel safe.
He was a Rossian royal vampire, a scion of House Markov: Thorn Markov, the former heir (second only to the patriarch) and a pureblooded royal vampire, one of the youngest of his kind in the world, and the protagonist of several legendary romances with other young royals.
Even as a human, Thorn had been unconventional. Now, his morals differed from both vampires and humans, putting him at odds with his family—and in love with a celestial.
Cast out, Thorn still wore the family's ancestral relic: the Markov Sword, a darksilver blade ranked just below the world's greatest vampire artifacts.
"You still won't accept me, Kaelyn?"
The border of Silanica and the Turk Empire.
Silanica, the oldest land in Rosenland, was once dotted with city-states, the cradle of trade and epic heroes. The Conqueror Iskander hailed from here, leading the Silanicans east in search of the world's edge, conquering nearly all of Etta from the ancient Persian Empire to the lands of Inca.
One of the Twelve Royal Clans, the Safisanis family's Theodora—second only to the clan head—was now leading a party from the Silanica border into the Turk Empire.
Her figure was immense, nearly 2.9 meters tall. Behind her walked a revived death knight, Narcissus, glowing blue-eyed and only 1.8 meters—tiny beside his giant mistress. Another, a 1.75-meter hooded woman with a dark curved blade, walked alongside.
All were hooded and cloaked, headed for the Turk Empire's capital, the world-city of Constantinople.
"If our vampire identities are exposed, let them think we are Dominaxes from the neighbor, not Safisanis," Theodora instructed without turning.
The others nodded, and the towering Theodora stepped out of the wilderness, crossing the border. She glanced at a distant ruined Byzantine castle and, in archaic Silanican, murmured, "How I miss my old country."
"Even a queen like me feels nostalgia?" she sneered. "Purple robes—best for burial."
————————————
North of Eirian, above the Northern Sea.
Beyond the Aramanti Empire's northern peninsula lies the northern kingdom of Dans.
Prince Ham of Dans now stood on a sailing ship, journeying home from the island kingdom of Eirian.
A noblewoman, voluptuous, was tied to the mast—her beauty inviting rescue.
She struggled, gagged; Ham pinched her chin.
"Mmm! Mmm!" she protested.
Ham sneered: "Your father will pay, Ophelina. My revenge begins."
Shenzhou, True Dan Empire, Xiang colonial city—Jiufeng.
True Dan, the largest eastern nation; Jiufeng, a colony acquired by the western Xiang kingdom through recent treaties. The newly unified Xiang, backed by their empire's explorers, discovered new continents and eastward routes, earning them Jiufeng.
Late night, Jiufeng.
On its Chinese-style streets, three brutes pinned a woman in a red qipao and heels, binding her.
"Let me go! Help!" The tall, 168cm beauty, far above the era's male average, had a tightly coiled bun adorned with gold, and her qipao embroidered with golden phoenixes—a typical Dan gentry lady.
She was Mary Gonzalez, aka Li Muxun, the mixed-blood daughter of Jiufeng's governor. Her beauty and figure—snowy long legs, 34D chest, a perfect S-curve—had earned her the title "Lingnan's First Beauty." Her father had refused all suitors, believing none worthy.
But tonight, black-clad kidnappers had dragged her from the governor's mansion. Their amateur methods let her scream and struggle, slowing their work. Once in a dark alley, they tackled her, binding her arms brutally.
"Settle down, Miss Li! Mr. Ding wants you!" one said, bending her arms behind her in a punishing W, then wrapping her with cord until her arms were locked painfully in a Y across her back.
"Help! Help me!" she cried, but the more she struggled, the tighter the ropes bit in, leaving deep marks.
"Quit screaming—no one will come—" But a house servant charged from the mansion, clubbing a kidnapper. More servants followed.
"Think we're unprepared?" another thug yelled, firing a signal flare.
A servant tried to free Li Muxun but was stabbed from behind, pushing her away with his dying breath.
"Don't come closer!" she cried, trembling, still bound, knowing that more thugs were coming and her rescuers were overwhelmed.
"Run!" the dying servant called, and she turned, tears in her eyes, dragging her bound body toward the mansion—her only hope was to shout and be found.
"Miss Li, don't run!" a thug chased her. "You're the prize—Shenfu Gate wants you!"
Li Muxun turned into a familiar alley, still yelling for help.
Despite her high heels and tight qipao, she managed a desperate escape, but at last was tackled.
"Your face is to be kept perfect for the boss!" a thug said, elbowing the ground to protect her as he shoved a rag into her mouth.
Suddenly—thud—something hit the ground, and a cloud of smoke erupted. Blinded, she found herself swept up in the arms of a handsome, androgynous youth.
She struggled, muffled cries escaping.
"Don't waste your breath. You must know my name—I'm the phantom thief Ge Qianyu. I'm here to steal Lingnan's first beauty!" Ge Qianyu laughed, holding her tight.
Miserable, Li Muxun realized she'd escaped one group only to fall into the hands of an even more elusive rogue.
"Don't cry," Ge Qianyu said, removing her gag. "If you don't scream, I won't gag you."
Glaring at him with grief and anger, she consented. "I won't hurt you," Ge Qianyu smiled. Li Muxun closed her eyes in despair, unable to imagine what fate awaited her.
———
To the west of Rosenland lies the Elventic, the Elven West. In its midst, shrouded by mists, lay a paradise unreachable by human ships.
There, twin siblings stood before a golden-armored elven host, facing a mass of enemies. The twins, with golden hair and unearthly features, glowed with inner light. Both stood 1.98 meters, lithe and powerful—model-perfect.
One twin, in a Grecian helmet adorned with phoenix wings, wielded the holy sword Sunblaze, the greatest of elven relics.
The other, crowned with blue dragon motifs, held a staff topped with a full moon and a blue-flamed sword—a supreme archmage.
Behind them, the High Priestess Alhanna Starwind watched from her chariot, her own beauty more natural, if still exceptional.
Across the field, the dark elves awaited, led by a towering figure shrouded in shadow—Maliks, the Black Elf King, encased in a monstrous black Spartan helmet, his face a skull mask with purple gem "eyes" and six spiked "hair" protrusions.
From within the mist, Maliks lifted his head as if aware of the watching sage, his voice echoing with a mechanical chill: "Are you watching, Aida?"
The sage only sneered, shifting her focus to a row of gray crystal balls.
Only an archmage could block another's gaze—and neither Maliks nor the twins were truly supreme, origin archmages.
With a gesture like a lottery draw, the sage cast magic over the balls, expecting the usual gray—but today, one ball began to clear.
Curiosity piqued, she stared: "Are you joining the struggle, Dominax?"
She peered into the ball, wondering what could blunt such demigodlike might.
Sophia von Dominax appeared.
The sage stroked her long, elegant neck: "A… fetish collar?"