Novel Chapter
These words chilled Valerius to the very marrow—far more than any curse ever could.
An ordinary professor?
An Animagus who could transform into a crane and weave a net of causality—just an ordinary professor?
Heaven's Net.
Every countermeasure Valerius had prepared, every ancient blood curse his lineage prided itself on, crumbled to dust before that name—no more threatening than a wooden toy sword in a child's hand.
He knew, with a dreadful clarity, that in the face of such a being, any struggle was only a choice in how much more painfully he might die.
The legends spoke of Heaven's Net not only slaying marquises, but even gravely injuring dukes. If not for the intervention of a true prince, perhaps every dark creature in Europe would have been forced to relearn how to survive the night.
He forced himself upright from the heap of dead leaves.
His silk robes were tattered and smeared with dirt and rot, but he tried to straighten his back, clinging to the last, fragile dignity of nobility.
Yet his trembling fingers and face—pale as water-soaked parchment—betrayed him completely.
"Mr. Holmes…"
His voice was stripped of its theatrical flourish; it was dry, hoarse, and carried a note of obsequiousness even he failed to notice.
"I… I believe this is all a misunderstanding."
"There's no real ill will between us. My brotherhood and your werewolf friends simply have… a few minor disagreements over trivial matters."
He managed a smile, but it looked more like a grimace of despair.
"And I assure you, I have always abided by the ancient covenants. I have never hunted an unknowing Muggle without necessity, nor do I wish for conflict with the Ministry of Magic. I understand the importance of balance."
It was the humblest diplomatic language he could muster.
He was trying to paint himself as harmless, as someone not worth the hunter's time.
Douglas's gentle smile never faltered.
"Oh?"
He made a sound of polite interest, like a professor humoring a clever but naïve student.
"Is it that you didn't want to, or that you never had the chance?"
Valerius fell silent.
Only the wind in the trees broke the stillness, its rustle now sounding like laughter at his expense.
Douglas took two measured steps forward, his polished dragonhide shoes crunching on the fallen leaves—each step landing like a blow to Valerius's heart.
"Well then, Count Valerius," Douglas said at last, his tone as light as if inviting a friend to afternoon tea. "Let's talk about your future."
"You have two choices."
Valerius's pupils shrank to pinpricks.
"Don't be afraid. I have no interest in killing you," Douglas said, his words igniting a flicker of hope in Valerius's chest.
"But…"
The hope was snuffed out before it could take root, leaving only a wisp of black smoke.
"A pure-blooded, ancient vampire who can freely transform into a bat—now that would make an excellent research subject for my students."
"You see, I happen to be in need of a teaching assistant."
Douglas paused, tilting his head, his gaze appraising Valerius from head to toe as if weighing the worth of a rare artifact.
"Or perhaps… a living specimen for the classroom."
Living… teaching… specimen.
Each word struck Valerius's soul like a hammer blow.
He remembered his cousin's fate—that thing still locked away in the Red Moon chamber, writhing like a heap of putrid flesh. It was the perfect footnote to this threat.
For Valerius, the "research" in Douglas's mouth was a thousand times more terrifying than eternal death.
He had no doubt this man would do exactly as he said.
Douglas seemed quite satisfied with the terror on his face. From an inner pocket of his robes, he drew out a folded piece of parchment and a pen.
This was no ordinary parchment.
The paper was aged, yellowed like old bone, inscribed with blood-red ink in a pattern both intricate and incomprehensible.
The symbols combined the sharp edges of runes with the flowing, mysterious lines of Eastern talismans, writhing together on the page like living things.
The pen's shaft was carved from some unknown beast's leg bone, its tip not a feather but a translucent fiber that crackled faintly with electric light.
Dragon nerve.
"You have two choices."
Douglas held out the eerie contract and the deadly pen to Valerius.
"One: sign this agreement and become my assistant from today."
"Two: become my specimen."
Douglas's smile grew even brighter.
"The dead kind, of course."
Watching Valerius's pupils contract with fear, he added, ever so thoughtfully:
"Honestly, your physiology is remarkable—pure bloodline, exceptional muscle fiber strength, a blood curse of rare potency. You'd make a truly invaluable research subject."
"But don't worry. I'll take good care of you. I'll make sure every cell in your body finds its proper place in my students' education."
Valerius could feel the magic radiating from the contract.
It was a kind of soul-binding, conceptual contract magic he'd never encountered before.
Once signed, any thought of rebellion would bring a fate worse than death.
Douglas made no effort to explain the contract's workings.
Sometimes, the unknown is the most terrifying thing of all—like a bottomless black swamp, luring every fearful thought to its doom.
"I… I am a descendant of the Cappadocia family!" Valerius made his last, feeble stand, trying to invoke the ancient power of his bloodline to frighten off this devil.
"You can't—"
"Cappadocia?" Douglas cut him off with a light, almost mocking tone.
"If I recall, the highest-ranking member of that family is a duke who's been sleeping for centuries, isn't he?"
"And besides…"
His gaze turned razor-sharp, slicing through Valerius's last pretense.
"You're nothing but a traitor, cast out by your own kin."
"How about this," Douglas suggested kindly, as if offering a helpful tip.
~~~~❃❃~~~~~~~~❃❃~~~~
Read up to (100+ ) advanced chapters on Patre\on
Visit us here: patreon.com/GoldenLong
Happy reading, everyone!