Floyd stepped into the dining room with practiced grace, every movement a silent declaration. The velvet carpet muffled his steps, yet every eye in the room tracked him with surgical precision.
At the head of the long table sat Olive Monteri, the patriarch. Crimson eyes like drawn steel beneath heavy lids. He didn't speak just observed.
To his left sat Sara Monteri, the matriarch—soft-featured but sharp in aura. There was elegance in the way she turned her head, in the faint curve of her lips when she saw him.
"Oh, Floyd, You're awake. Praise the blood…"
On the right sat Dan, the eldest, posture perfect, glass in hand. His smirk was immediate. It didn't reach his eyes.
And next to Sara, nestled like a petal between thorns, sat Alice—a doll-like girl with pale golden curls and wide eyes. Her expression lit up at the sight of him.
"Brother!" she chirped.
Floyd gave a nod in response.
He took his seat at the far end of the table. The same one he always had.
The porcelain plate in front of him gleamed. Blood soup, rare slices of beast meat, and a goblet filled with crimson.
He looked at it all.
'This body is severely weakened. I must eat in order to regain some strength.'
Floyd picked up the spoon without ceremony. Took a single sip of the thick blood broth.
Warm.
Iron-rich.
And disgusting.
But the body responded and skin felt tighter.
'Adapt or rot. That's the rule of this world.'
Across the table, Dan chuckled.
"Did the weakling grow a spine while playing dead?"
Floyd stirred his spoon once and responded.
"Well what can I say. Atleast it is better than to rot in bedsheet waiting for death."
Dan leaned forward, eyes flashing red.
"That tongue of yours always had a soft bite. Try showing teeth, and I might be inclined to put you down, brother."
Sara's brow furrowed.
"Dan. Enough."
"He's just talking. Let him bark."
Dan's smile twitched. Almost imperceptibly.
'He didn't expect that, huh?'
"Floyd, dear, you shouldn't strain yourself. You were—"
"I know. You don't have to worry about it mom."
She flinched.
"That's not what I meant."
"I know."
There was silence for a moment. Even the sound of forks slowed.
Floyd turned his gaze slightly toward Olive.
The patriarch hadn't spoken a word. Just observed. Stone-faced. As always.
'He used to never look at me. But now...'
A subtle shift. A flicker of interest behind those silver eyes.
Curiosity?
Floyd let the silence linger before speaking again.
"I'll be using the training hall after breakfast."
Dan scoffed.
"You? Don't tear anything, little brother."
"I might, but I'd rather tear something... than sit still and rot."
Sara's eyes misted for a moment, then softened with pride.
Olive's fingers tapped the table once.
A rare thing indeed.
'I might have picked his interest on me.'
Alice tilted her head.
"Are you feeling better, Brother? You look... colder."
"I am alright."
Then he stood.
There was no need to say more.
He had no interest in continuing this conversation.
He walked with grace, chin high, footsteps steady.
The doors closed behind him as he left for the training hall.
And at the long table, four predators sat in silence—some amused, some wary.
But for the first time in years…
He seemed confident and not a "coward shrimp".
________
The air in the training hall was thick with dust and sweat. Crimson moonlight filtered through stained glass, painting the marble floors in shades of red and black.
Floyd stood shirtless beneath a broken candelabra, skin glistening with blood of his own. His breath came low and steady, though his arms trembled faintly from overuse. Around him, the floor was cracked and dented, wooden dummies shattered like bones. One sword had snapped in two. The other lay discarded, splintered at the hilt.
'Weak. Still weak.'
He exhaled slowly, opening and closing his hands. His muscles ached too quickly. His healing was sluggish. The body, while elegant and noble, was undernourished.
'This body isn't fit for war. Not yet.'
He picked up a steel practice blade, heavier than the last. With a low breath, he launched into another flurry—shoulder rotation tight, feet light, core braced. He twisted into a slash and followed through with a spin-kick that sent splinters flying across the room.
The impact jarred his bones.
He dropped the blade and coughed, dark saliva flecking his lip.
'Maybe I should rest.'
He sat down on the edge of a training pedestal, letting the silence flood in.
In this world... vampires aren't equal.
There are roughly 5 tiers.
Bloodless – Vampires who reject their own nature. Thin-bloods, weak-bloods, and those suffering from malnourishment or curse. Floyd—the previous owner—belongs here.
Crimson-blooded – Ordinary nobles. Capable of controlling blood, wielding limited physical enchantments. Enough to kill humans, but useless among purebloods.
Bloodmarked – Trained elites. Capable of high-speed movement, regeneration, and vampiric arts. Usually knights or family hunters.
Nightborn – Beings of nightmare. Fluid motion, shadow manipulation, rapid regeneration, and devastating strength. Dan is likely here.
Pureblooded Ancients – They are walking disasters. Kingdoms vanish in their shadow. Olive and Sara are almost pureblood.
He was below the bottom. He is below weak blood.
Not even a proper Bloodless. Just a sickly shadow of a noble, still building muscle, still re-learning how to exist.
He clenched his fist.
'This body will break if I don't mold it myself.'
The door creaked open gently.
"Master Floyd..."
He turned, breath low, muscles taut.
'Lily.'
She stepped in carefully, holding a folded towel against her chest. Her brows furrowed at the sight of blood dripping down his ribcage.
"You've been training for thirteen hours straight. You'll die from severe exhaustion at this rate,"
He didn't respond.
She approached anyway, slowly, respectfully.
"You're... persistent." he muttered.
"This is my job master Floyd."
That made him pause.
He looked at her.
This girl—this maid—should have left when Floyd wasted away. When he was ignored by his family. When he lay in bed for weeks, starved and forgotten.
Yet here she was. Still loyal to this useless bum.
'Why?'
He narrowed his eyes slightly, wiping the sweat from his temple with the edge of his sleeve.
"Why are you so loyal?"
She blinked.
"Because you were kind."
The words stabbed something in him. It was like an old wound.
Kindness.
He remembered the sirens that never came.
The bystanders who stared.
"You're so kind."
'Liar.'
His grip tightened on the edge of the bench, knuckles pale.
"If so, you're wasting your loyalty."
Lily tilted her head.
"What do you mean master Floyd?"
"Nothing go back to your work."
She bows deeply and returns to her usual routine leaving him alone.