Alright, when we say "suitable for habitation," we're only referring to the social environment. As for the geographical environment, that's an entirely different story. Sylvania lies in the southeastern corner of the continent—a barren land permeated by the stench of death. Both its natural resources and harvests are wretchedly poor, leading to famine almost every year.
Here, newborns are abandoned, and the trade in human lives is commonplace. Setting aside the grand ancient castles built by the vampires, the gaunt, emaciated populace and the barren, sandy soil are what define Sylvania most.
Valed found it peculiar. The vampire clans of Sylvania possessed countless virtues. Their virtue, character, and abilities were exceptional. They were devoted, willing to sacrifice, and worked tirelessly. They possessed extraordinary talents. Yet, despite all this, this race did not hold a dominant position in the world. Quite the opposite, in fact. Vampires were confined to a remote, barren, and desolate land. What on earth was going on?
"Because we are vampires."
Once, Valed couldn't resist asking this question of one of his elders. After a moment's pause, the elder reluctantly uttered these words. This answer deeply troubled the proud nobleman. His pride wouldn't allow him to utter another word.
Yet for Valed, this information was sufficient. A little analysis led to the obvious conclusion—vampires—outsiders—unwelcome beings.
Clearly, to ordinary folk, vampires who commanded undead and skeletons while feeding on human blood were enemies to all living creatures. If they merely lurked in this desolate land, it might be tolerable. People would pretend not to see them. But if the vampires gathered their courage, used their mastery of necromancy to build armies, and sought to expand outward, then all living creatures—regardless of their prior feuds—would unite in that moment to resist the vampire invasion.
No living soul desires to be ruled by the dead. Fewer still wish to be enslaved as puppets after death. This is the vampire race's greatest weakness. Finding allies is nearly impossible. They must rely solely on their own kind to confront the entire world.
Of course, after uttering these words, the elder couldn't resist adding with lingering resentment: "Though our current situation is temporarily difficult, the glorious Children of the Night will never remain here forever. When the time is right, we shall rise as one—just as we did four thousand years ago, two thousand four hundred years ago, and one thousand one hundred years ago—leading the mightiest armies to sweep across the entire continent. It shall be so!"
"Oh—sweeping across the entire continent!"
So, to avoid arousing suspicion, Valed raised his hand like a genuine child and repeated the phrase with great excitement—though inwardly he scoffed: This was less a glorious history and more a wretched one. After all, no matter how many millennia ago it happened, it always ended in failure. Was it really appropriate to use such a classic example of defeat, akin to Jing Ke's assassination attempt on Qin Shi Huang, to educate children?
But whatever. Despite the nation's appalling poverty, Valed lived quite comfortably as a noble. It was certainly better than his days clad in spirit armor, unable to bathe for half a year, and eating military rations that tasted like dog food at every meal. So he really had nothing to complain about.
That very evening, bored and having finished reading, Valed prepared for bed. Passing his sister Isabella's room next door, he glanced inside and noticed something amiss.
As usual, Isabella was studying diligently, her floor laid out with a magic circle drawn from crystal shards. It was this very sight that struck Valed as odd.
He stepped into the room. Addressing his sister, who was crouched on the floor and looked up at him with puzzlement, he said, "You've made a mistake there. The angles of that triangle should be twenty-two point five, twenty-seven point five, and one hundred thirty."
"Huh? How could that be? That's exactly how they teach it at the academy!"
At first, Isabella was quite pleased to see her brother come in and speak to her. But when Valed pointed out her error, Isabella grew annoyed. Though she often heard praise for his talent and had personally witnessed Valed's exceptional affinity for the magical winds, she still couldn't accept it.
"What a joke. He hasn't even formally attended academy classes yet, while I'm a third-year top student!" Thinking this, Isabella stubbornly ignored Valed's advice. She insisted on completing the magic circle—and then, with a loud explosion and billowing smoke, the precious materials she'd bought for twenty-five gold larrs went up in a puff of ash.
"Damn it! Damn it! Damn it! Damn it!" Watching her meticulously prepared experiment end like this—especially in front of her little brother—Isabella's face flushed crimson. She stomped her foot furiously on the ground, screaming her frustration.
When she turned to Valed and saw that brat's smug "I told you so" expression, her anger boiled over. She ran over, scooped him up, and hugged him tightly, rubbing his face hard against hers. This was her punishment for her little brother.
"This hurts—idiot—let me go—!" Though he could have easily used a bit of spiritual energy—or rather, what people in this world called the magical wind—to blow his stupid sister away. But that would have been far too violent. It might even have hurt Isabella. So Valed simply endured his sister's "punishment."
Had Valed possessed broader knowledge—had he studied non-lethal applications of the magical wind—he wouldn't be so passive now. Unfortunately, the former Space Marine sergeant major relied on classic military combat tactics. On battlefields against the Zerg, capturing prisoners or showing mercy was unnecessary. Eight years of combat had made him ruthless, incapable of restraint.
If he were tasked with killing Isabella, he possessed hundreds, perhaps thousands, of methods to ensure his sister met a gruesome end. But to use psychic force to push Isabella away without harming her... Sorry, military instructors never taught that sort of thing.
Thus, unable to use magic and physically outmatched by the six-years-older girl, Valed's resistance proved utterly futile. He was simply trampled by his sister, whose chest was nothing but ribs, completely undeveloped. Only after Isabella's negative emotions had largely dissipated did she release him. Then, utterly dejected, he slumped to the ground.
"What am I going to do... I don't have enough money left to buy another set of experimental materials..."
Though born into nobility—specifically the wealthy Kastanin family, considered elite even across all of Silvania—the Nightkin maintained strict self-discipline. Nobles typically invested the bulk of their wealth into more crucial endeavors: production, manufacturing, and military preparedness. Not to mention the bottomless pit of magical research, along with the acquisition and stockpiling of spellcasting materials.
The small remainder was largely spent on maintaining appearances and preserving aristocratic dignity—specifically, on purchasing attire, paying the salaries of maids and servants, and furnishing and decorating their ancient castles.
The actual funds distributed to vampire nobles were, in truth, quite meager. A young lady like Isabella received a mere eight gold lars as monthly allowance. A single batch of spellcasting materials costing twenty-five gold lars required months of scrimping on snacks and borrowing at usurious rates from Valed to afford. Her original plan was to excel in the academy's final assessments, earn a scholarship, and splurge freely. Yet the outcome turned out like this...
Staring at the pile of ashes, Isabella felt like crying but couldn't shed a tear. Finally, she silently resolved: "Next time something like this happens, I'll listen to Valed just a little bit." Of course, she'd said similar things before, more than once. But the outcome had never changed. It seemed incredibly difficult to get this young lady to heed advice and learn from her mistakes.
And so, today's game time concluded. Valed returned to his room to sleep. Though Isabella was deeply reluctant, wanting to conduct further experiments to make up for her losses, Valed's reminder—"Today is already June 1st"—forced the young lady to abandon her plans.
June—the most chaotic and obscure month in this world. As night fell, the eerie celestial body known as Morell, emitting an ominous crimson glow, became the most conspicuous presence in the sky. This red moon had replaced its sibling, the blue Tonya, hanging high in the pitch-black heavens.
Under its influence, the magical winds grew wildly chaotic, further affecting countless creatures. Monsters naturally attuned to the magical currents became restless and agitated. Spells themselves grew more potent yet far harder to control.
Under such conditions, wise spellcasters would temporarily temper their arrogance and exercise extreme caution. Unless absolutely necessary, they would refrain from casting spells. Even when casting, they would opt for spells of lesser power and easier control.
Of course, for true Archmages, this presented a rare opportunity. Many experiments they had long wished to conduct but were unable to due to insufficient energy were undertaken at this time. And one could only imagine the consequences should these experiments spiral out of control...