Yesterday's conversation with Vine left Adam with more questions than answers.
The first—and most troubling—was history.
History was the most dangerous thing of all.It was already written. Every problem it left behind was massive, tangled, and nearly impossible to untie.
And yet—
History could be rewritten.
From Vine's reaction alone, Adam was certain of one thing: the Blood Clan's history had been altered.
If another race had forgotten its past, that could be chalked up to decay or neglect.
But vampires?
A race with endless lifespans did not "forget."
If their history was gone, it meant someone had erased it.
Deliberately.
What unsettled Adam even more was this—
When he spoke the names Machete, Whip, and Ironhoof, Vine hadn't reacted at all.
Not confusion.Not recognition.
Nothing.
Which meant the erased history wasn't limited to Adam alone.
The three Second Generation vampires were gone as well.
Then there were the techniques.
Transformation.Feature-dyeing.Turning into bats.
What exactly had the Blood Clan evolved into?
Adam had no answers.
The only certainty was this—one of yesterday's vampires belonged to Whip's lineage.
Adam remembered him clearly.
A burly man with messy hair and a gentle smile. One of Adam's personal guards. A father of two. He loved painting—terribly so. His hands were strong enough to shatter stone, yet he treated brushes with absurd care.
In the final battle above the clouds, he never left Adam's side.
And because of that—
When Adam was cursed into vampirism, that man became one of the first victims.
I wonder if he's still alive, Adam thought.
Once, Adam had the advantage of foresight. A traveler through time. The first human. God's favored creation.
He had known things others couldn't even imagine.
But now?
The world had turned upside down.
Those once-ignorant children had grown up.
If Adam stood up again, could he still command the world with a single call?
As for humanity—especially the Eden-born lineage—Adam held no illusions. He knew their twisted history too well. Eve's forced abdication alone was enough to tell him how little loyalty remained.
And now the Blood Clan seemed no different.
"Enough," Adam muttered.
The information was incomplete. The situation too complex.
Overthinking wouldn't help.
The plan remained unchanged.
Find Uriel. Kill him.Bring Lilith to God. Revive Irene.Then go to the elves and reunite with his daughter, Tina.
The road would be harder than expected.
That was all.
Sunlight burned high outside. Thick curtains blocked most of it, though a thin ray still slipped through the cracks.
Adam lay back on the bed and drifted into sleep, idly considering having the fat pig build him a coffin.
Sleeping in a coffin felt… uncomfortable.
But practical.
No wonder vampires in old movies loved them so much.
Meanwhile, the fat pig Adam was thinking about was sprinting through the desert—chasing nothing.
This was the third failed job in a row.
They waited day and night, capturing people but taking no coin.
Without camels, their hunting grounds had shrunk. Even when they managed an ambush, merchants could simply ride through them.
There was nothing they could do.
Without proper equipment, the job was impossible.
Still, he didn't dare complain to Adam.
Tomorrow night.
That was the deadline.
If things went wrong, he might have to hand over one of his three maids.
But what about three weeks later?
What if the vampire planned to stay forever?
Immortal beings had no sense of urgency.
If Adam decided to live here for a lifetime, the pig knew exactly how this would end.
Would Adam still turn him into a vampire if he failed?
Or would he be drained dry instead?
Fear weighed heavily.
Escape?A message to the royal capital?
The pig hesitated.
Moonlight rose.
Two bats flew in from the north.
Lizard City lay only three hundred miles from the capital. Difficult for humans due to the desert—but trivial for vampires who mastered bat-flight.
Thanks to Vine's prior visit, Baron Smoke did not hide this time.
He transformed openly before the castle gates.
Adam returned the courtesy.
They met face to face.
At first glance, Smoke resembled a monk more than a vampire.
A long beard fell to his waist. His eyes were deep, clouded, and tired. His brow permanently furrowed. A weathered face that spoke of centuries endured.
He wore a black robe and tall hat. His hands were hidden within his sleeves.
Around his neck hung an ugly gold chain, thick and heavy, bearing the symbol of the Pisa family—three human-like figures intertwined.
A mark of territorial ownership within the Blood Clan.
"Greetings, my lord," Smoke said, crossing his hands over his chest in a formal salute. "I am Baron Smoke, servant to Viscount Pisa."
Adam immediately understood.
Not the lord he wanted.
Just another subordinate.
Still, courtesy deserved courtesy.
Adam returned the gesture and invited them inside—something he wouldn't have bothered with yesterday.
If Vine hadn't made one thing clear, Adam wouldn't even entertain the conversation.
The Blood Clan no longer recognized him as their progenitor.
In the bedroom, Smoke spoke first.
"Before we begin, may I ask your name?"
"Adam. No surname," Adam replied, pointing at Vine. "Didn't he tell you?"
Smoke glanced at Vine, then smiled thinly.
"He did. But I wished to hear it myself."
Vine leaned in and whispered hurriedly.
Smoke's dull eyes sharpened.
"Sir," he asked carefully, "you said your sire was Yahweh. Is that correct?"
"Yes."
"Yahweh… of Eden?"
"Yes."
Smoke's brow tightened.
"You mean… that Adam?"
Adam nodded.
Smoke paused.
Then—
"Vine," he said quietly. "Wait outside. Close the door."
Once they were alone, Smoke lowered his voice.
"Sir… do you have proof?"
Suspicion remained.
But beneath it—
Expectation.
Adam watched him carefully.
I may have missed my target, he thought.
But I came to the right place.