Reborn as a Vampire in a Dying World: Blood, Power, and Pleasure

After the laughter finally died down, Heist dabbed the corner of his eyes with a pristine handkerchief, clearly savoring the moment.

"How priceless," he said, still chuckling. "Is this all you had planned today, Your Majesty?"

He spread his arms with casual showmanship, gesturing toward the entire table. "If so, that would be a fine end to this lighthearted meeting."

Heinrich, surprisingly, nodded along. Despite their frequent disagreements, even he couldn't help but be amused. The idea of a mere noble vampire claiming the title of Baron was absurd enough to ease the tension in the room—if only momentarily.

"I haven't heard that joke in centuries," Heinrich grinned, showing his sharp fangs. "Last time someone said it… died by my hands."

Corven found himself at an impasse. He had tried to assert power and presence, to sound dominant—but now, he looked like nothing more than the punchline of an old joke.

Aisha exhaled slowly, the edge of her composure thinning. She hadn't expected this level of backlash—not this soon. Offering Corven a seat beside her had clearly been a mistake.

She sat forward slightly, trying to take control of the situation by weaving an excuse on the spot. "Yes," she said with a soft laugh, "I just thought it was a good time to lighten the mood… especially after everything that's happened lately."

"A well-deserved break, don't you think?" she added with a practiced smile that masked the tension behind it.

Heinrich leaned back in his chair, visibly more relaxed, and propped his feet up on the edge of the table. The meeting no longer felt like a formal council—it had shifted into something more like casual banter.

"I must say," Heinrich added, voice heavy with sarcasm, "I didn't expect half-breeds to understand a true vampire's humor quite so well."

It was a clear jab. Not a direct insult—but unmistakably demeaning. A reminder that, despite the formalities, he didn't respect her bloodline.

"Ah…" Aisha muttered, a vein twitching visibly on her temple. Her lips tightened, but she didn't respond directly. She couldn't. Any direct retaliation would escalate the situation—and risk pushing her territory into a full-scale war between humans and vampires.

She bit down on her lower lip hard enough to draw a small bead of blood. "Well, I do try my best… for my subjects."

Meanwhile, Corven's eyes flickered as a sudden notification popped up in his vision.

[Class: The Archivist (Active)]

'The cooldown's gone already?' he thought, surprised. 'So, every three hours… and it lasts about thirty minutes. That's usable enough.'

He glanced around. The meeting had shifted tone completely. Even the minor lords had begun chatting amongst themselves now that the immediate tension had faded. This соntеnt wаs first rеlеаsеd оn МV_LЕМРYR.

But then, Heist stood.

His movements were deliberate, refined, and laced with a quiet arrogance. It was a performance, clearly meant to project superiority.

"Well then," he said, brushing off invisible dust from his cloak. "I must take my leave. I've important matters to handle—especially since Her Majesty failed to return my heir in one piece."

There was no need to elaborate. Everyone at the table understood what he meant. Lilian's bond had been severed and replaced by Corven's. Even without stating it outright, the blame in his voice was clear.

Heist didn't look directly at Corven—but the disdain was palpable. He knew. And while he couldn't do anything about it right now, that didn't mean he wasn't angry.

Corven noticed Aisha's faint smile as she sat still, but he also saw what lingered behind it—restrained hatred.

Others noticed it too, though none dared comment. Letting her stew in that silent rage was more effective than confrontation. Isolation, after all, was a powerful tool in politics.

Corven could relate.

He had worked thankless jobs before. Had superiors who dismissed him, coworkers who mocked him behind his back. Seeing Aisha like this reminded him of those times.

'So this is what I looked like back then… pathetic.'

Even as the thought crossed his mind, something inside him shifted.

He made his decision.

[Class: The Archivist (Used)]

[The Archivist Wakes]

He remembered what happened with Leywin when he last activated it—the way the effect had silenced even an equal-tier vampire. If it had worked on someone like Leywin… then this should work just fine.

"Ahem."

Corven leaned forward, speaking firmly. "Sit down."

A flicker of gold shimmered in his eyes.

Heist paused mid-step. He hadn't even managed to move fully from his chair before the command struck.

"The joke's ove—"

Heist froze.

For just a moment, his gaze met Corven's—and then it hit him. That unmistakable pressure. That overwhelming force.

It wasn't just magic. It was something older, deeper.

Something stronger than him.

Stronger than an elder.

Heist's body locked up. His jaw tightened. His breath shortened.

The room changed again—instantly.

The vampires present could smell it. Fear. Cold, pungent, unfiltered fear leaking into the air.

Heinrich was the first to notice the change. He turned toward Heist, confused. "Have you gone senile?"

Heist snapped his head toward Heinrich, voice raised, almost panicked. "Idiot! Look at that bastard!"

He pointed straight at Corven.

Heinrich narrowed his gaze—and then saw it too.

That glint in Corven's eyes. That presence.

"What…?"

Corven allowed himself a slight smile. It was a gamble. A reckless move. But it had paid off.

'I thought it only worked on Leywin because he was weakened…' He let out a breath. 'Good to know it still works on full power.'

Aisha stared at him in shock.

"What did you—?"

Corven casually brought a finger to his lips, a playful gesture.

"Let me handle this," he said softly, just loud enough for her to hear.

Then, louder this time:

"I said…"

He let the moment drag, just enough to make it sink in.

"…Sit. Down."

And Heist did.

Whether it was fear, instinct, or supernatural compulsion—his body obeyed.

He trembled, visibly, as he lowered himself into the chair. Eyes wide. Knuckles pale.

The minor lords around the table looked on in disbelief.

Some rose in panic.

"What is this!?"

"Is this part of the joke!?"

"Is this a trap?!"

But before anyone could flee, the paladins moved in seamlessly—blocking exits, stepping between the nobles and the walls. They didn't speak, but their expressions had shifted slightly.

There was a newfound respect in their posture toward Corven.

After all, he had just done what they could not—restore their lady's dignity without bloodshed.

And now?

They were more than happy to help him return the favor.