THE GENERAL'S DISGRACED HEIR

Unfazed by the towering horror that now radiated death and hunger, David began to walk. His steps were measured, unhurried, as if strolling through a leisurely garden rather than a death-infused throne room.

He passed Seraphina and Vivian, who were still fiercely engaged in their relentless battles, their forms a blur of motion and raw power against the Mistress's resilient puppets.

Sparks flew, magic roared, and the sounds of impact punctuated the oppressive silence, yet David's passage was one of utter calm.

As he moved past Seraphina, who was weaving intricate patterns of lightning and flame with a strained concentration, he paused briefly. His hand, sheathed in the dark gauntlet of his Nightveil Embrace armor, gently settled on her shoulder. The touch was brief, almost imperceptible, yet it conveyed a profound sense of trust and reassurance.

"Be careful," David murmured, his voice low, just for her. "Stick to the plan." It was a simple directive, an acknowledgment of the elaborate scenario they were enacting, and a reminder of her crucial role.

Seraphina, without breaking her intense concentration on the puppet that continued to absorb her best spells, gave a subtle, almost imperceptible nod. Her eyes remained locked on her foe, but her posture seemed to straighten, a renewed surge of determination rippling through her. The reminder, the subtle gesture, was exactly what she needed.

Vivian, however, caught a glimpse of the interaction. Her obsidian sword, still a whirlwind of lethal intent against her own puppet, paused for a fraction of a second in its furious dance. Her crimson eyes, though focused on her foe, flickered with a familiar, almost childish jealousy.

"Hey!" she called out, her voice a sharp retort amidst the clash of steel and magic. "What about me?!" The question was direct, uncomplex, carrying a mix of indignation and a desire for acknowledgement. She wanted to know where she fit into his grand scheme, to feel the same explicit trust.

David paused his stride, turning his head slightly, a playful smirk dancing on his lips. He didn't need to look at her to know her expression, her burning desire for recognition.

"You're the strongest one here at the moment," he said, his voice carrying just enough to reach her over the din of battle, infused with a deliberate, calculated flattery.

"I trust you to protect her when the time comes." He spoke of Seraphina, implying a vulnerability that Vivian, in her desire to be the 'strongest,' would naturally jump to defend. It was a perfect manipulation, playing directly into her core desire for power and importance.

Vivian's frustrated frown instantly transformed into a fierce, triumphant grin. "Damn right you do!" she roared, her voice filled with renewed vigor. With a burst of explosive power, she blocked a sweeping blow from her puppet, the impact sending a jarring shockwave through the air. Her eyes, now alight with zealous determination, seemed to burn even brighter. She was the strongest, and she would prove it.

David continued his unhurried advance, Vespera floating serenely beside him, her ethereal form a silent, chilling counterpart to his calm. They approached the Vampire Rot Knight, the creature a monstrous embodiment of the Mistress's defiance.

Its head, crowned by its bone helm, tilted, its grotesque nostrils flaring. It sniffed the air, its senses attuned to the living, to the scent of magic and defiance. A low, guttural snarl rippled through its chest, shaking its organic armor. It had scented its true prey.

Crimson magic, raw and malevolent, began to swirl around its right hand. It coalesced, twisting and compacting with terrifying speed, rapidly forming into a massive broadblade. The weapon was as black as obsidian, its edges shimmering with a sickly, internal crimson light, radiating an aura of cursed energy. It was heavy, brutal, and designed for utter devastation.

Then, the Rot Knight vanished.

Not faded, not teleported, but simply gone, melting into a blur of speed that defied the eye. One moment it was there, radiating menace, the next, the space it occupied was empty. The air shrieked, rent by its impossible velocity, a sound that spoke of a predator accelerating beyond the limits of perception.

In an instant, it reappeared. Not across the chamber, not even a few feet away, but inches from David. Its massive, crimson-tinged broadblade, forged from raw magic, hovered against his neck. The sharp, cursed edge pulsed with an unnatural chill, just a breath away from severing his head. The air around David crackled with potent, malevolent cursed energy, a suffocating aura of impending doom.

David, however, did not flinch. His smirk remained, unfading. He simply stood there, inches from his demise, his eyes fixed on the Rot Knight's glowing orbs, as if this was precisely what he had expected. The stage was set.

His eyes began to glow, not with simple light, but with an otherworldly transformation. Swirls of pristine white and deep azure danced within his irises, his vision shifting as if the very fabric of reality was peeling away.

This was the activation of [Celestial Wheel], one of the two foundational skills he'd retained from the very beginning, even after the System's glitch had forced him to devour all others. The other, [Eternal Gluttony], lay dormant, but equally vital. These were his bedrock, his original gifts, never to be forsaken.

The Vampire Rot Knight's speed was terrifyingly swift, undeniably faster than any King-ranked swordsman he had ever encountered, bordering on the terrifying velocity of a Monarch Stage warrior. He knew, with a certainty that chilled yet invigorated him, that he could eventually defeat this creature.

Suddenly, a shimmering wall of crystalline ice erupted between David and the charging knight, born from Vespera's silent, unyielding devotion. The Vampire Rot Knight's obsidian, bloodthirsty sword, honed for slaughter, crashed into it with a deafening crack that reverberated through the domain.

Vespera would never allow harm to befall her master. David, unperturbed, merely took a calm step back as the Vampire Rot Knight, with monstrous force, shattered the ice wall in an instant, its talons leaving deep gouges in the dissolving shards.

David's saving grace, his ultimate trump card, lay in his eyes. They perceived the subtle ebb and flow of mana, the intricate dance of movement, and the precise fractions of time needed to evade any blow.

Coupled with his fusion with Luna to bring forth the incomplete, raw version of [Shadow Wrath], he was a ghost in motion.

Witches were blessed by mana, true, but Vampires? They were loved by it, cherished by the very essence of power, making them among the most difficult beings to truly defeat, especially if they possessed a distinct class.

His frost daggers, normally a devastating weapon against such creatures, remained locked away, trapped within a system that had failed him at the worst possible moment.

The Elite Vampire Knight, unfazed and relentless, adjusted its monstrous footwork, preparing to strike once more, while he stood defenseless, his most reliable weapons just out of reach.

But David's internal smirk widened. He was glad. This creature was merely a puppet, manipulated by the Mistress. That meant a weakness, an exploit he could seize. Though it wouldn't be easy, he took an inward stand, dark, shadowy daggers coalescing in his outstretched hands, ready to shift to the offensive.

'I need to buy her time,' David thought, his gaze sharp.

The Knight raised its other free hand, a gesture of dark power.

'Shite, it's going to use blood magic,' David realized with a detached analytical precision.

"Vespera!" David called out, his voice sharp with command.

"On it, my Lord!" Her ethereal form shimmered. With a flick of her wrist, she froze the very air, creating three razor-sharp, floating ice blades that positioned themselves defensively around David.

"Shall we dance, you rotting heap of flesh?" David taunted, his voice echoing with calculated amusement.