Chapter 1422
Fresh blood was devoured by Vlad, while Leon's eyes glinted coldly. In an instant, he summoned the full power of his Natural Semi-Plane, channeling mana through his blood and flooding Vlad's body with wild, surging magical force.
His body lost all control, blood draining away, and even the strength of his soul was slipping. Yet Leon felt no fear—every second, he drew on mana far beyond his limits, hundreds of times over.
The soul power being devoured merged into the blood and mana, but was concealed by the overwhelming magical flow.
Without a soul, Vlad was immune to almost all soul-based abilities. Yet, he failed to notice that the soul power infused into the blood and mana had been shaped by Leon into countless tiny runes. These runes, like chains and spells, formed an intricate network—an endless cascade of soul-forged runes pouring into Vlad's body.
Vlad's eyes had turned completely blood-red. After draining a third of Leon's blood, he tossed Leon's limp body aside, baring his bloodstained fangs to the sky and letting out a triumphant roar.
“Indescribably delicious—the rich mana, the sweet blood, the pure soul power. Unbelievable, truly. Fate smiles upon me. And you, just a mere level forty-five? How utterly laughable...”
Leon collapsed to the ground, coldly watching Vlad laugh maniacally in midair. A mocking, sardonic smile flickered across his pale face.
“Idiot. Ever heard of forging a special magical artifact through the sacrifice of blood and life?”
Leon collapsed to the ground. Though his body was beyond control, he could still manipulate his mana—and his grasp over the Natural Semi-Plane remained undiminished.
Reina helped Leon to his feet, and he looked coldly at Vlad, who glared back with eyes full of venom.
"Stop glaring at me. I know every vampire progenitor is born with the power of curses, but right now, you have none left. You won't be coming back this time."
My blood, my mana, my soul—I'll sacrifice all of it to forge a weapon with your life. Killing you outright would be a waste.
Hubert, do it.
Hubert bared his teeth and drove the Saintblood Stake hard into Vlad’s chest. The tip of the stake, stained with what looked like fresh blood, burst into blinding light as it touched Vlad’s body. Thanks to Hubert’s monstrous strength, the stake pierced Vlad’s chest with almost no resistance.
Instantly, white light erupted from Vlad’s eyes and mouth. The chains binding him constricted, his body dissolving into nothingness. In less than twenty seconds, Vlad and the Saintblood Stake vanished, leaving behind only a fist-sized orb of blood-red chains floating in the air.
The orb drifted into Hubert’s palm, transforming into a blood-red mark.
"Hubert, just place your hand on Slaughter."
Staring in surprise at his glowing right hand, Hubert pressed his palm to Slaughter’s surface. Instantly, the blood-red chains slowly merged into the weapon.
When the last chain disappeared, Slaughter’s surface was covered in intricate, eerie patterns. In that moment, the warhammer seemed to come alive—a heart beating within its core.
Vlad was utterly destroyed, but Hubert’s Slaughter had undergone a transformation—no longer just hard and heavy, it had become a true magical weapon with unique powers.
With Vlad gone for good, Leon felt his body return to his control. He straightened up, his gaze cold as he stared at the spot where Vlad had perished.
From the very beginning, Leon knew Vlad had set his sights on him. A level forty-seven vampire progenitor could track someone from dozens of kilometers away—there was never any hope of shaking him off.
[Irrelevant web message skipped.]
A frontal assault couldn’t kill a monster like Vlad, who was nearly immortal. The Saintblood Stake was a one-shot weapon—if it failed to pierce Vlad’s heart, it would be destroyed and useless.
No matter how powerful, spells were useless unless they could hit Vlad. Ninety-nine percent could be ignored outright; even those that might work couldn’t guarantee they’d affect him. Watching Vlad absorb a drop of blood, Leon suddenly recalled another legend.
Legend had it that during the Third Dynasty, a terrifying Sword Saint emerged from a remote village in the Odin Kingdom. He wielded a slender, blood-red sword, his hair and complexion as pale as a vampire’s.
With near-mad determination, the Sword Saint challenged his way from First Rank all the way to Sky Rank Five, then vanished without a trace—no one ever discovered where he went.
This man possessed an extraordinary gift—near immortality. No matter the wound, he recovered swiftly. As long as he fought, he would never die. Once, he angered a powerful faction and was hunted by a mob; even with his heart pierced, he slaughtered his pursuers and walked away unscathed.
The Pale Sword Saint’s legend lived on, enduring until Northend’s golden age, when mighty mages discovered his weapon in a conquered plane.