Chapter 75: Trade [2]
Velra paced restlessly, biting her nails as anxiety gnawed at her insides.
Just like that strange parasite had said, there was a hidden cellar deep in the forest—tucked behind thick overgrowth and masked with clever camouflage. A perfect hideout. Goblins had taken shelter there, cowering from the larger predators of the region.
They hadn’t lasted long.
Velra had torn through them swiftly, draining every last drop of blood from their scrawny, trembling bodies.
But as she stood there, her crimson-stained lips curling in frustration, she muttered under her breath, "Not enough..."
It was true.
Their blood was too weak, too diluted—barely enough to warm her core, let alone restore her power. Her limbs still felt heavy, her magic sluggish and unresponsive.
She needed more. Much more.
Normally, she wouldn’t hesitate to go on a rampage through nearby villages. A few humans, especially fresh ones, would do wonders for her recovery.
But she couldn’t.
Not now.
The parasite’s warning had been real—she could feel it in the air. Someone was hunting.
Specifically, the knight of the Draken Duchy. Their forces had mobilized. Her bat familiars, scattered across the forest canopy like silent sentinels, had already relayed the information back to her.
They were searching everywhere.
She gritted her teeth.
If she made one wrong move, they’d descend on her like hounds on a wounded deer.
"Damn it," she whispered.
She was strong. Far stronger than she had been in recent centuries. But not strong enough to take on a ducal knight in her current state. Not without risking everything.
Her claws clicked rhythmically against the damp stone wall of the cellar, a restless habit as she tried to rein in her racing thoughts.
She needed to think. To plan.
And most of all—she needed to survive. Just long enough to reclaim her full strength.
Because once she did...
No knight.
No duchy.
No Empire.
Nothing would be able to stop her.
But first, she needed help.
Her lips curled in frustration as she muttered to herself, "How long is that damn person going to keep me waiting?"
"You know," came a voice, smooth and calm, "the way you talk about me is starting to sound like I’m being taken for granted."
Velra froze. Her body stiffened, and she spun around, claws raised instinctively. Her golden eyes narrowed, scanning the shadows.
He was there—leaning casually against the crumbling stone archway of the cellar’s entrance, arms crossed, a faint smirk playing on his lips.
Her brow furrowed. "I set up protective circles. You shouldn’t be able to get in without triggering—"
"I noticed," he said with a shrug. "They were annoying, so I turned them off."
Velra’s eyes flashed with anger. "Are you insane? Do you have any idea how much magical energy those took to create?"
"They weren’t exactly subtle," he said with a lazy grin. "More like a loud sign screaming, ’Important person hiding here!’ I did you a favor."
She let out a growl, low and guttural. "You arrogant—"
"Careful," he interrupted, holding up a finger. "You wouldn’t want to strain yourself. You’re still running on fumes."
Velra bared her fangs, but said nothing. He wasn’t wrong.
Still, the way he strolled into her space —unbothered—set her on edge. He always did. There was something off about him. Not quite friend. Not quite foe.
"I know that you want a blood badly. So, I event on my way to collect the blood for. You should be greatfull."
Velra bared her fangs as her pupil started to glow in blood red.
"Be careful with your words, Parasite. You’re speaking to a noble vampire. One wrong syllable, and I’ll carve it off your tongue."
The air thickened with tension, as if the shadows themselves held their breath.
The man—no, the thing —just smiled.
"Oh, Velra," he drawled, stepping forward, his boots echoing faintly against the damp stone floor. "Is that any way to talk to your only ally in this world?"
Velra didn’t back down. Her eyes blazed like twin rubies, and veins of dark magic pulsed beneath her pale skin. Her fangs peeked from beneath parted lips, her entire body taut like a coiled spring.
"I don’t recall ever calling you that."
"No," he said, voice low and steady. "But you will. Eventually."
A bitter laugh escaped her throat. "Confident for a leech who only talks in riddles and half-truths."
"I talk in survival, Velra. Yours," he said calmly, pulling a large glass jar from his dimensional ring and placing it gently on the ground.
"I brought blood—from deer, bears, hyenas, even crows. All carefully sorted. This should keep your hunger at bay for a while."
Velra’s eyes widened. Her throat tightened as she instinctively swallowed, mesmerized by the sheer amount of crimson liquid inside the jars. Compared to the scraps she used to get through her bat minions, this was a feast.
More than a feast.
With this, she could recover her strength in no time.
"How... how did you get so much of it?" she asked, her voice low, almost hesitant.
He gave a small, almost smug smile. "Well, despite how I might look, I hold a fairly high position among humans. A little request here and there, and voilà—easy as pie."
A demon casually asking humans for "favors"?
The thought alone made her stomach twist. It was a stark reminder of how deep he’d embedded himself into human society—how well he’d adapted, manipulated, thrived.
He is true Parasite demon to the core.
"...Thank you," she said at last, carefully choosing her words. "This will help. A lot."
"Thankful?" he raised an eyebrow. "Come on, Velra. We both know it’s just a trade."
He spoke lightly, but there was a sharp edge beneath his tone.
Without missing a beat, he continued, "Remember what I asked you last time? I told you to use your bat minions to find someone for me—a human."
He looked her straight in the eyes now, his expression cooling.
"His name was Bjorn the Butcher."
Velra’s gaze darkened.
She remembered.
She hadn’t forgotten that name.