Chapter 149:

“Ah, Bataxin, as a merchant, this is where I started, and I’ve come back again.”

The carriage bearing the Count of Kadman’s crest slowly approached the city whose silhouette had already appeared. Inside the carriage, Blanche Palen Fedo looked ahead at the not-so-impressive scenery with profound sentiment.

Although it had only been a little over two months since her last visit to this small border city of Transia, it seemed like a lifetime ago.

The ups and downs of life had made this shrewd and capable businesswoman as melancholic as a rich young lady, lamenting the changing seasons. However, born in the bitter cold of the Ice Bay region and raised amidst migration and hardship, she quickly regained her composure and focused on the important task at hand.

Here, she had to reach a series of preliminary agreements with the smuggler merchants from the north and ultimately facilitate a major deal between the Count and the occupying Winter Wolf Army of Nordtov.

This business activity would directly determine whether the Count of Kadman’s territory could survive the coming winter and her own prospects under the Count’s command.

Although nearing forty, Palen’s ambition had been reignited by Murphy’s “evil secret arts.”

As a pure-blooded Nord, barring illness or injury, she could live up to 140 years. She hoped to possess everything she had yearned for in her youth by the age of eighty and leave enough wealth for her two blossoming daughters to change their class and lives before her decline.

With forty years left, perhaps she could try her best to make up for her unremarkable first half of life!

“I need to meet old Berthed first, and then through his introduction, meet the person behind his little trading company. Probably not a big shot, maybe just a minor official with some authority in Nordtov’s border army.

But through this connection, I might be able to reach the occupying army at Fort Crimea, and then hurry to the Baroness of Shadows’ territory to complete the mine deal.

If all goes well, it should take about a month and a half.

By then, it will be the beginning of deep autumn, and large quantities of grain can be steadily brought back.”

Inside the carriage, the businesswoman twisted the knight’s insignia ring on her finger, her sharp mind belying her stout figure as she repeatedly contemplated her next moves. Thirty minutes later, the caravan entered this lively, albeit small, border city.

The city of Bataxin was once a small town within the Portia Federation, but its location was crucial.

To the east lay the fertile Kafhoka Plains, two days’ journey north through the Count of Seicob’s territory would reach the Ice Bay border, and heading south led to the Count of Kadman’s lands.

This small city was the intersection of these three regions and had been an important trading hub in the Transia area for over a hundred years, especially for merchants from the north, who often completed most of their business here.

Although not large, due to its geographical importance, the Blood Vulture Clan had stationed a contingent of armed Blood Servants and a few elite vampires here year-round.

Unfortunately, during the Ten-Year War, the Blood Servant army stationed here had been sent to the battlefront east of the Kafhoka Plains, likely disarmed by the northerners.

“Let’s go to the ‘Horseshoe’ inn first to rest. I need to prepare for meeting the clients.”

Palen instructed her guard-cum-driver, and the caravan headed for the inn. A few minutes later, at the entrance of the ‘Horseshoe’ inn, with its simple yet imposing northern style, Palen handed over her “mission” to the count’s warriors who had escorted her.

She took out a bag of coins and thanked the leader, Meow King:

“Your performance along the way has been nothing short of perfect, highly professional, worthy of the count’s most valued warriors. When I establish the official merchant company for the count, I hope you will also participate in its security operations.”

“Yo, is this a hint that a merchant gameplay will be introduced in the future?”

Meow King blinked, his mind racing, then responded with a standard Blood Vulture salute to this stout middle-aged NPC lady:

“Of course, Madam Palen, we will devote everything to the great cause of the Count of Kadman. Please also be careful yourself. We will stay here for a day and a night. If you encounter any problems, you can contact us through the Computation Bead.

Your safety is an extremely important mission for us.”

“Very good, but I have many friends here too. In fact, my birthplace is not far from here. Alas, the war has already reduced my hometown in the Ice Bay to rubble.”

The talkative businesswoman laughed heartily, then said with a wistful expression before bidding farewell to the players and entering the inn run by a distant uncle from her birth village.

The players did not go in, as their escort mission was over, but they had a more important task to do.

“Here, a total of 5 Portia gold coins and 78 silver coins. Let’s split it up.”

Meow King tossed the money bag to Don’t Need Hands to Show Off.

This veteran was the team’s professional accountant, able to divide the rewards evenly with hardly any calculation. Seeing the trembling coins in his hand, Leading Pigeon couldn’t help but complain:

“We didn’t realize it wandering those ruins earlier, but the money in this game is quite valuable. Just two days of work, and we only earn a few dozen measly silver coins. Damn, back at the ruined frontline, an apple cost five silver coins!

I think those cunning NPCs might have ripped us off.”

“It’s normal. Back then, we had money but nowhere to spend it, so how would we know the exchange rates?”

Lumina put away her reward, recalling how she had spent 10 gold coins on a white wooden gun, instantly feeling ashamed of her extravagance.

“Let’s find a place to eat something good today.”

“Five and a half hours until sunset. We’ll set out at dusk.”

Murphy waved his hand, addressing the eight vampires behind him:

“Free activity for now, rest a bit. The vampires near Bataxin have gathered here. Even from this distance, I can sense at least 70 kin slumbering within, and there are a few scents not belonging to the Blood Vulture Clan.”

He tossed the remaining vampire-killer sword oil from the last battle to Lady Adele and Maxim, then loaded arrows soaked in daylight potions into the bolt case of his bodyguard’s hand crossbow. Finally, he patted the magic sword at his waist.

The Count of Kadman tugged his crimson cloak and said in a low voice, “Hmm, tonight the demon blade shall feast greatly on delicious blood and regain its power. My friends, as the first battle for the new Blood Vultures, I expect a proper performance from you when the time comes!”

——

At dusk, nearing evening, a caravan of two carriages approached Bataxin from the direction of the Kafhoka Plains.

The drivers were armed Blood Servants, and outside the caravan was an escort of 20 cuirassiers made up of Blood Servants, a formation clearly indicating the presence of a traveling vampire.

In the second carriage sat an exquisite black frostwood coffin, exuding a faint, pleasant scent.

However, its occupant had chosen not to slumber at dusk. Instead, seated amidst black velvet chairs in the carriage, he held a golden book of poetry, reading while allowing the no-longer-scorching evening sunlight to spill through the gaps in the curtains onto this gloomy place.

It was the “Prince” who had contacted the Thorn vampire Vesta the previous night.

He appeared thin and tall, his golden hair combed in a mature style, but his stern face still bore a touch of “youthful petulance.”

He did not seem too old in age.

And while his handsomeness could not be compared to Lord Murphy’s, his well-defined features and an inimitable “dignity” gave him a sort of puppy-like beauty.

His Thorn Knight’s light armor differed from other Thorn vampires as well.

Not only was it emblazoned with the Thorn Clan’s crest, but it also bore a shield-shaped white wolf mountain badge, representing another identity beyond that of a vampire.

The Count of White Mountain, leader of the White Mountain Faction.

“Bang!”

A loud explosion came from ahead, causing the approaching carriages to halt.

The surrounding riders formed a well-trained escort formation, while the “Prince,” whose poetic musings had been interrupted, furrowed his brow and asked using ventriloquism, “What happened up ahead?”

“An explosion, Your Highness. There has been an explosion in Bataxin, and clearly not the first. Many places in the city are emitting smoke, a battle is taking place there! Additionally, we’ve lost communication with Vesta. Your attendant may be in trouble.”

The vampire scout in the lead carriage immediately responded, displeasing the Prince, who disliked tardiness and accidents.

He placed his hand on the ash-gold noble’s sword at his waist, visible icy mist emanating from his fingers.

He said, “Then why are you just standing there? Should we not go and assist our clan members in danger? Vesta has served me for sixteen years, he should not meet such an end.”

“But Your Highness, your safety...”

“The battlefield lies before me. Are you suggesting I flee in cowardice from the lands where my ancestors fought?”

“No, Your Highness!”

Seconds later, the two carriages and surrounding mounted escort accelerated towards Bataxin. At the same time, inside the Thorn Clan’s liaison residence within the town, Maxim dragged the Thorn vampire Vesta, whose eyes had been pecked out by the Blood Vulture Spirit and whose legs had been torn off by an Astral Direwolf, like a dead dog before Murphy.

The Count of Kadman sat on the only intact chair in the room, leaning on his demon blade with a vampire’s masquerade mask covering his eyes and hooked on the bridge of his nose. His crimson eyes stared at the agonized yet stubbornly silent outsider kin before him.

After a few seconds of observation, he said, “Well then, speak, uninvited guest of the Thorn Clan. What business does your hand have in the Blood Vulture Clan’s territory by trespassing here?”

“You’re insane!” The wretched vampire Vesta groaned through his pain. “There are only a few of you, but over seventy vampires in this city! You’re dead for sure!”

“Only 53 left now,” Murphy corrected mildly. “My warriors, blessed by the blazing sun, hunt traitors far faster than you imagine. I must admit with pride and anticipation that they have proven themselves qualified vampire hunters! And before Night Mother’s power descends, they shall have even more astonishing prey.”

“But I suppose these things no longer concern you, outsider. For the last time, calmly, what business do you uncouth northerners have here?”

“Release him!” A chilling rebuke cut off the interrogation as a figure burst through the door.

Murphy’s gaze fell upon the newcomer, noting the distinctive crest on his person. Cross-referencing with his heraldic knowledge, he recognized the other’s identity.

Rising, sword in one hand and the other brushing his shoulder, he bowed elegantly to the arrival and said, “Ah, another uninvited guest. I salute you, one vampire count to another. But for you to enter my domain with a drawn blade is most unbecoming. I give you three seconds to discard it... It seems you do not intend to end this conflict gracefully.

Excellent!

Then allow me to witness the prowess of the Thorn Clan.”