The Warden of The Witches-Chapter 226:

Vampires possess exceptional night vision, and although the room was shrouded in dim light, the guest could still make out the figure before him.

Pale, bloodless skin, and dark red eyes...

"Another of our kind?" The guest furrowed his brow. "Is this gentleman here to 'share a table' with me?"

"Two of us at once? You're quite open-minded." Kyle waved dismissively with a grin. "But no thanks. With two appetites, the woman wouldn’t survive."

Coming to steal a meal—after a moment's thought, the guest opted to yield. "If you’re hungry, I’ll leave this prey to you. Think of it as a goodwill gesture."

He wasn’t sure when the other had appeared at the windowsill, but he suspected this newcomer held a significant title, perhaps not someone to engage lightly. Starting a conflict recklessly wouldn’t be wise.

"Ah, that won’t be necessary. I’ve quited on human blood," Kyle raised his hand.

"Quit?" The guest was taken aback.

"Yes, yes." Kyle tugged down his collar slightly, revealing a band of runes encircling his neck. "The Inquisition is strict nowadays. Every registered vampire has to wear one of these. With this thing, a sip of human blood will hurt enough to knock you out."

The guest immediately recognized the specialized runes, used by the Inquisition to suppress vampires’ bloodlust. Within vampire circles, these were mockingly referred to as "dog collars."

So he’s just a low-tier vampire shackled with a "collar"—relief washed over the guest as a hint of disdain crept into his mind.

Any Vampires with even a little bit of strength wouldn’t submit to the Inquisition’s control. Among vampires, those who voluntarily donned the “dog collar” found themselves at the bottom of the hierarchy.

“If you can’t drink human blood, then why disturb my meal?” The guest’s tone turned cold.

“I told you, dining here will cause trouble for others,” Kyle smile didn’t waver, seemingly unfazed by the shift in the guest’s attitude.

“For whom? Her?” The guest cast a glance at the dazed woman in his arms. “When did predators need to care about the feelings of prey?”

“I meant you’ll be causing trouble for me. I’m registered with the Inquisition. If they find out you’ve been feeding in this city, they’ll undoubtedly drag me in for questioning.” Kyle spread his hands. “So I don’t have much choice but to step in.”

“This isn’t your business to meddle in.” The guest’s patience was exhausted. “If you don’t want to die, vanish—coward!”

“Bold words. What’s your title? Care to enlighten me?” Kyle asked, still smiling as he spread his hands.

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“...Count,” the guest muttered after a moment, lowering his voice.

“Pathetic,” Kyle continued to smile.

Doubt flickered in the guest’s mind. Was this man’s confidence born of a higher bloodline, or was he bluffing?

As he hesitated, Kyle casually stepped off the windowsill and slowly approached him.

“Will you surrender willingly…” Kyle spread his arms, “…or should I make you?”

Unable to bear the provocation, the guest flung the woman forward, then swiftly slashed his own wrist with his fingertips.

Blood gushed forth, then coalesced into a crimson dagger in his hand.

Kyle caught the woman and pushed her toward the bed. At that moment, the guest had already thrown the dagger directly at Kyle heart. With no chance to dodge—the blood-magic-accelerated dagger moved faster than a speeding arrow, too swift for even an afterimage to follow!

The blood-formed dagger pierced Kyle clothing and drove straight through his chest without resistance. A cold smirk appeared on the vampire count's lips. A pierced heart was a severe injury for any vampire, and if it had been a weapon specially designed for hunting their kind, it would’ve been fatal.

Kyle eyes widened, and his hand reached toward the wound on his chest, as though he couldn’t believe what had happened.

The count was about to say something, but the next instant, his expression froze.

Kyle casually reached his entire hand into the hole in his chest as if there were nothing inside.

“Huh… can’t seem to find it… my heart.” Kyle feigned surprise, his eyes widening theatrically. Then he pulled his hand back out, while a cloud of gray mist swirled from behind him, gathering into his palm to form… a heart.

With a look of exaggerated delight, he exclaimed, “Ah, here it is!”

“You… you’re—” The count’s eyes went wide with shock.

“Surprised?” Kyle grinned. “Only those of a duke’s bloodline or higher have the ability to turn into mist. Must be a rare sight for you, right?”

Before the count could react, Kyle suddenly squeezed his heart. Scarlet blood gushed from the exposed veins, forming a long, whip-like line.

With a sharp flick, Kyle lashed the “blood whip” toward the count’s neck.

The whip sliced through the count’s neck effortlessly, like a hot knife through butter. The whip was sharper than any blade of steel.

The count’s head fell to the floor, and in that moment, he finally realized that his opponent’s bloodline was one he could never hope to challenge.

A vampire’s powers are entirely determined by their bloodline rank—a pure advantage of lineage!

Fortunately for him, a head wasn’t a critical point for a high-level vampire. He realized he needed to break his body down into bats and escape through the window—an ability exclusive to vampires of count rank and above!

"Don't even think about shifting. You’re not nearly as fast as I am, so don’t make me pierce your heart." Kyle voice cut through the air coldly, extinguishing his last hope of escape.

The count strained to turn his head, now rolling on the floor, toward his body, only to see that Kyle had transformed the sharp whip into a blood-forged bayonet, which was now pressed against his chest, ready to pierce his heart at any moment.

“No! I surrender!” the count shouted desperately.

“I appreciate people who know when to yield,” Kyle said with a smile. “Though I’d like you even more if you’d shown such sense from the start.”

“Who… who exactly are you…?” The count asked with awe.

“A prince,” Kyle replied, raising two fingers in a playful “V” gesture beside his monocle.

“Why would someone of your status… bow to the laws of mortals?” The count couldn’t comprehend it.

“That’s none of your concern. What matters is that you understand why I really sought you out.” Kyle smile deepened.

“The real reason?” The count froze, confused.

“I know you’re B-class fugitive Nosferatu, and I also know you’re a member of the Blood Moon Cult,” Kyle said slowly. “For the sake of your life, I suggest you answer me honestly… what are the Reapers cult planning to do in this city?”