In the dim, deserted dining hall, Colin carefully unbuttoned his shirt and examined the wound on his chest under the flickering candlelight.
The wound remained unhealed and untreated.
Yet, not a single drop of blood flowed.
Because now, he could control the blood in his body.
Perhaps this was one of the innate abilities of a vampire.
Colin pressed his fingers to either side of the wound and gently pulled.
"Hiss—" A sharp jolt of pain made him suck in a cold breath.
Oddly enough, he was pleased.
At least this proved that his nervous system was still functioning.
Which meant he wasn't that different from a normal human.
The wound stretched into a small opening, and through it, Colin could clearly see his own heart.
It wasn't beating.
Well, maybe he was a little different.
Colin sighed.
"Ahh…"
He released the edges of the wound, letting it slowly close again under the natural tension of his muscles.
No blood, no need for bandages.
He would simply observe how long it took to heal—if it could still heal at all.
To be honest, when he first awoke that morning and found a dagger buried in his chest, he had panicked.
At that moment, he thought he must be the most pathetic transmigrator in history—dead on arrival.
But then he discovered he couldn't die.
Even with a knife through the heart.
As for who had stabbed him—Colin had no idea.
He had inherited the memories of this body, but nowhere within them did he find any clue about who had wanted him dead.
Still, he had a few ideas about how to draw the hidden assassin out of the shadows.
That could wait.
For now, he was far more intrigued by his new, possibly vampiric body.
Buttoning his shirt back up, Colin turned his gaze to the last item on the dining table—garlic.
According to legend, vampires feared garlic.
Colin had never been a vampire expert back in his old world, and he certainly had no idea what "version" of vampire rules applied in this new one.
No choice but to experiment.
He sliced off a piece no bigger than an ant and cautiously placed it on his tongue.
"UURGH!"
Colin promptly vomited onto the floor.
So… vampires in this world hated garlic too.
"Young Master Colin, are you all right?" a maid outside the door rushed in at the sound.
"I'm fine… ugh!"
"You must be ill, my lord! I'll go fetch Father Miguel right away—"
"No!" Colin nearly jumped at the word priest, his voice sharp. "No need… I'm fine…"
"Really? But you've been so pale all day, and now you're—"
"I said no!" He clutched his stomach, fighting the urge to vomit again, and glared at the maid with fierce intensity.
Startled by the look in his eyes, the maid gave a nervous curtsy and retreated.
"Very well, my lord. Please rest well."
As the door shut behind her, Colin collapsed back into his chair, breathing heavily.
A vampire seeing a priest for medical attention?
Insane.
Even if the priests of this world didn't specifically counter vampires, Colin wasn't about to bet his life to find out.
Not yet.
Perhaps later, when he was better prepared, he might test the waters with the Church.
But not now.
After a while, Colin calmed himself and picked up the quill once more.
He scribbled onto the parchment:
Garlic causes vomiting upon ingestion.
Pausing to feel the changes in his body, he added:
Not fatal.
Frowning, Colin stared at the parchment.
Something wasn't right.
He looked again at the garlic on the table.
He'd only eaten a tiny piece…
Dosage.
A small amount might not kill him—but if he consumed too much…
His face turned slightly green at the thought.
He wasn't eager to find out.
Better to stay away from garlic altogether.
After a brief internal struggle, Colin decided to end this dangerous experiment.
He rolled up the parchment and tucked it away, then left the dining hall.
The maid waiting outside immediately bowed her head.
"Clean it up," Colin said, barely glancing at her. "And don't tell anyone about this."
"Yes, young master!"
Through the shadowy corridors, Colin returned to his bedroom.
It was still early. He sat at his desk.
An open book lay before him—The Annals of the Glorious Empire.
He had read it as a child, but most of the details had faded from memory.
Now, with his second chance at life, he intended to study it more thoroughly, hoping to find any trace of vampires in this world's history.
But it was futile.
There was no mention of vampires in the entire book.
Still, it wasn't a complete waste—he had at least refreshed his understanding of the human empire's history.
Over 1,500 years ago, a legendary paladin of the Radiant Lord named Ganna Lorenzo united the human realms and founded the Glorious Empire, becoming its first Emperor.
To defend the fledgling empire from foreign threats, Ganna appointed six paladins as dukes and stationed them across the realm, each charged with expanding and securing its borders.
After centuries of war and change, only four of those six dukes' lines remained.
Colin lived in the northern province governed by one of them—Duke Hild.
The north had once belonged to trolls, but the Hild family had driven them beyond the Skyfrost Wastes.
Still, the trolls had never abandoned hope of reclaiming the rich lands they lost.
Each year, they launched another southern campaign.
This year was no exception.
Colin's father, Baron Angreil, was currently on the front lines of that very war.
Night deepened. The candle on Colin's desk had been snuffed, and his room fell silent.
Only the soft sound of Colin's breathing and the distant hoot of an owl from beyond Greykeep broke the stillness.
When a bank of clouds drifted across the moon, a shadowy figure appeared at Colin's bedside without a sound.
He gazed down at the sleeping boy, his face briefly twisted in confusion.
He remembered clearly—last night, he had driven a dagger into Colin's chest.
Why wasn't he dead?
Puzzled, the figure didn't hesitate.
He drew another dagger in silence and positioned it over Colin's heart.
Then a thought struck him.
He'd once heard that, while most people's hearts were on the left, a rare few had theirs on the right.
Just in case, he shifted the blade slightly to the right.
Shlick!
The dagger plunged deep into Colin's chest.
The searing pain yanked Colin from his sleep. He tried to scream, but a large hand clamped tightly over his mouth.
"Mmph… mmph…!"
Colin's eyes widened in panic as he stared up at his attacker.
He recognized him.
Moments passed.
Colin's frantic struggles gradually weakened.
Still, the shadow didn't let down his guard.
Only after ten minutes did he remove his hand.
Then, with practiced ease, he withdrew the dagger from Colin's chest—and slashed once more across his throat.
There, he thought. That should do it.