Three years later…
He now had legs, sharp little fangs, a solid vocabulary, a reliable memory—
and a fully developed hatred for two things:
1. Spiral staircases.
2. His little brother.
…Well, half-brother, technically.
---
Jayden Seo, three years old (with all his teeth), stood on the inner balcony of the manor, arms crossed, face grim.
Below his feet, crimson silk carpets stretched across dozens of meters, and black marble columns echoed every movement with quiet elegance.
Behind him, elven servants whispered and kept their distance, as if he carried some invisible plague.
And in front of him... the enemy.
Or rather, the favorite.
> Lucien D. Iserath
Two years old. Son of Valemir and Lady Sereïs.
His mother? From House Bloodsilver, one of the most powerful elite vampire lineages.
His own mother? Vanished. Erased. Never mentioned. Too modest for the predator's banquet.
Jayden clenched his jaw.
Lucien babbled happily in the arms of a nursemaid, dressed in gold and white, showered in praise and affection like the family's crown jewel.
Jayden, meanwhile, wore a slightly oversized gray outfit, hand-stitched by a discreet servant.
He was allowed to dine with the household, yes...
At the cadets' table.
---
The Vampire from Downstairs
When Lucien was born, Jayden understood two things:
1. He wasn't the heir.
2. He would never be.
Lady Sereïs was beautiful, powerful, feared, adored. Her mere presence made three butlers step back without a word. Her bloodline carried centuries of magical dominance.
Jayden's mother, Eryne… had been exiled from the manor shortly after his birth. Given a pension. No explanation.
She hadn't even been allowed to say goodbye.
All he remembered was a soft scent, a pale face, and a whisper:
"I love you, little prince. Forgive me..."
And then, nothing.
---
Archeognosis and Loneliness
Luckily, he still had his brain.
And his rage.
While other noble children were learning blood magic and riding nocturnal beasts, Jayden stole grimoires, eavesdropped behind doors, and read in the dusty attic.
Thanks to Archeognosis, everything he read stuck.
Thanks to Sanguinomorphosis, every snack shared with a servant gave him a bit more—skills, memories, reflexes...
"You don't wanna teach me how to tie my boots? Fine. I'll drink your blood and learn anyway."
(Thoughts of Jayden, 2 years and 6 months old.)
And still, he kept it quiet.
Because he had learned a crucial truth:
"Nobles love lions when they're asleep. And they kill them the moment they growl."
---
The Duel That Wasn't
One evening, a reception was held in the great throne hall.
Valemir — father of both boys — sat on an obsidian throne, one hand resting on Sereïs' arm.
Jayden was summoned.
"Firstborn, approach."
"Lucien has begun instinctively controlling blood pressure. And you?"
Jayden stepped forward slowly. Each step echoed in the tense silence.
"I... can already form an essence spike."
He raised his hand. A slender needle of blood mana shimmered between his fingers.
Silence.
Lucien, curious, stretched out his tiny hand—
and formed a full sphere of swirling red plasma.
"Ohhh!" gasped the crowd.
"Good. One inherited subtlety. The other, raw power," Valemir declared.
"Which one survives… only time will tell."
And that was it. No praise. No encouragement.
Just a silent reminder that he was a backup plan.
Jayden swallowed his hate like bitter candy.
---
Epiphany (with profanity)
That night, lying on his stone bed, eyes locked on a ceiling carved with vampiric constellations, Jayden muttered:
"I'm gonna eat them all. Politely. Quietly. And when I rise… they'll wonder how I did it."
Then, louder, with a smirk:
"I might be the kitchen-born bastard… but I've got a brain and a library in my bloodstream."
"And the next time they compare me to Lucien the sponsored baby—"
He stopped.
Stared at the ceiling.
And finally said, honestly:
> "…I might actually have to become king, huh? Shit."
---