Chapter 126: The Might of Dracula

Michael sprang to his feet with lightning speed, his clawed hand lunging toward Dracula’s face.

In an instant, Dracula dissolved into a swirling cloud of gray mist, vanishing from where he stood and evading Michael’s strike. He retreated to a distance, wary of another sudden assault.

“We are of the same kind—how can you not see that?” Dracula’s voice was calm yet insistent.

Michael glanced down at the girl beneath him.

Her scent was pure, her complexion untainted; she was no vampire.

Another girl nearby trembled, her legs weak with fear, eyes wide and panicked.

“Who is she?” Michael demanded.

“She’s Annie, a servant I hired—trained in a large corporation,” Dracula replied.

Though women were often brought to Dracula, they were typically disreputable barflies, far from pure and untouched.

As a refined old nobleman, Dracula would never keep such women close. He required those who understood etiquette and propriety to serve him—this was the hallmark of aristocratic living.

Michael looked at the servant girl with a trace of pity, producing a vial of regenerative serum and injecting it into her.

Dracula watched as the girl rapidly recovered, then said regretfully, “I thought you might have given her the First Embrace.”

“The First Embrace?” Michael asked coldly.

“It’s simple,” Dracula explained. “Through specific dark magic and one’s blood, she’s reborn.”

Michael sneered and set the girl down.

Dracula studied the girl for a moment before remarking, “How strange—there’s no bloodline virus in your fangs.”

Humans bitten by vampires are infected with the bloodline virus, transformed into blood thralls—rabid, mindless beasts who obey their vampire masters without question.

“You truly are different,” Dracula said, fixing Michael with a deep, piercing gaze.

Michael moved to the wall, drawing his sword once more.

“Ready to say your last words?” he challenged.

Dracula shook his head helplessly. “I told you—you cannot kill me.”

In the next instant, Michael teleported before Dracula and thrust the sword toward his heart.

With a soft *pshht*, the blade pierced Dracula’s heart, but immediately hissed as if immersed in acid, white smoke rising from the wound.

Part of the sword inside Dracula’s body had corroded away.

Moreover, no blood flowed from the wound—it sealed swiftly and cleanly.

Dracula pulled back his shirt to show Michael, saying, “See? It’s useless. Even I don’t know how to kill myself.”

Dracula wasn’t unkillable—he could die—but not completely. He could always resurrect.

Michael said nothing in reply. He drew another sword and swung it toward Dracula’s head.

Dracula turned to smoke, dispersing into the air, then reappeared by the wall, drawing a silvered sword.

“Why are you so stubborn?” Dracula asked.

Though he couldn’t be killed, a strike from the sword still stung.

Michael answered with another powerful swing.

Dracula blocked the blow with ease, speaking calmly, “Why can’t you accept who you really are? We could be friends.”

“What kind of friend betrays their own?” Michael retorted.

Feigning offense, Dracula said, “How have I betrayed you? I only want you to recognize your true nature.”

Michael sneered and summoned telekinetic force, slamming it toward Dracula, intending to crush him into pulp.

Dracula transformed into a swarm of bats, scattering in all directions. Some bats were swatted down by Michael, dissipating into blood mist.

The remaining bats regrouped, reforming into Dracula’s figure.

He still wore his elegant old-fashioned tailcoat suit, but now with a high-collared cloak—its interior a deep crimson like fresh blood, the exterior black.

His face had grown pale, eyes glowing a fierce red, fangs bared—gone was his previous elegance.

The blood mist of the bats Michael had struck coalesced into a small red bat, which returned to Dracula’s body.

Michael was stunned. How was this possible?

The bats Dracula transformed into were part of his body. Michael had thought killing the bats would weaken Dracula, but he simply absorbed them back.

What was this—energy conservation in action?

“You’re making me very angry,” Dracula hissed as he lunged at Michael, expertly thrusting his rapier.

Michael was forced onto the defensive, surprisingly overwhelmed.

Dracula’s strikes flowed with effortless grace, like a master teaching a lesson.

Gradually, wounds began to appear on Michael’s body.

Though Dracula couldn’t match Michael’s strength, their skill gap was vast.

As long as Dracula’s composure held, Michael could gain no advantage.

“What can I say to you, Michael? I’m doing this for your own good,” Dracula said with a sigh.

Hearing this elder’s misguided concern, Michael felt a wave of nausea.

“Just die already,” he spat, abandoning defense to thrust his sword toward Dracula’s face.

Dracula tilted his head with elegant ease, dodging the attack, then parried Michael’s blade.

He continued his verbal assault.

“Why can’t you understand? What’s the point of deceiving yourself? You’ve become what you are—accept it rather than suppress your desires.”

“Do you realize how dangerous it is to cover a volcano ready to erupt? Some things you just have to get used to.”

“By the way, how does the taste of blood strike you? This one was pure—a virgin. I had hoped to savor her myself.”

“Shut up.”

Michael invoked the Aegon Form, creating numerous illusions of himself, all stabbing toward Dracula.

In an instant, Dracula was pierced through and through, surrounded by countless Michaels, one blade even passing through his skull.

“Ahhh!” Dracula roared and transformed into countless small bats, scattering in every direction. These bats shattered Michael’s illusions upon contact.

This was the weakness of the Aegon Form—the illusions were fragile and shattered at the slightest touch.

Seeing this, Dracula wasted no time and obliterated all of Michael’s clones.

Then, the swarm of bats merged back into one, and Dracula reappeared behind Michael.

Without hesitation, Michael swung his sword and teleported behind Dracula.

Dracula vanished into smoke and reappeared behind Michael.

In doing so, he not only avoided Michael’s attack but gained a tactical advantage.

Coming up behind Michael, Dracula slashed mercilessly.

“Ah!” Michael screamed in pain, forcing a retreat.

The wound in his back was deep enough to see bone, yet it healed visibly and rapidly.

Dracula’s recovery was even more extraordinary; his body, riddled with wounds, was fully restored in moments.

Michael guarded himself warily.

This was undoubtedly the most formidable opponent he’d ever faced. Though not as powerful, Dracula’s astonishing regeneration made him a nightmare.

Michael now understood how Electric Whip felt when shooting at that little pest.

Dracula greedily licked the blood from his sword’s tip and said, “What a wonderful flavor—I’m growing fond of you. If only you were a girl.”