There was no way Qin Ming would ever take orders from some Western Grim Reaper. Not to mention his boss was the Nightmare Space, whose power was definitely above that of this reaper.
Even setting that aside, the fact that Qin Ming was from the East and not the West was reason enough for him to resist to the end.
After all, if he were taken inside, and someone checked his "registration," they'd quickly realize he was undocumented—a total black-market vampire. He wasn't listed in anyone's vampire genealogy! What was he supposed to do then?
So even though, technically, they were on the same side, a fight still broke out between them.
And from the very first move, Qin Ming got a firsthand taste of just how terrifying the second-to-last boss of this place really was.
Just like Qin Ming, this guy could summon reinforcements! And not just any reinforcements—he brought out people Qin Ming had personally fought before!
The monsters that had once fallen to Qin Ming's hands were being summoned back by the skeletal reaper—resurrected like it was nothing!
The Demon Sword Knight. The Egyptian Pharaoh. Frankenstein. And even Count Dracula himself!
As dark mist rolled across the hall, one monster after another emerged from the fog, letting out sky-shaking howls the moment they appeared.
Dracula, especially, was the most vocal—his face twisted into a feral snarl the second he showed up.
"You damned walking bloodbags! You filthy livestock! How dare you kill a noble vampire count! You absolute—"
Halfway through his furious tirade, his voice cut off abruptly.
Dracula froze mid-sentence, his eyes wide, staring straight at Qin Ming with a stunned expression. Something felt very wrong.
He could vaguely sense that this old enemy of his… seemed to be radiating a pressure. An oppressive force that made his instincts scream.
But this pressure wasn't the kind that came from raw strength. It was far more direct… far more primal.
It was the pressure of bloodline suppression.
And the most absurd part was—this bloodline seemed to originate from the same lineage as his own!
This had to be a joke, right?! Every other high-ranking member of their bloodline had died out long ago! He was the sole remaining pureblood!
So how could this man possess a stronger version of their own bloodline?!
Staring blankly at Qin Ming, Dracula's mind was in complete chaos.
Meanwhile, Qin Ming—who had enhanced Dracula's vampire bloodline through his own talents and had already surpassed the original count—also sensed something from the other side.
He could feel a familiar energy pulsing faintly from Dracula's body.
It was the power of someone from a lower tier of his own bloodline.
Qin Ming's brow furrowed. As he lifted his hand and made a grasping motion, a startling scene unfolded—thick clouds of blood mist began pouring out of Dracula's body uncontrollably!
Right before Dracula's disbelieving eyes, the blood streamed into Qin Ming's palm and coalesced into a swirling crimson orb.
Bloodline suppression—and not just any suppression—this was the most direct, most absolute kind.
Among vampires, it wasn't just a matter of passing down a legacy. Their hierarchy was built into the blood itself—rank meant everything.
A lower-tier vampire born directly from a higher bloodline was nothing more than a servant in front of their superior.
A vampire created by a high-ranking blood descendant held no resistance whatsoever when facing their creator. If the superior wanted them dead, they died—simple as that.
After all, the blood running through their veins belonged entirely to their master.
This unshakable hierarchy made vampires both fiercely loyal and fundamentally disloyal.
Loyal—because they didn't dare rebel. Their life and death were controlled completely by their superior.
Their disloyalty stemmed from a deep fear of having their life and death controlled by someone else. While they didn't dare openly defy their superiors, they could and would collude with outsiders to betray them.
As long as their direct superior died, they'd be free! That was precisely why nearly all the high-ranking vampires had been wiped out—most had been taken down through internal betrayal and external ambushes.
Under normal circumstances, Qin Ming—having fused with Dracula's bloodline—should have been the lower-tier vampire. Even if their bloodlines were equal, Dracula would still have the advantage, since the blood came from him originally.
But now, after Qin Ming's bloodline had evolved and broken through to the next level, Dracula, who was supposed to be the supreme within this lineage, had somehow become the subordinate!
Watching helplessly as his blood was siphoned out against his will, Count Dracula completely panicked. In that moment, he finally recognized Qin Ming's identity.
Someone of a higher tier in the same bloodline—a Vampire Marquis!
"Wait! Lord Marquis! Please don't kill me! We're on the same side!"
His voice cracking with fear, Dracula clutched his chest and bowed low in a panic.
The moment they saw this, the other resurrected monsters—who'd just been gearing up for battle—froze in their tracks.
Even the Egyptian Pharaoh, who technically wasn't Dracula's subordinate, halted immediately.
After all, he'd only just been brought back and was still in a weakened state. Without help, he had no chance of defeating Qin Ming on his own.
Seeing Dracula bow his head, Qin Ming narrowed his eyes slightly and finally released the blood he'd been controlling.
He watched as the swirling crimson mist rushed back into Dracula's body, reinflating his withered form until it was whole once more.
Qin Ming's expression remained stern as he strode forward, stopping directly in front of Count Dracula and gazing down at him.
Hearing footsteps draw near, Dracula's eye twitched uncontrollably. He stayed bent over, not daring to lift his head.
Beads of cold sweat began forming on his forehead.
In that instant, it was like he'd been transported back in time—to the day he was first chosen and blessed by his own master, a Vampire Marquis.
Back then, just newly turned, he'd felt exactly this nervous in front of his superior.
Swallowing hard, Dracula didn't even have time to think about how this human had suddenly become a vampire more advanced than he was, or why they shared the same bloodline.
Instead, he forced a fawning smile onto his face and cautiously looked up.
"Count Dracula of the vampire clan greets Lord Marquis. Please accept the respect and admiration of a fellow descendant of one of the Thirteen Blood Ancestors—the Corpse Hand bloodline!"
The Thirteen Blood Ancestors—legendary founders of the vampire race.
According to lore, these thirteen ancestors were the cursed children of Cain, the forsaken son of God, and each one corresponded to one of Jehovah's thirteen disciples.
Each Blood Ancestor had established their own faction. In truth, the vampire race was a loose alliance made up of these thirteen factions.
The Corpse Hand bloodline was one of them—symbolizing Cain's left hand and renowned for its mastery of blood manipulation.
Looking down at Dracula—who now wore a submissive smile, totally stripped of his former arrogance—Qin Ming remained expressionless.
After a brief silence, he gave a subtle nod.
Dracula instantly understood. Straightening up, he whirled around and pointed directly at the skeletal Grim Reaper.
"Attack! Kill him!!"
Faced with an overwhelming suppression from the higher bloodline—and knowing that if he actually tried to fight Qin Ming, he'd probably get drained dry before even lifting a finger—Count Dracula made a very decisive choice: he defected.
No—this wasn't defection!
He was simply answering the call of his superior! How could that be considered betrayal?
This was clearly a righteous realignment!
(End of Chapter)