"Lords enjoy the right to be supported by their subjects, but at the same time, they must shoulder the duty to protect their people from all evildoers."
In this perilous world, although humanity occupied the central and most fertile part of the continent, they were constantly under the watchful eyes of various other races surrounding them.
Therefore, at the founding of the Glorious Empire, a law known as the Lord's Decree was established, clearly defining the rights and responsibilities of the nobility.
According to this law, nobles who lost their lands would be stripped of their titles.
Sir Carter was one such victim of the law.
His family lost their noble title after their territory was overrun by trolls.
As a result, Carter became a landless knight.
Without the support of a fief, his life had become wretched—so much so that he could barely afford to maintain his armor and weapons.
Fortunately, Baron Anglia took him in.
In return, Carter pledged his loyalty to the Anglia family.
But evidently, that loyalty didn't hold up under pressure.
Because just moments ago, Sir Carter had personally stabbed a dagger into the chest of Baron Anglia's son.
Twice.
Looking at Collin's body, guilt flickered briefly in Carter's eyes—but it was quickly replaced by steely resolve.
Thinking of the promises made to him, Carter believed that the revival of his family was now within reach.
However, just as he stood from the bed and prepared to sneak away, he suddenly froze.
Spinning around, all he saw was a flash of cold light hurtling toward him!
"Schlk!"
A sharp pain erupted from his chest, and he let out a low growl of agony.
But the physical pain was nothing compared to the terror in his heart—Collin, who should have been dead, was alive!
Was he a demon?
In a panic, Carter instinctively raised the dagger he hadn't yet put away and drove it forward again.
"Ah!"
A low grunt came from the other side, followed by Collin's clenched-teeth laughter. "Hurts, doesn't it? You bastard—stabbed me twice! No, wait—three times!"
"You… you…" Carter felt his strength rapidly draining, his vision going blurry.
"Speak! Who sent you!?"
But before Collin could get any answers, Carter's body collapsed, blood gushing uncontrollably from his mouth.
Collin leaned in close, only to hear Carter's final breath: "M-monster…"
That's it? He's dead?
So fragile!
Staring at the lifeless body, Collin felt a twinge of regret—he should've avoided the vital points.
Now the only lead was gone.
Looking down at the bloody corpse, Collin took a few breaths to steady himself—but he wasn't particularly shaken.
For one, it was self-defense—nothing to feel guilty about.
Secondly, this wasn't technically his first kill.
Well, not his as in the soul of Collin from his past life, who was a law-abiding civilian that had never even been in a proper fight. But the body he now inhabited had seen war and carnage—the memories contained scenes far bloodier than this.
After the memories merged, such situations no longer fazed him.
Fwoosh. The candle on the desk was lit once again.
Collin unrolled the parchment and jotted down:
"Stabbing the heart or throat is no longer fatal."
Recalling that vampires were said to fear silver, he added:
"Only applies to ordinary weapons—silver weapons need testing…"
Then Collin frowned—how was he supposed to test that?
He couldn't just stab himself with a silver blade, could he?
What if that did kill him?
But then it hit him—who in their right mind would use silver to forge weapons?
Unless he exposed this specific weakness, it was unlikely anyone would go out of their way to create silver weapons just to kill him.
So he dropped the thought.
Putting down the quill, Collin picked up the wine goblet and walked back to Carter's body.
"Plop."
He pulled the dagger from the corpse's chest. Blood gushed out in steady streams.
With a calm expression, Collin held the goblet beneath the wound.
Under the flickering candlelight, his pale face and the scent of blood in the air created a chilling and eerie scene.
"Gulp, gulp…"
He took a small sip.
Sweet.
Collin smacked his lips, slightly unsatisfied.
He then closed his eyes and focused on the changes in his body—there didn't seem to be much difference from when he drank deer blood.
Aside from a faint sensation of warmth.
He assumed it was from the earlier fight and didn't pay it much mind.
Better stick with animal blood going forward.
He still had a psychological block about drinking human blood. And if there was no noticeable benefit, there was no reason to torment himself.
Setting down the bloodstained cup, Collin looked at the corpse in front of him and frowned.
Though he had taken care of the assassin, he knew Carter was just a pawn.
The real mastermind was still at large.
It was obvious—Carter had nothing to gain from killing him, aside from being hunted down by the Anglia family. And there was no personal grudge between them.
So someone had paid a hefty price to have him assassinated.
But who?
He searched the memories of this body but found no obvious suspects.
Too few clues.
This feeling—being exposed while the enemy lurked in the shadows—was deeply unsettling.
And if they could bribe Carter, they could likely buy off others too.
Was the butler, Eamon, involved?
Who else?
The more he thought about it, the more Collin realized: Graykeep Castle was now a dangerous place.
Especially with Baron Anglia away at war.
He had no desire to deal with wave after wave of assassins. He still wasn't certain he was truly immortal.
Sure, this body didn't seem to have a fatal weak point, but if someone cut off his head—could he really grow it back?
And even if he couldn't die, if that secret got out, life would become a nightmare.
As he stared into the flickering candlelight, Collin gradually made up his mind…
Two or three hours before dawn—when people slept the soundest.
Even the guards on duty were starting to nod off.
Until a shriek tore through the quiet: "Fire! Fire!"
Graykeep Castle exploded into chaos. Panic-stricken servants and guards rushed toward Collin's quarters with buckets of water, trying to extinguish the raging blaze.
Meanwhile, the real Collin quietly slipped out of a window on the opposite side of the castle, rolled to his feet, and disappeared into the shadows.
Suddenly, he froze, right hand on the hilt of his sword.
A rustle in the bushes.
Out popped… a kitten.
"Meow—" The kitten seemed to recognize the foolish human who had lost to it earlier that day and lifted its head arrogantly.
Collin let out a breath and grabbed it by the scruff of the neck, holding it up in front of him with a grin.
"Heh. Since you've found me, guess you're coming along."
"Meow—"
"Perfect. You can be my mobile blood pouch."
"Meow?"