Slime True Immortal

The Dark Realm, Evernight Domain.

In this silent world without distinction between day and night, many people who seem dead but are still alive lie buried deep within.

Although their initial identities varied—nobles, commoners, warriors, scholars... after undergoing "Sublimation," they all share only one common name—Vampires.

"Blood Clan" is the title they use to flaunt themselves, carrying an air of nobility and solitude.

But among those who fear and despise them, the more derogatory common term circulating is "Vampire" or "Ghoul."

Ever since the mysterious mage named Salacha secretly took over this ancient castle and gradually became the de facto ruler of the Dark Realm, those traditionalist old-school Blood Clan nobles, clinging to their pride, have collectively "buried" themselves in the lifeless cemetery surrounding the castle's periphery.

They escape this new era they cannot comprehend nor control through long slumber.

The ancient castle is no longer as bustling as before.

But in the last few days, this silent castle has quietly undergone some changes.

Someone presumptuously visited these nobles, whether slumbering or still walking the castle halls. In just two or three days, the castle has visibly "come alive." In the shadowy corridors, empty halls, and even on the semi-circular balconies that never see sunlight, one can hear the hushed conversations of the Blood Clan.

"Viscount George, is there any more of that green blood from yesterday? I think... that Viscount would be very interested."

On a semi-circular balcony of the castle, a blond nobleman inquired in a low voice, his tone carrying a hint of urgency.

It was simply too astonishing.

As a vampire who had lived for nearly a century, Niles considered himself to have tasted countless delicacies and fine wines. He had even been fortunate enough to drink the blazing hot blood of a giant.

But he never imagined that, even now in this nearly eternal, numb existence, there could be a type of "blood" that could give him such a powerful shock.

That cool, smooth texture, that life energy that seemed able to nourish his long-dried soul essence, that unique and intoxicating flavor... all of this made his heart, silent for too long, tremble with excitement once more.

For a moment, he even experienced the vivid sensation of being alive again, something only the living possess.

The vampire named George showed a rather troubled expression. He cautiously glanced around, lowering his voice even further. "Mr. Niles, you should know how popular this Life's Blood is within the castle. Some of the old ones are even willing to wait for it, not returning to their coffins..."

Niles' breathing became rapid, and he immediately declared, "I have gold coins, quite a few gold coins. Are fifty gold coins enough? If not, I'll go find more. Grandmother still has some."

George helplessly patted his shoulder, his tone tinged with sympathy. "Regrettably, my dear Niles, just yesterday, your grandmother, the esteemed Lady Margaret, spent almost all of her savings to reserve several future batches of 'Life's Blood.'"

Seeing Niles' face instantly fall, he changed his tone and whispered, "If you are truly in urgent need, perhaps you could try queuing to reserve the next batch, though the wait might be a bit long..."

"Good! Good! I'll reserve it! I'll reserve it now!" Niles, as if grabbing a lifeline, nodded hurriedly, afraid that being a second too slow would make him lose this precious opportunity.

Similar private transactions were quietly occurring in various large and small shadowy corners throughout the castle.

A mysterious green gel called "Life's Blood," as if possessing magic, rapidly became popular within the small circles of vampire nobles, becoming a harder currency more sought-after than Virgin Blood.

"Tap, tap, tap..."

The crisp, rhythmic sound of shoe soles hitting the stone floor echoed in the castle's main corridor.

A young man wearing a dark apprentice mage robe, with a purple crystal pendant symbolizing night and secrecy hanging around his neck, emerged.

It was none other than Salacha's apprentice, Dunlan.

Dunlan keenly sensed the subtle change in the castle's atmosphere.

He deliberately slowed his pace, his eyes sweeping every corner. His gaze lingered on the vampire nobles huddled together whispering, who fell silent the moment they saw him pass by. His brow furrowed slightly.

"Ahem, greetings, Mr. Dunlan," the vampire noble hurriedly bowed.

Dunlan merely gave a light "Hmm" before leaving.

Only after his figure was completely swallowed by the darkness at the corridor's end did he cross a narrow stone bridge connecting to the main keep and enter the high tower standing independently on the cliff.

"Hum..."

As he stepped inside, the dark blue magic lamps embedded in the walls lit up in sequence, their cold light guiding him up the spiral stone staircase.

Finally, he arrived before a seemingly ordinary, heavy wooden door.

Dunlan took a deep breath, raised his hand, and gently knocked on the door with his knuckles, speaking respectfully, "Teacher, it is Dunlan. May I inquire if you have returned?"

Dunlan stood silently waiting outside the door for a moment. The only response was the door's own silence and the magical hum emanating from the stone walls.

Just as he thought his teacher wasn't there and was about to turn and leave...

"Creeeak..."

The heavy wooden door automatically swung inward a crack. Surging black mist, like living tentacles, extended out and gradually swallowed him.

Dunlan only felt his vision go dark, followed by a dizzying sensation of weightlessness.

By the time he regained his senses and steadied himself, he found he was no longer inside the high tower, but in an ancient, dilapidated academy lecture hall.

On the simple stone podium at the front of the hall, a figure stood with its back to him.

The figure was indistinct and unstable, as if composed of flickering shadows and fragmented light. Its specific form was completely unclear. He could only feel a calm gaze fixed upon him.

Dunlan dared not be negligent and hurriedly bowed deeply.

Knowing his teacher's temperament—his greatest aversion being meaningless pleasantries and verbosity—he went straight to the point. "Reporting, Teacher. Viscount Casimir returned to the Evernight Domain the day before yesterday and brought back the response from the undead forces in the Eastern Swamp."

"They did not directly refuse your proposal, but... they set a condition."

"They demand that we first provide them with three thousand gold coins as 'assistance.'"

The indistinct figure on the podium remained silent, as if pondering, or perhaps simply indifferent.

After a long while, just as cold sweat began to bead on Dunlan's forehead, a voice devoid of any emotional fluctuation sounded in his mind.

"Granted."

Just one word.

The moment the voice fell, Dunlan felt his vision blur again. The surroundings of the ancient lecture hall receded like a tide.

He was back in front of that heavy wooden door, as if he had never left. Everything just now seemed like an illusion.

He looked down and saw that he was now holding a scroll imprinted with strange runes, though he didn't know when it had appeared.

Unfurling it, he was pleasantly surprised to find it was a new formula for a Bloody Scroll.

He hurriedly stored the scroll close to his body, then quickly descended the high tower's spiral staircase.