Chapter 234: GrandLord Dreath
The voice did not echo like the others.
It did not crash against the walls of the arena or ripple through the crowd in waves of sound.
It simply... existed.
Present.
Clear.
Impossible to ignore.
Every head turned at once.
Every gaze searched.
And then—
He was there.
No one saw him arrive.
No one felt the moment he stepped into their space.
He simply stood among them, as if he had always been there from the very beginning, as if time itself had bent to place him in that exact spot without warning.
A man.
At first glance, nothing extraordinary.
Tall, but not towering.
Lean, but not imposing.
His clothes were simple, dark, almost plain, lacking the grandeur that one would expect from a figure of power within a race like theirs.
Yet—
There was something wrong.
Something deeply unsettling.
Because despite his ordinary appearance, despite his calm posture, despite the faint curve of amusement at the corner of his lips—
No one could look away.
His presence did not demand attention.
It took it.
Effortlessly.
He glanced around slowly, his eyes moving from one face to another, lingering just long enough to make each person feel seen, examined, weighed.
Then—
He spoke again.
"What?"
His tone was light, almost playful, yet there was a faint edge beneath it, something that did not match the casual nature of his words.
"You all don’t recognize me?"
The question hung in the air.
Silence followed.
Not out of respect.
Not out of understanding.
But out of confusion.
The vampires stared.
Some frowned.
Some narrowed their eyes.
Some tried to recall.
Tried to match the face before them with something in their memory.
But—
Nothing came.
"...Who is that...?"
"...I’ve never seen him before..."
"...His aura..."
"...It feels..."
"...Strange..."
The murmurs began to rise, quiet at first, uncertain, cautious, as if no one wanted to be the first to speak too loudly in front of something they could not understand.
Lord Vord’s brows furrowed.
Elder Achilor’s gaze sharpened.
Both of them studied the man carefully, their instincts screaming that something was wrong, that this was not someone who should be dismissed, yet at the same time—
They could not place him.
"...Who are you?"
Lord Vord asked, his tone controlled, though a trace of tension had crept in.
The man blinked once.
Then—
He smiled.
Not warmly.
Not kindly.
But with something that bordered on disbelief.
"...Ah..."
He let out a soft breath, shaking his head slightly as if disappointed.
"...So it’s like this now..."
His eyes swept across the crowd again, slower this time, more deliberate, as if he was truly taking in the sight before him.
"...How long has it been..."
"...For my own kind to forget me..."
The murmurs grew louder.
Confusion turned into unease.
Because the way he spoke—
It did not sound like arrogance.
It did not sound like a lie.
It sounded like someone recalling something real.
Something distant.
Something that should have been remembered.
He tilted his head slightly, his expression shifting into something more serious.
"...Very well."
His voice lost its lightness.
It deepened.
Not in volume.
But in presence.
"...Since you have forgotten..."
"...I will remind you."
He straightened slightly.
And in that simple motion—
Something changed.
The air grew heavier.
The light dimmed.
The faint crimson glow that had filled the arena seemed to pull inward, as if drawn toward him, as if even the blood in the atmosphere responded to his presence.
"...I am..."
A pause.
Long enough for every heart to beat once.
"...GrandLord Dreath."
The name fell.
And the world—
Stopped.
For a moment—
Nothing happened.
No reaction.
No movement.
Because the words did not register immediately.
They hung there.
Floating.
Unbelievable.
Impossible.
"...Grand... Lord...?"
Someone whispered.
"...Dreath...?"
Another voice followed.
"...That name..."
"...It’s..."
"...It can’t be..."
The murmurs began to grow again, but this time they were not filled with confusion alone.
They were filled with something else.
Fear.
Disbelief.
Denial.
"That’s impossible..."
"He’s dead..."
"No... not dead..."
"He vanished..."
"From the records..."
"From history..."
"The Progenitor..."
"The first..."
"The origin of all..."
The words began to connect.
Slowly.
Painfully.
Like a truth forcing itself into minds that did not want to accept it.
The man watched them.
His expression unchanged.
Yet—
The faint amusement in his eyes began to fade.
Replaced by something colder.
Something darker.
"...Still..."
He said quietly.
"...nothing...?"
The disbelief did not disappear.
It only grew.
Because to accept this—
Was to rewrite everything they knew.
"...This is absurd..."
"...He can’t just appear like this..."
"...There’s no proof..."
"...No sign..."
"...No confirmation..."
The suspicion rose.
As it had to.
Because the claim was too great.
Too impossible.
To accept without question.
"...You expect us to believe that you are him...?"
One of the Emperor level vampires spoke, his voice cautious but firm.
"...The Progenitor of the entire Vampire race...?"
"...After all this time...?"
The man’s expression changed.
Not dramatically.
But enough.
The faint smile vanished completely.
His eyes—
Darkened.
"...So that is how it is."
His voice was no longer light.
No longer amused.
It was cold.
Sharp.
Each word carrying a weight that pressed against the air itself.
"...Not only have you forgotten..."
"...You dare to question."
The temperature seemed to drop.
The space around him grew heavier.
"...Pathetic."
The word was quiet.
But it struck like a blade.
And then—
It happened.
No warning.
No build-up.
No visible movement.
His aura—
Exploded.
Not outward in a burst.
But downward.
Crushing.
Like an invisible mountain pressing from above.
The ground trembled.
Cracks spread.
The air itself seemed to solidify.
Every vampire in the arena—
Froze.
Then—
They dropped.
Not to their knees.
Not slowly.
But violently.
Bodies slammed against the ground, forced down by a pressure so immense that even the strongest among them could not resist.
"Ghh—!"
"W-what—!"
"I can’t—!"
The cries filled the arena as one after another, they were forced down, their bodies refusing to respond, their blood screaming under the weight of something they could not comprehend.
Even the Emperor level powerhouses struggled.
Their expressions twisted in shock, their bodies trembling as they tried to resist, only to be pushed down again, their strength rendered meaningless.
Lord Vord’s eyes widened.
Elder Achilor’s face turned pale.
Because they knew.
This—
Was not normal.
This was not power.
This was something beyond it.
Something absolute.
Cain—
Felt it too.
The pressure.
The weight.
The overwhelming force that pressed against his body, his blood, his very existence.
He could ignore it like nothing.
But—
He did not resist.
He allowed himself to fall.
He bent.
He lowered himself.
Pretending.
"...Interesting..."
His thoughts remained calm, even as he lay among the others.
"...Very interesting..."
Because this—
Was not something ordinary.
This was something that he, Overgod, remembered in his past life.
"...So this is him..."
Meanwhile—
Among the chaos—
Among the suppressed bodies—
Among the stunned expressions—
Something clicked.
In the minds of the older vampires.
The ones who remembered.
The ones who had studied.
The ones who had heard the ancient records, the forgotten legends, the stories that were no longer spoken openly.
"...That pressure..."
"...That blood..."
"...That presence..."
Their eyes widened.
Their bodies trembled—not just from the force, but from realization.
"...It’s him..."
"...It’s really him..."
"...GrandLord Dreath..."
Lord Vord’s lips parted slightly.
"...Impossible..."
Elder Achilor’s breath caught.
"...No..."
"...Not impossible..."
"...We simply forgot..."
"...We became too comfortable..."
"...Too distant from the origin..."
The fear spread.
Not the fear of an enemy.
But the fear of something greater.
Something older.
Something that should have been revered.
"...The Progenitor..."
"...The one who started everything..."
"...He’s here..."
The realization struck deeper with every passing moment.
Even those who had doubted before now felt it.
The pressure.
The authority.
The absolute dominance over blood itself.
This was not something that could be faked.
This was not something that could be imitated.
This was real.
And above them—
GrandLord Dreath stood.
Unmoving.
Untouched.
Watching.
As the truth finally settled into their minds.
As the disbelief faded.
As the fear took its place.
Then—
Slowly—
He nodded.
Satisfied.