Chapter 236: GrandLord’s Ego
GrandLord Dreath did not wait for an answer.
The moment the question left his lips, the faint curiosity in his eyes turned into something far more direct, far more forceful, as if patience itself had never truly existed within him to begin with.
"...No need."
His voice came low, almost absent-minded, as though he had already decided that words were unnecessary.
"...I will see it myself."
And then—
The pressure changed.
Not in direction.
Not in nature.
But in magnitude.
It did not explode outward like before.
It deepened.
It sank.
Like an unseen ocean suddenly growing heavier, denser, more suffocating, pressing down on everything beneath it with a crushing force that multiplied in silence before anyone could even react.
The ground groaned.
Stone cracked further beneath bodies that were already pressed flat, fractures spreading like veins through the arena floor as the weight intensified, layer after layer stacking on top of what was already unbearable.
A chorus of broken sounds filled the air.
"Ah—!"
"Ghh—!"
"I can’t—!"
The vampires who had already been struggling found themselves pushed even deeper into the ground, their bodies flattening further, their bones creaking, their blood trembling violently inside them as if trying to escape the crushing authority that dominated everything.
Even the Emperor level powerhouses could no longer maintain even the smallest semblance of composure.
Their arms trembled uncontrollably.
Their jaws clenched tight.
Their eyes widened as the force increased beyond what they had prepared for.
Lord Vord’s entire body shook as he was pressed down harder, his forehead nearly touching the fractured ground, his breath uneven as he tried to endure something that no longer felt like pressure alone, but something closer to judgment.
Elder Achilor’s hands dug into the ground, his fingers cracking the stone beneath as he tried to resist even slightly, only to feel that resistance crumble immediately, his strength being rendered meaningless in the face of something absolute.
"...He’s increasing it..."
"...again..."
"...This is... insane..."
The whispers were barely voices now.
They were gasps.
Fragments of sound forced out through lungs that struggled to function under the weight pressing against them.
And yet—
Amidst all of that—
GrandLord Dreath was not looking at them.
His eyes were locked on the Moonshade family.
Watching.
Observing.
Measuring.
The pressure continued to grow.
Slowly.
Steadily.
Without pause.
And with every increase—
His expression changed.
At first—
It was curiosity.
Then—
It became interest.
And then—
It became surprise.
"...They are still... holding..."
His voice was quiet, almost to himself, but the meaning behind it was clear.
Because even now—
Even under this intensified weight—
The Moonshade family was not entirely flattened.
They were not standing tall.
They were not resisting openly.
But they were not completely crushed either.
Their bodies trembled violently.
Their knees pressed into the ground.
Their backs bent.
Their hands clawed at the stone.
But there was still—
Movement.
Still—
Resistance.
Small.
Barely noticeable.
But real.
"...How...?"
Dreath’s eyes narrowed slightly.
This was not something he expected.
Not something that aligned with the difference in power.
Not something that should be happening.
And around them—
The rest of the vampires were breaking.
Not metaphorically.
Not emotionally.
Physically.
"P-please...!"
"Stop—!"
"Mercy—!"
"I beg you—!"
The cries rose louder now, no longer restrained, no longer controlled, desperation flooding every voice as the pressure reached levels that even the strongest could not endure with dignity.
Bodies shook uncontrollably.
Blood trickled from lips.
Some coughed.
Some groaned.
Some could no longer even form words, reduced to sounds that barely resembled speech.
"...GrandLord...!"
One of the Emperor level vampires forced out, his voice breaking under strain.
"...please—!"
"We... acknowledge—!"
"We remember—!"
"Please—!"
But Dreath did not look at him.
Did not acknowledge him.
Did not care.
His focus remained.
Locked.
On the anomaly before him.
"...Interesting..."
The word came out slower this time.
Deeper.
"...Very interesting..."
And then—
His expression changed again.
This time—
Completely.
The faint curiosity.
The slight amusement.
The passing interest—
All vanished.
What replaced it—
Was seriousness.
True seriousness.
The kind that did not appear often.
The kind that meant he had decided something.
"...Then let us see..."
His voice lowered.
"...just how far this goes."
Above—
The sky changed.
The moon—
Which had been pale before—
Darkened.
Then—
It turned red.
Not gradually.
Not gently.
But all at once.
A deep crimson glow spread across its surface, bleeding into the sky, casting an eerie light over the entire arena, bathing everything in a color that felt ancient, heavy, and suffocating.
The moment it happened—
Every vampire felt it.
Not just as pressure.
But as something deeper.
Something tied to their blood.
Their origin.
Their existence.
"...The Blood Moon..."
"...He’s using it..."
"...This is... too much..."
Fear spread instantly.
Because this was no longer simple suppression.
This was something that reached into their very essence.
And then—
Dreath moved his hand.
Just slightly.
And the pressure—
Doubled.
No—
It multiplied.
Exploded downward with a force that shattered what little resistance remained in the arena.
The ground cracked violently.
Stone split apart.
A loud, echoing fracture spread outward as bodies were slammed fully into the ground, any remaining ability to resist crushed instantly under the overwhelming force.
"AAAAAH—!"
Cries erupted.
Loud.
Broken.
Filled with pain and fear.
The Emperor level powerhouses—
Collapsed completely.
Their arms gave out.
Their backs flattened.
Their bodies pressed down fully as the pressure erased the last fragments of their resistance.
Lord Vord’s eyes widened as he felt his strength vanish completely, his body forced down without mercy, his breath nearly knocked out of him as the weight crushed everything he had left.
Elder Achilor’s hands slipped.
His body fell flat.
His strength—gone.
And the rest—
They did not even try anymore.
They could not.
They were already at their limit.
Already beyond it.
And now—
Everything was flattened.
Everything—
Pressed into the ground.
Except—
The Moonshade family.
For a moment—
They resisted.
Their bodies trembling violently.
Their bones creaking.
Their blood roaring inside them.
But then—
One by one—
They fell.
Not instantly.
Not all at once.
But inevitably.
Their resistance broke.
Their bodies pressed down.
Flattened.
Just like the others.
The arena—
Finally—
Became still.
Every single vampire—
On the ground.
No movement.
No resistance.
Only the sound of strained breathing filling the air.
And above it all—
GrandLord Dreath stood.
Looking down.
Watching.
Satisfied.
"...So."
His voice returned, calm once more.
"...This is your limit."
The pressure did not increase further.
It remained.
Holding everything in place.
A final, absolute statement of dominance.
And for a brief moment—
Silence.
Complete.
Heavy.
Undisturbed.
Then—
Something happened.
Something—
That did not fit.
Something—
That did not belong.
Dreath’s eyes shifted.
Just slightly.
Toward the Moonshade family.
Because—
Even though they were all pressed down—
Even though they had all fallen—
Even though none of them were standing—
There was something—
Wrong.
Something—
Off.
Something—
That made his expression change for the first time since he had increased the pressure to its peak.
"...Hm?"
The sound left his lips.
Quiet.
But filled with genuine surprise.
Because despite everything—
Despite the overwhelming force—
Despite the Blood Moon—
Despite the absolute suppression—
There was still—
Something there.
Something within them—
That had not been crushed.
And that—
Was impossible.
"...What... is this..."