Chapter 163: Divine Blood Dragon.
Before the Ascension Ritual, the new generation of the Valentine Clan was still defined by established names, old expectations, and titles carefully cultivated by families who believed they controlled the future.
There were promising heirs, young monsters raised with blood, discipline, and ambition. There were lesser lineages trying to climb positions, secondary families seeking recognition, and nobles discreetly betting on who would become the face of the next era. There were also the so-called Five Great Disciples, figures who, until then, represented the peak of that generation. They were the names repeated in halls, corridors, political dinners, and Central’s internal reports. They were treated as young pillars of the clan, possible future weapons, and symbols of continuity.
Then the Ritual began.
And Victor Valentine destroyed the entire logic.
What should have been a competition of ascension became a succession of massacres, collapses, exposed frauds, and events Central desperately tried to classify as anomalies.
Participants disappeared.
Entire groups were eliminated.
Infiltrated assassins, sent with intentions that should never have been publicly revealed, died inside the dimension.
Techniques that did not belong to newly awakened young vampires were displayed before an entire aristocracy. And in the end, Jake Valentine, one of the names meant to sustain the prestige of that generation, was killed.
Victor Valentine split Jake in half and left a one-hundred-kilometer scar inside the dimension of the Ascension Ritual.
After that, no old title survived intact.
The Five Great Disciples lost the weight they once possessed. Not because all of them had died, nor because each one had failed in the same way, but because the concept itself had become too small before what had happened. The title seemed childish. Limited. Built for a generation that still believed it was competing within normal rules.
Thus, Central and the influential families were forced to reformulate the narrative itself.
The Five Great Prodigies ceased to exist as the main symbol.
In their place, a new classification emerged.
Geniuses of the New Generation.
It was a broader title, more aggressive, less tied to the previous structure. It served to preserve political dignity, accommodate survivors, and prevent all eyes from turning toward only one uncomfortable truth: four of the five greatest names of that generation had been crushed, surpassed, or eliminated by Victor Valentine.
For that reason, another title was born.
Within the new generation, someone had bloomed who could not be treated merely as a prodigy. Someone who had crossed the Ritual like a calamity wearing human skin. Someone who, in a few days, stopped being known as a failure of the lineage and began to be called in the corridors with a mixture of fear, envy, and reverence.
Victor Valentine received the title of "Divine Blood Dragon."
An exaggerated name to some.
Dangerous to others.
Appropriate to those who saw the ravine inside the dimension.
He had defeated four of the five prodigies who were supposed to shake the new generation. He had exposed that the old balance was fragile. He had publicly refused a manipulated prize and, even so, left the Ritual with more prestige than any formal winner could have obtained. His arrogance, which before would have been treated as the insolence of a spoiled youth, now had to be considered a political variable.
But Victor was not the only one to emerge transformed.
Grace Valentine remained the exception.
She did not fall before him. She was not crushed, humiliated, or erased from history. On the contrary, she survived the Ritual, maintained her position, received the primordial drop, and became the first vampire of the Valentine Clan to take two drops of Carmilla’s Primordial Blood. The first had awakened and refined her lineage. The second consolidated her at a level few could immediately understand.
Her ice changed.
Not only in strength.
In nature.
Grace’s cold presence, once sharp as a blade, became deeper, more silent, and more dangerous. Her power did not need to shout to be recognized. It bloomed in a controlled way, like an impossible flower born on a frozen lake.
For that reason, she received the title of Lotus of the Frost Flower.
An elegant name.
Beautiful.
And, for those who understood enough, a threat.
However, the great event after the Ascension Ritual was not merely the reorganization of the new generation’s titles. Nor Jake’s death. Not even the badly hidden fraud in the point count, which continued being discussed in sealed halls with closed doors and low voices.
The event that truly shook the political foundations came afterward.
Edgar Valentine died.
The wager made by Jake returned to his family like a blade. Edgar tried to flee from the consequences, tried to prepare artifacts, escape routes, and ancient contingencies, but none of it mattered. Rakshasa was not a woman who accepted insults being swept under aristocratic rugs. She collected the debt with blood, pain, and enough spectacle that no one could pretend they had not understood the message.
After that, she also gained a new title.
Celestial Blood Empress.
With Jake dead, Edgar dead, Grace elevated, and Victor emerging as a political and military aberration, the Valentine Clan entered a strange state. It was not total chaos. Ancient vampires knew how to smile while hiding knives. But the atmosphere changed. Families that had once ignored Victor now competed for information about his habits, his alliances, his weaknesses, and, above all, his bonds.
The world had changed.
Victor, naturally, seemed to be the person least interested in that.
A few days later, he was seated in a large and luxurious room of his new residence after leaving the training space, on a sofa too large for one person, but too small for the kind of problem that kept accumulating around him. Light entered through the tall windows, crossing heavy curtains of dark fabric and falling over expensive rugs, antique furniture, and decorations that probably cost more than small human mansions.
Victor was at the center of it all, completely relaxed.
Scarlet lay in his lap, her hair spread over his legs like red silk. She looked far too comfortable for someone who, in any other context, could cut a man in half for breathing wrong near her. One of her hands rested on Victor’s abdomen, her fingers making lazy movements over his clothes, while her eyes remained half-closed in silent satisfaction.
Carmilla was beside him, her head resting on his shoulder.
The Valentine Primordial, the living source of the blood that moved the ambitions of entire generations, was settled there as if the only acceptable place in the world were exactly that one. Her eyes were closed, but Victor knew she was not asleep. Carmilla rarely slept when she could observe, listen, and judge everyone around her. She only pretended to rest because that gave her the perfect excuse to stay leaning against him without admitting she was being possessive.
In front of the three of them, Serafall stood with her arms crossed.
And she did not look impressed.
Her gaze passed over Scarlet in Victor’s lap, over Carmilla on his shoulder, over her son’s completely relaxed posture, and finally over his face, which carried that lazy smile of someone who knew he was about to hear a scolding and had already decided not to take it seriously.
"When are you going to get your act together?" Serafall asked.
Victor blinked slowly.
"Good morning to you too, Mom."
"Do not change the subject."
"I did not even start a subject."
"Exactly. That is part of the problem."
Scarlet opened one eye, still lying in his lap.
"I like him this way."
Serafall looked at her.
"I know."
Carmilla, without opening her eyes, murmured:
"So do I."
Serafall breathed deeply through her nose.
Victor smiled.
"See? I have popular support."
"You have two absurdly biased women attached to you."
"That still counts."
"It does not count."
"It counts to me."
Serafall tightened her crossed arms, trying to keep her expression serious, though the lightness in her gaze betrayed that she was not truly irritated. Not with that, at least. The problem was another. Since the end of the Ritual, invitations, proposals, disguised threats, and formal messages had been piling up. Families wanted to receive him. Military houses wanted to probe him. Factions wanted to understand whether he would be an ally, an enemy, or merely a walking disaster they should avoid.
And Victor had answered almost none of it.
Serafall tilted her head slightly.
"It is time for you to show your face and choose a palace."
Victor looked at her.
"Why?"
"Because you are no longer just any participant. You received a title. The entire Clan is watching your next steps. The factions want to know where you will establish yourself, whom you will accept, whom you will refuse, and what position you intend to occupy."
"My current position is comfortable."
He ran a hand through Scarlet’s hair.
She smiled, satisfied.
Serafall narrowed her eyes.
"Victor."
He sighed as if she were asking for an absurd sacrifice.
"Mother, I just came out of a Ritual where they gave me the wrong points, tried to kill me, I found a suspicious ring, killed an out-of-control cousin, discovered a sealed werewolf, opened a ravine, and gained a ridiculous title. I think I deserve a few days sitting around doing nothing."
Scarlet opened her other eye.
"The title is not ridiculous."
"Divine Blood Dragon?"
Carmilla finally opened her eyes, looking sideways at him.
"It is appropriate."
Victor looked at her.
"You only like it because it sounds possessive and threatening."
"Exactly."
"At least you are honest."
Serafall brought one hand to her forehead for an instant.
"You are diverting again."
"I am trying."
"I noticed."
Victor looked at his mother, then at Scarlet in his lap, then at Carmilla on his shoulder. Finally, he looked back at Serafall and shrugged, completely without remorse.
"I don’t give a damn. Whoever wants to hire me can come personally."
Serafall fell silent.
Scarlet smiled slowly.
Carmilla let out a low laugh against his shoulder.
Victor continued, as if explaining perfectly sensible logic:
"If they want my attention, let them leave their own palaces, bring decent gifts, and speak while looking at me. I am not going to run from hall to hall to please old people who spent their lives pretending I did not exist."
Serafall’s smile diminished a little.
Not from disapproval.
From recognition.
Victor leaned back better on the sofa.
"Before the Ritual, I was the failure of the Valentine Clan. After the Ritual, I became the Divine Blood Dragon. The difference is not that my value changed. It is that they finally noticed. So if they want anything, let them come."
Scarlet raised her hand and lightly touched his face.
"Well said."
Carmilla smiled.
"My husband is learning."
Victor looked at her.
"I always knew how to be arrogant."
"Not like this."
Serafall observed the three of them for a few seconds, then released a sigh. There was concern on her face, but also pride. Victor could be irresponsible, provocative, and absurdly problematic, but he was not wrong. Those who ignored him would now have to swallow their own arrogance to approach.
And he knew it.
"You understand that this posture will create enemies?" she asked.
Victor smiled.
"Mother, I create enemies by breathing."
Scarlet closed her eyes again.
"That is true."
Carmilla agreed with a satisfied murmur.
Serafall looked at the ceiling for an instant, as if asking patience from some divinity she probably did not believe in.
"And are you happy with that?"
Victor thought for a second.
Then smiled more.
"A little."
Serafall tried to remain serious.
She almost failed.
"You are impossible."
"You raised me."
"Unfortunately, that argument works against me."
Carmilla laughed softly.
Scarlet did too.
Then, like a gong in Serafall’s head... she quickly returned to the conversation.
"Wait a minute..." she murmured. "What ring? AND WHAT IS THIS STORY ABOUT A WEREWOLF?!"
Comments