Chapter 25: Blood Slave

The person who seemed to be a local said nothing, turning and running into the depths of the dense fog. Visibility was low, and within seconds, he had vanished from sight. In that brief moment, Han Feng hadn't seen him clearly, only noticing his ghostly pale face. He did not give chase. The man's appearance and disappearance had both been abrupt, and the whole place was steeped in an eerie atmosphere. It was wiser to remain cautious here.

Contrary to what he had imagined, the settlement was not a vision of hell—there were no desiccated corpses scattered about, no chaotic, ruined streets. Everything seemed intact and orderly, which in itself was the most unsettling anomaly.

Han Feng walked several dozen meters along the street and casually pushed open the door of a residence. The room was neat and tidy, clearly maintained by a diligent woman. On the living room table, a cup of steaming red beverage sat as if someone was still living there; to an unknowing outsider, this might truly seem like an ordinary settlement.

Were it not for his prior knowledge of the tragedy that had occurred here, Han Feng too might have been deceived by the peaceful, homely scene. But knowing what he did, the apparent harmony only heightened his vigilance.

He turned to leave, but as he did, he suddenly realized that a ring of people had gathered in the fog outside, their number obscured by the haze. Men, women, children, and elders—all appeared to be residents of the settlement, including the person he had just seen. At first glance, there seemed little out of the ordinary about them. Yet they all shared one trait: their skin was deathly pale, utterly devoid of color.

Despite the mist, Han Feng could see it clearly—their faces were sunken, their lips bloodless and cracked, a pair of sharp fangs peeking from the corners of their mouths. Their fingernails had grown long and razor-sharp.

Han Feng knew immediately what they were. These were no longer people; they had become blood slaves, creations of the vampire clans. They might once have been the residents of this place, but now they had transformed into bloodthirsty beasts.

The vampire clans, one of the three pillars of the Dark Council, were comprised of thirteen lineages. Those with similar philosophies formed alliances known as "Factions," the most significant being the Veiled Cabal and the Infernal Banquet, along with a few neutral clans.

The Veiled Cabal was bound by six strictures, generally refraining from such wholesale extermination of settlements, as it risked attracting the attention of human authorities and violated their First Law: "Remain Hidden." Moreover, in the wider universe, the dark races controlled their own sovereign star territories, and the vampires of the Veiled Cabal would not lightly leave their domains to challenge the authority of the Four Great Empires.

But the Infernal Banquet's vampires cared nothing for such strictures, acting with reckless abandon like a pack of lunatics. Among them, the Tzimisce clan was the most notorious—exceptionally brutal, infamous even among vampires for their savagery, though paradoxically, they were also the most scholarly.

It was thus clear that the ones who dared to wipe out and enslave an entire settlement within Longteng's borders were most likely Tzimisce.

Blood slaves lost all will of their own, their bodies controlled by the vampiric toxin and utterly subservient to their creator. They craved living blood, becoming soulless puppets, not unlike zombies. These blood slaves had been drained of most of their blood, yet had not withered into husks as rumors claimed—proof that the Hunter Guild's intelligence was flawed.

A mob of blood slaves—however numerous—was hardly enough to frighten Han Feng. In the hierarchy of the vampire clans, blood slaves were cannon fodder, not even reaching the level of superhuman strength.

Yet, among ordinary people, their bodies had been altered by the vampiric toxin, giving them enhanced speed and strength. Their combat ability was roughly on par with a standard interstellar soldier, but they were far more troublesome: they knew no pain, felt no fear, and were incredibly hard to kill.

Traditional vampires were vulnerable to sunlight, holy water, and silver, but in the world of Star Apex, vampires had long since entered the cosmic era. Their genes had been optimized, freeing them of these weaknesses and making them as well adapted to interstellar life as any spacefaring human. These blood slaves, too, no longer feared sunlight, holy water, or silver. The only way to kill them was to pierce their heart or brain—or reduce them to ashes.

Though the old weaknesses had largely been conquered, ultraviolet rays could still discomfort the weaker vampires, and darkness was where their powers truly thrived.

The blood slaves stared fixedly at Han Feng, baring their fangs in savage grins before suddenly launching their attack.

A blood slave who had been a fat middle-aged man was the first to rush from the ranks, claws outstretched and jaws agape. Han Feng sidestepped, his sword, Dawn of Destruction, flashing in his hand—the blood slave’s head soared into the air, his body staggering forward a few steps before collapsing.

That initial charge was like the breach of a dam; the rest of the blood slaves surged forward in a flood.

The fog clouded his vision, making it impossible to gauge their numbers. Han Feng’s blade did not pause; swordlight flickered, and soon the ground around him was piled with corpses, each with heart or head destroyed.

The blood slaves came on relentlessly, claws and fangs seeking Han Feng’s flesh. But they could not match his speed; he darted and weaved through their ranks.

Suddenly, Han Feng broke free of their encirclement, sword slicing in a horizontal arc.

"Single Stroke Slash!"

A silver arc of sword energy burst forth, shaped like a crescent moon, like the stroke of a calligrapher’s brush. This was Han Feng’s own adaptation of the Cross Slash—a single, horizontal strike requiring only mastery of sword energy to perform.

The sword energy flew out for dozens of meters before fading, carving a swath of emptiness through the horde—hundreds of blood slaves were severed at the waist.

Yet many did not die, their hearts or heads untouched, and they crawled forward, jaws snapping.

The clearing lasted only two seconds before the wave of blood slaves flooded in again, leaping over the bodies of their fallen kin.

So many enemies—he could never slay them all by sword alone. But Han Feng was unfazed by the prospect of a brawl.

He flashed through the claws of his foes, right hand gripping his sword, while his left hand crackled with golden lightning, electric energy gathering in his palm.

"Lightning Net!"

His left hand struck downward. Golden arcs of electricity shot out like serpents, spreading rapidly and forming an electric web.

Scores of blood slaves rushing at him were ensnared, caught like insects in a spider’s web, paralyzed by the surging current.

Their bodies smoked from the power of the lightning, yet they still struggled to reach him, desperate to drain his blood.

Han Feng grinned, black demonic flames rising from his hand. He stretched out his left arm, fingers splayed wide.

"Blazing Storm!"

A sphere of explosive black fire gathered in his palm, tracing a twisted arc through the air like a meteor, trailing a long tail as it crashed into the heart of the blood slave horde.

Boom! The fireball detonated, unleashing a tidal wave of searing flame. Rings of explosive black fire burst outward from the center, the raging energy tearing the blood slaves apart. Those closest to the blast were instantly reduced to dust, scattered to the winds.

Demonic fire consumed the night; all that remained was ash.