Chapter 83: Thirst for Blood and Hunger

At this moment, the train was moving through a landscape devoid of cities or villages. On one side, the distant hills and wild fields stretched beneath the last light of sunset, which cast a blaze of evening glow beyond the western mountains. The other side of the train faced a barren plain, where even the weeds grew sparsely, and the land was already shrouded in dimness.

The oppressive sense of death that had just washed over Mulan made him deeply uneasy. Whatever that thing was, now that the sun had set, it had begun to awaken from its slumber—a decidedly ominous sign. Yet there was some comfort in knowing that it had at least waited for nightfall. If it still feared the sun, then as a knight of the Radiant Order, Mulan should, to some degree, be able to restrain the master of this deathly aura.

“Pardon me, I need to step out for a moment.”

He gave a gentle nudge to the young man dozing in the neighboring seat. The youth opened his eyes and quickly shifted aside. Mulan stood up and passed by him, turning back to offer a word of caution.

“It’s best if you don’t fall asleep.”

Not long after Mulan stood, Hendel at the far end of the carriage noticed his movement. When Mulan passed him, Hendel gave a discreet nod, and as Mulan entered the next carriage, Hendel followed.

“Professor, is there something wrong?”

Hendel had long since grown accustomed to his role as a student, rarely addressing Mulan as “sir” anymore—only using the term when responding to crucial orders.

“Something feels off. Stay alert—there may be undead nearby.”

A chill ran through Hendel’s heart. The undead were far more troublesome than mere wraiths. While the latter were more ghostly and unsettling, most could not directly return to the world of the living. The undead, however, were different—real, corporeal beings, like zombies or living corpses. Certain powerful wraiths who managed to return also counted among them.

Most vexing of all were the undead who had once been extraordinary humans—most famously, some sorcerers, and even one of the possible paths for Mulan himself, that of the Revived, could be considered a form of undead in its early stages.

Hendel was well-versed in such matters, so the mention of undead made him tense. Instinctively, his hand went to the gun at his side. Its bullets were silver-plated and soaked in holy water—effective in theory, but there were few of them, and he hadn’t yet loaded them.

Mulan walked on, composed, his gaze steady, only sweeping the carriages with the corner of his eye.

After passing through eight carriages without incident, Mulan paused outside the ninth, peering in. The rear half was stacked with baggage and train tools, while the front had only a handful of passengers, their presence sparse and easily surveyed.

Hendel, however, had grown anxious. So many carriages were fine; if there was trouble, it had to be here.

Step by step, Mulan entered the carriage, only stopping when he reached the baggage area. He probed the space with his senses, but nothing seemed amiss.

Suddenly, Hendel’s expression shifted. He leaned in and whispered, “Professor, I smell blood—in a carriage we passed earlier!”

Hendel’s sense of smell was evidently sharper than Mulan’s. Though he himself detected nothing, Mulan trusted him without hesitation and turned back, quickening his pace.

“Move!”

Their return was much swifter than their initial passage. When they reached Carriage Six, they slowed again. Every passenger inside was already fast asleep.

A sudden scream erupted from the front—a young girl, jolted awake, seemed to be dragged from her seat by some invisible force. She caught sight of Mulan and Hendel and let out a shriek as she was hauled rapidly backward.

Mulan sprang into action, body pitched forward in a sudden surge. In his hand, his blade—Fang—was drawn in a swift motion, his voice intoning a chant like a melody.

“Silver light...”

A radiant glow rippled along the sword’s edge, as though liquid silver flowed over it. In a flash, Mulan’s hand seized the hem of the girl’s dress, while his sword thrust at empty air just beside her neck.

A rush of wind—the blade met nothing—then he spun and slashed behind him.

A shower of sparks burst where silver brilliance met hidden resistance, light spraying from the blade.

“Hendel, fall back!”

With a shout, Mulan used the rebound force of his sword, releasing the girl with his left hand and spinning his body. In a single motion, the blade traced a perfect arc in the air, sweeping nearly a full circle, striking in all directions.

Another heavy clash, and a shadow briefly flickered, its form seared by the silver glow before vanishing again. A faint gust whispered at Mulan’s ear—he slashed reflexively, but met only air. Another gust from the right—again, his blade found nothing.

“Hehehehe... Young swordsman, your body is so strong. Your blood must be delicious...”

As the voice echoed, Mulan strode forward, sword flickering in a flurry of strikes, but each blow fell empty.

“Hehehehe... Swordsman, you cannot sense me, nor can you strike me. The night is my domain. I will drink you dry, and I will drain the girl as well. I will—”

Suddenly, Mulan turned his head, and from beneath his hat, a twisted, cruel smile flashed in the shadowed face. The fleeting horror cut the vampire’s words short, but when it looked again, Mulan’s expression was once more grave and resolute—as if the momentary vision had been a mere illusion.

Mulan stopped swinging blindly. Instead, he stepped back, catching the fainting girl as she collapsed, ensuring she didn’t fall to the floor. His earlier maneuver had broken the hold on her, letting her drop safely.

He beckoned to the wary Hendel, who approached, gun raised. Together, they examined the girl’s neck.

Only now did two small punctures slowly appear on the left side, blood trickling from them. The girl was pale, her breath quick and shallow, unable to speak.

Mulan glanced around, then gently lifted her, returning her to her seat.

“Take deep breaths. Don’t exert yourself. You’ll be all right.”

Breathing fast, the girl nodded in terror at Mulan. She wanted to cling to him, to keep him from leaving her, but her body was limp and powerless. She could only collapse feebly in her seat.

“It’s a vampire, most likely. Hendel, load your silver bullets.”

“Yes!”

Though Mulan’s face was solemn, he did not anxiously scan the carriage. Instead, he stood and considered.

“This creature has turned the train into his hunting ground.”

It was a busy train, packed with passengers. In an age where tickets were not strictly tracked and stowaways were common, what better place for a vampire to hunt than a crowded, bustling train? Even if a few disappeared, as long as no one witnessed their fate, no one would care. People would simply assume they had gotten off at some earlier stop. With all sorts aboard—men, women, young and old—it was easy to pick a preferred victim.

“Professor, he seems able to hide himself. Maybe even this carriage can’t keep him out. What should we do?”

“His strength isn’t overwhelming, but he’s quick. Let’s return to the last carriage—perhaps his coffin is stored there. We’ll throw it off the train first.”

With that, Mulan headed toward the rear once more. From a third party’s perspective, it was clear how tense Hendel was. Mulan seemed calm, but in truth, he was no less on edge.

Yet, under the swaying carriage lights, Mulan’s shadow—stretching and shrinking with each step—began to unfurl.

Oh, foolish, ignorant little vampire—merely a second-stage bloodthirster—you do not realize that before you stands not a righteous, sunlit swordsman, but a great demon whose hunger ignited the moment he set eyes on you!