Chapter 10: The Ultimate Beauty

A wicked, frivolous voice suddenly rang out from the man on the terrace.

He gazed down at the crowd below the castle, his eyes deep yet remarkably vibrant.

His pupils shifted to a blood-red hue, a sight that sent shivers down one’s spine.

He gracefully spread his arms as if waiting for something, or perhaps as if choosing his words carefully.

He seemed to possess a heart beyond scrutiny; even an ordinary person meeting his gaze would suffer a violent psychological shock.

The man’s messy black hair swayed gently in the wind before falling onto his shoulders.

A shadow fell from the side of his prominent nose, and the smirk at the corner of his mouth reappeared.

His eyebrows twitched upward, and a red glow flared in his eyes.

He could not conceal the excitement in his heart.

“I am Nicolas Aved Dracula, the current Patriarch of the Nicolae family.”

“Welcome to my castle. Oh, gentlemen, please forgive me; I am simply too excited, as it has been a long time since I last appeared in public.”

Dracula laughed heartily.

Upon hearing the man’s introduction, the guests below broke into a localized frenzy.

Needless to say, most had only just learned of his return.

To be able to claim such a title so accurately—and for the crowd to realize that Dracula had returned after six hundred years and lived until now—meant they had already grasped a great deal of inconceivable intelligence.

The Dracula of the Nicolae family had already distinguished himself within the Temple of Magic six hundred years ago.

He had been granted the title of Saint Magician by virtue of his self-developed Blood Displacement Magic.

However, because the development process was far too bloody, sacrificing excessive numbers of humans and phantom beasts, he earned the moniker of ‘Vampire Count Dracula.’

Ignorant of the world’s ways, he fell into the factional disputes of the Temple of Magic and faced resistance from the Grand Marshals of Magic at the time.

They stripped him of his title as a Saint Magician.

Fearing Dracula’s magical aptitude, they expelled him from the Temple and sent assassins to hunt him down.

“One day, I will make you all bow your heads.”

With that single ruthless declaration, Dracula had vanished from the world of magic.

Anyone acquainted with the mystic arts knew that magic capable of being rated among the Twelve Saint Arts either possessed peerless power or held landmark significance.

Most were passed down through families; for someone like Dracula to develop one himself was considered a fairy tale to the people of that era.

They called him a genius among geniuses.

Today, six hundred years later, the Temple of Magic had changed dynasties and weathered the baptism of the Era of Destruction.

The specific details of Blood Magic had long since become an unsolved mystery, a fact deeply regretted by many mystic scholars.

Yet, Dracula’s methods had undoubtedly led magic toward another revolution.

Tonight, they had actually met the founder of a Saint Art; he was alive, standing right before them.

One could only imagine their current state of mind.

“I heard the last time you were sighted six hundred years ago was in Paris?” a guest called out.

“I quite like how everyone stays quiet when someone else asks a question.”

“You know, the longer a being lives, the more one grows to love solitude and silence. Now then? What did that gentleman just say?”

“I asked if the last time you were sighted was in Paris?” the guest inquired again politely.

“I stayed in Paris for those ten years. The Holy Church and the Temple Knights were chasing me everywhere. It was only thanks to the war where Henry V occupied Paris that I managed to shake them off.”

Dracula replied with a smile.

“Did you expect me to tell you that during that time I helped Henry V draft the Treaty of Troyes, or that I had a wonderful date with Joan of Arc?! My friend, I wasn’t that idle.”

To remain silent would be tantamount to admitting the other party’s words were true.

Even when offering a rebuttal, he had to organize his thoughts as he spoke, using banter to indirectly evade the question.

“Why are you still so young after six hundred years? Have you already achieved the ultimate goal of a magician and become a god?” another asked urgently.

“Don’t be ridiculous, sir. If I were a god, would I still be standing here?”

“That’s true…”

As if realizing he had said something meaningless, the magician pulled his hat down over his face and sat back down in embarrassment.

“You haven’t actually turned into a vampire, have you? It was the Nicolae family that invited me, not an immortal monster defiling the Church,” the Bishop of the Holy Church barked.

To disrespect a Saint who had offered her body to the Lord was to show contempt for the Church.

“Bishop, you shouldn’t speak so recklessly.”

Amber stepped in front of the Bishop.

“The Old Ancestor might be a bit over-excited, leading to some radical words, but the glorious Nicolae family will not tolerate the slanders of others.”

As she spoke, seven runes lit up on her hand. She was not wearing her glasses now.

Amber pressed one hand against her long, crimson hair that fluttered in the wind, her tone starkly different from before—cold, laced with pride, or perhaps anger.

“Tsk. I take back what I said.”

The name of the ‘Violent Queen’ Amber was also notorious within the mystic world.

This pompous Bishop didn’t know what this crazy girl might do next.

A powerful dragon cannot suppress a local snake; when in someone else’s territory, one must know how to read the room.

Li Ruoyi clearly felt the gaze from above turn cold.

Dracula’s expression soured significantly, and several veins throbbed on his forehead.

He took a handkerchief and a wine glass from a servant.

“I say, has it become this sweltering before summer has even arrived? Is this world already so fragile?” Dracula cursed.

The Elder standing beside Amber had moved to Dracula’s side at some unknown point, whispering in his ear.

It must be said that when the two stood together, there was a fundamental difference in their temperaments.

The Elder wore his hair in braids.

Li Ruoyi recalled this style being called ‘Braids’—the kind often associated with certain singers in stereotypical impressions.

However, the braids on this old man’s head were woven far more intricately, appearing almost like textiles made of hair.

It created a sense of disparity that was entirely inconsistent with his age.

“Alright, ladies and gentlemen, are you enjoying the banquet?”

“Let us set my personal affairs aside for now; it is time to discuss the coronation.”

Dracula cleared his throat, returning to the high-pitched tone he had used when he first appeared.

“Since this occasion is quite special, there are two kings participating in the coronation. I haven’t prepared two crowns, after all.”

Judging by his words, he seemed more concerned with the magicians’ reactions than with making jokes to liven the atmosphere.

“What?!” the guests exclaimed again.

One must realize that families who had announced the summoning of a Human King usually had only one; for the Nicolaes to have two was staggering.

Everyone began to marvel at the depth of the Nicolae family’s heritage—it was truly terrifying.

“What! Old Ancestor, you never mentioned…” The First Elder, who had been whispering earlier, was also shocked.

“Have you no respect for our Saint, Rhein?”

Dracula cast a cold glance at the panic-stricken First Elder.

“Rhein, announce the results.”

“Yes, Old Ancestor.”

Rhein took a step forward on the terrace.

She was dressed in a white ceremonial robe—the ancestral holy relic of the Nicolae family, the ‘Saint’s Prayer.’

Rhein had tied her long white hair back, leaving the crowd with only a visage that resembled a divine being.

Time was shattered.

All sensations vanished in that split second.

No, even a trite word like ‘instant’ was blown away along with them.

Those eyes looking down were like jewels out of myth.

The ideal bridge of her nose looked as if it were created by Auguste Rodin, or perhaps a hundred master craftsmen who had gambled their souls with the assistance of God.

Her closed lips brought to mind the petals of Eden, filled with a light of youth that would never fade.

Every metaphor felt foolish before this young girl; she was this beautiful precisely because she was herself.

At the end of all descriptions, there was… something.

Something a magician could not easily voice—the terminal point that only ‘God’ could represent.

She had reached the absolute pinnacle of beauty.

“I am the one who inherits the name of the Nicolae Saint, Evette Rhein Nicolae.”

Even after hearing that voice, the magicians present required several minutes to regain their sanity.

Several magicians let their glasses fall to the ground, heedless of the wine staining their leather shoes.

Some stood frozen, having stopped breathing entirely, falling into a state of hypoxic daze.

Others knelt on the ground, tears streaming as they lamented that this was the greatest sight of their lives.

It was a beauty they had never encountered; before her, everything else became less pure, less beautiful.

If this were a mental attack caused by magical ceremonial attire, everyone would have accepted it willingly.

After all, the mages gathered here were of considerable caliber.

The first thing a magician learned was to arm their spirit; once the spirit broke, no amount of mana could be mobilized.

Because they were facing pure beauty, the mental defense arts they had trained until now were torn through as easily as paper.

She had subdued everyone through sheer will.

Everyone present, including Li Ruoyi and even Amber, was dazed.

They hadn’t even noticed that their own consciousness had been severed; they were completely submerged in this eternal beauty.

“According to the regulations, the two kings will engage in a contest to prove who is the more suitable ruler.”

“The guests shall be the witnesses to this coronation.”

A voice like desert nectar rang out, pulling everyone back to reality.

Several magicians groaned, “O Time, stand still.”

Countless people prayed that they could die right there, simply by gazing upon the Nicolae Saint.

The music began once more. It was “Moonlight Serenade.”

Dracula snapped his fingers on the terrace, and everything in the surroundings began to turn illusory.

The manor, originally filled with tables of delicacies, was instantly transformed into a massive coliseum.

Luxury seats were prepared for every guest on the tiered steps surrounding the arena, much like a modern stadium.

“Haha, do not be restrained. Enjoy this visual feast to your heart’s content.” Dracula laughed.

The magicians present were startled in their hearts.

They felt themselves praiseworthy simply for not letting it show on their faces.

They struggled to suppress their pounding hearts, offering sincere praise in the calmest voices possible.

“Displacement Magic! To think he could achieve it to this extent.”

“This is already at the level of a Quasi-Grand Marshal of Magic. The Nicolae family is truly formidable.”

Having undergone the baptism of the Saint’s beauty and grand magic, and now about to see a fierce clash between Human Kings, the emotions of the magicians reached an unprecedented high.

Cheers and shouts of praise rose one after another.

Undoubtedly, this coronation ceremony had allowed the Nicolae family to gather immense momentum and achieve unprecedented success.