Dragon Tribulation of All Realms

Chapter 181 The Dreamer

open one's eyes.

Thoughts and memories seemed shrouded in a thin mist.

Before me lay a magnificent, luxurious bedroom, beneath which sat a velvet bed exuding the scents of lilac and jasmine. Elegantly dressed, alluring maids stood on either side of the bed, their slender, pale fingers helping me to sit up and change into luxurious, pristine attire. Their blood-red eyes brimming with tender affection whispered seductive words in my ear.

“Lord Duster, there are still two hours until Lady Crimson’s banquet. Would you like to make some preparations beforehand, visit some guests on the list, or…” one of the maids whispered in his ear, her thin, slightly dark lips exhaling a cold breath. “…Just a little… a bit of amusement?”

Her collar was pulled low, revealing fine, dark purple lines beneath her pale skin—blood that wasn't hers flowed beneath that pale skin, and that was undoubtedly the breath of life, churning and surging, bringing a new, living desire to this dead thing.

Vision was still somewhat blurry.

My heart is beating rapidly and irregularly.

Before doing anything else, there is one thing that must be dealt with first.

"……who I am?"

The words were not spoken, but a strange face was reflected in the scarlet maid's eyes—a slender, noble young man with a gloomy air about him. His equally blood-red eyes were visibly turning brownish-black, and the initial confusion of awakening within them was quietly fading.

"Are you still not awake, Lord Dust? Perhaps you would like a refreshing drink? That bottle of spirits you instructed us to keep is ready to use at any time. Would you like it brought to us now?"

The thoughts in her mind gradually converged, and some vague and fragmented ideas emerged. They wove into concrete information on the surface of her mind—she raised her hand and waved it, and two of the maids with deep red eyes quietly withdrew. A few minutes later, the closed door opened again, and their return was accompanied by the incessant struggle of a girl who was being held firmly down.

"Let me go! You monsters, let me go!" The girl had Nordic blonde hair, a beautiful face with soft features, yet her brows held a hint of warrior's might. Her futile struggles only amplified the strength in her soft features. Her slender eyebrows stood on end, as if she were about to pounce and tear at him.

Her struggles were futile—the pale-skinned maids easily subdued her. She was brought before the young man, her fair and slender neck held down by the maids, placed where the young man could bite her at any moment. The pale blue veins under her skin throbbed with excitement, filled with a sweet and delicious aroma.

"Lord Duster, aren't you going to use her?" the red-eyed maid whispered in the young man's ear in a cloying tone. "Or would you prefer that she flow into our bodies first, and then we be used as vessels to savor her taste?"

More information emerged, constructing a more complete intelligence network in the young man's eyes. A sufficiently clear cause and effect thus appeared in his understanding.

Ah… I remember now. This is Windhelm, Windhelm of the Second Age. The White Gold Throne has been vacant for centuries, and those barbarians who call themselves the Heart of Ebony are now leading their armies to conquer the province of Cyrodiil—they have boldly entrusted their rear, their stronghold, to several ancient clans. After all, Skyrim is a place that is easy to defend and difficult to attack; as long as a small force controls the key cities, it is difficult for outside forces to be deployed.

They made the right choice. Though barbarians are barbarians, they at least had some foresight—most of the powerful clans entrusted with guarding the territory actually held far more noble statuses—each of them bore the blood of the night, possessed endless lifespans, and immense power. Apart from the obstructing sun, no force could hinder their advance.

Hmm... the sun, yes, and the sun.

The gloomy young man's gaze pierced through the elegant stained-glass window. Outside, the sky was a thick, persistent gray, obscuring the sun—undoubtedly the legacy of the Crimson Lady. It was she who brought the blood of the night to the noble families, and with this monthly grand banquet, she summoned dark clouds to block out the blazing sunlight. The people no longer had to worry; they only needed to sing, feast, and dance day after day at her side, indulging in this crimson splendor.

Of course, what constitutes a human being is a question worth discussing. And at the feet of the Crimson Lady, only those nobles bearing the blood of the night are qualified to discuss it. Therefore… a name surfaced in the young man's mind. This name held an unsettling quality that made him feel uneasy.

Shattered Shield - Dasstor.

Both the given name and surname seem to have issues. However, these issues don't seem to matter much. After all, once bestowed with the blood of the night, one's former origins and name cease to be important.

It is no longer very important.

Duster, a young man from the Shattered Shield family, was known for his magnanimous nature and often teased and joked with the maids who shared his noble blood. However, he was obliged to attend the grand banquet two hours later.

"Let her go." The young man raised his hand, his gaze displaying the composure the maids perceived. "I have other plans for her. Also, where is my to-do list? Show it to me."

"Then you'd better be careful, this is a little cat with sharp teeth and claws." The maids responded to him, their tone carrying a hint of watching a show—the blonde girl, who had been released, stared intently at him, and when the maids deliberately distanced themselves, she suddenly let out a loud roar and pounced on the young man, her movements filled with anger and determination.

But she was just a mortal, a weakling without noble blood—the young man could easily knock her to the ground with a single finger, and as she screamed and tried to grab a fork or fruit knife from a nearby table and attack again, he nimbly dodged her, circled around her, came behind her, grabbed both her hands, and pressed them against the bed.

All she could do was scream in impotent rage, then kick out her two thin legs repeatedly, drawing laughter from the maids.

The young man simply pressed her hand down, sat on her back, and immediately turned his gaze to the personal maid who was bringing him the list.

"There's something I don't remember: how did she get here?"

The maid handed the list to the young man, covering her mouth with a slight smile. "It was her family who brought her to the Broken Shield's doorstep. They also hoped for a share of the Blood of the Night, and they were very confident in this gift offered—'Struggle and resistance are a rare spice, you'll like it,' that's what they said before sending them away."

The girl's struggle abruptly stopped, indicating that this was indeed the truth.

The young man's gaze slid across the list and finally settled on an entry that particularly caught his attention.

“Sir Callisto… well, I’ll go see him in a bit,” he said, tossing the list aside. His gaze swept over the maid before him again, and he asked casually.

"By the way, what is this young lady's name...?"

“Lemée, Lord Dust,” the maid replied respectfully. “Her name is Lemée.”

Wu Chen's gaze narrowed slightly.

(End of this chapter)