The Blood-Drinking Gentleman
Unlike the 21st Floor, the 15th Floor was a place where a blazing sun baked the red sand desert.
"Hard to even breathe out here."
Just a week earlier, Ivan had arrived in Ezhara with five companions. He raised a hand against the glare and grumbled under his breath.
Maybe it was because he'd gone outside and enjoyed himself so thoroughly that this miserable environment grated on him all the more.
"Would've been nice if there was a café."
A single cool cup of coffee might have lifted his mood, but unfortunately the Tower had no such thing—at least not anywhere he'd stayed on the climb to the 15th Floor.
"Can't be helped."
Ivan started walking, leaving the central plaza of Ezhara behind. If there was no coffee, beer would have to do. He wasn't the sort who drank in the middle of the day, but even that seemed like it might take the edge off this searing heat. He decided to wait at a restaurant or bar near the plaza until his companions returned.
"Wonder which place is decent."
Having left the Tower the moment he reached the 15th Floor, he knew almost nothing about Ezhara. So he simply chose the first place that caught his eye—a bar called The Red Sun. It didn't look particularly expensive, and it had a clear view of the central plaza.
"That one looks good."
Wiping the sweat that kept sliding down his face, Ivan headed over.
"Welcome!"
When he opened the door, a woman in her twenties who looked like a waitress greeted him with a bright smile. The only other customer was a man sitting off in a corner. Despite the good location, business didn't seem to be thriving.
Ivan thought, Should've gone somewhere else, with a flicker of regret—but he didn't turn around and leave. He had no desire to get roasted under the scorching sun again.
"Do you have cold beer here?"
Ivan asked as he dropped into a seat near the window.
"Of course!"
The waitress nodded vigorously.
"Shall I bring you a glass?"
"Yeah. And something light to snack on would be nice, if you've got it."
"How about smoked sausage slices? It's not our signature dish, but it's a pretty popular finger food."
"That'll do. Thanks."
"Yes! Order received!"
The waitress ran toward the kitchen with an excited face.
"Hmm."
Ivan watched her back and tilted his head. Doesn't seem like the kind of place that should be empty.
Having run a fairly successful bar of his own before being summoned to the Tower, he thought The Red Sun wasn't bad at all. Good location, friendly staff, clean shop. At this level, sales should at least be average or better.
Weirdly empty of customers.
Including himself, only two people. With the blazing sun high overhead, people ought to have been coming in just to escape the heat.
Is the food garbage?
He couldn't think of any other reason. I'll know once I try it.
Hoping the food would at least be edible, Ivan looked around the shop. Overall it felt bright and clean. However—
Why does only that spot seem dark?
The seat where The Red Sun's only other customer sat. That place alone felt particularly dark and sticky. It wasn't that the customer himself looked wrong. He wore a suit without a single grain of sand on it, and had quite a kind face—the sort of appearance that suggested a British noble, enough to naturally inspire goodwill.
Even so, Ivan couldn't shake the unease. Better not go near him.
Ivan, who had often been told he had good instincts, felt a strong premonition that getting involved with that man would be a very bad idea.
"Here's your beer first!"
Just then the waitress cut through the awkward air, carrying out a large mug.
"Oh!"
Golden liquid topped with a proper head of foam. Just looking at it seemed to banish thirst.
"The smoked sausage slices will be out soon, so why don't you wet your throat first?"
"Thank you."
The moment Ivan took the beer, he couldn't hold back and took a deep gulp.
"Ahhh!"
Delicious. No—more than that. This golden liquid surpassed any beer he had ever drunk.
If I took this outside and sold it…?
For a moment his merchant instincts stirred. Then he shook his head. Surviving was hard enough already—what business did he have selling beer? With a bitter smile, he took another sip. The intense carbonation that raced over his tongue and down his throat delivered a sensation like arriving in heaven.
"Ahhhh!"
As he let out another involuntary cry of delight—
"The beer seems to be quite to your liking."
The customer in the corner suddenly spoke to him.
Ah, damn.
He really didn't want to get involved. But he couldn't just ignore the man either.
"Ah—I was pretty thirsty. This is quite good."
"I'm enjoying it rather well myself. Even back home, it's hard to find beer of this quality."
"Where's home?"
"Burton upon Trent, England."
"Oh—Burton Pale Ale!"
"You know it?"
The man smiled, eyes widening in surprise.
"Haha. I used to run a bar."
Before he knew it, Ivan had let his guard down. It had happened without him even realizing it.
"I never expected to meet someone in the Tower who knew the beer of my hometown. Since this is fate, allow me to buy you a drink."
"No, you don't have to…"
Despite the polite refusal, Ivan's face was full of smiles.
"It's quite all right. Ah—come to think of it, I haven't introduced myself. I am Jeremiah Croft."
The man who called himself Jeremiah rose from his seat, approached Ivan, and politely extended his hand.
"Ah, I'm Ivan."
Their hands met.
And then—
"Very well, Ivan. Might I ask you just one thing?"
"Of course."
With an expression that no longer held even a speck of wariness, he nodded.
"You said you ran a bar—have you ever sold liquor made from human blood?"
"…What?"
Ivan blinked. For a moment he simply failed to understand the question.
"Judging by your reaction, it seems not. How unfortunate. To have missed out on such a magnificent flavor."
Jeremiah shook his head as if truly disappointed, then continued.
"In truth, I find overflowing vitality far more to my liking than beer like that."
Shlick—!
Something sliced across Ivan's throat.
"Uh… uh?"
A stinging pain. He tried to raise a hand to the wetness spreading there, but he couldn't. Jeremiah was holding both of his wrists.
"Then the two of us shall drink your life well."
The two of us?
Only then did Ivan grasp his situation. His eyes flew wide as he looked toward the kitchen. The pretty waitress was smiling at him—like a predator with its prey right in front of it.
"Guh—ghhhk—!"
He was trying to say something, but his windpipe, flooded with blood, produced no sound at all.
Thud—!
In the end, Ivan collapsed to the floor without managing even a single scream.
"Drain it all before it spoils and chill it thoroughly."
"Yes, Master."
At Jeremiah's words, the waitress dragged Ivan's corpse into the kitchen. Amazingly, not a single drop of blood stained the floor. As if defying gravity, it floated in midair and followed the body.
Jeremiah watched with a satisfied expression, then returned to his seat and sat down.
Right then—
"Player Jeremiah Croft. Bloodsucking [D] and Brainwashing [D]. You have some rather interesting skills, don't you?"
Flinch—!
How long had it been sitting there? A monster with the appearance of a grotesque, twisted angel was in his seat, sipping beer.
"…Didascalia?"
"Correct!"
At his murmur, the monster clapped its hands in delight.
"Quite some time has passed, yet you still remember my name. You've got a good head on your shoulders, hmm?"
Didascalia downed the remaining beer in one go, then floated up into the air.
"Player Jeremiah Croft. I'm very interested in you. Considering everything you've done so far, how could I not find you fascinating?"
"What are you trying to say?"
Jeremiah hid his surprise and asked as calmly as he could manage.
"As expected of someone from the land of gentlemen."
Of course, Didascalia was mocking him.
"I have a little job for you to do in my place. To be precise—killing someone. That's your specialty, isn't it?"
Killing people. At those words alone, Jeremiah felt his tense body slowly unclench.
"How about it? It'll be fun, won't it?"
Didascalia's whisper tickled his ear—the temptation of a devil, or of his own true nature.
The Glacier Dragon strained with everything it had to escape the darkness.
It was impossible. The Black Shadow Legion did not possess a single blow strong enough to end the creature's life—but it had more than enough power to lock its movements down completely. A colossal body some fifty to seventy meters long was being utterly suppressed by a mere hundred black shadows.
GROOOOOOOOAAAR—!
It roared without pause, trying to call its thralls, but that too was useless. Outside, the 3 No had sealed the entrance and were holding back the monsters pouring in.
They won't hold for long.
Yujin, who had spread his senses all the way to the entrance, made the call. The 3 No were fighting hard, but—
There are just too many.
Three people alone could never stop that flood of monsters. And those things had durability that made zombies look like paper; a breakthrough was only a matter of time.
Five minutes at most?
His people wouldn't be in real danger by then—but past that point the monsters would slip through the gaps and reach this place.
"Have to finish before that."
Fortunately, the Black Shadow Legion was handling the part Yujin had been most worried about. Without them, the Glacier Dragon would have brought the whole mountain down just to kill him.
But—
They're too weak.
No finishing blow. In a large-scale battle they would have been rock-solid allies, yet they lacked the raw power to put down a single powerful monster. In the end, Yujin would have to step in himself.
My mana hasn't fully recovered yet…
Summoning the Black Shadow Legion had burned through an enormous amount of mana—enough that Yujin had felt a hollow emptiness for a moment. Still, this should be enough. Enough to cut the throat of a Glacier Dragon held fast by a hundred shadow soldiers.
"Hoo—"
Yujin drew a long breath and poured every last scrap of remaining mana into the Galaxy Sword [B].
KEEEEEEEEEENG—!
Mana stretched beyond its limits, vibrating so violently it seemed ready to shatter the Galaxy Sword [B] itself.
And then—
FLASH—!
A beautiful river of stars began to flow across the dark nest.