True Ruler
“Hah... Hot?”
Morgana awoke from sleep with a frivolous moan.
“Are you awake, miss?”
“...Yeah.”
Camilla, the maid who always attended her side, bowed her head politely in greeting.
“Did you have a nightmare?”
“No, just... a weird dream, Camilla.”
A nightmare... yeah, that was right. A dream where some imp grabbed her by the hair and ravaged her wildly.
Damn it, why the hell did I dream something like that...?
A vampire who prided herself on ruling the night—eldest daughter of the Bloodveil family, the pinnacle of bloodlines—being toyed with by a lowly imp? Her pride wouldn't allow it.
So she didn't tell even her most trusted subordinate, Camilla, about the dream's contents. It was obvious that spilling it out loud would lead to unnecessary hassle.
“The family head sent a letter, miss.”
“...I don't wanna read it, so summarize it for me.”
“Understood. To put it simply, it's an order to come home soon and marry your fiancé.”
“As expected from that old geezer—talk that doesn't even make sense.”
Morgana Bloodveil, the wine fanatic of the Bloodveil family, was originally born into a historic vampire noble house.
But she had always craved freedom. Even though she could have everything, she cast it all aside and headed to the land of opportunity, Terranium.
“The family head wants you to return quickly, get engaged, bear a child, and succeed the family.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know. I know. I saw him during the last Blood Moon, remember?”
Of course, the Bloodveil family head cherished even such a rebellious daughter. He wished she wouldn't stay in the crime-ridden city-state of Terranium and would stay by his side instead.
So during the Blood Moon, vampires' holiday, he always showered her with nagging. In hopes that his precious daughter would return.
“I'm over 300 years old now. Does he still think I'm some young vampire?”
“You're right. You're no longer an immature miss. So you must understand the responsibilities of a true ancestor.”
“Ugh!”
Vampires emphasized blood ties. Their habit of making blood their staple turned it into worship.
Even the runaway Morgana, as a vampire, hated the 'family head' who suppressed her freedom, but she didn't hate her 'father'.
“Fine! Write back that I'll visit after wrapping up this job.”
“Miss, if I send it, the family head will notice.”
“You can imitate my handwriting perfectly.”
“That's because your letter style and mine are different.”
“Ugh!”
In the end, Morgana rubbed her forehead and picked up a pen to write the letter herself.
Damn it... I'm already distraught from that dream last night. What the hell is going on?
She couldn't waste time like this. She needed to devise a plan to shove aside those disgusting werewolves.
“By the way, a fiancé? First I'm hearing of it.”
“He's the eldest son of the family the head chose.”
“Yeah, yeah, if it's what Father wants... But I have no intention of leaving this place. I'll just have the kid and come back.”
“That works. Then I'll take my leave...”
Creeeak. Camilla opened the door and left. She knew her mistress, Morgana, was the type who couldn't write if anyone was watching.
...That tiny imp showing up in my dream. Why?
Was the imp whose face she'd smashed recently that impressive?
The booze he recommended was damn good. Lingered on the tongue just right.
Scratch, scratch. Morgana idly scratched her chest with her fingers. Her plump breasts tingled from the stimulation.
Guess it's been building up. Sigh... No choice but to take care of it myself.
She didn't realize it. The moment she recalled that frail imp's face, her legs had reflexively spread wide.
Nor did she notice the sticky love juices flowing from her pussy, staining her underwear.
Asmodeus and Rasca Slovenia continued their business smoothly. The food street alley had finally come alive, bringing in massive revenue.
“Wow...”
“The Werewolf District was prime real estate for restaurants. Let's expand more.”
“I'd love to, but this is the limit for our turf.”
“Hm.”
The werewolves weren't fully unified yet. Rasca was counted among the strongest in raw power, but because she was female, some wolves looked down on her and split off to form their own groups.
“Then just take them all over.”
“Pardon? How...”
“Crush 'em with force. We've got plenty of cash right now, right?”
“Yes!”
“Feed half to the cops, the other half to the goblins.”
“Uh... You're doing it right now?”
Of course right now. Anything blocking expansion had to be cleared out. Asmodeus decided to wipe out the minor groups that might band together against them someday.
“It's just infighting among werewolves anyway. Cops won't care.”
“Uh... why the goblins?”
“Gonna give 'em pocket change and have 'em fight.”
“But then—”
“Other races meddling in a sacred fight is a big no-no? Now I see why you couldn't become top dog.”
“Wuu...”
Forcing submission would breed resentment. So they had to be utterly crushed.
“Let's start by dealing with the most annoying ones.”
“Then Ropeman's perfect. He was my dad's right-hand man, but betrayed us over business and went independent.”
“Yeah? Buncha trash.”
No need for extra justification. It was just purging a traitor who dared betray the current boss.
“When should we declare war?”
“Hmm~ Two days from now.”
“Pardon? Fight right now...”
“They're the next biggest after us, right? Can't officially start a war now. Too much damage.”
Cryptic words. He'd talked like attacking Ropeman immediately just moments ago, but the declaration was two days later?
“If we're not fighting fair and square to submit them, it'll be a problem...”
“Tsk tsk, still chasing romance?”
After that, Asmodeus used his status window to head to the goblins.
Orcs and goblins were short-lived, low-intelligence races. But their numbers were the highest in Terranium, and their aggression was fierce.
“Want some cash to kill some werewolf bastards?”
“Eh? What can old goblins like us do...”
“If you can pull a trigger, even a kid can kill a lion—that's a gun. So, who's in? You're gonna die old anyway. Leave a fat stack for your sons and grandsons.”
Thus, Asmodeus hired a ton of goblin mercenaries with money. Especially the elderly with short lifespans and no regrets about dying.
Of course, he used Hypnosis as a bonus.
“Even if goblins have guns...”
“They can't fight head-on? You'll just get fingered? Shut up and watch quietly.”
The goblin mercenary unit thus formed moved stealthily under Asmodeus's orders.
“Garum, Asmodeus sends his regards.”
“Who the hell is th—”
Rat-tat-tat-tat—!
The submachine gun with a drum magazine instantly turned Ropeman's organization executive into Swiss cheese.
“A-ambush! Goblins ambushing us!”
“What? Who ordered this...”
“Damn it! Call the executives. We'll all die like this.”
Impossible. Their movements had already been read via status window. The goblins launched near-simultaneous terror attacks, assassinating executives.
“Who the hell is behind this...”
As multiple executives dropped in seconds, Rasca seized the moment to declare war on Ropeman.
“You wolf who betrayed my father and formed your own pack, Ropeman. I'll kill you myself.”
“Rasca! You bitch, it was—”
“Shut your trap and come fight, or die with the rest.”
Werewolf gang wars had two styles.
First: Leaders duke it out fair and square with fists.
Second: Full org vs. org frontal clash.
Normally, Ropeman would've picked the second. But... all his fighting executives were already gone.
“...Don't kill my men.”
“Promise.”
In the end, to save his subordinates, he chose a 1v1 with Rasca.
“Raaargh!!”
He charged at Rasca with courage, but his fist only hit air.
“Impressive.”
Of course, not impressive for a male. Crunch—! Ropeman's skull exploded. Rasca trampled the corpse and roared.
“This district is mine now. Any objections?”
“...”
“Good. No objections it is.”
Rasca grinned in satisfaction. All this was to offer to the true male, Asmodeus.
That was the true meaning of life.