North Face Family: A Decade in the Vampire's Domain
Ten years had passed since we, the North Face Family, settled in this city. We'd forged an alliance with Big Daddy and plunged into the game board of the 666 demons. As Dantalian's contractor, I was fulfilling my pact with that bastard. Big Daddy was honoring his contract with Glashalabolras. We'd thrown ourselves into the wars ravaging the North Continent, this land of endless strife like China's Warring States era.
Elves, dwarves, beastkin, exiles and fugitives from other continents, heretics worshiping demons, cultists devoted to outer gods, black mages, pirates, bandits—you name it. This dumping ground of a continent overflowed with every kind of trash imaginable, and we fought alongside Big Daddy's family against it all. Sure, Big Daddy was a demon contractor and a criminal through and through, but the guy had real respect in this city.
The crimes his family committed? Mostly just the bootlegging and black-market deals that the Colorado count's cronies in Dekilaz pulled off in cahoots with the lord. Big Daddy's underground market specialized in fencing tricky goods—cursed grimoires, forbidden magic tools that were a pain to offload. And taxes? Paid in blood donations from the citizens' veins. As a vampire, he had to offer blood regularly to Glashalabolras anyway, so collecting it as tribute made perfect sense. It was steady income, a reliable sacrifice to meet his quota, and kept his bloodkin fed.
In return, Big Daddy provided a safe haven where his people could live without fear, guaranteeing their lives and property. A win-win for everyone. The city's population sat at 30,000—a bit shy of Colorado's, but in this era, that made it a thriving metropolis.
Every month, those 30,000 donated blood, giving Big Daddy what he needed for Glashalabolras and his kin. In truth, the whole city was one big human farm. Or blood factory.
Still, the efficiency is off the charts. And it's mutually beneficial.
Big Daddy's turf boasted better public safety and a freer vibe than Colorado. Citizens there had more economic breathing room too. The only catch? Everyone was a hothead, so street brawls were daily routine. But hey, most folks here were criminals or escaped slaves with nowhere else to go—exiled or fled from every corner of the continents. This trash heap was full of foul-tempered rejects, so that was par for the course.
Even with constant riots and incidents from these loose cannons, Big Daddy kept the peace. Deaths were rare unless something major went down. No wonder he commanded such loyalty.
"Boss. Fresh request from that mosquito punk."
"Got it. Vanessa, what's the job this time?"
"It's right there on the desk in the request form. Read it yourself."
...
"Vanessa? I'm the boss, right? Yeah? Not even a summary?"
"You called me by name, didn't you? And what are your hands, eyes, and brain for? Can't you touch or look at what's right in front of you? Or are you too dim for that?"
...
When did I start getting treated like this? I'm definitely the boss here, right? Yeah?
Vanessa, our former building manager, had volunteered to join the family and help out. I was grateful enough for her handling property stuff, but she insisted on aiding us with zero demands.
She stood there quietly flipping through papers, a cool expression on her face, puffing on a handmade cigar rolled from tobacco leaves. My personal secretary, self-proclaimed? It was great having her handle docs with that stone face, but I didn't want a secretary this brutally blunt.
I pictured the elegant, devoted beauty secretaries from dramas, serving with grace... Why is reality such a shithole? The boss's secretary from my old life's job buttered him up like crazy...
"Boss. Don't make it weird."
"Weird how?"
"It's all over your face."
...
"I don't have a face? What expression?"
"Call it a woman's intuition."
...
Hell, she'd sound more convincing saying she mastered mind-reading!—
"No complaints. Focus on work, Boss."
Vanessa—stunning curves, killer hips, cool beauty. Too bad her personality was ice-cold to her boss and she chain-smoked like a chimney.
"Fine to drool over my perfect figure, but eyes on the papers, not me. Boss."
...
She really did master mind-reading?! And why so shameless?!
But denying her beauty was impossible. Fact.
**
...
...
...
"Hm~ Not just Oz Family—more black mages slinking in? Investigation request on that?"
"The idiot mosquito says he's short-staffed. Central Continent hasn't blown up into full war yet, but skirmishes have raged for six years around borders near the Holy Kingdom and Magus Civitas alliances. Some folks are fleeing to other continents, and a chunk are washing up here in the North. Overwhelmed, he says."
"That incident became the spark for the Central Continent's Cold War era..."
...
Magus Civitas chasing Pladeus's legacy, Holy Kingdom on their tail. I'd sown discord by tossing out the grimoire, then exposed Magus Civitas's secret demon contracts and black mage support.
To cover it, Magus Civitas elder and Blue Tower Lord Gunter massacred the Purity Paladins. Sparked the Second Demon-Human War.
Not full-scale yet, but supporter kingdoms split into factions, invading for land grabs. Battles everywhere around Central Continent.
Magus Civitas and Holy Kingdom had history—a bloody stalemate—so they avoided direct clashes. But neither could back down. Holy Kingdom invoked gods to crush challengers to their authority. Magus Civitas declared liberation war against Holy Kingdom's inquisitions, interventions, and alcohol tax monopolies oppressing everyone.
"If we're heretics for demon summoning, God would've smote us already," they argued. "Holy Kingdom abuses God's name—judge them in His stead." They appealed to surrounding kingdoms.
Even zealots chafe under oppression hitting basic human joys. Kingdoms weighed gains, faiths, politics—splitting Central Continent into Cold War camps.
Ripples hit other continents, chaos spread. Refugees fled to this "abandoned" North Continent.
"The other races here don’t welcome that.... And some want to pull newcomers into their turf to shift the chaos. New turmoil brewing."
"Exactly. Mosquito's job: sift trash mixing in with refugees and cull 'em."
...
"Vanessa? 'Cull' for people?"
"To me, stupid humans are all the same. Oh, relax—excludes you, Boss, and our crew. Rest? Trash or livestock at best."
"Think what you want, but keep it inside. Not all humans suck. Please, Vanessa."
"Fine. As you wish, Boss."
"Thanks."
...
Vanessa flushed faintly, turning to sort papers. I never pried into her human trauma. Her attitude screamed bad memories—rude to dig.
She'd comply grudgingly to my asks. Short thanks, then pondered who to send.
Bam!
"Chief! Heard outside—new gig? Send me! Got a killer idea!"
"Knock gently, or it'll hurt ya! Jean. What's the plan?"
"Burn 'em all to ash!—"
Thwack! "Guh!"
"Hey! All you know is fire?!"
The guy dozing on the living room couch burst in, spouting nonsense—I cracked his skull.
Ten years on, Jean had grown into a handsome hunk. Fused with fire demon, his flaming red hair in a sharp, short riff—pure wild charisma.
But fire mastery ruined it. Bullheaded charge like a boar, solutions always "burn it." Hunk turned pyromaniac!
Fine for wipeouts, not stealth-spy hunts in rival turf.
"I'll call you for fights. Go sleep it off!"
"Ugh... Fine..."
"Boss! Send me then. Freeze 'em quiet—easy peasy!"
Thwack! "Ow!"
"Damn it, Pablo! You too? You two blockheads! Read the damn request! Find enemy spies sneaking in this city—silently tail, dig roots!!"
""You didn't read till now either!!""
...
I'm the boss, right? Boss of this outfit, yeah?
Pablo—blue-white two-tone frosty hair, sipping quietly—followed Jean's idiocy. Cracked his dome too.
These shameless idiots climbed back up? Both only knew freeze or burn. No finesse. Lumped as moron duo in my head.