Naro reached his castle safely and immediately began the process of strengthening his soul. Within a single week, he consumed more than three hundred stones. The method was simple—each time he crushed a stone, its essence merged into him, and his soul grew stronger.
The only thing that kept him from using more was his own body. His flesh had limits, and if he forced it further, it would collapse under the strain.
Even so, his progress was astonishing. His soul was now over three hundred times stronger than that of a normal human. For comparison, an ordinary person could barely push their soul five times beyond its natural state.
But Naro's advantage lay in his vampire's body. That was the only reason he had managed to endure and reach such a level of soul strength.
…
Naro was ready to continue his plans. The castle around him seemed to lean in, silent and calm. He let out a long, ragged sigh that tasted of rusted iron. "I need a healing blood path nyx" he murmured, voice low enough that only the stones would hear. "Only one can heal this arm… and it belongs to Dracula — the blood mend nyx."
The truth settled over him like a winter frost: to reach the rank-five realm he would have to take Dracula's power for himself. In a fair one-on-one clash, he would not stand a chance. But Naro had never been one to meet fate on its own terms. He had already built a plan—cold, precise, and patient one.
He lifted his cup and drank. The warm, copper tang of human blood slid down his throat, steadying his pulse. He was a vampire; hunger was a tool, not a weakness.
The silence grew heavier. Then Naro's mouth twisted into a hard line and he muttered, almost to himself "I need to find the abandoned knight."
…
"YOU SAID WHAT!?"
Raphael's roar shook the chamber. His eyes flared red, veins rippling like molten fire beneath his skin. The air itself seemed to quake with his fury.
The trembling servant before him bowed lower, voice breaking. "Y-yes, my lord… it is true. Naro… he caused a massacre within the academy… and has turned into a vampire."
Raphael's teeth ground together, his jaw tightening until it cracked. "Is he dumb!?" he spat, pacing like a caged beast. "That bastard dares to fool me? To stain my name with his recklessness? Does he not understand the storm he's dragged onto himself!?"
His breath came harsh and heavy, each exhale laced with venom. He smashed his fist against the table, splintering the wood. For a long, tense moment he only glared into the shadows, his rage pulsing in silence.
Finally, Raphael forced himself to stillness, though his hands trembled as he clasped them behind his back. His voice dropped, colder, more dangerous than his shouting.
"…Why?"
He muttered the word again, softer, thoughtful, but no less menacing. "Why would Naro throw everything away now… to embrace the curse of vampirism? I know him—he's not the kind to act without reason. There's something else beneath this… something he hides even from me."
He turned sharply, his cloak whipping the floor, and his glare fell back upon the servant. "And you said he survived? Alone? Against the entire army of the Radiant Kingdom?"
The servant nodded quickly. "Yes, my lord. No one can explain how, but—"
"ENOUGH!" Raphael's snarl cut through the hall, and with a sudden snap of his hand, the glass goblet on the table exploded into glittering shards. Red wine dripped from his palm, though his hand was unscathed. His lips curled into something between rage and a smile.
"That little rascal…" His voice was low, burning with restrained violence. "…I'll drag him out myself. And when I do, I'll tear the truth from him piece by piece."
The room went silent. Only Raphael's ragged breathing filled the air as he stood among the shards, eyes glowing with the promise of blood.
…
Naro searched for days without pause. His cloak grew ragged with dust, his boots cracked from endless roads, yet he never wavered. In every nameless village, in every roadside tavern, he asked the same questions with a calm mask hiding his impatience:
"Have you seen him? The one they call the Abandoned Knight?"
Most villagers shook their heads fearfully, muttering prayers. Some spat on the ground, unwilling to even speak the knight's name. A few dared to whisper tales—fragments of horror. A figure berserk in broken armor, wandering without rest, his blade dragging along the stones. A monster who killed without reason, whose presence alone brought despair.
Naro's plan could not begin until he found this creature. Everything depended on it.
A day passed. Then a week. Then another. His search stretched into an endless blur of roads and cold nights beneath the stars. Still, Naro did not stop. His will was like iron—he would scour the earth itself before giving up.
Finally, in a rain-soaked village clinging to life at the edge of the forest, he heard what he had been waiting for. A frightened farmer whispered:
"He was here… the Abandoned Knight. Walked through like a storm. Left blood behind him—three dead, maybe more. We buried what was left."
Naro's lips curved into the faintest smile. "At last, a trail."
He followed the rumors, each story guiding him closer. Burned fields. Collapsed cottages. Always the same description: a knight clad in ruined armor, body moving as if half-dead, yet leaving carnage wherever he passed.
And then—there he was.
On a barren stretch of land where the grass had withered to ash, Naro finally saw him. The Abandoned Knight. He walked forward without destination, aimlessly, each step heavy, his great sword dragging behind him with a sound like nails scraping against stone. His armor seemed as if it was shattered in places, rust clinging to its edges, yet dark stains—fresh blood—still glistened on the plates.
There was no purpose in his existence, no light in the way he moved. He was not a man but an empty shell, a wandering calamity dressed in the corpse of a knight.
From the shadows of a ruined wall, Naro watched in silence. His lips curled slowly into a smile, his eyes gleaming with both recognition and hunger.
Finally.
The abandoned knight had revealed himself.