Chapter 12: The Age of Steam
All of these words from the tall, towering vampire became a distant buzzing in Elara's ears, like the mechanical drone of unseen clockwork buried deep within the mansion's walls.
Her mind, once full of rage and anger toward this vampire, somehow emptied again—replaced by a toxic, overpowering hunger that crawled through her veins like liquid fire.
Hungry... why am I so hungry... Her mind kept repeating the words, a mantra that drowned out rational thought; her red eyes blinked rapidly as the thought rang in her consciousness, pupils dilating and contracting in an unnatural rhythm.
She stared at the thick, smooth skin and perfectly muscled neck of the towering vampire, watching the subtle shift of tendons beneath his marble-pale exterior when he spoke.
A thin film of saliva gathered in her mouth, threatening to spill past her lips where her new fangs pressed uncomfortably against the tender flesh.
But at the same time, her eyebrows knit together and her mouth pouted in frustration, frowning as she struggled against the primal urge.
Her disheveled chestnut hair fell across her face as she shook her head slightly, trying to clear the fog of hunger.
What is he babbling about? She was bothered by the movement of his neck and the way it was sometimes obscured by his dark brown hair, which swayed like liquid shadow with his every gesture, hiding then revealing the tempting column of his throat.
On the other hand, Lucien noticed that this time the vampire woman was silent—or rather, her gaze had grown unfocused.
What is she doing? Disbelief and ridicule spread across Lucien's expression. It seemed his ability was not as perfect as he had thought.
Realizing that continuing this topic would only lead to endless arguments, he quickly switched the subject.
"Now, tell me, what are your other abilities?" he commanded.
Also, by now, he was beginning to grasp the difference between speaking normally and giving a command: as long as he willed it, his words would become law.
He could feel the power coiling in his chest, rising through his throat, infusing each syllable with supernatural authority that tingled on his tongue like electricity before manifesting in the world around him.
And the vampire woman, Elara—who had been silent and dazed—snapped back to her senses with an almost physical jolt. Her pupils contracted sharply, the crimson irises brightening as awareness flooded back.
Abilities? What is he saying?
"Abilities?" Elara repeated, echoing his words.
Her mind gradually returned to clarity; the haziness and hunger that had clouded her thoughts vanished in an instant, like fog burned away by sudden sunlight.
She now looked up at this towering vampire, her chestnut hair falling back from her face as she tilted her head, revealing the elegant line of her neck.
Abilities? How did we come to that, after all those accusations and arguments?!
Seeing her confusion, Lucien clicked his tongue against his teeth and sighed.
"Then tell me—what age is it now?" Once again, he felt something stirring within him: the command pulsing like a second heartbeat as he spoke, vibrating through his chest and throat before manifesting in the air between them.
"W-what ar—" Just as she was about to retort, her face reddened for some reason, supernatural blood rushing to her cheeks in a parody of human embarrassment.
The blue veins beneath her skin darkened visibly, pulsing with the effort of resistance. Her blood seeming to boil within her veins, she gripped the tattered remains of her gown, knuckles whitening.
Her breath faltered—quick, shallow gasps that stirred the air before her—before she managed to calm herself with visible effort, her shoulders squaring and spine straightening.
She glared at this towering vampire, her gaze filled with resentment and hatred so intense it seemed to crackle in the air between them like static electricity.
"It's the Age of Steam," the vampire woman finally answered, the words spilling from her lips without her permission.
This time, those uncomfortable compulsions disappeared, leaving her momentarily exhausted, as if she had been physically struggling against chains.
"After endless battles with the Demon King, humanity finally reached the Age of Steam, where gunpowder, clockwork, and gears help us fight demons more effectively.
"And by this point, in all of history, the demons have been pushed back. We have reclaimed everything." Her lips curled into a bitter smile, exposing the edge of a fang.
"It's a pity we cannot slay and utterly annihilate demons like you in a single sweep," she added.
Lucien ignored her sarcasm, his expression remaining impassive save for the subtle flicker of his crimson eyes.
He focused instead on absorbing this historical context.
So there are demons in this Victorian age... and me... a vampire... At this, Lucien looked at the vampire woman in front of him with renewed intensity, studying her as a scientist might examine a fascinating specimen:
Beautiful as a model—her pale skin still holding the warmth of life, a golden glow beneath the surface that separated her from truly undead creatures. Almost human, yet unmistakably more.
Even now, her red pupils held a hidden allure, that elusive charm unique to every vampire.
So, a vampire is considered a demon by most factions. Lucien nodded thoughtfully, his crimson eyes narrowing in contemplation as he examined the vampire woman across from him.
Then, recalling memories of the other woman—perhaps her sister—her radiant smile even in death, Lucien asked again, "So, how vast and strong is the influence of the church here?"
"The church?" At these words, Elara's posture changed subtly. Lucien noticed her breathing grew calmer, her shoulders relaxing from their defensive posture before tensing again with a different kind of anger.
The shift was followed by a loud, indignant snort—the same rage now redirected at a new subject. Her fangs momentarily visible, she brushed a strand of chestnut hair from her face with a quick, agitated movement.
"They claim credit for holding the demons at bay, for saving mankind from fiends—stories built on the testimony of believers and little else."
Her voice dripped with disdain, each word precise and cutting as she paced a small circle, her tattered blue gown whispering against the blood-slicked floor.
"There's never any solid proof. But their influence is everywhere: law, faith, the streets. In this city, their shadow stretches as long as the smokestacks, and just as choking."
Oh? Lucien raised one eyebrow in curiosity at her reaction. So the "nobles"—as he assumed these vampire women and their servants to be—were not allied with the church?
Well, that's the classic power struggle in fantasy worlds. Still, the church's influence, even in this Victorian age, meant people continued to devote themselves to the gods.
The raised eyebrow lowered as Lucien's features hardened into a frown, deep creases forming between his brows.
That could be a problem for me, as a vampire.
The image of classic church believers hunting immortal creatures like himself returned to his thoughts—torches, silver crucifixes, holy water, all those weapons that might harm him in this new existence.
But, let's put that aside for now—I'm more interested in something else. "What about the demons?" Lucien asked. "Besides humans and demons, do elves exist?"
When Lucien posed this question, the vampire woman looked genuinely baffled—her eyes wide, crimson irises brightening with surprise, then narrowing with suspicion, as if questioning his intelligence.
Her lips parted slightly, revealing the edge of a fang before she pressed them together in a thin line.
How could he not know the most basic facts about this world? The confusion wrinkled her brow.
Unlike in medieval or ancient times, vampires in this era rarely slumber, she thought, studying him with renewed curiosity.
Perhaps because of the leap in technology, many people even seek to become vampires.
They would play with humans, usually feeding on their blood before fleeing back to demon territories.
From Elara's perspective, Lucien's state of knowledge seemed ridiculous.
She took in his powerful frame, the way the shattered moonlight played across his marble-pale skin, highlighting the supernatural strength evident in every line of his body.
In her opinion, Lucien—a vampire perhaps only Tier 4, or a little higher—couldn't possibly be that old after all.
No ancient vampire would ask such fundamental questions about the world.
But then her expression froze, the animation draining from her features as suddenly as blood from a wound.
Her eyes, which had regarded Lucien with disbelief, suddenly grew wary—pupils contracting to thin vertical slits against the crimson backdrop of her irises.
Wait... did he... or perhaps he is an ancient vampire? Ancient enough to have forgotten the very fundamentals of their world? Her lips parted slightly, fangs catching the fractured light as she inhaled sharply.
Lucien, who had been waiting for an answer and observing her shifting reactions, began to frown.
Deep creases formed between his brows, casting small shadows across his eyes in the colored light filtering through the stained glass above.
He commanded, "Speak,"
In an instant, the vampire woman who had been silent and conflicted finally began to explain, "There are Humans, Elves, and Demons. And there are races like Demi-Humans—like you, a vampire."
A demi-human? So perhaps centaurs exist too? Or half-beasts? Lucien wondered privately.
"Then what about our current location?" he pressed, his voice calmer now but no less commanding. "Where are we right now? What's the closest city?"
"We are in the area called Blackwood Territory," Elara replied. "Aside from this manor, there's a nearby village, Blackwood Village. And the nearest city is called Amberfield."
This time, her unblinking red pupils were fixated on the towering vampire's neck, her gaze intense and hungry. The colored light caught the moisture on her lips where her tongue had unconsciously darted out to wet them.
Muscular, thick, and so tempting... I want to taste it... The hunger rose in her like a tide, threatening to drown rational thought.
Meanwhile, Lucien remained unaware of her intense focus; his mind was elsewhere, diving into the murky waters of memory, recalling the moments when his body was governed by instinct rather than reason.
He remembered blurry, hazy images, like scenes viewed through water: maids fleeing in terror, their skirts whispering across the mahogany floor, their screams echoing through the cavernous space—two of them trying to escape...
Escape... Church..
Suddenly, Lucien narrowed his eyes at Elara, the crimson irises glowing more intensely as he snapped back to the present moment.
"Did any of them flee?!" Unconsciously, Lucien grabbed her shoulder and shook her slightly, having noticed she seemed dazed for some reason.
His grip was firm, powerful—fingers digging into the rejuvenated flesh beneath the tattered silk of her gown, the contact sending an electric jolt through both of them.
The questioning brought the vampire woman, Elara, back to herself—but only partially.
A bit confused, she blinked rapidly, her crimson eyes refocusing like camera lenses adjusting.
"Fleeing… yes, there were two maids fleeing, I think…" she muttered, her voice distant and dreamy.
But despite Lucien's urgent tone and the firm shake of her shoulders that made the tattered silk of her gown whisper across her skin, for some reason she still couldn't tear her attention away from his neck.
Her vision seemed to narrow to that single point, the rest of the blood-soaked hall fading to a crimson blur around them. The pulsing veins beneath his pale skin seemed to throb in time with some unheard music, hypnotic and irresistible.
"This is going to be trouble," Lucien muttered under his breath, head lowered, prominant veins protruding at his temple as he frowned. "How far is this manor from the village?"
"Probably two days on foot, but if someone rushed, perhaps one night at the fastest," Elara responded absently, her gaze unfocused and mouth slightly open, just as it had been moments before.
A thin film of saliva gathered at the corner of her lips, threatening to spill over. Her fangs pressed visibly against her bottom lip, leaving tiny indentations in the soft flesh.
Lucien's thoughts remained fixed on her answer, the information sinking into his mind like a stone into still water.
Two days… They'll probably bring reinforcements or send someone to check this manor. Lucien frowned, the expression deepening the already severe lines of his face.
In the current situation, I don't even know if the butler I defeated was strong or not—let alone the possibility that curious villagers or hunters might come to investigate the mansion.
His gaze shifted back to the vampire woman, who sat obediently waiting for him for some reason.
Come to think of it, this is a steampunk fantasy world—and there's magic, too. There must be some power like hierarchy here, right?