For a man who had spent the last eight years of his life cleaning up hazardous chemical spills in a sterile, neon-lit corporate logistics center, sleeping in a coffin felt profoundly and humiliatingly absurd.

  When Michael had retreated from the grand balcony the night before, his mind had been a fractured mess of panic, exhaustion, and the terrifying realization that he was no longer playing a game. He had stumbled through the halls of Castle Nightfall, a gothic fortress he knew like the back of his hand yet was experiencing for the very first time.

  When he finally reached the Master Bedroom, he had stared at his "bed"—a luxurious casket resting on a platform. In the game, logging out in the coffin gave a rested experience bonus. In this new reality, it was just a terrifying reminder of what he had become.

  Yet, as he stared at it, his new, undead biology practically sang with yearning. His instincts craved the dark, enclosed and heavily fortified space. Feeling like an absolute idiot, Michael had climbed in, folded his hands over his chest, and pulled the lid shut.

  He had expected to lie there in the pitch black, suffocating on his own anxiety. Instead, the moment the lid sealed, a wave of tranquility washed over him and he fell into a deep sleep.

  Eight hours later, Michael opened his eyes.

  He pushed the lid open with a flick of his wrist and it ground against the stone, sliding back. Michael sat up, running a hand through his hair.

  He took a deep breath and to his absolute shock, he felt incredible.

  His physical exhaustion was entirely gone while his mind was sharp, calm, and meticulously clear. Back in the real world, eight hours of sleep on his lumpy apartment mattress left his back aching and his head pounding with a migraine. But here? Even as a walking corpse whose heart beat only once every minute, sleep was still a universal blessing.

  He swung his legs over the side of the casket, his silk robes rustling against the marble.

  "Alright," he muttered. "Step one: Don't get arrested by the police."

  He strode across the bedroom and opened the doors.

  Lady Lavius was waiting for him.

  When she saw him, a sadistic smirk revealed two rows of teeth.

  "Good morning, Master," Lavius purred. "I trust the shadows embraced you warmly?"

  "They did, Lavius," Michael replied. "Report."

  Lavius pushed off the wall, standing at attention, though her tail continued its restless twitching. "I spent the night scouring the rubble of the estates we displaced and I am pleased to report that the human casualties are dreadfully low."

  Michael felt a massive wave of relief wash over him, though his face remained impassive.

  Thank God.

  "Give me the exact numbers," Michael commanded.

  Lavius sighed, visibly disappointed. "A meager eight souls, My Lord. Two house servants, three groundskeepers, and three private guards. Their auras were weak and pathetic. Their bodies are currently crushed under several thousand tons of your glorious foundation."

  Eight counts of involuntary manslaughter, Michael’s janitor brain said. I dropped a mountain on eight people!

  "And witnesses?" Michael asked, forcing his voice to remain flat and indifferent.

  "None on the immediate cliffside," Lavius reported. "The surrounding estates are entirely vacant. The only potential observers were the crews of the various steam-powered vessels far out in the harbor, however darkness and the ensuing dust cloud would have obscured our exact arrival."

  "Excellent," Michael said, genuinely meaning it. He turned his back to her, looking out a narrow slit window into the corridor. The morning sun was beginning to rise, casting golden rays across Londinium. "Dismissed, Lavius. Have Dralis prepare the dining hall. We have matters to discuss."

  "As you command," she whispered, sinking into the shadows of the corridor and vanishing completely.

  Left alone, Michael exhaled a long and shaky breath. Eight people dead. Four mansions destroyed. It was a disaster but it was fixable. He just had to rely on the game’s mechanics holding true in this new reality.

  He raised a hand and swiped his fingers through the air. The interface of his Romanov system came to life in his vision and he navigated past his stat page—ignoring the massive red warning that his stats were currently debuffed by 50% due to the rising sun—and opened his Spell Repository.

  As a Level 100 High Mage, he possessed over twelve thousand spells so he quickly utilized the mental search function.

  Tier 5: True Repair.

  Description: Reverses entropy on inanimate objects within a designated radius, restoring them to their optimal and undamaged state. Consumes moderate mana.

  Tier 10: True Revive.

  Description: Forces the soul back into a deceased vessel, stitching flesh and bone together to recreate the subject exactly as they were moments before death. Memories of the fatal event are heavily fragmented or erased. Consumes massive mana.

  Michael closed the menu. He had the tools. Now, he just needed to convince a trio of bloodthirsty, human-hating NPCs to play along with his cover-up.

  The grand dining hall of Castle Nightfall was a display of the excessive wealth of the Sabwat guild. A massive chandelier of black iron and glowing purple crystals hung over a long mahogany table that could easily seat fifty people.

  Michael sat at the head of the table. To his right sat Morpheus, his left Lavius, and standing perfectly rigid behind Michael’s chair was Dralis, looking down his nose at the room.

  From the shadows of the kitchen, a dozen of undead skeleton servants emerged. In the game, they were simple cosmetic pets. Now, they moved with their hollow eye sockets glowing with blue light as they carried silver platters of lavishly prepared food.

  They set plates of roasted meats, fresh fruits, and warm breads on the table. In Romanov, vampires didn't eat human food. But thanks to Michael’s unique Progenitor trait, which allowed him to consume 'Essence' in all its forms, and the mechanics of this new world, he could actually taste and enjoy it. He casually picked up a piece of seasoned lamb and took a bite. The explosion of flavor nearly made him weep with joy, but he maintained his stoic chewing.

  He swallowed, wiped his mouth with a silk napkin, and looked at his three commanders.

  "We are in uncharted territory," Michael began. "The rules of our existence have shifted. We are surrounded by a massive human metropolis that cannot comprehend our strength, nor should they be allowed to until we dictate it."

  Morpheus nodded slowly, his eyes narrowing in thought. "Agreed, My Lord. A premature display of force would rally the entire continent against us. We are mighty, but engaging in a war of attrition on day one is a fool's gamble."

  "Exactly," Michael said, mentally thanking Morpheus for always rationalizing his cowardice into tactical brilliance. "Therefore, we will not conquer them from the outside. We will infect them from within. We are going to adopt mortal identities."

  The silence in the dining hall was deafening.

  Dralis, standing behind Michael, actually dropped the silver wine pitcher he was holding and it clattered against the floor. Lavius’s jaw dropped, her eyes widening in disbelief.

  Only Morpheus remained entirely still, though a spark of realization flashed in his eyes as he leaned forward, steepling his fingers.

  "We cannot walk this city as monsters," Michael continued, projecting authority to mask his racing heart. "If we are to survive, we must live among them inconspicuously. I will adopt a human name. From this day forward, to the outside world, I am Count Mikhail. A nobleman from a distant and foreign land across the sea."

  "A... a human noble?" Dralis stammered, his composure shattering. "My Lord, you are the Progenitor! To lower yourself to the muck of these mortal insects—"

  "It is a disguise, Dralis," Michael replied, injecting just enough ice into his tone to make the Seneschal flinch. "A necessary veil. Furthermore, you three shall accompany me. Lavius, you will present yourself as my wife, the Countess. Morpheus, you shall be my son and heir and Dralis, you will remain our family's butler."

  Lavius looked physically ill. "Your... human wife?" she whispered, staring at her blue hands.

  "Our family name to the public will be House Sabwat," Michael finished. "The rest of the guild's forces will remain hidden within the castle until I command otherwise. We are the face of this operation."

  Michael took a breath, preparing for the most difficult part of his pitch.

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  "And to ensure our arrival remains a secret… to establish our first foothold in this world, we are going to fix what we broke last night. I am going down to the cliff base to repair the mansions we destroyed and resurrect the humans we crushed."

  The temperature in the room plummeted.

  Lavius’s chair screeched against the floor as she stood up abruptly. Her wings flared out, knocking over her silver goblet and her sadistic nature, usually reserved for her enemies, boiled over into pure rage.

  "No!" Lavius hissed, her lips pulling back to bare her fangs. "To wear their skin is one thing, Master, but this? To waste your divine mana, the very essence of your supreme power, on inferior, fragile human trash? It is horrifying! It borders on blasphemous! Let them rot in the dirt where they belong!"

  Michael’s mind completely blanked. He stared at the furious Succubus, entirely paralyzed. In the real world, when someone yelled at him, he usually just looked at his shoes and apologized. But he was Count Mikhail now. The Vampire Lord. If he backed down now or showed weakness, they would realize he was a fraud. But he had absolutely no idea how to explain basic human empathy to a literal demon without sounding pathetic.

  He stared at her in total silence with eyes that were wide, unblinking and locked onto hers.

  Lavius’s fury began to waver under his silent scrutiny and she swallowed hard, suddenly realizing she had just raised her voice to a being who could turn her to ash with a single thought.

  "Father," Morpheus’s voice put an end to the tension.

  Michael didn't break eye contact with Lavius, but he inclined his head slightly toward the Dhampir.

  "May I explain the depths of your strategy to her?" Morpheus asked respectfully. "Her temper clouds her vision."

  Oh, thank God. Yes. Please do, Michael thought desperately.

  Outwardly, he simply gave a slow nod.

  Morpheus stood up and looked at Lavius with pity and condescension. "Lavius, you are looking at the dirt while our Lord is looking at the stars. Do you truly believe he cares for the lives of eight human insects?"

  Michael didn't move a muscle, though he internally winced.

  "Think about the board," Morpheus instructed, pacing slowly. "If we leave the ruins, the local authorities will investigate. They will find crushed bodies and a destroyed neighborhood. They will send the military. They will ask questions. But... if our Lord repairs the damage and revives the dead, what happens?"

  Lavius blinked, her anger fading into confusion. "The... the authorities have no reason to investigate?"

  "Exactly," Morpheus smiled. "And those eight humans? They wake up entirely unharmed, facing a wealthy and powerful nobleman who claims to have saved them from a natural disaster. We instantly acquire eight fiercely loyal, unquestioning human pawns. They know the city and the gossip. They will be our invisible spies. Our Lord is not saving humans, Lavius. He is meticulously placing his pieces on the board so that we may eventually consume this entire city from the inside out."

  Morpheus turned to Michael, bowing deeply. "A brilliant and flawless gambit, Father. To turn an accident into a masterclass of infiltration."

  Lavius gasped and the revulsion on her face melted into an expression of twisted awe. She fell to her knees, bowing her head to the floor. "Forgive me, Master! I am a blind and foolish creature! Your cruelty and genius know no bounds. To enslave them with false gratitude... it is deliciously wicked!"

  Michael simply closed his eyes and shook his head in a slow, almost weary agreement.

  "Do not let it happen again, Lavius," Michael murmured softly.

  "Never, My Lord," she whispered.

  Before they could descend the mountain, they had to look the part.

  Morpheus and Dralis had it easy. As high-tier vampires, their natural forms were essentially handsome pale humans. Dralis simply adjusted the lapels of his butler suit, while Morpheus swapped his armor for a sharply tailored, aristocratic tailcoat, leaning heavily into his role as the heir.

  Lavius, however, had work to do.

  Standing in the castle courtyard, she grimaced in utter disgust as she initiated her innate shapeshifting skills. Michael watched, morbidly fascinated. With a series of cracks, her leathery bat wings folded inward, sinking painfully into the flesh of her back until only two smooth scars remained. Her spade-tipped tail retracted up her spine.

  The blue of her skin rapidly bleached, shifting into a porcelain white and her glowing purple eyes dulled into a vivid violet, while the demonic slit pupils rounded out. Finally, she raised her hands, meticulously filing her razor-sharp claws down to perfectly manicured, natural nails.

  When she was finished, the demonic monster was gone. In her place stood a breathtakingly beautiful, albeit incredibly intimidating, noblewoman in a dress.

  "I feel so... fragile," Lavius muttered, looking at her human hands with the same revulsion one might look at a clump of feces.

  "You look perfect," Michael said, attempting to sound encouraging, though it came out as a commanding statement of fact.

  He led them out of the main courtyard gates and onto the mountain path that had miraculously formed when the castle merged with the cliffside.

  As they walked, the morning sun finally crested over the horizon, bathing the cliff in bright light.

  The moment the sunlight hit Michael’s skin, he staggered.

  He didn't burst into flames as his max level protected him from the instant death lower-tier vampires suffered. But the system's debuff slammed into him.

  Warning: Direct Sunlight Detected. All Stats Reduced by 50%.

  It felt as though someone had just strapped a hundred pound vest to his chest. His limbs grew heavy, and his previously infinite pool of magical points felt suddenly restricted, as if breathing through a straw. He clenched his jaw, forcing himself to remain upright, relying on his high strength stat to carry the new weight.

  Even weakened by half, he was stronger than anything in this world, but the physical sensation was jarring.

  He had another secret reason for coming down here today. He needed to test his magic and know what casting a Tier 10 spell actually felt like in a world governed by physical laws. He needed to know his limits and he needed to do it in front of his NPCs to solidify their absolute reverence for him.

  They reached the base of the cliff twenty minutes later and the devastation was complete. Millions of tons of rock from the castle's foundation had sheared off, utterly pulverizing the four luxury summer villas below. It was a mess.

  "Stand back," Michael commanded.

  Dralis, Morpheus, and Lavius stepped back in perfect unison, watching him with rapt attention.

  Michael walked to the edge of the rubble and took a slow breath, raising his right hand. He mentally selected the Tier 5 spell.

  "True Repair," he commanded.

  He felt the mana drain from his core. It wasn't just a depleting blue bar in his peripheral vision anymore; it was a physical sensation, a sudden, chilling emptiness in his chest, as if a blizzard had erupted inside his veins.

  Massive, glowing golden geometric circles exited from his palm, expanding rapidly until they covered a radius of several acres.

  What followed was a breathtaking display of reversed entropy as the crushed marble blocks vibrated, glowing with golden light, before violently throwing off the dirt and lifting into the air. Splintered wood knit itself back together and crushed statues reassembled seamlessly. In a matter of seconds, the rubble rearranged itself, restructuring the four mansions into flawless condition. Even the gardens bloomed back to life, the crushed roses un-flattening themselves.

  It was as if the mountain had never fallen on them at all.

  Morpheus let out a breath of pure awe. "Magnificent."

  But Michael wasn't done. The real test was next.

  He stepped deeper into the newly restored courtyard of the largest mansion and could feel the residual auras of the eight humans buried beneath the grass.

  He raised both hands this time and closed his eyes to call upon the Tier 10 spell.

  "True Revive!"

  The physical toll of channeling Tier 10 magic in the daytime was horrifying as the 50% debuff meant his mana pathways were constricted. Forcing a spell of this magnitude through his weakened system felt like trying to hold back a hurricane with his bare hands.

  His muscles screamed and an agonizing pressure built up behind his eyes.

  The atmospheric pressure dropped so rapidly that the windows of the restored mansions rattled in their frames. The sky overhead darkened momentarily, and a silver and green light was launched from Michael’s body.

  Deep beneath the soil, the spell went to work. The magic dug through the earth, locating the mangled remains of the eight humans and it forcefully pulled them to the surface, depositing them gently onto the grass.

  Before the eyes of his subordinates, the miracle occurred. The silver light enveloped the corpses and the shattered bones snapped back into place with cracks that were quickly muffled by the mending of flesh. Mangled limbs straightened and blood was magically synthesized and pumped back into still veins.

  In a matter of seconds, the eight humans were restored to perfect condition, their wounds entirely vanished. The magic seamlessly wiped the agonizing memories of their deaths, resetting their minds to the moments right before the castle fell.

  The light faded and the low atmospheric pressure dissipated.

  Michael stood amidst the eight unconscious bodies and dropped his hands to his sides. His chest was heaving, his breath coming out in pants and sweat beaded on his forehead. He felt completely drained.

  To Michael, he was breathing heavily because the sun was cooking him and he had just redlined his magical capacity.

  But to Dralis, Lavius, and Morpheus, it was a terrifying display of godly exertion. They watched their invincible Lord chest heaving, realizing the sheer and incomprehensible power it took to force the universe to rewrite life and death on a whim. They dropped to their knees in the grass, utterly subjugated by his might.

  A quiet groan broke the silence.

  Michael forced his breathing to steady, straightening his posture and looking down.

  A young human woman in a maid's apron was starring. She blinked, coughing lightly as she sat up on the grass and rubbed her head, looking around in bewilderment. She saw the intact mansion and the other seven unconscious servants and guards.

  Then, she looked up.

  Towering over her was a majestic, impossibly handsome aristocrat in midnight silk, beside by three equally terrifying, beautiful nobles who were currently kneeling in the grass behind him.

  "W-what?" the maid, Greta, stammered, scrambling backward slightly. "Who... what happened?"

  Michael stepped forward and slipped into his persona, channeling every ounce of regal authority he could muster.

  "Peace, child," Michael said softly. "You are safe."

  "I... I was in the kitchen," Greta stuttered, clutching her head. "There was a sound. A terrible roar... like the world was ending."

  "A rockslide," Michael lied effortlessly. "A terrible collapse of the cliffside above. It struck your estates in the night. You were all knocked unconscious."

  Greta’s eyes widened in horror. "The house! The master's home—!" She looked around frantically, but stopped when she saw the mansion standing tall and flawless behind her.

  "My family and I were traveling the mountain pass when we heard the destruction," Michael continued, pointing vaguely to the mountain path behind him. "We possess... ancestral restorative magics. I saw to it that your wounds were healed, and your homes rebuilt. You have nothing to fear."

  Greta looked at the flawless architecture and at her own unharmed body, feeling the absence of pain. She looked at the other breathing and healthy servants. The miracle overwhelmed her simple understanding of the world.

  Tears welled in her eyes and she scrambled onto her knees, pressing her forehead to the dirt at Michael’s boots, weeping with gratitude.

  "A miracle," she sobbed. "You are saints. Angels. To whom... to whom do I owe this honor, My Lord?"

  Michael looked down at her and briefly met Morpheus’s eyes. The Dhampir offered a tiny smirk of approval. The first pawn was captured. The infiltration had begun.

  Michael looked back down at the weeping maid.

  "You owe nothing," he said. "But you may call me Mikhail. Count Mikhail. And we… are House Sabwat."