The Freed Slaves Are Obsessed

Damian Bellamorte Bloodcarmine de la Mort Nosferatu.

Or simply, Damian.

A descendant of the True Ancestors, known as the progenitors of vampires, and the younger brother of the current Vampire Lord. Out of boredom, he left the Demon Realm and settled in the human world.

Just as Elise had suspected, the House of Count Belcador consisted solely of Damian himself. He had lived by changing his appearance, shifting between the guise of an old man and a young boy.

Having lived for centuries, being poor would have marked him as a failure regardless of his species. There was no place in the world for such incompetents.

Well, perhaps there was.

Like those moronic elves who locked themselves away in the forests.

Regardless, Damian was far from such imbeciles. He had thoroughly exploited his abilities, amassing wealth and even securing noble status among humans despite being a vampire.

The only thing left for him was a hobby.

He enthralled women and turned them into vampires. Those who received his blood were to call him "Father," and in turn, he referred to them as his daughters.

A twisted family game.

Though he hadn't personally created Elise, she had received his blood. By that logic, she too was Damian’s child.

Of course, whether Elise accepted that or not was an entirely different matter.

"Who the hell are you calling a daughter? How ridiculous."

Elise scoffed.

Now she understood why Roman had mentioned parentage when she had asked for information on Damian.

He had known about this deranged pastime of his.

Just the thought of having this lunatic's blood in her veins made her stomach churn.

"I understand. It must be difficult to accept. This father of yours truly understands your feelings. But still, I’m deeply grateful that you’ve grown up so well."

Damian reached out toward Elise.

Smack.

Elise coldly slapped his hand away.

Damian looked down at his rejected hand with a bitter expression.

"I must have been too hasty. It must be overwhelming. But don’t worry. I have no doubt that we’ll come to understand each other soon. That’s what family is."

"You torture your family, do you?"

"Torture? No, no. This is family bonding. Look—they're all having fun, aren’t they?"

The women were naked, bound, and covered in whip marks. Their flesh had been scraped raw, and blood flowed freely, pooling on the floor.

It was a sight that would make anyone recoil, but strangely, there was no pain visible on their faces.

Just as Damian had claimed, it seemed they saw this sadistic violence as a form of affection.

"They all wanted this. As their father, I could never do something my daughters wouldn’t enjoy."

If one listened only to his words, it might sound like a harmonious family gathering.

But Elise wasn’t stupid enough to be deceived.

"Oh dear, how rude of me to keep my guest standing for so long. Ruby, prepare a meal. The rest of you, return to your duties."

"Yes, Father."

The women moved with perfect obedience.

Damian’s lips curled into a gentle smile.

"Now then, my daughter, let’s enjoy a nice, private dinner together."

****

"Your sisters worked hard to prepare this meal for you. Don’t hesitate to eat as much as you’d like."

Elise and Damian sat across ❀ Nоvеlігht ❀ (Don’t copy, read here) from each other at an excessively long dining table.

Between them, candles flickered over an array of dishes. Damian wore a smile befitting a kind and doting father.

A maid served food onto Elise’s plate and filled her goblet with liquid.

It was red—not like the deep burgundy of wine, but actual, freshly drawn blood.

And that wasn’t all.

Elise lowered her gaze.

She was greeted with a sickening sight.

Bright red, raw flesh.

Not rare-cooked steak—this meat had not been cooked at all.

And worse yet—it was still alive.

It wasn’t just any street rat from the back alleys. This particular breed was a delicacy among vampires.

But to Elise, it was nothing short of repulsive.

Damian, on the other hand, tore into it without hesitation.

Blood splattered in every direction, yet he didn’t seem to mind.

"I heard from Cardinal Marcenus that you've become a Saintess. To think my daughter is the Holy Kingdom’s Saintess. As a father, I couldn't be prouder."

That lying bastard. He had pretended not to know anything about Damian and yet had been in contact with him all along.

The world was full of liars. There wasn’t a single person who could be trusted.

"I must admit, I never expected the ritual to succeed. Combining divine power with demonic energy? I was convinced your body would collapse from the backlash."

"It did. Everyone but me died. Their bodies didn’t even remain intact—it was beyond gruesome."

"That’s why you’re so special to me. Is this what it feels like to reunite with long-lost family? Hmm... I quite like it. A valuable lesson learned."

The more he spoke, the more absurd he became.

It made Elise want to break his twisted mind.

"So the ones who died weren’t your daughters?"

"Regrettably not. They simply weren’t worthy of receiving my blood."

Damian spoke excitedly.

"In that sense, you were chosen. It means our bond is that much stronger."

"Spilling your bodily fluids everywhere and then calling yourself a father... Even a common street whore wouldn’t be this shameless."

"...It seems you need some discipline."

Elise flashed him a sweet, mocking smile.

"Why did you supply blood to the Holy Kingdom?"

"For an age-old dream of vampires—to conquer the sun."

Vampires, the so-called Lords of the Night, were nothing more than worms in the presence of sunlight.

Like earthworms baking on the pavement in summer, they were utterly helpless under the sun’s rays.

But if they could overcome the sun, everything would change. Vampires, by nature, were designed for expansion. Their ability to spread their kind was unparalleled, making territorial dominance a simple matter.

"If a vampire who could withstand the sun inherited my blood, even the Vampire Lord wouldn’t be able to ignore me. Taking his throne would be child's play."

"So I was just a tool for your political ambitions."

"Tool? Now that’s a hurtful thing to say. You would be the Vampire Lord’s daughter. Not to mention, the Saintess. There wouldn’t be another filial daughter like you in the entire world. No wonder humans treasure family so much."

With great satisfaction, Damian took a sip of his blood-filled wine.

"As expected."

Elise set down her utensils.

"What's wrong? Does the meal not suit your tastes? It was specially prepared with care," Damian said, his voice dripping with mock concern.

"I'm not some beast. You call this heap of bloody scraps food?"

"Deny it all you want, but you’re still a vampire who has inherited my blood. From what I see, you haven’t fed in quite a long time. Your body won’t last like this."

"Don’t concern yourself with it."

"How could I not be concerned? You're my precious daughter."

Elise let out a long sigh.

"Let's end this ridiculous family charade here. Just hearing you talk makes my ears rot."

"Hm. It seems I'm a bit late in giving you proper fatherly discipline. A daughter shouldn't be so insolent toward her father. Yes, that's right. Elise, go down to the basement."

Damian's pupils gleamed with a deep red glow.

It was a blood spell—a vampire-exclusive magic that allowed them to control those who carried their blood. It transcended both the body and the mind.

Even if divine power flowed through Elise’s veins, this was absolute obedience.

Or at least, it should have been.

But Elise didn’t move an inch.

"What? Why... why isn’t the spell working?"

Damian frowned, puzzled. His gaze followed as Elise rose from her seat.

"I never had any expectations. If even the clergy are like this, why would I expect a vampire to be any different?"

Using people as tools to achieve one's goals, all while pretending to be benevolent—it was the same hypocritical script.

A little variation would’ve been nice, but no one ever managed to surprise her. It was getting dull.

"Why? You... you are my daughter, aren’t you? My blood flows through you. This doesn’t make sense..."

Damian was flustered.

To test if something was wrong with him, he turned to a nearby maid and issued a command of self-harm.

Schlck!

Without hesitation, the maid thrust her hand through her own heart and collapsed.

For those connected by blood, the commands of a higher-ranking vampire were absolute.

But something was different about Elise.

It felt like a massive wall was blocking him.

Damian’s voice didn’t reach her heart.

"Who would’ve thought being enslaved would actually work in my favor?" Elise mused.

It wasn't that his commands didn’t affect her at all.

The blood within her tried to bind her body and mind.

It tried to suppress her will, to drag her down.

But there was a contract stronger than that.

A soul-bound shackle that extended beyond her body and mind.

A contract so absolute that even the Great Witch and the Fox God had found rebellion nearly impossible.

As long as that contract existed, no one—not even Damian—could command her.

And it commanded Elise:

"Do as you please."

Elise’s lips curled into a grin.

A burst of divine radiance flared to life.

Like sunlight focused through a magnifying glass, it struck Damian directly.

"Gaaaah!"

"F-Father!"

"I’d advise against stepping in," Elise said flatly. "You wouldn’t last a second."

If they had been lesser vampires, they’d already have turned to ash.

But Damian, a descendant of the True Ancestors, wouldn't die so easily.

A curtain of blood surged forth, shielding him from the searing light.

"What are you doing, child? Do you intend to kill your own father?"

"Of course not. This is all for you, Father."

"...What?"

"You so generously shared your blood with us. Shouldn’t a devoted child give something in return? Consider this my filial piety."

Elise smiled sweetly.

"I’m sharing my divine power with you."

"Who in their right mind would want this filthy—"

"We didn’t want it either."

Her voice dropped to a chilling, empty monotone.

Her face lost all expression.

Not one of the girls who had been there that day had ever wanted it.

If they had known what awaited them, they never would have become nuns.

The girls who died without knowing anything.

The girls who had their chance at salvation stolen.

The girls whose innocent smiles had been painted red with their own blood.

Unforgivable.

"Die."

"Don’t even atone."

"Struggle in agony and just rot away."