The Vampire Count Returned to the Apocalypse Game

Gabriel left the medicine shop with a small leather pouch hanging from his belt. The weight of the vials and ointments was comforting for his state of mind.

His new clothes still carried the scent of freshly worked leather. He had paid more than he initially planned, but he didn’t mind.

Days ago, he would have considered that expense a waste. Now, after the dungeon, he understood the difference perfectly.

The reinforced fabric covered vulnerable areas better. The seams were more resistant and the leather had been treated to withstand deep tears.

He convinced himself it was a necessary investment and not a luxury, holding back tears of financial pain.

His experience had harshly taught him that the difference between living and dying often came down to details like these.

Inside the pouch he carried several basic medicinal brews, ointments for superficial wounds, materials to start fires in adverse conditions, and a sharp one-handed axe.

Its quality was similar to his previous axe, able to serve as a secondary weapon or a versatile tool. He had learned that versatility saved lives more often than brute strength.

While walking through the commercial area again, he carried out one last important task. He inquired about Blood Crystals in several establishments.

He entered alchemists’ shops, healers’ stores, and specialized merchants. He even asked NPCs who seemed more experienced.

The answers were always similar, causing confusion, ignorance, or simple refusals.

"Blood Crystals? Never heard of that item, young man," a merchant replied with a shrug. "Are you sure you don’t mean regular crystals?"

The more he investigated, the stranger the situation seemed. It was as if those crystals belonged to a hidden layer of the world, inaccessible to most.

That confirmed his suspicions. His class evolution wouldn’t be something he could easily buy. He would have to obtain it by his own means.

When night fell, he returned to the same inn where he had stayed before. He paid for a room without arguing about the price. The expense wasn’t too high and sleeping in an establishment granted faster and more complete recovery.

Before finally logging out, his hand touched the yellowish parchment several times. The special quest had only appeared after obtaining the Butcher of Pseudo-Tyrants title. That revealed many secrets.

***

Darkness. And then light.

Gabriel removed the neural helmet from his head with slow movements. The silence of his small apartment enveloped him. Muscle pain arrived shortly after; his shoulders, back, and legs were stiff from playing for so long without proper breaks.

He prepared something simple to eat and went straight back to bed. He had no energy for anything else.

He fell into a deep sleep in just a few minutes.

When he woke up, he repeated exactly the same routine. Eat, prepare, and log in.

Everything else could wait... The game could not.

***

The inn room reappeared around him. Gabriel slowly sat up.

He noticed the difference immediately. The accumulated fatigue had almost completely disappeared and his muscles didn’t feel as sore.

When he left the room, he passed the peculiar attendant. Fortunately this time she didn’t threaten him with her broom.

Instead, the middle-aged woman smiled at him warmly.

Gabriel left the inn without looking back. His attention was on another matter. He took out the old parchment given by the alchemist and studied it while walking.

He compared references, locations, paths, and possible landmarks. For half an hour he asked different NPCs: guards, merchants, and hunters who occasionally knew more than others.

The results were disappointing.

Some had never heard of those ruins. Others only knew contradictory rumors — unconvincing stories about cursed treasures or monster tales. A few simply avoided the subject.

He obtained nothing truly useful.

Until he turned to an old man. He was known for spitting into a basin and smiling at strangers, living without harming anyone.

When Gabriel approached, the man smiled at him with crooked teeth.

"I’ve heard about your story... Those ruins, those ruins are bad, you shouldn’t go. It’s an old village tale, only fools dare... And they no longer remember," he said.

Gabriel felt a slight chill at those words. Especially from the man’s expression and tone.

He took a moment to react, and when he tried to find more clues, the old man ignored him as if he didn’t exist. He continued smiling under the sun.

Finally, he accepted the inevitable conclusion. He would have to discover the truth himself.

He stored the parchment carefully and began the journey.

The path marked on the map gradually moved away from the usual routes. With each kilometer he found fewer players and signs of human activity became scarce. Civilization disappeared.

The trees grew taller and fuller of vitality. With wild undergrowth overtaking the path.

He heard no birds or the typical sound of insects. Not even the wind seemed to pass through the treetops.

But he could still feel the distant heartbeats of living creatures.

It was a subtle change, difficult to hide.

Gabriel perceived it, giving him a bad feeling; but he continued forward.

After a long time of constant marching, he saw it.

The structure rose in the middle of a silent region covered in undergrowth. Ancient, mysterious, and majestic.

He stopped for a few moments to observe it. The ruins were imposing despite their deterioration. Unstable columns covered in vines, weathered walls.

Gabriel paused. The invisible pressure he had felt in front of the destroyed statue appeared once again.

It lasted less than a second, but it was enough. He didn’t blame his imagination.

The connection between both was probably greater than he wanted to admit.

He had already heard stories about similar constructions. Some were simple abandoned ruins, unimportant vestiges of vanished civilizations. Others hid secrets capable of altering the fate of those who explored them.

It was impossible to know which of the two lay before him.

His gaze dropped to the parchment once more. The alchemist’s son had disappeared there and the old man was willing to pay a fortune for any answer.

A mystery of years that, for some reason, was deeply connected to his Butcher of Pseudo-Tyrants title.

The special quest had only appeared to those who achieved a very unusual connection.

He took a deep breath and controlled the impulse.

With his gaze fixed on the ancient ruins, he advanced.

And crossed the boundary of the forgotten zone.