The ring of keys in Kretthan’s hands jingled as he fit them into their slot. The cell door opened, and the aged patrician stepped beyond. The cell looked seldom-used. He walked to a spot just beside the bucket in the room for privy use and pushed at the wall. One brick sunk in, but nothing happened. He dug his fingers against the stone beside it and pulled. The wall turned, knocking aside the bucket and leaving two entrances.

“Durran, please wait here,” Argrave commanded with a smile.

Kretthan eyed them begrudgingly, and then walked into the chamber. Argrave and Galamon followed. The humbly dressed patrician marched forward silently, and the path sloped downwards. They walked on and on, deeper into the cells.

The patrician grabbed a rod from a wall at a certain point. Galamon eyed him as though he meant to strike Argrave, and yet the patrician turned a knob on the rod and it came alive with light—a magic lamp, Argrave recognized. Now illuminated, another cell awaited them. There was a person in this one.

“Must’ve been difficult to keep him fed,” Argrave noted as he watched.

The man lifted his head, his iron fetters jingling. He bore a slight resemblance to the shrewd-eyed Kretthan. There was a lot of blood in that cell. Some of it had caked on the vampire’s face, but the areas around his mouth had been licked clean. Despite being plain brown, his eyes had an uncanny resemblance to Galamon’s in certain unpleasant moments of vampiric frenzy.

“…what do you mean to do?” the patrician asked angrily. “It’s done. My secret is found, and now confirmed. You will have my support at the council. All I ask… he’s my nephew. His mother, my sister, she… she died. I cannot. I will not,” he said emotionally, unable to even voice the idea of killing him.

Argrave rubbed at his chin. “Someone did this to him, you realize. Someone made him a vampire,” he pointed out. “Your nephew… I’d like to make use of him. These vampires in Relize—they overextended. Your vote at the council is nice, but what I need… is a little bit of help in catching that overextension.”

Kretthan eyed him warily.

#####

Argrave looked around. He was in another decadent mansion. Maybe it was just imagination on account of knowing the family well, but this place seemed quite grim. There was much more gray and black everywhere. It seemed he travelled from fancy place to fancy place without end of late.

Kretthan, his nephew, Galamon, and Durran accompanied Argrave. The nephew, whose name was Wulfgan, was kept firmly at heel by both of his companions. Durran was a little lax, but Galamon kept his hand on the back of the vampire’s neck at all times. Wulfgan was fully sated, though, and looked like a terrified young man more than a dangerous vampire at present.

“That we have not been cast out is miracle enough,” Kretthan said. “The accusation you’ve made against House Wratson will not be forgiven, even if they do not sit on the Grand Council,” the patrician said quietly. “They are one of the founding houses of Relize. Their word bears immeasurable weight.”

“They’re listening to us, I hope you know,” Argrave informed him. “Galamon, where are they?”

“One in the ceiling, just above that painting there,” the elven vampire said gruffly as ever. “One’s been waiting in front of the door for a time. Ceiling one has started moving now,” he gave live commentary.

As though to block his commentary, the doors swung open. A tall pale blonde man stood there, his expression stern and his green eyes cold. He looked quite neat. It was hard to guess his age just by appearance alone—or at least, his age when he was turned into a vampire.

“I see we’ve decided to skip the song and dance, get right into the heat of things,” Argrave said pleasantly. “Welcome, Melan Wratson. I’m pleased that things could be kept amiable.”

The vampire studied him. His green eyes were sharp yet warm, like a freshly bloodied knife. There was a strange presence to him and a deception to his appearance that was deeply unnerving. This was a man who had been cultivated and tempered over centuries. Being both an S-rank mage and a powerful vampire, he could be considered one of the most powerful men in Berendar. His bearing alone reflected that.

“You frightened my great-great grandson. I had no choice but to come,” Melan said. He had a rather concise voice, speaking words quickly and authoritatively.

With no greeting returned, the vampire stepped quickly and sat across from Argrave and his party. Though alone and far smaller than Argrave was, Melan seemed to exude poise. It rather reminded Argrave of Castro. A fitting comparison, too—they were likely the same age.

“Why did you come to my home?” Melan prompted. “With so few guards… you claim to know me.”

Argrave smiled, an answer prepared. Before he could give it, Kretthan insisted, “Who is this? What is going on?”

Feeling this was a good opportunity, Argrave shifted on the couch. “Melan here is one of the former patricians of House Wratson. He was a C-rank mage, a long, long time ago… but he turned himself into a vampire. I don’t know the details, sadly,” Argrave shrugged wistfully. “Now, he continues to watch over his house, keep it strong, rule it from the shadows. Sometimes he makes more vampires from among his family—usually talented people. Like this, they’ve been steadily expanding their influence. Time was, Melan was content with life eternal. Of late… the morose side of your family has gotten a bit greedy.” Argrave turned his head to Wulfgan. “Case in point.”

Melan studied Wulfgan. Argrave knew the vampire was ignorant of this newborn vampire’s existence—most of this overextension wasn’t his doing. But a big family is difficult to control, and doubly so when they’re talented, often ambitious vampires.

“Why did I come to your home?” Argrave leaned forward. “Didn’t have to. Could’ve left this riskless—gotten proof, sent word to any number of S-rank mages that are actively hunting vampires. An army of willing participants could’ve swarmed into everything you own, annihilated all of your still-dead family.”

“Yet you’re here,” Melan said.

Argrave nodded. “Most of your family… I’ve seen a lot of vampires. Some use people like livestock. You… keep it in the family. The feeding, that is.” Argrave leaned back. “Still, the fact is, your fat needs to be trimmed, or you won’t fit into what you’re wearing currently.”

Melan became a lunging blur in Argrave’s eyes. Galamon moved in the same instance, planting one hand against Argrave and pushing him backwards. The couch skid back, weighed down by Argrave and Kretthan both. The two vampires met. Melan was monstrously strong—far more so than a normal vampire. Even still… Galamon handled him like nothing, bashing him against the floor with both of his arms in a simple slam.

Once the vampire was subdued, Galamon drew and prodded the tip of his Ebonice axe against the vampire’s stomach. If it pierced his flesh, Melan would have great difficulty casting spells below A-rank. And A-rank spells… well, they were quite eye-catching. The last thing a vampire coven in a big city wanted was attention. Despite all that, the vampire didn’t know many truly devastating spells. The moment he became a vampire, he withdrew from the Order out of paranoia, and had only become S-rank after spending vast quantities of wealth.

Argrave rubbed his chest where Galamon had pushed him briefly, expecting pain but feeling none. After experiencing that assault, he was somewhat glad Anneliese was resting at the Dandalan estate. Argrave rose. Kretthan stood up and ran for the door, but Durran stopped him from exiting. The nephew Wulfgan crawled to one corner of the room, eyeing everyone warily.

“Thought that might happen,” Argrave said steadily. “Little show of intimidation, is it? I get it. You want to minimize losses. After all, this is quite the big happening—anything you can do to get a better position, unnerve me… you’ll take it.” Argrave stepped a bit closer where Melan had been planted into the ground by his companion. “Let me inform you, though—it’ll take some of your best spells to hurt me. And even if you do, this information is already in the hands of some trusted and well-connected friends of mine. Sorry… but this is no negotiation. It’s a shakedown. Extortion.”

Melan stared up at Argrave. Despite his outburst, and despite the axe almost piercing his stomach, his face was calm.

“Trim the fat? You ask me to kill my family?” the vampire said with eerie calmness.

They’re dead already, Argrave thought somewhat sarcastically.

“Most of them aren’t your family, don’t play that card on me,” he instead said, dismissive of the vampire’s comment. “This overambitious distant kin of yours—do with them what you will. What I want is those beyond the family, those like Wulfgan. Your family is turning people into vampires that have no relation to your family. You have an interest in seeing them dead as much as I do.”

“I should jeopardize the existence of my family by starting a crusade against vampirism in the place I live?” Melan rebuked.

“I think your family is much more jeopardized by people like Wulfgan than any ‘crusade’ we might initiate,” Argrave looked to Kretthan’s nephew calmly. “And it isn’t as though you’re tied to this place. Once we’re done, you can go where you please.”

Kretthan recovered from his fear somewhat and said, “You want to kill my—”

“I said those like Wulfgan,” Argave interrupted Kretthan. “I’ll keep my promise, fret not.”

He caught a brief glance from Galamon—the elven vampire hated his own kind, and surely must’ve disliked all Argrave was saying. Even still, it was necessary for his cure just as much as Argrave’s cause. He couldn’t feasibly kill all of the Wratson family in a reasonable amount of time—in terms of military strength, they were the strongest family in Relize by far. He would need that.

Melan eyed Galamon. The elf kept a close watch on the subdued man’s hands, ready for spells of any kind. Then, Melan’s gaze switched to Argrave.

“What do you suggest?” he finally asked.

“You’re going to help me gather these wayward vampires up. I’ll do the killing myself. And once Leopold is elected as the leader of Relize, you’ll need to protect a contingent of mages heading into enemy territory,” Argrave explained. “On top of that… you’ve a certain bowl that I require. Black as my hair, runes on its surface?”

“…you want that,” Melan said, voice low. “What need have you of it?”

“Are extortion victims always so inquisitive?” Argrave raised a brow.

Melan’s green eyes moved to Galamon. “And if I hold you hostage? Where does that fit in your plan? You know I’m an S-rank mage…”

“With things as they are… I say, try,” Argrave invited.

Melan raised his hand and cast a spell, and Galamon jammed the axe into the vampire’s abdomen. The spell matrix fizzled then shattered, and Melan roared, struggling with Galamon without much effect. Royal-forged armor, an ancient crown with powerful enchantments on his head… the elf was truly a force to be reckoned with.

Argrave stepped a cautious distance away. “Can we go back to a friendly extortion? Things don’t have to be like this,” he said, almost pitying the man by this point.

Melan laid back against the ground, letting out a sigh as he gazed at the axe embedded in his stomach. “You came well prepared,” he admitted calmly. “I have never seen this axe’s like.”

“You’ve seen a little of my preparations, yes,” Argrave nodded, lying freely. “But how might you answer, I wonder?”

The vampire looked at him, his eyes calculating. “I thought myself above extortion,” he said quietly. “Well… it seems I was wrong.”