Reborn as a Vampire in a Dying World: Blood, Power, and Pleasure

The two of them arrived at the location marked on the elf's map. It looked fairly inconspicuous from a distance—just another worn alley nestled between slanted brick buildings and humming pipes.

Well… inconspicuous if it wasn't guarded by a hulking mercenary with arms like tree trunks and two swords leaning beside him against the wall. A door behind him glowed with warm, inviting light that poured out like a beacon in the gloom.

Corven and Rose approached with practiced smiles—friendly, disarming, just enough to look harmless.

"Hey…" Corven said casually, reaching for the door handle.

He didn't even get close.

In a blur of motion, the mercenary unsheathed one of his swords and swung it straight at Corven's head.

Steel hissed through the air.

Corven barely caught it mid-arc—his palm closing around the blade before it reached him. His fingers dug into cold steel, muscles twitching. Fast reflexes saved him… though even he wasn't used to moving this quickly yet.

"Do we have a problem?" Corven asked with a low chuckle, still gripping the blade.

'Holy shit… good thing I was fast enough…'

The mercenary grinned, then sheathed the sword with an amused shrug. "No problem. Get in already."

The two vampires entered—and what greeted them hit like a wall of blood and chaos.

A sprawling underground fight club opened before them, lit by dim sconces and candlelight. The air reeked of sweat, metal, and adrenaline. The arena in the center—an enormous circle carved into the stone floor—was stained with old blood, freshly coated with new.

Dozens of spectators packed into the cramped space, yelling, roaring, and throwing coin pouches at betting stations. Different races clustered in tight groups—beastkin, elves, orcs, and everything in between—all screaming at the current match.

Two vampires were going at it below. Hard.

They slashed through each other with blood-forged blades, regenerating almost as quickly as they wounded. Flesh ripped open, only to seal again seconds later. Arcs of blood curved through the air, forming serrated edges and jagged weapons in real time.

Rose leaned over the railing, eyes glittering. "Woah… You planning to fight?" she asked. "Because while I'm sure you can handle yourself against humans… this is a whole different tier."

She gestured toward the arena, where one vampire just shattered the other's ribcage with a downward hammerfist—only for the victim to rise again, grinning with a cracked skull already re-forming.

Corven laughed dryly, shaking his head. "I'd rather not die early. Maybe later—once we level up or something."

Then, suddenly—

A chime echoed softly in his mind.

[Minor Quest Triggered]

[Objective: Win 5 Bets (0/5)]

[Reward: Choose One Trait/Ability to Upgrade]

"Oh…?" Corven blinked, a slow smile creeping across his face.

Rose side-eyed him. "The voice in your head again?"

"You make me sound like a lunatic."

"We technically all are," she replied with a smirk.

Corven scanned the area—the flickering candlelight, the overflowing crowd, the way people leaned into the fights like addicts. It wasn't a place of honor or sport. This was survival. Hunger. Bloodlust.

And yet, there was opportunity in that chaos.

"I don't think this place has a formal betting booth," Rose murmured, squinting around for any sign of structure or signage.

That's when a lizardman slithered up to them, scales catching what little light there was. He wore a basic tunic, his serpentine snout twitching as he hissed every word.

"New here?"

"Yeah, we're looking to double our coin," Corven replied.

The lizardman laughed, sharp and wet. He waved toward a small group gathered near the edge of the arena—three rowdy beastkin who shouted over each other, coins clinking in their fists.

"I'm with them," he said. "Want in? More people means a bigger pot. Bigger pot means more gold for the winners."

"Couldn't ask for anything more," Corven said smoothly.

"Good. Come with me."

They followed him through the crowd, squeezing between drunk mercs and greasy gamblers until they reached the group. Just as they arrived, a wet splash struck the lizardman's cheek.

Blood.

Fresh from the fight below—one vampire's arm had exploded into a whip-like tendril that lashed through the air, catching the lizardman in the crossfire.

"Just my luck…" he muttered, wiping the blood off with a sigh.

Rose stepped forward, clearly tired of the small talk. "We're here to bet," she said briskly. "Name's Rose. This is Corven."

The beastkin barely glanced at them, too enthralled by the mayhem below.

Rose turned to Corven with a sly smile. "So? Which one are we picking?"

Corven leaned over the railing, eyes narrowed in focus. The two vampires were still tearing into each other—one tall and broad, like a juggernaut. The other was leaner, faster, using agility over brute strength.

To most, the tall one looked like the obvious choice.

But Corven wasn't most people.

Being a failed archaeologist in his past life came with certain… fringe experiences. Specifically, a habit of gambling to make ends meet. Underground fight rings, cockfights, shady alley dice games—he'd seen them all.

And over time, he'd learned something.

"You see that one?" Corven said, pointing to the leaner vampire. "His movements are controlled. Measured. He's conserving energy. That big guy's flailing like he's trying to end it quick."

Rose tilted her head. "You think he's baiting him?"

Corven grinned, resting a hand atop her head like a villain petting his cat. "Trust me."

Without hesitation, he tossed his pouch—the entire thing—into the lizardman's outstretched claws.

"Really? Quite a risk taker, eh?" the lizardman chuckled, already counting the weight of the silver.

The other beastkin raised their brows.

"You're betting on that guy?" one of them, a canine with a scarred snout, barked out a laugh. "He's been losing since the day he crawled in here!"

"Yeah, you just made this easier for us," another jeered.

"More money for the winners," the third added, already rubbing his hands together.

Corven just smirked, eyes never leaving the match.

He didn't need them to believe.

He just needed to be right.