Nolan didn't take much time to eliminate all eight trolls.
The rangers' gazes toward him had changed. They now knew that this vampire was a terrifying wizard—perhaps even a Dark wizard.
A creature that possessed both the combat skills of a vampire and the mastery of powerful magic... That was simply too frightening.
His silver-trimmed boots clicked softly against the muddy ground, yet not a single speck of dirt clung to them. That was because, the moment they had stepped into the swamp, Nolan had cast a dust-repelling charm on himself.
The sky above the swamp was cast in murky shadows, a dull gray stretching endlessly, with spirals of yellow dust swirling in the wind.
That cold, dry atmosphere wrapped around the black-haired vampire, making him seem even more untouchable. The elven rangers swallowed hard, their throats dry.
Back at the elves' hiding place, Nolan stood above Tony, looking down at him.
This time, the cocky ranger was utterly silent, his eyes filled with fear.
"Your Highness Von Draugr," Priestess Lúthfa stepped in, pleading on Tony's behalf. "I believe everyone deserves a chance to correct their mistakes. I think Tony misunderstood your relationship with Ligeitoli—that's why he harbored hostility toward you."
"Yes, exactly!" Tony hurriedly nodded. "Ligeitoli and I grew up together—we're childhood friends!"
"That's your problem," Nolan said coldly, raising his wand.
Ligeitoli immediately panicked. "No, don't—!"
"You know, there's something odd," Nolan mused, almost casually. "I've tried casting the Killing Curse so many times, but it never seems to work. Something—or someone—always interrupts me. I wonder if my Avada Kedavra is cursed?"
His eyes flicked toward Ligeitoli. "But this time… no interruptions. This time, I will cast it. And you better not get in the way—once a curse is fired, it can't be taken back."
"Your Highness Von Draugr!" Lúthfa called out urgently, but it was useless.
"Avada Kedavra."
A flash of green light.
The Death Curse struck Tony, snuffing out his life instantly. His body was flung backward—but his hand was still pinned to the ground by the dagger, so he didn't get very far.
The rangers' eyes widened in horror.
"Oh… my gods…"
"Great Spirit of the Lake…"
"A D-Dark wizard…"
Muttering under their breath, the rangers cowered. They feared Nolan. They hated him.
How could this monster take a life so easily?
Then again… wasn't that just the way of vampires?
Hadn't they always been like this?
What could they even do about it?
Ligeitoli curled up into herself, shaken. She didn't have particularly deep feelings for Tony, but they had been childhood playmates—at least, until he found out about her bloodline and distanced himself.
Still, she was angry. Wasn't this a bit much? So he taunted Nolan a little—so what?
When she had been in the Forbidden Forest at Hogwarts, Nolan had mocked her plenty. Did she ever try to kill him for it?
Priestess Lúthfa opened her mouth as if to say something, then sighed.
The elves simply weren't strong enough to oppose this vampire.
The Von Draugr family was too powerful.
And right now, they needed Nolan's Philosopher's Stone. Why provoke him over the death of one elf?
So instead, she said, "Gather Tony's body. We'll take him back to the forest."
But Nolan waved a hand dismissively. "Too much trouble. You're going to carry a corpse all the way back? Bombarda Maxima."
The Blasting Curse struck Tony's body.
It exploded into fragments.
"See? No need to deal with anything now. Things can be so much simpler," Nolan said blandly, turning away. "Shall we move on? A few trolls aren't worth wasting this much time over."
The elves exchanged glances.
No one said a word.
The group didn't spend much time in the swamp.
With Nolan around, they never needed to hide or sneak past dangerous magical creatures—many of which were more than capable of preying on elves.
This powerful vampire could handle everything for them.
That day, during a rest break, Nolan stood alone beside a filthy pond. His blood-red eyes gazed distantly toward the horizon, lost in thought.
Perched on his shoulder, the black cat—Miss Nancy—was curled up, dozing peacefully.
Ligeitoli watched his back from afar, her expression unreadable.
She noticed something.
The little vampire seemed… taller.
Nolan was about to turn fourteen this year, and his height had already reached almost 170 cm. Compared to Ligeitoli—who, despite being over 130 years old, was still petite—he was now more than a head taller.
Priestess Lúthfa, standing beside her, spoke softly. "You care about him, don't you?"
"...I don't know, Priestess Lúthfa…" Ligeitoli murmured hesitantly. "I feel like… he really hates me."
"Why do you say that?"
"He always says I'm awful, that I'm just a half-blood elf," she whispered dejectedly. "He calls me short. He calls me a child. He calls me slow-witted and stupid."
Priestess Lúthfa raised an eyebrow. "That just means you're special to him."
"...Is that so?" Ligeitoli still looked crestfallen. Unlike most elves, she wasn't brimming with confidence. "Maybe he just thinks I'm especially awful… And besides… vampires are kind of scary. The first time I ever saw him, he killed an old man right in front of me—with terrifying magic. And now, this is the second time I've seen him take a life so easily… I know vampires aren't like elves. They don't have compassion. They're supposed to be evil creatures, but…"
Her words trailed off into a jumble of conflicting thoughts.
Priestess Lúthfa didn't quite follow all of it, but she understood the gist of the young elf's tangled emotions.
She sighed. "Perhaps… you two simply need more time to understand each other."
Ligeitoli quickly shook her head. "Priestess Lúthfa, I will definitely marry a pureblood elf! I won't bring any half-bloods into the village!"
"Silly girl." Priestess Lúthfa gently patted her head. "More than producing pureblood offspring for the village, I wish for you to have a love that is pure—untainted and unforced. That is the true hope of the forest elves."
Just then, by the lakeside, Nolan suddenly raised his hand and fired a luminous flare into the sky.
"What's going on?" The elves hurried over.
Nolan pointed his wand at the murky lake water. "Haven't you noticed? There's a strange magical trace in this lake… It smells like an elf."
"All we can smell is rot!" A ranger snapped irritably. "If this is what you're disturbing our rest over, please don't—elves get tired, unlike vampires!"
"No—" Captain Shafa's face darkened as realization struck. "Prince Von Draugr is right—there's someone at the bottom of this lake. One of us."
Nolan's expression remained indifferent. "Its power is unnaturally strong. And unlike the purity of elves, this one reeks of decay and death."
His blood-red eyes gleamed.
"I believe… this might just be your so-called 'Spirit of the Lake'—the grand entity your forest elves worship."
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