“Sang! Sang! Sang!”
At that moment, Lilian—still clad in her nun’s habit—was nearly a hundred meters away from Sang, Luna, and Adolf. Even so, she shouted urgently again and again, as if some dire emergency had arisen.
It was around two in the afternoon.
The sky had been clear just before they went to sleep. Now, for some reason, dark clouds blanketed the heavens, a storm brewing and casting an utterly ominous pall over everything.
Sang, Luna, and Adolf had all just woken from their naps, their eyes heavy with sleep. They stared in confusion at Dean Lilian’s frantic, disheveled rush toward them.
Sang asked, “Sister Lilian, what’s going on?”
By now, Lilian had reached Sang. Without a word, she seized his hand and dragged him back the way she had come. “Sang! You… you come back to the orphanage with me right now!”
She was already gasping for breath, yet she kept talking and pulling all the while.
In his previous life, An Xiguang had lived to eighteen, reaching adulthood. In this life, the boy Sang was fourteen—also of age. Though his mental age fell far short of thirty-two, he was still fairly mature in his thinking.
At that instant, he saw the uncharacteristically grave expression on his usually gentle Sister Lilian’s face. A chill of foreboding coiled in his gut, as if he already sensed what was coming.
Sang asked again, “What exactly happened?”
At his words, Lilian’s slender frame shuddered. She halted, her back to the boy, her voice thick with emotion. “Sang, listen to me carefully—you’ve been chosen!”
“Chosen for what?” Sang shot back.
“You’ve received 【Grace】. People from Central are on their way. Get ready!”
As she spoke, Lilian’s hand trembled in his. Sang could see it plainly: she was heartbroken, grieving, and utterly helpless.
When Sang heard those words, he froze up, like a machine that had crashed. He fell into a long silence.
Meanwhile…
Luna and Adolf trailed behind Sang and overheard Lilian’s words. Shock etched across their faces.
They all knew exactly what it meant to become a Blood Race noble’s blood servant.
Yet in the next moment, Luna clung to a sliver of hope. “Sister Lilian, which noble chose Watermelon? If it’s one of those rumored to be friendly toward humans…”
Yes.
Indeed.
Though exceedingly rare, there were a few nobles in the Blood Race who treated humans with some kindness. If young Sang had been picked by one of them, he might still have a decent life ahead.
But before Luna could finish, Lilian cut her off roughly—uncharacteristically stern. “Enough! Don’t ask! Sang… Sang… was chosen as the True Ancestor’s Blood Servant…”
Her words struck like a bolt from the blue, hitting everyone square in the heart with ruthless precision.
Luna, whose nerves were the frailest, went deathly pale in an instant. She stared at young Sang with dazed, hollow eyes.
Many years had passed since the True Ancestor’s slumber. Those once chosen as her blood servants had faded into history. To uphold the Blood Race’s reputation, not a single trace of their fates remained—they had vanished like mist in the wind.
In all the tavern tales, the Blood Race’s True Ancestor was a merciless fiend drenched in blood. Those who became her blood servants weren’t even worthy of the name; they were little more than living sacrifices.
As a heavy silence settled over the group, young Sang suddenly turned to look at Luna and Adolf. He flashed his usual carefree, roguish grin, threw up a V-sign, and laughed. “No worries… you guys don’t need to fret. I’ll be fine!”
Sure, he’d lost at rock-paper-scissors before, but this time? He’d won.
…
In truth…
Sang’s calm composure had been an act. He was an optimist at heart, but that didn’t mean he lacked fear or awe.
Even with his slight golden finger, he was still just a flesh-and-blood ordinary person.
He felt terror, too. He fancied himself able to take on ten grown men, yet he’d heard some Blood Race nobles could face down a thousand—or even ten thousand—foes alone.
The gap between them was as vast as heaven and earth.
Still…
To reassure Luna and Adolf, he had no choice but to feign fearlessness. In reality, he was scared out of his wits.
Roughly half an hour later…
Led by Dean Lilian, the three returned to Kaen Town. The streets on either side were lined with townsfolk, all gazing at young Sang with pity and sorrow, as if watching a hero marching to his doom. Whispers rose in waves.
“Look! That’s the kid…”
“Poor thing. Being picked as a blood servant is bad enough, but the True Ancestor’s? Heartbreaking.”
Though Sang was from the orphanage, he’d been born and raised right there in Kaen Town. He’d roamed the streets his whole life, and everyone knew him well.
Sure, he had a knack for mischief and laziness, but no one truly disliked him. His antics brought a spark of life to their harsh days.
That was why the townsfolk felt such deep regret and heartache over his selection as the True Ancestor’s Blood Servant. At best, they could only breathe a secret sigh of relief that it wasn’t one of their own children.
Soon after…
Sang arrived at the orphanage gates. Lord Ben Loren was already there with a retinue of knights, who had cordoned off the usually quiet, out-of-the-way building. A large crowd of onlookers had gathered outside.
“Look, look! My little hero’s here…” Baron Ben Loren clapped as he exclaimed in delight.
Unlike the somber mood on the streets, Lord Ben Loren brimmed with unprecedented joy. He never would have dreamed that someone from his backwater domain would be chosen as the True Ancestor’s Blood Servant.
To him, it was the greatest honor imaginable.
If all went well, the Loren Family’s baronial title might even climb a rung—to viscount.
At the thought, the potbellied Baron Ben Loren eyed young Sang with greedy hunger, like a ravenous wolf. Forcing down his disgust, he clapped Sang lightly on the shoulder and said with feigned warmth, “Oh my goodness! A chosen one, absolutely! I’m so envious. For a lowly human to be picked by that great lord… you must’ve racked up some serious good karma in your last life…”
What the hell is this idiot babbling about? Sang grumbled inwardly.
Of course, he couldn’t say it aloud. For one thing, everyone from the orphanage was still there. For another, he just didn’t have the energy.
He stayed silent.
A moment later, Ben Loren continued. “The knights from Central are already en route. Go bathe and change at once—prepare to welcome this sacred moment!”
“Oh. Got it,” young Sang replied offhandedly.
Truth be told…
If he’d been chosen by some other Blood Race noble as a blood servant, there might’ve been time to prepare, to say goodbyes. But as the True Ancestor’s Blood Servant? Its importance was self-evident. The moment word arrived, the knights were nearly upon them.
Two lifetimes, and this was the first time he’d ever been treated with such urgency. The irony wasn’t lost on him.
