Chapter Text
Yoo Joonghyuk walked through the dense, suffocating forest where the trees stood like silent guardians of long-forgotten secrets. Wind hissed between the branches, carrying the damp smell of moss and decaying leaves. Above him a full moon hung like a drop of blood, throwing long, jagged shadows across the path.
He wasn’t the heroic type who hunted for justice or fame. Joonghyuk hunted for cold, hard cash — coins that clinked satisfyingly in his pocket, treasure that could finally buy him freedom from scraping by and dying of boredom.
The rumors about the vampire lord who ruled this manor had been spreading through every tavern and village like smoke: an ancient creature whose halls were supposedly stuffed with jewels, cursed artifacts, and centuries’ worth of gold. The bounty on his head was obscene — enough to buy a proper estate in some sunny corner of the world where no one had ever heard of vampires or vampire hunters.
Glory? That would come as a bonus. Money was the real magnet.
“Why throw your life away for noble ideals?” he thought, vaulting over a fallen trunk. “Take what you can grab and live like a king.”
The forest felt endless. Twigs snagged at his cloak like greedy fingers. Somewhere far off wolves howled — normal ones, maybe, or maybe the kind that walked on two legs when the moon was fat. Joonghyuk wasn’t scared. He’d been doing this long enough. The crossbow slung across his back was loaded with silver bolts that had cost him almost everything he owned. Holy water from a northern monastery hung at his belt in small glass vials. Protective runes were etched into the amulets under his shirt. And the dagger at his hip had been quenched in fire according to half-forgotten dragon-slaying recipes.
He’d killed a werewolf in the mountains once (left him with a nasty scar on his shoulder and a heavy purse of silver). He’d banished a ghost from a ruined castle (walked away with nothing but an emerald ring). Every hunt was an investment. This one was supposed to be the jackpot.
“Vampire lord,” he muttered under his breath. “Ancient. Powerful. Whatever. They all bleed the same when silver hits heart.”
The path climbed. The trees began to thin. A moonlit clearing opened up ahead — and beyond it, the manor.
It rose like a black beast: tall towers stabbing the sky, walls of dark stone wrapped in ivy, windows sealed behind heavy shutters. Gargoyles crouched along the roofline, looking far too alive in the shifting shadows. Joonghyuk stopped for a second, scanning. No lights. No movement. It looked abandoned. The rumors said otherwise.
“Maybe he’s hiding,” he thought. “Or maybe the thralls are — ghouls, lesser vampires, something nasty.”
He checked the crossbow one last time and stepped forward. Gravel crunched under his boots like breaking bones. The front doors were huge — black oak banded with iron, carved with runes that looked older than sin. He kicked them hard, expecting a fight.
They swung inward with a soft, almost polite creak.
Inside the silence was crushing. The grand hall stretched out before him: marble floor coated in dust, a gigantic chandelier dangling like a spider’s web. Furniture hid under white sheets like ghosts at a funeral. Old portraits lined the walls — pale aristocrats staring down at him with eyes that seemed to follow.
Joonghyuk lit the lantern at his belt. Warm yellow light pushed the darkness back a little.
“Empty,” he muttered. “Where the hell are the servants? The guards?”
He moved through the ground floor: a dining room with a mile-long table and an empty candelabra, a kitchen where pots and plates sat untouched under thick cobwebs. Nothing obviously valuable, but he knew better than to trust first glances.
Wide dragon-carved stairs led up. He climbed slowly, ears straining for any sound. The second-floor corridor was long and lined with doors. He checked them methodically: bedrooms no one had slept in for centuries, a library where books disintegrated at the lightest touch, a ballroom whose emptiness swallowed the echo of his footsteps like music from a dead orchestra.
Still nothing. Just dust. Just time eating itself.
“Maybe the bastard’s already dead,” he thought — then immediately dismissed it. The rumors were too fresh. The bounty was still posted.
He found narrower, darker stairs leading to the third floor. The air up here smelled of mildew and neglect. Moonlight slipped through tall, thin windows, painting silver bars across the floorboards. The corridor stretched on. At the very end — a pair of enormous doors painted the deep, wet red of fresh arterial blood.
Joonghyuk’s pulse kicked up — not fear, just the old hunter’s thrill.
He pushed. The doors opened without a sound.
The room beyond looked like a throne hall.
In the center, on a low platform of black marble, sat the vampire.
Pale skin, hair blacker than the night outside, eyes glowing dull crimson in the dimness. His clothes were once luxurious — silk cloak, embroidered vest patterned like veins — but now they hung on him like they belonged to someone bigger. His cheeks were hollow, hands trembling. Still, when he saw Joonghyuk, he forced himself upright, trying to look regal.
“Who dares enter my house?” His voice tried for thunder but came out cracked and thin. “I am lord of these lands, master of the night! Mortal — have you come to die? Leave now, before I rip your heart out and drink you dry!”
He rose, squaring thin shoulders, spreading arms that shook. Claws caught the lantern light. Fangs flashed in what was supposed to be a terrifying snarl.
It would have been pathetic if it weren’t so sad.
His knees buckled. He lurched, grabbed a side table for support — it crashed over, spilling antique bottles and books across the floor. The vampire dropped hard, first to his knees, then flat, gasping.
“Damn it all…” he whispered, clawing weakly at the marble.
Joonghyuk felt nothing. Pity was a luxury he couldn’t afford. He lifted the crossbow, sighted the heart.
Easy pickings, he thought. But silver bolts aren’t cheap. Maybe just snap his neck. Or use the dagger.
He lowered the crossbow slightly and stepped closer, fist already curling —
— when something hard and wooden slammed into the back of his skull.
Stars exploded. The world lurched.
He spun, vision swimming. A woman — dark hair, eyes blazing like witch-fire — stood there gripping a broken plank from the shattered table.
“Don’t you dare touch him!” she hissed, voice sharp enough to cut.
Joonghyuk tried to lift his arm. His legs folded instead. Darkness rolled in fast, cold and complete.
The last thing he heard before everything went black was her soft, urgent whisper:
“Dokja… are you okay?”
Then the manor's shadows swallowed him whole.