Chapter 86: Chapter 86 : The night sanctuary

Long before mana flowed through veins, before techniques had names, before bloodlines carried pride or curses—there was the Null Realm.

It did not begin.

It did not end.

It simply was.

They say the first beings who glimpsed it could not describe what they saw—not because it was empty, but because it was too full of contradictions.

A sky without color.

A ground that felt like memory.

Winds that did not move, yet whispered.

It was not a void.

It was everything that existed before existence chose what it wanted to be.

In the age when gods still walked among creation, they discovered the Null Realm—not by design, but by unease. Power, in those early days, was raw and directionless. They sought to shape it… to control it.

But control requires boundaries.

And the Null Realm had none.

So they cast their failures into it.

Broken energies.

Unstable life.

Concepts that reality itself rejected.

And then… they watched.

Because the Null Realm did not destroy these things.

It refined them.

Where reality collapses, it stabilizes.

Where chaos devours, it evolves.

And from that impossible convergence… mana and countless other types of energy were born.

Not as blessings.

But as things that survived.

The discarded began to adapt. Energies fused. Life reformed. Balance emerged from imbalance. Bloodlines took shape—not crafted, but forged through necessity. Bodies followed, shaped to endure what should not exist.

And then… something changed.

The creations began to grow beyond expectation.

Beyond control.

Beyond even the gods’ understanding.

They learned.

They evolved.

They tore.

Cracks formed between realms.

Reality began to fracture.

From the Null Realm, beings emerged—entities that did not belong, did not obey, did not recognize the laws of existence. They invaded countless worlds, not as conquerors… but as something far worse.

As inevitabilities.

And with them, mana spilled outward—seeping into realities that had never known it, including the world Arthur would one day be born into.

The gods saw what their “discarded failures” had become.

And for the first time… they felt fear.

Because they realized the truth:

They had not created the Null Realm.

They had fed it.

And now… it was growing.

So they did what gods rarely do.

They abandoned it.

Not as rulers leaving a domain—

But as intruders fleeing something far greater than themselves.

Yet the Null Realm remains.

Alive.

Shifting.

Expanding.

Its creatures still evolve.

Its influence still spreads.

Its reach still extends beyond the fragile boundaries of reality.

And every bloodline, every technique, every pinnacle of power across all worlds…

Still traces back to it.

The Null Realm.

Not a void.

Not a myth.

Not a mistake.

But something far more terrifying—

A beginning… that was never meant to exist.

——

Arthur lay on the ground, face pressed against something that felt neither like stone nor soil.

It was cold.

But not the cold of ice.

More like the absence of warmth itself.

Something sharp poked his cheek.

Once.

Twice.

He groaned.

In a muffled voice, he muttered, “Yuna… just five more minutes… let me sleep peacefully, okay…?”

The poking stopped.

For half a second.

Then—

BAM.

A kick landed straight on his face.

Pain exploded across his nose.

Arthur snapped awake with a sharp inhale.

“Ow—!”

He winced, eyes watering as he glared forward.

“Which son of a bit—”

He stopped.

Because he noticed something.

His hands—

Were tied behind his back.

His legs—

Were bound as well.

Some strange, dark material wrapped tightly around his wrists and ankles. It felt like metal, but looked like pitch-black vines, pulsing faintly as if alive.

He tried to force them apart.

His muscles tensed.

But nothing happened.

They didn’t even creak.

Arthur clicked his tongue.

’Great…’

Before he could try again, a cold voice cut in.

“Don’t try to act smart,” it said. “Or I will have your head.”

Arthur lifted his gaze properly for the first time.

In front of him, three figures were sitting in a half circle.

All three had black hair.

And black eyes.

They all looked to be in their twenties.

Two men and one woman.

Even while seated, their presence was heavy. Their auras pressed against the air like a thick fog, dense and oppressive. It was clear at a glance—they were strong.

Very strong.

Arthur let his eyes wander for a moment, taking in the surroundings.

The sky above was… wrong.

Colorless.

Yet not white.

The ground beneath him looked like cracked obsidian, but when he shifted slightly, it felt almost soft, like old memories clinging to his skin.

Beside him—

He noticed a familiar shape.

Jericho’s headless corpse lay right next to him, still missing its head.

On his other side—

The girl named Olivia was tied in the same strange material as Arthur.

She struggled against her bindings, teeth gritted, eyes burning with anger.

“Release me this instant!” Olivia yelled.

The bindings tightened slightly as she pulled.

But they didn’t break.

Arthur’s mouth twitched.

’Good,’ he thought. ’It worked. At least I have some company.’

He looked back at the three people in front of him.

He took a moment to observe them properly.

The man in the middle seemed to be the leader.

His hair was short and slightly messy, his black eyes sharp and watchful. He wore a long black coat with crimson patterns etched faintly along the sleeves, and his posture was relaxed—but there was a coiled tension there, like a blade in its sheath.

To his right sat the woman.

She had long black hair tied into a loose ponytail, with a few strands falling over her cold, elegant face. Her eyes were narrower, more calculating, and she wore a dark, form-fitting outfit that hinted at both agility and lethality.

To the left sat the third one.

Another man, slightly taller than the leader, with his hair tied back and a faint scar running from his jaw to his neck. His expression was lazier, but his eyes never stopped scanning his surroundings.

All three of them shared the same thing.

Black hair.

Black eyes.

And an aura that spoke of blood and night.

Arthur smiled faintly.

“Hello, guys,” he said. “Can you please tell me where I am?”

The one in the middle—the leader—tilted his head slightly.

“This is the Night Sanctuary, boy,” he replied.

Arthur’s eyes narrowed a fraction.

’Night Sanctuary…’

He thought back.

’Isn’t that… the land of the vampires, if I remember correctly?’

Before he could say anything, the leader’s eyes widened slightly.

He leaned forward.

“This guy has red eyes,” he said quietly.

For the first time, real tension rippled through the group.

The woman’s lips trembled slightly.

Her gaze flicked between Arthur’s face and the others.

“Is this guy… a bastard son or something?” she muttered. “We have to take him to Her Highness for confirmation.”

The tall man with the scar frowned.

“Him? Really?”

The leader didn’t answer immediately.

Arthur blinked.

“What the hell is going on here?” he asked. “Can someone please tell me one more time—”

He stopped mid-sentence.

Because he suddenly realized—

The hole that had been in his stomach.

The one Jericho’s sword had made.

It was gone.

His abdomen ached faintly, but there was no open wound.

No blood.

No torn flesh.

’Did these people… heal me?’

Just as he was about to say something else—

BAM!

A deafening impact cut him off mid-breath.

His vision snapped to black as his body crumpled instantly, the strength leaving his limbs as if it had never belonged to him. He hit the ground hard—unconscious once more.

Beside him, Olivia collapsed the same way, her body going limp, silence swallowing whatever resistance she might have had.

For a brief moment, everything was still.

Then—

The woman stepped forward, her gaze settling on the headless corpse lying nearby. Her expression didn’t waver.

“…What should we do with it?”

The man beside her exhaled slowly, eyes narrowing as he studied both the body… and the unconscious pair.

“Take it with us,” he said calmly. “It looks like it was someone close to him.”

He paused, glancing at the fallen boy.

“And if he truly is royalty… we shouldn’t risk offending him.”

A quiet understanding passed between them.

They all nodded.

Without hesitation, they bent down—lifting the unconscious bodies with practiced ease. One of them grabbed the corpse as well, though not without visible reluctance.

“Hey,” the second man muttered, grimacing slightly, “why do I always get stuck carrying the dead one?”

No one answered him.

Because in the very next second—

All three of them vanished.

Their forms dissolved into wisps of dark, shifting vapor—like black fog being swallowed by the air itself.

And just like that—

They were gone.

When Arthur opened his eyes again—

His vision was filled with darkness.

Not the absence of light—

But a controlled, deliberate gloom.

He found himself inside what looked like a royal court.

The ceiling stretched high above, lost in shadow. Tall pillars lined the sides of the hall, carved from a dark material he couldn’t identify. It wasn’t stone. It wasn’t metal. It absorbed light instead of reflecting it—like solidified night.

At the far end of the hall—

A throne stood on a raised platform.

It was made of the same strange material, but smoother, sharper, almost organic in the way it curved upward. Veins of faint crimson light pulsed through it, like blood flowing through a living thing.

Dozens of hooded figures stood along the sides of the hall, heads bowed, their faces hidden. The atmosphere was heavy, thick with power and killing intent.

Arthur blinked.

“What the hell is happening… someone tell me,” he said.

Before he could move, hands grabbed his shoulders from behind.

The trio that had brought him.

They pushed down hard.

His knees hit the cold floor with a dull thud.

“Shut the hell up, boy,” the leader said in a low voice. “And look ahead.”

Arthur clicked his tongue but did as told.

He lifted his head.

A moment later—

The air in front of the throne began to twist.

Black mist gathered out of nowhere, swirling and condensing into a single point.

The hooded figures lowered their heads even more.

From within that swirling darkness—

A figure materialized.

A woman stepped out.

Her presence alone shifted the entire hall.

She had long, flowing hair the color of fresh blood—red that seemed almost luminous in the dark hall. Her eyes were a deeper shade of crimson, sharp and predatory, watching everything with calm amusement.

Her figure was… impossible to ignore.

She had an ample chest and a very curvaceous body, her curves emphasized by the outfit she wore.

Her clothing was a blend of elegance and danger—a dark, form-fitting dress that hugged her figure closely. The neckline dipped low enough to reveal a generous amount of cleavage, while the sides of the dress were cut high, exposing a smooth stretch of thigh with each step she took. Delicate black straps ran over her shoulders and around her waist, hinting at both restraint and temptation.

A long, slit cloak of deep black hung from her shoulders, flowing behind her like shadow made cloth. Silver and crimson patterns traced along the edges, resembling fangs and dripping blood.

She walked with unhurried grace, every step confident.

Arthur let out a low whistle before he could stop himself.

“Wow… what a babe,” he said.

The hall froze.

In the next instant—

He felt it.

Tremendous killing intent burst out from all sides.

It crashed against him like a tidal wave of bloodlust. Every hooded figure in the hall seemed ready to kill him on the spot. The air grew so heavy it felt hard to breathe.

From beside him—

A familiar voice hissed.

“Do you want to die—and take me with you, you loser bastard?” Olivia snapped.

Arthur’s mouth twitched.

’I was just appreciating the view…’ he thought.

“I was just telling the truth, okay,” he muttered back quietly.

Olivia scoffed.

“Don’t talk to me.”

A vein popped on Arthur’s forehead.

He held back the urge to argue.

Before he could say anything else—

A laugh echoed through the throne room.

It was a low, amused, but undeniably dangerous laugh.

The woman now seated on the throne—

The one who had just appeared—

Was laughing.

She leaned back slightly, crossing one leg over the other, red eyes gleaming.

“Do you even know who I am,” she asked, voice dripping with amusement, “before making that stupid comment of yours?”

Arthur tilted his head.

“I don’t know much,” he said honestly. “I just arrived here… but from the looks of it, you’re their queen.”

He shrugged slightly.

“Can you tell me?”

The hall went dead silent.

In the next instant—

Her figure vanished from the throne.

Arthur barely had time to register the movement.

She materialized right in front of him.

SLAP.

Her hand connected with his face at terrifying speed.

The impact echoed through the hall.

Arthur’s head snapped to the side.

A sharp cut opened on his cheek where her nails had sliced the skin. Blood trickled down his face, warm against the cold air.

His ears rang slightly.

The three who had brought him didn’t even flinch.

The hooded figures watched in silence.

The woman looked down at him, crimson eyes glowing faintly.

Her smile was still there—

But now, there was a hint of fangs behind it.

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