Chapter 232: I’m not going to catch fire, am I? RIGHT?

The door frame seemed like an invisible line between two worlds.

Behind them, the interior of the mansion—soft shadows, cool air, the comfortable silence that accompanied creatures of the night.

Ahead, only four steps.

Four.

And then, the sun.

The morning light flooded the courtyard with an almost aggressive golden glow. It wasn’t the timid sunset nor the filtered light of dusk. It was a full morning. Clear. Honest.

Damon stood exactly where the shadow ended.

Arms crossed.

Gaze fixed on the illuminated ground.

“So,” he began, in an extremely calculated tone, “are you absolutely sure I won’t spontaneously combust?”

Elizabeth stood beside him, too calm for someone about to witness her own husband’s possible fire.

She tilted her head, amused.

“Quite sure.”

“’Quite a lot’ isn’t the word I like to hear when the subject is catching fire.”

She laughed.

She really laughed.

“Damon.”

“I’m just saying,” he continued, pointing to the strip of light on the ground, “that thing there kills vampires in practically every story ever told.”

“Stories written by humans.”

“Still. Humans seem pretty confident about it.”

Elizabeth took a step forward… but remained in the shadows.

She raised her hand and let her fingertips pierce the light.

Nothing happened.

No smoke.

No hissing.

Her skin remained intact, just more illuminated.

She opened and closed her fingers in the sun as if testing the temperature of a lake.

“Luckily,” she said, “we’re not ’ordinary vampires.’”

Damon narrowed his eyes.

“I’ve noticed you really like using that expression.”

She turned slightly toward him, her red eyes reflecting the morning light.

“Common vampires are transformed through diluted blood. Fragmented bloodlines. Incomplete curses. They carry power, but they also carry structural weaknesses.”

She took a small step back, returning completely to the shadows.

“We are noble vampires. Of pure blood.”

“What, exactly, does that mean besides sounding elitist?”

Elizabeth crossed her arms elegantly.

“It means our origin is not a degenerate curse. It’s an arcane evolution. The sun isn’t ’poison’ to us. It simply demands energy.”

Damon raised an eyebrow.

“Energy?”

“Mana.”

She moved a little closer to him, closing the distance.

“Sunlight is charged with natural energy. For common vampires, the body can’t process that charge. It destabilizes the magical structure that keeps them alive. The result? Combustion.”

— Great. Excellent explanation. Makes me much more relaxed.

She ignored the comment.

— We have enough mana reserves to neutralize this overload. Especially you.

— Especially me?

Elizabeth nodded.

— Your body was already abnormally resilient when you were just a common incubus. Your physical structure has always been denser, more adaptable. The marriage ritual did the rest.

She brought two fingers to his chest, touching lightly.

— Our blood is the same now. Literally.

Damon was silent for a second.

— So I’m officially a noble vampire?

— Yes.

— Does that explain the sudden urge to judge everyone?

She laughed again.

— No. That’s just you.

The morning wind swept across the courtyard, carrying the scent of damp grass and stone warming under the sun.

Damon looked at the light again.

Four steps.

He slowly extended his hand, as if about to touch a flame.

His fingertips crossed the line.

Nothing.

He moved a little further.

The light touched his skin.

It didn’t burn.

But he felt it.

It was… different.

A subtle pressure. As if millions of microscopic particles were testing the surface of his body.

“I feel something,” he murmured.

Elizabeth watched intently.

“Describe it.”

He flexed his fingers within the light.

“It’s like… static. It doesn’t hurt. But it pushes.”

“Your body is converting the energy.”

Damon took a deep breath.

“If I start to catch fire, I’ll blame you for the rest of eternity.”

“Fair enough.”

He took the first full step out of the shadow.

The sun touched his entire arm.

Nothing.

Second step.

Now half of his body was under the light.

The sensation intensified.

The static turned into a constant flow, as if his skin were absorbing something raw and transforming it internally.

He frowned slightly.

“It’s draining my mana.”

“Yes.”

“Not fast.”

“No.”

Third step.

Now his chest and face were illuminated.

The world seemed to change color.

The light wasn’t just brightness—it was information. He could perceive the density of solar energy, almost as if he saw invisible currents traversing space.

His eyes adjusted automatically.

Nothing burned.

Nothing hurt.

Fourth step.

Completely under the sun.

Damon stood still.

Waiting.

One second.

Two.

Five.

No flames.

No dramatic smoke rising from his shoulders.

He looked at his own hands.

He rotated his wrists.

His skin looked… normal.

Just more alive.

“This is ridiculously anticlimactic,” he murmured.

Elizabeth finally emerged from the shadows as well.

The golden light fell on her as if tailor-made.

Her dark hair gained subtle highlights. Her pale skin didn’t look dead—it looked like illuminated porcelain.

She walked toward him without hesitation.

“I told you.”

Damon stared at her.

“I really won’t catch fire?”

“No.”

He lifted his face, closing his eyes for a moment.

The sensation was strange.

It wasn’t weakness.

It was exposure.

As if the world were completely open around him.

He could hear further.

Feel more details in the air.

But, at the same time, there was a slight internal consumption—a controlled flame burning mana steadily to maintain balance.

He opened his eyes again.

“This is… bearable.”

Elizabeth smiled.

“Eventually you won’t even notice.”

He looked around the light-filled courtyard.

“So all those myths about vampires living eternally in darkness…”

“Were created by weak bloodlines.”

He tilted his head slightly.

“And now?”

She shrugged.

“Now you can walk in the sun. As long as you’re not exhausted of mana. If you’re completely depleted, then… you’ll start to burn.”

Damon grimaced.

“Important information that could have been mentioned earlier.”

“You asked if you were going to spontaneously combust.”

He sighed.

“Fair enough.”

The wind blew again.

Damon took a few more steps across the courtyard, testing his body.

He jumped slightly.

He shrugged.

No pain.

No smoke.

He stopped and looked at Elizabeth, still in the sun.

“So that’s it.”

She crossed her arms, satisfied.

“That’s it.”

A small smile appeared on his face.

“I survived the sun.”

She approached, standing beside him.

“You’re a noble vampire now.”

Damon observed his own shadow projected on the illuminated ground.

Solid.

Whole.

He let out a low sigh.

“Good.”

His eyes met hers again.

“Because I really didn’t feel like turning to ashes today.”

…

The sunlight didn’t reach that place.

The room was subterranean, carved from ancient stone, supported by thick columns that looked more like vertical tombs than architecture. Magic lanterns hung from the walls, emitting a cold, greenish glow that didn’t warm anything—it only revealed.

In the center, a dark wooden table.

On it, maps.

Stamps.

Reports stained with dried blood.

And a painting.

The man at the head of the table had remained silent for several minutes. Tall, broad-shouldered, his hair neatly tied back. His face bore scars that weren’t just physical—the kind of expression that belonged to someone who had already decided to kill before even hearing explanations.

He observed the painting.

“The ritual has been confirmed?” he finally asked.

One of the assassins kneeling in front inclined his head.

“Yes, sir. The arcane explosion was detected in the northern forest.” The energy pattern corresponds to the execution seal we implanted in the incubus.

The leader ran his thumb along the edge of the table.

“And the body?”

“Not found.”

Silence.

The room seemed heavier.

“The seal was made to obliterate,” the subordinate continued. “Even if nothing remained, the mana signature should have ceased completely.”

The leader slowly raised his eyes.

“It should.”

Another assassin, younger, dared to speak.

“Sir… the probability of survival is less than three percent.”

The man at the head of the table picked up the painting and raised it to face level.

The portrait of Damon wasn’t perfect, but it was detailed enough. Firm features. Sharp gaze. A presence that seemed to pierce the paper.

“Probability,” the leader repeated coldly, “is a tool to comfort the incompetent.”

He placed the painting back on the table.

“He was an ordinary incubus. Young. No noble lineage. No political backing.”

A pause.

“But he was under the protection of Wykes Manor.”

The name seemed to alter the temperature of the room.

Some of the assassins slightly averted their gaze.

Elizabeth Wykes was not just a vampire.

She was a political entity.

An ancient force.

A presence that spanned centuries without weakening.

“He’s probably dead” the leader finally admitted. “The seal was designed not to fail.”

He walked slowly around the table.

The footsteps echoed off the stone.

“But there’s a variable I don’t like.”

He stopped behind one of the subordinates.

“Elizabeth Wykes.”

No one answered.

It wasn’t necessary.

“If he served her directly…” the leader continued “then he wasn’t an ordinary incubus.”

He returned to the headboard.

“And if, for any reason, she interfered…”

The silence grew thicker.

“Sir” said the oldest assassin among them “Mrs. Wykes did not declare war. There was no retaliation.”

“Yet.”

The leader placed both hands on the table.

“Do not underestimate ancient creatures. They do not react impulsively. They observe. They assess. They calculate.”

He pointed to the map spread out on the wood.

Wykes Manor was marked in black ink.

“I want a permanent squad on the perimeter of the property.”

A few eyes looked up.

“Permanent, sir?”

“Discreet. Invisible. No direct approach. No provocation.”

He picked up the painting of Damon again and held it up for all to see.

“If this man is sighted…”

His voice did not rise.

It didn’t need to.

“Kill him instantly.”

The young assassin hesitated for a split second.

“Sir… if he is truly under the direct protection of Lady Wykes, this could—”

The leader’s gaze cut off the rest of the sentence.

“He was supposed to be dead.”

Silence returned.

“If he is alive, then something interfered with the seal. Something powerful enough to suppress a high-grade arcane execution.”

He placed the painting back on the table, this time more firmly.

“That makes him an extremely dangerous target.”

One of the men asked cautiously:

“Dangerous for what he is… or for what he represents?”

The leader didn’t answer immediately.

He walked to one of the lanterns and slightly adjusted the brightness.

The green light reflected off the scars on his face.

“If he survived,” he said finally, “then he is no longer just an incubus.”

The words hung in the air.

“And anything that falls under Elizabeth Wykes’ direct gaze ceases to be insignificant.”

He returned to the table.

“Don’t underestimate the politics involved. It’s not just a matter of eliminating a survivor. It’s a matter of preventing something new from growing under that protection.”

He looked at each of them, one by one.

“Observe the mansion.”

“Record any unusual movement.”

“Any alteration to the property’s magical signature.”

“And, above all…”

He touched the painting with his fingertips.

“If you see this man alive…”

His eyes hardened.

“Don’t try to capture him.”

“Don’t try to interrogate him.”

“Don’t hesitate.”

His voice grew even lower.

“Kill him.”

The sound of the order echoed like a sealed sentence.

The assassins bowed their heads in unison.

“Yes, sir.”

The leader extinguished one of the lanterns with a simple gesture of mana.

The room grew even darker.

“If he’s dead,” he murmured, almost to himself, “then nothing will happen.”

He turned to the shadows at the back of the chamber.

“But if he’s not…”

Darkness seemed to engulf part of his face.

“Then we’ll have to find out what kind of monster Elizabeth Wykes decided to keep by her side.”

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