In Randall Gorge, located within the bounds of York, England, the sun was a rare visitor, and the skies remained overcast throughout the year.

Not that this bothered its inhabitants—they had little fondness for the sun. After all, the residents of Randall Gorge were vampires who preferred the shadows, wetlands, and marshes.

On this particular day, a graceful and elegantly dressed lady arrived in Randall Gorge by car. As the vehicle approached the border of the area, she ordered her driver to stop. "Park here. I'll walk the rest of the way myself."

The driver slowed the car hesitantly, then pleaded submissively, "But, Countess Constantine, the Count specifically instructed me to…"

The Countess waved him off coldly. "Tell him I know what I'm doing."

With that, she gathered her skirts and stepped out of the car, striding toward the misty depths of the gorge. Her fiery figure quickly disappeared into the shadows.

The driver, recalling the Count's repeated orders to ensure the Countess's safety, found himself unable to ignore his duty. Though the eerie surroundings made him uneasy, he got out of the car and hurried after her. He couldn't let this noblewoman face danger alone!

The moment he stepped into Randall Gorge, it felt as though the sunlight had vanished from the world. Everything became sinister and dark.

A damp chill seeped into his clothing, making him shiver in his summer attire.

Looking up, he was shocked to see a crescent moon hanging in the sky.

"How is this possible? It was just afternoon when we arrived…" he murmured.

Before he could finish, a rustling sound startled him. A swarm of bats burst from a nearby dead tree, their wings slicing through the darkness as they flew past, leaving the driver screaming in fright.

Soaked in filthy mud, Dawson sat on the ground, trembling. "This place is cursed," he muttered miserably.

As he ventured further, the scenery grew increasingly bizarre.

There were no flowers on the ground, only rotting, poisonous weeds. The blackened, withered tree trunks appeared as though a fire had once ravaged the forest. Yet, no healthy, living trees could be seen.

No streetlights lined the path, but countless half-destroyed tombstones were scattered about. To his horror, faint white light seemed to emanate from them.

He even noticed a massive pitcher plant, swaying and emitting an eerie chuckle.

Dawson's nerves were on edge as he walked for twenty minutes. He came upon a statue casually placed at the roadside.

The statue, carved from jet-black stone, depicted a werewolf's upper body, its fangs and claws bared menacingly. The craftsmanship was so lifelike it seemed the creature might spring to life at any moment.

At the base of the statue, a Gothic inscription read:

"Dear lost traveler, this land belongs to the great progenitors of vampires, the eternal nobles of blood, the shadow elves, and the kings of the dark knights—the Von Draugr Clan. If you come seeking immortality and the unending night, present your offerings here and await the decay of eternity. But if you are a foolish trespasser, know that entering this territory seals your fate: death."

Terrified, Dawson screamed, "V-vampires!" His legs gave out, and he collapsed to the ground.

He could hardly believe that the graceful and beautiful Countess Constantine, a shining star of high society, would venture into vampire territory!

Just then, footsteps echoed. The Countess emerged from the thick fog.

Her cold, detached gaze fell upon the driver. "Dawson, were you following me?" she asked softly.

Dawson was utterly petrified. He hated this cursed place. If he'd ever doubted the existence of vampires before, he was now a firm believer. Only such malevolent creatures could make their home so horrifying.

Tears streaming, he stammered, "The Count ordered me to protect you, but… Oh, God! Madam, do you intend to sell your soul to such monsters? God blessed you with such beauty and nobility, and yet you're willing to forsake them for this so-called immortality…"

The Countess spoke quietly, "Dawson, you are not me, nor are you a woman. You're merely a driver hired by my husband, and you have no right to judge my choices. Besides, you don't understand the terror a woman feels when faced with the prospect of her beauty fading away. Perhaps the more beautiful a woman is, the more she fears it..."

Before she could finish, a sound broke the stillness of the air.

Under the pale crescent moon, a raven flew toward them from the distance.

It was larger than any ordinary raven, with a wingspan close to a meter. Its feathers shone black with hints of blue at the edges, and its eyes gleamed with a ruby-red brilliance.

The Countess visibly trembled, gasping softly, "Oh, my Lord!"

Dawson couldn't believe his ears! This Countess, whose status was among the most esteemed—so much so that even the modern British royal family wouldn't dare slight her—had addressed a raven as her master?

But Dawson was about to find out why.

As the raven swooped to the ground, its body became shrouded in mist. Moments later, from within the fog emerged not a bird but a boy.

He appeared to be around eleven or twelve years old, with a pale complexion that seemed cold to the touch. His long black hair partially obscured his right eye, while his left eye gleamed with a striking red hue. He wore a high-collared, vintage suit with a black cape draped over his shoulders, and a pristine white cravat was tied neatly at his chest.

The boy's appearance was so breathtakingly handsome that it captured one's gaze effortlessly.

Despite his youth, he exuded an alluring charm that could captivate anyone, regardless of gender. Even Dawson, terrified as he was, couldn't help but observe him.

The boy smirked faintly, casting a dismissive glance at Dawson, who was still sprawled on the ground. He let out a soft snort before turning his attention to the Countess. His gaze swept over her like an appraiser examining a prized item.

Yet the Countess didn't perceive his scrutiny as demeaning. On the contrary, she regarded it as a form of praise and admiration. Straightening her posture, she lifted her chest slightly, striving to present herself with the utmost grace and elegance.

The boy observed her for a moment longer before speaking in a soft voice, "Eloise Constantine? Hmm… A fine woman indeed. My name is Nolan Von Draugr. As you are likely aware, I am a direct descendant of the progenitors of the Von Draugr Clan."

With that, he turned away from the Countess, who was trembling with excitement as though she were in the presence of an idol. His gaze now fell on Dawson, who was still seated helplessly on the ground.

Nolan parted his lips, revealing slender, razor-sharp fangs. "And, as you might have guessed… I am a vampire."

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