Helena couldn't hold back her anger any longer. She jumped to her feet, her expression seething with fury. Even Maria, who had been trying to keep her calm, felt annoyed and didn't stop her this time.
Poor Fanmuir, still lost in his internal debate about human anatomy, was suddenly startled by an intense wave of hostility. While this "killing intent" was laughably weak to a Vampire Prince, he couldn't help but stare in confusion at the petite, fiery woman charging toward him.
As Helena approached, Fanmuir felt an unfamiliar nervousness. His normally flawless composure faltered, and a faint blush colored his pale face.
Helena, mistaking his reaction for guilt, sped up and lunged at him, aiming for his neck.
Despite his limited experience with humans, Fanmuir instinctively recognized her attack. His body moved with an almost unnatural grace, flowing like silk to evade her strike. To the onlookers, it appeared as though Helena had swung wildly and missed, landing a punch in the air above his shoulder.
Only Maria and the young man in the white T-shirt realized what had truly happened. The young man, who had some martial arts training, knew just how skilled Helena was—she had easily overpowered him before. Yet this seemingly ordinary boy had dodged her attack as though it were nothing.
Frustrated by her failure, Helena tightened her stance and transitioned into Plum Blossom Fist, a martial art known in Italy for its devastating strikes. Though she was only at the fifth level, her punches were strong enough to shatter bricks. Confident in her abilities, Helena launched her most powerful technique, "Blossoms in Full Bloom."
To her shock, an invisible, icy force gently enveloped her fist, stopping it entirely. No matter how much strength she used, she couldn't move forward. Her face turned red from exertion, but her attack remained frozen.
Maria, realizing the extent of Fanmuir's strength, quickly stepped forward and said, "Sir, I apologize for my sister's rash behavior. Please forgive her for offending you."
"Maria, don't apologize to this creep!" Helena cried, stomping her foot as tears of frustration welled in her eyes. "Go get Uncle Andrea to teach this brat a lesson!"
"Miss," Fanmuir said, confused, "I can let your sister go, but she must stop attacking me. Also, what does 'creep' mean? And why does she keep calling me 'stinky'? Do I smell bad?"
Maria, studying Fanmuir's innocent expression and the purity in his golden eyes, immediately realized he hadn't meant any harm. Smiling slightly, she said, "Alright, I promise Helena won't attack or insult you again. But you need to stop staring at us so rudely."
Fanmuir froze in embarrassment. So staring at women was considered rude? And excessive staring made him a "creep"? Realizing this, he felt a wave of regret for his actions. Hastily releasing Helena, he turned and, without using his powers, fled toward the mountains. His pale face burned red with shame as he hurried away, leaving the scene behind.
The tour group erupted into laughter at the scene, but the memory of Helena's punch, which had sent leaves scattering through the air, lingered in their minds. No one dared to ogle the two sisters again, and they all instinctively kept their distance.
"Maria, that boy was unbelievable. My punches felt like they were hitting thin air. And when he caught my fist, I couldn't even move!" Helena said, still shaken.
"It seems Uncle Andrea was right—there are hidden talents everywhere. But I've never heard of someone so young with such power near the Alps," Maria replied. "Most of the martial artists around here are about our level. But that boy? He didn't even need to try."
Maria shook her head in disbelief as she rejoined the group. Fanmuir's incredible abilities had unsettled her, leaving her doubting her standing among the younger generation.
Meanwhile, Fanmuir walked far enough from the tour group to confirm he was alone, then leapt into the air. In an instant, he arrived at a cluster of ancient Roman-style castles nestled in the Alps.
Standing before the ornate buildings, Fanmuir made his way down a secluded path lined with vibrant olive trees and smooth cobblestones. After winding through the trail for about 100 meters, he reached an old mud wall. Without hesitation, he leapt over it effortlessly, disappearing beyond.
Earlier, at the mountain's base, Fanmuir had sensed more than a dozen distinct energies. They were familiar and comforting—energies that could only belong to those trained in the Huxwell family's martial techniques.
Upon reaching the castles, he realized these energies were emanating from within. He moved straight toward the source, a simple castle in the back, surrounded by a garden teeming with rare herbs and medicinal plants.
Two young boys sweeping the castle's front yard looked up and froze at the sight of Fanmuir.
"Massimo, am I imagining things? How could someone just show up here?" the chubby boy, Matteo, whispered, his eyes wide.
The boys had spent their entire lives here, where outsiders rarely ventured. To see a young man walking toward them was nothing short of astonishing.
"You two," Fanmuir said gently, "fetch Alessandro. Tell him Huxwell has arrived."
The boys remained frozen.
"Alessandro, come out and meet me!" Fanmuir called in a calm yet commanding voice, using only a fraction of his power. Despite its subtlety, the entire castle compound trembled as if struck by an invisible force.
The two boys closest to him collapsed to the ground, overwhelmed by the sheer weight of his presence. Deep within the castle cluster, Caesar Alessandro opened his eyes in alarm. Two sharp, lightning-like beams shot from his gaze before fading.
Though over 70 years old, Caesar Alessandro's mastery of the Huxwell family's martial techniques kept him looking no older than his fifties. Yet even a whisper of Fanmuir's power felt to him like a deafening roar.
What unsettled him most was the familiarity of the energy—it was nearly identical to the power cultivated within the Huxwell family's ancient techniques. But who in the family could possess such unparalleled skill?
Despite his confusion, Caesar Alessandro wasted no time. Rising swiftly, he headed toward the source of the voice. His movement roused more than twenty others from the castle, each a master of the Huxwell martial arts, who instinctively followed him.
These individuals were formidable warriors, their skills enough to astonish any outsider. Yet Fanmuir shook his head subtly, finding their abilities lacking.
In stark contrast, the group was utterly shaken by Fanmuir. They couldn't discern the depth of his power, which to them seemed boundless. Caesar Alessandro's face grew pale as he realized he couldn't read the young man's strength at all. Fanmuir exuded an aura as vast as the ocean and as towering as a mountain.
It was a rule of thumb that only someone two levels above you could mask their power entirely. Caesar Alessandro, one of Europe's most formidable fighters after seven decades of training, was now faced with someone leagues beyond him.
As Fanmuir withdrew his intimidating aura, the two boys finally regained their senses. Seeing the family elders approach, they stood and hurriedly joined the group, their earlier panic still evident.
Fanmuir remained calm, nodding slightly at Caesar Alessandro. "You must be Caesar Alessandro," he said with a faint smile.
"How dare you call my grandfather by name!" Matteo, emboldened by the presence of so many elders, barked back. Embarrassment from earlier forgotten, he tried to assert his authority.
"Matteo, that's enough!" Caesar Alessandro said firmly, silencing the boy. Matteo quickly realized his mistake and retreated sheepishly to the back of the group.
"And who might you be?" Caesar Alessandro asked. But before Fanmuir could answer, Caesar's gaze fell on the ring on Fanmuir's thumb, and he froze.
The black ring shimmered faintly with an aura of immense power. Its front bore a single, engraved "F." This was the Huxwell family's patriarchal ring, the ultimate symbol of authority within the family.
While most might not recognize it, Caesar Alessandro, a core member of the family, knew it instantly. His ancestors had served as loyal retainers to the Huxwell family for two millennia, carrying out their sacred duties without fail.
For over 1,500 years, the Alessandro line had fulfilled a singular mission: delivering sealed boxes to a hidden location in the Alps. This task was to continue until the patriarchal ring reappeared, marking the return of the family's true leader.
"Caesar Alessandro greets the patriarch," he said, bowing deeply before kneeling.
The twenty others quickly followed suit, their eyes fixed on the ring. The two boys, initially bewildered, soon knelt as well, realizing the gravity of the moment. If even their grandfather was kneeling, how could they dare remain standing?
"My Lord!" The booming voices startled Fanmuir, and even more so the two young boys. They had never imagined the normally kind and soft-spoken elders could project such force. What baffled them even more was why these people were addressing the young man before them as "my lord."
Still trying to make sense of the situation, Matteo and Massimo suddenly felt a gentle force lift them to their feet. Fanmuir's calm voice followed: "You've worked hard. I've been training in the Alps for a hundred years, and now I'm descending the mountain."
The boys' confusion turned to panic as the realization hit them. He had been training for a century, and they had treated him so disrespectfully. Cold sweat broke out, and their faces went pale. Crawling toward Fanmuir, they knocked their heads on the ground repeatedly. "My lord, we were blind and foolish earlier. Please forgive us!"
Fanmuir smiled, a soft power lifting them up again. "As practitioners, you must always approach others with humility and respect. Never look down on anyone," he said gently.
"Yes, yes! We'll remember your teachings!" the boys replied, nodding fervently.
Fanmuir's smile widened as he reached into his robe, producing two glowing pills refined in his secluded valley.
The moment the pills appeared, a spiritual fragrance filled the air, captivating everyone in the room. Eyes widened, and the sound of drooling was unmistakable. While the castle housed many rare herbs, nothing came close to the otherworldly presence of these pills.
Caesar Alessandro, a martial arts enthusiast who constantly sought breakthroughs, felt his pulse quicken. Just one pill, he was certain, could push him to the next level.
But to everyone's shock, Fanmuir handed the pills to Matteo and Massimo. "These are for you as a meeting gift. Train hard," he said with a smile.
The boys froze, disbelieving, before bursting into grateful kowtows.
The room, meanwhile, burned with envy. If looks could kill, Matteo and Massimo would have perished a thousand times over. Even Caesar Alessandro felt the sting, though none dared protest.
Seeing their hungry gazes, Fanmuir misunderstood, thinking his gifts were insufficient. Blushing, he pulled out two more pills and handed them to the boys again. "Their skills are too weak for anything more," he explained apologetically.
This time, the room collectively despaired. "If only we'd swept the yard," someone thought bitterly. "What a waste!"
Fanmuir, now surrounded by sycophantic praise, began to wonder if descending the mountain was a mistake. Meanwhile, Matteo and Massimo stood frozen, unsure whether to laugh or cry at the bizarre scene.
"You're like a god descended to Earth!"
"You're the most handsome man alive!"
Such were the best praises the castle's residents could muster. The poor group of twenty individuals strained their minds but could only come up with these plain, uninspired compliments.
Fortunately, Fanmuir was new to the ways of the world and had never encountered such flattery. Instead of inflating his ego, the words left him feeling a little embarrassed. Raising a hand to signal for silence, he brought the room to a sudden hush, so quiet that even the sound of breathing could be heard.
Fanmuir wasn't naive; on the contrary, he was sharp and perceptive. He easily understood the desires of the Alessandro clan. What he couldn't quite grasp, however, was why these pills he had refined seemed so precious to them. Growing up in a valley rich with rare herbs like ginseng and lingzhi, Fanmuir had always viewed such resources as ordinary. How could he know their true value to others?
For someone of his extraordinary power, these pills were barely effective. Even so, as the Prince of the Bloodline of Apollo and the rightful leader of the Huxwell family, Fanmuir knew he couldn't afford to appear stingy. Besides, generosity came naturally to him. Carefully assessing each individual's abilities, he distributed pills according to their level of skill.
The reaction was immediate. As they held the pills in their hands, the castle's residents descended into euphoric madness. Many had lived for decades, if not centuries, without ever encountering elixirs of such radiance and spiritual potency. The mere thought of consuming one and becoming one of the most powerful beings alive sent them into a frenzy.
Watching the scene unfold, Fanmuir felt a mixture of pity and shame. He vowed silently never to let the Alessandro clan live in such impoverished conditions again. Thankfully, no outsiders were present to witness the scene. The Alessandro clan's strength was also concerningly low, reinforcing his decision to stay and train them while learning more about the modern world himself. He wasn't keen on reliving the embarrassment of being caught off guard by that fiery girl.
The memory of Helena and Maria made his blood race again. Fanmuir quickly calmed himself, using his energy to suppress the unwanted distraction.
"Ahem," he coughed softly, snapping the castle residents out of their delirium. Despite years of training, they couldn't help but feel embarrassed by their behavior.
"I'll stay here for a while to share the Huxwell family's martial techniques and my personal insights. If you encounter challenges in your training, feel free to seek my guidance. Also, find someone knowledgeable about the modern world to help me catch up."
Hearing that their clan leader would stay, the residents were ecstatic. A chance to receive personal instruction from the Huxwell leader was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Even a single piece of guidance could change the course of their lives. Predictably, Fanmuir was again bombarded with an avalanche of exaggerated praise.
Finally, Fanmuir waved his hand. "I'm tired. Find me a clean room to rest in, and we'll talk tomorrow."
He followed Matteo and Massimo, retreating quickly, leaving the Alessandro clan members in confusion. How could someone of Fanmuir's power possibly feel tired?
"Never mind that," someone said. "Let's focus on finding someone suitable to teach our lord about modern society."
Meanwhile, Andrea, the third son of Caesar Alessandro and the family's primary liaison to the outside world took it upon himself to help. Andrea served as the Alessandro clan's main point of contact with the outside world. His role largely involved spending his free time traveling through the secular world, monitoring the Huxwell family's affairs and stepping in to handle problems they couldn't resolve on their own. Setting off immediately, he planned to meet two women he knew well—Helena and Maria.