Chapter 42: The Current State of the Two Clans [Please Subscribe]

London was in utter chaos. Skyscrapers lay in ruins, the earth cracked wide, and the void beneath was shrouded in a crimson mist. Dust and sand billowed like ocean waves, radiating outward from the heart of the city. On the outskirts, the sounds of wailing, screams, and fierce battles merged into a harrowing chorus. Bathed in the blood-red sunlight, the world seemed scorched by an infernal blaze.

Countless frenzied humans, eyes bloodshot and mouths twisted into demonic howls, unleashed wanton slaughter amidst dense crowds—only to be swiftly cut down by soldiers of the British Empire who had rushed to the scene. The air was thick with a metallic sweetness of spilled blood, carried far and wide by the raging winds.

Wandering aimlessly were the dazed citizens of London, their vacant expressions betraying a loss of reason, as if they were walking corpses. Others sat collapsed on the ground, wailing silently in despair.

Deep beneath the surface, dozens of meters underground in a hidden sewer, Lucien paced anxiously, accompanied by a handful of werewolves. Since coming under the command of Li Yang, the werewolf clan had been engaged in relentless campaigns—raiding scientists, subjugating the vampire race, gathering cultivation resources, fending off mutant assaults, and battling human armies.

These relentless ordeals had decimated their numbers dramatically—from thousands at their peak to fewer than a hundred now, including about twenty wolf-clan scientists. Though werewolves transformed quickly, they were not as fearsome as the original progenitors, and newly turned werewolves were barely stronger than ordinary humans.

Those thousands of werewolves were the lifeblood of the Lycan tribe, built up over centuries. Most of the recent generations had been converted by Lucien or his lieutenants during these hundred years. Despite the heavy losses, Lucien harbored no regrets. As a man of intellect, he understood that great opportunity always came hand in hand with mortal danger; there was no such thing as a free lunch in this world.

Since pledging loyalty to Li Yang, Lucien had accepted this reality. Although the werewolf clan now teetered on the brink of extinction, he believed this was their moment of rebirth. If the remaining kin could be transformed into bloodline sorcerers, the Lycan tribe could truly escape the fate of a dark race and ascend to become a transcendent species, brimming with endless possibilities.

Yet it was not only the werewolves who had suffered. The vampire clan, also under Li Yang’s banner, had taken grievous blows. Compared to the werewolves, the vampires boasted far deeper roots. Over centuries, their numbers had swelled into tens of thousands, their power reaching across the British Empire. With such vast resources, their development far outpaced the werewolves lurking in sewers.

But following the near annihilation of the Night Knights and Night Walkers during the last human assault, the vampire power had begun to shrink rapidly. Now, though thousands remained, most were noble elders or young purebloods, with the middle ranks no stronger than the werewolves. Unlike the werewolves’ universal militancy, the vampire clan was starkly divided: the strong were formidable, but the weak—especially aged elders—were often weaker than ordinary humans.

This disparity was simple to explain. The elder council members had been frail and near death before their transformation. Their life essence was nearly exhausted, so even after becoming vampires, their potential was minimal.

“Lucien, can you calm down? Elder Emilia has already gone out with the Stre siblings to scout. No matter how anxious you are, we must wait for their return,” Catherine said, suppressing her irritation as she watched Lucien pacing near the sewer entrance.

“How much longer must we wait? Dawn is almost here, and they still haven’t come back. We should have gone ourselves to investigate!” Lucien grumbled, though he quelled his agitation.

If this had been the old Catherine, he would have spoken differently. But now she was Li Yang’s personal attendant, entrusted with leadership by Li Yang himself before he lost consciousness. Lucien respected the weight of that command and kept his discontent to himself.

“Look at that blood-red sun and moon in the sky. Their light amplifies the darkness within all living creatures. Sending you werewolves out now isn’t a joke. If you go, don’t expect many to return safely, let alone gather any useful information,” Catherine warned firmly.

Though she understood Lucien’s restlessness, she could not allow the werewolves to be sent on a suicidal mission. Since learning the truth about her parents’ deaths, her prejudice against the werewolves had softened. Time with Li Yang had subtly changed her feelings toward him and, by extension, to those under his command. Though still haunted by the fall of the Night Walkers, her resentment had transformed into a complex, quiet affection. She sensed Li Yang’s attitude toward her was unlike his stance toward others, though she couldn’t fathom his thoughts. This unspoken bond had begun to bloom beneath her awareness.

“But it’s almost dawn, and Emilia hasn’t returned...” Lucien started again, only to realize that as bloodline sorcerers, they no longer feared sunlight. Dawn’s arrival might not matter as much as before. Embarrassed, he fell silent.

“I advise you to behave yourselves,” Marcus, who had been lurking unnoticed in a shadowed corner, suddenly opened his deep blue eyes, fixating on the two brothers, Victor and Jimmy, chained tightly nearby.

“You ugly freak! Once I break free, I’ll tear you apart!” Victor hissed with a murderous glare, his voice low and threatening.

If not for the seal of Li Yang stamped on their foreheads, the brothers would have risen in rebellion long ago. Each failed escape attempt ended with Victor being brutally beaten by the grotesque Marcus, only to be dragged back like a dead dog.

“I think you haven’t suffered enough yet,” Marcus retorted with a knowing smirk.

Marcus had endured Victor’s relentless provocations since they captured the Perfect Blood. His mission had shifted to guarding the laboratory and now overseeing prisoners—including the brothers and Vincent, the Perfect Blood’s vessel. Vincent had long resigned himself to his fate, well cared for, and Jimmy had grown more restrained. But Victor remained a constant thorn, provoking Marcus whenever possible.

If not for Li Yang’s orders that they still had value, Marcus would have long since drained their blood. As the progenitor of the vampire clan, he recognized the extraordinary vitality in their veins and had long coveted it, held back only by command.

“Ha ha... itching for trouble again, are you?” Lucien shook his neck and stepped forward, eager to release the pent-up frustration he felt towards this remarkably regenerative monster, who was like a perfect human punching bag.

“Can you all quiet down? You’d be better off resting. Elder Emilia might send word any moment now,” Catherine said sharply, massaging her temples as unease pressed heavily upon her. Fear for Li Yang’s safety mingled with uncertainty over the fate of both clans weighed on her heart.

She herself could not understand her own feelings. By all logic, if Li Yang were truly dead, she should feel relief. Then she would be free from her promises, no longer bound to serve him. She had long awaited this day. Yet when it came, there was no joy—only worry, sorrow, longing, and the faint urge to weep. This torment gnawed at her soul.

Suddenly, a tremendous rumble shook London. Even deep underground, Catherine and the others felt it clearly. A vast, awe-inspiring energy surged to life, spreading swiftly over thousands of miles, enveloping the city and its surroundings. Beneath this celestial might, all living beings could not help but feel a profound reverence stirring within their hearts.