I Became a Dark Fantasy Villain

Chapter 153

From the sound, Ian estimated there were about a dozen. The tainted magic was palpable, with no attempt to conceal it. Ian’s eyes gleamed as he scanned the darkness.

Magic Detection revealed the silhouettes of their approaching foes, not just the riders but their horses too, all imbued with magic. The most intense aura emanated from the lead rider. The presence Ian had recognized earlier was probably from the leader rider.

Besides Ian, Charlotte drew her silver sword with her left hand, rotating her wrist as if testing it after a long time.

She spoke, "Maybe the Empress noticed our arrival?"

"Who knows? We’ll find out soon enough," Ian replied calmly, glancing back.

Mev and Philip, who were approaching the carriage, looked up at him.

"I’ll take on the leader. You two handle the rest," Ian instructed.

"Are you sure? There seem to be more than just a few," Mev said, furrowing her brow.

Ian shrugged and turned to Charlotte. "You assist Mev and Philip while protecting the horses and the carriage. If they realize we’re not trying to flee, they might not target the carriage. But they could still try to kill the horses to drink their blood. Prevent that at all costs."

"You know how to fight these things already well enough."

Charlotte’s eyes took on a peculiar look.

"So, you’re thinking of using those as practice targets for the two of them."

"Why, are you not confident?" Ian asked, smirking.

"No, but if things get bad, I’ll fight with all I’ve got."

"Don’t worry," Mev interjected, receiving Charlotte’s gaze. "If you guard the horses, we can focus entirely on the battle. That’s enough, isn’t it, Philip?"

"Well... yes, of course," Philip stammered, quickly nodding under Mev’s gaze.

Charlotte added, "There’s a silver sword in the carriage. Use it if needed."

"For now, let’s just fight and see. I want to verify if these things really can’t be killed, even if their limbs are cut off or their heads are taken," Mev replied.

"I’ll use the power of my relic without reservation," Philip said.

"Don’t worry about dying; I’ll have your back," Charlotte assured him.

Having fought together a few times, it seems they work quite well together.

Ian thought, turning his attention back to the riders. They were close enough to see now.

The horses were skeletal, their rotten flesh exposed, running silently. The riders wore loose leather armor, swaying atop their mounts, each wielding long spears. The leader held a jagged two-handed sword in one hand, wearing piecemeal armor over quilted clothing. Black mist-like magic swirled from his body. Red eyes glowed brightly beneath a horned helmet.

Clop— Clop—

Finally, the riders slowed.

They halted a good distance from the carriage. The vampire knight rode a few steps closer, the black mist around him seeping into his body. His youthful face became clear under his helmet.

Staring at Ian with an amused smile, he spoke, "Since you’ve killed all of my father’s birds, I didn’t think you’d be the type to flee... Did you know who we are and were waiting for us?"

"Of course. Vampires and their lackeys," Ian replied flatly, adding, "But it seems you don’t know who I am."

"Oh, I know who you are," the knight said, grinning wider, baring his fangs. He rested his two-handed sword on his shoulder.

"Tonight’s prey of mine. You seem much more interesting than those who run away crying."

His attitude was relaxed and confident. It was only natural. This was their territory, and they had repeated such hunts many times.

Judging by his words, they’d recently hunted their own people fleeing from the war. Well, that was likely one of the reasons for starting the war. They chattered on without lowering their voices, saying trivial things like they didn’t expect to see a beast with a sword again, or that they were curious about the taste of blood, so this was fortunate.

Ian nodded, "I see."

"You’re an amusing one. Why do you laugh after hearing that?" the knight asked, not wiping the smile from his face.

"Because it seems you really don’t know who I am," Ian said.

The knight tilted his helmet slightly, confused. Ian didn’t bother to explain that this vampire wasn’t impressive or that this confirmed the Empress hadn’t noticed Ian entering Lu Sard.

The knight chuckled.

"Well. It seems you’ve made quite a name for yourself. I suppose those who slaughtered all the birds aren’t ordinary folks. If you’re so famous, why don’t you tell me yourself? I should know just how great the ones I’m about to consume are."

His appearance, combined with his casual armor, resembled a raider more than a knight.

What a cocky bastard, thought Ian.

As Ian pondered, Charlotte let out a low growl, and Philip cleared his throat briefly. They seemed eager to reveal his identity immediately.

Why are you guys so eager?

Ian chuckled and said, "No need to know. You’re going to die here anyway."

"...? Ha!" The knight’s eyes widened, and then he burst into laughter, as did his subordinates, amused by what they perceived as a joke.

The knight’s voice continued, "You’re a confident one! Fine, I’ll make sure to kill you myself. If your blood tastes as good as your confidence—"

Thank you. That’s exactly what I wanted.

Ignoring the rest of the knight’s words, Ian checked the quest window that appeared before him.

[Servants of the Empress.]

He remembered this as a sub-quest from the game. It involved killing a few elite vampire nobles encountered on the way to Glumir.

So you’re at that level, huh?

Ian closed the window and focused back on the knight, who was still talking.

"I shall personally make a blood wine out of your own blood—"

"So, how long are you going to keep flapping your lips from over there?" Ian cut him off.

Before the knight could respond, Ian kicked off the roof, launching himself toward the knight.

Seeing Ian charging, the knight widened his eyes, laughed briefly, and shouted, "That one is mine! The rest of you, take care of the others! If there’s one with tasty blood, keep them alive!"

A responsive one, isn’t he?

Ian sprinted forward, closing the distance rapidly. The knight spurred his horse forward as well. They were soon face to face.

"I am Warren Shapiro! Firstborn of Count Shapiro of this land, Dalrihol, and rightful heir!"

Even as he shouted, Warren leaned to the side and swung his sword. The jagged blade cut through the air with a whistling sound, slicing diagonally toward Ian.

Ian didn’t slow down. He ducked low, slipping between the sword and the horse, and swung his sword sideways, slashing the horse’s side.

Crack!

With the feeling of cutting through bone and flesh, they passed each other. But Warren didn’t fall. The undead horse seemed to feel no pain, running and turning as if unaffected, even with its side split open, leaking rotten guts and fluid.

"You’re not just full of confidence! What’s your name?"

"A mosquito bastard pretending to be a knight. How funny," Ian muttered as he skidded to a halt.

Despite his low voice, Warren heard it and laughed briefly again.

"You seem to have no sense of honor. Are you a mercenary?"

Before finishing his sentence, Warren charged again. Despite the sparse trees around, he rode without hesitation.

"You call that honor, fighting on horseback?"

As he ran to meet Warren again, Ian glanced around. Warren’s subordinates were circling the campsite, making strange, mocking war cries and waving their spears.

What a show.

Well, while it might be nothing to him, to ordinary people, it would feel like a nightmare come to life.

Swish!

A sharp sound cut through the air. Warren, almost lying sideways, swung his sword again, leaving no room to dodge. Ian pulled his right arm, holding his sword, close to his left shoulder, and leaned back almost horizontally.

Whoosh—

The blade barely grazed his forearm. Warren’s surprised face followed as if he hadn’t expected Ian to dodge like this.

"Get down here, bastard."

Ian straightened his back and swung his right arm powerfully. The Wind Blade that surged along the sword cut through the horse’s hind legs, sending it sprawling. Ian lost his balance and rolled on the ground.

Crash!

Warren also tumbled to the ground. The horse, with its hind legs severed, ran a few more steps before collapsing. Warren, entangled with the horse, crashed to the ground and bounced up.

Thud.

The impact stopped them as Warren hit a tree trunk. His horned helmet flew off, and the branches above swayed.

A regular person would have died from such a blow, their bones shattered. But Ian, covered in dust, stood up and adjusted his grip on his sword. He turned to see a hand in a steel gauntlet emerging between the rotting horse and the tree trunk.

"You... bastard... using some kind of magical gear, aren’t you?"

Warren pushed the horse aside, cursing as he stood. His face and armor were covered in rotten blood and flesh.

"A coward... Fine, I’ll fight you the same way."

He reached into his cuirass and pulled out a small metal flask, placing it to his lips. There was no need to think deeply about what’s in there.

These mosquito bastards always cheat whenever they get the chance.

Despite this thought, Ian carefully observed his actions. Black mist began to spread once again from Warren’s body, but Ian still didn’t feel like he would lose. It wasn’t that he was complacent. He maintained a perfect level of tension and his mind was continuously absorbing the surrounding information.

From Ian’s perspective, this guy was far weaker than the adjudicators he had faced before. It seemed even weaker than Theaya. Perhaps it had only inherited a portion of true blood from the Count, not the Empress. If that were the case, it was a level he could fully understand.

Without even needing to use the Strike of Judgment, he could easily kill the knight with just a moderate use of magic.

But could I take him down with just close combat?

Normally, Ian wouldn’t consider this approach, but he needed to give Mev and Philip some time to gain experience. Of course, they wouldn’t be easily defeated by such opponents. It would take a vampire army to kill his entire party.

Besides, he couldn’t predict how many more vampires of this level they might encounter. If he used magic recklessly each time, his condition might not be optimal by the time they reached Glumir. If he could win using magic only as a support, it would give him more leeway.

Sadly, his physical stamina recovered much faster than his magical power.

Whoosh—

The black mist from Warren’s body spread over his sword.

"Are you done?"Ian tilted his chin and asked.

Sensing the confidence in his demeanor, Warren frowned and charged. The black mist emanating from his entire body left a ghostly trail. Ian charged to meet him, but it wasn’t Ian who reached Warren first.

Clang!

Warren reflexively deflected a flashing projectile, a throwing knife that clattered to the ground. He laughed, looking at the knife embedded in the dirt.

"A mercenary, I see! Such dirty tricks–-"

He stopped talking as he swung his sword, reacting to Ian, who had already closed the distance and was striking down. Their swords clashed, and both were pushed back slightly.

Warren, eyes wide, exclaimed, "Imperial steel? Is that an Imperial steel sword?"

He seemed more surprised that Ian’s sword hadn’t broken than by the fact that they were equally matched in strength.

Ian didn’t respond but frowned slightly. The sensation of the black mist touching him during their clash was unpleasant—sharp and sticky.

Does it assist attacks and cause status effects? Fear or Confusion? Well, then that should be manageable.

With that thought, Ian swung his sword again. Warren met his strike eagerly. He wasn’t retreating or dodging, confident he could win by clashing directly. But even after exchanging a third and fourth blow, Ian’s sword remained unbroken, and the black mist had no noticeable effect on him.

Clang!

A powerful swing from Warren pushed Ian back. His sword, trembling slightly, bore a small nick. Although Ian had used a bit of magic to neutralize the impact of the black mist, he couldn’t prevent the sword’s durability from quickly deteriorating.

Ian clicked his tongue.

A sword that was bought from Fael not too long ago, yet it is already in this condition only after the first fight.

Whoosh!

Warren charged again, shouting, "You seem out of breath! You’re stronger and more skilled than I expected, but there’s an unbridgeable gap between us–-"

Warren’s head snapped back as a throwing knife embedded itself in his right eye. Ian, deflecting Warren’s sword strike with one hand, had thrown the knife in the opening. Warren froze momentarily, caught off guard by the unexpected close-range attack.

"What gap?" Ian didn’t waste the opportunity, swinging his sword at Warren’s exposed neck.

Slash!

The head flew off, and black blood spurted from the neck.

Is this really working?

Thinking this, Ian suddenly retreated in the next moment.

Whoosh!

The headless body, instead of falling, swung its sword at him. The black blood spewing from the neck turned into black smoke.

"You’re even more despicable than the elves...."

Warren’s head, lying on the ground, hissed. It then melted into black smoke. The neck’s black smoke began to envelop the entire body, which still looked poised to attack.

An eerie voice echoed through the smoke.

"But, fine.... I’ll acknowledge your skill."

What a typical vampire.

Suppressing a scoff, Ian adjusted his grip on his sword. A fleeting thought crossed his mind: could he still handle this creature with just a blade in its current state?

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