Chapter 158: Headmaster Lance Cares About His Students

In the sanctuary located on the ground floor of the castle, Lance conducted a vivid, hands-on workshop titled, "Mummification Made Simple: A Guide Even a Toddler Could Understand."

After having the clergy securely store away the vampire's extracted blood, Lance proceeded to assign tasks to the group. First, the trio from the merchant group would handle the construction of the sarcophagus at the cast-iron workshop on the castle's fourth floor.

The clergy members were tasked with the "optimization" of Count Palokas. Meanwhile, Lance and his team would organize the activities and catering for the following day. Everyone would need to pull an all-nighter to get the work done, but once finished, they could happily enjoy the rest of this wonderful holiday.

Although everyone felt a bit weary after such a packed day, the prospect of four more days of fun kept their spirits high.

"Blood... give me back my blood..." Palokas's voice was hoarse and faint. In fact, he looked like a gaunt addict in the throes of withdrawal.

Lance sighed as he looked at Palokas’s desiccated, trembling form on the floor. "You see, staying up late is truly harmful. Look at the agony it's caused him. Since Count Palokas loves staying up late, we have to keep him company and stay up with him tonight to help correct his bad habits. It's a classic case of how harming others ends up harming oneself."

Hyperion opened her mouth to speak but hesitated. She had a nagging feeling that the vampire's suffering wasn't entirely due to staying up late.

The young master from Cambella was already applying the lesson creatively, asking Lance for confirmation, "Mr. Lance, since vampires possess immortality, they won't die even if they stay awake indefinitely. So, if we encounter a vampire who refuses to adjust their sleep schedule, could we try making them stay awake for ten to fifteen days straight? That way, they might realize the importance of a healthy routine for themselves?"

"Spot on." Lance nodded with satisfaction.

As the saying went, "Virtue has no fixed teacher; whoever embodies goodness is the teacher."[1] The young merchant had clearly grasped the true essence of winning people over through virtuous deeds.

Hyperion eyed the two of them. One was daring enough to teach such things, and the other was daring enough to learn them. There was one fewer normal person around the challengers now.

The young master had been slacking off all afternoon, barely saying a word. Hyperion had assumed he was the person who was least affected by Lance, only to find that the moment he opened his mouth, he was already showing signs of severe "infection."

***

The world outside the window remained shrouded in deep darkness. The castle courtyard and the distant mountain forests were veiled by the night. Only their outlines were revealed by the moonlight.

On the second floor, a member of the Church of Resurrection was being held captive in Bedroom 202. An oppressive silence reigned there. The air was heavy with the stench of rust and blood. Splatters of blood—red, brown, and black—stained the opulent decor, the floors, and the walls. Each hue marked a different moment of agony.

In the center of the room, a petite young woman lay unconscious on a chair, tightly bound by iron chains and shackles that rendered escape impossible. Her clothes looked as though they had been torn apart by a wild beast. Her shoulders were exposed through the tattered fabric, and her white robes were stained with great swathes of deep crimson.

The source of these stains was the multitude of wounds covering her body. Every one cut deep into her flesh, and it was a record of searing pain. Her skin was deathly pale, as if eroded by the biting winds of a frozen wasteland, while an unhealed, festering wound on her thigh resembled a sickly red line, ready to bleed anew at any moment.

Deep in the night, a break in the dark clouds allowed a sliver of faint moonlight to spill into the room, illuminating the young woman's face. The captive priestess of the Church of Resurrection kept her eyes tightly shut, as if she was enduring unspeakable pain and torment even in her dreams.

Suddenly, a faint sound drifted up from below: the soft clinking of chains, the creak of the wooden banister, and the indistinct murmur of voices. These subtle sounds acted like a key, slowly unlocking the door to her consciousness.

Her eyelids began to flutter slightly. Slowly, she emerged from the fog of unconsciousness. Her awareness surfaced from the darkness, gradually becoming clear. She recalled arriving in a Shadow Realm dungeon known as the Banquet of the Sanctuary Villains. As a vampire thrall tasked with betraying and slaying the other challengers, she was meant to inflict upon them the most brutal psychological and mental torment possible.

And yet...

And then...

She could not bear to think about it any longer.

Startled awake as if from a nightmare, she snapped open her heavy eyelids. Even the faint moonlight filtering into her eyes felt painfully blinding.

As her consciousness fully returned, every detail of the room came into sharp focus. She could feel the cold chains binding her and the loss of her freedom, hear the faint whistling of the wind, and sense the bone-deep, searing agony racking her.

Her once-bright blue eyes were now dull and vacant, filled only with profound exhaustion. The people from Ikerite University were truly unimaginable monsters, capable of committing any atrocity.

The priestess tried to speak, but her lungs felt as though they had been slashed by a sharp blade. Her ragged, halting breaths rasped like wind blowing over sand and gravel. The agony within her seemed to seep out, mingling with the air as the faint, metallic tang of blood.

"You... damned... wretches..."

Although the sounds coming from her gagged mouth were faint and jumbled, they were full of endless resentment as they filled the dim room. The girl's face looked like a stone statue in the pale moonlight, stiff and lifeless.

Suddenly, the sound of gradually clearer footsteps broke the silence of the room, like wind chimes coming from afar. It was the unhurried, extremely calm pace of a winner, as if they were preparing to enjoy the last of their prey. There was no doubt in her mind that the vampire count had finally arrived.

Listening to the sound outside the door, the priestess raised the corners of her mouth, raised her head and laughed. Her smile was like a blooming flower of madness, and her laughter was shrill and hollow. She understood that her death had come, but the pain and humiliation would also end.

Even though she was still extremely afraid of those three clergy, she now knew that they were dead after torturing her for so long. That included that damn Lance Wilford.

She simply felt happy! She slowly raised her drooped head and focused her gaze on the door, the door where the vampire count was about to step in. For some reason, she didn't feel that the vampire was that scary now.

At the last moment, when the door lock made the sound of metal twisting, she had no fear, but instead felt a sense of relief. As she laughed, the corners of her eyes began to moisten with tears of bitter relief.

The next second, however, Lance opened the door while holding the interrogation transcript in his hand. He looked at her doubtfully as he asked, "Miss, can you share what's making you so happy?"

1. The raws are 德无常师，主善为师, which is a play on 学无常师. 学无常师. This is a well-known saying attributed to Confucian tradition meaning, “learning has no fixed teacher.” ☜