The night still cloaked Paris. Dracula sat in a restaurant within the city's noble district, addressing the waiter beside him:
"I'll have this, this, and these—bring them all."
The waiter looked at him with concern. "Sir, that's quite a lot of meat. Are you sure you can finish it all? It might be a bit greasy."
He flipped through the menu, then held it open for Dracula, suggesting, "How about trying our vegetable aspic? It's one of our chef's specialties—very tasty and can help balance out the richness of the meat. What do you think?"
Dracula glanced at it and nodded. "Alright, bring me one of those."
He reached into his pocket, pulled out a gold coin, and tossed it to the waiter. "Here's your tip."
The waiter caught the coin, verified its authenticity with practiced ease, and happily went off to place the order.
Dracula sipped his red wine, gazing out at the lights of Paris through the window.
Soon, the dishes he ordered arrived. Thanks to his generous tipping, the service was prompt, and the table was quickly filled with food.
He began to eat heartily.
"Hmm, this steak is nicely cooked—quite tender," he remarked while chewing. "I haven't had meat in centuries."
[One shouldn't talk while eating or sleep while talking. Have you forgotten basic etiquette, Host?]
"Shut up. You're still lecturing me about manners at this point?" Dracula quickly finished the steak and picked up a plate of foie gras.
[By the way, Host, what's your plan moving forward]
"After dinner, I'm going home for a wash and a nap," said Dracula lazily. "Didn't you say anything can happen in dreams? I'll aim for the perfect wet dream tonight—maybe dream up my ideal woman."
[Sigh.]
The system let out a long breath, its tone thick with helpless frustration.
[Shall I remind you? One of your old enemies is still alive. He could make a big scene anytime now using those little bats from the Fox family.]
"Oh, right." Dracula swallowed a bite of foie gras. "Well then, I'll wait for him to show up, kill him, and then head home to sleep. With any luck, I'll wake up 300 years later—just in time for some new games."
[...Fine. Do as you please.]
Just as Dracula was enjoying his meal, a voice suddenly rose from behind him—a young man's voice, sharp with panic.
"Don't touch me! That guy's a vampire! He's dangerous!"
"You're the dangerous one!" a waiter snapped back. "This gentleman is one of our most distinguished guests. He's nobility! I think you've lost your mind."
Dracula turned around, a chunk of chicken still dangling from his mouth, and saw a young man—maybe sixteen or seventeen—being dragged out of the restaurant by two waiters. Across from him stood an elegantly dressed noble youth, radiating arrogance as he looked down at the boy like filth.
Dracula slurped the chicken back into his mouth, sighed, and turned his attention back to his feast. The boy wasn't wrong: the so-called noble really was a vampire—and a high-ranking one at that. But Dracula couldn't be bothered. If vampires were managing to live openly among Parisian aristocracy, it was obvious humans were collaborating. All those murky, disgusting schemes? Not his business.
But just because Dracula didn't care didn't mean the boy was finished. With a sudden struggle, he whipped out a small vial and hurled it directly at the noble youth's face.
Smash! The glass shattered. Liquid splattered across the vampire's features.
Ssssss— Smoke began to rise from his face as he screamed in pain, clutching at his melting skin. It was holy water. Though diluted, it still burned.
Under the sanctified sting, the vampire's strength rapidly waned. He shed his human form, revealing his true self: a grotesque, bald, man-sized bat monster.
Wounded and enraged, he lashed out wildly—ripping a waiter clean in half.
For a moment, the restaurant was paralyzed in stunned silence. Then all hell broke loose.
The vampire had no interest in the others. Its burning gaze locked on the boy who'd thrown the vial.
It beat its wings and soared forward with a roar:
"I'LL KILL YOU, BRAT!!"
Panicking, the young man dived under a table, scrambling on all fours beneath nearby furniture.
While crawling, he muttered to himself in a fluster:
"W-What was it again? What do you do when a vampire shows its true form? Oh! Right! You whip it!!"
Rolling to dodge the vampire's claws, he pulled a long whip from his coat and lashed out, striking the beast's back.
It did nothing.
The vampire caught the whip with one claw and sneered:
"What is this—tickling?"
With a flick, it flung the young man through the air.
Straight toward Dracula.
Dracula, still holding his plate, narrowed his eyes and calmly lifted his foot, planting a kick into the boy's back to redirect his fall.
Thud. The boy crumpled to the ground beside Dracula, groaning in pain.
Dracula reached for his plate again—only to pause. His eyes had caught something on the boy's shirt. A crest.
He squinted. "Belmont…?"
The boy gasped but nodded through the pain.
"Yes—Allen Belmont. Sir, you should run… that vampire's gone berserk. I thought I could handle him, but… I overestimated myself."
Dracula sighed. "Belmont, huh? Then I guess I don't have a choice."
He stood and picked up the whip from beside Allen. With a flick of his wrist, he gave it a few practice swings.
"A normal human can't fight a vampire head-on," he explained. "You're outmatched in strength and speed. So if your weapon is ordinary—first, you must make it extraordinary."
He snapped the whip toward a holy water vial lying on the floor, coiling it around the glass. With a tug, he soaked the whip in the remaining liquid—just enough to burn.
"Second—never trade blows directly. You're not a paladin. Move smart. Attack precisely."
Dracula began circling the vampire with fluid, serpentine steps, striking out in bursts. The holy-water-soaked whip sizzled with each hit, burning into the creature's flesh. It howled and finally dropped to its knees.
"See an opening? Ask yourself: is it real? Or a trap?" Dracula cracked the whip across the vampire's face, forcing a genuine stagger.
"When the time comes—
Strike without hesitation!"
The whip coiled around a beam above, then looped around the vampire's throat.
"And now—the finishing blow."
Dracula yanked.
Crack. The vampire's head twisted with a sickening snap.
Allen stared in awe as the beast's corpse collapsed.