In Alyssa Ethereal's life, no enemy had ever cast a shadow as deep as the one left by him.
Alchemist Blood.
Even in memory, the mere thought of his name was enough to stir a cold, dark rage within her. She could still see those eyes—golden yet streaked with darkness—looking down on the world as though it were nothing more than a board for his game.
She remembered the sword in his grip, cold and merciless, a blade that drank the blood of its victims as if feeding on their life's essence. And always, always… the faceless mask. The featureless black surface that reflected no emotion, hid every secret, and left only the dread of the unknown.
He had been the villain of her life. No, the villain of her story.
When she had died at his hands in her previous life, Alyssa had thought the world's story ended there. But fate had chosen differently. She woke again in the past—regressed, her body younger, her mind sharpened by all the memories and knowledge of the years to come.
This time, she would not wait to be hunted.
This time, she would grow before the nightmare did.
And so, she trained. Tirelessly, ruthlessly.
She sought out allies who, in her first life, had only risen to greatness years later.
She pulled them to her side early, shaping the pieces of her new future with careful hands.
It was after one such journey—a long, exhausting Dungeon Expedition—that she found him.
The alley was cloaked in shadow, lit only by the pale light of the moon and the occasional flicker from a distant street lamp. The scent of blood hung heavy in the cold night air, thick and metallic. Four men lay crumpled and unmoving on the cobblestones, their life force slipping away in slow, shallow breaths.
Kneeling among them was a figure.
He was cloaked entirely in black. A faceless mask of polished darkness covered his features, swallowing the light rather than reflecting it. The sword at his side gleamed faintly beneath the folds of his cloak.
And he was feeding.
Her heart stilled. She knew that silhouette. She knew the way his presence seemed to warp the air, the way the shadows themselves seemed to cling to him.
Blood.
The same Blood who, in the years to come, would be known by countless titles whispered with fear—The Greatest Alchemist in History. The Alchemist Who Refined the Battlefield. The God-Slayer. The Vampire God of Destruction and Chaos.
But above all, he would be known by one name.
Alchemist Blood.
Her first feeling was not fear, but a rush of heat to her chest—rage, sharp and unyielding. This was not yet the man she had once faced at the height of his power, but the truth was undeniable. The one before her would become him.
Her fingers twitched toward her staff. She could kill him here, now, before the Godless Dungeon Expedition two years from now—the event where she remembered him first obtaining his Cosmic Ability.
She had been an Archmage in her first life, a pillar of magical might for her country. Even now, though she had not yet returned to that peak, she was stronger than most—and far stronger than the Blood before her now, still just an Inferior Blood.
It would be simple. One strike, one spell, and the nightmare would be cut short before it could bloom.
But her grip on the staff loosened.
In her past life, even at her height as Archmage, she had not been certain she could have defeated Alchemist Blood. He had been more than a vampire—he had been a living experiment, a self-forged monstrosity of unmatched cunning and relentless evolution. To have that power on her side, even in its earliest form…
Her lips pressed into a thin line.
She stepped forward, her boots silent on the stone.
"Who are you?"
The words left his mouth evenly, but his gaze was sharp, searching.
Beneath the mask, Blood's brow furrowed. His hand shifted subtly to the hilt of his sword, his stance changing—weight lowered, ready to strike.
She saw it, and her mind flashed to a different image: Vampire's Bride. A sword blacker than the void, one of the Three Supreme Demon Swords, the blade that had pierced the heart of a god.
Her shoulders eased—slightly. At least, he did not have it yet.
"You are a… Transmigrator, aren't you?" she asked slowly, measuring each word.
The change was immediate.
A wave of killing intent surged from him, heavy and suffocating. It was not a mere glare—it was the predatory focus of a creature who had decided you no longer deserved to live.
Alyssa's muscles tensed under the invisible weight. Her breath caught. Instinct roared, and her first Cosmic Ability ignited.
Light—pure, multicolored—burst from her skin, casting the alley in shifting hues. Ten intricate magic circles spun into existence around her, each inscribed with countless runes, their hum filling the air. Power radiated from her like heat from a forge, both shield and weapon in one seamless flow.
Blood's eyes, hidden but unblinking, fixed on her.
"A… Cosmic Master?" he murmured, more to himself than her. Surprise flickered in his voice, though it was masked beneath the cold neutrality he carried.
His gaze lingered on the orbits of her circles, studying the magic. The structure was foreign to him, yet undeniably powerful.
And for the first time that night, he hesitated.
"How do you know that?" he asked coldly.
The moment she tried to play a trick, he would attack—even if she were a Cosmic Master. Judging by her aura, she didn't seem to be at the Second Level.
Cosmic Masters were divided into three tiers:
First Level—gathering and obtaining Cosmic Powers from Cosmic Spirits.
Second Level—mastery over those powers, becoming a true and authentic Cosmic Master.
Third Level—transcendence, breaking past the limits of common sense and normality.
A human with Cosmic Power might surpass a vampire in potential, but that didn't mean they could defeat one so easily—especially if they weren't an elite.
Elites could destroy mountains with their strength alone. Beneath them, most Cosmic Masters had little advantage aside from the unique properties of their powers.
"I'm a transmigrator too," she said casually. "That's why I know."
He hadn't been prepared for such an answer. His mind froze.
"A… transmigrator?" he repeated, disbelief lacing his voice.
"Yes. I'm from Korea. Where are you from?" she asked with a smile—one radiant enough to charm any man.
Blood ignored the smile. Instead, he noticed his right hand trembling.
So… Are there more like me? The thought echoed in his mind.
Shaking his head, he lied smoothly, "I'm from India."
"Is that so?" she tilted her head. "How about you join us?"
"Us?" His eyes narrowed.
"Yes, us." She nodded.
"What do you mean by 'us'? Are there more like you?"
"Yes. In fact, we've formed a small group—the Otherworldly Party. Everyone in it is a transmigrator like us. If you join, we can help each other." Her tone was warm, almost persuasive.
If she could recruit him, she would be more than satisfied. This man was a future powerhouse—someone who had once slain a god. And not just any god—the God of Stars, wielder of the very power of the heavens.
If Blood could reach that peak again, with his strength backing their group, they could one day become one of the strongest forces in the world.
"I don't see any reason to join you," he uttered coldly.
Even if she was a transmigrator, that didn't make her trustworthy. In fact, it could easily be a trap—an invitation meant to lure him into someone's twisted scheme.
"If you join us, we can help you grow," she said quickly, as if afraid he might leave before hearing her out. "And… you may not know, but I am Alyssa Ethereal, youngest daughter of the Ethereal Family."
Pride laced her voice, as though her name alone should sway him.
Ethereal Family? That piqued his interest.
Though only barons in Dorothea, their lineage was steeped in history—their ancestor had served the First Hero who defended the kingdom for decades. That merit alone gave them weight, enough that even a duke would hesitate to tread on them.
More importantly, the Ethereal Family controlled roughly twenty-five percent of Dorothea's financial world. And Dorothea wasn't just any city—it was the trade hub at the border between the Kingdom and the Empire, a place where wealth flowed like rivers.
The rest of the city's economy belonged to the Three Great Guilds: Phoenix, Godly Sword, and Wargod.
"You may be from the Ethereal Family," Blood replied, voice as cold as ever, "but I have no interest in getting entangled with you."
He had already spotted the flaw in her offer. Rumor said the Ethereal household was locked in a bitter succession struggle—the eldest son seeking the head position, opposed by an alliance of the second son and first daughter.
Alyssa, the second daughter, had supposedly stepped away from the succession entirely.
That came with its own mix of blessings and curses. Without ambition for the seat, she wouldn't be dragged into the internal war—but she also wouldn't wield any real power. Worse, if one of her siblings won and saw her as a threat, she could end up dead.
And if he aligned himself with her? He'd be painted as her ally… and a target for the entire Ethereal Family.
They were powerful enough to shift Dorothea's political balance in an instant, even if they weren't the strongest force.
Shaking his head, he turned to leave.
"Why don't you want to join our party?" Alyssa pressed. She wasn't ready to let a man with such potential slip away.
"Don't bother me."
When she moved to block him, he slapped her hand aside and walked past without slowing, his attitude frost-cold.
Watching his back disappear into the darkness, Alyssa exhaled a long, frustrated sigh.
"If you change your mind, you can find us at the Phoenix Guild," she called after him.
He didn't so much as glance over his shoulder, as though he hadn't heard her at all. Her lips curled into a bitter smile.