There was once a small but happy family living in that village.
The father's name was Jang Dae-Shik. He was a simple man who made his living as a hunter. Every morning, before dawn, he would leave the village and head into the forest, returning by evening with animal skins, raw hides, meat, and bones. He sold what he could at the village stalls, and with that modest income, he fed his children.
His wife, Park Mi-Sook, had died early. Her absence left a wound in the family, but Jang Dae-Shik and his eldest daughter made sure that the youngest never felt that emptiness.
The elder daughter, Jang Ha-Yun, was seventeen. She was mature beyond her years, quiet, and hardworking. After her mother's death, she became the pillar of the household alongside her father. She worked odd jobs in the sect quarters—cleaning, cooking, and running errands—earning whatever little she could.
The youngest, Jang Su-Ah, was only nine years old. She was lively, curious, and always smiling. To her, the world was still warm and full of hope.
Father and elder sister both adored Su-Ah. They protected her fiercely, cherished her deeply, and tried their best to give her a future untouched by hardship. Even when money was scarce, even when meals were nothing more than dried jerky and coarse bread, they would sit together and eat, laughing and talking. In those moments, even the simplest food tasted wonderful.
They were poor—but they were not unhappy.
Jang Dae-Shik and Ha-Yun had a dream. They were saving money so that one day, Su-Ah could choose her own path. If she wanted to become a scholar, she would have the funds. If she wanted to become a martial artist, they would support her. They worked harder, endured more, all for her future.
Su-Ah's life felt perfect.
Then came the day that shattered everything.
⸻
It was Jang Ha-Yun's eighteenth birthday.
For the first time in years, after saving enough money, the family decided to celebrate at an inn in the village. Su-Ah, who had recently begun showing interest in martial arts, talked excitedly about joining the Iron Fist Sect, the governing sect of the village. Her father and sister listened with smiles, already calculating how much more they would need to save.
That night, Ha-Yun did not return home.
Midnight passed. Then another hour. Jang Dae-Shik grew restless. Su-Ah sat by the door, waiting, telling herself her sister would arrive any moment.
They searched the homes where Ha-Yun usually worked. No one had seen her.
Finally, Jang Dae-Shik went to the Iron Fist Sect. After much pleading, a few disciples spoke casually, almost indifferently. They said they had seen Ha-Yun heading toward the forest—with the sect leader.
Jang Dae-Shik felt something break inside him.
He rushed home, told Su-Ah to stay inside, and ran toward the forest alone.
That was the last time Su-Ah ever saw her father alive.
⸻
Dawn came.
Su-Ah waited. No footsteps. No voices.
When she finally stepped outside, she saw a crowd gathered at the village entrance. Fear tightened her chest as she pushed through the people.
There, on the ground, lay a body.
It was covered in cuts. Both arms were crushed beyond recognition. Blood had soaked the earth beneath it.
It was her father.
For a long moment, Su-Ah could not even cry. Her mind refused to understand what her eyes were seeing. The world felt unreal, distant, as if she were trapped inside a nightmare she could not wake from.
People whispered that forest bandits were responsible.
No one mentioned her sister.
Ha-Yun was gone.
With no guardian left, the villagers dragged Su-Ah back to her house. From that day onward, something inside her broke.
⸻
Su-Ah's mind slowly collapsed under the weight of loss.
She began living on the street, sitting opposite the Iron Fist Sect day after day. She begged. She cried. She screamed for justice. She asked them to find her sister. She asked them to punish those responsible.
No one listened.
Some villagers gave her food out of pity. Others laughed. Children threw stones at her. Adults turned away.
Over time, her speech became broken. Her laughter came at the wrong moments. Her eyes lost their light.
Even members of the Iron Fist Sect began to harass her.
She stopped wanting to live.
She simply wanted everything to end.
Then—when she was standing at the edge of despair—she saw a hand reaching toward her from the darkness.
And she grabbed it.
⸻
When Jang Su-Ah opened her eyes again, tears streamed down her face.
They came without control, a deep, shaking cry that carried every emotion she had suppressed—fear, grief, rage, loneliness. It was the cry of a child who had endured far more than she should have.
Her mind felt… clear.
For the first time in years, the chaos inside her settled.
Through her tears, she saw a man standing before her, dressed in a black robe. His presence was calm, cold, and strange—yet strangely comforting.
Without thinking, she reached out and hugged him.
As if holding onto the last thing anchoring her to this world.
——
Aelric saw everything.
Fragments of memories flowed through him like a quiet stream—moments stitched together by pain, loss, and despair. A small house filled with warmth. A father's rough hands placing food on the table. A sister's tired smile at the end of each day. Then came the forest, blood, screams that never reached help, and long years of begging beneath a sect that never answered.
When the memories ended, Aelric's gaze fell upon the girl clinging to him.
She was crying uncontrollably, her small body trembling as though all the fear and grief she had bottled up over the years had finally broken free. Her arms were wrapped tightly around him, as if letting go would mean losing everything once again.
Aelric did not feel emotions the way humans did. He had long transcended them. Yet that did not mean he failed to understand them.
He knew what this cry meant.
It was not weakness—it was release.
Slowly, he raised a hand and placed it on her head, patting her gently. His movements were calm and deliberate. He did not speak. He simply allowed her to cry, to empty herself of every suppressed emotion that had poisoned her mind for years.
Trauma was a chain stronger than iron. If left untreated, it would shackle her growth forever.
That was unacceptable.
Minutes passed. Perhaps longer.
Her sobs gradually weakened, turning into quiet breaths. She did not pull away. Instead, she held onto him even tighter, as if anchoring herself to something real—something that would not abandon her.
Only when her breathing fully steadied did she begin to notice the changes.
Her skin felt different—pale, smooth, almost unreal. Cold air brushing against her felt sharp, yet not unpleasant. Sounds she had never noticed before now reached her ears clearly: distant footsteps, insects moving in the night, even the faint rustling of leaves outside the inn.
Her vision sharpened.
When she lifted her head, her eyes—now crimson red—met Aelric's gaze.
Moonlight streamed through the window, bathing him in silver. His pale face was calm, almost serene. His silver-white hair moved gently with the night breeze, and his black robe absorbed the shadows around him.
To her, he did not look human.
He looked like something beyond that—something akin to a deity.
An instinctive bond stirred within her. When she tried to perceive his presence more deeply, a deep fear rose from her soul, warning her that whatever lay beneath was something she should never attempt to touch.
She looked away.
Aelric observed her quietly.
"Are you alright now?" he asked.
She flinched slightly, then nodded. Her voice, when she spoke, was clear—no longer broken or scattered.
"Yes," she said softly. "Thank you… for giving me a new life."
Her words carried sincerity.
Aelric studied her carefully.
Vampires were divided into distinct bloodline ranks.
Sacred Blood, also known as ancestor vampires, stood at the pinnacle. They were immune to traditional weaknesses such as sunlight and silver, and could contend directly with sacred beings of light.
Divine Blood vampires formed the ruling pillars of vampire clans. While they initially required time to adapt, they too could eventually ignore most weaknesses and stand against sacred entities.
Pure Blood vampires occupied elder positions. They retained immense power but still required artifacts to resist sunlight and other limitations.
Mixed Blood vampires were hybrids—less restricted by sunlight but unable to wield true origin powers such as blood manipulation.
Vampiric servants were created by lower bloodlines. Though stronger than humans, they lacked longevity and true authority.
Ghouls were failures—bodies unable to endure the transformation, reduced to mindless, blood-seeking husks.
After observing her aura and the structure of her energy, Aelric reached a conclusion.
Su-Ah had awakened as a Divine Blood vampire—a rare outcome achieved only because her power came directly from him.
However, unlike himself, he had not formed an innate core within her. Instead, her foundation was built using the natural energy of this world, forming a dantian.
That meant one thing.
She could walk the path of martial arts.
Aelric's gaze remained calm as he looked at her.
Her past had been erased.
Her future—was now open.
——
After observing her for a while, Su-Ah finally spoke in a quiet voice.
"How… should I address you?"
Aelric looked at her calmly. His crimson eyes held no warmth, yet there was no hostility either. After a brief pause, he replied,
"What does your heart wish to call me?"
Su-Ah did not fully understand the meaning of his question. Yet, without thinking, a single word slipped from her lips, guided by instinct rather than reason.
"Lord."
For a moment, Aelric was silent. Then, a faint smile appeared on his face—so subtle it was almost imperceptible. It had been centuries since someone had addressed him that way.
"My name is Aelric Noctarion," he said. "You may address me however you wish."
Su-Ah nodded lightly, her eyes fixed on him. Then Aelric asked in a calm, steady voice,
"Do you wish to kill the forest bandits?"
The moment those words reached her ears, Su-Ah's body trembled. The grief and rage buried deep within her surged to the surface. Her crimson eyes darkened as hatred filled them.
"Yes," she answered without hesitation.
Aelric nodded.
"Then go," he said. "Kill the forest bandits. After that, meet me at the Iron Fist Sect within an hour."
Su-Ah turned to leave, but Aelric spoke again.
"From this moment forth, you shall be known as Rose Noctarion."
The instant she heard that name, something deep within her responded. A powerful sense of belonging, warmth, and connection spread through her heart. Without understanding why, her knees touched the floor.
She knelt before him.
She did not question the instinct that drove her actions. She did not resist the bond she felt. Instead, she embraced it. For the first time since losing her family, she no longer felt alone. She had someone to belong to—someone who had given her purpose, power, and a future.
With her head lowered, she spoke with unwavering resolve,
"I, Rose Noctarion, will meet you at the Iron Fist Sect within an hour, my Lord."
The night wind brushed past the open window, carrying her words into the darkness.
And thus, Rose took her first step—not as a broken child, but as a being reborn in blood, bound by vengeance and loyalty.