Chapter 126: Me? Dracula, could there really be something wrong with me?

Half a month later, the superficial cleanup efforts had concluded. Various nations had disclosed partial information to the public, and the mystical side of the world had finally stepped into the limelight.

It was expected that such a situation would lead to a surge in charlatans worldwide, but in reality, aside from a few fanatical cultists, the number of such scammers had actually decreased.

It made sense when one thought about it: the dead and the imaginary could not speak, so their tales were easily fabricated by men. But now that these entities had truly appeared, things were different. There is a saying: if God truly exists, the first thing He must do is purge His own sects.

Fearing that a single wrong word at the wrong time might offend those beings and cost them their lives, many people chose to stay low and wait to see how the situation unfolded. After all, there are not many people in this world who value money more than their own lives.

Furthermore, there were no grand celebrations during these two weeks, as the entire mystical community was holding a funeral for the Ancient One.

The funeral served two purposes: to honor the achievements of the Ancient One over the past five hundred years, and to strengthen the cohesion of the Earth’s mystical forces.

Yet, in truth, none of the legends were overly saddened. They were no longer ordinary beings; they were accustomed to life and death. Moreover, everyone knew that the Ancient One’s soul had vanished—she hadn't really died; she had simply retired.

Five hundred years to retirement—many were secretly calculating how much time they had left until their own retirement age. The only question was how those five hundred years were calculated: by actual age, or by years of service?

Amidst this strange atmosphere of mixed sorrow and indifference, Dracula was pacing anxiously in the hall of his ancient castle.

He, too, had received news of the Ancient One’s death, but he found it hard to believe. Dying of old age, he could accept, but being stabbed to death by an inside traitor? The credibility was far too low. Still, having been under house arrest for so long, he was truly eager to stretch his legs.

Just as Dracula was pondering, the heavy doors were pushed open, and Xerath drifted inside.

Dracula frowned and flicked his hand, sending bolts of lightning straight at Xerath, only for the energy to be consumed by the latter as if it were a snack.

"Who are you! How dare you step into my domain!" Dracula barked, realizing he could not easily dispose of this intruder.

"Xerath, the Magus Ascendant. Dracula, I have come to form an alliance," Xerath said, staring calmly at the vampire.

"An alliance?" Dracula leaned back on his throne as if he had heard a joke. "What qualifications do you have to form an alliance with me?!"

"I need a place to recuperate and hide from my enemies. In exchange, I can provide you with information," Xerath replied.

*Whoosh.* Dracula appeared beside Xerath, his crimson eyes fixed on him. He had intended to take a bite first, but upon closer inspection, he realized that this being did not merely have energy swirling around him; he was, in essence, a construct of pure energy.

"Recuperating? You dare appear before me while injured?" Dracula asked, realizing he had no place to sink his fangs.

Xerath did not move, seemingly not regarding Dracula as a threat. "You cannot kill me."

Dracula stared at the unflappable Xerath for a few seconds. He flicked his cape, tempted to test that claim, but his sixth sense warned him that it would be a futile effort.

"Speak first of what information you have."

"The Ancient One did not die; she retired. Her soul has vanished from this current universe."

Dracula paused upon hearing this, then burst into arrogant laughter. "If what you say is true, then why should I form an alliance with you?!"

"The other information I possess will at least allow you to understand whom you can afford to offend, so that staying here doesn't become a mere pipe dream," Xerath said with absolute confidence.

"Afford to offend?! I am immortal! Is there anyone I cannot offend?!" Dracula was in high spirits. With the Ancient One dead, no one could keep him in check. How could he not be happy?

"It is merely immortality; I have that as well," Xerath said, his tone dismissive. "Those who can ignore your immortality might not have the time to deal with you, but others are quite capable of containing you. The people at the Clock Tower, for instance, are very interested in the study of immortality."

"The Clock Tower? You mean that organization of frauds? You can fool the world, but you cannot fool me! I have lived for thousands of years! I have never heard of any Clock Tower!" Dracula’s aura surged violently.

Xerath looked Dracula up and down. "It seems you have already been captured by them once. Were your memories of it erased?"

Hearing Xerath’s rhetorical question, Dracula lunged forward. Captured? I’ll show you captured!

"Arcane Pulse!"

Hundreds of arcane pulses flashed around Xerath, leaving Dracula stunned. Under such saturation fire, he had nowhere to hide.

When the attack ended, Dracula looked at the castle, which remained miraculously intact, and marveled at the intruder's incredible control. At the same time, his resolve wavered—could it be that he really had been captured before?

"The Heavenly Court, the Clock Tower, and the Ouroboros possess over a hundred legends combined. Excluding their mystical treasures, in terms of pure destructive power, I wouldn't even rank in the top eighty. Do you have any other questions?" Xerath continued.

Dracula was momentarily speechless. From their brief exchange, he estimated he was no match for this being. If there were truly so many experts out there... could it be that his memory had indeed been wiped?

"I will give you one more piece of information: pay attention to a man named Van Helsing. He is likely the only person below the level of a legend capable of truly killing you. He possesses a holy bloodline of an extremely high grade," Xerath said, observing Dracula’s hesitation.

Van Helsing? A scene flashed through Dracula’s mind—a surveillance recording from not long ago showing Van Helsing making a throat-slitting gesture at him. He had wondered who that man was at the time, and later, when Faith went to cause trouble, he never returned.

Is my memory truly flawed?

"Then how do you know about me?" Dracula asked.

"When Cassian died, I seized a fragment of his soul before it dissipated. His memories contained reports from the Ancient One to the Clock Tower and the Heavenly Court, and you were mentioned within them," Xerath explained briefly.

Dracula’s head began to ache. He no longer knew whether to trust his own memories or Xerath’s words.

"Who is hunting you? Did you bring them here?!" Dracula suddenly asked, realizing the implication.

Xerath understood that Dracula was ready to form the alliance; otherwise, he wouldn't be asking such questions.

"My enemies are the Ascendants of Ancient Shurima. They killed me once, and now they have returned to their slumber. Furthermore, this region does not belong to the domain of Ancient Shurima; it will not be easy for them to wake up and cause trouble. I will provide you with more detailed information later."

Xerath stood with his hands behind his back, surveying the castle.

"Fine... I will harbor you for now," Dracula said, still not fully composed.

"Thank you." Xerath did not waste time with pleasantries. He uttered the words coldly and drifted toward an area where the magical concentration was relatively high.

Dracula watched his back, licked his fangs, and tapped his own head.

Is there really something wrong with my memory? That can't be right... how could I feel absolutely nothing if something was wrong?

No... I must check the records.

Wait... if my memory was altered, the records must have been altered as well...

What should I do?

Dracula fell into deep thought, contemplating how to prove which version of the truth was real.