SSS Awakening: Rebirth of the Strongest Vampire God-Chapter 115: He attacked first

Mark threw him a glare over his shoulder, but Damon was already walking the other way with an exaggerated stretch and yawn, like he hadn’t just dropped a grenade on the poor guy’s lap. "You owe me ten lifetimes of favors!" Mark called after him.

Damon waved a lazy hand. "Put it on my tab!"

As the echoes of Mark’s muttering faded down the corridor, Damon smiled and let out a sigh. Now that he had successfully guilt-tripped his friend into taking care of some troublesome things, he had time to focus on other things.

The most important one being why the hell he had never heard of a Frozen Throne or Empire or whatever their guild name was in his last life. It was not that the guild had not been famous or had crumbled early in the game. He simply had never heard of this guild at all.

"Something must have gone disastrously wrong for them." That was the only conclusion Damon could come to. It was not like he cared about them. In fact, he did not trust the old guy one bit. But it is true that they had helped him quite a bit right now.

And if they do end up sticking to their word about procuring these entry token skill crystals for the rest of his family, then that would in itself be a huge favor to him. "I wonder what they want from me." Damon mused.

He absent-mindedly thought about many things as he walked along the long corridor. The entire dome was extremely big, almost as big as a gated community apartment complex. However, the whole thing was cold as hell.

From the name of the guild and this whole ambience, it was not too hard to guess the elemental affinity of these guys. But how the hell did so many people manage to awaken the same type of elemental affinity?

"Some shady shit probably went down here. I call incest." Damon shrugged. He was not one to judge. Whatever works for them. The corridor curved again, and this time he found himself in a long series of rooms like college dorm rooms.

Surely, people cannot be living here?

He was about to open one such room when he stopped. "I know you’re there," he said aloud.

A moment passed. Then a figure stepped from the shadow of a decorative arch, tall, lean, wrapped in a white fur-lined coat. A young man. Pale skin. Silver-blue eyes. And a scar across his cheek that looked fresh.

"Friend of Sylvara?" Damon asked casually. He had a feeling that this was her work.

"How does it matter who I am? I just came here to get you. Everyone is waiting for you at the arena. My grandfather might think that you are all that, but most of us are not convinced. We don’t like the fact that an outsider, least of all a blood sucker is here."

Damon raised an eyebrow. He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, utterly relaxed despite the venom in the young man’s words. "Ah," he said, nodding slowly. "So this is that part where my skills are to be tested."

The silver-eyed man didn’t flinch. "This isn’t a test. It’s a warning. You may have fooled the old man with your flashy titles and outsider tricks, but in the Frozen Throne, power isn’t given. It’s earned. Or taken."

Damon gave a lazy smile, though his eyes turned just a shade darker. "Yes, yes, I am sure I fooled the old man, and what is happening here right now has nothing to do with him."

The young man’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing.

Damon pushed off the wall, strolling forward slowly. "I am sure you guys are all that, but unfortunately, right now, I don’t have the time. The game’s next day has begun, and I am yet to log in."

He stopped barely a foot from the silver-eyed youth, who tensed instinctively.

"Also, don’t come at me without proper preparation," Damon said, voice quiet now, dangerous. "Because if you do? I might just drain every single drop of your damn blood."

Damon decided to play the part of a big, bad vampire. He really did not have time for their flashy arena theatrics, but he would be lying if he said he was not curious about the abilities of these people.

Now, a bait had dragged itself to Damon. It would be a total waste to let this opportunity go. "How about we spar right here and now?" Damon did not wait for an answer and instantly made his move. His hand shot forward, claws aimed for the guy’s throat. A straight-up critical attack.

The young man reacted fast, faster than Damon expected. Ice flared to life along his coat, a barrier of crystalline frost erupting up between them like a reflexive shield. Damon’s claws struck the surface with a sharp crack, webbing fractures dancing out across the thin wall of ice but it held. Barely.

"You bastard!" the silver-eyed youth growled, leaping back with surprising grace as the ice shattered into sparkling dust. He landed lightly, his right arm now fully encased in ice that spiraled into the shape of a jagged gauntlet. "You think this is a game?"

Damon licked a flake of frost from his lip, eyes glowing a dangerous shade of red. "I know it’s not a game. But you see..." His smile widened. "I don’t play fair."

The next second, Damon disappeared and reappeared behind the young man with one hand already extended, claws glinting inches from the young man’s neck.

The silver-eyed youth twisted just in time, summoning another burst of icy mana that exploded around him like a winter nova.

Damon flicked back with a blur of motion, narrowly avoiding the freezing pulse. Frost clung to the edges of his coat, crackling faintly as it was burned away by the heat of his own blood mana.

"You’re fast," Damon said, clearly amused now. "You’ve got decent reflexes too. But tell me..." His eyes flared crimson again. "Can you handle a real predator?"

Before the youth could respond, Damon surged forward, faster than before, every movement powered by a burst of shadowstep and blood-enhanced strength.

The young man blocked again, barely, his ice gauntlet meeting Damon’s clawed hand with a shattering impact. But the pressure kept building.

Each exchange was faster than the last. Claw against frost. Blood against ice.

The youth held his ground, sweat now breaking across his brow as his gauntlet cracked under the relentless assault. He was strong. Too strong to be a rookie. This wasn’t just some brat with a chip on his shoulder. He was trained, hardened, and dangerous.

But Damon was something else entirely. The noob might have had some sort of physical training and combat training, perhaps even from a young age but that was different from what Damon had gone through and experienced.

Three years of life and death battles were nothing to scoff at. Mere training cannot come close to actual combat experience under the threat of pain that every death brought.

With a low growl, Damon finally shifted his stance and swept low, a wide arc of blood-infused energy crashing into the young man’s midsection. The force sent him flying down the hall, tumbling through a decorative arch and skidding to a stop.

Silence. Then the youth coughed, ice climbing up his ribs to form a half-shield around his torso. He didn’t get up.

Damon walked over, his footsteps echoing ominously. "Next time," he said softly, crouching beside the injured man, "try to figure out your opponent’s weakness first before attacking. Also, how the hell are you guys using mana? Did you learn some technique to convert your internal energy to mana?"

The guy looked away, gritting his teeth. "Fine. Fine. I get it. Family secret and everything." Damon didn’t care. He stood, brushing the ice particle dust off his coat. "Tell your people I’ll come to the arena later. When I’m good and ready."

Then, just like that, Damon vanished again, his laughter trailing faintly behind him in the cold air.

Just as Damon disappeared, Artimius silently appeared in the same spot. The silver-eyed young man stiffened like a statue. Panic flashed across his face. "P-Patriarch!"

Artimius’s expression was unreadable as he slowly walked forward, hands behind his back. His eyes scanned the ice-stained hallway and settled on the fractured remains of the mana-frost gauntlet still twitching on the youth’s arm.

"Quite the performance," Artimius said quietly.

The young man swallowed hard. "He attacked first. I only—"

"No." Artimius’s tone didn’t rise, but it cut sharper than any blade. "You provoked him. You approached him alone and escalated a confrontation we both know you were not prepared for."

"But Grandfather, he’s.. he’s dangerous! You saw what he did!"

"I did," Artimius replied. "And that is precisely why I warned you not to treat him like one of your training dummies."

The old man stepped closer, his presence weighing down the air itself. "Do you know what would have happened if Damon had truly intended to kill you?"

The youth lowered his head, the answer already clear.

Artimius let out a long, weary sigh and placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder, not gently. "Do not mistake calm for weakness. That young man may be unstable, but he is not foolish. You think you’ve trained in battle? He is a lot stronger than you. I can see it in his eyes. He has walked through slaughter and carnage a lot longer than you have, perhaps even I have."

The old man stepped back and turned. "Report to the infirmary. Then to the council hall. I want your official statement recorded."

The young man hesitated. "And Damon?"

Artimius smiled faintly, his back still turned.

"Damon just gave this entire family a gift. He showed us exactly where we stand. And where he stands."