My Stepmom Is A Vampire & Her Entire Bloodline Wants To Breed Me

Chapter 261: The Curse Of The King

Ulrich felt the illusion shift around him. The tense bedroom where King Iscaron had just held his newborn son dissolved into mist before his eyes.

When the fog cleared, he found himself standing on a dark, desolate road outside the palace walls.

Matthew and Andrew were right beside him, confused as usual.

Looking up, Ulrich could see the grand towers of the palace as a distant silhouette against the cold night sky.

A movement down the dirt path caught his attention. It was the High Concubine. She was fleeing, her breathing ragged as she stumbled through the dark.

She held the newborn baby, Caius, tightly against her chest to keep him warm. Four elite royal guards surrounded her with their swords drawn, looking around in pure panic.

Ulrich watched them, but he already knew they wouldn’t get far. She was—even if she was a Pharos—still a human after all.

Before Ulrich could even blink, a cold flash of steel cut through the darkness.

The throats of all four guards were torn open simultaneously. Their bodies fell lifelessly into the snow, blood splattering onto the dirt road.

The killer stepped out from the trees.

The man was breathtakingly beautiful yet utterly terrifying. The stranger had long, flowing blonde hair that gleamed under the pale moon, and eyes as red as fresh rubies.

Ulrich narrowed his eyes. He recognized that terrifying face immediately from the oldest, forbidden archives of the North.

“Duran,” Ulrich murmured. “He is the ancestor of House Velstarth, the first patriarch.”

Hearing his voice, Andrew and Matthew turned to him. Ulrich noticed that his companions could move more freely now.

He figured the domain’s power was getting weaker by the second.

“So… does that mean the Velstarth house is cursed?” Andrew asked, his voice ringing in the cold air.

Ulrich didn’t have an answer. But as he thought about Isolde’s existence and every cruel fate that had fallen upon House Velstarth throughout history, everything finally started to make sense to him.

In front of them, the terrified Concubine turned to run, but Duran was impossibly fast. With a sharp flick of his wrist, Ulrich saw a silver dagger fly through the air.

The blade buried itself deep into her abdomen. Her scream pierced the night as she collapsed heavily onto the frozen ground.

She tightly wrapped her body around the crying infant, desperate to shield the baby from the impact.

Duran walked over slowly, his boots crunching lightly against the gravel. He looked down at her with pure, icy disdain.

“A visual testament to folly,” Duran said, his voice smooth but dripping with malice. “To harbor the illusion that our kind is meant to bring forth life is a supreme absurdity. If this creature is cursed, then let it end here. Vampires are not meant to have children.”

Clutching her bleeding stomach, the Concubine glared up at him. Her face was deathly pale, but Ulrich could still see the fierce defiance blazing in her eyes.

“You speak of curses, yet you blind yourself to the divine,” she spat out, coughing up a streak of blood.

“This child is blessed by the False God Himself! Touch him, Duran, and you shall write a testament of ruin for your own house. You and your descendants will be condemned to eternal suffering if you harm him!”

Duran paused for a moment. Then, a low, mocking laugh escaped, echoing hollowly into the quiet, frozen night.

“The False God?” Duran’s eyes flashing wickedly. “Let Him witness this, then.”

Without warning, he brought his heavy boot down, pressing it directly into the dagger protruding from the concubine’s stomach.

She shrieked in agonizing pain. Her body convulsed as blood gushed from the wound. The sheer torment completely broke her remaining strength.

Seizing the moment, Duran bent down and ruthlessly tore the crying baby away from her blood-soaked arms.

Ulrich closed his eyes tightly. He refused to witness any more of the impending cruelty on that desolate road.

Yet, he could not shut out his senses. The raw, agonizing shriek of the High Concubine and the sharp, desperate cries of the infant pierced the night.

Ulrich heard Duran look down at the bleeding woman and laugh as hard as he could.

“Where is the False God, Concubine?” Duran sneered, his voice dripping with arrogance.

“Look around us, nothing happens. No divine wrath has struck me down, and I stand here completely unpunished.”

“Your illusions of heavenly retribution are nothing but pathetic fallacies because False God only answers our prayer, the creature of the night and Their perfect creation.”

“While you are just a pathetic human that was lucky enough to crawl on my father’s bed.”

Ulrich opened his eyes just in time to see Duran turn on his heel and vanish into the darkness, leaving the dying concubine alone on the ground.

Only moments after Duran’s shadow faded, the frantic sound of rushing footsteps shattered the quiet.

King Iscaron broke through the tree line, running breathlessly. The moment the king’s eyes fell upon his wife’s broken form pooling in blood, the powerful ruler collapsed to his knees.

Iscaron gathered her into his arms, pulling her against his chest. Ulrich watched him hold her tightly, as if trying to tether her fading soul to the mortal realm.

Even from a distance, he could see the tears of bitter regret streaming down the king’s face.

“Forgive me… Please, forgive me, my love,” Iscaron choked out, his voice trembling. “I failed you. I could not even restrain my own children… I am the greatest loser to ever wear a crown.”

Hearing his desperate cries, the High Concubine slowly forces her fading eyes open. There was no anger or resentment in her gaze. Instead, a faint, warm smile touched her pale lips.

“You are indeed a loser,” she whispered.

She leaned closer, her lips brushing against Iscaron’s ear.

“But know this… your child lives. He is in a safe place.”

As the last word left her lips, the light in her eyes was gone. Her hand fell limply from his chest.

A sudden cry of grief exploded from King Iscaron. He clung to her lifeless body. The king’s agonizing wails instantly twisted into pure rage.

“I swear by the False God that binds us!” Iscaron roared, looking at the sky with disdain.

“I shall curse my own children! They and every descendant who carries their lineage shall never know peace, condemned to eternal ruin for what they have done this night!”

In that exact moment, Ulrich felt the atmosphere turn suffocatingly heavy. The pale, silver moon slowly bled into a deep, crimson red before his eyes.

The dark sky ruptured, and he lifted his head as a downpour of pure blood drenched the earth, as if the universe itself wept to seal the dying king’s catastrophic curse.