The question finally sparked a reaction. Caspian rubbed his eyes before dropping his hand limply beside him. In a drawling, half-questioning tone, he asked, “Treasure chest? You mean the Mimic?”

  “The Mimic?” Bones repeated, then nodded, reasoning that must have been the name of the monster he forgot to Identify.

  “It happens from time to time,” Caspian replied offhandedly. “Some of the treasure chests in the castle gain sapience over the centuries and turn into monsters.”

  “What happened to it? Did you kill it as well?”

  “N-no! I saw it kill a ghoul and left it alone — it was too creepy for me.”

  Caspian nodded, agreeing on the ‘creepy’ part.

  “Forgive me for being bold but…” Bones began, then hesitated — until Caspian motioned for him to continue.

  “You are an Ascendant vampire, yes?”

  “That is correct,” Caspian replied, and the corner of his lips curved into a mischievous half-smile.

  “What are you going to do to me?” Bones asked, finally voicing the important question.

  “Now then,” Caspian’s smile widened as his fangs showed, “what should I do? You breached my castle, killed my spawn — what should I do, indeed?”

  Bones tensed. The prince was right — he had done all that. There was no real reason Caspian would let him walk away from this.

  “Relax, I have no intention of harming you,” Caspian assured, as if reading his thoughts. “You merely pique my curiosity. Now, tell me about the one chasing you — who is he?”

  “Garrik. He’s part of a raid group investigating the research facilities nearby.”

  “The facilities? Has the fog receded that much?” Caspian interrupted.

  “Apparently…” Bones answered impulsively.

  “Go on,” Caspian said, motioning him to continue.

  “There’s not much else to it. They’re searching for documents related to past research — the kind that created the present werewolves.”

  Bones paused, watching for a reaction. Caspian only nodded, remaining silent.

  “The men are marauders. Tomb raiders. Pillagers. Slav—”

  “I get it,” Caspian cut him off. “How did they find out about the facilities in the first place? They should be within our domain — not easily discovered by outsiders.”

  “About that…” Bones recounted the Growlers’ leader meeting with the Elder Vampire. At that, Caspian stood up, rolling his eyes in clear annoyance.

  “It must’ve been the Leclair family — how foolish of them. I’ll have to pay them a visit later…”

  “Why are you asking about them? I mean, about my pursuers?” Bones asked, ignoring the hostility that dripped from Caspian’s tone.

  “Because the one chasing you entered the castle…” Caspian replied. There was more to that sentence — but he didn’t elaborate.

  “Come,” he added after a beat, eyes flicking over Bones’ ragged appearance. “Let’s find you some clothes first.”

  Bones watched Caspian with quiet reservation as the prince retrieved the violin, carried it inside, and set it on the nightstand beside the bed. Without a word, Caspian turned and headed for the doors. Bones cast one last glance over the balcony, toward the distant stars scattered across a clear night sky — the clearest he’d seen since arriving here — then followed after him.

  They stopped a few corridors down, outside a room that hadn’t been opened in years.

  The moment Caspian gripped the doorknob and gave it a pull, the handle snapped clean off in his hand. He paused, holding the broken piece, and gave Bones a sideways glance. Bones couldn’t contain the snort that escaped him. Caspian’s look sharpened. Bones quickly dipped his head in apology as Caspian tossed the handle aside, opened the doors, and stepped inside. Bones followed closely behind.

  The room was a cluttered storage space filled with boxes, cabinets, and wardrobes, all coated in thick layers of dust and grime.

  “Just a second,” Caspian said, and with a lazy wave of his hand, a gust of wind swept through, clearing the air and stirring the dust into corners.

  “I have some of my old robes here, and some adventurer’s—” He hesitated, then corrected himself. “—equipment left behind by previous guests.”

  Bones shot him a suspicious glance but kept silent.

  “I didn’t force them to come here,” Caspian added, as if responding to the unspoken accusation.

  I had my suspicions, but now I’m sure — he can read my mind, Bones thought, then glanced at him again, realizing Caspian could read that too. The prince smirked in response.

  “Anyway, feel free to take what you need. I’ll wait outside,” Caspian said, turning to leave.

  Bones stepped further into the room, eyes scanning the expansive storage area. Dozens of cabinets and wardrobes of varying sizes lined the walls, each carved with ornate engravings. He approached one and began rummaging through its contents.

  If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

  When he reached one of the older closets and opened it, tightly packed gear tumbled out, clattering to the floor. Much of it bore dried blood and battle damage, but there were still a few usable pieces among the worn remnants.

  He gathered a set of plate armor for Murdok and a leather garment for Skully. Harmony, being a ranged fighter, still had armor in decent condition and needed no replacement. As for himself, Bones pulled on an old but well-made silk shirt — white with a stiff collar — once worn by the prince.

  When he’d finished sorting through the gear, he found Caspian waiting patiently outside. The prince mentioned they had one more stop to make, then led him down the narrow stone steps to the lower floors, offering a brief — and notably dull — history of the castle along the way. His hands were tucked behind his back as he spoke with the enthusiasm of someone reciting a memorized lecture for the hundredth time.

  “The castle was constructed in six distinct phases, each overseen by a different Navis heir. The first foundation stones were laid two thousand eight hundred and sixty-one years ago — give or take a few decades — using volcanic stone imported from Mount Yvalis, which, interestingly, hasn’t erupted since the System’s arrival.”

  Caspian turned a corner, still speaking.

  “Each wing was added in response to entirely different needs. The eastern wing, for instance, was built solely to house a library, though it now stores mostly old furniture and unused coffins. The west tower? That was added during the era of Lord Geriv Navis, who believed higher elevation improved blood circulation — in his words, ‘for both the mind and the taste.’ He was eccentric, but mostly harmless.”

  They passed under an archway with faded murals.

  “These murals were painted by a half-mad Dhargani artist who insisted on using powdered bone and vampire blood as pigment. Supposedly enhances the spiritual resonance of the art. Personally, I think it just made the whole wing smell like a crypt for a century. You get used to it.”

  Caspian gestured upward at a vaulted ceiling where faded celestial constellations glowed faintly with residual enchantment.

  “That ceiling was enchanted during the rule of Lady Miraval Navis. She commissioned a star map to reflect the skies as they appeared the night she was turned. The enchantment still works. It’s a few centuries out of sync now, but… still rather pretty.”

  They descended another staircase, the decorative torches along the walls flaring to life as they passed. Their steps echoed faintly.

  “The dungeons were expanded during the siege of the Crimson Rebellion. A hundred or so angry farmers and three self-proclaimed vampire hunters tried to storm the castle. They made it past the outer gate. One even reached the main hall. Gawain was delighted — he hadn't stretched in years.”

  Caspian paused at a hallway fork. One side led toward what appeared to be an abandoned gallery. The other vanished into darkness.

  “Don’t go that way,” he said, nodding toward the dark passage. “That wing collapsed about a century ago, and there's something living in the rubble now. We don't know what it is, and at this point it's just part of the family.”

  He glanced back to make sure Bones was still following, then resumed walking.

  “The foundation’s survived wars, sieges, fires, and the occasional collapse due to poor architectural decisions. You’d think eternal creatures would have more patience for load-bearing math. They don’t.”

  A large arched hallway opened before them, lined with old suits of armor and cracked statues. Dust blanketed every corner.

  “Gawain Navis, my forefather,” Caspian continued, “was the first of the ancient vampires to evolve into what you’d now consider ‘civilized.’ He shed the wings, the claws, the mindless hunger… most of it, anyway. Became the first Vampire Lord. Refined. Powerful. Very stab-worthy, apparently.”

  He gestured vaguely to a wall where a gaping hole remained, scorched black around the edges.

  “That was from a group of adventurers about two centuries ago. They brought a pyromancer. Set half the eastern wing ablaze before Gawain tore him in half. Good times.”

  They passed another hallway blocked off with collapsed stone.

  “We stopped rebuilding after a while. Got tired of replacing everything after every ‘hero’ tried to collect a bounty. So now it’s just ghosts, dust, and me.” He gave Bones a side glance. “Well. And you, apparently.”

  “Anyway, the Navis line has held this castle ever since Gawain first claimed it. Despite everything — adventurers, holy orders, inquisitions, that time the roof collapsed during a thunderstorm — it still stands. A little lopsided. Occasionally haunted. But it’s home.”

  Bones found the entire situation strange, but decided not to dwell on it. He listened quietly, offering the occasional nod.

  On the lowest floor, a shocking scene awaited. Garrik was heaving heavily in the aftermath of what looked like a slaughter — but was, in truth, an encounter with an unfortunate Mimic. Wooden wreckage cluttered the floor, and both Garrik’s red and the Mimic’s velvet blood splattered across the carpet, the stationary suits of armor, and even the walls.

  Bones cast a nervous glance at Caspian, who didn’t appear surprised.

  Has he foreseen this?

  Caspian exhaled listlessly and stepped forward, approaching Garrik, whose eyes widened upon seeing Bones at the vampire’s side. He opened his mouth, then shut it, then opened it again.

  “I… I’m sorry, my lord,” Garrik muttered, lowering his head.

  There was a fleeting moment where Bones wondered what would happen to the werewolf — what Caspian would do — but not even in his wildest dreams could he have foreseen the prince hurling Garrik through the air with a flick of his wrist, slamming him against the wall. Web-like cracks formed from the impact, and Garrik coughed blood, still lodged in the stone. With a snap of Caspian’s fingers, his head burst open, showering the wall behind him, the window to his left, and the floor in front with blood and bits of skull.

  Bones stood stupefied, unable to respond to the prince’s sudden decisiveness.

  “Don’t be so surprised. Outsiders aren't welcome here. I would’ve drained him otherwise — you’re an exception,” Caspian said flatly, turning to leave, leaving both Garrik’s corpse embedded in the wall and Mimic's remains scattered across the floor.

  “Hm?” Bones' gaze drifted to the Mimic’s main body — the chest now without its lid — and caught a glimmer from within.

  “You can loot the body. It’s what adventurers do, no?” Caspian added in passing, noticing Bones' attention fixated on the treasures inside the slain Mimic.

  Bones’ head darted between the vampire and the ruined chest before deciding to follow Caspian’s advice. Eagerness overtook him, betraying his excitement as he stepped carefully around blood-splattered patches. His eyes locked onto a copious amount of gold coins, sparkling mana crystals, a storage ring, and dozens of gems gleaming in different hues.

  “No mana core? Shame…” Bones muttered, his tone dipped in brief disappointment.

  Caspian halted mid-step, grimacing slightly at Bones’ comment. He turned, watching from the corner of his eye as the undead rifled through the loot with the greedy fervor of a Mimic — much like the one that'd just been slain.

  When Bones was done, Caspian said he would guide him through the main hall toward the exit and motioned for him to follow.

  Bones, satisfied with the haul, stepped forward but paused. He glanced back at Garrik’s body. A thought surfaced — could he use it as Murdok’s new vessel? With the werewolf’s physical attributes, Murdok would gain a massive boost. Whether it was ethical or moral didn’t factor into the equation.

  After pondering for a moment, Bones shook his head. Garrik wasn’t in his transformed state — his body had reverted to human upon death. That alone made the plan unfeasible. The werewolves from the Dark Forest, on the other hand…

  “Too much trouble,” Bones muttered, turning back to Caspian and quickening his pace to catch up.