I Became The Vampire Progenitor
Chapter 171-2: Heart Aflutter, The Valkyrie of the North (Part 2)

Viscount Berna, dressed in a tailcoat, exuded aristocratic grace. He swept his eyes across the room and began.

"Good evening, partners of the Dark Pact. May darkness be with us."

"Good evening. May darkness be with us," everyone echoed as if reciting a creed.

Viscount Berna nodded, satisfied. His deep gaze locked onto the crowd.

"Tonight is our quarterly internal trade meeting. Discussion of the artifact will wait.

As per tradition, anyone may now bring forth items they wish to sell or trade."

Li De blinked—this was unexpected.

But no one else looked surprised, which told him this had been a long-standing practice.

Mutual exchange.

What seemed simple actually revealed a critical truth:

The Dark Pact was even more fragmented than he imagined.

He couldn’t picture his own Dawn City delaying weapons or supplies due to some quarterly event.

Only distrustful, poorly integrated factions would require such inefficient trade setups.

A tightly-knit force, however weak, was always hard to deal with.

A disjointed one—however strong—was vulnerable.

Silently, Li De observed every detail, committing everything to memory.

Then, Witherbone stood.

His shadowy gaze beneath the gray hood gleamed ominously in the soft yellow glow of the magic lights.

But what he did next instantly sent a ripple of restlessness through the room.

With a wave, a two-blade-wide spatial rift tore open on the carpet before him.

Thump—

A battered human woman—clad in a leather vest and beast-hide shorts—tumbled to the ground, barely clinging to life.

Her body was covered in bark-like scars, the countless wounds giving her once-lithe frame a tragic, terrifying aura.

A warrior—a female warrior—one forged through a hundred battles.

Scars were a warrior’s badge of honor, and hers told a story of glory.

A hushed, proud voice drifted from beneath Witherbone’s hood.

"The Nolan Empire and Radiant Empire jointly attacked the Northern Highlands during the Planting Season, taking advantage of the damage done by the Months of Deep Winter.

Last month, in search of fresh souls, I ventured there—and came across this little prize."

So far, everything seemed normal—until Witherbone’s next words shocked the room.

"The Northern Highlands have fallen. And this woman—taken from the Nolan army—is of royal northern bloodline. She’s a Level 15 Valkyrie of the North!"

The room instantly erupted.

Northern warriors were one of the three strongest warrior lineages on the Glory Main Plane, alongside the barbarians of the Death Desert and the Vikings of the Storm Sea.

Their blood flowed with the power of warriors.

And here, lying on the floor, was a royal, Level 15, Northern Valkyrie—the shining star of the highlands.

Even Li De’s heart skipped a beat.

"Royal blood, hmm? Perhaps your Tyrant God would enjoy her soul, Stanley. What reward would you receive for offering up such a delicacy?"

Witherbone’s voice was seductive, his gaze sweeping across the room.

"And you, Grote—you're a northern warrior yourself. Don’t you wish to redeem your kin?

With the Highlanders fallen, she might be the only royalty left. Will the North’s legacy end here?"

Grote clenched his fists silently.

The Nolan Empire was vast, and the Highlands were far from Green City.

He had only learned of the attack two weeks ago—and had planned to rush home after the Crimson Mage Tower raid.

But it was already too late. The news came from a Necromancer, and their princess had become a trophy.

Rage surged within him like a charging bull, filling the room with tension.

Witherbone remained unfazed—if anything, more excited. Anger led to recklessness, and recklessness led to desperation.

Praise be to the God of Death!

"Roy, you’re an Abyssal Demon. Don’t you want to taste the blood of the North’s mightiest warrior race?"

"And the rest of you… don’t you want a Level 15 northern warrior as a bodyguard?

With one at your side, who would dare threaten you?"

His tempting words stirred the crowd.

"A Level 15 guard? Interesting…"

"I’ve heard of the Valkyrie three years ago—the Highland’s brightest jewel. I never imagined she'd fall like this."

"To be protected by royalty… it would be an honor…"

But Roy, the Eight-Armed Serpent Demon, sneered coldly.

"Fools. She may be royalty, but her blood is nearly spent.

She clearly used a powerful warrior secret art—burning away her life force.

She’ll be dead in three months. Maybe six.

Witherbone, you swindler—bring me trash like this again and I’ll personally sever your head."

Witherbone’s glowing blue eyes flared in fury.

"You could always test her against my pet."

With a slash, he tore open space like a zipper.

ROAR—

Dragon’s might flooded the room.

A soul-crushing aura seized the air—everyone felt it.

Li De’s pupils contracted. Even without seeing it, he felt the overwhelming threat emanating from the void.

A Dragon.

Even dead, their presence inspired terror.

The supreme Golden Race.

Viscount Berna frowned.

"Witherbone. Put away your Bone Dragon. This is the Dark Pact, not a damn arena."

Witherbone hesitated, then sighed and dismissed the rift.

The dragon's pressure vanished. The room relaxed.

He swept his gaze across everyone.

"Don’t listen to that ignorant demon.

She’s still royalty. With time, she’ll recover—and reclaim her place as the North’s finest warrior."

But the crowd’s interest had clearly cooled. With a bitter glare at Roy, Witherbone added,

"She only used her racial talent. Her life isn’t lost—just drained.

Restore her vitality, and she’ll be as good as new."

The crowd perked up again.

A dying Valkyrie? No thanks.

But a recovered one? Now that was worth it.

Roy snorted.

"Restore her? Without Dragon blood, no chance."

The room fell silent.

Dragon blood was beyond precious. Even a few drops rivaled the value of the Valkyrie herself.

Witherbone gritted his teeth.

"No—not just dragon blood. Any Golden Race blood will do.

Their unique power can restore her. And Dragons aren’t the only Golden Race!"

The crowd rolled their eyes.

Where would they find another Golden Race being?

And if they did, could they even survive the encounter?

Giants, Titans, Dragons—all impossibly powerful.

"Lord Witherbone, the Evening Bell Church would like to purchase your trophy. What’s your price?" Asked Stanley, eyes burning.

Whether her body survived didn’t matter—her soul would make the perfect offering to the Tyrant God.

"Lord Witherbone… please… return her to me," Grote’s voice trembled with emotion.

"I will pay any price."

He was already on the verge of snapping—offering everything before a deal was even proposed.

Li De stood quietly behind Emi, his face calm—but inside, his blood surged.

Golden Race blood. Only that could restore her.

Others might think only Dragons qualify…

But he had someone with true Golden Bloodline: Isha.

That little girl with eyes like rubies… She was the real deal.

Li De looked at the fallen Valkyrie.

His heart pounded.

If he could add a Level 15 warrior to his strength…

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