With a mix of dread and morbid curiosity, Freya pulled up her status panel
Name: Freya Constantin
Race: Highborn Demon
Level: 1
Racial Trait: [Blood Drain – Lv.1]
Bound Weapon: [Reaper's Scythe – Lv.1]
Strength: 20
Agility: 25
Intelligence: 36
Skills: [Fangs – Lv.1], [Bat Swarm – Lv.1], [Dark Magic – Lv.1]
Combat Arts: [Scythe Mastery – Lv.2]
Staring at her stats, Freya felt like she'd just caught a glimpse of how leveling worked in this world.
After sparring with Grant, her [Scythe Mastery] had increased by one level. So maybe skill levels were tied to proficiency? The more you used them, the better you'll get?
She turned her head to Grant, doubts in her eyes, until she saw his [Sword & Shield Arts] had gained a level too.
"This confirms it I think."she murmured. "Skill levels increase with practice. That's the way forward."
Just as she was about to plan her next step, a sudden wave of dizziness washed over her. Her stomach let out a sharp, angry grrrrrrroooowwwl....
Freya blinked. "Wait… am I hungry?"
The dizziness came next. Cold sweat beaded her brow. Her limbs went light, like she was running on fumes. It was that similar uncanny weakness you get when your blood sugar tanks.
She grimaced. "Great. And here I thought I could survive on sarcasm and anxiety."
"Let's see what we've got in this wretched cave..." She paused, then came to realize.
"Duh. I'm a vampire now, I need blood, not food."
"But where the hell am I supposed to find blood?"
"I'm literally in the middle of nowhere."
"And even if I did find someone…I can't just go full Dracula on them, right?"
" That's so inhuman."
She looked around the empty cavern. Rocks. Moss. One very loyal skeleton. Zero snackable villagers. And definitely no blood bank nearby.
Her stomach snarled again.
"Well. Rocks and moss sure as hell ain't gonna feed me."
Freya brushed herself off, grabbed her scythe, and waved Grant forward.
"C'mon, Sir Bonehead. Let's find dinner."
She made up her mind. Time to head out and try her luck in the wilderness.
And they hadn't traveled far—maybe a mile at most—when something twitched in Freya's nose.
It was a smell in the air, something coppery, a bit earthy, slight sweet and tangy.
It's blood!
Her eyes widened. Her body tensed like a hound on point.
"That smell—oh, gods. That smell."
Compared to this, every meal she'd ever had felt like stale bread. Her instincts kicked in hard, her body moving on its own.
"Grant, try to keep up!"
She shot off like a bullet, a blur of black through the woods, the scent dragging her like a hooked chain.
"Holy crap, I'm insanely fast. I bet I can do a hundred meter hurdle under five seconds now. Highborn Demonkin are built different."
Soon, the scent led her to a clearing, where two massive beasts were tearing into each other.
Things were already ugly, bloody.
Freya crouched behind a bush, crimson eyes gleaming.
"Well well," she whispered, licking her lips. "Looks like dinner is almost served."
The hunger clawed at her insides, deeper and sharper now—like a starving beast gnawing on her spine.
Freya pressed a hand against her stomach. It didn't help. Her throat was dry. Her mind screamed for caution, but her body—her new body—ached for something warm and red and pulsing.
Still, she didn't move. She'd always been a strategist. Maybe she was born that way, or maybe its just a lawyer thing.
Whatever the reason, she just doesn't make impulsive decisions—which sometimes could lead to severe consequences.
Especially now, it's definitely a matter of life and death.
So she crouched lower in the bush, narrowing her crimson eyes.
Through the gaps in the leaves, she quietly observed the combatants—A sabertooth tiger with the size of a carriage, its striped pelt slick with gore, faced off against a dire wolf whose swampfire eyes burned with hate.
Both beasts were bleeding, battered, and absolutely feral.
Freya tried focusing, willing a status panel to appear above them like it had with Grant. Nothing.
"Hmph. Why can't I see their status panel?" she muttered. "Am I missing something? How does it work actually?"
The two monsters were flagging now, circling, snarling, their muscles coiled for a final strike. And that made them more dangerous, not less. Dying beasts were the most vicious.
Freya's heart pounded in her ears. She stop working on the status panel and tightened her grip around the only thing that could make her the last one standing tonight. The Reaper's Scythe.
She crouched, ready. Waiting. Hyper focused.
Finally, it was the sabertooth tiger that made the first move, roaring as it lunged.
The dire wolf answered with a snarl—and as it leapt forward, its body shimmered with greenish energy.
Fwoosh!
A Wind Blade launched from the dire wolf's mouth. Thin, crescent-shaped, slicing the air like a guillotine.
The sabertooth tiger was clearly surprised, and it also didn't have the time to react. The Wind Blade cleaved straight through its neck. Its eyes widened in disbelief as its severed head spiraled away.
But momentum carried the headless corpse forward. The dire wolf, already staggering from blood loss and magical strain, couldn't dodge in time.
The dead sabertooth tiger's bulk slammed into it like a battering ram, knocking it off its feet and sending it tumbling through the air.
Freya's pupils shrank.
It's now or never!
She exploded from the brush like a shadow unchained, her scythe gleaming in the moonlight. In one clean arc, she severed the dire wolf's neck. Blood sprayed like a crimson halo.
She landed in a crouch, breath ragged, heart thundering in her chest.
"I did it," she screamed. "I actually did it!"
The thrill of victory began to fade, her taut nerves unwinding as the adrenaline receded.And then the vivid scent of blood hit her—it was so sweet, so rich, and so intoxicating!She didn't hold back. She couldn't.
With her vampiric instinct kicking in, her fangs lengthened—as her skill, [Fangs] was triggered. She snarled and sank her fangs into the dire wolf's exposed artery with a wet, satisfying schlick.....
The blood wasn't just warm. It was alive. Each drop lit her nerves on fire. Her muscles pulsed. Her senses exploded outward.
This wasn't mere feeding, it was an awakening of a raw and savage power. Ancient and untamed, echoing through Freya's vein as if ripping free from its cage and howling through her blood.
Her fingers dug into the fur. She wanted more.
The dire wolf's essence—its strength, speed, even killer instincts and its soul—she wanted everything!
Finally, the dire wolf's body shriveled before her eyes, collapsing inward like a popped wineskin until only sagging hide and bone remained. It was the effect of her other skill: [Blood Drain].
And Freya did not stop there.
She turned to the sabertooth tiger without a word, crawling across the blood-slick grass. The second feeding was faster, more efficient—less wonder, more instinct.
By the time she finished, both monsters had been reduced to empty skins. Not a drop of blood remained.
Freya rose unsteadily, swaying on her feet. Her mouth was stained crimson, cheeks flushed. She licked her lips—savoring the lingering sweetness.
"I'll be damned," she breathed. "What a treat."
She grin, a faint glow flickering behind her eyes. She could feel it—the surge of raw, feral life swelling in her core heightened not only her physical strength, but her senses too.
Her gut feeling is telling her this is what leveled up felt like, so she popped up her status panel and checked, just to be sure.
Name: Freya Constantin
Race: Highborn Demon
Level: 3
Racial Trait: [Blood Drain – Lv.2]
Bound Weapon: [Reaper's Scythe – Lv.2]
Strength: 30
Agility: 35
Intelligence: 46
Skills: [Fangs – Lv.2], [Bat Swarm – Lv.1], [Dark Magic – Lv.1], [Haste – Lv.1], [Intimidation – Lv.1]
Combat Arts: [Scythe Mastery – Lv.2]
She whistled.
"Damn, I really did level up. And got two new skills too?"
She scanned the list. [Haste]. [Intimidation]. Her eyes sparkled.
But something felt... off.
"Mr. Wolfie's wind blade!" She frowned. "Where is it? I don't see it on the panel."
"Does this mean I didn't get it?"
Confused. She tapped a finger to her chin while tried to sort things out.
"Let's do some experiments, maybe its just hidden somewhere."
Just as she turned to test the upgraded version of herself, a rustle in the trees made her freeze. Instinct took over, her bloodied hands clenched the scythe, lifting it into a guarded stance.
The air thickened, tension crackling like a live wire as the rustling in the brush crept closer and closer. Until everything went quiet.
"It's near!"
Freya was already prepared to slash anything that came out from the brush.
But eventually, it was a familiar, bony figure that stepped into the opening, and into the moonlight.
It was Grant. He's finally here.
Freya lowered her weapon and let out a breathless laugh, brushing the blood from her mouth with the back of her hand.
"Took you long enough, big guy. Fancy for some dinner?"