My Three Beautiful Vampire Wives can hear my Inner Thoughts-Chapter 67: Moonshade Vampires

In a dark room, not the empty kind of darkness, but a thick, layered shadow that seemed to cling to the stone walls and breathe with the slow patience of something ancient.

The ceiling arched so high it disappeared into blackness, supported by pillars carved with twisted bat wings and coiling blood runes that pulsed faintly, as if they still remembered the warmth of living veins.

The air was cold and heavy, scented with dried incense, old iron, and something deeper, something sweet and rotten that spoke of centuries of blood rituals layered one upon another.

Along the sides of the hall stood rows of royal vampire attire displayed on tall, black stands.

Each set was different, each carrying a presence that made the air subtly shift around it.

One robe was woven from midnight silk threaded with crimson veins that shimmered like flowing blood, its collar shaped like fangs curling upward.

Another was a heavy mantle of dark steel plates etched with sigils of war, stained permanently by blood that no longer washed away.

There were cloaks trimmed with shadow fur, long coats lined with bone clasps carved from the remains of fallen enemies, ceremonial dresses studded with blood crystals that softly hummed, and ancient armors so old their surface looked more like dried flesh than metal.

Each attire carried the lingering will of the vampire who once wore it, pride, cruelty, ambition, hunger, all pressed into the fabric like ghosts that refused to fade.

Yet none of it truly held the eye.

At the front of the chamber stood ten coffins arranged in a wide arc, each carved from ancient black stone veined with dark red crystal.

They were massive, taller than a man, their lids engraved with names written in a language so old it looked more like scars than letters. From within them came a low, constant hum, almost like breathing, the sound of ancient coffins releasing blood mana into the air.

The mana was thick, oppressive, and old, pressing against the skin like damp fog.

This was not the blood mana of youth or battle, but the slow, stubborn power of beings who refused to die, even when evolution had long abandoned them.

The room was deathly silent aside from that hum.

Then a voice rang out, amplified by hidden enchantments, echoing through the vast chamber.

"Cornelia Moonshade, together with her husband, Cain Moonshade, has arrived."

The silence shattered.

A stir rippled through the hall as the vampires gathered near the coffins turned their heads all at once.

Low gasps followed, then murmurs that spread like wildfire. Heads leaned together. Eyes narrowed. Whispers overlapped.

"Husband?"

"Cain Moonshade?"

"Isn’t that the one only married on paper?"

"He’s not allowed here. He never was."

"That’s the Blood Tower. Outsiders aren’t permitted."

"And yet..."

Cornelia walked forward with Cain, her arm looped firmly around his, her body pressed close without the slightest hint of restraint.

She leaned into him naturally, possessively, her fingers resting against his arm as if claiming it.

Her expression was relaxed, almost pleased, a faint smile playing on her lips that softened her usually sharp features.

She looked content, confident, and unmistakably affectionate.

The shock among the gathered nobles deepened.

"That’s Lady Cornelia?"

"She’s clinging to him."

"She’s smiling."

"I’ve never seen her smile like that."

"What in the blood is going on?"

Several of the main vampire nobles of the Moonshade family stepped closer, their faces tense, eyes darting between Cornelia and Cain.

Their whispers grew bolder, sharper.

"Why is he here?"

"Did something happen?"

"Could it be... they consummated the marriage?"

"That’s the only explanation."

"Look at how she holds him."

"And how relaxed he is."

"If the marriage is real now, then..."

"Then everything changes."

Cain heard it all. Every whisper. Every half-hidden glance. But he’s not looking at them. His eyes were locked on the coffins. He let out a quiet snort, his lips curling in faint disdain as his eyes drifted toward the coffins.

These old farts.

In his mind, his thoughts were sharp and mocking.

Low talent bloodlines. That’s why you’re all sleeping like corpses instead of standing here. Can’t evolve, can’t improve, so you crawl into stone boxes and call it cultivation. Pathetic.

In vampire society, blood mana mastery could be improved through drinking higher quality blood, refining it, shaping it into power. But bloodlines mattered.

Some bloodlines were simply too weak, too diluted by generations of poor evolution.

When vampires like these reached the end of their natural growth, they had only one option left.

Sleep.

A long, death-like slumber that allowed their blood mana to slowly accumulate and stabilize, inch by inch, century by century.

They would survive, yes, but growth was slow, painfully slow, and many never truly awakened stronger than before.

Cain looked down on them without hiding it.

A stern voice broke through the murmurs.

"Please pay respect to the ancestors."

A robed elder stepped forward, his movements stiff, his eyes sharp with calculation. A servant approached, holding a ceremonial blade, its edge thin and gleaming.

Cain blinked, then understood.

Ah. So that’s how it is.

He almost laughed.

These bastards want my blood.

In vampire tradition, descendants often offered blood to their ancestors during rituals. If the blood was pure or powerful enough, it could trigger enlightenment, stimulate bloodline improvement, or even allow dormant ancestors to refine their mana faster.

It was an old trick, one the ancestors themselves had designed long ago, ensuring that if a monster ever rose among their descendants, they could leech off that fortune.

Clever.

Cain accepted the blade, weighing it in his hand, then looked around slowly, his gaze passing over the coffins.

"So," he said calmly, "this is how you welcome me."

Some nobles frowned. Others said nothing, watching carefully.

Cain smiled faintly before saying in his head.

Let me punish you old farts for trying to use clever tricks on me.

Before anyone could react, he cut his palm.

Blood welled up, dark and rich, carrying a pressure that made several nearby vampires instinctively step back.

The blood dripped from his hand, but instead of falling, it froze midair, suspended as if time itself had stopped around it.

Gasps filled the hall.

Cain flexed his fingers slightly.

The blood trembled, then divided, separating into ten perfectly equal drops. Each one glowed faintly, pulsing with restrained power. Slowly, they drifted forward, hovering toward the coffins, then settled onto the lids, sinking into the ancient stone like rain into dry earth.

Cornelia had already raised her blade, ready to cut her own palm, but Cain reached out and stopped her wrist.

"Wait, wife," he said quietly. "Something’s strange."

The hum from the coffins changed.

At first, it was subtle. A slight shift in tone, barely noticeable. Then the coffins began to move.

A small tremor ran through the stone lids.

Cain’s smile widened.

Trying to get Overgod Blood, huh?

Inside his mind, he laughed.

Let me change my Overgod blood a bit where none of you can benefit. Make it impure. I’ll make sure it works like a laxative instead.

The tremors grew stronger.

The coffins shook, stone grinding against stone. Cracks of red light began to spread along their surfaces as the blood mana reacted violently.

"What’s happening?" someone whispered.

"This isn’t normal."

"Are they awakening?"

"They’re shaking too much!"

The tremors intensified, the hum turning into a deep, unstable vibration that rattled the pillars. Dust fell from the ceiling. The blood mana in the air surged chaotically, thick enough to make breathing difficult.

Cain stood calmly at the center of it all, eyes gleaming with amusement.

The Moonshade vampires began to panic.

"What did he do?"

"Something’s wrong!"

"The ancestors’ coffins—"

"They smell strange!"

A foul odor suddenly seeped out from the seams of each coffin, thick and overwhelming, spreading rapidly through the hall.

The murmurs turned into shouts.

"What’s going on?!"