CREEEEAAACK!

  The sound of the gates opening echoed through the night.

  Mark stepped forward with steady strides, the worn cloak swaying lightly. Behind him, Pippin followed, holding the brim of his top hat with one hand while trying to keep up with his short legs.

  The commanders were lined up near the exit, waiting for the moment of his departure.

  Even after Mark told them they didn’t need to escort him to the gates, they still insisted on seeing him off.

  “Sovereign…” Carmilla stepped forward, her red eyes engraving Mark’s new appearance into her mind. “I will be counting every second until your return.”

  Karkinos clacked one pincer against the other in a rough salute, while Malphas only lowered his head in silence. Elizabeth, still hugging her cloth doll, took a timid step and whispered to Pippin, “Bring him back… it’s dark out there.”

  “Y-Yes!” Pippin nodded quickly.

  Hermos placed a hand over his chest. “Administration and security are in my hands, my Lord. There will be no failures.”

  Mark nodded.

  “Wait for my return.” With that, he turned and began walking out through the gates, hearing Pippin’s steps right behind him.

  The orders he had left were simple.

  No one was to leave Ziggurat.

  The commanders were to keep a low profile, hidden within the fortress until he returned.

  If any desert tribe tried to make contact or even invade, they had permission to repel them without massacres or pursuits that might signal their existence to the world.

  His intention was clear: Ziggurat would remain silent until he came back from Luminaris with a real idea of how the world worked now.

  BOOM!

  The heavy gates slammed shut behind him. Mark stopped for a moment, looking up. The night sky, dominated by three large, pale moons, was still there, hanging over his head.

  If not for the constant wind stinging his face and the dry scent of sand flooding his nostrils, he might have closed his eyes to draw in a breath of fresh air.

  ‘Finally…’

  He was outside.

  Only a few hours ago, Mark had been sprawled on his couch, drowning in the boredom of his routine, and so much had already happened. He had been reborn in the powerful body of his character, reunited with his game servants, and now he was already setting out to cross an unknown desert.

  It filled him with motivation.

  “Let’s go, Pippin.” Mark called, adjusting the cloak on his shoulders. “We don’t have all night.”

  “Y-Yes, Sovereign!” Pippin answered quickly, holding the top hat that tried to escape his bald head under the desert wind.

  The ash desert at night was an empty expanse, with silver dunes stretching as far as the world’s curve allowed.

  Mark had to admit it—the Cindralisk scouts who had visited him hours earlier possessed admirable courage for crossing that terrain.

  Even with three moons lighting the world, it was still hard to see whenever clouds drifted across the sky and blocked their glow.

  Still, for Mark, that wasn’t an obstacle.

  As an Ancient Vampire, his vision was enhanced by his race. The world didn’t look dark, but bathed in ultra-detailed shades of sepia and gray.

  Even so, seeing the path didn’t mean the journey would be easy.

  Walking to Luminaris, a city Mark only knew lay to the south, could take days. Fortunately, before crossing the gates, Mark had plunged into his skill list.

  It was an ocean of icons—more than two thousand techniques accumulated over four years of grinding. Browsing through the “Mobility” tabs, he found the classic options of his race.

  One of them glowed with the icon of a stylized bat.

  If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  Transformation.

  In the game, it was a standard ability for fast travel or infiltration.

  Mark stared at the mental command and felt a twinge of hesitation.

  He refused to use it.

  At least for now.

  Despite inhabiting that powerful body, he still felt like a human wearing a luxury shell. Changing his biology so drastically to turn into a flying animal was a psychological leap he wasn’t ready to take.

  It was too much for his salaryman mind.

  With that, his attention shifted to the Large-Scale Teleport Scroll.

  He still had a few in his inventory, the same ones he had used to bring the commanders from the throne hall to the walls in the blink of an eye.

  Mark considered using one to jump straight to the gates of Luminaris.

  The problem was that he didn’t know where it was.

  He needed to visualize the destination, and the system returned a silent error. The scroll had a “Mana Network” lock.

  Inside Ziggurat, teleportation was absolute because the fortress acted like a colossal antenna, a closed energy network he himself had built and mapped.

  So when he used the scroll, it worked as a shortcut within that network.

  To jump to a place outside his domain, like Luminaris, the item required two conditions Mark couldn’t meet: first, the destination needed an active and compatible “Mana Network”; second, Mark had to have personally visited the place to “register” its coordinates in memory.

  Without an established teleport network in the outside world and without ever stepping into Luminaris, the scroll was just useless paper for long-distance travel.

  Mark was limited to internal use within his fortress.

  That left the option he had always neglected in the game.

  Flying.

  The ability to fly was almost purely cosmetic in Age of Blood.

  Since the gameplay focused on defense, the ceilings of Ziggurat were capped by invisible code barriers, and “Fly” only allowed you to hover a few meters above the ground to avoid floor traps.

  Mark had never truly tested the potential of that technique in open space.

  “[Fly]!”

  Focusing on the skill, he felt the familiar pull in his chest, the gentle drain of mana starting to flow through his legs and back.

  ‘Mm…’ It was a really strange sensation, and Mark couldn’t help letting out a small groan.

  “Sovereign?” Pippin tilted his head after seeing the Sovereign standing in silence for so long.

  Mark didn’t answer.

  Suddenly, his boots stopped touching the sand, rising a few centimeters off the ground.

  Mark felt gravity lose its hold on him, his body becoming as light as a feather.

  What had once been a code restriction was now a physical sensation of absolute weightlessness. Without the black-stone ceiling of Ziggurat to stop him, the violet sky was the only limit.

  “We’re not walking,” Mark said, feeling the desert wind lash against his cloak as he rose his first few meters into the air. “We’re going over it.”

  Mark extended a hand toward Pippin.

  Pippin, realizing the Sovereign wanted to grab him and lift him from the ground, began flailing his hands frantically, his pale face twisting in panic.

  “S-Sovereign, please stop!” he squeaked, nearly losing his balance in the sand. “This servant is not worthy! I would never allow the Lord to waste his strength on me. It is a sin… an unforgivable waste!”

  Mark frowned, hovering a few centimeters above the dune. “Are you going to walk south, Pippin? It would take forever. Just come here and I’ll carry you.”

  Pippin hesitated.

  “N-No, my Lord! I… I can fly as well!” he said hurriedly, his milky eyes shining with sudden determination.

  “I simply did not wish to offend your sight with my form, but if it saves the Sovereign’s breath, I shall do it at once!”

  Without waiting for a reply, Pippin removed his top hat with a sharp motion, holding it to his chest for a second before closing his eyes.

  “[Combat State]!”

  Combat state?

  Mark froze.

  What the hell was that?

  He got his answer immediately, forcing him silent.

  Pippin’s body began to crack, bones growing and stretching with the sound of dry branches snapping. His frame pulled itself to the limit as his height tripled, fur bursting forth.

  In seconds, the small servant vanished, replaced by a larger creature.

  Much larger.

  The new Pippin had a long, flexible body, covered in dense black fur across his torso and head like a mane.

  His limbs were long and arched, like human arms and legs stretched beyond what was natural, giving him an alien, disturbing look.

  Hands and feet became thin, curved claws, black as obsidian. But what truly stunned Mark was his back.

  Two enormous membranous wings unfolded like torn veils, reddish, translucent skin stretched between long, jagged bones.

  Pippin’s head, once bald and meek, was now that of a giant bat, with a narrow snout and a half-open mouth revealing rows of uneven, sharp fangs.

  The small, deep-set eyes that had once been white and silly now glowed with lifeless white.

  Mark watched the transformation in silence, a knot forming in his throat.

  In the game, Pippin was just a utility homunculus, a messenger he rarely saw in combat. Mark had never clicked any button suggesting that the clumsy little servant had a “combat state.”

  The creature let out a low screech, then bowed its head submissively, even in that monstrous form.

  “Forgive this disgusting appearance, Sovereign.” Pippin’s voice was now a guttural, hissing whisper between fangs. “I am ready to accompany you.”

  With those words, Pippin beat his massive wings with a heavy, rhythmic sound, powerful wind blasting the sand away as he rose into the sky.

  Mark blinked, trying to reconcile the servant who held a top hat with the flying monster now hovering at his side.

  “All right.” Mark finally said, recovering Vaelin’s composure. “Let’s go.”

  He gave the initial push.

  With no resistance, Mark shot straight upward, feeling air pressure build against his face, cold wind slamming into him as they gained altitude.

  The sensation was incredible.

  His speed increased even more, and he finally began to make use of his 40,000 points of agility.

  Seeing his Sovereign streak toward the sky, Pippin followed with astonishing agility, his wings beating with such force that a cloud of ash rose from the dune below.

  As they climbed higher and higher, Mark looked down.

  The Crimson Ziggurat began to shrink, becoming just a black dot in the vast desert. Yet even from afar, it still looked imposing and threatening.

  That was his home.

  And he must return soon.

  “Pippin, southward!”

  “Yes, Sovereign!”

  Author's Note: If you're enjoying the story, consider leaving a follow or a rating. It helps a lot on Royal Road. Thanks for reading!