Congratulations! Milestone completed: Knight-Errant.

You thwarted a bandit attack on a merchant caravan and destroyed two bandit groups.

Your chivalrous spirit deserves reward.

You have received: 1 Advanced Retainer Draw Ticket.

Advanced Retainer Draw Ticket: Guarantees a Retainer of Rare (3★) quality or higher.

In the game, one-star was Common, white. Two-star was Uncommon, blue. Three-star was Rare, green.

Four-star was Transcendent, cyan. Five-star was Epic, purple. Six-star was Legendary, gold. This ticket would give him, at minimum, a three-star Retainer.

Lothar looked back at the bandit hideout. Joy did not come easily. The grind-and-level routine he'd known as a game, transplanted into reality, sat heavy in his chest.

Laine led the wagon train into the hideout. The hardworking new followers stripped the place of anything portable and valuable, leaving only some grain and seed for the women and children huddled in the meeting hall. The haul was better than expected. The bandits had apparently just looted a small merchant caravan and hadn't yet fenced the goods.

Sold in a nearby town, the spoils would fetch roughly thirty solidi of the finest quality. Enough to buy a country manor. They left the hideout behind and pushed on directly into the Veneto, under the dominion of the Republic of Venice.

Lothar sent Hans and the former body servant to handle the sale of the spoils and purchase necessary supplies. He and Prajna returned early to the inn. He was going to draw immediately.

The Advanced Retainer Ticket dissolved into a cascade of colored light. A card blazing with rich purple radiance surfaced. Lothar held his breath. His heart slammed against his ribs.

As the lead designer of Yesterday's Great Ship, he knew better than anyone how low the odds were for a five- or six-star pull. He'd steeled himself for a three-star result. Instead, his luck had surged.

The card bore regal purple borders, and at its crown sat a single violet gemstone. An Epic-quality Retainer had the right to stand alongside the mightiest Legendaries. Even whale accounts often fielded five-star units in their strongest lineups.

In the center of the card was a sweet-faced girl-next-door. White hair in a neat bob with bangs. Long gauze sleeves beneath a black bodysuit, a short black skirt, and long white cotton stockings hugging her pale, flawless legs. She looked entirely harmless, except for the two sinuous horns curving from her head.

**Name:** Fringilla Țepeș

**Class:** Sorcerer

**Rarity:** Epic (5★)

**Level:** 1

**Affinity:** Cold

**STR:** 10 | **AGI:** 12 | **STA:** 23 | **END:** 12 | **SPI:** 35

**Description:** A noble maiden of the Blood Court. She sings the dirge beneath the dark sky, red moon overhead, and drains her chosen prey drop by drop until the last.

**Talent:** Hemomancy Mastery — Fringilla is a hemomancer of solid fundamentals. So long as her Spirit holds, she can cast most blood magic spells.

**Talent:** Sanguine Charm — Fringilla's voice carries the irresistible allure of the female vampire. She can easily ensnare the hearts of men weak of will.

**Skill:** Bloodthirst — Fringilla can draw vital essence from any blood rich in life force, replenishing her own Stamina and Spirit.

**Skill:** Blood Pool Form (Requires Elite Promotion to unlock)

**Skill:** Tyrant Form (Requires Elite Promotion to unlock)

The purple light flared. A thick, sweet-coppery scent bloomed in the air: part perfume, part nausea. Crimson mist clawed outward, tendrils thrashing, then snapped inward, condensing into a girl in a black dress who could not have stood taller than about five-foot-three.

Just as in the card art, she had long, straight, stunning legs clad in what looked like white silk but were probably cotton stockings. The exposed skin between hem and stocking invited the eye to wander.

A surge of possessiveness rose hot in Lothar's chest, then broke against a wave of cold, clear air that swept past his face. Prajna's presence. His head cleared. The only difference from the illustration: Fringilla had lost her two curved horns.

She blinked her large eyes, looked up at Lothar, and her face melted into a pitiful, fragile expression. "Master. You've finally summoned me. I've been waiting so long for this day." She stepped closer, took his arm in both her hands, and swayed gently. "Master, I'm so thirsty. Could you give me a little blood?"

"Enough. You don't need to perform for me. As a high vampire, blood is dessert to you—not sustenance."

Lothar had built Yesterday's Great Ship from the ground up. He knew exactly what lay beneath the girl-next-door surface. Once she unlocked her Elite II exclusive skill, Tyrant Form, Fringilla transformed into a horror of writhing crimson tentacles, each one capable of piercing a body and draining it dry. All the sweetness and beauty on the surface was camouflage. She was a creature of a different species from humanity.

A sheen of tears glossed Fringilla's eyes. "My lord, will you not grant your Retainer one tiny request? Your blood-scent is so rich. You have killed many people recently, have you not?"

Perhaps it was the "air conditioning" of Prajna beside him, but Lothar felt not the slightest enchantment. He frowned. "Where did your horns go?"

Fringilla let out a startled sound. "Horns? Whatever do you mean? This body is perfectly identical to a human female's." She blinked, her smile turning sly. "Better, in fact."

From the chair across the room, Prajna, who had not spoken a single word since the summoning began, finally opened her mouth. The disgust in her voice was unmistakable. "You wretched beasts who fled Hell. The foul form you hide beneath that skin is sickening. I warn you—never address our lord in that vile tone again."

Lothar felt a headache coming on. In the game, Fringilla belonged to the Blood Court: vampires who had escaped from Hell, their seat of power in Wallachia. They shared no Bonds with Prajna's Hell faction. Natural enemies. Police and criminal.

Still, it couldn't be helped. Drawing a five-star Retainer, and a rare caster at that, was an unexpected windfall. Side effects aside, he'd come out far ahead.

Fringilla glanced sidelong at Prajna, particularly at the demon-faced shield, and a flash of deep wariness crossed her eyes. Several of her ancestors had been dragged back to Hell by Prajna's hand. But the wariness soon curdled into disdain.

"Prajna, you're only ahead of me because you were summoned first. Right now, you might not even beat me. I'm sure I'll become far more favored by our lord than a cold, dull woman like you—once he's invested in a few levels, maybe even an Elite promotion." Even a Quality tier apart, she was confident Prajna would fall before her.

"Besides—we both serve the same lord now. Surely you wouldn't attack a fellow Retainer?" Fringilla's expression was pure, serene confidence.

Prajna turned to Lothar. In her cool eyes, there was, for once, a hint of anger. Words were not her weapon. Her look made its meaning plain: say something.

Lothar felt his scalp prickle. What was he supposed to do with this?