Chapter 94: Under the Night Curtain

Night.

Dracula stood on the fifth floor of his residence, watching Jonathan sit in a carriage return until he disappeared around the corner, then he withdrew his gaze.

This residence was located at the junction of London's suburbs and urban area; outwardly it looked nothing special, just an ordinary five-story residential building.

If one had to point out something special, it was that it had been renovated not long ago, and the interior furnishings had been replaced with a new set.

It was not done by Dracula.

But by one of his subordinates.

Dracula turned, came to sit in a chair, and raised his hand to tap the table:

"Bar."

A brown-haired youth walked in from outside, wearing a tailcoat and dressed like a butler.

His features were ordinary, his brown hair neatly combed, his light-gray eyes calm as a pond.

Every crease of his tailcoat was pressed sharp, his white gloves spotless; the whole person was as precise as a finely tuned watch.

He came before Dracula and bowed slightly:

"Please give your orders."

"Boya is dead."

"What?!"

Bar jerked his head up, the calm in his eyes shattered.

Because Boya's strength was only slightly inferior to his, using the Eastern Chain Qi Warrior's strength grading.

Boya was at the early stage of the Indestructible Realm, while he had reached Perfection.

But because vampires can quickly heal wounds as long as they avoid having their hearts pierced and drinking blood, it was destined to mean she was very hard to kill!

Whoever could kill Boya must perhaps be somewhat stronger than him!

He frowned slightly: "Do you know who did it?"

"I."

"........... ah?" Bar opened his mouth, for a moment not knowing what to say.

Dracula's tone was calm, no emotion discernible: "I sensed it; she has fallen into the hunter's hands, and will reveal our plan."

"We can only execute her in advance."

After hearing his explanation, Bar suddenly understood, nodded and said: "If that's the case, then she indeed deserves to die."

"Then you mean we've been exposed and must prepare in advance?"

"Not bad." Dracula gave a slight nod, took a ring from his pocket and handed it to him:

"This is my ring; take it and tell them."

"The upcoming operation must be extremely cautious; once exposed, if you cannot escape in time, then you must commit suicide."

"Of course." He paused, then added: "It would be best if you could kill yourself; I don't want to act personally."

Bar took it, put the ring away, and replied:

"Yes, I'll take care of it on my end."

"Wait."

Dracula called him back: "Also, go investigate the Exorcism Office in the city, especially one whose owner is named Firo de Leon."

"There's also someone named Yabolahan·Fan·Haisen."

"I need to know all their information."

"Go."

Bar nodded: "Yes."

He turned and walked toward the door, leaving Dracula alone sitting inside.

No one knew how long passed.

Until that moon, obscured by London's fog, rose high.

The bell announcing the arrival of dawn echoed in the air.

Only then did Dracula rise and come to the window.

The dim yellow streetlight shone through the window onto his face.

He slowly spread his arms; his black cloak unfurled like a living thing, turning into a pair of huge bat wings.

A night wind suddenly rose; his silhouette silently rose into the air, the bat wings glinting with a cold metallic sheen in the moonlight.

London's mist surged beneath his feet, the shadow of a church spire sweeping past his side.

Rising higher and higher, he eventually merged into the dark night curtain, unknown where he went.

Belgrave District.

This is a core residential area of upper-class society.

Planned by the Groffna Family in the early 19th century, designed by architect Thomas Cubitt, built between the 1820s and 1850s, adjacent to Buckingham Palace and Hyde Park.

The wide streets were paved with even stone slabs; on both sides stood terraced villas, their cream-colored façades glowing softly in the gaslight.

The gardens behind the cast-iron railings were meticulously trimmed; the scent of roses and lavender flickered faintly in the night breeze.

It is completely two worlds apart from the impoverished East District.

Now the head of the Groffna Family is the first Duke of Westminster, Hugh Lupus Groffna.

He is now 61 years old.

Although he still has over ten years until the age at which he historically died, but at this moment.

He already feels anxious about his aging and fearful of death.

After all, he owns about 300 acres of land in western London, with rental income exceeding six hundred thousand pounds a year, making him a top-tier wealthy figure in Britain and one of London's largest landowners.

Besides being a Duke, he is also a Conservative Party member, a House of Lords peer, and can even influence London city planning.

Money, he has; power, he also has.

But once he dies, then truly he has nothing at all...........

Not to mention, although he has considerable opinions on politics, he actually isn't interested in politics, preferring instead to spend plenty of time on renovating his estate and horse racing.

It shows that he actually prefers pleasure.

Naturally, he would fear death.

But.

Now he has more important matters.

Late at night, the Duke's mansion.

In the second‑floor study, the velvet curtains are half‑drawn, letting warm candlelight spill through.

"This year."

"It is the queen's fiftieth anniversary on the throne."

"Therefore, I want you to prepare the gifts for the queen properly."

"Understood?"

Xiu sits in the chair, his gaze sweeping over the three people before him.

All three are of advanced age, yet their backs remain straight, and their attire immediately reveals them as cultured individuals.

Having followed him for decades, they are veteran loyalists who have witnessed his ascent to the dukedom.

Xiu knows perfectly well his capabilities.

But, that said, the necessary reminders must still be given to avoid any mishap.

The three nod and reply with a "Yes".

"Go ahead."

Xiu waves his hand, and the three turn and exit the study.

He is about to pick up a sheet of paper to read, but a sudden wave of fatigue makes him abandon the idea:

"Sigh, indeed I'm getting old."

"When I was young, I could stay up playing with the old comrades until dawn; now just sitting makes me exhausted........."

He sighs, laments the relentless passage of time, then rises and walks toward the exit of the study.

He has only taken a single step.

Suddenly, a sound comes from behind: *crack! *

"Hm?"

Xiu turns around, eyes wide, and the lingering drowsiness vanishes without a trace:

"Who are you?!"