Darkness.
It was suffocating, thick, and endless. No light. No sensation. No body.
Ren couldn't move. He couldn't even think properly at first. His thoughts drifted like smoke in the abyss, scattered and weak.
Was this… death?
He tried to remember. Something—anything—to ground himself.
His name… yes. Ren Sakamura.
A university student. Twenty-three years old. An average guy, honestly. He liked reading fantasy novels, binging vampire dramas, and wasting nights on isekai web games where protagonists were always summoned or reincarnated into other worlds.
How many nights had he joked, "Man, I wish that were me"?
How many times had he sighed, staring at his phone at 3 AM, thinking how dull his life was?
Now here he was.
Floating in an endless void.
This isn't funny anymore.
Suddenly, something pulled.
Invisible chains lashed out, snapping tight around him. They weren't physical—but he felt them, burning cold and scalding hot at once, coiling around something deeper than flesh.
His soul.
"Wh—What is this?!"
A voice—ancient and commanding—boomed through the emptiness.
"Thou who wander beyond the veil… You are not of this realm."
The words echoed through him, bypassing language, slamming directly into his mind.
"I didn't ask for this!" Ren shouted—but his voice barely echoed in the darkness.
"The Rite has been broken. You are unworthy, yet fate entwines you with the vessel."
The chains began to drag him downward.
"No, wait! I don't even know what's happening!"
His protests were meaningless.
The chains pulled. His consciousness was dragged through unseen layers of existence—through pain, through fire, through shadow.
Suddenly—
Heartbeat.
Ba-dump.
Loud. Heavy.
Not his.
Ba-dump.
Ba-dump.
Something ancient stirred.
A sharp snap echoed through his mind, and then—he fell.
Cold air slammed into his lungs. His senses exploded back into existence all at once.
The scent of blood and iron filled his nostrils, thick and cloying.
Ren's eyes flew open.
He lay upon a black altar of smooth obsidian, carved with crimson glyphs that glowed faintly in the darkness. Around him loomed towering stone walls, covered in twisted, vein-like runes pulsing like a heartbeat.
The chamber was vast, its ceiling lost in shadow. Candles burned with blue flames, casting ghostly light on walls that seemed to ripple faintly.
He sat up, gasping, his chest heaving.
That's when he saw his hands.
They weren't his.
Long, elegant fingers, with skin pale as fresh snow, faintly luminescent under the eerie light. Veins glowed softly beneath the surface, and blackened silver rings adorned each finger, carved with unfamiliar symbols.
"What… the hell…"
His voice was different—deeper, smoother, almost melodic, but carrying an unsettling, unnatural resonance.
It sent chills down his spine.
He scrambled to the edge of the altar, his every movement graceful yet alien. His legs moved almost too smoothly, as if his body had been honed by centuries of predatory instinct.
Then he caught his reflection.
A polished, obsidian slab stood nearby. And in it, he saw himself—or rather, the thing he now inhabited.
Snow-white hair tumbled past his shoulders, shimmering faintly as it moved. His eyes—deep, glowing crimson, slit like a serpent's—stared back, sharp and calculating.
Fangs.
Actual fangs.
He stumbled back, clutching the edges of the altar.
"No. No, no, no… This can't be real."
But the reflection remained.
His heart wasn't beating. He realized that with chilling clarity. His body moved, breathed, but there was no heartbeat within his chest.
Footsteps echoed in the chamber.
Ren whirled around.
A figure emerged from the shadows—a tall woman clad in violet robes embroidered with silver threads. A veil covered her face, but her presence was commanding.
She approached slowly, then dropped to one knee before him.
"My Lord," she spoke softly, reverently. Her voice was melodic, but tinged with awe. "You awaken under the Blood Moon's omen, as foretold in the Crimson Codex."
Ren froze.
"…What did you just call me?"
"My Lord Veylar," she said again, head still bowed. "The Crimson Sovereign. King of the Nocturne Court. He who rules over death and night."
Veylar?
King?
Ren's mind spun.
"I'm… not who you think I am," he said, voice shaking.
But she didn't move.
"I shall serve you, as I have sworn for generations untold. The Rite of Return has been fulfilled. The Blood Moon marks your rebirth, my Lord."
Blood Moon. Rite of Return. Nocturne Court.
The words tumbled through his mind like puzzle pieces falling into place—but the picture was too foreign to grasp.
Transmigration.
This was it.
He'd seen it in every story he'd read, every game he'd played.
Except he wasn't some lowly farmer or random adventurer.
He had been thrust into the body of an ancient vampire king.
Veylar.
The name echoed through his new body like a forgotten instinct, awakening something that stirred deep within his bones.
Distantly, from beyond the chamber walls, bells began to toll—slow, deep, and ominous.
The woman rose, finally lifting her veil just enough to reveal piercing silver eyes that glowed faintly in the dark.
"The world will soon know of your return," she said, her voice reverent but calm. "But we must proceed cautiously, my Lord. The Sovereigns' Council watches. And the Hunters… still linger."
Ren swallowed hard, trying to keep his voice steady.
"I need answers. Where am I? What… am I?"
The woman gave a small, knowing smile.
"You are where you were always meant to be, Lord Veylar," she said. "In Castle Nyxthar—the heart of the Nocturne Dominion."
She gestured gracefully to the towering chamber around them.
"And you, my Lord… are the last of the Elder-Blooded. The Crimson Sovereign, reborn under the Blood Moon. The ruler of all who dwell in shadow."
She spoke with such certainty it left no room for doubt.
Ren's hands trembled.
This wasn't a dream.
This wasn't a game.
Somehow, by a cruel twist of fate, he had been pulled from his mundane world into this dark realm—and now bore the mantle of an ancient vampire lord.
His head throbbed as fragments of memories not his own began to seep into his mind—whispers of old battles, long-forgotten pacts, and endless nights drenched in crimson.
A name surfaced.
Veylar Drakonis, Lord of the Blood Moon.
Ren's breath caught.
He could feel it—deep within him—power, vast and ancient, coiled like a slumbering beast beneath his skin.
The woman knelt again.
"I am Selene, your Nightbound Hand," she said softly. "Command me, my Lord, and I shall obey."
Ren's heart—if it still existed—felt like it would burst.
He didn't ask for this. He didn't want it.
But whether he liked it or not… he was here now.
And he wasn't just anyone.
He was Veylar.
The Crimson Sovereign.
The Blood Moon bells tolled again, louder this time, echoing across the dark mountains beyond.
Selene's voice broke the heavy silence.
"What is your command, my Lord?"
Ren's lips parted—but no words came at first.
His mind raced.
He couldn't panic. Not here. Not now. He needed information, allies, time to understand this world.
Slowly, he straightened his back, pushing down his terror, allowing his voice to take on the calm authority this body seemed to remember.
"Summon the council," Ren said, his voice steady and cold. "And bring me everything you know about this world. I must… reacquaint myself."
Selene's lips curved slightly.
"As you will, Lord Veylar," she said, bowing deeply.
As she vanished into the shadows, Ren sank onto the throne at the altar's head.
His hands gripped the carved armrests, his crimson eyes staring into the flickering candlelight.
I don't know how I ended up here, he thought.
But I'll survive this. Somehow.
He had no choice.
Because in this world of fangs and shadows, weakness meant death.
And right now, everyone believed he was the strongest monster of them all.