"My love, I think I was stubborn, no, perhaps I was mistaken, in believing my way was the right one," Emperor Leonias Bell said softly.

He stood alone in the royal mausoleum, where members of the imperial family rested, particularly in front of the tomb of the late Empress. The emperor only visited this place on the anniversary of her death or when his heart felt unbearably heavy, like today.

"Alex and William, they've both grown so much. You might not even recognize them if you saw them now," Leonias said, gently running his hand over the gravestone before a small smile escaped him.

—How could I not recognize my own beloved children? she would surely say, her proud and loving nature coming to mind. The emperor could almost hear her voice, full of confidence that she would always recognize her cherished sons.

When the empress was alive, the children smiled brightly, and their joy was a testament to her warmth. But after she passed, the emperor had blamed her for their lost happiness. He had buried his grief, blaming her for leaving him and their children too soon.

But deep down, Leonias knew the truth. It wasn't her death that had stolen their smiles—it was his own neglect.

"I read about a father much like myself today," he continued, his voice tinged with regret.

The story in the book was about a father whose misunderstandings and secrets had hurt his children, creating a rift between them. Only in death did the father and his children finally reconcile and express their true feelings. Reading that story had made Leonias reflect.

"I’ve been emperor for nearly 30 years. But now, it’s time for me to live as a father," he resolved quietly.

Having risen to power through bloodshed and turmoil, Leonias had been strict in his sons' education, determined that they would never have to endure what he had. But his strictness had pushed them away, and he was only now realizing how late he was in understanding this.

Even so, Leonias believed it wasn’t too late. Unlike the characters in the story, he still had time with his sons.

"Rupert... perhaps he has already understood something I couldn't grasp even after all these years," the emperor mused.

The importance of family—such a simple truth, yet one that Rupert had conveyed through his work at such a young age. It astonished Leonias to think that Rupert, still so young, had created a work that resonated so deeply with him.

When his daughter, Eolin, had first suggested distributing Rupert’s comics, the emperor hadn’t expected much. He thought it was just another harmless idea and had given his approval without much consideration.

He had assumed it was a childish book, something not worth his attention.

"How stubborn I’ve become with age, trapped in my own arrogance," Leonias realized.

What he had once considered wisdom was, in fact, mere prejudice. And now, having been enlightened by Rupert's work, he regretted that Rupert had declined his offer.

Leonias had wanted Rupert by the side of his son, Alex, believing that a talented person like Rupert could ease his worries about his son’s future.

The emperor gently caressed the gravestone once more, lost in thought.

"Sir Mulus, could you show me once more?"

In the mansion's training ground.

Although it was now more familiar as a place where Rupert and his craftsmen exercised, it was still officially a training ground for knights and soldiers. Standing there with his sword in hand, Mulus looked every bit the knight he was.

"Of course, young master," Mulus replied to Rupert, gripping his sword and taking a deep breath before executing a fluid series of strikes—a thrust followed by a quick spin and a series of horizontal and vertical slashes. His movements were sharp and precise, worthy of his reputation as a knight of considerable skill.

Where an ordinary person would have twisted a knee or wrist from the abrupt changes in direction, Mulus' body moved seamlessly, thanks to his mastery of mana techniques. It allowed him to perform superhuman movements effortlessly.

As Rupert sketched Mulus’ movements on paper, he concentrated on committing them to memory.

"Indeed, imagining a knight’s movements isn’t enough," Rupert thought.

Although he had recently finished serializing The Iron-Blooded Alchemist and was enjoying some leisure time, he knew it was time to start preparing for his next project.

This time, instead of a single release, his work would be published in a serialized magazine format, which required a lot of preparation.

Rupert had been giving feedback on Saint and Sena’s works when he had the chance, and while the contest would bring in new talent, the magazine's success depended heavily on him.

"At the start, most readers will buy the magazine to see my work," Rupert mused.

Saint was renowned as the empire’s top artist, but his fame was primarily within the realm of traditional art, not comics, so expecting immediate popularity was unrealistic. The young Sena was, of course, still an amateur, and the winners of the contest would all be newcomers. Therefore, it was Rupert who had to draw attention with a compelling story.

That’s why he felt an immense sense of responsibility and had rewritten his story countless times, finally arriving at a plot he was satisfied with.

But there was one issue: the action scenes.

While The Iron-Blooded Alchemist also had its share of action, much of it was based on alchemy, which allowed for a lot of creative freedom. In contrast, his new work, Van Helsing, would center on intense, brutal combat, which required a sense of realism.

"After all, this world is full of real-life superhumans," Rupert reminded himself.

On Earth, there had been plenty of references, and readers were more forgiving when action scenes were exaggerated. They knew it was fiction, and most didn’t have any real knowledge of swordsmanship or combat.

But this world was different. Knights were everywhere, and there were plenty of former mercenaries in villages across the land. If he got the details wrong, he could lose his readers’ trust in an instant.

So Rupert decided to be thorough in his research. He read through various manuals on swordsmanship and weaponry and even asked Mulus, the family’s knight commander, to demonstrate sword techniques for him.

"Mulus is considered about average among knights," Rupert noted.

While categorizing knights was difficult, they were generally divided into three levels.

The first level was User, someone who had just started learning weapon techniques. Once they mastered mana techniques and could utilize mana within their bodies, they were considered users and could be called knights.

The second level was Expert, where Mulus stood. In rural areas, an Expert-level knight was more than enough to be considered a top warrior.

The final level was Master, a title reserved for the strongest of the strong.

Masters were so rare and powerful that even Yustaf, one of the greatest mages, admitted that if caught unprepared by a Master, he could lose his life. That alone spoke volumes about their prowess.

"If I can depict the Users and Experts well, that should suffice," Rupert thought.

While it would be fascinating to see a Master’s abilities firsthand, that was impossible.

The empire’s only Master-level knight had disappeared years ago. After training the third prince, the sword saint left behind a letter and vanished without a trace. Since then, no one had heard from him.

Even if the sword saint were still around, it wouldn’t matter. Only the emperor would be capable of truly appreciating such an extraordinary level of skill.

Rupert reassured himself that he didn’t need to be that precise. Few people had ever witnessed a Master in action, so he could afford to be a bit creative with the details.

"As for guns... I guess that's out of the question," Rupert sighed.

Given the vampire theme, he had envisioned stylish scenes where guns would be fired dramatically. But guns didn’t exist in this world, making that idea impossible.

He had considered introducing firearms as a new invention in the comic, but after the incident with the prosthetic golem arm, he had second thoughts.

Rupert had to remind himself that while this world’s culture was different, its people weren’t foolish. If someone like Croon saw the guns in his comic and tried to replicate them, the consequences could be catastrophic.

"No, this time it has to be swords. A sword cutting down vampires is just as cool," Rupert thought.

Swords alone had plenty of visual appeal, especially if he added elements like a flame-emitting sword or a lightning-infused blade.

Such striking, comic-style effects were essential.

Some of the most popular vampire-themed comics back on Earth were excellent examples. One reason for their success was the spectacular depiction of natural elements blended with swordsmanship.

"But that series had a very Eastern vibe. For this one, I should go for something more like the vampire progenitor cutting down other vampires. That would be fantastic."

Although there was still plenty of time before his next serialized work would be published in a magazine, Rupert couldn’t help but get excited as he began sketching out his ideas.

"Xenia, you were born with extraordinary talent."

Inside the office of the Imperial Academy’s headmaster.

Yustaf sat across from a red-haired girl, Xenia, who kept her head bowed as though she were guilty of some crime. She repeatedly murmured apologies as Yustaf watched her.

"...I'm sorry."

Hearing her constant apologies, Yustaf began to question whether his approach to teaching had been wrong.

"Threatening a student with mana..."

Xenia’s talents were nothing short of astounding. It wasn’t just her dragonkin bloodline that set her apart; her intellect and senses were on par with Yustaf’s own.

Yustaf had no doubt that Xenia would one day surpass him and become a greater mage than he ever was.

But that immense power also carried a terrifying possibility. What if her talents were misused?

Even Yustaf, who was known for his restraint, possessed the power to single-handedly endanger the empire if he ever let himself lose control. The thought of Xenia’s potential going astray was chilling.

"Can you tell me why you did it?" Yustaf asked gently.

"...That guy—no, that student insulted the professor!" Xenia replied, her voice rising as her emotions flared.

"You defended this old man’s honor, and for that, I’m grateful..."

"No, it wasn’t you, Master. It was Professor Rupert. How dare he speak ill of him when he knows nothing!" Xenia’s voice trembled with anger.

Yustaf blinked in surprise. He had assumed the student had insulted him, but instead, Xenia had lashed out because of a slight against Rupert.

"Rupert?"

It seemed Xenia had some connection to Rupert, though Yustaf hadn’t noticed it before.

Now that he thought about it, he recalled Xenia’s unusual attachment to Rupert’s works and her insistence on accompanying him to the Somerset estate.

"Could she... like Rupert?" Yustaf mused.

Rupert certainly had a pleasant appearance, so it wasn’t entirely out of the question.

But that didn’t excuse Xenia’s recent behavior.

Watching her seethe in anger, Yustaf observed how the mana in the room responded to her emotions, fluctuating along with her feelings.

"Wait... did she just...?"

A sudden realization struck Yustaf as he stared at Xenia in shock.

It had only been for a brief moment, but he was certain of what he had seen. In her emotional state, Xenia’s body had undergone a sudden, rapid growth.