Reincarnated with a lucky draw system

"What do you say about my offer, Dracula? We call for a ceasefire, form an alliance, and together we destroy the conservative clan. With their ashes swept away, your clan will reign supreme in this world. Not only this world—entire galaxies would fall under your banner."

Asmodeus leaned back casually, his tone carrying the confidence of a man who believed himself to be the one making the rules. Across from him, seated upon a throne wrought from shadow and obsidian, was the lord of the eternal night himself—Dracula Highborn. The king of the rippers, an existence whispered of with awe and terror across countless worlds.

Dracula's chin rested against his palm, his crimson eyes half-lidded with disinterest. His voice carried a lazy, yet crushing weight as he responded.

"And why," he drawled, "should I care for your silly alliance? If I wished, I could erase the conservatives myself. Despite my hatred for their laughable way of life, they are still of my blood. My race. They are of little consequence to me."

The demon lord smirked knowingly and cast his bait. "Do you truly think you can rely on the conservatives when the time comes to face the angels?"

The words had barely left his lips before something unseen cut across his cheek. The sting was sharp, blood running down his face. He hadn't even seen the attack. But he knew. It was Dracula's warning—swift, invisible, and impossibly lethal.

"Fool." Dracula's crimson eyes glowed faintly as his words reverberated across the throne hall. "Do you truly think angels frighten me? I am Dracula Highborn. The first and only vampire to drink directly from the veins of a Primordial Dragon. The first to consume the blood of the gods themselves. I fear nothing. Should the angels dare set foot in my domain, I will drown them in their own blood and make their corpses my wine."

He said it with such casualness, as though he had declared the weather.

Asmodeus's smile widened despite the pain on his cheek. Yes, this was the legendary monster who stood above all vampires. Dracula was not just a name—he was a calamity, a walking anomaly of the universe. The Blessed and Cursed One, who had broken the chains of fate itself. A guardian and a heretic. A being that even dragons whispered of with dread.

Still, Asmodeus pressed forward, his eyes narrowing slyly. "What if I told you of the conservatives' plans to manipulate your son? Lucien, was it? How disgraceful it would be for the son of Dracula, Lord of the Eternal Night, to kneel beside your enemies?"

For the first time, a faint glimmer of heat stirred in Dracula's gaze.

"I hope you reconsider my offer," Asmodeus added smoothly as he rose from his chair. "I will take my leave—"

Dracula's voice sliced through him before he could turn.

"And when," the vampire king said softly, his jaw still resting upon his palm, "did I give you permission to leave?"

Asmodeus froze.

"How dare you turn your back to me without bowing?" Dracula's tone sharpened, though his expression remained unchanged.

The demon gave a light chuckle, hiding his unease. "Forgive me, Lord Dracula. But I bow only to my master. Surely you can understand."

"The arrogance of you demons," Dracula whispered, eyes gleaming. "It is why none of your messengers have ever returned alive from my halls."

The world went still. A faint flash of crimson filled the throne room—so fast that even time seemed unable to catch it.

Asmodeus's body collapsed to its knees before he even realized it. His breath came ragged, his heart slamming against his chest. He hadn't seen it. He hadn't even felt the attack. Yet the air around his neck was severed—thin, sharper than a blade of divine steel. A strand of blood thinner than a thread of silk had grazed the place where his throat had been an instant earlier.

He swallowed hard, cold sweat running down his back.

"Th-thank you for sparing me, Lord Dracula," he stammered, bowing this time in true submission.

The demon who had entered with arrogance and lofty offers now left with trembling humility, each step heavy with the reminder that he had survived only by mercy.

The king of the eternal night didn't even watch him go. His gaze had shifted elsewhere.

"Lucien. Step forward."

From the shadows near the hall's entrance, a tall youth approached. He had been waiting silently, listening to every word exchanged. Though he stood proud, his expression was grave.

"Father." Lucien's voice was steady as he entered, head upright. He did not bow. He never would. For no son of Dracula Highborn was permitted to bow before another soul. To bow was to shame the name they carried.

"Is it true?" Dracula's voice rumbled, still heavy with restrained fury. "Do the conservatives truly dare to lure you to their side?"

"Yes, Father," Lucien admitted, "but I didn't—"

Boom!

The throne room trembled as an overwhelming force erupted. Lucien's body was hurled backward, smashing into the stone wall with devastating impact. It hadn't even been a strike—merely the uncontrolled release of his father's aura.

"How dare you sully my name?" Dracula's footsteps echoed ominously as he rose, each step heavy as fate itself. "Have you learned nothing?"

"Father, please wait!" Lucien forced himself upright, blood dripping from his lip. "They didn't sway me. It was only words—empty words! That was all!"

Dracula's crimson eyes narrowed. "Empty words? They dared approach you—the crown prince of the ripper clan—without offering respect? Without fear? Do you think that is mere chance? Did I endure millennia only to sire a child unworthy of my name?"

Lucien's body stiffened as he suddenly rose into the air. His limbs jerked helplessly, his veins burning with agony. Every drop of blood within him—blood that bore Dracula's essence—was now under his father's command.

Resistance was impossible. No vampire in existence could resist Dracula's control.

"Father…" Lucien's voice cracked as he struggled to maintain composure. His pride demanded he not weep, yet his heart quaked beneath the crushing weight. "Forgive me. It will not happen again."

"Pathetic." Dracula's voice was a blade of ice. "To think that a wretch such as you carries her face fills me with disgust."

With a flick of his will, he released his son. Lucien plummeted, crashing onto the cold stone floor.

Dracula's cloak billowed as he turned, his presence vast and suffocating. "Know this, Lucien. The conservatives will perish because of you. Your weakness will be the justification for their annihilation. Never again diminish the name Highborn. Not you, not your descendants, not for as long as eternity breathes. If it must be so, I will erase the entire universe itself to restore our honor."

He descended the steps of his throne, each stride deliberate, his aura like a storm consuming the heavens. Alone, without guard or warrior, the Lord of the Eternal Night left his castle.

His words lingered, heavy and absolute.

War had been declared.

Dracula Highborn would personally march against the conservatives—the second most powerful clan of vampires in the universe.

Alone.