186: Chapter 186 Dimensional Reduction Attack and the Bad Dog

"As you wish, my Master." Dracula placed his right hand over his chest, performing an impeccable classical salute toward Qin Ming.

The next second, his entire being transformed into a mass of incredibly dense black mist, merging silently into the cold, rainy night of Budapest.

Qin Ming glanced indifferently at the street dozens of meters below.

He took a step forward, falling straight down like a block of iron that had lost all gravity.

Qin Ming's feet landed steadily on the hard asphalt of Budapest.

Several passing drunks were startled nearly sober, pointing at him as if they had seen a ghost.

Ignoring the crowd, Qin Ming walked straight toward the dimly lit subway station entrance across the street.

Before he even reached the bottom, the sound of gunfire, as dense as New Year's firecrackers, echoed out.

In the shadows of the subway entrance, a lookout Vampire wearing black leather and holding an automatic rifle snapped his head around. "Get out! This place is sea—"

Before the Vampire could finish his sentence, Qin Ming had already closed the distance.

His right hand, covered in a thin layer of Holy Light, clamped onto the Vampire's neck like a hydraulic press.

A hissing scream erupted from the Vampire's throat, and pungent white smoke instantly billowed from where his skin touched the Holy Light, filling the air with the stench of burning flesh.

Without pausing for a moment, Qin Ming held the frantically struggling Vampire in one hand and descended the concrete steps into the subway station.

The subway station's underground hall had already turned into a battlefield.

However, in Dracula's eyes, this sort of battlefield where people shot at each other with guns was less interesting than a peasant brawl at the entrance of a Transylvania village centuries ago.

He walked with elegant strides, stepping over the shell casings scattered across the floor, strolling through the dense hail of bullets as if taking a walk in a garden.

Bullets capable of tearing through human bodies struck his expensive, slim-fit suit, only to bounce off without leaving so much as a wrinkle.

A scrawny Werewolf was hiding behind a pillar, frantically reloading his submachine gun.

Dracula appeared silently behind him, his pale, slender palm pressing directly against the back of the creature's head.

The scrawny Werewolf spun around, his eyes wide with shock. A beast-like low growl had just left his throat, and his muscles were only beginning to bulge.

"Too slow," Dracula said, shaking his head elegantly.

With a casual twist of his wrist—*Snap!*—the scrawny Werewolf's cervical spine was twisted into a braid. His head slumped onto his shoulder at a bizarre angle, and his body collapsed to the ground before the transformation could even begin.

[Ding! Killed a Junior Werewolf. Reward: 2 points.]

Hiding behind a structural pillar ten meters away, Selene gripped her pair of specialized pistols, her blue eyes filled with extreme confusion.

She stared fixedly at the man who was strolling through the chaos.

She had lived for centuries and seen the elders of the Vampire family, but she had never seen a man whose presence was so suffocatingly oppressive.

The ancient, pure, and utterly malevolent Blood Tribe aura emanating from him was even purer than that of the Three Great Elders.

"What is that thing?" Selene pressed herself tightly against the cold tiled wall.

"Fire! Kill him!" Not far away, a Vampire in black leather from Selene's faction raised an assault rifle and sprayed a volley of Silver Bullets at Dracula.

Dracula stopped and turned his head to look at the reckless Vampire.

In his previously empty right hand, a long whip made of extremely viscous, dark red blood suddenly condensed. He flicked his wrist sharply.

*Crack!*

The Blood Whip tore through the air with a sonic boom, instantly sweeping across the Vampire who had fired.

Before he could even scream, the Vampire's body was sliced cleanly in two at the waist.

His upper body slid forward half a meter due to momentum, and internal organs and foul-smelling black blood instantly splattered across the floor.

[Ding! Killed a Junior Vampire. Reward: 3 points.]

The gunfire throughout the subway station paused for a split second in an eerie silence.

Just then, a series of bullets emitting a piercing light shot out from a blind spot, accurately hitting Dracula's body.

Those were high-concentration UV Bullets specifically developed by the Werewolf camp for hunting Vampires.

The bullets exploded inside Dracula, and the blinding white light mixed with gunpowder smoke instantly submerged him.

Dracula's body swayed before he fell straight backward onto the ground.

"Nice work!" A burly Black Werewolf stepped out from behind cover, holding a modified heavy shotgun.

He looked at the motionless Dracula, spat crudely on the ground, and casually fired two more shots into the "corpse."

After confirming the target was dead, the Black Werewolf snapped his head around, his muzzle locking onto Selene in the distance.

Selene's gaze sharpened as she prepared to raise her guns and counterattack.

"That had quite a kick."

A deep, elegant voice carrying a bone-chilling coldness echoed throughout the hall.

The Black Werewolf spun around violently.

The man on the ground, who should have been burned to ash by the UV Bullets, was slowly standing up.

Dracula casually brushed the holes burned into his chest; the fatal wounds were healing completely at a speed visible to the naked eye.

He opened his mouth and exhaled a puff of white smoke laced with faint sparks.

"What the hell are you?!" The Black Werewolf's scalp crawled as he raised his gun again.

Dracula's body turned into a distorted afterimage.

The next second, he was right in front of the Black Werewolf.

His pale palm, like an iron vice, clamped onto the other's thick neck and lifted him into the air with one hand.

Dracula tilted his head slightly, observing the sweating prey in his hand with interest, as if studying some rare species.

"Crude bloodlines, inferior genes... how exactly did you manage to turn yourselves into such disgusting creatures?" Dracula's voice was filled with lofty contempt.

He looked at the Black man's face and added a vicious evaluation: "If you were in my castle, a slave of this quality would only be fit to pick cotton in the back mountains."

"Roar!!!"

Thoroughly enraged by this blatant racial slur, the Black Werewolf let out a piercing howl.

His bones made a gut-wrenching grinding sound.

Coarse black fur burst through his skin and grew frantically, his face elongated, and within seconds, he transformed into a massive Werewolf reeking of blood and filth.

But no matter how he transformed, Dracula's hand clamped on his neck remained completely unmoved.

The transformed Werewolf stood over two meters tall, yet he was like a stray cat held by the scruff of its neck, able only to kick his legs in desperation.

"Still just as disgusting," Dracula frowned with distaste.

He tightened his grip suddenly.

*Snap!*

The Werewolf's neck bones and trachea were crushed into a mass of mangled flesh. His massive body instantly went limp and hung down.

Dracula tossed the corpse aside like a piece of trash.

[Ding! Killed an Intermediate Werewolf. Reward: 4 points.]