A 18+ HISTORICAL Dark Fantasy's Novel With 10 Volumes Based IN THE Year 1601 INspired By, Trinity Blood, Vampire

Below is **Chapter 1: The Banquet of Pure Blood Winter, Year **1601** Snow drifted slowly over the iron gates of the **Oliver Grand Estate**, the ancestral fortress of one of the oldest vampire dynasties in Europe. Crystal lanterns illuminated the stone courtyard like fallen stars. Carriages bearing the crests of **supernatural noble families** arrived one after another. Vampires. Demons. Witches. Elves. Even a few mysterious nobles whose species could not be easily identified. Tonight's gathering was no ordinary feast. It was the **Oliver Royal Banquet**. A night where alliances were formed. Where rivalries were tested. Where bloodlines were judged. Inside the towering ballroom, chandeliers of silver crystal bathed the hall in pale moonlight. Marble floors reflected the glow like frozen water. Hundreds of nobles gathered, whispering behind silk fans and jeweled goblets. At the far end of the hall stood the rulers of the estate. **Duke Richard Oliver.** And his wife, **Duchess Annabelle Oliver.** The Duke stood motionless like a statue carved from marble. His long golden hair flowed down his back, his deep blue eyes devoid of warmth. Annabelle, standing beside him, smiled gracefully as if she were greeting old friends. But those who knew her understood. Her smile was a blade hidden behind silk. She lifted her glass of crimson wine. “Welcome,” Annabelle said softly. Her voice carried through the ballroom like a quiet spell. “We are honored that so many distinguished families accepted our invitation tonight.” Polite applause followed. But the tension in the room did not ease. Everyone present knew the true reason for the gathering. It was not simply a banquet. It was an **inspection of the Oliver heirs**. And the next generation of their bloodline. --- ### The Eldest Son Standing to the Duke's right was the first heir. **Valentino Oliver.** Tall. Pale. Cold. His long golden hair fell like ice down his back, his crystal blue eyes observing the crowd without interest. Beside him stood his husband. **Lucas Volkov.** The Russian demon prince leaned slightly against the wall with composed elegance. His long black wolf-cut hair framed his sharp face, and a silver cross hung from his neck. In his arms sat a quiet child. A boy with blonde hair tied into a ponytail. **Vladimir.** The boy's eyes were identical to Valentino's. Cold. Silent. Lucas gently brushed the boy's hair back. “You are staring again,” Lucas said calmly in a deep voice. Vladimir blinked. “I am observing,” the child replied. Lucas chuckled quietly. “You are eleven years old. Children should not observe politics.” The boy tilted his head. “Papa… you are observing as well.” Lucas sighed. “…That is unfortunately my responsibility.” Nearby, a young woman stood slightly behind Valentino. **Scarlett.** Once a maid. Now the eldest son's **mistress**. In her arms was another child. A silver-haired boy. **Henry.** But unlike Vladimir, Henry was not being held by his parents. Instead, a servant stood beside Scarlett, carrying the child carefully. Scarlett smiled politely at passing nobles. But her eyes occasionally glanced toward Lucas. A flicker of something uneasy passed between them. Lucas noticed. But said nothing. He only muttered quietly to himself. “…Troublesome.” --- ### The Second Son Laughter suddenly echoed across the ballroom. “Ah! What a magnificent chandelier!” A cheerful voice broke the tension. The second Oliver heir had arrived. **Xavier Oliver.** His long blonde hair was tied loosely in a man-bun, his blue eyes shining with mischievous energy. Beside him walked his husband. **Aiden di Rossi.** The Italian vampire prince looked like he had stepped off a theater stage. Red ruffled shirt. Black gloves. A decorative fan resting against his chin. In his lap sat a small girl with enormous pigtails. **Francesca.** “Papa!” the girl chirped happily. “Yes, my little star?” Aiden replied with a gentle smile. “Can I see the dancers later?” Xavier laughed loudly. “Of course you can! This is a celebration!” Aiden slowly closed his fan. “…Xavier.” “Yes?” “You are shouting.” “Am I?” “Very much.” Francesca giggled. Across the room, another young woman clung to Xavier's arm. **Lucy.** She pouted dramatically. “Xavier, you promised we would go dancing later!” Her baby-like voice made several nobles nearby glance over in irritation. Xavier scratched his head. “Ah… did I?” Lucy puffed her cheeks. “You always forget!” Nearby, a servant held Lucy's daughter. **Pearl**. The quiet girl watched the room silently. Unlike Francesca, she said nothing. --- ### The Third Son Near one of the marble pillars stood a far more intimidating figure. **Vance Oliver.** Broad-shouldered. Muscular. His golden hair pulled tightly into a sleek ponytail. Blue lightning occasionally flickered faintly around his fingers. Beside him stood his husband. **Noah Sinclair.** The Scottish elf looked fragile in comparison. Long red hair. Emerald eyes. A gentle smile. In his lap sat a quiet girl wearing a pale blue dress. **Valerie.** Noah gently stroked her hair. “Are you tired, dear?” The girl nodded slightly. “A little…” Vance glanced down at them. “…If you wish to rest, you may return to your room.” Noah smiled softly. “It is alright.” He looked up at Vance with gentle eyes. “This banquet is important to you.” Vance did not answer immediately. Then he muttered quietly, “…You should not force yourself.” Nearby, a loud voice interrupted them. “Food! Is there more food?” It was **Nicole**. Vance's mistress. She devoured pastries with alarming enthusiasm while servants carried her daughter. **Serena**, who was loudly complaining. “I want sweets too!” --- ### The Fourth Son Near the balcony doors stood the quietest pair in the room. **Leon Oliver** leaned lazily against the wall, half asleep. His long blonde hair hung messily around his face. Beside him sat his husband. **Liam von Habsburg**. The German wizard looked exhausted. Dark circles shadowed his eyes. A cigarette rested between his fingers. “Smoking again?” Leon murmured. Liam exhaled slowly. “…It keeps my thoughts quiet.” Their young son **Felix** sat on a chair beside them. The boy looked just as sleepy as his father. Across the room stood Leon's mistress. **Penelope**. She smiled proudly while speaking to other nobles. Nearby, a servant held her son. **Eliot**. --- ### The Youngest Son Near the far end of the hall stood the most unusual pair. **Louis Oliver**. His platinum hair flowed down his back like silver light. His eyes sparkled with childish curiosity. Yet something dark lingered behind them. Beside him stood his husband. **Ernest Okonkwo.** The Nigerian witch towered over most nobles. His glossy brown skin shimmered beneath candlelight. Chains wrapped around his elegant form like ornaments. In his arms sat a cheerful child. **Bonnie.** The chubby boy cooed happily. “Papa!” Ernest chuckled softly. “Yes, my sweet one?” Bonnie pointed excitedly. “Cake!” Louis suddenly leaned closer. “Ernest… look.” His voice was strangely excited. “That cake is shaped like a rabbit.” Ernest sighed. “You are a thousand years old.” Louis pouted. “But it is cute.” Bonnie clapped happily. “Cute!” Ernest rubbed his temple. “…I married an overgrown child.” --- ### The Cousin At the far edge of the ballroom stood another member of the Oliver bloodline. **Lucifer Oliver.** His smile looked angelic. His eyes looked murderous. Beside him sat his husband. **Ezra Tudor**, a fallen ghoul. Their son **Isaac** clung to Ezra's arm. Lucifer tilted his head toward the ballroom. “…What an amusing scene.” Ezra spoke quietly. “You sound entertained.” Lucifer smiled wider. “Oh, I am.” He glanced toward the mistresses sitting proudly beside the Oliver heirs. Then toward the husbands standing quietly behind them. “…Look at them.” Ezra followed his gaze. “…Yes.” Lucifer chuckled. “The humiliation is exquisite.” --- ### The Silent Truth Across the ballroom, whispers spread among the noble guests. “Do you see it?” “Yes…” “The mistresses sit beside the heirs.” “But their husbands stand behind them.” “Like servants.” Another noble whispered quietly, “The Oliver family values the children of the human women more.” “Because the husbands suffered miscarriages.” “Many of them.” “And some say…” “…the children born to the husbands may not even carry Oliver blood.” The whispers spread like poison through the ballroom. At the head of the hall, **Duke Richard Oliver** watched silently. His blue eyes slowly moved across his sons. His grandchildren. His mistresses. His political allies. Then he spoke calmly. “Annabelle.” “Yes, my dear?” “The evening is beginning.” Annabelle smiled faintly. “Yes.” She raised her glass again. “Tonight,” she announced, “we celebrate the future of the Oliver bloodline.” But behind her elegant smile… A shadow passed through her eyes. Because she knew something the guests did not. Tonight's banquet would not end peacefully. And somewhere within the estate… Someone had already begun plotting the downfall of the **Oliver Dynasty**. ---