Title: The Vampire King of Britannia

London was the same as yesterday—another rainy day.

The drizzle outside tapped softly against the glass, forming tiny beads of water that rolled down the windowpane.

Inside a modest apartment, in the front office, Lorien casually dusted off a résumé and glanced at the woman seated across from him.

"Elsa Lenz?"

"Ah! Yes, that's me!"

The applicant was a young woman with chestnut-colored hair tied into a single ponytail. Her deep black eyes were filled with nervous energy as she clutched a folder tightly in her hands.

From her résumé, she appeared to be a recent university graduate—competent, ambitious, and completely lacking in real-world experience.

A well-educated intellectual—why would she want to be a detective? Wouldn't being a doctor or a lawyer be a much better career choice? Lorien mused internally before asking, "What position are you applying for?"

"Detective…" Elsa replied in a soft voice. "I want to be an investigator for the agency."

She had already submitted applications to five other detective agencies, only to be rejected outright before even reaching the interview stage. This was the only agency willing to give her a chance, and she couldn't hide her anxiety.

Noticing Lorien's silence, she hesitated, clutching her folder tighter. "Is… is there a problem?"

"No major issues."

Lorien cleared his throat. "Although most female employees in London's detective agencies work as analysts, assistants, or handle paperwork, I have no strict requirements about that."

"The only issue is…" He paused, choosing his words carefully. "What are your salary expectations?"

Elsa thought for a moment. "I haven't really considered that yet, but… I believe a standard detective's weekly salary is around 20 shillings?"

Twenty shillings—equivalent to two pounds or two hundred pence—the same weekly wage as an experienced textile worker.

She had mentally prepared herself for salary negotiation and was willing to settle for as low as 12 shillings if necessary.

"That's the market rate, yes."

Lorien nodded before shifting gears. "But, as you said, that's the wage for a standard detective. And you… are different."

He leaned forward slightly, his voice calm and persuasive.

"You're fresh out of university, with no professional experience. That means that for a long time after hiring you, instead of bringing in revenue, I'd have to invest time and effort into training you."

For the sake of cultivating a strong work ethic and discouraging entitlement, he deliberately ignored the fact that having a university degree in this era was a rare and valuable asset.

Elsa's lips parted slightly, a glimmer of doubt in her eyes.

"Huh?"

Something about his reasoning seemed off, but she couldn't quite put her finger on what it was.

"So…"

"So, I believe our relationship should be one of mentorship, not employment."

Lorien finally revealed his true intention:

"To put it simply, instead of me paying you, you should be paying me for training."

Elsa stared at him blankly.

For a moment, she couldn't believe what she had just heard. She blinked a few times before stammering, "I—I need to think about it!"

Two minutes later, Lorien watched the office door close behind her and sighed.

Judging by the previous applicants' reactions, this "thinking period" would probably last forever.

He glanced at the desk calendar in the corner. The date read September 11, 1888.

By his count, today marked his seventh day in this world. His head-seven, so to speak.

His new identity? An "English detective"—a role just as infamous as the "Japanese high school student," "American drifter," or "Chinese transmigrator."

If fate followed the usual script, he should be taking on the role of the "police's secret savior," navigating a world of conspiracies and danger, earning fame while protecting the city.

But dreams rarely mirrored reality.

Through careful investigation of old newspapers, his apartment, and various personal documents, Lorien had quickly discovered that he was neither Sherlock Holmes nor Hercule Poirot—just a third-rate private investigator.

His predecessor had even gone into debt to obtain an official detective agency license, taking advantage of Westminster's subsidies for private investigators. To make the business seem more legitimate, he had even placed a hiring ad in the newspaper.

If he could recruit three employees within two months, he would be officially recognized as the head of a detective agency instead of a lone freelancer.

At least on paper, that would make him sound successful.

However, after taking over this body, Lorien had searched the entire apartment and found not a single penny—let alone enough savings to hire three employees.

"Was my predecessor planning to starve himself and his new hires into bankruptcy?"

Facing an empty wallet, no personal connections, and no reliable way to make money, the average person in his shoes would soon be reduced to a "city explorer"—a poetic way of saying homeless.

Fortunately, beyond being a detective, Lorien had another job.

A vampire.

He pulled open a drawer and retrieved several glass jars. Inside them, unnaturally large ants twitched and moved.

He had fed them his own blood.

Picking up a metal pen from his desk, he slowly opened one of the jars and inserted the pen's tip.

Immediately, two of the larger ants scurried over, sinking their mandibles into the metal and biting down.

Crunch.

Tiny but distinct chewing sounds filled the air as the pen's tip was gnawed into shreds.

"Subjects One and Two have gotten stronger again, and they've returned 'environmental awareness' to me…"

He narrowed his eyes.

It seemed that different organisms, even when given the same amount of blood, underwent unique transformations. Only a few had met his expectations, and even they were far from reaching their full potential.

Lorien observed for a while before closing the jar. Then, rolling up his left sleeve, he revealed a crimson birthmark on his wrist.

A curved shape resembling a closed eye, with streaks trailing down like tears.

Ever since becoming a vampire, this eye had excreted a small but steady supply of blood—approximately 0.5 milliliters per day.

This blood could mutate ordinary creatures, allowing him complete control over them. The simpler the mind, the easier the control.

And in theory… if he used enough blood—he could transform a human.

As he pondered this, a bolt of lightning flashed outside.

A dark silhouette appeared against the door.

Knock, knock, knock.

Someone was at the door.