# Blood of the Dustborn

Author: Mason Vale Hart
Site: ReadNovelHub
Canonical: https://readnovelhub.com/novel/blood-of-the-dustborn
Genre: Rebirth-Revenge

## World
You died a commander and woke up as the bloodline your enemies fear most.

## Tropes
- Enemies to Lovers
- Forced Proximity
- Billionaire Romance
- Revenge Romance
- Second Chance Romance
- Rebirth & Revenge
- Vampire & Blood Bond
- System & LitRPG
- Urban War Hero & Secret Billionaire
- Rebirth-Revenge
- Vampire-Blood-Bond
- System-LitRPG-LevelUp

## FAQ
### What is Blood of the Dustborn about?
You died a commander and woke up as the bloodline your enemies fear most.

### Who is the author of Blood of the Dustborn?
Blood of the Dustborn is written by Mason Vale Hart. Read Chapter 1 free on ReadNovelHub.

### Is Blood of the Dustborn a Enemies to Lovers story?
Yes. Blood of the Dustborn is tagged for Enemies to Lovers, Forced Proximity, Billionaire Romance readers looking for North American romance-fantasy tropes.

### Can I read Blood of the Dustborn Chapter 1 for free?
Yes. Chapter 1-5 Free. Chapter 6+ unlocked via Ads or a $0.00 trial. Start Blood of the Dustborn on ReadNovelHub.

### What happens at the start of Blood of the Dustborn?
Arlen woke up choking on sand. Not the clean kind. The gritty, blood-soaked kind that stuck in his teeth and scraped down his throat when he tried to breathe. His lungs burned. His ribs felt like they'd been kicked in.

## Chapter 1 teaser
### Blood of the Dustborn - Chapter 1: Dead Man, Borrowed Body

Arlen woke up choking on sand. Not the clean kind. The gritty, blood-soaked kind that stuck in his teeth and scraped down his throat when he tried to breathe. His lungs burned. His ribs felt like they'd been kicked in. He rolled onto his side and spat red into the dust. Wrong. Everything was wrong. His hands were too small. The scar he'd carried across his knuckles since he was twenty—gone. His left shoulder, the one that always ached when it rained, felt fine. Better than fine. And the sun. The sun was too hot, too white, beating down on skin that didn't feel like his. Footsteps. Close. "Get up, sand rat." Arlen's body moved before his brain caught up. Old instinct. He rolled onto the balls of his feet, weight centered, hands coming up. Ready. Then he saw his arms. Thin. Brown. Sixteen, maybe seventeen years old. No muscle. No scars. Just smooth skin and the kind of bony wrists you got when you didn't eat enough. What the hell. "I said get up." A boot slammed into his ribs. The pain was sharp and immediate and real. Arlen gasped, curled in on himself. His body knew how to take a hit. His mind was still three steps behind, trying to figure out why he had a body at all. He'd died. He remembered that part. The ambush. The arrows. One through his throat. He'd gone down in the red dirt outside Vask, choking on his own blood, and his last thought had been that he'd never paid Mira back for that bottle of whiskey. So why was he here. And where the hell was here. He forced his eyes open. Dust. Tents. A line of people in chains. A camp. No—worse. A slave camp. The kind he'd raided twice during the northern campaigns. The smell hit him next. Sweat, piss, old blood. Smoke from a cook fire somewhere. "Last chance, boy." Arlen looked up. The man standing over him was big. Shaved he

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