House of Blood

The report reached the Medeis Duchy within twenty-four hours.

Inside the high, crystal-vaulted library of the main Medeis estate, Lady Lyra Medeis stood before a massive silver mirror. Her forearms still tingled where her soul-carved magic circles rested beneath her skin.

Beside her, leaning against an obsidian desk carved with astrological charts, was her elder brother, Valerius Medeis, the heir of the family.

"A masked rogue?" Valerius scoffed, swirling a glass of enchanted plum wine. "Using an ironwood bo staff? Lyra, you were saved by a northern vagabond who happened to have good timing. The Void-Anchor Array was probably failing on its own."

"It was not failing," Lyra snapped, her sapphire eyes burning with rare, fierce heat.

She turned around, crossing her arms tightly.

"He didn’t use a single drop of aura or mana. He dismantled a Stage 3 Abyssal Cultist with pure physical leverage in less than two seconds. And his companions—"

"A manic scholar tossing array needles, an unhinged girl using corpse-salt, and a barbarian woman," Valerius finished with a dry chuckle. "A circus troupe."

"He knew about the corruption inside our house, Valerius!" Lyra insisted, taking a step forward.

"His exact words were: ’Tell your father... the Void has already entered his house.’"

Valerius’s smile faltered slightly.

The casual air in his posture vanished, replaced by the sharp, calculating coldness typical of the Medeis bloodline.

"Did he leave any trace?" Valerius asked softly. "A mana signature? An emblem? Anything?"

"Nothing," Lyra murmured, her gaze drifting back to the window, her mind involuntarily replaying the image of the black faceless mask and the cold, pleasant voice behind it.

"Only the name the cultists whispered... Ghost."

---

The Shadow Camp: Deep Larch Forest

Three miles away, hidden within a spatial sanctuary created by Castor’s array needles, a small campfire flickered beneath the dense canopy of larch trees.

I sat on a mossy log, my black faceless mask resting on the ground beside my boots.

The rune-carved frost-hide blindfold remained tied firmly across my eyes, the blue northern runes glowing with a soft, steady pulse as I examined a stack of blood-stained ledgers retrieved from the monastery altar.

Kaelen sat across from me, roasting a strip of salted venison over the fire on the tip of her hunting knife.

"You saved the Medeis girl," Kaelen observed casually, taking a bite of meat. "I thought you hated the Medeis family. Didn’t their patriarch try to squeeze your clan’s northern trade routes five years ago?"

"I don’t hate tools, Kaelen," I replied smoothly, turning a page of the ledger.

"I use them. Lady Lyra is the second daughter of the premier mage house. She has direct access to the Medeis ancestral archives and high-tier clan meetings."

’And she looked at you like you were a shiny hero falling from the sky, partner,’ Wren purred inside my mind, floating above the fire like a dark ribbon of shadow.

’The little mage princess was practically drooling over your black mask.’

"She was analyzing a combat anomaly," I said flatly.

"Castor, what did you find in the cultists’ soul-storage rings?"

Castor was crouched twenty feet away, surrounded by glowing spatial diagrams projected into the air. His eyes were wide, bloodshot, and filled with his usual manic intensity.

"A statistical nightmare!" Castor announced ecstatically, his quill flying across a piece of parchment.

"The Eldritch Sun Sanctum isn’t just infiltrating the Sanguis Sec branch! Look at the mana-conduction ratios! Fourteen percent of the luxury soul-gem shipments entering the Medeis Duchy over the last three years contain trace amounts of dormant abyssal spores!"

I paused, my dragon core pulsing attentively beneath my chest.

"They’re corrupting the Medeis family’s soul-carved magic circles from the inside."

"Correct!" Castor gasped.

"When a Medeis mage engraves a magic circle into their soul using those corrupted gems, the abyssal spore anchors to their spiritual core! It’s an exponential infection rate! In five years, forty percent of their high-tier mages will become passive puppets for the Eldritch Elders!"

Beside him, Pollux sat cross-legged, meticulously polishing her bone dagger with a cloth soaked in holy oil.

Her violet eyes glittered with dark, suffocating zeal.

"A divine strategy, My Lord," Pollux whispered, her voice laced with fanatical delight.

"By saving the Medeis girl, you have planted a holy seed inside the enemy’s heart! When the time comes, she will turn against her own corrupted kin to serve your divine will!"

"Pollux," I rasped, rubbing the bridge of my nose behind my blindfold.

"I didn’t plant a ’holy seed.’ I gave her a warning so the Medeis family would start an internal audit and do our investigative work for us."

"A DISTINCTION WITHOUT A DIFFERENCE!" Pollux squealed happily, clutching her dagger to her chest.

"THE SOVEREIGN’S WISDOM IS BOUNDLESS!"

’She’s beyond saving, Valerian,’ Wren cackled hysterically in my head.

’Just accept your cult!’

I sighed, shaking my head, before focusing back on the main ledger.

"The monastery was just an exchange point," I spoke, my voice turning icy and precise.

"The next major delivery of corrupted soul-gems is scheduled for the Capital’s Autumn Gala in two weeks. It’s hosted by the Imperial Court—and Princess Solene will be attending."

Kaelen stopped chewing, her golden eyes narrowing.

"The Princess who tried to hunt your ghost in the North?"

"The very same."

I smiled, a dark, dangerous spark igniting beneath my blindfold.

"Solene thinks the Ghost was an imposter."

I leaned back slightly.

"It’s time we give Her Highness a front-row seat to a real performance."

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