House of Blood

The Iron-Spire Fortress fell like a house of cards riddled with copper rot.

At midnight, the Blood-Hound mercenaries delivered on their end of the scam.

The outer perimeter wards flickered and died. The gates swung open, and two hundred screaming Frost-Tooth warriors, led by Chief Borka’s thunderous battleaxe, poured into the courtyard like a tidal wave of bronze flesh and iron.

It was a bloodbath, but it was efficient.

While Borka’s warbands systematically executed the Sec branch loyalists in the central bailey, Kaelen and I moved through the lower catacombs like paired ghosts.

I didn’t use a drop of blood-aura.

Every stroke of my ironwood bo staff was pure, mechanical leverage—crushing windpipes, shattering knees, and sweeping ankles on the damp stone floors.

Kaelen followed right behind, her bone bludgeons delivering the lethal follow-ups to anyone who tried to rise.

By the time we broke down the doors to Garren’s private sanctum, the old traitor was gone—having fled into the deep abyssal tunnels beneath the Frost-Grave Rift, leaving behind only his blood-stained ritual altars and a mountain of secret correspondence.

Among those documents, lying on Garren’s abandoned desk, was the parchment I had sent the mercenary commander—the fake pardon stamped with Princess Solene’s Imperial Sun Seal.

I picked up the parchment, casually tossing it toward Kaelen.

”Burn it. We don’t need evidence linking us to the mercenaries.”

Kaelen caught the parchment, her golden eyes scanning the bright red wax seal.

She squinted, bringing it closer to a flickering torch on the wall.

”You know, dragon-boy,” Kaelen muttered, rubbing the hardened red wax with her thumb, ”this looks absurdly real. You said you used candle tallow and a copper ring?”

”A copper ring I carved with a Medeis soul-chisel back at the estate, combined with standard imperial red wax from Garren’s desk,” I replied, adjusting my rune-carved frost-hide blindfold.

”Mercenaries aren’t scholars. They see the double-headed sun and the princess’s stylized initials, and they jump at the gold.”

”Right,” Kaelen smirked, tossing the document onto a burning brazier.

”Just hope an imperial inspector doesn’t end up sifting through the ashes.”

I offered a dry, unbothered chuckle.

”I’m dead, Kaelen. The dead don’t leave fingerprints.”

---

Three Weeks Later: The Imperial Garrison

The war in the North had officially reached the ears of the High Council.

Because Garren’s treason involved star-rot amulets and abyssal breaches, the Imperial Court had deployed a specialized tribunal to investigate the fallen Iron-Spire Fortress.

In the scorched central command office of the fortress, High Investigator Vane—a sharp, hawk-nosed man clad in immaculate white and gold imperial robes—sat at a long wooden table.

His hands were covered in white silk gloves as he examined physical evidence collected from the site.

Beside him stood Captain Ronald of the Imperial Vanguard.

”We recovered sixty dead Sec branch enforcers and forty mercenaries,” Ronald reported, placing a steel tray onto the desk.

”Chief Borka’s barbarian tribes have reclaimed the lower valley. But Elder Garren escaped into the abyssal dead zone.”

Vane didn’t reply immediately.

His focus was locked entirely on a single piece of half-singed parchment recovered from the mercenary commander’s corpse—the pardon agreement.

Vane pulled a golden scrying glass from his pocket, hovering it an inch above the crimson wax seal.

”Remarkable,” Vane whispered, his cold eyes narrowing behind the glass.

”The density of the wax is standard capital supply. The diameter of the double-headed sun emblem is accurate to the millimeter. Even the stylized cursive signature of Princess Solene is flawless.”

”Then... the Princess authorized the mercenaries?” Ronald asked, brow furrowing.

”Did Her Highness secretly order a covert strike behind the Sanguis clan’s back?”

”No,” Vane said softly, his voice dropping into a chilling register.

He tapped the wax seal with his gloved finger.

A faint blue scrying rune flared on the surface, but instead of glowing with divine light-mana, it gave off a tiny, almost imperceptible spark of residual... dragon heat.

”Look closely, Captain,” Vane instructed, pointing his scrying glass at the microscopic ridge of the seal.

”The Imperial Sun Seal kept by Her Highness contains an internal, passive light-mana frequency recorded in the Royal Vaults.”

”This wax... was pressed using raw, physical leverage and a localized heat source.”

Ronald took a sharp breath.

”A forgery?”

”A masterpiece of a forgery,” Vane corrected, standing up and sweeping his white cloak back.

Vane turned to the window, looking out over the frozen northern peaks.

”Someone in the Northern Marches possesses the knowledge required to counterfeit the authority of the Golden Sun, knows the intimate private signature of Princess Solene, and used her name to manipulate a mercenary army into betraying a Stage 4 Blood Archon... all without spending a single copper of imperial coin.”

Ronald’s face paled.

”Who could possibly pull off such a scheme?”

Vane pulled a sealed ledger from his coat—a report detailing the timeline of events leading to the crevasse collapse.

”According to the Sanguis clan records, the Seventh Young Master—Valerian—was the only person who spent private time with Princess Solene during her visit to the Northern Marches,” Vane murmured.

”And yet... the Sanguis family claims the boy died in the crevasse explosion three weeks ago.”

Vane picked up the half-burned parchment, sealing it inside a lead containment box.

”Inform the Capital,” Vane commanded coldly.

”Tell Her Highness... someone is walking the earth using her sovereign authority.”

”And tell her... I do not believe the Seventh Child is resting in his grave.”

---

The Capital: The Imperial Gardens

The news reached the Imperial Palace six days later.

Princess Solene sat on a high marble balcony overlooking the capital city, sipping hot herbal tea from a porcelain cup.

She wore her royal ivory and gold robes, her pale-blonde hair intricately braided.

Standing before her was the Grand Chamberlain, holding a private, sealed missive from High Investigator Vane.

”Your Highness,” the Chamberlain bowed low, his voice trembling slightly.

”Investigator Vane has concluded his preliminary audit of the Iron-Spire Fortress.”

”Did they find Garren’s body?” Solene asked neutrally, not taking her eyes off the distant horizon.

”No, Your Highness,” the Chamberlain replied.

”However... they recovered a forged imperial decree bearing your personal seal and signature. It was used to bribe the Blood-Hound Vanguard into betraying Elder Garren.”

Solene paused mid-sip.

Her sharp, pale-gold eyes flicked toward the Chamberlain.

”A forgery?”

”Yes, Princess,” the Chamberlain gulped.

”Investigator Vane suspects... someone impersonated your authority to orchestrate the fallen fortress from the shadows.”

”The local rumors claim... it was the ghost of Valerian Sanguis.”

Silence descended upon the balcony.

Slowly, Solene set her porcelain cup back onto its saucer with a delicate clink.

A slow, brilliant, mischievous smirk spread across her young, regal face—a look that sent a cold shiver down the Grand Chamberlain’s spine.

”A ghost, you say?” Solene whispered softly, her fingers tracing the edge of her tea saucer.

”He forged my signature... used my seal... scammed a mercenary army... and pinned the entire bill on a dead traitor?”

She leaned back in her marble chair, letting out a light, melodic laugh that echoed through the rose gardens.

”Oh, Valerian...” Solene purred, her golden eyes burning with intense, dangerous delight.

”You really are a terrible liar.”

”But you just gave me the perfect excuse to come back to the North.”

Solene stood up, sweeping her royal gown with absolute authority.

”Prepare my imperial escort, Chamberlain.”

”We are taking a private trip to the Northern Marches...”

Her smile sharpened.

”...to hunt down a ghost.”