House of Blood

Three days after the Autumn Gala, the capital was still reeling from the vaulted breach.

Inside the central study of the Prim Sanguis estate, Alexis Prim Sanguis sat behind a mahogany desk stacked with financial audits, spatial maps, and clandestine reports from the Imperial Intelligence Bureau.

His gold-rimmed spectacles reflected the dim candlelight. He hadn’t slept in forty-eight hours.

”An ironwood bo staff,” Alexis whispered to the empty room, his fingers tracing a line of numbers on a parchment scroll. ”Non-aura kinetic leverage. A blindfold laced with northern runes...”

He opened a secondary drawer, pulling out a dusty, encrypted ledger from three years ago—the personal training logs of the Prim Sanguis inner court before Valerian’s reported death.

” TACTICAL AUDIT: SUBJECT ”GHOST” ”

---

[1] WEAPON PREFERENCE: Ironwood Bo Staff (Non-standard for Sanguis nobles)

[2] COMBAT STYLE: Leveraged Joint Manipulation / Zero-Aura Kinetic Transfer

[3] TARGET SELECTION: Exclusively Sec-Branch Traitors & Eldritch Sun Sanctum

[4] ANOMALY: Possesses intimate knowledge of internal Sanguis financial codes

Alexis leaned back in his leather chair, resting his chin on his steepled fingers.

’No northern vagabond knows the internal cipher of the Sec branch’s third-tier laundering accounts,’ Alexis analyzed, his pulse quickening slightly. ’And no rogue warrior fights with pure mechanical leverage unless... unless they were forced to adapt because their internal aura was suppressed.’

He stood up so fast his chair scraped loudly against the stone floor.

He walked to the window, staring out at the rain slicking the blood-rose gardens.

The soul-lamp in the ancestral hall was dark—he had verified it himself a dozen times.

But as the clan’s chief strategist, Alexis knew better than anyone that soul-lamps could be bypassed through deep spatial isolation or metabolic inversion.

”Valerian...” Alexis breathed, his knuckles turning white as he gripped his spectacles. ”Are you really wearing a mask in the dark?”

Before he could process the thought further, the heavy double doors of his study slammed open with a loud BOOM!

Vespera Prim Sanguis stepped into the room, her massive executioner’s broadsword strapped to her back, her crimson aura flaring like a violent thunderstorm.

”Alexis,” Vespera growled, her voice vibrating with suppressed rage. ”The Imperial Court just issued a restricted warrant for the ’Ghost.’ Princess Solene is deploying her personal Sun Guards to the Eastern Marches.”

Alexis composed himself instantly, sliding the training ledger back into his desk drawer.

”And our move, Sister?”

”We move first,” Vespera said, her dark eyes flashing with lethal intent. ”If this ’Ghost’ is cutting down Sec branch traitors, he is doing my job. I want the Vanguard deployed to the Eastern Marches immediately. If the Imperial Guards get in our way... slaughter them.”

”Wait, Vespera,” Alexis cautioned, stepping forward. ”Do not engage the Ghost with lethal intent. Give the Vanguard strict orders to capture or observe.”

Vespera narrowed her eyes.

”Why?”

Alexis adjusted his spectacles, his eyes glinting with a cold, desperate hope.

”Because I need to look at his equations myself.”

---

The Eastern Marches: Black-Iron Ridge

Four hundred leagues to the east, rain poured over the jagged cliffs of Black-Iron Ridge.

Hidden beneath a cliff overhang, a massive subterranean fortress operated by the Eldritch Sun Sanctum hummed with dark, abyssal mana.

This was their primary distribution node for corrupted soul-gems across the eastern provinces.

On a high ledge overlooking the fortress perimeter, Valerian stood in the pouring rain.

He wore his black faceless mask, his wolf-fur cloak soaked heavy with water.

Beneath the mask, his frost-hide blindfold pulsed with steady blue light as his acoustic perception mapped the ninety cultists, twelve abyssal monstrosities, and three spatial barrier nodes guarding the fortress gates.

”Castor,” Valerian spoke softly into the cold rain. ”Report.”

Castor materialized beside him beneath a small, rain-repelling spatial bubble, his compass spinning rapidly.

”Structural analysis complete, Valerian!” Castor whispered frantically, his eyes gleaming with mathematical madness. ”The fortress relies on a Triple-Hex Void Array! If I strike Node 1 at a 32-degree angle while Pollux corrupts Node 2 with black salt, the spatial tension will invert! The entire front gate will implode with a probability of 98.6%!”

”Good,” Valerian said, his hand tightening around his ironwood bo staff.

”Pollux?”

Pollux emerged from the shadows, her pale face illuminated by the faint glow of her bone dagger.

She was shivering, not from the cold, but from sheer, unadulterated zeal.

”The corpse-salt is prepared, My Sovereign,” Pollux purred, her violet eyes wide and unblinking. ”I shall turn their abyssal blood into a holy monument for your divine feet.”

”Kaelen,” Valerian turned to his left.

Kaelen grunted, rolling her shoulders as she unslung her heavy bone bludgeons.

”Just tell me which ones need their heads flattened, dragon-boy.”

Valerian lowered his black faceless mask slightly, checking the alignment of his ironwood staff.

”No survivors,” Valerian ordered quietly, his pleasant voice cutting through the sound of the falling rain.

”The Eldritch Elders sent their hounds to the Capital. Tonight, we burn their kennel.”

’Oh, I love a good bonfire, partner!’ Wren laughed wildly in his mind. ’Save a few souls for me to chew on!’

Valerian didn’t answer.

He stepped off the ledge, falling silently through the rain toward the iron gates below