House of Blood

The stone courtyard behind the Governor’s Manor was cold and slick with morning dew.

Valerian stood in the center of the training grounds, his coat discarded on a wooden bench, wearing only a thin black tunic and trousers. Sweat glistered on his neck, his breath rising in pale mists. In his grip, his black chitin walking stick was expanded to its full length, humming faintly with dark spatial marrow as he shifted his stance.

Opposite him, Nox moved like a flickering spirit. The Blood Shadow Dragon was a blur of pure agility, darting across the cobblestones, forcing Valerian to combine his family’s refined martial techniques with his newly acquired shadow energy.

”Lower your center, Boss!” Nox teased, his voice dancing through the air as he melted into the shadow cast by a stone archway, reappearing instantly at Valerian’s left flank. ”The Prim Sanguis bloodline techniques rely on crisp, decisive strikes! But now that you’ve formed a contract with me, shadow magic isn’t an weapon you hold—it’s an extension of your breath! Blend them!”

Valerian pivoted on his heel, using the heel of his staff to block a dark, chitin blade. Instead of resisting the force, he allowed dark shadow energy to flow down his arms, channeling it into the staff. The shadows wrapped around the weapon, lengthening its reach by three feet of solid, shadowy edge.

Valerian executed a sweeping low kick paired with a spatial strike, forcing Nox to leap backward into the air.

”Better! Much better!” Nox giggled, landing lightly on the perimeter wall. He crouched there like a gargoyle, his slitted crimson eyes sparkling with sheer flex-worthy arrogance.

”Now, let me show you what real mastery looks like when blood and shadow dance together.”

Nox dropped to the ground, his posture straightening. A sharp, terrifying sneer spread across his face as he raised his right hand.

With a loud SNAP of his fingers, his voice dropped into an ancient, terrifying register:

”Answer My Blood.”

A deep pool of blood appeared beneath his feet, swirling with dark, shadow-like energy.

The moment the two forces merged, the darkness around him changed.

Shadow did not simply consume the blood.

Blood stained the shadow.

Crimson veins spread through the blackness like cracks through glass, pulsing with a faint, unnatural light. The shadows beneath his feet began to move against the direction of the wind, crawling outward in liquid tendrils while droplets of blood rose from the ground and floated weightlessly around him.

Then the two powers intertwined.

The result was neither red nor black.

It was a deep crimson darkness, almost violet at its edges, so dark that it seemed to swallow the light around it. Thin ribbons of blood coiled through the shadows like living serpents, disappearing into the darkness before suddenly emerging somewhere else.

The air grew heavy.

Every corpse within the surrounding area—small birds in the trees, old war beasts buried deep beneath the estate gardens—twitched.

Their blood seeped from their wounds—not flowing downward, but crawling toward him against gravity. The crimson liquid vanished beneath his feet, sinking into his shadow.

And then—

the dead stood.

They did not rise as ordinary corpses. Their bodies were wrapped in black shadow, their wounds glowing with thin crimson lines. Where their eyes should have been burned two points of dark-red light.

They were no longer merely undead.

They were Blood-Shades—creatures forged from the remains of the dead and bound by the blood of their master.

The shadow was their body.

The blood was their soul.

And his will was their command.

Behind him, the darkness began to rise.

One silhouette.

Then ten.

Then hundreds.

An army emerged from the black pool beneath his feet, each warrior carrying the crimson mark of its master.

He slowly raised his hand.

Every Blood-Shade knelt.

The battlefield fell silent.

His voice was barely a whisper.

”Your Liege calls.”

The entire army rose as one.

Valerian stood motionless, his dark silk blindfold tilted upward. Even without his physical sight, his spiritual perception felt the terrifying, absolute resonance of the army. He was genuinely awestruck by the sheer scale of the technique.

Nox puffed his chest out, a smug, insufferable smirk plastered across his face.

”Pretty breathtaking, right? Work hard, Boss, and maybe if you get stronger, I’ll teach you how to summon a few—”

CLACK!

”Ow!” Nox yelped, clutching his head as a violent, heavy knock echoed through the courtyard.

Wren stepped out from the doorway, her gold dragon eyes flashing with pure annoyance.

”Stop bragging, you endless nightmare,” she snapped.

With the disruption of Nox’s focus, the massive army of Blood-Shades dissolved instantly, dispersing into a cloud of blood-like, purplish smoke that carried away on the morning wind.

Nox rubbed his head, pouting.

”You have no appreciation for the dramatic arts, lizard girl!”

Valerian walked over to the wooden bench, picking up a white linen towel to wipe the sweat from his face and neck. He took a slow breath, resting his staff against his side.

The heavy courtyard doors opened, and Sir Van Liondale entered, his face grave and urgent.

”Lord Valerian,” Van Liondale bowed. ”The carriage from the Holy Kingdom of Lumeria has reached the manor gates. Saintess Seraphina has arrived.”

Valerian paused, setting the towel down.

”Very well. Give me a few minutes to freshen up and welcome her.”

Ten minutes later, dressed in his immaculate charcoal coat and obsidian vest, Valerian stepped into the high reception hall of the Governor’s Manor.

Standing near the tall arched windows was Saintess Seraphina. Her pristine white robes flowed elegantly, her golden hair catching the morning sun, and a faint, divine warmth subtly radiated from her presence, comforting the guards standing near the walls.

”Saintess Seraphina,” Valerian spoke smoothly, stepping forward and offering a polite, flawless aristocratic bow. ”Welcome to Bergis City. I trust your journey through the mountain passes was peaceful.”

Seraphina turned, her sapphire eyes warm and filled with gentle grace as she offered a soft bow in return.

”Lord Valerian Prim Sanguis. The journey was serene, thank you. I have heard much of the sudden changes in this province, and I felt compelled to visit on my way to the Imperial Capital.”

”We are honored by your presence,” Valerian replied smoothly.

He turned slightly toward the Vice Governor.

”Sir Van, please ensure the Saintess and her holy escort are provided with our finest guest suites and catered to with absolute hospitality.”

”Right away, My Lord,” Van Liondale bowed.

As Seraphina began to follow the servants toward the inner courtyard, Valerian leaned slightly toward Van Liondale, lowering his voice into a quiet whisper.

”Sir Van... the family members of the corrupt merchant council and the five heirs. Have you strictly verified that those who were innocent of their crimes have been excluded from the arrest warrants?”

Van Liondale nodded firmly, his voice low.

”Yes, Lord Valerian. We cross-referenced every financial record and shadow report. Only those directly involved in the trafficking, grain hoarding, and bribery are held in the cells. The innocent children, servants, and distant relatives have been granted full immunity and cleared.”

”Good,” Valerian’s voice turned cold as mountain ice. ”They will face final public judgment today.”

By afternoon, the central square of Bergis City was packed with thousands of citizens.

Starving laborers, small shopkeepers, reinstated city guards, and slum dwellers gathered in a massive crowd around the high wooden execution platform.

A heavy, quiet tension hung over the plaza.

Sitting on a raised spectator balcony overlooking the square were Valerian, Wren, Nox, and Saintess Seraphina, flanked by her silver-armored Holy Knights.

Heavy iron chains clanked against the wooden planks as the prisoners were brought out.

Julian, Cassian, Victor, Lucian, and Theron—the five heirs of the ruling families—were dragged to the front of the platform alongside the surviving corrupt guild captains.

Their clothes were torn, their faces bruised, and their eyes hollow. Having endured the terrifying mental shattering of Valerian’s spiritual interrogation days prior, the five heirs walked like hollow shells.

At first, as they knelt before the wooden blocks, they remained completely silent, staring blankly at the floorboards, numbly accepting their impending fate.

Sir Van Liondale stepped forward on the platform, unfolding a heavy parchment scroll. His voice echoed across the silent plaza:

”By decree of the Lord Governor, Valerian Prim Sanguis! The prisoners stand accused of high treason against the province, mass grain hoarding, treasonous extortion, and the unlawful trafficking of human lives!”

Van Liondale’s voice grew louder as he read through the exhaustive list of horrific offenses.

”For each of these crimes committed against the people of Bergis... the sentence mandated by law is Death!”

A low murmur rippled through the thousands of watching citizens.

Suddenly, Theron lifted his head. His vacant eyes drifted toward the raised spectator balcony—and locked onto the divine, glowing figure of Saintess Seraphina.

It was as if a spark of frantic, desperate life returned to his shattered mind.

”The Saintess!” Theron shrieked, his voice breaking into a pathetic, wet scream.

He thrashed against his iron chains, dragging his knees forward across the rough wood.

”Saintess Seraphina! Save us! Mercy! Please, show us mercy!”

Beside him, Julian, Cassian, and the others snapped out of their stupor.

Snot and tears poured down their faces as they began weeping uncontrollably, banging their chained hands against the platform.

”We repent! We’ll change! We’ll give away all our gold! We’ll serve the church!” Julian sobbed hysterically, his voice echoing across the quiet plaza. ”Please! Don’t let them kill us! We can change!”

The sight of the once-arrogant nobles weeping and begging for salvation touched the hearts of the crowd, causing soft gasps among the onlookers.

Saintess Seraphina’s sapphire eyes filled with deep, overwhelming compassion.

She stood up from her seat on the balcony, her immaculate white robes rustling softly.

”Wait,” Seraphina called out, her voice sweet, divine, and carrying a soft aura of light that filled the plaza with warmth.

She walked down the balcony steps, stepping onto the execution platform.

She approached the weeping, bound men, her face radiating pure, unadulterated forgiveness. She raised her slender, pale hand, preparing to offer a divine stay of execution and address the crowd.

”Every soul is capable of redemption,” Seraphina said softly, looking at the crying heirs. ”If they truly repent their sins, we must not take away their chance to—”

SWISH.

A sound as quiet as a falling leaf cut through her words.

Valerian, sitting calmly in his high chair on the balcony, hadn’t even stood up.

He simply made a subtle, imperceptible flick of his black chitin staff with his right wrist.

A razor-thin crescent of deep crimson blood-aura launched from the tip of his staff. It traveled through the air with terrifying, silent speed, whistling straight past the Saintess’s shoulder.

SLICE.

In a single, instantaneous instant, the heads of all five heirs and the corrupt captains separated from their shoulders simultaneously.

The crying stopped.

The begging died instantly.

Blood sprayed softly onto the wooden planks of the platform before five heavy thuds echoed through the silent square as their bodies collapsed forward into the ash.

The entire plaza turned dead silent.

Thousands of citizens held their breath.

Saintess Seraphina froze.

Red droplets of blood specked the immaculate white hem of her holy robes.

She stared at the lifeless bodies before her, her sapphire eyes widening in absolute, horrified shock.

Slowly, she turned around.

Her gentle, compassionate demeanor shattered into a storm of intense, righteous fury.

”You...” Seraphina gasped, her voice trembling with anger as holy light flared violently around her body.

She marched up the balcony steps, stopping directly in front of Valerian’s chair.

”They were begging for repentance!” Seraphina shouted, her voice echoing across the balcony, her eyes burning with pure indignation. ”They were ready to turn their lives around! You had no right to steal their chance at redemption! You heartless monster!”

Driven by overwhelming fury, Seraphina’s palm struck his cheek.

SLAP!

Valerian’s head turned slightly.

Silence.

For a single heartbeat, nobody moved.

His fingers tightened around the handle of his walking stick.

The shadows beneath his chair trembled.

Castor and Pollux appeared instantly.

”Halt.”

His voice was quiet.

But beneath that single word was something ancient.

Then Valerian slowly turned back toward Seraphina.

He reached for his blindfold.

He had been patient.

Valerian’s Abyssal Dragon Gaze threatened to run rampant. Memories of his past life flickered violently through his mind—the helplessness, the suffering, the faces of those who had once been unable to defend themselves.

He understood the pain of victims too well.

That was precisely why he restrained himself.

He could have crushed Seraphina’s consciousness beneath the full weight of his Blood Dragon soul. He could have forced her to kneel.

But he refused.

He tightened his grip on his walking stick instead, forcing the primordial fury inside his eyes back beneath his control.

He would not become the very monster his victims had once feared.