Last Born Of The Desdemona

Chapter 57: Chapter 57: Last Born of the Desdemona

Chapter 57 – Last Born of the Desdemona

”The Last Born of the Desdemona.”

The words out of Maxim’s mouth were like a sword thrust straight into Isolde’s heart, nearly sending her a step backward in complete shock.

If not for the mask hiding her face entirely, Maxim would have understood immediately that something was deeply wrong.

But he didn’t.

And Isolde was experienced enough to seize back her composure at once, parting her lips and making sure what came out was words and not a rasp of disbelief.

”How?” Her voice came out colder than she intended. ”How do you know it was him and not someone else?”

She took one threatening step forward. Even without seeing her eyes, Maxim could sense the anger pouring from Lady Olympias, anger that perturbed his perception and made his head tilt involuntarily.

Her throat tightened with dread knotted with worry.

”I saw his Birthright Mark, my Lady.” He defended himself, his sunburned face pulling into a wry smile. ”And his age, build and gender matched perfectly with the Last Born of the Desdemona. No one else.”

Isolde twisted her lips behind her mask, remembering clearly that Cassius had said he had something to handle before going home.

’Is this what you intended to do, Cassius?’

But something still didn’t add up.

”How did he know the location of the Base Operation?” She asked again. ”And what was he doing there? Did he say?”

”The first question, my Lady, is exactly why I called Lord Constantine.” Maxim scratched the back of his neck nervously. ”I don’t know how an heir of a Tier One family knew our hideout. And I dare not consider the possibility that more of them know.”

His lips pulled into a thin, crooked smile. ”You know what we have done to the Blood Demoness’s blood puppets. We will—!”

”You are rambling.” Isolde cut in, voice stripped of all patience. ”Get to the point, Agent. This is your first warning.” She paused, dropping to a dangerous whisper. ”And your last.”

The black-skinned assassin shuddered. His instincts, sharpened by years of training, screamed at him that she was not joking.

She would actually kill him.

’Vorn!’ He cursed inwardly, then pressed on carefully. ”As I was saying—” he licked his dry lips ”—I don’t know how he found us. Only that he did. And we must ensure he was the only one.”

”Was?” Isolde echoed, her body going still.

Not noticing, Maxim continued with calm, even pride. ”Yes, my Lady.” He nodded. ”I acted according to the Fang’s rules. I trapped the Heir and his maid inside the building and detonated the Blood Spawn Ravagers, clearing away all possible evidence that could condemn us.”

He paused, Isolde’s silence reading to him as acknowledgment, and pressed on with that irritating loquaciousness of his:

”Unless a Seer or someone with a Time-type Aspect involves themselves, we are safe. And even then, my Lady, our own members could shroud the evidence with—!”

”So Cassius Desdemona is dead.” Isolde cut him off.

Her voice was so alien — so soft, so gentle — that both Aissatou and Maxim moved instantly into battle stance, bodies enveloped by their essence, instincts screaming at the lethal danger pressing down on the air around them.

’Oh, Vorn take my soul!’ Aissatou shrieked inwardly, staring at the back of her young lady, her heart practically climbing out of her mouth.

Maxim was still trying to understand what was happening. Lady Olympias, in that moment, felt like a messenger from Vorn come to collect his soul. The fear was real and seated deep inside his existence.

Still, years of hierarchical conditioning inside the Fangs made him answer despite every instinct screaming at him to run.

”Y-Yes... my Lady.” He swallowed, his face drenched in cold sweat. ”Cassius Desdemona is d—!”

He never finished.

Isolde’s body became a blur of purple, attacking with a killing intent so overwhelming it flooded the entire space around them into a suffocating purple blanket, like the hand of a god pressing down.

Behind her, Aissatou screamed.

”MY LADY! NO!”

It was useless.

There was no sound left for her words to travel through.

...

No sound. No motion.

Both absent from Cassius’s mind at that moment.

Time became irrelevant when the mind was flooded with too many thoughts, too many feelings, too much pain that refused to release its grip.

He floated in a hazy state between reality and dream, unable to fully settle in either.

Too exhausted to stay awake. Too much pain to sleep.

His whole body still felt like it was burning. The phantom pain of feet scorched by lava was something Cassius would carry for a long time.

The only thing that had kept him moving back there was adrenaline and the cold, unwelcome fear of death that had whispered inside him what would happen if he let himself go.

His family would be left without real protection for what was coming.

And Isolde would be left alone — wandering, helpless, desperate, lonely — trying to fill a hole inside her existence that couldn’t be filled.

It was only when the fire he had arrogantly thought was his to command had burned him without caring what it was burning that Cassius truly understood:

Without realising it, his life had become something greater than just his own.

And no matter the situation, he could not allow himself to lose it.

Those thoughts spiralled in dizzy circles as warmth slowly spread through his body, healing him gradually and steadily.

Some time later — the exact duration lost to him — he gingerly opened his eyes.

Océane was hovering over him, her dirtied face a canvas of worry and relief at seeing him finally awake.

”Young... Young Master.” Her voice was low and tired, yet unmistakably warm, and thick with hidden guilt. ”I’m sorry. I lost consciousness and I—!”

”Please, Océane.” Cassius cut her off, gently but firmly. ”Let me rest a moment before you start spiralling into self-blame, alright? So I have the strength to reassure you properly. Because if you keep whimpering in my damned head right now...”

He smiled thinly, a hint of something joking in it.

”...I might just sew your mouth shut.”

”Heheh.” Océane chuckled before she could stop herself, all the worry and guilt dissolving like smoke in wind, a smile spreading across her face. ”I’d rather not, Young Master.”

”Then keep quiet.”

”Aye, Young Master.”

A comfortable silence settled between them. Cassius’s head rested on Océane’s bloodied, dirty lap, his body slowly knitting itself back together.

Through his Innate, the Snake of Adaptability, Cassius noticed how much faster he was regenerating compared to the first time he had taken wounds. Despite these being far worse.

He smiled, genuinely pleased. Then the smile froze.

”Well,” the handless old man said from across the room, back leaning against a weathered pillar, his two stumps resting between his outstretched legs on the dried, bloodied floor. ”Don’t I deserve a thank you?”

The words pulled Cassius upright with Océane’s help. He sat beside her, neck against the pillar facing the old man.

He briefly looked down at his feet. The skin had regrown, but it was still red and charred. It would take time or a stronger healing potion than anything he currently had.

Neither of them something he currently possessed.

He didn’t know how long he had been out, but his family would start worrying soon.

’Ah, Queen.’ He cursed inwardly, then shook his head subtly and brought his focus back to the old man.

He looked at him properly for the first time, took in his full appearance and smiled coldly, unbothered, and without fear.

”Ah, there he is. The man of revolution.” He said dryly. ”Let’s not waste time, shall we? You’ve seen far too much of me today, old man.” He shook his head in mock pity. ”So you have two options in front of you.”

He raised one finger.

”You generously accept my offer and work for me, the very nephew of your former leader. In which case, I will mercifully forget that you were ever part of the Revolutionary Army.”

The old man’s crooked smile froze. Cassius raised a second finger.

”Or I let my mouth run a little and whisper here and there about a surviving remnant of the Revolutionary Army. I’m fairly certain my lovely grandfather — or uncle, or whatever you want to call him — would find that information very interesting.”

He paused, then smiled innocently.

”Your choice.”

”You—!”

”Ah, one more thing.” He cut in shamelessly. ”Don’t try anything clever. After all...”

He nudged his head toward Océane, who was holding his purple Runic Phone with his mother’s number already on emergency standby.

”...my gentle maid might feel compelled to make a call. And I am Cassius Desdemona, the Last Born of the Desdemona.” His smile deepened. ”You may not know me well yet. But trust me, you would not want to be responsible for so much as a scratch on my body. My family can be quite... unreasonable when it comes to me. Wouldn’t you agree, Océane?”

”Completely, Young Master.” She nodded with a perfectly straight face, not joking at all. ”This entire Outskirts could disappear. And no one would mourn your lives.”

The old man went completely silent, face twisted inward, staring at Cassius without words.

”Ah, sorry for interrupting you.” Cassius exhaled, settling into a more comfortable position. ”You can speak now.”

A short pause.

”What is your answer, handless man?”

—End of Chapter 57—