The inverted, withered World Tree continued to press down from the pale rift.
The dark brown trunk squeezed through the spatial barriers, the spatial folds at the edges crumbling into black powder. The massive root system fanned out toward the sky, forming an inverted dome that obscured the twin purple moons above Moon Phase City.
Withered yellow mist poured down from the gaps in the roots.
Valentine crushed the chest of an anomaly under her boot, her heel grinding over the black fruit. The fruit burst, splashing black juice onto her silver greaves and burning with acrid white smoke.
She raised her right hand. The gray ripples of the Desolate Realm pushed outward by thirty meters.
Within those thirty meters, building debris and withered wooden figures weathered into ash in an instant.
But too many withered husks were falling from the sky.
The expansion speed of the rift far exceeded her clearing efficiency.
In the third block of the East District, Grant smashed his fists through a three-meter-tall anomaly.
In the sky above the north wing, Elizabeth’s threads wove a net, shredding the falling husks into fragments.
Altan stood guard at the plaza outside the main gate, his two-meter-tall frame blocking the entrance to the underground shelter.
The combat power of the ten ancestors was being completely pulled apart by this endless rain of withered wood.
A large gap had opened in the defensive perimeter of the Night Rose Palace.
From the main gate to the Great Hall, the patrol posts along the way were reduced to piles of wreckage and black corrosive marks.
Lilian stood on the steps of the throne at the highest point of the main hall.
Her right hand gripped the Bloodline Aria, the base of the scepter resting against the marble floor.
Dark red ripples traveled down the shaft, sinking into the ley line array and radiating throughout the city.
A thin line of blood seeped from her nose. It slid down her chin and dripped onto her collarbone, staining her white lace collar red.
She did not wipe it away.
“South District, fourth passage, Victor, plug the gap. Accelerate the civilian evacuation.”
The command was transmitted through the ley line array.
The Great Hall was empty.
Only two heavily injured werewolf guards leaned against the furthest support pillars, their chests heaving violently. Their armor had been burned through by corrosive fluid, and the flesh at the edges of their wounds was mangled and turned outward.
Lilian’s left leg was shaking.
The side effects of overdrawing her mana were beginning to manifest. Veins bulged beneath her skin, showing an unhealthy purplish-blue hue.
She gritted her teeth, holding the scepter firmly by her side.
She was the Queen. The throne could not be left empty.
At that moment, the doors were pushed open.
There was no sound of grinding metal mechanisms. The heavy black oak doors slid open silently to both sides.
In the corridor outside, more than a dozen werewolf guards lay in various states of disarray. There were no wounds, but the blood had been drained from their bodies, leaving them as shriveled husks.
A sweet, sickly scent of rotting, fermented plants flooded into the hall.
Cecilia walked in.
Her boots clicked sharply against the marble tiles.
Green points of light shone through her skin. The lights flickered in perfect synchronization with the pulse of her carotid artery.
Every time the green light brightened, the stench of decay in the hall grew stronger.
The few decorative roses remaining in the gaps of the floor tiles withered, blackened, and turned to powder the moment the green light swept over them.
This was the external manifestation of the World Tree Heart embedded in her flesh.
A person followed behind her.
He was hunched over, wearing a voluminous red robe.
His hood was pulled low, obscuring the upper half of his face. Only a jaw covered in burn scars was visible.
The old man’s steps were slow. His feet did not leave the ground; he slid across the tiles.
There was no sound of footsteps.
Lilian stared at Cecilia’s face.
A chill shot up her tailbone, crawling up her spine and into her brainstem.
The sensory memory of her broken tooth resurfaced in her mouth, and a phantom pain throbbed deep within her gums.
She exerted force downward with her right hand, the base of the scepter striking the stone floor heavily.
A recall command began to take shape within the array.
Targets: Altan, Grant.
The red-robed old man raised a withered left hand and flicked his index finger upward.
There was no chanting. No construction of mana circuits.
It was a pure, high-dimensional rule suppression.
A surge of ancient blood source mana swept across the floor. There were no light effects, only a dull rush of air as the atmosphere was forcibly pushed aside.
The communication array on the hall walls flickered simultaneously.
The light paths snapped.
The mana crystals forming the array exploded from within, crumbling into powder that rained down.
Lilian’s fingers grew sweaty where they gripped the scepter.
She couldn't send the message.
The connection between the Great Hall and the outside world had been unilaterally severed.
She was locked inside this hall.
Cecilia stopped in the center of the hall.
She tilted her head, looking Lilian up and down.
“Queen?”
A light laugh. The sound of her amusement struck the walls of the empty hall and bounced back.
“Just a rat that ran away, draped in a crown.”
She raised her right hand, her index finger pointing at Lilian’s chest.
Green light gathered at her fingertip, compressing into an extremely bright point of light.
“You think you’re qualified to stand by Brother’s side?”
“You don’t even have the courage to stand before him.”
“When you abandoned Tia and fled back then, did you ever look back?”
Lilian’s back shook violently.
The shadow of the Crown of Thorns swayed under the lights.
Her throat felt as if it were stuffed with cotton; she couldn't swallow it down or spit it out.
It had been nothing more than a vampire’s survival instinct. But in front of that man, it had become a permanent, indelible stain.
She had relied on Bell’s blood to break her curse, and she had relied on Bell’s planning to take the throne.
But she never dared to meet Bell’s gaze.
Because she owed him a life.
The scepter in her hand tilted half an inch to the side, its base carving a white mark into the marble.
Lilian’s left hand felt for the Mithril dagger strapped to her leg beneath her skirt.
It was a defensive tool Bell had left for her.
Just as her fingers touched the hilt...
Cecilia’s gaze swept over.
“You want to fight?”
Cecilia traced a circle in the air with her index finger.
The Mithril dagger on Lilian’s leg instantly became scalding hot. The high temperature penetrated the fabric, burning the skin of her thigh.
Her flesh made a faint sizzling sound.
Lilian gritted her teeth and did not let go.
“Brother gave you that knife, didn't he?”
Cecilia’s voice dropped in temperature.
“And you’re using his things to deal with me?”
The red-robed old man moved.
There was no starting motion. No warning of mana fluctuations.
Space folded before his steps.
He appeared in front of Lilian, less than half a meter away.
The scent of the old man filled Lilian’s nose—the smell of aged blood mixed with the musk of earth.
A withered finger reached out and clamped onto the middle of the Bloodline Aria.
His nails were long and black, almost embedding themselves into the metal patterns of the scepter’s shaft.
Lilian pushed with her legs, pulling backward.
The soles of her boots made a harsh scraping sound against the marble steps.
The old man’s hand remained in mid-air, motionless.
“Crack.”
A very fine sound of metal snapping.
It wasn't a physical break.
It was the mana link between Lilian and the scepter being violently severed.
The tension vanished instantly.
Lilian staggered back three steps, her back slamming heavily into the armrest of the throne.
Bone struck solid wood with a dull thud.
The Crown of Thorns tilted to the right.
The old man held the Bloodline Aria.
His withered fingers slowly slid down the shaft, his pads brushing over the raised rose patterns.
His movements were light, carrying a sense of familiarity, like touching a long-lost item from a thousand years ago.
Dark red light burst from the patterns.
The brightness was several times stronger than when Lilian held it. The red light clearly illuminated the burn scars on the old man’s jaw.
The core array of the entire Night Rose Palace emitted a low-frequency hum.
The blood-red rose reliefs on the walls began to twist.
Vines peeled away from the walls, curving toward the old man.
Lilian slid down the armrest of the throne, slumped on the steps.
The color had completely drained from her cheeks.
The Bloodline Aria did not recognize theft; it only obeyed the holder it acknowledged.
It had abandoned her.
Her months as Queen, the submission of the ancestors, the miracle of the Daywalker...
All of it was an illusion built upon this scepter.
Now, the true master had come to take back what was his.
The man from three thousand years ago.
The mental map in Lilian’s mind was running through scenarios.
Losing the scepter meant losing control of the palace arrays. The ancestors outside would receive no commands and would fall into a death trap of fighting their own separate battles.
And these two were heading for the inheritance chamber. The remnant soul trapped within the inheritance stone pillar—they wanted to wake him.
Once that entity awakened, the situation Bell had set up would completely collapse.
Cecilia walked up the steps.
She stopped in front of Lilian, looking down from above.
Green light swirled in her irises.
“Do you see?”
“This is the gap between you and Brother.”
She knelt down.
She reached out her index finger and touched the edge of the crooked Crown of Thorns on Lilian’s head.
With a light flick...
The crown fell from Lilian’s head.
It hit the marble steps and bounced twice.
The crisp sound of metal clashing echoed through the hall.
“Your throne was given to you by someone else, your scepter was borrowed from someone else, and your courage was forced out of you by someone else.”
“From beginning to end, you are nothing.”
Cecilia stood straight.
She turned to look at the red-robed old man. The mockery in her voice vanished, replaced by a weary urgency.
“Let’s go. Don’t waste any more time here.”
“The duration of the withered husk tide is limited. Grant and the others will return soon.”
The old man turned his head and gave Lilian a look.
His jaw moved beneath the hood.
He made no sound.
He turned and walked toward the depths of the hall. In that direction lay the inheritance chamber.
Cecilia followed behind him.
Lilian sat on the steps.
Her fingernails dug into the gaps in the marble, the flesh beneath them being squeezed.
The Crown of Thorns lay three steps away.
The scepter was gone.
The echo of the Bloodline Aria severing its link still vibrated in her bones.
She raised her head.
Her gaze passed through the empty hall, falling on the backs of Cecilia and the red-robed old man.
Her lips were trembling.
She bit the inside of her lower lip. Hard.
The taste of blood spread across the back of her tongue.
She was a coward. That was a fact.
But that man had placed her in this position.
If she just sat here on the floor today and watched them walk in...
She wouldn't even have the value of being used by him anymore.
Her hands pressed against the floor. Her knees bent.
Her thigh muscles strained.
A crisp sound came from her bones as they ground together.
She began to climb back up.
Rate on N.U.
