House of Blood

The Grand Capital of Solaria buzzed with festive fervor.

Banner-draped boulevards of polished white marble stretched toward the imperial palace, where the annual Autumn Gala was hosted.

Nobles from every corner of the empire—decked in silk, velvet, and glimmering crests—flooded the grand ballroom. High above the marble floor, crystalline chandeliers floated on anti-gravity spell arrays, casting radiant silver light across the gathering.

At the center of the imperial balcony stood Princess Solene Sol.

At fifteen, the Crown Princess possessed a sharp, ethereal beauty that belied her razor-like intellect. Clad in a gown of spun gold and white imperial silk, her crimson eyes scanned the ballroom below with cold, calculating precision.

”Any movement from the Medeis representatives?” Solene asked softly, not turning her head.

Shadows rippled behind her, and an Imperial Shadow Guard materialized in a low kneel.

”Lady Lyra Medeis arrived an hour ago alongside her elder brother, Valerius. However, our informants report that Lady Lyra has been obsessively requesting historical logs regarding the Northern Marches and a vigilante known as ’Ghost.’”

Solene’s crimson eyes narrowed slightly.

Ghost.

Months ago, reports of a masked figure single-handedly dismantling Sec branch strongholds in the frozen North had reached the Imperial Intelligence Bureau.

Solene had dispatched three squads of imperial trackers to apprehend him, only for them to find empty snowfields and perfectly neutralized cult encampments.

”He is not a ghost,” Solene murmured, resting her hand on the gilded marble balustrade.

”He is an uncalculated variable. And in Solaria, variables are either chained or eliminated.”

”And the Sanguis Clan?” the guard inquired.

”Alexis Prim Sanguis is in attendance,” Solene replied, her lips curving into a distant, enigmatic smile.

”Though his eldest sister stays in the war room, Alexis’s presence means the Prim family’s eyes are everywhere tonight. Keep watch on the lower vaults—if the Eldritch Sun Sanctum intends to move their contraband tonight, it will happen during the opening dance.”

---

The Grand Ballroom Floor

Below the imperial balcony, Alexis Prim Sanguis stood near a gilded pillar, swirling a flute of champagne.

His gold-rimmed spectacles reflected the flickering chandelier light, concealing the sharp, analytical exhaustion in his dark eyes.

To the outside world, Alexis was simply the calculating administrator keeping the Prim Sanguis clan afloat while his family mourned the death of their youngest brother.

Ten years old...

Alexis thought, his chest tightening as he gripped his champagne glass a fraction too hard.

If Valerian were still alive, he would be thirteen this year.

Every ledger he audited, every traitorous Sec branch Elder he financially ruined—it was all fuel for the fire Vespera was building.

But deep down, Alexis’s heart remained anchored to that terrible day in the North when the crevasse swallowed his youngest brother’s soul-lamp into darkness.

”Lord Alexis,” a soft, melodious voice interrupted his thoughts.

Alexis glanced over to see Lady Lyra Medeis approaching, flanked by two spell-blade retainers.

Her midnight-blue hair was styled with silver hairpin arrays, and her expression was unusually solemn.

”Lady Lyra,” Alexis acknowledged with a polite, measured bow.

”A rare sight to see the second star of the Medeis family at the Autumn Gala.”

Lyra paused, her sapphire eyes inspecting Alexis carefully.

She hesitated for a moment before speaking in a low, guarded tone.

”Lord Alexis... have your clan’s northern intelligence networks picked up any strange activity near the Silver-Larch Pass recently?”

Alexis’s eyes sharpened behind his spectacles.

”The Prim Sanguis clan’s business in the North is strictly internal, Lady Lyra. Why do you ask?”

”I met someone,” Lyra whispered, her voice barely audible over the ballroom orchestra.

”A masked warrior wielding an ironwood staff. He mentioned a threat targeting both our houses.”

Alexis stayed silent, his brain instantly analyzing thousands of data points.

An ironwood bo staff?

Non-aura combat?

Before Alexis could probe further, the ballroom chandeliers suddenly flickered.

BZZZZT.

A low, vibrating resonance hummed through the floorboards.

The anti-gravity arrays sustaining the floating crystal chandeliers faltered for a fraction of a second, causing the light to dim into an eerie, violent shade of violet.

Across the ballroom, several noble escorts blinked in confusion.

But to those with acute sensory training, the shift was unmistakable.

Abyssal corruption was leaking into the hall.

---

The Imperial Vaults: Sub-Level 3

Beneath the grand ballroom, inside the heavily fortified subterranean vaults where the imperial tribute gifts were stored, six guards lay unconscious on the cold flagstones.

Three figures wrapped in high-tier noble cloaks stood around a massive iron chest filled with uncut soul-gems.

One of the figures—a high-ranking Medeis elder serving as an imperial curator—held a black iron vessel leaking thick, tar-like dark mist.

”Deploy the spores into the primary ventilation array,” the Medeis elder instructed, his voice hollow and dual-toned.

”Once the Imperial Princess and the Sanguis Strategist inhale the catalyst, the Sanctum’s seed will take root—”

THUD.

A quiet sound echoed through the vaulted ceiling above.

The elder froze.

”Who’s there?!”

From the shadows above the high stone archway, a figure descended in complete silence, landing effortlessly on his boots without causing a single vibration in the dust.

He wore a sleek, wolf-fur-trimmed cloak over black combat leathers.

A smooth, featureless Black Faceless Mask covered his face, while glowing blue northern runes pulsed softly from the leather blindfold beneath it.

In his right hand, he held a heavy ironwood bo staff, its ends tipped with refined cold-iron caps.

”You’re late,” the masked figure spoke quietly, his pleasant voice echoing through the vaulted chamber.

”The auction was supposed to start ten minutes ago.”

”The Ghost!” the elder hissed, his eyes turning pitch-black as dark abyssal mana surged from his hands.

”Kill him! Don’t let him touch the vault array!”

The two cloaked cultists drew heavy curved daggers, lunging forward with explosive speed.

Valerian didn’t move his feet.

He didn’t activate aura.

Instead, as the first cultist lunged, Valerian simply slanted the butt of his bo staff upward at a precise thirty-degree angle.

CLANG!

The cultist’s blade skittered harmlessly off the cold-iron tip.

With a fluid, hypnotic shift of his weight, Valerian swept the opposite end of the staff in a tight arc, slamming it directly into the second cultist’s kneecap.

CRACK!

”AAAGH!”

Before the falling cultist hit the floor, Valerian spun the staff around his waist, leveraging momentum to drive the weapon’s head straight into the Medeis elder’s chest.

BOOM!

The kinetic force alone sent the corrupted elder flying back into the stone wall, shattering his ribs and extinguishing his abyssal mana in an instant.

’Sub-three seconds, partner,’ Wren chuckled inside Valerian’s mind.

’You’re getting meaner.’

’Efficiency is paramount,’ Valerian thought calmly.

”Castor,” Valerian called out softly into the darkness.

”Purify the soul-gem chest and seal the spatial rift.”

”Already done, My Lord!” Castor’s manic voice echoed from a spatial portal opening in the corner.

”I’ve re-routed the abyssal spore residue directly into the Royal Security Array’s alarm node! In approximately four seconds—”

WOOOOOM!

A deafening imperial siren echoed throughout the subterranean levels and the ballroom above.

Valerian adjusted his black mask, resting his ironwood staff over his shoulder as he turned toward the vault exit.

”Time to greet our audience,” Valerian murmured, his blindfolded gaze lifting toward the staircase as heavy footsteps—and the sharp, unmistakable mana of Princess Solene Sol—came rushing down toward the vaults.