House of Blood

The quiet scratching of a quill was the only sound echoing through the expansive, high-ceilinged office of the Governor’s Manor.

Valerian sat behind a massive desk of carved dark mahogany, illuminated by the warm, flickering light of a single crystal lamp. Stacks of leather-bound ledgers, tax receipts, and municipal records were neatly arranged before him.

Behind his dark silk blindfold, his slitted crimson eyes scanned page after page with terrifying speed, absorbing decades of calculated neglect, forged trade manifests, and redirected public funds.

A soft, hesitant knock broke the silence of the room.

”Enter,” Valerian murmured, his voice smooth and unbothered as he set the quill down.

The heavy oak door swung open, revealing a tall, middle-aged man with graying hair, sharp blue eyes, and a neatly trimmed beard. He wore a simple, unadorned coat of fine blue wool—a stark contrast to the flamboyant, silk-draped outfits of the disgraced nobility.

Sir Van Liondale, the Vice Governor of Bergis City.

Unlike the corrupt council members who had fled or ended up in iron chains, Van Liondale was one of the few officials whose hands had remained remarkably clean.

He stepped into the office, his boots silent against the thick velvet carpet, carrying a silver tray with a single, wax-sealed envelope resting upon it.

”Lord Valerian,” Van Liondale bowed, his tone deeply respectful yet weighted with a complex mix of awe and fatigue. ”I apologize for disturbing your evening work, but this matter required your direct attention.”

Valerian leaned back in his high-backed chair, interlacing his pale fingers over his vest.

”Speak, Sir Van.”

The older man hesitated for a breath, his eyes drifting over the meticulously organized ledgers on the desk before meeting Valerian’s blindfolded gaze.

”I wanted to first offer my personal gratitude, My Lord,” Van Liondale spoke softly, his voice trembling slightly with genuine emotion.

”For twenty years, I watched this city rot from the inside out. I watched Viscount Vane and the merchant guilds strip the poor of their dignity, siphon off the grain, and turn our streets into a lawless sewer.

”I... I loved this city, Lord Valerian. I was born in the lower district. But for two decades, I was completely powerless to stop the decay. Standing against them meant a quiet knife in the dark for me and my family.”

He bowed his head deeper.

”What you have accomplished in less than a month... breaking the guilds without burning the populace, restoring the watch’s wages, clearing the slums... it is nothing short of a miracle.

”I am truly honored to serve under your governance.”

”You served by surviving, Sir Van,” Valerian replied calmly, his lips curling into a subtle, measured smile.

”In a sewer, remaining untainted is its own form of resistance.

”Now, what is on the tray?”

Van Liondale straightened up, stepping forward to place the silver tray on the corner of the mahogany desk.

”A letter of invitation, My Lord. It was delivered directly to the manor gates by a private courier less than an hour ago.”

Valerian picked up the heavy ivory parchment.

Breaking the dark red wax seal, he unfolded the letter. His eyes swept over the arrogant, flowing calligraphy.

”It is an invitation from the young heirs,” Van Liondale explained, his brow furrowing with noticeable distaste.

”The sons of the five ruling families of Bergis City—the remnants of the old high nobility who managed to avoid direct linkage to Vane’s illegal cartels during the riots.

”They are holding an exclusive gathering tonight at the Velvet Lotus Villa in the upper district.”

As Valerian read the invitation, a slow, sly grin spread across his face—sharp, predatory, and filled with dark amusement.

”The five heirs...” Valerian murmured, his voice echoing with quiet delight.

”They wish to welcome their new Lord Governor with a private evening of celebration.”

”Lord Valerian?” Van Liondale asked, slightly taken aback by the young governor’s reaction.

”They are arrogant, entitled fools. They likely believe you are merely a quiet academic sent by the Citadel to sign papers.”

”This is great,” Valerian declared, standing up from his chair with effortless grace.

He reached over to the corner of his desk, picking up a short, dark-chitin rod no longer than a dagger.

With a soft, mechanical click and a subtle pulse of dark spatial marrow, the rod expanded instantly, lengthening into a sleek, full-sized walking stick topped with an obsidian crest.

Valerian casually planted the tip against the floor, resting his hand over the handle.

He grabbed his heavy charcoal coat from the stand, throwing it over his shoulders.

”Sir Van,” Valerian commanded, his voice brimming with a sudden, surprisingly theatrical energy.

”Yes, My Lord?”

”I want you to personally go down to the manor’s private cellars,” Valerian said, a broad, sharp smirk playing on his lips.

”Prepare the absolute finest vintage wine and the strongest booze you can find.

”Then, send word to the high-end entertainment houses in the middle district. Bring along the most exotic, stunning women you can lay your hands on, and have them escorted to the Velvet Lotus Villa immediately.”

Sir Van Liondale froze.

The Vice Governor’s eyes widened in sheer, unadulterated shock.

He stared at the young man standing before him—the same cold, brilliant prodigy who had systematically dismantled a multi-million-gold corruption ring in a matter of days without spilling a single drop of blood.

Wine?

Booze?

Exotic women?

Van Liondale felt a cold pit form in his stomach.

Was this truly the savior of Bergis City?

Or had the young Sanguis lord simply hidden his own debauchery behind a mask of administrative competence?

Was he no different from the spoiled, hedonistic nobles who had dragged the province into the mud for thirty years?

For a long, agonizing second, Van Liondale heavily second-guessed his decision to pledge his loyalty to Valerian.

The admiration in his heart faltered, replaced by a bitter, sickening disappointment.

”...As you command, Lord Valerian,” Van Liondale swallowed hard, bowing stiffly.

He turned on his heel and walked out of the office, his posture rigid and cold.

Behind his dark silk blindfold, Valerian watched the Vice Governor leave, his quiet, predatory grin never fading for a single second.

---

High in the eastern hills of the Golden District, isolated from the soot and ash of the lower streets, stood the Velvet Lotus Villa.

The estate was a monument to breathtaking, sickening excess.

Golden lanterns hung from towering marble pillars, casting a warm, shimmering light over indoor heated pools, silk-draped lounges, and tables overflowing with roasted exotic meats, imported fruits, and crystal decanters of priceless liquor.

Inside the main hall, five young men lounged lazily across plush velvet divans, surrounded by subtle magic smoke and quiet, soft music played by string musicians in the corner.

These were the five heirs of the ruling families of Bergis—Julian of House Vane’s side branch, Cassian of House Sterling, Victor of House Draven, Lucian of House Belmonte, and Theron of House Malakar.

”I’m telling you, she was straight from the capital,” Julian laughed loudly, leaning back with an expensive silver goblet in his hand, his eyes glazed over with alcohol and narcotics.

”Cost me two hundred gold pieces for the night, but the things she could do with wind magic... absolute perfection.”

”Two hundred gold?” Cassian sneered, swirling his dark red wine.

”You’re getting ripped off, Julian. For two hundred gold, I could buy three fresh virgins from the southern border trade lines. The lower district is crawling with desperate families right now. You just wave a bag of silver, and they’ll hand over whatever you want.”

”Careful with the border talk,” Victor interrupted with a dark chuckle, taking a drag from a long silver pipe filled with glowing blue dream-herb.

”The new governor has been cracking down on the old trade routes. Vane got dragged to the stone quarries, remember?”

”Oh, please,” Lucian scoffed arrogantly, tossing a pair of ivory dice onto the marble table.

”Vane was an idiot who let his fat fingers get caught in the treasury vault. He got greedy and tried to double-cross the syndicate bosses. He brought that mob violence on himself.”

Theron, the eldest of the five, sat on a raised velvet throne, a smug, contemptuous smirk resting on his handsome face.

”The new kid from the Citadel doesn’t scare me. Valerian Prim Sanguis? He’s fifteen years old, blind, and spends all his time buried in tax ledgers like a common clerk.”

”He managed to quiet the slums pretty fast,” Victor mused, blowing a ring of blue smoke into the air.

”Because he threw them a few bags of stolen flour!” Theron laughed, waving his hand dismissively.

”It’s a classic political trick to appease the dogs so they stop barking.

”Trust me, boys, we play this right, and we’ll have him wrapped around our little fingers in less than a month.

”He’s a young noble away from his family for the first time. We introduce him to the real pleasures of Bergis—the finest wine, the high-end lotus dens, the exotic women—and he’ll be signing off on our tax exemptions before the winter snow hits.”

”Just like we controlled the old governor,” Cassian grinned maliciously, raising his goblet.

”To our new puppet!”

”To the puppet!” the four others cheered, clinking their crystal glasses together in loud, raucous laughter.

CLACK.

The heavy, gilded double doors of the main hall were suddenly pushed open.

A guard stepped inside, breathing heavily, bowing frantically toward the central lounge.

”My Lords! He... he is here!”

The five heirs paused, turning their heads toward the entrance.

Theron set his goblet down, adjusting his silk vest with a smug, condescending smile.

”Well, well. Speak of the devil.”

Stepping through the threshold was Valerian Prim Sanguis.

He looked every bit the dark, breathtaking noble prodigy—wearing his immaculate charcoal coat over a tailored obsidian vest, his dark silk hair falling naturally around his face, and his dark silk blindfold adding a cold, mysterious elegance to his stature.

He leaned casually on his black-chitin walking stick, his posture entirely unbothered by the opulent surroundings.

Behind him stepped a thoroughly uncomfortable Sir Van Liondale, accompanied by four estate servants carrying massive wooden crates overflowing with dust-covered, vintage liquor bottles.

Following right behind them was a breathtaking procession of eight stunning, exotically dressed women from the city’s highest-tier entertainment houses, their silk veils and shimmering jewelry catching the golden lantern light.

The five heirs stared in absolute, stunned silence.

Their smug, condescending expressions instantly melted into wide-eyed, open-mouthed shock.

Valerian stopped in the center of the hall.

He didn’t offer a stern lecture.

He didn’t demand an accounting of their families’ assets.

Instead, Valerian swept his left arm out in a grand, theatrical gesture, offering the room a smooth, elegant, perfectly executed aristocratic bow.

”Gentlemen,” Valerian spoke, his voice rich, warm, and brimming with infectious, playful charm.

”I received your gracious invitation, and I simply could not arrive empty-handed!”

He straightened up, his slitted crimson eyes gleaming with dangerous amusement behind his blindfold as he gestured toward the servants and the women behind him.

”I ordered my Vice Governor to bring the absolute finest, oldest booze in the province’s private reserves!” Valerian announced loudly, his voice echoing through the lavish hall.

”And of course, no proper gathering of Bergis’ finest noble heirs would be complete without the most exquisite company the city has to offer!”

The five young heirs snapped out of their shock, their faces instantly erupting into wild, ecstatic grins.

”HA! I knew it!” Theron shouted, slamming his hand against his thigh as he stood up from his velvet throne.

”Look at him! The Lord Governor knows how to party!”

”Bring in the wine!” Julian yelled, leaping up from his divan with a loud cheer.

”Bring them all in!”

The string musicians struck up a lively, fast-paced melody.

The servants immediately began uncorking the ancient bottles of vintage booze, pouring rich, dark liquor into crystal goblets, while the exotic women glided into the hall with musical laughter, taking their seats alongside the delighted, cheering heirs.

Sir Van Liondale stood near the doorway, his face pale, his heart sinking into absolute despair as he watched the young governor mingle so effortlessly with the corrupt nobility.

Valerian walked smoothly over to the central table, accepting an overflowing goblet of dark crimson wine from a servant.

He raised the glass high into the air, looking over the cheering, intoxicated faces of the five heirs who were already pulling the women onto their laps and downing the heavy booze.

Valerian’s lips curved into a sharp, beautiful, and utterly terrifying smile.

”Drink up, my dear friends,” Valerian said softly, his voice carrying a quiet, hidden venom beneath its playful warmth.

”Have fun...

For the night is still young.”