House of Blood

The Velvet Lotus Villa had dissolved into a haze of ambient magic light, spilled liquor, and unchecked hedonism.

Heavy incense mixed with the sweet, cloying aroma of vintage wine, while low, rhythmic music hummed from the string musicians in the alcove.

Valerian sat at the head of the long ivory-wood table, casually leaning back against his velvet chair. He swirled a crystal glass of deep crimson wine in his pale hand, his posture relaxed and aristocratic.

Across the room, the five noble heirs—Julian, Cassian, Victor, Lucian, and Theron—were already deep into their cups, laughing loudly as they draped their arms over the women Valerian had brought along.

”Ah, look at our Lord Governor!” Julian barked out, wiping a dribble of dark booze from his chin as he pulled a laughing dancer onto his lap. ”Sitting there like a silent saint! Come on, Valerian! You haven’t touched a single girl since you walked through those doors!”

Cassian leaned forward, his face flushed red from the potent alcohol, his eyes gleaming with drunk amusement.

”What’s the matter, My Lord? Don’t tell me none of the finest women in Bergis suit your taste? Or... maybe you prefer men, eh?”

The entire room erupted into raucous, drunken laughter.

Theron slammed his goblet against the table, his chest heaving with smug satisfaction as he pointed a finger at Valerian.

Valerian didn’t grow flustered.

He didn’t tighten his grip on his glass.

Instead, his pale lips curved into a sharp, pleasant smile behind his dark silk blindfold—a smile so calm and unbothered it made the laughter of the five young men slowly die down into a curious silence.

”A fair question, Cassian,” Valerian said softly, setting his wine glass down on the table with a quiet clink.

”However, I simply prefer a different kind of entertainment. Sitting and drinking is far too mundane for a night like this.”

He tilted his head slightly.

”Why don’t we play a game?”

Theron perked up, his intoxicated eyes lighting up.

”A game? What kind of game?”

Valerian raised two pale fingers and snapped them quietly.

The side door of the main hall swung open.

Five women stepped into the light.

The string musicians froze mid-note, and even the five heirs caught their breath in unison.

The women were breathtaking—possessing sculpted, otherworldly beauty, clad in sheer dark silk dresses that clung to their figures, their eyes shining with an exotic, hypnotic charm that instantly made the blood in the room run hot.

”Out,” Valerian commanded smoothly, waving his hand toward the previous group of entertainers and the musicians.

Without a word of protest, the hired women gathered their things and hurried out of the villa, leaving only the five new beauties standing before the long table.

Valerian leaned forward, resting his chin on his interlaced fingers.

”The rules are simple. I have brought five of the most exquisite women in the province.”

He paused.

”Anyone among you who can resist their charms for the duration of the trial... gets to take them all home tonight. Free of charge.”

The five heirs stared at the women with watery mouths, their pupils dilated, their eyes burning with raw, unadulterated lust.

”Resist them?” Julian stammered, his throat dry as he swallowed hard, his eyes practically glued to the woman standing nearest to him.

”Are you mad? That’s not a game, Valerian—that’s torture!”

”Then let the torture begin,” Valerian smiled.

The five women glided forward like sleek predators.

Before the drunken heirs could even process what was happening, each woman produced a set of heavy, dark-chitin handcuffs engraved with subtle magic suppression runes.

With playful, teasing giggles and sultry whispers, they clicked the iron cuffs around the wrist joints of the five young men, securing their arms behind their backs or binding them tightly to the solid iron frames of their divans.

”Hey... wait a minute, why the cuffs?” Victor laughed nervously, though his breath hitched as one of the women ran her soft fingers along his jawline.

”It adds flavor, doesn’t it?” Lucian grinned foolishly, completely consumed by the sensory overload as the women began their enticing, sensual game.

For ten minutes, the hall was filled with the sounds of heavy breathing, breathless giggles, and the clinking of iron chains as the five heirs squirmed against their bindings, completely trapped in a web of raw, hedonistic temptation.

They were so thoroughly intoxicated by the alcohol, the exotic scents, and their own base desires that they paid no attention to the young governor sitting at the end of the table.

Slowly, Valerian stood up.

He walked over to the side table, picking up a heavy crystal decanter.

He poured himself a fresh glass of deep crimson wine, watching the dark liquid swirl against the glass.

”Tell me, Theron...” Valerian remarked casually, his voice cutting cleanly through the heavy air of the room.

”When you sat on your father’s trade council last spring... did you ever stop to count how many families starved because of the grain tariffs you voted to raise?”

Theron gasped for air, a woman’s hand caressing his chest, his mind too foggy to process the question.

”What...? What are you talking about, Valerian? Don’t ruin the mood...”

”And you, Julian,” Valerian continued smoothly, taking a slow sip of his drink.

”The young girls from the lower district orphanages... the ones your uncle’s syndicate managed... where did you think they went after they left your private villas?”

Julian’s laughter faltered slightly.

He blinked through his drunk haze, frowning up at the ceiling.

”They... they got paid and left... didn’t they?”

Valerian turned around, holding his glass.

The pleasant warmth in his posture began to drain away, replaced by an oppressive, freezing coldness that seemed to seep into the very stones of the marble floor.

He began to hum.

It was a low, eerie, beautiful melody—a dark, ancient hymn that echoed off the high walls like a lingering funeral dirge.

”For all have sinned... and fallen short of grace...” Valerian softly sang, his voice dropping into a register of tranquil, terrifying authority.

”The blood in the dirt... remembers every face...”

The moment his song began, the five stunning women instantly stopped their play.

Without a single word, their sultry expressions dissolved into cold, expressionless masks.

They stepped away from the bound men, turned on their heels, and silently walked out of the villa, locking the heavy gilded doors behind them.

The sudden silence in the hall was deafening.

”Hey! Where are they going?!” Cassian yelled, suddenly snapping out of his pleasure-filled daze.

He tugged violently at the dark chitin handcuffs bound to his wrists.

”Valerian! What is this?! Undo these damn cuffs! They’re cutting off my circulation!”

”Valerian!” Theron shouted, his voice laced with a sudden spike of unexplainable panic.

”What the hell is going on?! This isn’t funny anymore! Unbind us right now!”

They pulled, strained, and thrashed against their chairs, but the magic suppression runes on the chitin cuffs flared with a faint crimson light, locking their physical strength and mana completely.

Valerian didn’t answer with words.

He continued to hum the low, haunting melody as he slowly raised his hands to his face.

His pale fingers reached behind his head, untying the knot of his dark silk blindfold.

The silk cloth fell away, landing softly on the velvet carpet.

Valerian slowly opened his eyes.

They were not normal human eyes.

They were luminous, deep crimson pools featuring slitted, pitch-black reptilian pupils that burned with the primordial weight of an abyssal dragon.

Pure, concentrated soul-force erupted from his gaze, flooding the hall in an invisible, suffocating wave.

The moment the five young men looked into those eyes, their screams died in their throats.

BOOM.

It was as if an invisible iron stake had been driven directly into their consciousnesses.

The atmospheric pressure in the room plummeted.

The bright golden light of the lanterns seemed to twist and darken, bleeding into a terrifying, blood-red nightmare.

The intoxicating haze of the booze and drugs evaporated instantly, replaced by a crushing, soul-shattering weight of absolute guilt.

Every horrific act they had ever committed, every cruelty they had laughed off, every stolen life, every abused innocent, and every corrupt secret they had locked away in the dark corners of their minds suddenly rushed to the surface of their thoughts with excruciating, agonizing clarity.

It wasn’t just memory—it was the felt weight of their victims’ suffering, amplified a thousandfold by Valerian’s spiritual force.

”Aaagh! ARGHHHHH!” Julian shrieked, slamming his head violently against the marble table.

Blood welled from his forehead, but he couldn’t stop.

”The girls! The girls in the cellar! I locked the door! I left them in the dark! I let them starve! Oh god, make it stop! MAKE IT STOP!”

”I took the gold!” Cassian wept uncontrollably, tears and snot pouring down his face as his body violently convulsed against his bindings.

”I paid the guard captain to poison the bakery in the lower slums! Three hundred people died! I did it for the trade monopoly! I killed them! I’M A MONSTER!”

”The cult!” Theron screamed, his slitted eyes wide with pure, unadulterated madness as he pulled so hard against his cuffs that his wrists began to bleed.

”My father... my father has a trapdoor beneath our manor! We gave fifty children to the man in the silver mask! The Third Altar! The Third Altar is beneath the Old Cathedral in the capital! WE SOLD THEM ALL!”

One after another, their minds fractured like thin glass under a sledgehammer.

The guilt was an active, burning fire roasting their souls from the inside out.

”Kill me! Please, kill me!” Victor sobbed, thrashing against his chair, trying desperately to bite through his own tongue to end the torture.

”End it! Lord Valerian, please! Slash my throat! I can’t look at them! I can’t see their faces anymore!”

”Please! Death! Give us death!” Lucian howled, his voice breaking into a wet, hoarse rattle as he begged the blindfolded boy who sat quietly before them.

On the table near Valerian’s wine glass, a small, dark red memory crystal glowed faintly, recording every screamed confession, every name, every date, and every atrocious secret spilling from their broken lips.

Valerian sat silently, watching their shattered frames writhe in absolute agony.

After several long minutes, once the crystal gave a soft ping to signal its storage was full, Valerian let out a quiet, tired breath.

A faint, sharp pain throbbed behind his temples.

Using his unblindfolded eyes to directly invade and shatter human minds carried a heavy spiritual strain on his newly forged core.

He picked up his dark silk blindfold, bringing it back over his eyes and tying the knot securely behind his head.

The moment his terrifying crimson gaze was covered, the oppressive spiritual force in the room vanished.

The five young men collapsed forward against their bindings, their bodies shivering uncontrollably, their eyes hollow, blank, and completely devoid of sanity.

They were broken shells—their minds ruined by the sheer weight of their own exposed sins.

Valerian stood up, walking calmly over to Theron’s side of the room.

He reached down into the inner pocket of Theron’s discarded silk coat, pulling out a folded piece of heavy, black parchment.

Valerian unfolded it beneath his blindfold.

Written upon it was a secret address in the Northern Province, complete with a dark demonic seal.

”A secondary contact...” Valerian murmured, slipping the parchment securely into his own coat.

He picked up his black chitin walking stick, planting the obsidian tip against the stone floor.

”Sir Van,” Valerian called out smoothly.

The heavy gilded doors of the hall were instantly pushed open.

Sir Van Liondale stepped into the room, holding a drawn steel sword, fully prepared to confront whatever debauchery or danger lay inside.

But as his eyes swept over the scene before him, the Vice Governor froze dead in his tracks.

There were no exotic women.

There was no wild party.

The five powerful, arrogant heirs of Bergis’ ruling families were bound in iron chains, weeping blood and tears, groveling on the floor like pitiful worms, babbling incoherently as they begged for death.

Standing above them, completely untouched, spotless, and unbothered, was Valerian Prim Sanguis—holding a quiet glass of wine in one hand and his dark walking stick in the other.

Sir Van Liondale’s hand trembled violently, his steel sword clattering against the marble floor.

A cold, suffocating terror gripped his heart, freezing the blood in his veins.

He had served in Bergis City for twenty years.

He had seen corrupt mayors, ruthless guildmasters, and bloodthirsty syndicate lords.

He had always believed that Bergis City was the closest thing to hell on the mortal realm.

Looking at the quiet, blindfolded fifteen-year-old boy standing amidst the shattered minds of the nobility, a single, terrifying thought echoed in Van Liondale’s mind:

Bergis City was known as hell... but tonight, they invited the devil himself.

”Arrest them, Sir Van,” Valerian said softly, walking past the frozen Vice Governor toward the exit.

”Reclaim their family assets by morning. We have work to do.”