Take Me Away, Dark Lord!

She leaned her chin on the Duchess’s knee, looking up at her with adoring eyes.

While she smiled, Seraphina’s Spirit Sight was working in overdrive, analyzing the baby ghost.

The spirit didn’t look at her; it remained buried in Lysandra’s neck. But the bond tethering it to the Duchess wasn’t a natural, warm thread of maternal grief.

It was jagged, sickly, unnatural shade of swamp-green.

’It’s a curse,’ Seraphina realized, her blood running cold. ’Someone attached this thing to her deliberately. It’s a targeted assassination via spiritual parasite.’

She needed a location, as well as a suspect.

”You guys are so cute,” Seraphina continued her sweet, innocent interrogation, batting her eyelashes. ”Papa Duke said you have babies! He said you have twins who go to the magic school and blow things up!”

”Castor and Pollux, yes,” Lysandra smiled proudly, though a faint, expression of shadow crossed her beautiful face. ”They are fifteen now. Far too old to be called babies, though they still act like it sometimes.”

Seraphina leaned in closer, dropping her voice to a soft whisper. ”Are they the only older brothers, Auntie Lysa? I want lots and lots of siblings. I want a whole army of brothers to fold my paper ducks. Did you ever want a little girl?”

It was an emotionally manipulative question, designed to provoke a specific memory.

Lysandra’s smile faltered.

The warm, bright light in her amber eyes dimmed, replaced by a haunting sadness that broke Seraphina’s heart.

Leonidas, still kneeling on the floor, went completely still. The boisterous, loud Fire Archduke looked away, his jaw clenching, staring silently at the stone floor.

”I did,” Lysandra whispered softly, her hand coming up to gently stroke Seraphina’s cheek. Her fingers were trembling slightly. ”I wanted a little girl very much. Six years ago, we were blessed with the news that I was expecting our third child.”

Seraphina maintained her innocent gaze, though internally, she was entirely focused.

Six years ago...

”What happened?” Seraphina asked softly.

Lysandra let out a slow, shaky breath. ”It was... a tragic twist of fate, sweetheart. During the early months, there was a border dispute with the Obsidian Gate. The House of Sylvane had blockaded a vital trade route. Leonidas was occupied with the legions, so I traveled to the border city to negotiate terms with the Sylvane diplomats.”

Seraphina’s internal alarm bells instantly began shrieking at maximum volume.

The Obsidian Gate.

The House of Sylvane.

”The negotiations were successful,” Lysandra continued, her voice tight. ”But the jungle air... it is harsh. When I returned to the Grand Duchy, I fell ill. A sudden, terrible fever. The healers did everything they could, but... the sickness was too strong. I lost the baby. A little girl.”

Lysandra smiled through a sheen of unshed tears, gently tapping Seraphina’s nose. ”So, when I look at you, little bird, I cannot help but wonder what she would have been like.”

Seraphina didn’t need to hear another word.

The picture was complete.

The evidence was damning.

The House of Sylvane hadn’t just blockaded a trade route.

They had invited the Duchess of Valen to a diplomatic meeting, secretly infected her with a high-tier, parasitic spiritual curse disguised as a jungle fever, and forced a miscarriage.

The curse had then manifested into the baby ghost, a weaponized manifestation of Lysandra’s own grief, tethering itself to her soul to slowly, methodically drain her life force over the years, ensuring the Duchess would eventually die of ’chronic exhaustion.’

It was a flawless, untraceable assassination plot.

’Those plant-obsessed cowards,’ Seraphina thought, a surge of murderous fury igniting in her Dark Core. ’They killed her baby, turned its ghost into a parasite, and have been bleeding her dry for six years.’

Seraphina reached up, wrapping both of her tiny arms tightly around Lysandra’s neck, hugging the Duchess with devotion.

”I’m sorry, Auntie Lysa,” Seraphina whispered into her ear. ”She would have been very pretty. And I would have shared my ducks with her.”

As she hugged the Duchess, Seraphina’s hand rested casually, innocently near the back of Lysandra’s neck.

Her tiny fingers brushed against the invisible, bloated form of the parasitic baby ghost.

’I can’t rip it off,’ Seraphina analyzed. ’The bond is tethered to her grief. If I tear it, I tear a piece of her soul. I have to neutralize the Sylvane magic corrupting it first, then gently coax the spirit into the afterlife.’

It required precision, time, and absolute secrecy.

”You’re very warm, Auntie,” Seraphina mumbled, snuggling closer, deliberately closing the physical contact. ”Can I sit in your lap? Papa Duke’s lap is always uncomfortable because of the armor!”

Lysandra let out a watery, joyful laugh, the grief receding in the face of the child’s absolute sweetness. ”Of course, you precious thing. Come here.”

Lysandra lifted Seraphina into her lap, wrapping her arms around the child. Seraphina immediately curled into a comfortable ball, resting her head directly against the Duchess’s chest, her hand remaining discreetly tucked behind Lysandra’s neck, her fingertips lightly pressing against the baby ghost.

Seraphina closed her eyes, slowly, methodically channeling the finest threads of her purifying dark mana, beginning the delicate, slow process of untangling the Sylvane curse from the spirit.

It was a beautiful, heartwarming scene. A grieving mother finding comfort in the arms of a sweet, innocent child.

However.

Across the wrought-iron table, sitting completely paralyzed in his chair, Duke Kaelus von Nacht was currently experiencing a psychological meltdown.

The Archduke of the North had watched the entire exchange.

He had watched Seraphina waddle away from him, bat her eyelashes at Lysandra, listened to her ask sweet, adoring questions about romance and babies.

He had watched her throw her arms around the Duchess’s neck, completely abandoning her ’Sovereign of the North’ persona to act like a cuddly, affectionate, devastatingly cute toddler.

And then, the fatal blow had been struck.

’Papa Duke’s lap is always uncomfortable because of the armor!’

Kaelus felt as if an invisible broadsword plunge directly into his heart.