A chilling, barely perceptible chanting drifted in on the wind, ethereal as the sky’s silk threads, as the servants all raised their heads in unison, and the towering altar appeared before their eyes.
Su Ling was wrapped tightly in her cloak, her heart pounding with deep trepidation.
At this very moment, the waning moon had already hidden its sorrowful lips in shadow, its silver light pale and thin, as if gently swept aside by an invisible hand, leaving only the faintest glimmer pressed against the edge of the night.
In the bewitching darkness, a grand and magnificent altar stood proudly in the clearing, its vast scale enough to accommodate hundreds.
At the center of the altar stood a statue, tall and unyielding—the statue of the Goddess of Deep Love. Her features were indistinct, yet she exuded an aura that made one’s heart tremble with awe.
Twelve towering Stone Pillars circled the statue, and upon each pillar hung blades of various shapes, each gleaming coldly, arranged like sacred instruments for a solemn ritual.
Below, a masked girl moved slowly among them—she was the source of the ethereal singing. Su Ling recognized her faintly; she was Xing An, who had previously been at the Pope’s side.
The rite was about to begin. Now was not the time for idle thoughts. As the strange melody wound through the air, Su Ling stepped toward the altar, kneeling down with the others present.
The Royal Family, servants, and guards had all taken their places, standing in neat formation before the altar.
At the very front stood the Royal Family. Aside from King Steyat, who wore a resplendent red robe, the other Blood Clan members were clad in black, their necks and wrists adorned with intricate ornaments. They stood solemn and cold before the altar.
Behind them, on the left, were the servants in their usual uniforms, heads bowed; on the right, soldiers in gleaming armor, weapons in hand, stood vigilant and alert.
Beneath the dim moonlight, Su Ling thought she glimpsed the silhouette of Cersetan.
Among the women dressed in black and brown, with dark veils covering their heads, she saw that familiar figure with long black hair just ahead of her.
Your Highness.
Su Ling unconsciously murmured the words in her heart.
There was no reason for her to suddenly feel afraid and want to speak to Steyat, and she knew this was impossible.
Of course, Steyat did not turn around. As a noble of the Royal Family, she stood at the very front, together with Moer and Shili, motionless, facing the altar.
That was the place farthest away from Su Ling.
With a sudden commotion, the sacrificial victims pressed by the soldiers were led one by one up onto the altar.
The courtyard wind grew even colder.
In a mere instant, the last sliver of silver on the moon vanished, plunging heaven and earth into boundless darkness.
The wind howled ever more fiercely. Far off in the woods, the trees rustled with a dreadful, bestial hiss. Amidst the darkness, Su Ling could hear her own slightly ragged breaths and the pounding of her heart.
“Hear us, O most exalted Goddess of Deep Love! Tonight, we gather in your presence—”
King Steyat’s deep, resonant voice tore through the stillness of the night. Immediately after, with a murmuring chant, flames flared up around the altar.
The bright firelight illuminated the scene before the altar, and at last, Su Ling could clearly see those who served as sacrificial offerings.
Around their necks were chains of thorns, their faces blank and lifeless—they looked no different from the Blood Slaves Su Ling had first seen at Hailuosen Castle.
“Listen, O noble deity, we offer these wretched souls as sacrifice. May their blood flow in rivers to nourish the depths beneath your feet…”
King Steyat continued chanting the ritual verses, as strange markings began to appear on his skin, crawling up from his fingers all the way to his face.
At the same time, the guards deftly unlocked the victims’ shackles and fetters, then quickly bound their bodies with rope, hoisting them one by one onto the Stone Pillars.
The razor-sharp blades pointed straight at the throats of the sacrificial victims.
The Blood Clan… were really going to kill them here?
Su Ling clenched her hands, her fingertips trembling, fear of the unknown surging in her heart. She dared not raise her head, worried that even a single glance would reveal the expression on Steyat’s face at this moment.
“Their fear and despair will become the source of your power, making your will omnipresent, and your wrath felt by every living soul!”
The blood moon appeared.
Like a moon soaked in fresh blood, its light grew ever brighter, taking on a deep and bewitching crimson, as if the heavens themselves had split open to bleed forth an endless river of red.
The world was shrouded in a strange atmosphere. Trees, mountains, everyone present—bathed in the blood moon’s light—became twisted and bizarre.
A suffocating pressure filled the air, as if something was writhing just beyond the veil. The wind, too, turned colder and sharper, bringing an ominous sense of foreboding as it howled through the treetops.
“O Goddess of Deep Love, please accept this offering. The living are your eternal hymn, and the Blood Clan, your most loyal children, will forever inherit faith and awe in you!”
At the blood moon’s brightest moment, King Steyat passionately recited the final words of the ritual, the masked girl began to sing again, and in a flash of lightning, the twelve Stone Pillars on the altar suddenly rotated.
Heads tumbled down.
Fresh blood poured like rivers, running down the pillars onto the altar, following the grooves of intricate patterns, finally gathering at the feet of the Goddess’s statue.
Su Ling’s pupils widened in horror, her heart gripped so tightly it felt she might be sick.
That terrifying night seemed to draw a final bar across the score, where reality and illusion blurred, making everything feel like a nightmare.
Su Ling could not remember how, later, she had followed the other women forward to use the gleaming Sacrificial Cup to collect the freshly spilled blood, nor how she poured it into the central blood pool.
She remembered nothing—all details became fuzzy and indistinct.
All that remained in her mind was the image of that crimson moon.
When she returned to Hailuosen Castle with the others, Su Ling’s arms and dress were already soaked in blood, the iron tang nearly making her retch, though nothing came up.
The grand hall of the castle remained as splendid as ever, the servants’ quarters as humble as before. Her body swayed as she walked, like a ghost drifting through the corridors.
The sacrificial rite was finally over. Everyone seemed quite pleased—there would now be a period of rest, and the Royal Family would distribute rewards for enduring the ordeal.
That night in the underground servants’ quarters, a rare warmth filled the air.
The servants brought out fruits and pastries rarely tasted in ordinary days, chattering cheerfully, all quite relaxed.
Tii seemed to want to come talk to her, and Bom also called her name, but Su Ling couldn’t respond at all—her nerves suddenly felt completely numb.
She forced herself to keep moving, barely making it to her room. Her body grew colder and colder, and her mind began to blur.
“I… I have a fever…”
Then, as if all strength left her, she lost consciousness.