Inside the arena, the stands were packed with demons of every shape and size, roaring and cheering for the bloody slaughter below.
The central high box was relatively separate, enclosed by crude metal railings. Several burly demons lounged within.
The most eye-catching was a massive, dark-red-skinned ogre.
That must be the city lord.
Barton gripped a huge roasted haunch in one hand, greasy juices dripping freely onto the floor. With the other he waved casually, pointing and commenting on the carnage below, occasionally letting out crude, booming laughter.
Shadow leaned close to Seraphina and spoke under his breath. “That is Barton, lord of this city. Remember—he respects only strength and money. Being Bloodborn might make him glance twice, but don’t expect any real courtesy.”
Seraphina took a deep breath, forcing down the revulsion in her gut.
To discover the source of the anti-demon bolts, she was willing to risk everything. But afterwards—she swore—she would completely liberate this place.
Barton’s guards blocked their path. “Halt! The lord is watching the fight! No entry!”
Shadow stepped forward, voice low. “We come on behalf of a most honourable Bloodborn duke. We have important business to discuss with the lord.”
He discreetly passed over a heavy pouch of gems.
The guard weighed it, and his expression softened instantly, even turning fawning.
“If you’d said it was business, of course there’s no problem. My apologies for earlier.”
He turned and reported to Barton.
Barton was engrossed in a crucial moment of the match; the interruption clearly annoyed him. He twisted his head and glanced at Seraphina.
“Bloodborn? Hmph. Stinking vampires coming to Asma to beg?” His voice was like sandpaper scraping stone.
“There’s no delicate cakes or dainty pastries here, ladies—only ‘courage’ and ‘hot blood’!”
His tone dripped with undisguised contempt. The surrounding guards burst into mocking laughter, their gazes crawling over Seraphina’s slender figure.
“Nice body… just a bit too tender. Hey, isn’t that exactly the type a certain someone likes?”
Lewd remarks deliberately loud enough to be heard rang out from the guards, met with another wave of jeers.
In a place Seraphina could not see, Shadow’s withered hand slowly tightened around his knife hilt…
“I apologise, but they are my employers. Please show some respect.”
“Shadow?” One of the guards recognised the name. The atmosphere instantly grew heavier; their faces turned solemn.
Barton turned again. Confirming it was indeed Shadow, his attitude improved marginally—but still far from respectful.
“Fine. For his sake… speak.”
Seraphina forced herself to remain calm and spoke in a deliberately haughty tone. “Lord Barton, we bring information—regarding the latest movements in the Demon King’s Castle.”
She did not reveal her true purpose immediately, instead testing whether the name of the Demon King’s Castle could suppress him.
“Demon King’s Castle? That woman Movira?” Barton sneered again, slamming the railing with a meaty fist. “She can mind her own castle! Asma is mine! She has no reach here! And as for ‘movements’—I couldn’t care less!”
Seraphina’s heart sank to the bottom.
This demon’s ignorance, brutality, and open defiance of Movira far exceeded anything she had imagined.
If Movira ever heard those words… he would already be a dead man.
Just as Barton completely dismissed her and ordered the guards to throw them out, sudden chaos erupted in the arena!
A slave who had appeared thoroughly dead suddenly surged to his feet and, with unnatural speed and strength, hurled a blade straight toward Barton’s box!
In that instant, Seraphina felt an extremely faint but familiar ripple of magic flash from the shadows behind her.
Barton reacted lightning-fast, barely deflecting the strike. Without waiting for his guards, he vaulted over the railing himself.
He landed in the pit and personally pulped the “revived” slave into a bloody paste.
“Seraphina—run!”
Dazed, Seraphina was yanked by Lina and dragged toward the exit.
“Movira…”
The journey back was silent and oppressive.
The bone-cart jolted over the rough road, every bump striking Seraphina’s already taut nerves—not just from motion sickness, but from the unbearable scenes she had witnessed.
All this suffering… and a city lord who didn’t even put Movira in his eyes.
Everything made her determination to change things feel utterly laughable.
Her own power was insufficient… and all along, unseen eyes had been watching her…
Blackstone Outpost had been like this—she had only felt relieved to survive, never noticing what that survival truly meant: omnipresent surveillance.
The Bloodborn banquet had been the same—her private conversation with Ailinuo had probably reached Movira’s ears long ago. And those words that night that still made her shiver were nothing less than a declaration: you do not belong to yourself.
And now Asma—again!
Seraphina was absolutely certain: the slave who “came back to life” had been Movira’s doing!
Once was coincidence. Twice was protection. But a third time?!
She had tried so hard to escape Movira’s control, sneaking out of the Demon King’s Castle, secretly seeking Dekrian’s help.
Yet in the end… she still could not.
Then what was the point of any of this?!
She was nothing more than a bird carefully tended yet completely caged…
This was not what Seraphina wanted!
…
Inside the safe house, the very air seemed to congeal. Lina watched worriedly as Seraphina forcibly suppressed her emotions.
Just as Lina opened her mouth to speak, Seraphina raised a hand to stop her. Her chest heaved violently, but her eyes blazed with sharp, unyielding resolve.
“Come out!”
She shouted toward the darkest corner of the room, voice trembling with fury.
She rarely used this “mask,” but now she wielded it against the person hiding in the shadows.
“Movira! I know you’re there—show yourself!”
The thick darkness in the corner remained silent for several seconds, then began to gather like living liquid.
Movira’s figure slowly emerged from it, still clad in her luxurious black robes. The usual playful smile was gone from her face. Even the most oblivious person could see the atmosphere was wrong.
Those midnight-black eyes fell upon Seraphina, wrapped in a coarse travelling cloak. In them were concern, worry… and, most of all, fear.
She did not speak immediately, only gazed silently at Seraphina’s flushed cheeks, as though assessing the storm inside her.
“Movira! Look at me! Answer every question I am about to ask!”