Chapter 266: Returning to the Garden of Yesteryear

The medical room reeked of the sharp stench of blood and the bitter aroma of medicinal herbs. Dim candlelight flickered unsteadily.

Phil knelt beside a crude wooden bed, her slender fingers stained with blood, completely focused on stitching a wound for a dying frontline soldier. The soft candlelight cast shifting shadows on her exhausted face, and sweat trickled down her cheeks.

Thump!

Suddenly, the heavy wooden door was slammed open.

A blood-soaked Ansels soldier stumbled in, staggering forward.

His military uniform was already tattered, his left arm bent at an unnatural angle, his face covered in dust and blood.

“P-Please…” he rasped, then fell heavily to his knees. “I surrender… save me… I’m an Ansels soldier—I know important intelligence!”

The silver needle in Phil’s hand froze midair. She looked up, a flash of shock in her amber eyes.

Beside her, an old physician immediately stepped forward, his murky eyes warily sizing up the uninvited guest.

“If you want treatment, trade it for useful information. You know the rules,” Laurence said hoarsely, his withered fingers rubbing the medicine pouch at his waist.

The soldier coughed violently, spitting out a mouthful of bloody saliva.

“Queen Moria…” he gasped laboriously. “She took a Sista maid into the castle… and… some noble lords…”

“The army… most have already withdrawn… She plans to take the queen down through the secret passage…”

His voice grew weaker and weaker.

“The secret passage under the west city wall…”

The sound of glass shattering was especially piercing in the silent room.

“What did you say?”

Phil shot to her feet, knocking over the medicine bottle beside her. Her voice trembled with shock.

“The queen is trying to escape?”

Phil turned to the physician, whose lined face also showed utter astonishment.

The soldier suddenly convulsed violently, his pupils dilating. His head drooped weakly, his voice barely a whisper:

“Please… save…”

Phil exchanged a glance with the physician, and both saw the same decision in each other’s eyes.

The old physician quickly unlatched his medicine pouch, while Phil grabbed bandages and rushed toward the dying soldier.

At this moment, from outside the medical room came faint sounds of the rebel army assembling, distant cannon fire echoing like muffled thunder across the night sky.

A pursuit that would decide the fate of the kingdom was about to unfold on this night interwoven with blood and fire.

—

Inside the throne hall of the palace, the heavy oak doors were tightly barred with iron bolts.

The shouts of the rebels and the clash of weapons outside the doors grew closer, as if Death’s whisper had already arrived.

The outcome was already clear.

The Ansels army was not as strong as they had imagined; instead, it collapsed upon the first assault.

War reports from the front kept coming, each one like a death knell for the kingdom.

Several Blood Clan nobles were pale-faced, their splendid robes stained with dust and sweat.

“The secret passage is blocked!”

They paced nervously around the hall, sometimes rushing to the windows to look out, then shrinking back in terror.

“How dare those lowlifes… how dare they!”

A fat noble shrieked in curses, his fingers twitching neurotically at his gold-embroidered cuffs.

“What about the guards? Are they all dead?”

“They ran away long ago!”

Another thin noble sneered, but fear lurked deep in his eyes.

“Do you really think anyone is still willing to fight for a dying kingdom?”

“Shut up! The rebels haven’t broken in yet, and you’re already losing your minds!”

A third man roared, but even his own voice was trembling.

The candlelight in the hall flickered, casting their twisted shadows on the walls like trapped beasts.

And at the center of this chaos—upon the throne—Queen Moria was unusually quiet.

She sat upright, her crimson dress like a puddle of congealed blood. Her pale fingers slowly caressed a thick black iron chain.

The other end of the chain was locked around Su Ling’s neck, forcing her to kneel beside the throne like a tamed prey.

“Do you hear that?”

Moria suddenly spoke.

She leaned close to Su Ling, her golden hair spilling forward as the chain clattered.

“Your Sista is here.”

Su Ling jerked her head up, the chain digging painfully into her throat.

From afar came the faint rumble of the city gate collapsing.

Her heart pounded—Sista had succeeded!

But before the joy could spread, Moria’s cold nails pinched her chin.

“Too bad.”

Moria smiled.

“She can’t save you.”

Su Ling’s eyes widened in fear, not understanding what Moria meant.

Beside them, those fleeing Blood Clan nobles continued cursing and scurrying about in panic—a stark contrast to their usual arrogant and domineering manner.

“Such pathetic cowards.”

Moria looked at them coldly.

“With abilities far superior to humans, yet unable to escape souls ruled by fear—they shame the ancestors of the Blood Clan.”

As she spoke, she turned back to squint at Su Ling, a hint of amusement in her long, blood-red eyes.

She shook the iron chain in her hand and stood up.

“Staying here is boring. Come take a walk with me in the rear garden, Su Ling.”

—

Under the cover of night, the garden was cold.

The season had turned to winter; cold wind mixed with fine snow blew into their collars.

Fine ice crystals landed on Su Ling’s eyelashes, blurring her vision.

Su Ling was led by the iron chain tied to Moria, staggering forward.

She looked at the paths she had once walked with Sista, the flowerbeds she had trimmed with Tii, the open space where she had hung laundry with Phil.

Everything was so familiar—yet now, those people were no longer here.

The past seemed frozen, forever suspended in Su Ling’s memories.

At the other end of the chain, Moria looked around at the elegant and elaborate Royal Garden, sighed, then laughed at herself.

“It’s been a long time since you were last here, hasn’t it?”

Moria said.

“Hard to believe that just a year ago, we were chatting here, and now things have become like this.”

She continued walking as she spoke.

The blood-red moonlight fell silently, as if completely unaware of the war raging outside the castle.

Before they knew it, they arrived in front of the twelve statues of the Divine Abyss Goddess.

Moria stopped, gazing at the statues standing in the blood-red moonlight, a myriad of emotions swirling in her heart.

“Su Ling, do you still remember the topic we discussed last time?”

She asked with a half-smile.

“You said the most beautiful thing in the world is nurture. I still haven’t figured out what you meant.”

Su Ling was silent for a moment, her lips pressed tightly together.

The blade of death was already dangling over the Blood Clan queen’s head, yet she was casually chatting with the enemy’s subordinate in the garden.

Su Ling didn’t know what Moria was thinking—perhaps she wasn’t thinking anything at all.

She lifted her head and answered in a very small voice:

“Because nurture represents new life.”

“New life… new life… well said!”

Moria suddenly burst into laughter.

A faint dark light gleamed in her crimson eyes.

“Su Ling, do you know? Those two words are the most taboo for the Blood Clan.”

Her voice carried a hint of tragedy amid its flamboyance.

That laughter was clearly barbed, as if mocking some joke only she knew—perhaps fate, perhaps this absurd world, or perhaps merely her own pathetic state at this moment.

“Ever since the God of Beginning sealed the power of the First Embrace, the Blood Clan has been doomed to walk a path of no return.

Su Ling, maybe you standing here now don’t see it yet.

Because the Blood Clan’s strength is still formidable; with a few members, they built a powerful kingdom, treating humans as food and beastfolk as livestock.

But in truth, a century ago, the scales of power had already quietly shifted.”