Seraphina’s thoughts instantly tore out of the Demon King’s Castle and hurtled toward a thousand li eastward, to the place forever shrouded in abyssal darkness.
There, to survive the cruel environment, countless demon races had forged themselves into vicious, merciless war-beasts.
They were not one tribe, but a coalition of many, once Movira’s vanguard when she conquered the Demon Realm.
They had been granted themselves the name Fangs of Terror.
And now those fangs were turning inward, toward their own kind, or more precisely, toward Seraphina herself.
BANG!
Seraphina’s palm slammed the desk so hard the ink bottle jumped and splattered black droplets.
This was no longer mere friction; this was open political provocation, a declaration of war delivered in the clearest possible language!
“Summon Ailinuo and Lina at once!”
The two arrived almost immediately. The naked fury on Seraphina’s face made Ailinuo turn deathly pale; she had never imagined her idol could show such rage.
Lina’s expression remained calm, but she hurried to Seraphina’s side.
“What happened?”
Seraphina’s trembling fingertip said everything. “Courier, go rest. Collect an extra stipend later.”
Her voice had regained its composure, but it was colder than winter steel.
“Lina, mobilize the knights stationed in the Demon King’s Castle.” She pulled a token bearing a special sigil from the deepest drawer. “Take this. Secure the trade route mentioned in the letter. Raise the castle’s alert level at once!”
“Ailinuo, bring every scroll on troop deployments and resource allocation for all clans. All of them! And the records on the Fangs of Terror as well.”
Her orders came rapid and razor-sharp, driven by the tension coiling inside her.
The two left to carry them out. Seraphina sank back into her chair and reread the final lines of the report.
There, in tiny, almost invisible script:
“…According to the wounded soldiers, some attackers appeared to be of Bloodborn origin…”
Bloodborn?!
Dekrian?!
A bolt of ice shot up Seraphina’s spine, freezing every vein.
“Bring Duke Dekrian here! Immediately!”
From behind the bookshelves, Ailinuo, who was searching for the requested scrolls, heard Seraphina shout her father’s name. Panic seized her heart.
She had no idea why Seraphina was angry, only that it involved her father…
“Gods above… please protect me…”
Half an hour later, a lone rider smashed straight through the gates of the Bloodborn ancient castle, ignoring the guards’ shouts of the guards, and delivered an “ABSOLUTE URGENCY” sealed letter to Duke Dekrian.
At first Dekrian feared Ailinuo had caused trouble.
But on second thought, would something so trivial warrant absolute urgency?
There had to be more.
Whatever it was, he had no time to linger. He threw on a cloak, leapt into his carriage, and raced toward the Demon King’s Castle.
When he burst into the study, he was met by a Seraphina whose face was darker than he had ever seen.
“Your Highness?” he ventured cautiously.
Swish!
The letter was flung to the floor at his feet.
“Read it yourself!”
…
“No, no, Your Highness! There must be some misunderstanding!”
Yet Seraphina’s gaze was a honed dagger, stripping every flicker of emotion from Dekrian’s face.
“Misunderstanding?! Every Bloodborn in the Demon Realm answers to you, Duke Dekrian!”
Her expression was low and lethal. “Bask’s soldiers saw Bloodborn among the attackers with their own eyes! Tell me, Your Grace, are all these ‘coincidences’?”
Dekrian would admit he was an opportunist; he followed whoever was strongest.
But right now the balance of power was obvious. Betraying Seraphina at this moment would be stepping off Noah’s Ark straight into the flood.
“But Your Highness, seeing is not always believing!” Dekrian took an urgent step forward. “The Fangs of Terror include races skilled in illusion and disguise. Impersonating other clans is child’s play for them, especially in chaotic battle where no one can verify truth!”
“Your Highness, think clearly! If I truly betrayed you, why would I have supported your new policies from the beginning? Why would I send my own daughter to study at your side? What could such betrayal possibly gain my clan?”
Hidden behind the shelves, Ailinuo’s hands shook as she watched her father argue for his life.
His logic was airtight, his emotion impeccable, almost flawless.
Seraphina, too, was rapidly calculating recent events. Dekrian’s support had been a cornerstone. If he had truly turned, the situation would not be this calm, and crises would have erupted far sooner.
Just then the study door opened again. Lina entered silently, holding a fresh letter. She scanned the taut atmosphere and spoke evenly.
“Your Highness, all orders have been carried out. This one just arrived. Please read it.”
Seraphina snatched the new scroll and unfolded it. The handwriting was frantic, clearly written in haste.
Another attack, almost simultaneous with the first, same emblem left behind.
This time, soldiers swore they had seen Giantwing Demon corpses among the raiders.
“Giantwing Demons?!” Seraphina’s brows locked even tighter.
Both the Bloodborn and the Giantwing Demons, the two clans most loyal to the new policies, were now implicated.
Far too deliberate.
Dekrian quickly read the new report over her shoulder and seized the opening. “Your Highness, see? Their goal is to muddy the waters! To make us suspect one another!”
Seraphina hurled every document onto the desk and drew a deep breath to steady herself.
Suspicion remained; she could not rule out the possibility that Dekrian was playing both sides. An opportunist might always leave himself an escape route.
As for the Giantwing Demons… she did not believe they were clever enough for such a scheme.
Doubt remained, yet for now, she still needed Dekrian.
While Ailinuo continued ferrying armfuls of scrolls from the back shelves, Seraphina rose and began searching for records on the coalition.
The leader of the Fangs of Terror was the infamous “Ripper” Gorka, once Movira’s most feared war-general in the human world.
They worshipped the primal law of the jungle: the weak are meat, the strong feast, survival through pure freedom and competition.
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