Chapter 11
The Iron Veil.
Flames rose high into the sky.
As Seraphine walked out, blood stained the ground beneath her. A three–inch–long wound had been carved across her left shoulder.
She tore a strip of fabric from an enemy’s clothing and pressed it to the wound. The black battle attire made the blood stains less noticeable.
“Thirty–seven.”
She muttered softly, counting. The blood dripping from the tip of her sword formed a winding red line behind her.
The last living man was huddled in a corner, trembling, his pants soaked with fear.
“Who else lived through House Frost’s fall?”
She used the tip of her sword to tilt the man’s chin, her voice colder than the blade itself.
“I..I don’t know what House Frost is…ah!”
A finger flew off, landing on the ground.
“Think again.”
“The Septem Spire! The master of the Septem Spire is still alive!” The man cried, “He killed the young master of House Frost…
The sword flashed again, and the thirty–eighth corpse fell.
Seraphine wiped the blood from her sword, suddenly coughing violently.
The old wounds from the Judas Cradle always ached on rainy days. She wiped the blood from her lips and climbed onto her horse.
By the time she returned to the Shadow Court, it was already late at night.
Seraphine pushed open the door, only to find Alistair sitting by her bed, his medicine box open on the table.
“Uncle?”
“Take off your clothes.”
Alistair spoke succinctly, his pestle giinting coldly in the moonlight as he ground the medicine.
Seraphine instinctively took a step back, and that movement caused him to narrow his eyes.
“Now you’re scared? Why didn’t you think of the consequences when you stormed into the Iron Veil alone?”
“I can handle it.”
“And then return with a body full of wounds?”
Alistair suddenly stood, ripping open the collar of her attire.
The savage wound was exposed to the air, flesh and bone visible.
Seraphine sucked in a cold breath.
Alistair’s fingers, coated with ointment, pressed against her wound, sending a chill through her body. “Does it hurt?”
No.”
The pestle clinked loudly as it struck the medicine bowl.
Alistair suddenly grabbed her chin.
“Don’t misuse the bloodline of House Frost’s alchemists,” he said, his tone colder than the night.
“Next time, I’ll break your legs. Just like Lucien always says?” Seraphine smiled suddenly.
The room fell into silence.
Alistair released her chin and continued to silently tend to her wounds.
Chapter 11
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As his fingers brushed over her collarbone, both of them froze for a brief moment.
“All done,” Alistair stepped back, “Don’t get your wounds wet for the next few days.”
As he turned to leave, Seraphine suddenly asked, “Uncle, why didn’t you come to save us back then?”
Alistair’s back stiffened under the moonlight, and his voice came out rough.
“I was at the Occitan Marches. By the time I received the news and rushed back…” His voice cracked. “I only managed to retrieve your elder brother’s body from the fire.”
Seraphine clenched the blood–stained garment.
“Get some sleep.” Alistair softly closed the door behind him, “Tomorrow, I’ll teach you a new sword form.”
The door clicked shut, and Seraphine collapsed onto the bed.
Her wound burned with pain, but it paled in comparison to the ache in her chest.
She pulled out the pendant from beneath her pillow.
The only thing she had taken from Valmont Keep, her fingers caressing the engraved word “Lucien” on it.
“Idiot,” she whispered to herself, but she clutched the pendant tighter.
Valmont Keep, the study was brightly lit.
Lucien unfolded the latest intelligence report.
“The Iron Veil Chapter was massacred. The suspect is likely someone from the Shadow Court.”
At the corner of the paper, a black feather symbol was drawn
“Sera…”
He opened a hidden compartment and took out a faded hairband.
a signature memento left by Seraphine after her killings.
It was the same one he had taken from her hair when she was injured on her first mission.
The silk had long lost its sheen, but it still held the faint smell of blood.
“Lucien?”
Vivienne pushed the door open, and Lucien hurriedly stuffed the hairband back into his sleeve.
“Still up this late? I made you some soup,” Vivienne placed the tray on the table and her eyes swept across the open intelligence report. “I heard the Iron Veil had an incident?”
Lucien gave a vague response. Vivienne suddenly reached for his sleeve. “What are you hiding?”
“Stop fooling around.”
In the scuffle, the hairband fell to the ground. Vivienne’s face turned pale.
“You’re still keeping her things?” She grabbed the hairband and held it over the flame.
“Enough!”
